#tiny stop running off challenge IMPOSSIBLE

[hammysamhah]

Tag Along AU pt 1

part 2

yes i’m finally doing something with this idea mwahahah!!! this is a bang together au where guy diamond joins in on the adventure and this is how it begins!!!

uh ignore the coloring error on the first few images LOL

[edenesth]

ATEEZ as Hogwarts Students

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

Word Count: 9.8k

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

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Gryffindor

The Poor Prefect That Nobody Takes Seriously

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

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

But was he going to stop trying?

Not a damn chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like you.

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

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

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

"Thanks, babe," he mouthed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seonghwa ↠ Hufflepuff

The Goody Two Shoes and Teacher's Pet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yunho ↠ Hufflepuff

The Popular Triwizard Champion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had been right.

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

For Yunho, that had been you.

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

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

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

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

Yeosang ↠ Ravenclaw

The Annoying Ace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

San ↠ Slytherin

The Intimidating Head Boy Who's Secretly a Softie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Hagrid wasn't done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did they come back together?"

"Isn't that the Head Girl?"

"Are they… you know?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not when it came to you.

Mingi ↠ Ravenclaw

The Son of a Famous Wizard Scientist

"Going somewhere, Song?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wooyoung ↠ Gryffindor

The Talented Quidditch Beater

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aaaand Gryffindor wins!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jongho ↠ Slytherin

The Scary Prefect Who Commands Respect

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But peace was the last thing you found.

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

A werewolf.

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

You were sure you were doomed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you?"

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

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

From then on, something shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[cressidagrey]

Supernova

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary:  Oscar Piastri realises that his daughter is more similiar to his wife than he thought. Set in Summer 2023. 

Notes: Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri verse. Happy Birthday, Oscar!

Enjoy Oscar having a nervous breakdown about his tiny daughter being a genius.

Warnings: mention of toxic parents, I think that's it?

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Actually, maybe Oscar shouldn’t have been surprised.

Maybe he should have seen it coming.

That’s what you got when you married a woman whose mind burned brighter than a supernova.

Still…nothing had prepared Oscar  for the moment he realized—

Bee was different.

Not in the soft, every-parent-thinks-their-kid-is-special way. No.

His daughter’s brain didn’t just work faster.

It raced.

Oscar had always known Bee was clever.

She’d hit her milestones early, sure. First words before she was one, stacking blocks in color groups before she could really walk straight, always watching, always listening. But he’d chalked it up to her being sharp—inquisitive. Like her mum.

Then came that afternoon.

It was raining outside, the kind of soft, steady drizzle that made everything smell like damp leaves and sleepy chickens. Felicity was running errands and he had a free weekend after a triple header. 

Oscar was home with Bee, who was two and a half and curled up on the carpet with her coloring book and a collection of crayons that were organized by shade and tone like she’d invented her very own personal Pantone system.

He was sitting on the couch with his laptop open, watching race footage while taking notes, when she looked up and said:

“Papa, your car had too much rear degradation in the third stint.”

Oscar blinked.

Looked up slowly.

“…What?”

Bee didn’t even glance away from her coloring. “The tires. On the back. They slid more.”

Oscar’s brain stalled like a bad engine.

“Where did you hear that?”

“You said it.” She pointed to the screen. “You said ‘rear deg was bad.’ And the yellow line goes down. That’s bad. It means grip is going bye-bye.”

Oscar stared at the tire degradation graