#okay... out of topic tags after this but...

[bucketbueckers]

RECKLESS DRIVING

CHAPTER TWO

content: language, a cam roman crash out disguised as humor, mention of a panic attack (not an actual one, literally a mention), implied mental health issues, HORSE as foreplay, author won't pretend to know anything about the dallas geography

wc: 7.2k

notes: not gonna lie, this was lowk a rly tough chapter to write but im happy with how it turned out 🙂‍↔️ i love paige and cam so bad and i can't wait until we get to the heart of their relationship once the season actually starts. also i honestly wasn't gonna post this tn but somehow the wings won so why not. do not expect future updates to be this fast. shout out li yueru tho thats my goat fr. if i missed anyone on the taglist pls lmk !!! anyways i really appreciate the love on chapter one and i love hearing from y'all 🫶 as always i hope y'all enjoy this one ❤️

tags: @cowboybueckers @indigo491 @wnba-scotland @volleyballgirlsblog @sillystarv @middyprincess @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @fivest4rbuecks @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @lilpaigeyherbo

Before now, Cam isn’t so sure that she’s ever thought much about retirement.

She’s 26. She easily has another ten years left in her, but she’s always dreamed of having a long career that could rival Taurasi’s. She knows for sure that she’s not turning in her resignation papers without a league MVP, a championship ring, and an Olympic medal. Whether she retired as a Dallas Wing or whether she signed elsewhere was another story entirely. Maybe she’d spend her final season in the league as a Golden State Valkyrie, giving her last year to the city that had raised her.

Either way, the end wasn’t ever something that was a topic of thought for her. Cam liked to stay focused on the present – on her workouts, her training. The seasons always passed by so quickly that dedicating your energy to anywhere but the present was wasting the already limited time you had.

But now, as Cam stares at a very naked Paige Bueckers, whose face is wrought with a sudden shock and a damning realization, whose hair is mussed and whose neck is littered with enough marks that Cam has half a mind to call the cops and report herself for assault and battery, she sees her entire career flash by her eyes.

She recalls her draft night vividly. She still has the white, floral dress she wore to it hung up in her closet. She remembers her first rookie press conference and the reporter who backhandedly called her a “decent player, given the options the Wings had in the draft.” She remembers her debut, her lackluster thirteen points and five rebounds, how the media considered her a bust only five games into the season. Cam remembers how she fought to show up every day despite the fact that all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and cease to exist.

Cam remembers how she made a name for herself in spite of it all. She remembers their winning season, and how it all came crashing down in 2024 when they only won nine games. She remembers the embarrassment of not being selected for the 2024 Olympics and how quiet the dinner table was after Coley only brought home a silver. Romans display their gold, her father had said, hardly sparing a glance at his youngest. Anything else is as good as a coaster.

They always say that, when you die, your fondest memories replay for you in one final surge of happiness. Cam is sure that’s what she’s feeling now because clearly her career is over.

She’ll have to request a trade. The Wings organization is already being held together by a thin piece of twine and the hope that Curt Miller, Chris Koclanes, and Paige Bueckers can be the one to pull them from the depths of hell and turn them into something that the rest of the league wouldn’t laugh at. Cam doesn’t know how anyone would be able to recover if word got out that she slept with Paige Bueckers – number one draft pick, Wings rookie (Cam’s rookie), future of the franchise, in case you’d forgotten – on the very same night that she lifted her jersey.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t the same night, considering they didn’t make it back to the hotel room until well after midnight, and Cam was sure that the clock on the wall read something like 2:49 by the time the last of their energy was depleted and Paige spooned her from behind like they’d been in a position a time or two.

Obviously, that’s not the point – not if Camille’s ensuing panic attack has anything to say about it.

The point is this entire situation is a major conflict of interest. Morally, technically, probably legally. Cam was supposed to be the responsible one, the veteran. Granted, she and Paige aren’t so far apart in age, but she’s going on her fifth year in the league. She knows better. And everything is so fragile right now. She might have just risked the health of the locker room in exchange for one night that, admittedly, was nice.

The most terrifying part of this entire situation was that Cam was supposed to take care of Paige. Not in a coddling manner – Paige could handle herself. She was grown. But adjusting to the league, to the pace, to the expectations…that wasn’t something you should do alone. She was supposed to help Paige find her footing, support her, advocate for her. She was supposed to do what any good veteran would do for their rook, but somewhere in between all of that anxiety bubbling in her gut, she feels that ever present feeling of failure creeping in.

She hadn’t even made it back to Dallas before she fucked it all up. And this feeling – this fear, the dread, the overwhelming sense that she just did something she can’t take back, it feels worse than anything she’s ever felt before. It’s worse than getting blown out in front of a home crowd that gets quieter and quieter with every turnover, every missed shot, every collapse on defense that leads to an uncontested three.

Welcome to the league, Paige Bueckers. Bet you wished it really was an Alyssa Thomas screen, huh?

“Okay,” Paige says after a while, her voice surprisingly calm given the gravity of the moment. “It’s not that bad.”

Cam throws her hands into the air, overwhelmed and exasperated. “Not that bad?” she exclaims, her heart hammering against her chest. “Paige, we just slept together.”

The blonde swallows, her eyes flickering down, and it seems like it takes a genuine effort to lift them back to Cam’s face. “Trust me,” she says, her voice cracking a little. “I ain’t forget.”

Cam glances down, taking in just how fucking naked she is, too, and with a growl that borders on equal parts panic and humiliation, she rips the comforter off the second bed in the room and wraps it around her body. It keeps Paige’s gaze off of her chest, but Cam isn’t sure what’s worse – having Paige see all of her or the fact that, despite the early morning, Paige’s eyes are impossibly blue, alert, and trained on her face. Somehow, it makes her feel more vulnerable than having stood in front of her naked.

“Are you…okay?” Paige asks tentatively.

That makes Cam’s shoulders sag, a huff of air escaping her lips. It’s hard to tell if it’s a scoff or something more like amusement, and she takes a seat at the foot of the bed as she digs through the pile of clothes on the floor for her underwear. “Yes,” she says, the word sounding stale. Paige makes a soft noise behind her that sounds like disbelief. Cam sighs. “No. I don’t know, Paige.”

“Are you hurt?”

That makes Cam pause, drawing her lip between her teeth in contemplation as she slides her bottoms over her legs. “Sore,” she admits after a while.

“Yeah?” Paige goads, and it fills Cam with the urge to turn around and smack her head. She rolls her lips so as to not smile and doesn’t give Paige the satisfaction of getting a reaction. “I’d apologize, but…you seemed pretty okay with it.”

“Paige,” Cam stresses. The reminder of last night makes her walls raise again. “Be serious.”

“Sorry,” she says for real, and it sounds genuinely apologetic. “Do you, uh, regret it? I didn’t like – force you, or anything?”

Cam sighs again, reaching for her bra, dropping the comforter to slide it over her torso. She feels Paige’s gaze leave her. The respect is touching. “I was drunk,” she admits, listening for the hitch in Paige’s breath. “We were drunk. Not helpless. Or out of control. You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t…want. Or consent to.”

Paige exhales a relieved breath. She’s silent for a few moments, her eyes tracing Cam’s figure as she slides into her baggy cargos, then her crop top. “Then why are you freaking out? You’re okay. Mostly.” She adds the last part as an afterthought, and it makes the ghost of a smile spread across Cam’s lips. “You’re not hurt. You don’t regret it. Please tell me what’s wrong, Cam. I’ll fix it.”

Cam takes a deep breath, twisting around in bed and leaning against the headboard. Paige adjusts too, keeping the comforter pressed close to her chest, the chain around her neck glimmering. “We’re teammates,” Cam states. “Like, you know that was the whole point of the draft last night?”

Paige nods seriously, trying not to smirk at Cam’s sarcasm. “Trust me. I ain’t forget that either.” Cam rolls her eyes, the humor helping to make her relax. “Plus, we’re not technically anything until I sign that contract. And, you know…teammates sleeping together isn’t a new thing. Look at Dee and Penny. DB and AT.”

“Are you also aware that those individuals are married?” Cam emphasizes, exasperated again.

“You don’t have to be married to sleep with someone,” Paige retorts, and it makes Cam bury her head in her hands. Paige sighs. “Hey – I’m sorry, okay? I’m tryna be reassuring. Emotions were all over the place last night. You found out you really liked Shirley Temples. And…I guess we have really good chemistry.”

Cam can’t hide her smirk this time. “Hopefully that chemistry translates to the court, or we’re screwed for this season.”

“Cam,” Paige whines, pressing her face into the pillow. That draws a real laugh out of Cam now. Their eyes meet again, both gazes softening. “Look, I’m just saying that it’s okay. It happened. Can’t change it. I don’t regret it, you don’t regret it, and we can be mature adults about it. Yeah, we’re gonna be teammates. This won’t affect the locker room, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Cam exhales sharply, trying to find the right words. It’s not just the locker room. It’s everything. Cam has no idea who was at that afterparty, if anyone has any clips of her and Paige dancing on each other or leaving the party together. It’s the fact that she feels like she has so many eyes on her, even though there’s nobody but her and Paige in this room right now. Between the realization that this entire situation is a moral landmine and how guilty she feels because she let herself be free and indulge in one night, all Cam feels is overwhelmed. That emotion doesn’t mix well with the residual exhaustion. “It’s just–”

Her alarm rings again, causing both her and Paige to flinch, and she silences it quickly with a ragged sigh. She closes her eyes tightly in an attempt to regulate her breathing and her emotions.

“Hey,” Paige says softly, her hand extending to brush across Cam’s back. “You’re good. We’re good. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Cam nods, not quite trusting herself to speak, and she sucks in a breath. She doesn’t meet Paige’s gaze when she says, “I have to catch a flight back to Dallas. When are you flying in for the rookie press conference?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. I’on know.” She swallows thickly, nodding to the ground. “Can you…uh, grab my phone for me?”

“Yeah,” Cam says quickly, if not a little awkward, and she leans over to fumble with Paige’s clothes on the floor until she finds the blonde’s phone tucked into the pocket of her pants. She hands it over wordlessly and Paige breathes a sigh of relief when she finds that it still has some charge.

Paige scrolls through her phone for a few seconds before she clears her throat. “I’ll fly in on the morning of the 23rd.”

“That’s fine,” Cam agrees quietly. “We’ll talk after.”

Paige lifts her head ever so slightly as she watches Cam shuffle around the room, searching for wherever her shoes had ended up. She’s unlacing one just as Paige says, “What hotel are you staying at?”

“Hilton,” Cam answers. “Why?”

Paige hums, her attention back on her phone. “Getting you an Uber back.”

“Paige,” Cam sighs, standing up straight. When Paige glances back up, an amused smile is on her face – probably because Cam has only one shoe on, her clothes are rumpled, and her once neatly styled hair is out of place. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Least I could do,” she says, her tone a little softer. “I got you stressin’ for no reason on a Tuesday morning. What kind of rookie does that?”

Cam huffs out a laugh at that – a real one. She finds her other shoe and starts working on getting it on her foot. “A really annoying, yet really thoughtful one.” Paige pats her chest proudly as if to say that’s me. When Cam is finally dressed, she palms her pockets for her phone, keys, and wallet, exhaling in relief when she has them. “Hey.” Paige looks up, and Cam bounces on her heels, a sheepish expression on her face. “Sorry for freaking out on you. I just–”

“I know,” Paige interrupts gently. Cam’s shoulders sag, appreciating Paige’s understanding more than she probably knows. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know that? It takes two to tango. It’s not like I was an unwilling partner.” Her cheeks are flushed when she admits, “Maybe a little too eager, though. That’s the last time I chase a shot with a Shirley.” Cam can’t help her laughter, shaking her head in amusement. “If there’s a blame, then we’ll share it. Or I’ll take it for you. Rookie duties or whatever. Just don’t freak out, okay? We’re good. We will be. I swear.”

“...Thanks, Paige,” Cam whispers, and Paige’s reassuring smile makes everything feel like it’ll be okay again. “See you next week?”

The reassurance falls victim to mischief, because something sparkles in Paige’s eyes when she says, “Don’t miss me too much, Cam.”

Cam rolls her eyes, pursing her lips to stifle a smile, and she and Paige exchange one last goodbye before Cam steps out. The door clicks shut behind her with a resounding noise and it takes everything in Cam to not pause and press her forehead to it dramatically. Instead, she sighs, and reminds herself of the Uber waiting for her, the flight she has to catch, and makes her way out of Paige’s hotel.

Maybe she overreacted a little. Truth be told, she still feels a little unmoored, like she’s not quite sure of her role anymore. She, the veteran, was the one freaking out in Paige’s, a rookie’s, hotel room as she reassured her and told her they didn’t fuck anything up. Cam can’t help but feel like that should have been her job.

It’s hard to understand why she’s fumbling so badly now. She didn’t have this issue last year with Jacy Sheldon – granted, Cam didn’t sleep with her, but Cam was confidently the veteran to Sheldon’s rookie. There wasn’t a single misstep. She coached the young guard, helped develop her, and did everything a veteran was supposed to do.

But Paige is something else entirely. An enigma. A challenge. Something Cam was prepared to be unprepared for because she knew that Paige was always a caliber above the rest. In her game, her mentality, her ambition. 

As Cam slides into the backseat of her Uber, smiling politely at the driver, she realizes that she has to run a tighter ship. She has to be poised, professional, the exact things she was supposed to be anyways before she let Paige Bueckers unravel her.

She’s here to play ball, and as far as she’s concerned, making her relationship with Paige more complicated than it already is will be the reason why everything crashes and burns.

Cam lands back in Dallas around 10am. She takes an Uber to her apartment, where Bobby, her characteristic orange cat, and Gatsby, a very particular tuxedo, greet her at the door. She’d managed to squeeze a few hours of rest in on the plane but she feels ready to collapse as soon as she’s back in. Before anything else, she scoops up both Bobby and Gatsby and plants a long, dramatic kiss to their foreheads and diligently portions out some wet food for them.

She makes her way into the bathroom to get ready for her presentation at UTA, then she’s back out of the house as quickly as she’d made it there in the first place. The presentation is a breeze, holding enough of her attention that she doesn’t get lost in thought about the blonde rookie who she’d left in bed at 5am, and the subsequent workout with her trainer after lunch drains her to the point that she doesn’t think about anything that’s not how sore she is the entire way back home.

Cam doesn’t even make it to bed. She curls up on the couch, curls damp from the shower she’d taken at the facility, hoodie sticking to her skin, and promptly falls asleep with Gatsby stretched out across her stomach.

That’s how the rest of her week goes. She tries – and more often than not, fails, to keep her mind on task. She throws herself into workouts, into running mindless drills, but part of her still can’t help feeling anxious. Paige had said they were fine, but Cam wonders how much of that was true, or if it was just the easiest thing Paige could think of to stop Cam from crashing out in her hotel room completely.

Or – and this is the million dollar answer right here – maybe Paige was genuine, and meant it, and Cam had no reason to be freaking out like she was childish and ten years younger.

The return to routine had helped a little. She had no reason to catastrophize, anyhow. Paige was right. They weren’t really teammates – yet – and the whole teammates having sex thing was pretty accurate, too. As long as they were able to keep it professional, cordial, and responsible on the court, Cam didn’t think the front office would particularly care, unless they were at risk of being a PR nightmare. Although…considering Paige’s celebrity, they probably are bordering on PR nightmare territory.

Either way, both of them were adults. It was consensual, Paige was incredibly chill about it, which meant Cam could probably be chill about it, which meant she didn’t ruin the locker room chemistry before it had the chance to grow.

At risk of fucking up their own chemistry, Cam knew that night wasn’t something they were going to repeat. Like, ever. If anyone asks, Cam has developed a sudden allergy for alcohol and is getting too old to be up past 9pm. If locking herself in her room like a tower-trapped damsel is what it takes to keep her relationships clean, orderly, and distraction free, then she’d gladly do it. She was committed to being responsible. She and Paige would just have to be friends. Very platonic friends who, sure, slept together one time when they were celebrating the biggest night of Paige’s life and they were both drunk on Dirty Shirleys, but that doesn’t have to define the course of their friendship.

Cam’s fine. Everything is fine. She got scared, overreacted, and maybe took it out on a poor rookie who’d only had two hours of sleep and a hangover. They could move past this and work together on the court without blurring the lines. Just friends. Just a rookie and a vet. Nothing more.

When the day of the rookie press conference arrives, Cam feels as though she has a better grasp on reality. She’s up early, goes on a morning run, showers, and is out of the door by 9am, only stopping for a chai latte before she makes her way to the facility. The first part of the morning was set aside to introduce the rookies and Cam was planning on taking advantage of the empty courts to run some drills and clear her mind.

The court smells like wood and fresh wax, a scent that makes Cam relax immediately. She’s probably spent more time between the hoops than she has anywhere else. She can see the three point line when she closes her eyes, imagine the height of the basket in her sleep. If the world had no room for her, then the one place she can confidently say she belongs is on the court.

She started playing basketball at a young age. Story of any player’s life, she’s sure, but it’s been one of the constants in her life for as long as she could remember. Despite that, it took her a long time to find genuine love in it. Basketball was an expectation. Greatness was, too. Lacing up her sneakers and working with private trainers had become routine, a way to earn pride and affection. Her mother always told her – and Coley, too – that she and her father were proud of them regardless of whatever sport they played or what they didn’t play.

People have different aspirations, Valerie told her when she was seven, in the throes of a tantrum because she’d been invited to a weekend sleepover that she would have to miss because her father had signed her up for a basketball clinic in Brooklyn. Different dreams. But you’re allowed to make space for what you love to do and what you live to do. You’re allowed to be a kid.

But Cam was sure that her father only smiled when she had a ball in her hand. She just wanted to make him proud – she looked up to him in so many different ways and wanted to boast gold medals just like he did. She wanted a career and a life to be proud of. So she’d sucked it up and went to the clinic, even if she spent every water break thinking about what her friends were up to.

It took a few years. She struggled to differentiate whether or not she played for the love of the game or for the need for approval. If she played because she saw the court not as polished wood and painted lines, but as the X’s and the O’s and as rotations and cuts, or if she played because she just wanted to be seen by the one person she always looked for.

On her own terms, she found herself falling in love with basketball in a way that was hers completely. She lived for teamwork, for the fact that playing good basketball meant knowing your teammates completely. The box score shows an assist, but doesn’t reflect how years of practice, study, and playing together prepares you to anticipate how your teammates move. She lived for the sisterhood of it all, the trust built between people who had the same goal and the same dedication to achieving it. She lived for the stillness on the court when she was at the line and the only thing between her and the hoop was fifteen feet of surety.

But Cam blinks back the memory, exhaling calmly as she laces up her sneakers on the bench. She ties them the same way every time – tight, double knotted, the ends tucked into the mouth. She doesn’t like practicing with music because it throws off her focus. There’s a rhythm to basketball that you only become privy to after years of breathing the game. The rubber echo of the ball against the court, the squeak of her sneakers, her own heartbeat – it grounds her, keeps her locked in.

When she’s satisfied with her shoes, she stretches out her legs, not doing anything too insane since she stretched before her morning run and was still feeling loose from it. It’s more to settle the residual noise in her brain.

After she picks up the ball, palming it between her hands, everything fades to a distant hum. It’s just Cam, the ball, the swish of the net. She runs a few drills just to get reacclimated with the feel of the ball in her hands, the way it bounces between her legs as she dribbles.

She moves onto shooting drills about ten minutes later, starting with a classic five spot drill. She doesn’t move on to the next spot until she makes ten in a row, but when she finds herself at the top of the key, three makes into her routine, the sound of the door pushing open causes her shot to clang off the rim.

She sighs, having found a rhythm, but steps off to pick up the rebound. Cam is only partially surprised to find Paige standing at half-court with a sheepish expression on her face and a pair of basketball shoes clutched between her fingers. The blonde has her hair up in a sleek ponytail, donning a black and white striped Nike sweatshirt (looking something like the Hamburglar, if Cam has to be honest), and a pair of matching black pants.

“Already trying to escape from the media?” Cam asks teasingly, holding the ball to her hip.

Paige shrugs, a little smile on her face. “I was tryna be good and mind my business, but I heard you dribbling. It was calling to me.”

Cam laughs. “Oh, I’m sure,” she says. “You sure you didn’t peek in, see it was me, and decide that annoying me was more worthwhile than getting to the press conference on time?”

“I still got thirty minutes,” Paige argues smugly. “I’m punctual and shit. Plenty of time to make you reconsider which rookie you actually wanted first dibs on.”

Cam hums, noting how comfortable she truly feels with Paige. She was expecting their first time seeing each other again to be a little more awkward considering how they left things, but their casual banter and teasing makes Cam feel like nothing had truly happened at all. Maybe she didn’t actually have too much to worry about. They would be fine, and she’s sure that the conversation they’ll have later would truly round it all out.

Then, she smiles, the curve of her lip indicating a challenge. She checks the ball over to Paige, who grabs it reflexively, her eyes wide in question. “How about some HORSE, then? Prove to me that you’re worthy of being the Camille Roman’s rookie.”

Paige scoffs, but she grins, setting her shoes down on the polished wood as she dribbles the ball. “What, was the natty not enough for you?” she teases. “Or going number one? Or buyin’ all your drinks?”

“I seem to remember those drinks of yours getting us into a lot of trouble,” Cam retorts, but the reminder doesn’t fill her with as much anxiety as it used to.

“You call it trouble. I call it vet and rookie bonding.”

Cam raises a brow. “Yeah? You gonna bond with Arike, too?”

Paige flushes, losing the handle on the ball as it bounces off her shoe, and Cam grabs it instinctively as she laughs. Paige, to her credit, recovers quickly, and she’s smirking when she says, “Nah. My vet says I’m off limits. I’m a one woman kind of girl.”

“Good answer,” Cam says. She checks the ball back with a loose, carefree smile. “First shot’s yours, rook. Make it count.”

Paige dribbles it once, twice, the smile never leaving her face as she inches closer to the three point line. She sets her feet shoulder width apart, crouching slightly, and she throws the ball underhanded towards the net. It sinks in gracefully, and Cam shakes her head in amusement at her over the top celebration as she tracks down the rebound.

“Don’t miss,” Paige says unhelpfully as she and Cam swap places. Cam rolls her eyes, not bothering with a response, and she steadies herself for her shot. Just before she gets it off, Paige adds, “You gonna repay me for all the concealer I had to buy last week?”

Her words startle Cam, but the shot is still money – it bounces off of the rim into the net, and the blonde sighs when her distraction effort fails. “You are such a cheater,” Cam gripes.

“What?” Paige cries, feigning innocence. “It was just a question.”

“Yeah, right,” she mutters under her breath, but her cheeks hurt from grinning. She scoops up the ball and shoves Paige out of the way with her hip. Paige huffs, moving, and Cam sits flat on the ground. Cam can feel Paige’s gaze on her as she lines up her shot and sinks the ball in with ease. “Two for two.”

Paige extends a hand to help Cam up, shaking her hand, and Paige grabs the loose ball and takes her spot on the court. The blonde readies herself to shoot, but just before she flicks her wrist, Cam steps up next to her, her calf barely brushing Paige’s shoulder.

The ball sails off course, clanging harmlessly off the rim, and Paige looks at her with a betrayed expression. “You’re cheating for real!” she declares, gazing forlornly at the hoop, and Cam laughs as she helps her up.

“That’s H,” Cam states simply, a mischievous smile on her face. Paige doesn’t respond as she tracks down the basketball and studies the court to look for her next shot. “I don’t know, P. I think Aziaha would have made that one for sure.”

“Nah, don’t piss me off,” Paige grumbles, which makes Cam giggle. She steps up behind the hoop, squares her shoulders, and Cam is peacefully silent as Paige shoots the ball over the backboard. It circles around the rim once before falling in and she exhales a breath of relief.

Cam raises an impressed brow despite herself, grabbing the ball as it bounces back towards her, and Paige pats her on the hip with a smug look when she passes. “Make this next shot if I’m your favorite rookie,” she declares.

“How old are you?” Cam asks as she lines up her shot. “Twelve?” Paige grins in a way that makes Cam regret asking, having spent enough time at youth camps to know that Paige’s retort would sound a whole lot like twelve inches deep in your mom. “Don’t answer that.” She exhales to calm her mind. Paige, thankfully, watches in silence, but it’s for naught as the ball bounces off the rim, anyways.

“How’s that H taste?” Paige is beaming as she checks the ball back to Cam, who rolls her eyes in amusement.

“Like you’re not my favorite rookie,” Cam chirps sweetly.

Paige squawks in indignation, which elicits a round of laughter from Cam. They go back and forth like that for a few more rounds, trading buckets, misses, and banter that gradually decreases the distance between them. Before a shot, Paige would pretend to massage Cam’s shoulders like she’s a fighter in a boxing ring. Cam would nudge her elbow before she shoots, attempting to throw her off her game, but she pats her hip when she makes it regardless.

Cam didn’t think it could be this nice. She thought that night at the hotel would have ruined her and Paige’s friendship and chemistry – both on and off the court – but she’s finding that, in a way, it’s brought them closer. She would never call it a mistake. She would be the first to admit that she wanted it – in the moment. Paige is good company, keeps her on her toes, and is obviously attractive, although there are some things you can’t have twice.

She’s closer to making her peace with that night. The conversation that she and Paige plan to have later would hopefully give her some more clarity and comfort in it, but she knows without a doubt that they can’t have a repeat of it. They can’t let the lines blur or push the boundaries more than they already have. That’s enough for her.

Both her and Paige have accumulated HORS twenty minutes later, and the both of them know they have to wrap it up soon so Paige can freshen up before she actually has to head out for media. The thing about Cam is that she’s not going to bend over and let Paige win just because she won’t concede the game. She and Paige both nailed the half court shot, which meant that game point relied on whether or not they could make it from full court.

“I don’t even think I have the arm strength for this,” Cam admits, standing as close as she can to the back wall so she has plenty of room to run forward. “The fact that you’re a point guard gives you an unfair advantage.”

“You tappin’ out?” Paige goads, grinning, and Cam has to bite her tongue. If there was anything Paige was good at besides basketball, it was baiting Cam.

“Rookies first,” Cam states.

“You don’t want the smoke,” Paige responds. Cam has to fight the urge to shove her, but she’s sure that would only motivate the blonde more.

Paige glances up at the hoop, nearly one hundred feet away, and she readies her shot. With a running start, she plants her feet at the baseline and grunts as she lobs the ball across the court. Cam’s eyes track its movement, the clean arc, and her jaw drops in complete and utter disbelief when it hits the backboard and swishes in without further fanfare.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she groans, not really enjoying the taste of defeat on her tongue, but she can’t really be mad for long as Paige grabs her by the shoulders and shakes in excitement. She rolls her lips to stifle her smile.

“Just go ahead and take that E,” Paige says, passing over the second ball they brought to the baseline. Cam takes it with an eyeroll. “You don’t gotta embarrass yourself in front of me.”

Cam doesn’t dignify that with a response. She palms the ball in her hands, pushing herself closer to the wall, and takes a deep breath like she’s about to sink a free throw instead of launching a ball almost one hundred feet across the court. With a running start, she plants at the baseline and lets her right hand do most of the heavy lifting, and the ball sails out of her grip.

Both her and Paige watch with a bated breath as it arcs in the air. It flies closer, and closer, and closer, until it circles around the rim once, then twice, and falls out unceremoniously.

As Paige celebrates for the second time that afternoon, all Cam can really think about is how badly she wants to fucking retire. Paige jostles her as Cam stares at the hoop, deadpan and unblinking.

Premonition might be a curse. She just had to tell Rickea that the 2025 class was all about energy and how they’d be welcoming vets to the league. Cam just can’t believe she got welcomed by Paige during a game of HORSE that started as a joke more than anything else.

Cam just sighs, extending her hand, and Paige daps her up with unadulterated glee on her face. “Say the thing,” she requests sweetly.

Cam’s tone is flat as she states begrudgingly, “You’re my rookie.”

Paige pumps her fist in the air, looking nothing like the nonchalant final boss she claimed she was. Then, if only to add salt to the wound, Paige nudges her with her elbow and says, “Welcome to the league, Cam Roman.”

Cam can’t find it in herself to be upset. She supposes Paige did earn it, and hypothetically if she does get tagged in a few press conference clips later about Paige claiming she welcomed Cam to the league, she only reposts the clip out of integrity on her Instagram story.

When Cam told Paige that they’d talk after the press conference, she wasn’t really expecting it to be over takeout at Paige’s barren apartment, but she figures it’s a good venue as any. 

Paige welcomes her in with a sheepish expression and the smell of Chinese in the air. “I’m embracing the minimalist lifestyle,” she declares, gesturing minutely to the cardboard boxes sprawled around the room. There’s one in front of her couch, overflowing with a few trinkets like lego sets and framed photographs of Paige and her family and friends. Cam winces a little, briefly wondering who supervised Paige and her diabolical packing, but Paige’s apartment door clicks shut behind her and draws her attention back to the present.

Despite being lived in for only a few hours at most, Paige’s apartment is cozy and open. She has floor to ceiling windows in the kitchen overlooking the skyline, a cornucopia of takeout boxes littering the counter, and a few candles burning in the living room. They’re both dressed in casual clothes – Cam’s opted for a pair of comfortable, white gym shorts and a Wings t-shirt, while Paige has a loose pair of grey sweatpants hung low enough to reveal the band of her boxers and an old UConn tee.

“You’re doing better than I did when I first moved out here,” Cam admits, toeing off her slides and following Paige towards the kitchen. Paige throws a smile over her shoulder to let Cam know she’s listening as she sorts through the boxes. “I think I had takeout for a week straight because I didn’t have time to go buy pots and pans.”

“Shit,” Paige says instantly. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Cam snorts. Paige passes a container to Cam, a simple order of lo mein and orange chicken, while she keeps the white rice and sweet and sour chicken for herself. There’s a bag of crab rangoons and eggrolls to share.

Almost absentmindedly, Paige pulls out the barstool at the counter for Cam before settling into the one next to it. Cam raises her brow but doesn’t say anything, taking a seat in the chair next to Paige, who passes a packet of plastic silverware and chopsticks like they’ve been in this position a hundred times before.

“You settling in okay?”

Paige shrugs a tired shoulder, shoveling a forkful of rice into her mouth. “Getting there,” she confesses. “Got a lot of shit to unpack, but…didn’t want it easy, right?”

Cam smiles knowingly at her. “I meant challenging as in getting your shot blocked by BG a couple of times. Not getting your ass kicked by cardboard boxes and IKEA instruction manuals.”

“I happen to be very handy,” Paige sniffs. “Don’t need no instruction manual. Or all those extra screws they pack in there.”

Cam stares at her unblinkingly. Paige stares back, something like mischief in her eyes as she spears a piece of chicken with her fork. The corner of her lips twitch ever so slightly. “Please tell me I’m not sitting on a chair that’s gonna collapse.”

“If you fell, I’d make sure you were okay before I laughed at you,” Paige offers unhelpfully.

Cam huffs. “Thanks. Just what any girl wants to hear.”

Paige smiles, and the two of them settle into a comfortable rhythm as they eat their dinner. Paige shares a couple of stories from media, telling Cam all about the embroidered cowboy hat she got and how done she is with random reporter questions about the Dallas heat and TexMex. That makes Cam laugh – it’s fitting to see that the reporters hadn’t gotten any better questions to ask besides food and the weather.

The peace lasts for a few moments until Paige’s fork hits the bottom of her takeout container and the last of her chicken is done. She clears her throat, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Elephant in the room?” she asks hesitantly.

Cam nods, pushing her leftovers away, and pauses for a moment. Finally, she settles on her words. “I think I might have overreacted a little,” she admits.

Paige offers a gentle smile. “I think it was a pretty valid crash out,” she states. “You were concerned about the locker room and making things awkward. I also get that the entire world would probably explode if word got out.”

“Yeah,” Cam agrees. She rests her chin in her palm. “I mean, I’m also…your vet,” she says carefully. The blue of Paige’s gaze is intense, but Cam forces herself to meet her eyes. “That night was out of character for me. I’m not usually so…”

“Carefree?”

“Reckless,” Cam supplies, and Paige nods, understanding. “I don’t regret it. You don’t either. That’s something we’ve got to stand on. I just wasn’t really thinking about…you know, the consequences of sleeping with my rookie.” Her words are dry, which makes Paige chuckle. “I don’t wanna deal with red tape from the front office. Definitely not the media. And I definitely didn’t want to make things weird with us.”

Paige’s smile turns a little crooked. “We’re good. I told you. We’re responsible adults.”

“Friends, if you will,” Cam adds.

Paige sounds all too smug when she pipes in with, “Best friends.”

Cam scoffs, rolling her eyes in amusement, feeling the final bits of tension leave her shoulders completely. They were good. No more issues. “Don’t push it, rook.” Paige raises her hands in surrender, a coy smile on her face as she slides out of the bar stool to start grabbing their trash. She waves off Cam when she tries to help, her expression far too adamant, so she bites her tongue and stays seated while Paige cleans up. “Paige?” she asks hesitantly.

“What’s up?” She glances at Cam briefly over her shoulder, the diamond studs in her ears glinting in the light as she turns, and Cam’s fingers drum lightly over the granite of Paige’s countertops.

Her voice is small when she says, “We can’t let it happen again.” It gives Paige pause, and she turns fully, leaning against the countertop. Her gaze is imploring – not offensive, just as though she’s trying to understand. “We’re friends. I’m your vet, you’re my rook. Nothing more. No need to make a good thing complicated, yeah?”

Paige raises a teasing brow. “You sure you can handle that, Cam?”

She narrows her eyes, which draws a laugh from Paige. “Can you?” she retorts. “You’re obsessed with me. It’s sickening.”

“I’m keeping you young,” she emphasizes. “Big difference.” Cam exhales, the noise sounding more like a breathless laugh. Paige clears her throat, fiddling with the towel in her hands. “I hear you,” she says, just so it’s absolutely clear, and the expression on her face eases when Cam meets her eyes. “I care about you and the team. We’ll keep it clean. But don’t think for one moment I’m gonna make your job any easier. You chose me on draft night – you’re stuck with me.”

Clean. Cam could work with that. There wasn’t any reason to change who they were or how they bantered, and if Cam was being honest, she didn’t want to. She liked this relationship she had with Paige, the slight push and pull and how they challenge each other. The mutualistic getting on each other’s nerves.

“Easy’s boring, right?” Cam reminds her, and a grin grows on Paige’s face, matching the sly one on Cam’s. Paige returns to the dishes, throwing jokes over her shoulder that Cam can’t help but laugh at. They’d keep it clean. Orderly. No chaos.

But entropy has to increase or remain constant. There was no circumventing that – it was a law of the universe. Ease wasn’t, though. Ease wasn’t just boring, and for Paige and Cam, they’d realize that it would be downright impossible.

[randomusingsofalovesickgirl]

EPISODE 05 (PT. 1): TOO MUCH AIN'T ENOUGH

🎶 soft spot by keshi 🎶 too much ain't enough by arthur hill 🎶 i'm yours by alessia cara 🎶 dive by olivia dean

You can’t remember how you ever pulled so many all-nighters back in high school—because right now, you’d trade your soul for a pillow and six uninterrupted hours of sleep.

Tonight’s challenge—the Night Watch— has everyone on edge. There’s a timer that can’t ever hit zero, but no one knows when they’ll be ‘shifted’ to reset it, so sleeping isn’t really an option. Judging by how tired you already feel, you know if the challenge dangles any sleep or caffeine temptations in front of you tonight, you’ll cave in a heartbeat.

George and Jason were up first, and you trust them completely. So while you’re confident they’ll nail any challenge and resist temptation, you can’t help but wonder what they’re actually up to out there.

“I so need an energy drink right now,” PK groans for what feels like the hundredth time.

Eventually, everyone caves and tells him to just get one. Of course, half the group tags along for their own fix — so you can only pray the prize fund doesn’t drop as badly as it did yesterday.

That leaves you and Milli sprawled on the hallway loveseat, while Cinna and DDG keep themselves awake with endless table tennis in the living room.

Milli pokes your arm, her legs draped across your lap. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

You yawn. “Probably the Charity Match.”

She glances around dramatically—almost conspiratorially—then scoots closer. She’s clearly been dying to bring this up. “So. You two seem… cosy.”

You try, weakly, to change the subject. “Do you reckon it’s too late to—”

“Nope,” Milli cuts in, eyes gleaming. “You’re not dodging this. Spill.”

Mental note: tell George you told Milli. But honestly, you know it’s fine. He was the first to tell her everything anyway. 

So you spill. Everything—from sneaking onto the rooftop to crawling back into bed. By the end, Milli squeals and nearly falls off the loveseat.

“That’s why you’ve been so lovey-dovey!” She whacks you with a throw pillow in delight.

“Shh! Is it that obvious?” you hiss, face burning. “Can we not—”

She just shakes her head, grinning like the devil she is. “Not obvious. Just… different. I don’t think anyone else notices. But we are not changing the topic. This is gold.”

You groan and tip your head back.

“You two are so cute.” She pokes your shoulder. Her voice softens. “But… are you okay? How do you feel about all this?”

You fiddle with the squiggly pink stress ball in your lap. “I don’t know. We want to try. But we’re trying to keep it private with, well—” You wave a hand at the cameras. “All this. It’s not exactly the place for normal… or to give it a fair shot.”

Milli hums thoughtfully, then pulls you into a tight hug. “You two will be fine. He’s been obsessed with you since way before you two fucked.”

You freeze. “Don’t say it like that,” you mumble, burying your face into a cushion. 

She cackles. “What else should I call it? You did!”

Now you’re mortified, but giggling, too. “Can you not—at least call it something else? It sounds so—”

Milli lifts an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “You two… canoodled.”

Your dramatic groan of “I hate you” only makes her laugh harder as she hugs you tighter. “You love me. But you love him more. And he loves you most.”

Before you can even argue—because love is a big word and now you’re not even sure you can say it to him anymore (even after all your careless, platonic ‘I love you’s over the years)—two voices holler from the challenge room, charging down the hallway in search of the next unlucky pair.

“Whitney! Mya!” 

Jason and George blur past you, their shouts instantly sending Whitney and Mya sprinting off, even though you have no idea where they were hiding before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sorry, I’m stealing her today,” Milli practically sang, refusing to move her legs from your lap as George approached the loveseat.

“That’s fine by me.” George shrugged, his grin unfading as he perched on the armrest just behind you. He probably guessed that Milli knew everything by now, but you were still caught off guard when he pressed an unmistakably obvious kiss to the top of your head.

Milli’s grin turned downright wicked when your cheeks slowly flushed—and even wider when George leaned in for a quick peck on your lips as you turned to face him.

“Hi, darling,” George winked, voice dripping with cockiness. But before you could answer, Jason, Cinna, DDG, and PK tumbled in, loudly dissecting what had just gone down in the challenge room.

So instead, you shot George a playful glare and instinctively rested the back of your head against his thigh. His arm slipped around your shoulders, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles on your skin—grounding you, comforting you amidst the chaos. You caught Milli smirking beside you.

“What did you two get up to?” Cinna asked, tilting her chin towards George and Jason, as she pried about what being on Night Shift actually entails. 

Jason replied, trying to sound serious, “We didn’t have a temptation. We just talked about women. Name a hundred women in four minutes.”

You flicked your eyebrows up at George, who brushed off Jason’s comment with a joke. “Just blokes being blokes, talking about girls.”

“Did you mention any of us?” Cinna pressed, her grin sharp.

Jason pointed straight at you. “First name out of George’s mouth was hers.” He nodded toward you—and as his eyes flicked over you two curled up together, it all dawned on him. It didn’t hurt that he’d half-interrogated George during the task, anyway. 

At the confession, George went pink.

“Sweet,” you teased, although you lifted your head from George’s lap to dodge any more suspicious looks—and to steer the spotlight away from you both. “I wonder what the next challenges will be like.”

PK snorted. “Oh, they’ll be evil. Bet on it.”

Cinna elbowed him. “It’s only evil because you’d fall for anything.”

PK groaned dramatically, collapsing onto the other loveseat facing you and Milli. “Well, right now, I’m just tempted by sleep.”

Jason dropped onto an empty beanbag, eyeing PK like he was a ticking time bomb. “So we all agree we’re losing money the second PK’s on shift?”

A chorus of mocking agreement and laughter rippled through the hallway as Cinna flopped down beside Jason. PK muttered, “No faith, no faith.” 

Cinna clapped her hands, getting everyone’s attention. “Nobody lies down! The second you do, you’re out—and then we all pay for it.”

PK scowled but grudgingly sat up straight. “Yes, Mum.”

Jason flicked PK’s foot. “Drink your Coke and hush.”

Cinna squinted at you and George, eyes narrowing mischievously. “You two look suspiciously cosy. One of you will knock out first. Guaranteed.”

You didn’t hesitate. You jabbed a finger at George. “Him. Absolute deadweight once he’s lying down.”

George raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Me? Never.”

Jason perked up, eyes glinting with mischief. Permission granted to doodle on the first sleeper?”

You leaned back against George’s leg again, smirking up at him. “Just hope the marker sticks through the puddle of drool.”

The group roared with laughter as George slapped a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Oi! I’m a very elegant sleeper, thank you very much.”

You pressed against his knee with your hand. “You drooled on my arm last night, elegant my arse.” (He hadn’t—but his jokingly offended face made the lie worth it.)

Milli shrieked, laughing, “Expose him!”

George bent down, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper—but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Careful, or I’ll tell them what you do when you sleep.”

Your eyes widened in horror, leaning into the bit. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Jason perked up, intrigued and gossip hungry. “Wait, wait, wait, what’s her sleep habit?”

George’s smirk was diabolical. “She—”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, half laughing, half dying inside, unsure what George would come up with. “Nope! Lies! Unnecessary! Moving on.”

He mumbled something into your palm, chuckling and then licked your palm. You squealed as PK deadpanned, “Swear to God, whatever this tension is, it’s keeping the whole house awake. Just shag and be done with it.”

Milli hurled a pillow at PK’s head—and for that, you silently vowed to owe her for life.

“Shut up!” she barked. “Focus—we’re playing a game so nobody here falls asleep.” 

Cinna shot her hand up like an eager schoolkid. “I nominate Twenty Questions!”

Everyone groaned and grumbled at the ‘childish’ game, but agreed. George’s voice is sickeningly sweet, “Ladies first, lov— mate.” He caught himself at the last second. “On a scale of one to ten, how annoying am I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, a ten. No question. I absolutely despise you.”

He squeezed your shoulder, smug and unbothered, and winked. “No, you don’t. You just haven’t had enough of me yet.”

And, truth be told—you really hadn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since George returned from his first shift, you’ve been stuck to him like glue. 

The group game dissolved the moment PK was called for his shift; everyone scattering and rotating in and out, some pacing the halls to kill time, some sneaking over priced snacks from the shop, some slipping away to nap and pray they don’t get caught. But George didn’t stray from you. He never has. He clings to you as if once he goes, the fragile little bubble you created will pop. 

Now, five shifts in, two things have already drained your prize money. One: PK’s solo shift. Although he insists that he didn’t cave into the barbershop temptation, you can’t fully believe him–even though you desperately want to. He hasn’t earned that trust yet. The second was Whitney and Mya missing the shift change notification altogether, leaving Cinna and Milli scrambling to their positions, officially bringing the timer to zero for the first time. 

Since then, you and George have somehow migrated to an allegedly noncompetitive game of table tennis.

“To eleven?” You clarify, as George bounces in celebration of his tenth point.

George’s grin is downright wicked as he gets ready to serve the ball. Within seconds, the sharp smack of the paddle launching the ball towards you bounced off the walls. It skims past you before you can even blink. 

Sure, the other games you guys were playing in the group were much fairer–especially since George has skilled up in table tennis since being here, having challenged everyone into one-on-one matches by now. But nothing made you happier than seeing George light up like this, with his smug little smile and little victory dance that always makes you giggle, no matter how many times you see it. 

“You know,” you say, scooping up the ball from where it bounced under the table–your official defeat, sealed. “You’re very lucky Jason fell asleep first.”

“Mmm?” George hums, sauntering over. Your back bumps the table edge and your breath catches as he cages you in, hands resting on either side. “Why’s that?”

“I would’ve drawn all over you,” you tease, voice unsteady with how close he suddenly feels. It feels foolish with how easy he makes you feel flustered.  

“Oh, really?” He raises an eyebrow, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What would you have drawn, huh?”

You both know what’s coming—he sees it in the guilty little twist of your lips, the gleam in your eye when you’re about to say something ridiculous.

“A cock,” you deadpan—in perfect sync with him. The moment hangs for a heartbeat before you both crack up. You fold forward, laughter muffled into his shoulder.

He wraps you up instantly. And you feel foolish with how fast you sink into it. Right now, he’s not shy about being soft with you. Everyone’s scattered, and the only people who might catch you are Milli and Cinna, who already know about it all and he’s assuming they’re too busy chatting to monitor the security camera. 

“I would’ve given you a moustache,” he murmurs against your temple, then plants a dramatic, smacking kiss on the side of your head.

The hum of the cameras and murmurs fade into a distant buzz, leaving only the steady rhythm of your breaths in sync. For a moment, it’s just you and him; no producers, no cameras, no audience. Just the bubble you built and how easy it feels to hide here with him.

Since knowing him, he’s always been your refuge. At first just your best friend—the one who brought you medicine when you were sick, stayed up when you couldn’t sleep, sent you memes just to make you smile. 

For so long, that was enough. But now, he’s still that safe place… and something so much more. And for the first time since you admitted it to each other, you’ve let yourself fully believe he wants this just as much as you do—even if some part of you thinks this is too good to be true. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Mya and DDG came bursting out of the challenge room, hollering your names with guilty looks plastered across their faces, you were about eighty percent sure they’d taken their temptation. Their lateness and those too-wide grins gave it away. But you didn’t dwell on it—there was no use in getting distracted now.

It was your first shift, and you couldn’t risk being late. Not after all the hits to the prize fund already, now including Jason failing his solo challenge, and now their obvious slip.

So, you and George shot up from the beanbags you’d been sitting with Farah, Milli, and Cinna, and sprinted towards the challenge rooms. You silently thanked George for insisting you sit close by, predicting that you’d probably be shifted soon. (And of course, he was right.)

George punched in the code just before the timer hit zero while  you pulled on one of the security vests. You sank into the chair, scanning the wall of monitors: every corner of Inside laid bare on cheap CCTV feeds. It was basically a fact of the show that the cameras were always there, the microphones were always recording–after all, it’s what you signed up for. But seeing everything all at once in front you felt exposing, almost violating. 

For a moment, the only sound was the low hum of the monitors.

“So, just us, huh?” George smirked, sliding his hands behind your chair. He gripped the armrests, tugging you closer until your knees were slotted between his. His blue eyes flicked to your mouth, lingering like he couldn’t help it. “No cameras, no eyes…”

You glanced around all the security footage on the screen: capturing Mya and Whitney at the shops, Jason napping, Milli and Cinna gossiping. It was a brazen reminder of the fact you were getting filmed, in every room, even here. 

“We’re definitely being watched,” you snorted softly, motioning towards the cameras aimed at you to film the challenge. 

He waved it off. “We’ll ask the lads to edit it out later.” 

Maybe George himself was your real temptation. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and kissed him—just a soft, fleeting press. His hand found your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like he was memorizing it, and the kiss deepened without warning—hungry, warm, reckless for just a breath longer than it should have been.

When you pulled away, his eyes were right there–sharp blue, locked on you with a soft smile playing at his mouth. You smiled back, and had to fight back the desire to lean in once more–to get one more taste, to let yourself fall completely. 

You almost did. But your gaze flicked to the blinking monitors—red lights, a thousand eyes—and the moment shrank back into your chest, tucked away for later. If everything goes well, you’ll have the outside—maybe the rest of your lives—for that.

Suddenly, the monitor beeped to life, tearing you both back to reality. A shelf popped open simultaneously. 

“Blindfolded Obstacles,” George read aloud, voice low but amused. “You two have been close friends for years now,”  He side-eyed you, a teasing glint in his blue eyes. He paused for an effect, leaning closer so only you could hear: “Bit of an understatement, yeah?” 

You tried not to smile, but failed. 

“It’s time to put your communication to the test,” He continued reading. You both exchanged a glance—recently, communication hadn’t been your strongest suit. “One of you will be blindfolded, and the other must guide them through the obstacle course using only verbal directions. You can’t leave the room until you grab the key from the other side, and the timer won’t continue until you do the challenge.”

You swallowed, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves mixed with anticipation. The challenge felt personal, almost like a test of everything simmering between you two. And you can’t get out of this room until you do this challenge. 

“Do you want to be blindfolded or me?” George asked softly, taking the blindfold from the shelf that popped open. Written on the black fabric was Inside, and the instruction to put it on before you leave the security room.

Wordlessly, you reached out for it–knowing you weren’t the best talker. He chuckled, “So, you trust me, yeah?” 

You nodded. You might doubt a lot of things in this house, but him? You’d trust with the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After barely completing the task (with more laughter and bickering than actual strategy), you caught PK’s name flickering on the monitor just in time. The two of you sprinted out the room, calling for him and trying to find where on the Inside he could be located.  

The second PK stood up from the beanbag he’d been dozing on to relieve you from your shift, you and George turned to look at each other and both let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding. Neither of you spoke, just exchanged a look that said: thank god that’s over. 

Silently, you decided to slip away from the buzz of the living room, saying goodbye to Whitney and Mya who sat near the sleeping PK. Instead, you moved to the bedroom area–the one space everyone was avoiding so they wouldn’t accidentally fall into deep sleep and cost the group more money. 

Here, the muffled chatter and laughter faded behind closed doors. All you could hear was the hum of the air conditioner and your own heartbeat slowing back to normal. 

George dropped down onto the bed you two unofficially shared, excusing the fact you haven’t separated your beds yet to being ‘too lazy’. He leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and tugged you down beside him without a word. 

You melted into his side instantly, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you closer until your head settled on his collarbone. He felt warm, as he always had. You breathed him in: leftover cologne, a fruity body soap, and sweet shampoo from the quick shower he’d taken earlier in the day. 

And it struck you. The two of you have been in similar positions hundreds of times, but friend’s don’t do this. Maybe you two had never really ever been just friends at all. 

“I’m knackered,” George murmured, voice rasped. He laced his fingers through yours where your hand rested on your thigh, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your palm. 

You chuckled, nudging his ankle with your foot. “Big words from the man who spent half that challenge looking unbearably smug.”

He turned to face you, his lips moving against the side of your face, revealing a small grin. “Funny—coming from someone who couldn’t even see my face.”

“George. I know every version of that face by now.”

He laughed under his breath, the sound vibrating in his chest where your cheek now rested. “I can’t wait to get out of here,” he whispered, voice suddenly softer. “Just… back to normal. Or, well, whatever our new version of normal is gonna be. Watching shitty movies on your couch, our monthly pub nights, stealing your food, winding the lads up, a drive-through run at three in the morning. No cameras. No alarms. Just us. Can’t wait to have you to myself out there, to have you be mine, and to be just us.” 

Your heart flipped at how easy he made it sound. Just us. Like it was always meant to be. 

“That sounds perfect,” you breathed, eyes half-closed, sleep feeling so tempting right now. 

He chuckled, brushing his lips against your temple. “Though, I’ll kinda miss the excuse to ignore my phone for days.”

A small laugh escaped you. “We can make it a thing. A date. Once a month—no phones, no distractions.” The word date still tasted new on your tongue, like it didn’t quite fit you two yet—but George’s grin told you he didn’t mind at all.

“Deal.” He pressed a kiss to your hair, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Silence settled over you both then. Not heavy or suffocating, but the kind that comes when you’re so close and so sure of someone.

His hand found yours again, your fingers instinctively interlocking. You could feel sleep tugging at you, warmth pooling in your chest at how easy it felt to rest like this—like it had always been this simple.

And you wished— fiercely, foolishly, maybe even hopelessly—that life would never dare make it more complicated than this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When PK called only you into the challenge, you thought that the solo night shift might actually be a break–a chance to breathe, to decompress, to finally gather all your thoughts. 

But it’s harder than you expected. Not because you’re tired, but because of the silence.

No George. No banter. No one to keep you from spiraling. Just you, the hum of the monitors, and your voice echoing into the quiet—narrating bite-sized thoughts for whatever poor soul ends up watching this later on Netflix.

And the waiting. God, the waiting.

PK and Jason’s solo shift sounded like they were thrown into a challenge almost immediately. Yours, however, has so far been a long, slow wait. Almost as if production forgot about you. Or worse, like they’re stalling. Debating whether to give you a task. Testing how long they can let your thoughts unravel before stepping in.

So, you sat there, spinning in your chair–watching the scattered corners of Insider across the various CCTV feeds, trying to desperately fight off sleep. 

You catch a glimpse of PK and Whitney sneaking off to the shop for sweets. But your gaze lingers on one feed: George, still exactly where you left him. He’s sitting with Milli, Cinna, Jason, and Farah—his arm resting loosely over the empty space where you were. His posture is tired, soft, like how he always is when it’s just the two of you. You felt a pang in your chest as you wished you could just go to him and curl up next to him, with no audience. 

And it hits you.

You’re in a relationship with George.

Like… an actual relationship. How’s it all going to change? 

It doesn’t feel official, not really—not with all the cameras and challenges and prize money hanging over your heads. You haven’t had the chance to settle into it. To just be together. But still, it’s real. And it makes your chest tighten in a way that’s both sweet and painful.

You watch him rise, smile easy and familiar, tugging Milli toward the table tennis table. He’s obsessed with that thing. You can’t help but smile too, the grin on his face being infectious even through the shitty CCTV. 

A loud buzz soon shatters the silence. 

Your name flashes across the monitor in bold, urgent letters.

TEMPTATION

The screen glitches—static crackling through the speakers—before cutting to footage you’ve never seen. Not from tonight. Earlier, maybe. The vanity room. George. Milli. Cinna.

George slumped forward, voice heavy and low. Tired.  “I messed up.” 

Your heart sank. What was he talking about? 

“So, you regret it?” Cinna’s voice was serious, probing. 

You stare at the screen, frozen. This has to be edited. Spliced. Manipulated. Maybe the producers cut it to look worse than it was—standard reality TV drama. But… this is Sidemen. They wouldn’t do that to you and George. Right?

“It wasn’t worth it.” George admitted quietly, his voice barely audible on the microphone. “Maybe we made a massive mistake. And it’s so frustrating how she always just…runs away. You know what, if I could go back in time, I'd undo that night.”  Milli shifts beside him. Her voice breaks. “George–,” 

The screen goes black.

Your breath catches. Your whole body stills.

You know how reality TV works. You know how easy it is to twist things, to stitch together sentences out of context. But knowing doesn’t stop the words from sinking like stone.

It wasn’t worth it. He said. He’d undo that night. 

You try to breathe. To find something to anchor to. But it’s always been George, or well, at least it felt like it.  

George has always been the thing that steadied you. The one constant.

You can’t even remember what you did before you knew him. How your life was like before he came into your life.

So your chest aches, your head spins, and you try to deny that George didn’t say those words. 

But it was. You could see him clearly on the screen. Caught in 4k. Or well, shitty CCTV. 

Did you trust him blindly? How could you have let yourself fall so foolishly?  

Not after everything.

Was that real? Or was this? Maybe he changed his mind. 

The screen flashes again, merciless.

TEMPTATION — HEAR THE FULL CONVERSATION FOR 30K

Your throat tightens. You could listen. You could get the whole story. 

But what if the rest hurts more than this already does?

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do always run. Maybe that’s the only way to protect yourself from getting crushed like this again.

You stare at the screen a second longer, then shut your eyes.

You don’t need to hear more.

You’ve already heard too much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist

@rubyskies@edgyficuselastica@gmontaguesbitch@sundarksposts@canyouseethesainz@lovingaphroditesworld@maggie-readss@liz140569@lmaowhathaha @moofilms @lalisasrealwife@courtjjade@bowielovesyou@raekensluver @cuntessaii @theresglittleronthefloor@isabelle-2934@smzyyx@wroetominter @madforgeorge @megan-jane02@lottiewills@cheesystylesig@suspicious-stain-in-spain@kneelforloki@wherethezoes-at@clarkey4life@madsclarkey@footballfangirly @steffqvz

[radiohao]

why are men so annoying? + nct wish

sypnosis: arguing w nct wish (hyung line)

pairings: nct wish hyung line x gn!reader

genre: kinda angst, comfort, fluff, some crack, non!idol nct wish, uni!au

warnings: fighting (not physical), lowercase intended, not proofread, first time writing angst, pinching riku, reader is petty but for good reason

wc: 2.9k (my longest fic yet!!)

—

oh sion

your boyfriend is someone that is very lighthearted and fun-loving. he makes your rainy days sunny again and is the life of the party. you never thought there'd be a day where you'd find his lack of seriousness a bother to you. but like anything in life, too much of a good thing can easily become a bad thing. as time went by in your relationship, you, like anyone else, starting thinking more about the future — getting married, having kids, and buying a house together are things you wanted with sion. but the two of you tended to live more in the moment instead of constantly wondering what the future holds. it was only when you were nearing the end of your university schooling that you started to question sion regarding future endeavors, especially like getting married or buying a house together. you wanted to settle down, spend your forever with him.

but it seemed that whenever you brought it up, your boyfriend would change the topic or make it seem less serious than you thought it to be. the first few times you brushed it off, but the more he pushed it aside, the more it irritated you, to the point where you starting doubting sion's love for you, thinking he didn't want you for the long-run.

it all blew up one day when you went out with your parents for their anniversary dinner. it was just a family thing, so sion didn't tag along. "honey, when are you and sion getting married?" your mother had asked. you didn't respond, couldn't respond. all you managed to blurt out was, "i'm not sure yet, mom. we're still kinda young, you know?" she nodded understandingly and chuckled. "i suppose you're right. but you're going to graduate from university soon, and you can't live in the dorms forever. no pressure, sweetie. just something to think about."

her words had you thinking about marriage with sion up until the following day when you decided to relax at his dorm. both you and sion sat on the couch, cuddling as you watch your favorite tv show.

"sion?"

"hm? yes, baby?" he turned to look at you.

"when are we gonna get married?" you ask him. "we've been dating for a while now." sion's breath hitches at your question, and he scoffs before planting a kiss to your forehead. "let's not think about that right now baby, it's not what's important at the moment." your brows furrow in frustration, and you take a breath before speaking back.

"it is important. babe, you can't just brush it off every single time i ask you about getting married or moving in together — we're not getting any younger."

"i'm not brushing it off, it's just not what we should be prioritizing-"

"so when will you?"

"soon, baby. just not right now." you're slowly getting even more irritated.

"when is soon? it doesn't really seem like you want to get married to me..." you mumble towards the end.

"i never said that- why are you accusing me?"

"i'm not accusing you?? you're just not giving me a direct answer! sion, i'm going to get my degree soon. i need to know what plans you have for us-"

"i don't have any, i just- don't think about that stuff when it comes to you." he blurts out. you look at him silently, eyes wide. you sigh, not finding the energy to say anything back. "i'm gonna go home," you utter. "it's late." you sit up from the couch and grab your bag, walking towards the door. "baby, no— i didn't mean it like that," he says, grabbing your wrist. you muster a small smile, saying, "it's okay, let's just talk about this tomorrow." you take sion's hand off yours and walk out the door, leaving him standing there.

tomorrow never came. you stopped bringing it up after that one night, deciding not to stir up another argument again. sion noticed, of course. he thought you would mention marriage at a certain time, but two weeks went by and no words were spoken regarding your future. you began to drown in assignments and exams, and sion went back to mokpo to visit his parents. you two barely spoke, words like 'how are you?' and 'did you eat yet?' being thrown around. silence filled the space in your dorm, your texts, and your relationship.

you assumed he forgot, that he was actually glad that it was never mentioned again. but you were proved wrong when you arrived home one evening after a long study session at the library. you open your dorm to find it neatly organized, blankets folded and condiments put away into the pantry. you look around in confusion, until you see oh sion sitting on your couch, flowers in hand.

"what are you doing here?" you ask him, cautiously taking a step forward. he stands up and hands you the flowers, your fingers brushing against his. you realize then how much you missed this; how much you missed him. his touch, his affection. maybe you should've talked about this sooner. but sion beats you to it.

"we should've talked about this sooner. i'm sorry i didn't bring it up, i thought you didn't want to talk about it- okay, that's not the point. i wanted to give you a proper apology. i'm sorry i never took those conversations seriously and for always brushing it off. i lied when i said i don't think about that kind of stuff. in fact, i think about it too much. to be honest, i'm just-" he exhales shakily, "i'm scared. i'm scared that you'll realize you won't want forever with me, scared that the universe's idea of forever doesn't have us in it. but i realized that you want it as much as i do. so yes, i do want to get married, maybe in about a year, get our own place, have a family of our own, and grow old together. i want it all with you, so please, let me make it up to you."

you say nothing but grab his shoulders and pull him in for a warm embrace. both you and sion bask in each other's touch for a while, the world stopping for you two, the stars glistening in joy.

maeda riku

riku is a very patient and understanding person, you know all too well. but sometimes you wish he wasn't as patient as he is, especially now that his childhood friend nako moved to the same university you and riku attend. like any sweet person would do, riku welcomed her with open arms and let her adjust at her own pace. he introduced nako to you, of course, as well as sion, yushi, jaehee, ryo, and sakuya. over time, she became a part of your little group with the other guys.

you really had no problem with her being close with your boyfriend. no matter how much your friends said he was pushing boundaries, you trusted riku with everything in you. he always made time for you despite having to help nako get used to living in a new place. it started to get a little suspicious, like her getting way too close to riku, but alas, you decided to brush it off, thinking she was just shy to talk to others.

she was in fact, not shy to talk to others. you saw her conversing with some other girls in the halls, overhearing her saying something about how he's so hot and that she just needed to get rid of his girlfriend. you obviously knew she was referring to you and riku. you at least tried to warn riku, saying she's the devil's spawn, but he laughed it off, thinking you just had a little misunderstanding. but no matter how irritated you were, you sucked it up and just pushed those feelings down. but it all blew up one day for you when riku brought her to one of your dates.

the two of you had planned to watch the new wicked movie together. you were looking forward to it especially because you had a long week and needed some boyfriend time with your one and only. little did you know another person would be tagging along, because when you're waiting in front of the theater, you see riku walking towards you with nako by his side. "hi baby! sorry, little rain check — nako had to tag along because her place is full of termites. she had to call pest control to have them exterminated." he says happily, nako just stupidly nodding along.

as much as you tried to keep your composure, you couldn't help but scoff. you lean into riku's ear and whisper harshly, "you did not have to bring her. you could've had ryo or something hang out with her." he looks at you a little surprised, like he didn't expect you to not like the idea of another girl tagging along on your date. he whispers back, "i know, i tried, but she said she was more comfortable with me." your face bitters and you turn to nako, who is still standing there like she can't comprehend where she is. you cross your arms and sigh, "nako, i love you so much girl, but respectfully — this was supposed to be our date. meaning, just me and riku. nothing against you, but maybe we can call ryo or sakuya so they can accompany you. is that fine?"

she purses her lips in concentration and looks back at you, "u-um, i don't want someone e-else to join. i'm only okay with riku-chan." it takes everything in you not to smack the crap out of her face. you're not one to fight, but you're also not one to let people disrespect your boundaries. "nako, this is a date. just for riku and i," you repeat slowly. she grumbles softly and speaks up again, "i can j-just stay on the side! don't worry." you cannot believe the audacity this girl has, so you take your car keys and turn back to riku, whispering into his ear once more.

"if she won't leave, i will."

riku doesn't even have time to react before you're taking your car keys out and walking to the parking lot. he tries to go after you, but nako grabs his arm and asks him to stay. you later send a voice message to riku later that day, full of words like "you have no boundaries!' to "why don't you just date nako then for christ's sake?" riku heads to your dorm immediately, pounding on the door aggressively. you open the door and find him standing there, sweat dripping down the tips of his hair. "what do you want, maeda?" you say coldly. your boyfriend winces at your tone, and he asks, "can i please come in?" you give him a disgusted look, scoffing, "fine."

he sits on your dining table, panting. you assume he ran here. a small part of you feels bad for him because he seems so tired, but the bigger part tells you to just leave him be. as he catches his breath, you take it upon yourself to start the conversation.

"look, honey. i know nako is a nice girl and all but-"

"i'm sorry. you were right — she's literally the devil's spawn. she tried to get me to stay, saying we could go on a date instead. god, i don't know how i didn't see it sooner. i just left her there, told her not to talk to me again. and i blocked her on everything. i'm so sorry, baby."

you walk over and pinch riku's cheek, and he winces at the pain. "i told you!!" you scold. he laughs despite the sting and nods. you snicker, enjoying the fact that he just lets you do this to him. you cup his face and kiss riku, lips capturing each other's effortlessly.

even after you two reconciled, riku did his best to make it up to you anyway, buying you gifts and taking you out to more dates than you've ever been to before. whenever nako passes by, he gives her a look nastier than spoiled milk to the point where you have to tell him to stop so she doesn't try to beat his ass.

and whenever you think about her from time to time, he never fails to reassure you and let you know he's the only one for you as you are for him. maybe having an incredibly patient boyfriend is good after all.

tokuno yushi

your relationship with yushi is peaceful because he isn't one to start arguments and you're not one to provoke him. but you noticed that he doesn't really give details regarding his day or events that are coming up. you feel that sometimes he talks to you like you're an acquaintance and not a lover. you try to bring it up to him as you're both making dinner in your dorm.

"yushi, baby."

"yes, my love?"

"i noticed that you don't really like- tell me everything."

"huh? but i do, baby."

"i know, but like, you just say 'i had class today' or 'i went to the store.' you don't say all the details- hell, i don't even know your schedule."

he purses his lips a little before continuing. "i don't think you need to know all of the details."

you turn around to roll your eyes before sighing, "yeah, i guess."

maybe yushi thought that'd be the end of that conversation, but he was incredibly wrong. you hate arguing with yushi because it never gets you anywhere, so you do the second best thing and give him a taste of his own medicine. every single time he asks you, "how was your day, baby?" all you say is "good," "okay," "alright." is it petty? definitely. but it's better than screaming and yelling at your boyfriend, isn't it?

you were slowly getting impatient. it's been about a week, and it seemed like yushi was a little too nonchalant to notice how petty you were trying to be. but little did you know, he did notice. how could he not? you used to tell him every single thing, from what time you woke up to what brand socks you decided to put on for the day. but now your responses are one or two words. he wondered what he did wrong, until he thought back to your little argument and realized that you were just doing it to get back at him. he had a plan in his mind and decided to go for it.

one day, you and yushi are hanging out at a nearby cafe after class. silence isn't uncommon for you two, but this particular silence is too unbearable, so you suck it up and ask your boyfriend how his day was.

"well, it was good." of course, you think.

"i had science first, and all we did was write some notes while our professor talked about our upcoming test. then i had my language class, which was much better because we did a little group activity as a way to memorize the terms we learned. lunch was okay, sion and riku had to stay back at their class so they weren't there. i had to basically babysit ryo and saku. my last class was math, which was so boring, i almost fell asleep. no, i did actually. riku had to wake me up. how about you, baby?"

you're staring at yushi like he grew a second head because he just spoke more words than he does when talking to his friends. you point at him, absolutely puzzled. "what, who- who are you? what did you do with my boyfriend?" you say accusingly. yushi can't contain it anymore and laughs at your reaction. he takes your hand from across the table and rubs his thumb on your knuckles.

"it's me, y/n. you thought i didn't notice how you started replying like me?" he says. all you can do is stare at him, not expecting him to bring it up. "i'm sorry for what i said last week. maybe you don't need to hear all the details, but you want to, and that's what i love about you. the genuine interest you have for others. i realized that those small things matter to you, and that it's what keeps our relationship interesting. i'll work on it, for you. only if you promise to just tell me next time. i know you don't wanna fight, but it's better than leaving things unsaid."

you smile softly and chuckle. "god, i hate how well you know me," you say sarcastically. "i'm sorry too, i should've just told you instead of making things difficult." he shakes his head, "it's okay, we'll both learn."

your relationship with yushi is peaceful because he isn't one to start arguments and you're not one to provoke him. but it's also peaceful because he understands you like no other and doesn't invalidate your feelings, rather, he makes you feel seen, heard. you learn that he talks about his day vaguely because he pays attention to other things, like the way you hold his hand in the cold of the night, the way your nose scrunches when your allergies are getting worse again, and the way you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

—

author's note: hiii! requested by @pppopppyyy :)) i hope it's okay :'> have a good day/night everyone i love uuuuu!!

[return2zero]

Enough of being the Warrior of Light. Time to be IDOL

But seriously this outfit is cute af u-u I just wish there's a more suitable blue dye... and the pure white dye doesn't cost actual money 🫠🫠🫠

Also the Little Ladies Day event... the new NPC

I showed it to a friend (who can't avoid seeing LADS content) and another fellow LADS friend, the way they so quickly called him Rafayel but like

DISCOUNT STORE RAFAYEL 🤣😭😭😭😭 (i love my friends so much lmfao comedic geniuses)

ngl I couldn't stop myself from bursting out laughing when he literally pulled out the most idol line ever ToT

[melancholydonuts]

do you have any arima headcanons?

i love that you are another person who loves arima so much and i just am dying to see some of ur little interpretations of him!! <333

i am SO SORRY to dissapoint bc a) this took FOREVER for me to answer and b) I got nothing man

I usually dont have very many headcanons for any of my fav characters, or I just don't realize that they're headcanons until a post or a fic or sometimes even canon itself reminds me that they are in fact headcanons. So i thought maybe I should let this ask stew and maybe something will pop up. Alas...

okay I have one very silly little headcanon and it's that arima HATES caterpillars specifically.

[zymstarz]

yeah sure that's how i'll [re]come out

[novabun-ships]

That post i rb'd about grins....now I'm thinking about Anakin when he grins after Ahsoka's foot collides with his face and now I'm just

[honeydots]

What do you think Siegbert’s relationship with Laslow and Soleil’s relationship with Xander are like particularly as they get older/teenagers.

anon you're enabling me i LOVE their parent/child relationships as they get older!!! read more cause this got looooong

for laslow and siegbert--well first off, i think laslow always can provide a particular brand of emotionally-based support that develops more as siegbert gets older. siegbert has his Anxiety Issues, and where laslow and xander both struggle w sociality as well, i think laslow can relate in a more... empathetic way? dealing with some of the emotional aftermath and letting feelings be feelings (this isn't to say siegbert doesn't go to xander or that xander doesn't help, i just think they're good at different things). on a more lighthearted note, i think laslow's really good at getting a giggle out of siegbert, and good at finding ways to alleviate pressure. he's been doing this for years with xander. and yes, xander and siegbert need different things, but laslow's good at pinpointing those things

something i rly like abt their relationship is that i think that where siegbert more openly shows his idolization of xander (like we see in-game), he still does something really similar with laslow. looking up to him, taking inspiration from him. it just comes out in different ways. for example, siegbert probably trusts laslow's opinions... a lot. considers his sometimes more than his own. and he's just fascinated by the stories he tells. even after laslow's married to xander, i like to think he still travels (and drags xander with him as often as he can--and also drags their kids along as often as he can hahaha), and those stories in particular really entrap siegbert. which is good for a budding prince, i think something laslow (and eventually siegbert and soleil) has that xander lacks is some open mindedness, and not being so narrowly nohr-centric in his perspective--esp in upbringing, if that makes sense. this is also why i like laslow taking xander traveling, cause ultimately i think it would do him good.

ONTO!!! soleil and xander!! ive mentioned before how much i like the grumpy-dad and peppy-daughter dynamic, but. to reiterate: i really really like it gjsjfjsnf soleil, similarly to laslow but probably even more, tends to go to xander and ramble about her girl successes and failures. just barging into his office like i hope you're not busy cause i have things to SAY!! and i don't think xander dismisses her, but he does make her wait sometimes, hahaha. i also think xander will often tell soleil what she needs to hear, rather than what she wants, and ultimately for her that's better than the alternative. he's not entirely harsh (though he can be and that's something to work on), but honest. he also dotes on her more than he should by a xander-standard LOL

i think soleil provides to xander a lot of brightness--it is NOT lost on me that they named her soleil, sun, in a place like nohr. i think surrounding xander with bright people is a fantastic idea. and just like laslow's doing with the traveling thing, soleil probably gets xander to socialize a little more, haha. he isn't a brick wall that can't talk to anybody, but--he does strike me as the kind of guy who has coworkers, but not friends, ya feel me. soleil's confident and full of energy, and tbh i think she's the type to really want attention from her parents, so asking xander to come along with her is a frequent request. and that eventually, naturally, leads to xander getting out more. she doesn't have the same setback as laslow that if he gets shy enough he'll retreat entirely while they're out, hahaha

and one final note to round this off: i like to think!! that xander and soleil are both cat people (xander = cabbit, and soleil has lines about owning kitten posters), where laslow and siegbert are dog people (i have many aus where laslow has a pet dog so this is more of a 'because i said so' kinda thing) (also you might be inclined to think cat for siegbert also but i need you to look inward. deeper. i think he'd like the enthusiasm...!!! i have more i could say but i'll leave it at that)

there you go!! :D

[loregoddess]

the post about monogamy in fandom had a lot of serious additions that I felt were good and interesting to read, but as a result it felt weird to clown in the tags but like

I don't talk DGS/tGAA a lot anymore, but I'm still very, very unhinged about Yuujin and Ayame, partly bc of my thing about wildly underdeveloped dead wives/mothers in fiction, sure, but also bc I do love the idea of them being in love, and then Yuujin having to work through his grief while in an entirely different part of the world, entirely separate from his daughter and family, for years. Like, yes, I am a huge fan of Yuujin x Sherlock (er, Herlock), but I'm also a huge fan of Yuujin being equally in love with both his wife and this guy he met after she died, and also I'm a fan of this weird AU that vaguely exists in my head where Ayame lives and for somehow also gets to meet hang out w/ Sherlock and Yuujin on their wacky adventures and they all fall in love w/ each other. But also, and to the point of the post I reblogged, the fandom's lack of attention to Ayame, often in favor of Sherlock, is honestly kind of sad.

[lordmushroomkat]

You know, playing second fiddle to someone can be frustrating but it's infinitely better than playing second fiddle all by yourself without a first fiddle. You don't know how nice being the lesser half of a pair is until you stop having a better half. It's better to play along to someone else's tune than to have no tune to play.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

restless nights.

you get into an argument and they become restless without you by their side.

angst with comfort. apologies for any ooc moments and stubborn mc/reader.

sylus

"I'm not taking you with me."

His words left no room for anymore rebuttals. No matter how persistent you got and what reasoning you gave, Sylus continues to reject your request to join him for the upcoming Onychinus mission.

He's never had a problem with you tagging along before, so why now? You've learned from Luke and Kieran that Sylus will be dealing with one of the most dangerous men they'd ever met, so you wanted to support him. When you brought the topic up to him, all he said was that the setting will be too much for you.

You reassured him that you can handle anything, being a hunter who's familiar with the messiest, most vile types of environment, but regardless of your reasonings, he fully intends to go to this mission alone.

"Okay."

The moment he watched you calmly closed the door on your way out of the room, Sylus knew he fucked up.

You avoided him all afternoon, and it didn't take long for loneliness to strike him hard.

He hated the silence.

Knowing you're under the same roof and yet you're deliberately ignoring him... he'd much rather have you screaming at him.

Sylus remained at his working station to continue modifying a weapon that he'd recently purchased; however, his distracted state prevented him from making progress.

The face you made before walking away from him keeps haunting him.

The disappointment in your eyes made his chest unbearably tight.

He tried to push the uncomfortable feeling away, telling himself that his response to you is for the best, but it didn't work at all.

It was difficult to concentrate on anything else.

He wondered what you were up to.

What if you decide to leave because you can't stand to be near him?

Just imagining you rush out of the house while angry caused Sylus' hands to become unsteady and accidentally crossed some wires that weren't supposed to touch.

And so, the weapon sparked and caught on fire.

"...great."

He decided to move on to boxing, hoping to release some anger — not at you, but for his enemies that he'll be seeing for the upcoming mission. If they weren't so... filthy and gruesome, he wouldn't have to worry about keeping you away from them.

After two minutes of hitting the punching bag, Sylus' eyes started to repeatedly glance towards the entrance of the gym, checking to see if a certain someone would walk in for their weekly boxing lessons.

Your boxing gloves are in the usual place, untouched. He recalled the day when you two bought it while shopping: you were so excited about using it, you woke him up early just so you could start boxing while wearing them.

But now, you won't even step in the gym because he made you upset.

Suddenly, Sylus was no longer in the mood to box.

You didn't join him for dinner.

He wasn't surprised, though he felt another pang at his chest when he sat down on the empty dinning table.

He learned from Luke and Kieran that you had already eaten a little earlier while ranting to Mephisto, who was your only companion for supper.

The crow gave him a questioning look as he flew by and parched on the empty chair next to him, where you usually sit.

"I know. I'm working on it."

Sylus went to his bedroom, hoping that you don't run away and that you hear him out.

But when he opened the door, a cold breeze hit him along with a lonely feeling. The room is empty, and you're nowhere to be found.

He knew you're still somewhere in the house; otherwise, Mephisto would've told him already that you'd left. You staying means he's not totally screwed — not yet, at least.

The only other place he thought to check is the room where you used to sleep in, before your relationship became official.

And sure enough, after calming down his nervous, hitched breath, Sylus knocked on the door.

No response, but the room is unlocked.

He dared to take a peak inside and immediately softened at the sight of you sleeping on the bed. His feet acted before his mind and walked up towards your side.

He sat down on the mattress and his eyes slowly traced the ravishing features of your face that he missed, despite the argument being only just several hours ago.

He yearned to touch you, just for a second, to feel your warmth and softness. His right hand carefully reached towards your face, knuckles aiming to brush against your cheek.

But then, you opened your eyes.

Sylus froze for a moment, waiting for you to tell him to leave and stay away from him, but instead, you just blinked at him with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

"What are you doing?"

"...caught me redhanded." he chuckles. "I was looking at you. Because you wouldn't let me do it while you were awake. Sorry to disturb your peaceful sleep."

You watched his hand that was about to touch your face slowly retract, and you wanted to grab it and embrace it.

"...who said I was sleeping peacefully?"

Sylus looks at you with confusion.

"It's hard for me to sleep whenever we have arguments." you murmured, sitting up slowly so you can look at him properly. "I wanted to see you, but..."

You were sulking all afternoon.

You grew tired of arguing with him and thought you'd eventually find the right words to tell him later on, once you've calmed down.

"Me too." Sylus slowly reached for your hand, almost afraid that you'd pull away, though he relaxed once you intertwined your fingers with his. "Let me tell you why I'm against you accompanying me for this mission."

He told you about the shady people he'll be visiting. They are nasty criminals who have done unforgivable things to people, and everything about them is just disgusting — physically and figuratively.

As much as he wanted your company and assistance, Sylus doesn't want them setting their filthy eyes on you. He doesn't want them to know about your existence at all.

Mostly, he doesn't want to waste your time and energy on people like them. He knows you're strong enough to be by his side and help him take them down, just as you have done a few times before, but he'd much rather keep you away from their dirty hands.

"I understand now." You tightened your grip on his hand. "And still.... I want to go with you."

Though his brows furrowed as a silent reply, he stayed quiet and allowed you to fully let out everything you want to say.

"I appreciate your concern for me, truly. But ever since the twins told me about them, that they're dangerous and full of dirty tricks, I can't help but worry.

You're strong and you definitely don't need me, but still... I asked to go with you because I want to support you, just like how you sometimes help me out with my missions."

Sylus was met with the familiar look of persistence and determination in your eyes and realized he was never going to win this argument.

You've always been stubborn.

But that's just one of the reasons why he's so infauted with you.

You win.

"I should have known better than to try to leave you out of something like this." he sighs in defeat, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

You grinned at his tone. "It'll be fine. And fun — maybe. If not, then I'll suffer with you."

He clicked his tongue and poked your forehead. "Fine. But before we go, you have to prove to me that you're capable of fighting them."

"Hmm? Prove to you, how?"

"You'll have to join me in the boxing ring tomorrow, kitten."

You gasped and your eyes lit up. "My gloves! I've abandoned them! Let's go boxing right now!"

"...weren't you just about to sleep?"

"No way! I wanna hit something now! Come on!"

Sylus allowed himself to be dragged out of the room and brought back to the gym, where the boxing ring awaits.

Unlike earlier, the gym appears to be warmer and much more lively.

At last, Sylus can breathe easily.

zayne

Getting scolded by your lover was not how you were expecting your trip to the hospital to go.

He never raised his voice, but the coldness in his tone was what struck you in the chest.

He reprimanded you for being too reckless and careless at work, stating that you need to pay more attention to your surroundings and not throw yourself in danger at any chance you get.

Maybe you caught him in a bad mood, or maybe he was fed up with all the times that he has to see you with injuries. Either way, you didn't feel like being around him for a while.

Later that night, you fell asleep earlier than usual and missed a call from Zayne. You knew you probably should've called him back once you woke up in the morning, but the memory of him scolding you like a child made you throw your phone aside and momentarily avoid him.

Zayne is wide awake and his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

For once, he doesn't have work to keep him up late at night. Instead, you're the reason why he's unable to sleep.

You haven't been returning his texts and calls.

He knew you're upset because of what he did at the hospital. He shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You were already hurt. The last thing you needed was for him to give you a lecture over something you don't have much control over.

Zayne wanted to apologize to you.

He considered going to your apartment so he can properly give his sincere apology, but with the way you've been deflecting his attempts to communicate, he figured you wanted some space from him.

It's understandable that you'd feel that way, but still, Zayne can't ignore the aching in his chest. The other side of the bed feels colder than usual, and the silence of his house was uncomfortable.

You should've been next to him, resting your head on his chest while showing him funny memes and videos of cats after playing silly games on your phone, then you'd randomly come across an interesting article that would be your discussion until the two of you fall asleep.

This time, all he can do is keep checking his phone, just in case you decide to text or call him, and he'd answer in a heartbeat.

He wanted to hear your voice just so knows that everything is going to be okay, and that he doesn't need to worry about the possibility of losing you. Unfortunately, he wasn't granted that wish.

He eventually fell asleep with his phone on hand resting on the empty side of the bed.

Zayne was right.

You really are careless.

Showing up at the hospital twice in a week, just two days after your previous visit, is embarrassing at this point. You admit that your mind wasn't as awake and alert as it should've been, and so you've landed yourself another injury while fighting a Wanderer.

You did your best to hide from Zayne.

In fact, you tried going to a different hospital but Tara dropped you off here and fled instantly, so you have no choice but to go in with your slightly injured shoulder.

It just so happens that Doctor Greyson was the one that treated you, as he was the only one currently available.

You thought you'd be able to leave without seeing Zayne at all, but Greyson was unaware of your current situation so he informed him that he just finished fixing you up and you should be free to leave now.

Zayne just finished a long surgery, but once Greyson passed such valuable information to him, he rushed to your assigned room.

He caught you just as you were about to step out.

"Ah!" You put a hand over your racing heart. "You scared me!"

"Sorry." Zayne paused for a moment. "May I ask you to join me in my office?"

Your stomach shifted anxiously. "Sure..." The walk to the location was filled with nothing but awkward silence, which hurt to think about because it's Zayne.

That's the man whom you love more than anything else.

The last thing you want with him is an uncomfortable silence.

At the very least, you were able to gather your courage to own up to your mistakes.

Once he closed the door...

"I'm sorry!"

Zayne was caught off-guard.

"What?"

"You're right. I've been careless lately." Your shoulders sagged as you accepted defeat. "Like my injury today could've been avoided if only I was a little more cautious. I really do need to work on it better. I'm sorry for ignoring your texts and calls. I know you're just looking out for me."

Zayne let out a breath of relief.

He failed to stop himself from pulling you into his arms, so tight that you let out a gasp, though you didn't complain so he didn't release you just yet.

He desperately needed to hold you.

He was afraid that you might not want to see him anymore because of the way he had spoken to you, but it seems he'd gotten a chance to correct himself.

"I'm sorry for talking to you so coldy." He backed away just a small distance so he could look you in the eyes, though his hands remained locked on your elbows. "There are much better ways to express my concerns for you. I won't make the same mistake again. But also..."

He took your left hand and kissed the back of it. "Please don't ever try to hide your injuries from me whenever you do get hurt."

"Ah...." you wondered how he found out you were trying to hide from him today. "Sorry. I won't."

Zayne smiled and kissed your forehead.

"I'll accept your apology, on one condition...."

"What?"

"You have to spend the night and the whole weekend with me now. To make up for the times when you weren't by my side."

caleb

"I did it to protect you."

"And now, the fleet has all the access to the information that I was supposed to get. But yes. I was so fortunate that The Colonel came to my rescue. Thanks."

Caleb sighs as you shut the door and locked yourself in your own room of his house in Safehaven.

It's true that he interfered with your mission and you failed to do what you were sent for, but the man you were interrogating was equipped with a weapon that could've left you permamently injured.

What was he supposed to do?

He wasn't going to just watch and wait for you to get hurt.

The man just happened to be a common enemy of the fleet and the hunters association, and it seems that you've crossed paths for a race on whoever could capture him first.

While you technically reached him first, Caleb was the one that took him away and had him in captive with the fleet.

He figured he could just find that man and get the information you need, though it seems your mission was time sensitive and you were supposed to report to the association by tonight.

While he feels bad about you failing to accomplish your mission, he doesn't regret barging in to stop the enemy from hurting you.

His priority has always been you and it will always be you.

Everything that he's ever done is to protect you, even if you're against it. That's why this isn't the first time you've fought.

Ever since you were younger, you'd sometimes get mad at him for doing something that was intended to keep you out of harm's way.

It's nothing new.

Still, no matter how many times it happens, Caleb will always hate the feeling of you being upset with him.

He especially cannot stand it when you pretend he doesn't exist. He'd rather you hit him as hard as you can than act as if you don't see him. Otherwise, what other purpose does he have, if not to provide for you and be by your side?

Caleb made dinner for two, but he's the only one in the dinning room, sitting across an empty chair. It's dead silent aside from the noise of the flying vehicles roaming around outside his house.

He already put food in your plate and filled you a glass of juice, just in case you give in to his attempt to lure you out with the delicious smell of tonight's meal.

Caleb took his time eating. He had sent you texts, with lots of stickers, telling you that dinner is ready and that you can come out of your room now, though not a single message had gotten a reply.

His eyes would constantly dart to your closed door, hoping that it would open and you'd stubbornly come out with a pout on your face, just like what you always do ever since you were little.

He wasn't so lucky tonight.

But that doesn't mean he'll let you starve. You can be mad at him, but at the very least, be angry with a full stomach.

Caleb picked up your plate and drink and set it down on the floor right outside your room.

"Pip-squeak." He knocked a couple of times. "It's fine if you don't want to see me. You don't have to forgive me, but please eat something before you sleep. I'll leave the food outside the door."

He paused for a moment, as an apology almost slipped out of his tongue, though he wants to do it properly when you're face-to-face, so he will wait for a better time.

"Goodnight."

Afterwards, Caleb took a long bath before going to bed. You two had plans to watch movies tonight after your mission, but that was definitely not going to happen now. He had no idea things would end like how it did, and now he's staring at a wall feeling empty.

Around midnight, you quietly stepped out of your room. You brought the dirty, empty dishes back in the kitchen so you can wash them and return them in the storage.

Five steps in the dark kitchen and you almost drop the fragile items on your hands.

There's something lurking in the shadows.

"Ah!"

Your right hand swung up to hit the figure that started to walk towards you, ready to hit them with the plate.

The object was caught easily and snatched right out off your fingers. The light switch clicked and soon your eyes had been greeted by bright white light.

And you learned that the figure that had been bathing in darkness is none other than Caleb, who looked just as freaked out as you.

"Why are you still awake?!" you screeched, putting a hand over your pounding heart. "Why are you out here just standing in the dark like some demon?!"

"I wasn't standing in darkness. I was sitting." he huffs, putting the plate on the counter table. "And I should be asking you the same thing, Pip-squeak. Why are you awake?!"

His eyes suddenly widened and his shoulders stiffened.

"You're...not gonna leave, are you?"

He looked like a sad, kicked puppy that made you feel like a super villain.

"No, I'm not leaving." you replied softly, taking a step closer to him after setting down the empty glass of juice on the counter table. "I was just going to wash these... dinner was delicious.... by the way..."

Caleb let out a sigh of relief before a smile came to his face. "I'm glad you liked it. If you still have room in your stomach, wanna go for dessert? I still have some of the ice cream that you bought last time."

Your eyes lit up at the mention of the sweet dessert. "Yes!"

As the two of you enjoyed the ice cream, Caleb took the opportunity to talk about what happened.

"I'll admit that I don't regret interferring with your work to save you from getting hurt." he started slowly, watching you just in case your mood flips again. "But I am sorry for getting you in trouble."

You shook your head. "I'm over it now, but... you have to remember that I'm also capable of dealing with dangerous guys. I may get hurt, but it's part of my job. You don't have to jump out and save me every time, even though I appreciate it and you, every time."

Caleb sighs, recalling you repeating similar words to him before.

He really does jump out of nowhere to save you a lot — in fact, anytime he can, he does it.

"You're right. I know you've gotten strong, Pip-squeak." he grinned, patting your head. "I'll be sure to remember it. But also, you have to remember... worrying about you is part of my job. That'll never change, even if you become the greatest superhero of the deepspace."

"Heh."

You can't help but laugh because it's true.

That is just how Caleb is.

And it's one of the things that you love about him, despite all the times he pissed you off by being over protective.

"If I become the greatest superhero of Deepspace, will you bring me more ice cream?"

Caleb laughs at your empty bowl. "All you have to do is ask and I shall obey, Pip-squeak."

Once drowsiness finally hit you, you returned to bed and this time, Caleb made sure to cling to you the entire time.

rafayel

You'd been extremely busy for almost two weeks because of a big, intricate mission. It left you very little time to rest, and absolutely no time to go out with your lover.

But once you finally got some freedom, the first thing you did was give him a call, asking him out for lunch.

"It's okay, Miss Bodyguard. You don't have to see me if you don't want to. I know you've been really busy to make any time for me."

Maybe he was just joking or being dramatic as usual, but something about his tone rubbed you the wrong way.

"Okay then. Bye."

The moment the call ended, Rafayel wanted to throw his phone at the wall.

Why did he say that?

He'll admit that he has been sulking, disappointed that he hasn't seen you for days; however, he knows it's not your fault. You're just doing your job, after all.

His mood hasn't been the best lately, and he ended up saying the wrong thing to you. Now, he scared you away from him even more.

He wanted to see you and apologize, but you sounded quite mad and he's certain you don't want to see him at the moment, so it's probably best to leave you alone for now.

Thomas entered the studio and almost tripped over a paintbrush on the floor. The place is even messier than before.

He found Rafayel lying on the couch, wide wake and staring at the ceiling.

"Your studio's getting way too messy. Maybe you should clean up a little."

"It's fine. No one's going to come over anyways."

Thomas was quick to notice his dispirited tone. Rafayel already seemed lonely last week, but this time his mood seems worse.

Another proof of that is the lack of progress on the paintings.

"You haven't started anything new yet?"

"I haven't had any inspiration."

The one hint that Thomas got about what was bringing Rafayel down is the yellow bird plushie right next to him, who he may or may not have been talking to.

"So, it's your Miss Hunter, isn't it?"

It's happened a couple of times before. You two have gotten into arguments before and it usually ends in the same way, with Rafayel sulking like this. This time, it might've lasted longer than usual.

"I don't know what happened, but I suggest seeing her and talking it out."

"I know that. But if she doesn't want to see me.... what if she starts screaming and hitting me when I'm there?"

Or worse, you tell him you hate him.

His stomach tightened with discomfort just by thinking about it.

Thomas chuckles lightly. "So what? You can take it, can't you? Then again, she is a hunter.... and she could kill you...."

Rafayel frowned and froze for a moment.

Then, he suddenly rolls over and drops to the floor before jumping to his feet. "Thomas, you're a genius!" he exclaims, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously. "I don't care if she stabs me with her sword! I'd survive. but... if I go on another day withour seeing her, I might actually die for real..."

"Hh — sure, I guess..."

"I'm gonna go see her now!"

Thomas watched as he started to scramble and sprint out of the room. "Wait, you should clean up first before — "

"Ow! Who put this paint brush here?!"

You opened the door and Rafayel immediately shields his face with his hands, as if to protect himself from you.

"....I don't know what's going on but I'm a little offended."

You wanted to laugh but you reminded yourself that you're still mad at him.

Or at least, you were.

The moment Rafayel showed up at your doorstep, all you want to do is hug him.

"If you're gonna stab me, do it quickly but at least wait until I say sorry first so it doesn't sound like I'm using my last, dying breath to make it up to you. I mean, I would do that too if I must, but I'd prefer if I don't sound pathetic and gross."

"...what?"

Rafayel pulled himself together and held both of your hands.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I promise I didn't mean it at all. I just missed you a lot and... I.... I might've been...a little grumpy because of it... but I still shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm really sorry."

You softened and held his hands tighter. "I'm sorry too, for snapping so fast and running away. I also wasn't in the best mood."

Rafayel didn't waste another second before pulling you into his arms.

"Let's not do that again. It's stupid and silly and boring."

"Agreed."

He buried his face against your neck and held you tighter for a little longer while your fingers brush his hair from the back.

Rafayel took a moment to feel your warmth.

You're here, right in front of him, after days that felt like months.

Letting you go will be extremely difficult.

"Miss Bodyguard...."

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna come to my house? Reddie misses you...

"Just Reddie?"

"...well, I missed you way more, but you can spare him five minutes of attention. But that's it. The rest of your time is mine."

xavier

For your latest mission, Jenna paired you up with a new hunter that just joined your team. She said she wanted him to learn from you, so he became your temporary partner.

Xavier wasn't quite happy with the captain's decision.

Jenna never said he couldn't join you, right? The new guy can keep following you, but that doesn't mean he has to be alone with you.

Fast forward to the end of the mission, Xavier had been so focused on making sure the new guy keeps a fair distance from you, and the newbie almost got hurt.

You took responsibility and jumped in at the very last moment to save him, leaving you with a minor scratch on your left arm. Nonetheless, the mission was a success.

You confronted Xavier afterwards. You didn't care at all about the scratch, but you were more concerned with him letting his jealousy get in the way of the mission.

Captain Jenna scolded him about not following orders. Although she never specified that he couldn't join you, he still messed with the plan that the team discussed early on. Luckily, he's not deeply in trouble: he'd only been warned not to do it again.

You mostly repeated what Jenna said, but you also told Xavier that he shouldn't have gone out of his way to physically keep your temporary partner away from you, and that you wished he trusted you a little more, especially in a professional environment.

Xavier was unable to come up with a response and like always, whenever he's jealous, dark clouds appeared all around him as he sulks.

You didn't feel like cradling him at the moment, mostly because you felt tired from the mission, and you needed to cool your ahead after all that happened.

You went straight to your apartment after work. Soon after taking a shower, you landed on your bed and welcomed a nap.

Xavier anxiously paces back and forth in his apartment.

He knows you're sleeping because of the fitness watch app that you both use. He decided that he'll wait until you wake up before apologizing, so at the mean time, he's practicing in his head what he'll be saying to you.

You two rarely have arguments because he'd learned to be more straightforward with his thoughts and feelings, but when jealousy comes into play, he still struggles to contain himself. He's working on it, but he's having quite a slow progress.

He'll admit that he might have gone a little overboard today, and he hated that his actions led to you getting hurt, even if it's just a scratch. If only he hadn't gotten in the way.

"...I'm going now."

Unable to wait any longer, Xavier teleports out of his apartment and appears on your balcony — it's become a habit of his.

He found you sleeping on the couch of your living room.

Xavier walked up to you quietly and covered your body with the throw bunched up by your feet. He knelt down on the carpeted floor and admired your features.

He knew he shouldn't get jealous so easily, but how could he not?

He's so deeply in love with you, he can't help but act irrationally sometimes.

But even more, he despises whenever you're upset with him and because of him, so he knows he can't keep behaving drastically all the time whenever another person who shows an ounce of admiration for you comes around.

"You smell like burnt cookies."

Xavier snapped out of his thoughts only to realize that you had woken up.

He took a whiff of his white hoodie and confirmed your observation. "I tried to make you some cookies to make up for earlier but I got distracted and forgot about them...."

And by distracted, he means pacing back and forth across the kitchen while writing his apology speech in his head.

"Pfftt.."

Xavier scratched the back of his head while you laughed loudly. His eyes lit up at the sight of your joy on your face.

"I'm sorry about your cookies." he sighs. "And I'm sorry for acting the way I did earlier. I promise I'll... try not to get jealous..."

You laughed again, this time softer as you leaned forward to brush his hair with your fingers. "The truth is, I don't mind that you get jealous sometimes. Even I get jealous too."

"Really?"

"Really."

He never notices you secretly being bitter whenever someone is clearly attracted to him, though you never act out on your jealousy because he always reassures you that he only has eyes for you.

"It's normal to get jealous." you told him. "But next time.... just make sure not to step out of line and get yourself or anyone innocent in trouble."

Xavier nodded and kissed the palm of your hand that had been combing his hair. "I promise I'll be more responsible from now on."

You smiled and pecked his nose.

"The smell of cookies really got me. Wanna try again? I'll help you this time."

"I'd like that. But first...." he rested his face onto your lap. "Can we just stay like this for a little while? I think I need to recharge."

Your hand returns to combing his soft hair. "Of course."

[delicatebarness]

Extremely cracky but I am cackling at the thought of Thunderbolts endcredits(/Doomsday?) Bucky and pregnant reader hanging out with other heroes and the topic falls on everyone's hero suits and someone asks reader what she thinks of Bucky's new suit and she goes "Well, does this answer your question?" and points at her belly because he absolutey knocked her up when Bucky fucked her still wearing the fit.

If you want to make it smutty it can always include a flashback. 🤷‍♀️

in the suit?! | bucky barnes

Summary: ^^ Request

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI | Possible Thunderbolts* Spoilers | Smut | Detailed Open Door | Dirty Talk | Innuendos | Are we still saying John Walker as a warning? | Choking | Pregnant Reader | Mild Language | Alcohol Use | Suit Kink

Word Count: 965

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. And getting to stare at clips of Bucky in the suit as references. Thank you. Ps-Gif has nothing to do with the one shot, but fuck.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

Present:

Your post-mission debrief had somehow turned into a party—beers around a bonfire, with s’mores. Yes, someone had brought s’mores. It was Bob. You half suspected that he’d googled ‘what do friends do for fun?’ on the way back to the tower.

You were sitting on a lawn chair, mocktail one hand, the other absently rested on your stomach—the baby bump very much obvious at this point. Behind you, Bucky stood with one hand on your shoulder and his vibranium hand wrapped around a beer while he looked like he wanted to re-enter the void any time anyone got too loud.

And naturally, Yelena got loud.

“Okay, here’s the real question,” she called out, waving her beer bottle around the team like a sword. “Which one of the ‘new’ Avengers has the best suit?” 

“That’s so subjective.” Ava groaned.

“Exactly my point,” Yelena replied. “Subjectively, it’s me.”

Puffing out his chest, Alexei snapped. “I will ignore this insult and remind you of this iconic design!” 

“You literally squeak when you move,” Walker said. 

“You squeak emotionally.” Ava scoffed, taking a swig of her own beer bottle.

Walker pointed toward Bob. “What about him? Dude’s got like, three different fits.”

Bob smiled politely, yet his hand visibly trembled. “Thanks… I’m molecularly unstable.” 

Then suddenly, all eyes turned to Bucky.

Including yours. 

How could they not? The matte black suit. The red star. The arms. 

After a beat of silence, someone—you think it was Ava—looked at you and said: “What do you think of Barnes’ new suit?” 

Bucky froze. His hand tightened against your shoulder. Slowly you lowered your mocktail, raising your brows toward Ava.

“Well, Miss Starr,” you gave your swollen stomach a gentle double tap. “Does this answer your question?” 

In surprise, Yelena dropped her beer into the grass. Alexei smiled, until the realisation flashed over his eyes and he clutched his chest like he’d been shot. Bob blinked rapidly in your direction, as though he was running a diagnostics. Walker let out a bark-laugh, quickly turning it into a full wheeze. 

“No. Nooo,” He shook his head, the laughter still ringing through your ears. “Are you saying—Wait—in the suit?!” 

You smirked, and shrugged your shoulders slightly. “Didn’t even take the glove off.” 

Bucky’s eyes widened. 

Three Months Ago:

The safe house door slammed behind you. You barely crossed the entryway before Bucky had you pressed against the wall. His breath was hot, his body humming with some leftover tension from the mission.

He was still in his New Avengers suit—matte black kevlar clinging to his body like a sin, his dog tags swung with every move, and his arm plates clicked together.

You barely had time to catch a breath before his mouth crashed into yours. 

“Are you going to keep the suit on?” you murmured between kisses, fingers tracing the lining of the red star embroidered into his right arm. 

His teeth pulled at your bottom lip. “Are you complaining?” 

You weren’t.

Instead, you desperately tugged on his belt.

He growled.

And before you knew it, your legs were around his waist, his arm braced under your thighs. His vibranium hand reached up to cup your cheek, trailing his lips over your jaw with a ragged breath.

“You’ve been staring at me in this thing all damn day,” he hissed against the shell of your ear. “Did you think I didn’t notice, babygirl?” 

“Maybe–Maybe I wanted you to.”

In response, he ground his hips against you—still dressed, but the feel of him had you clenching around nothing. Bucky didn’t rush. He never did. He made you feel it. He made you feel him. And every ridge of his suit, the inches of him still layered between you.

Finally, he freed himself, and you let out a sharp gasp at your underwear being shoved aside. “Don’t hold back, sergeant.” you breathed, fingers entwining in his hair, pulling the strands. 

And he didn’t.

With one hard thrust, he was buried to the hilt—dragging out a broken moan from the back of your throat. He was rough, relentless. His hips snapped into you, driving you like he was proving a point.

He let your name fall from his lips. 

The suit creaked with every movement, and his gloved right hand tightened around your thigh. His grip was bruising. His left hand found your throat—firm, grounding. Just enough to make your vision blur—not enough to lose control.

“You take me so good, baby,” he panted. “Fuck—you’re so tight, can feel you everywhere.”

Unable to form words, you gasped. High-pitched, wrecked whines of: ‘Harder—’. Pushing your chest out, you felt his dog tags swing between your breasts with every thrust.

Bucky’s fingers found your clit—still gloved, the textured leather moved over your skin toward the sensitive nub—rubbing tight, delicious circles. 

You screamed his name.

Your body shuddered against him, vision turning white at the edges as your orgasm washed over you. Bucky’s hips stuttered, groaning deep from his chest as he spilled into you. His forehead pressed to yours. 

He didn’t let you go.

Breathing hard, you clung to him.

Present:

“So, just to confirm,” Walker continued to laugh. “Bucky Barnes, the Winter freaking Soldier, turned into a thirst trap and you said ‘yes’ without any hesitation?”

“I said ‘harder’, actually,” you corrected, taking your mocktail straw between your lips.

Bucky muttered under his breath, looking up to the sky, up to the stars. “You tried to, at least.” 

Yelena collapsed into Ava’s shoulder. “I never want to see that suit again.” 

“I’ll be seeing it again, tonight,” you said sweetly, standing up to make your way toward the bathroom. Patting Bucky’s chest as you pass. “Pizza first, though. I’ll need the carbs.” 

Bob blinked. “Should–Should I get more s’mores?”

“Yes, Bob,” the New Avengers said in unison.

___

[brattyspence]

sober thoughts | s.reid

summary: pining!reader makes a drunk call to spencer after going out with friends, and is aggressively trying to flirt with him. 

tags: reader is DRUNK! alcohol!! dont read if thats not okay!!, fluffy as fuck, spencer is the most gentle of gentlemen, pining!reader, reader wears makeup/dress/heels, spencer is lowkey bad at flirting but he shows affection in weird ways, one use of Y/N (sorry i know)

a/n: this has been bouncing around in my head for a while. sigh.

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

He was used to seeing you tipsy, if that was even the right word for it. 

You were friends, after all. Best friends, even. And the fact that he lived only a few doors down from the pub the team frequented made it stupid not to offer his couch to you after going out with the team. 

You weren’t a heavy drinker by any stretch of the imagination. Every now and then on a Friday night, you’d head out with the team and have one, maybe two drinks if you were feeling particularly adventurous–but you still didn’t want to drive home, especially when he was offering his home to you. Truthfully, you just liked getting to hang out with him. You liked getting to exist in his orbit and discuss a random topic late into the night. It had become normal for you, an excuse to do something together that didn’t revolve around work. 

What was not normal was the fact that it was a Saturday at 11 PM and you were really drunk, calling him. 

Your contact photo filled his screen, illuminating the dark room. You weren’t one to call, preferring the convenience of a text. Especially this late, which worried him a bit. He picked up quickly, tucking the phone to his ear.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Hey, Spencer?” It wasn’t your voice. “This is Molly, Y/N’s friend. I’m sorry to call so late. We’re out with some friends from college celebrating someone’s birthday, and she got… like, drunk drunk, kinda sloppy… and she’s been blabbing about you for a while. She wanted me to call you.”

“Oh,” he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, preparing himself. “Can you put her on?”

“Yeah. Not sure you’ll get anything out of her, though. Here…”

He can hear the general chatter and chaos of the bar over the call. There’s some rustling sounds before you finally take the phone.

“Hi,” you say, your voice dripping with a certain kind of fondness. He can hear the smile through the screen. 

“Hey,” he replies. ”You having fun?”

“Oh, Spencer, I was… I haven’t heard your voice in so long. What’re you…” you trail off, lifting the phone from your ear to answer someone else. “Sorry. ‘S so loud in here.

He chuckles to himself. “I saw you yesterday.”

“Yeah, ‘nd that was… Oh, I can’t do math right now. A long time ago.”

“Are you okay?”

On the other side of town, you were sitting in a barstool, swiping your finger along the beads of condensation rolling down the glass of water in front of you. 

“Mhm. ‘M good. Fine. Drunk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he smiles. “Are you gonna be able to get home?”

“Uhh…” you pause. “I was gonna Uber… but then I thought that maybe… if you weren't busy… we could hang out…” 

He could vaguely make out dialog on the other end of the phone. Some kind of “Girl, this sounds really pathetic,” followed by a “Shhhh!” in two other drunken voices.

“But I could also make Molly order me an Uber,” you added. “‘S okay. Nevermind.”

“No, you're not getting in an Uber inebriated. That’s ridiculous.”

“‘M not inebriated.”

A background voice comes back. “Yeah, you are.”

Spencer sighs into the phone. “Just… send me your location, please? I’ll come get you.”

“O-kay. ‘M sending it right now, jus’ tell me when you-”

The call went dead before you could finish your thought, which he chalked up to some kind of drunken user error. A few seconds later a text came through 

You: dropped a pin

You: its molly again. let me know if you got this

He responded, relieved that you had someone looking after you, before getting ready and grabbing his keys. 

-

You were sitting on a bench outside the bar. The air was cool and crisp, but you were warm, your skin clammy from the alcohol. You had been mumbling something incoherent about Spencer, he’s just so good to me, Molly, and oh, god, I don’t know what to do with myself, and…

Molly, who had been trying to sober you up (unsuccessfully), was standing in front of you, arms crossed, listening to your incessant rambling.

“...’nd sometimes he talks to me, ‘nd I have no idea what he’s talking about but he’s so hot when he’s smart. You should hear, it, Mol’.”

Cars pass on the street behind you, filling the silence momentarily. Molly looks over her shoulder, scanning the street before turning back to you. “Alright. Be quiet. He’s here” 

“Don’t care.”

She puts her hand out to help you up, which you accept rising to your feet. You’re surprised by how unsteady you feel, but you focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

“I’ll make fun of you for this tomorrow,” she says. 

You only have a few seconds to grumble in protest before Spencer reaches you. He scans you quickly, chuckling to himself.

“You are a mess,” he says, amused. 

You feel slightly infantilized watching Molly hand over all your personal effects to him. You weren’t even sure when you’d put down your wallet and keys, much less where, but you’re thankful she picked them up and not someone else.

“Good luck,” She tells him. She pats your arm before turning back to the bar, leaving you alone on the street with him. 

“You okay?” He asks. You watch him shuck off his jacket, which he helps you slide over your arms.

“‘M fine,” you reply. “Warm.”

“Because you’re drunk.” He keeps his eyes trained on the zipper of the jacket, or really anywhere that isn't you in that dress. “Alcohol is a vasodilator. So you feel warm. But it's forty degrees outside, and hypothermia doesn't care.”

You pout at him, watching as he pulls the zipper tab up enough to shield you from the cold. Only then does he really look at you. 

“I wanted you to see my pretty dress,” you pout. Your words come out slurred still. 

You meet his eyes for a split second. He opens his mouth, seemingly about to reply, but quickly decides against it. He shakes his head as if to clear the thought.

“Come on. We gotta get you home.” 

“You don't like it?” 

“I didn't say that.” He tucks a hand under your arm as you begin back down the street, keeping you steady. 

“So you do like it?” You look over at him, your face more excited than he was expecting. 

“It’s very pretty,” he replies.

Your shoulder bumps his as you walk, seemingly unable to maintain a straight path along the sidewalk. The click of your heels against the pavement is uneven, despite your efforts to maintain some kind of composure, and unfortunately for you, he’s right, and it's freezing outside. You make steady progress down the block, placing all your focus on not falling flat on your face. Thankfully, he doesn't live all that far.

“D’you think I look pretty, too?” You ask, approaching the steps to his apartment.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, looking down at you. He takes in the slight flush of your cheeks as the effects of the alcohol battle the chill in the air.

“I’m trying to flirt with you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, you're going to be difficult all night, aren't you?” He sighs, ignoring the question. He pauses outside the door, keys in hand, and unlocks the door before guiding you inside. 

“You don't ever want to flirt with me.”

The door falls shut behind you with a clunk. The room is dark, with only the distant light from a lamp somewhere across the room illuminating it. You squint when he turns on the big light.

“That’s not true,” he says, quietly. If you weren’t hanging on to his every word, you might have missed it. He carefully unzips the jacket, tugging it off your shoulders and setting it on the table.

“So why won’t you flirt with me right now?” 

“Because you’re drunk,” He guides you towards the couch, his touch still careful as ever. 

You flop down onto the cushions. The leather sticks to your legs as you sit. Being the gentleman he is, he has already left pajamas out, his pajamas, you’d since claimed as your own, with the blanket you steal every time you stay over. 

“So what?” You begin working at the clasp on your heels, fumbling with the leather straps to no avail. 

“So, you’re drunk.” He repeats, reappearing in front of you. He sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, and hands you a pack of makeup wipes. “Do you need help with your shoes?” 

You nod. A soft breath of laughter escapes him as he leans in to help you take them off, setting them on the carpeted floor. 

“Spence,” you look at the pack of wipes. “Why do you have these?”

“Because every time you’re here you forget them,” he replies. 

“Oh.” You rip them open. “You don’t have a secret girlfriend?”

“No,” he replies, lowering your foot back to the ground. 

“You don't let other drunk girls sleep over?” You paw at your eyeliner, effectively smearing it around more than removing it. 

“I don't let anyone sleep over,” he says, taking the wipe from you. “Just you. Close your eyes.”

“Because you love me?” 

His fingers find the underside of your chin, gently tilting your face towards his so he can finish swiping away the last of your eyeliner. Maybe you’re blushing as a result of the alcohol warming your bloodstream, but the more likely answer is him, at this proximity. 

As soon as he’s done wiping your eyes, you open them again to look up at him. 

“You’re bold when you’re drunk,” he says, smiling. He sets the used wipe down on the table.

“Mhm. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not going to,” He says. “Sorry. Go get changed.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” you say. You collect the clothes off the couch and slink across the apartment into the bathroom to change. You don’t bother shutting the bathroom door before slinking off the dress you were wearing and sliding on the pajamas he’d left for you. Once you finish, you collect your dress off the floor and make your way back towards the couch, settling right into the cushions as you frequently did on nights like this. 

You were formulating another complaint about his lack of reciprocation, but your thoughts were interrupted as he pulled the blanket on his couch over you. Your blanket, or at least one you’d claimed as your own during one of your nights spent here. He had already turned off the ceiling fan, which you’d always insisted off when you slept over. You followed him with your gaze as he turned the lights off, swapping them instead for a smaller, softer light somewhere in the kitchen, remembering the way you’d always insisted he leave a light on somewhere, just for you. Your phone was already charging on a side table, your heels sitting nicely by the door, your keys on his key holder, evidence of you, everywhere, details that were distinctly for your comfort. Maybe you had missed his signals. 

“I think you do love me…” 

He reappeared a moment later, crouching in front of you with that look. He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Go to sleep.”

“And I love you. And I called you because I wanted to tell you that.” 

“You really need to sleep it off. You’re saying things you don’t mean.”

“But I do mean it,” you whined. “I swear. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he laughed. 

“But I will. I promise,” you replied. “No bedtime kiss?”

Of course, this time you did pick up the way he looked at you. 

“No, honey. Maybe tomorrow.”

[dearlenore]

BED CHEM • S.REID

SUMMARY: the team is watching a video detailing Penelope’s concert experience when they notice you talking and singing about a certain boy genius on stage

PAIRING: singer!fem!reader x spencer

tags: fluff, reader is hyper feminine, reader wears revealing clothing reader wears makeup, sabrina carpenter inspired, mentions of pregnancy (Juno) dirty jokes, flustered spence for you

a/n: editor is occupied for the foreseeable future</3

w/c: 1.3k

PT2

The BAU’s conference room buzzed with quiet conversation as Penelope practically skipped to the front, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Okay, you guys are NOT ready for this,” she squealed, dramatically spinning around to face the team. “So, picture this: I’m at the concert, having the time of my life, and then—oh, it gets better—SHE PULLS OUT MY FAVORITE OUTFIT! She hasn’t worn it in forever, but THEN—”

“Penelope,” Hotch interrupted, rubbing his temples. “A point would be helpful.”

“I am getting to the point, oh fearless leader,” she huffed before connecting her laptop to the large screen at the front of the room.

The screen flickered to life just as Spencer walked in, hair still slightly damp from a rushed morning routine, a mug of coffee in one hand and a case file in the other. He yawned, blinking sleepily.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, dropping into his chair.

“Oh, great, perfect timing, Doctor Reid, because you, my dear genius, are going to want to see this,” Penelope chirped, clicking a button.

The video loaded, showing a stage bathed in bright lights and a familiar figure at the center. The moment Spencer realized who he was looking at, his stomach tightened.

You.

The headline above the video made it even worse.

‘America’s Sweetheart Has a Boyfriend?!’

Spencer stiffened, shoulders squaring as he desperately tried to keep his expression neutral. It didn’t work.

“Ooooooh, this is gonna be good,” Emily murmured, leaning forward with a grin.

The video played. The intermission segment of your concert, where you spun a game wheel, laughing into the mic as you introduced the next topic. The wheel landed on Bed Chem. The audience erupted into cheers, but instead of launching into the song, you tilted your head, suppressing a mischievous smile.

“Okay, first of all, this is a really obscure one, hear me out,” you prefaced, placing a hand over your mouth as you laughed. The crowd quieted just enough to listen.

“You know that one FBI guy who was on the news this week? The tall one with the brown hair?”

The arena roared in agreement.

JJ turned to Spencer with wide eyes. “Oh my God.”

Spencer paled. “Oh my God.”

Morgan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Go on, Pretty Boy, let’s hear what she has to say about you.”

On screen, you ran a hand through your hair, adjusting your sparkly red lingerie costume, the curve off your hips and thighs on full display, looking half-amused and half-mortified. “Okay, I genuinely believe—God forgive me if he’s got a girlfriend—but I could take him… Not in a fight, though. He could make me Juno.”

The crowd lost their minds. You smiled, nodding as if you were confirming an inside joke. “I mean, look at him! He’s got that whole cute, unapproachable genius thing going on, but I bet you, under all that statistical analysis, he’s really good in bed. Guys we would have the cutest babies.” You shook your head dismissively and walked towards the back of the stage, your glittery eyeshadow and gloss shining in the spotlight.

The audience howled,

The room went silent.

Then, chaos.

“OH—OH MY GOD,” Emily shrieked, slapping the table. “Reid! You have the most famous singer right now after you”

JJ was laughing behind her hand. Even Rossi looked mildly entertained.

Meanwhile, Spencer stared at the screen in pure horror. “I—what—I don’t—” He ran a hand through his hair, completely at a loss.

Penelope clutched her chest dramatically. “Spencer, how DARE you not tell us you’re a muse for America’s sweetheart?”

“She’s not—I mean, we know each other, but—” Spencer was floundering, his ears turning pink.

Emily grinned wickedly. “YOU KNOW HER? And you never told us? After all the times I paid full price for concert tickets?!”

Spencer’s face was burning. “I—”

“Hey, let’s not forget she did say she could take you,” Morgan teased, nudging his shoulder. “Not in a fight, though.”

The teasing continued, but Spencer had stopped listening. His gaze was still locked on the screen, on you—smiling, laughing, looking effortlessly radiant under the stage lights.

Hours later, the teasing hadn’t stopped.

If anything, it had only gotten worse.

Ever since Penelope’s infamous concert video, the team had been relentless. Any time Spencer so much as breathed, someone found a way to bring you up.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned as Spencer entered the bullpen, holding a coffee cup. “That statistical analysis and good in bed working out for you?”

Spencer groaned. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Emily piped up, spinning her chair around. “I mean, America’s sweetheart just exposed her FBI crush to a stadium full of people—and we had to find out from a viral video?”

“I still don’t get why you’re all so invested,” Spencer muttered, sinking into his chair.

JJ smirked from her desk. “Oh, we’re not invested—”

“We’re just waiting for you to admit why she thinks you’re good in bed,” Emily finished, grinning.

Spencer opened his mouth, ready to argue, but a new voice interrupted.

“Guys,” Hotch sighed, stepping out of his office. “Leave Reid alone.”

Spencer exhaled, relieved—until Hotch added, “For now.”

He knew.

They all knew.

It was inevitable at this point. He couldn’t hide it anymore—not when Penelope had somehow dug up even more videos of you talking about him, not when Twitter was obsessed with connecting the dots between your song lyrics and a certain “mystery genius.”

Not when you’d literally texted him this morning:

Y/N: Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were recording the concert. I can take it back if u want😭

Spencer: That won’t be necessary.

Y/N: thank God, didnt wanna have to explain the whole “I could take him” line…

Spencer: …

Yeah. It was time.

—

Later that evening, the team sat around the round table in the conference room, finishing up paperwork from their last case.

“So, Reid,” Rossi began casually, flipping through a file. “Any fun weekend plans? Or will you be locked away with your books?”

Spencer sighed. “Actually…” He set his pen down, taking a deep breath. “I was planning to spend the weekend with my girlfriend...”

Silence.

Then—

“WHAT?”

Morgan nearly fell out of his chair. Emily’s jaw dropped. Penelope let out an actual squeal.

JJ gasped. “Wait, wait, you mean actually—”

“Yes.” Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve been dating for a while now.”

Rossi just chuckled, sipping his espresso. “Called it.”

Morgan gawked. “Hold on, hold on—you’re telling me you’ve been dating a literal pop star, and you just forgot to mention it?”

“To be fair,” Spencer muttered, “it was classified information until about a week ago when she publicly humiliated me on stage.”

Emily shook her head, still in shock. “Wait—how did this even happen?”

Spencer hesitated, then pulled out his phone, scrolling through his photos until he found one he’d taken months ago: a candid shot of you sitting on his couch, curled up in one of his sweaters, reading a book. You had a mug of tea in your hands, and the look on your face was one of pure, quiet contentment. Another displayed you at the park, feeding bunnies.

The team stared.

“She likes books,” Spencer explained simply. “I like books. It wasn’t that complicated.”

Morgan threw his hands up. “Not complicated? You’re dating America’s sweetheart—that is, by definition, complicated.”

Penelope was practically vibrating. “Oh my God, wait, is she coming here? Can she visit? Can she sign my vinyl?”

Spencer smirked slightly. “I don’t know… depends on how much more you all tease me.” He shoved his hands on his pockets.

The team erupted into protests.

“Come on, Pretty Boy, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and not deliver!”

JJ grinned. “Seriously, Spence. You have to bring her in at some point.”

Spencer shook his head, amused. “We’ll see.”

But as he looked down at his phone—where a new message from you popped up (Y/N: Tell them I say hi, genius)—he had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before you made your grand entrance.

[clockwayswrites]

I should maybe make a masterpost for this too.... but so tired... just... use the tag for now... yes? yes Masterpost

Conner pulled out his phone, fumbling a little since he was using his left hand. His right hand was still holding Danny’s. (He ignored Danny shooting their hands a confused look.) “Okay, this one is coffee shop and Cafe. Sandwiches sound good?” “What? Oh, yeah, sandwiches are always good,” Danny said after a moment. “Lead the way.” “Cool.” Conner glanced at the map before pocketing his phone. “Have you looked over the subjects that we can pick for the project?” “Yeah, a little,” Danny said, easily going with the change in topic. “I’ve warned you that I’m not good at English, right? So, like, we really should go with whatever you want to do because you’re going to have better instincts about this one than I will.” Conner hummed. “I don’t know if poetry really counts as, you know, normal English class work.” “That makes it even worse!” Danny said. He tossed his hands up, raising their joined hands with the motion. Conner didn’t try to hide his crooked little smile. “Yeah?” “Yeah. Like okay, with normal English work you can throw in some so-and-so is a Christ like symbol or the blue sea is sadness or some shit like that and at least get points but with poetry—I just, that stuff is even more removed! It’s like… you know what it’s like? It’s like a metaphor turducken. A recklessly deep fried metaphor turducken that set the lawn on fire and now the there’s a firetruck there and the police are talking to your dad again and the whole neighborhood is watching and you’re just wondering if you should get a geiger counter because the fryer your dad rigged is glowing suspiciously and it would be really bad if any layer of the turducken came back to life and attacked someone!” “Wow,” Conner said after a beat. He was trying hard not to laugh. “Just, wow. Not going to lie, I’m concerned about how specific that scenario is.”

[minniesfiles]

OPERATION WONWOO: CALM DOWN MY GIRLFRIEND

In which Wonwoo tries to comfort his overly dramatic girlfriend after his enlistment news came out.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff, humour

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, idol wonwoo, tears, humour, fluff, topic of enlistment

❧ WORDCOUNT; 1.1k

𐚁₊⊹

▍5 MARCH 2025

Wonwoo never considered himself as a particularly emotional person. He was rational, practical, and logical. None of which, apparently, applied to you, who was currently curled up in a blanket burrito on his sofa, sobbing like he just told you he was moving to the moon.

He sighed while standing over you with his arms crossed. “Babe, you’re being ridiculous.”

You lifted your head from the blanket pile, eyes red and puffy. “I am not,” you wailed. “You’re leaving me for eighteen months, Wonwoo. That’s, like, a lifetime in relationship years.”

“That’s not how time works.”

“You don’t care about my suffering at all!” you sniffled dramatically.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes and shifted his weight as he continued watching you spiral into despair. “Okay, first of all, I’m not leaving you. I’m literally just going to work. Second, I’m not even doing active duty. I’m doing an alternative service because, in case you forgot, my eyesight is so bad that the government won’t even trust me with a gun and is making me do a desk job instead.”

“Still counts” you hiccupped mid-sob.

“Does it?”

“Yes” you crossed your arms, glaring at him. “You’ll still be gone, and I’ll still be alone, and — oh my God, what if you get super buff and realise you don’t love me anymore?”

Wonwoo blinked. “I’m literally going to be working in an office.”

“So? What if lifting all those papers gives you arm muscles?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “First of all, paper isn’t that heavy. Second, even if I did somehow get buff, I wouldn’t stop loving you.”

You let out a dramatic huff. “How do I know that for sure?”

Wonwoo stared at you for a long moment before answering, “Because if I was going to leave you, it would’ve been when you made me watch that thirty-episode historical drama just so you could cry over it.”

You gasped, clutching your chest like he physically wounded you. “You said you liked it!”

“I lied.”

You let out a strangled noise, then flopped back onto the sofa. “I knew it! I’m already losing you.”

Wonwoo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Babe, I’ll be home every night. The only difference is that I won’t be promoting with the members for a while. That’s it.”

You sniffled again and gripped the blanket tighter. “It’s not just that! I won’t get to see you perform, or travel with your members, or do all the cute idol boyfriend things—”

He raised an eyebrow. “When have I ever done cute idol boyfriend things?”

“Okay, fine, Jeonghan does cute idol boyfriend things. But that’s not the point!” you huffed, sitting up to glare at him.

“The point is, I won’t get to see you in your element. I won’t get to watch you perform on stage, and I won’t get to hear you talk about making music with your members. You love being with them.”

He frowned slightly at that, because — well, you weren’t wrong.

It would be weird not promoting as a Seventeen member, not spending every day surrounded by the usual chaos and comfort of his group. He would miss standing on stage. He would miss the adrenaline of performing, the way the members bickered, the way Carats screamed their names with so much love.

But, at the end of the day, he would still be home.

Wonwoo let out a sigh and sat down beside you, resting a hand on your knee. “I get it. I’ll miss all of that too,” he admitted.

“But it’s not forever. And honestly? I’d rather be at home with you every night than stuck in a training camp running laps at five in the morning.”

“I feel like you’re just saying that to make me feel better” you pouted.

“Maybe. But it’s also true” he smirked.

“You think I’d rather be sweating in a field somewhere when I could be home with you, eating ramen and watching bad dramas?”

You hesitated. “…That does sound better.”

“Exactly.”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “But what if you change?”

“What do you mean?” your boyfriend frowned.

“What if, after eighteen months, you don’t love me the same way?” your voice was quieter now, and your usual dramatic energy was replaced by something more vulnerable.

His chest ached at the sight of you, and the way you curled into yourself like you were trying to brace for impact.

“Baby,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that” you mumbled, biting your lip.

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly. “You think I’m going to go to work, file some paperwork, and suddenly forget how much I love you?”

“Maybe there’s a really hot co-worker with perfect vision who loves books as much as you do” you shrugged.

Wonwoo gave you deadpan look. “First of all, I can barely see people’s faces without my glasses, so your imaginary rival isn’t even a threat. Second, no one could ever be you.”

“You promise?” you sniffled.

“I swear on my terrible eyesight.” That finally got a small laugh out of you, and Wonwoo felt some of the tension ease from his chest.

“Besides,” he added, smirking. “If anything, you should be more worried about Jeonghan stealing me away while I’m gone.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I knew it. He’s been trying to seduce you for years.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “you have no idea.”

You let out a dramatic sigh and flopped against him. “Fine. I’ll let you go.”

“Oh? You’re giving me permission now?”

“Yes,” you sniffed. “But only if you compensate me properly.”

“And how exactly do I do that?” Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.

You perked up. “A life-sized body pillow with your face on it.”

Wonwoo groaned. “Not this again.”

“You owe me emotional damages” you crossed your arms.

“I’m not getting you a body pillow.”

“Then I’ll just make my own,” you threatened.

Wonwoo sighed, rubbing his temples. “Okay, how would you even do that?”

“Print a giant picture of your face, tape it to a pillow, and boom. DIY boyfriend” you smirked.

“You have issues” he stared at you.

“I have needs” you corrected.

Wonwoo shook his head in defeat. “Fine. I’ll send you so many selfies that you’ll get sick of my face.”

You gasped. “Never.”

“You’re ridiculous” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

“And yet, here you are, cuddling me instead of telling me to stop.”

“Unfortunately” your boyfriend sighed dramatically. You gasped and smacked his chest. “Take that back!”

“Nope” he grinned mischievously.

You huffed, but your arms tightened around him. “Ugh. You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here you are, crying over me leaving.”

“Shut up and let me be sad. And you’re not exactly leaving, remember?” you sniffled.

Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing you gently. “Alright baby. Be as sad as you want.”

a/n; dreading the almost 2 years of Wonwoo drought icbbb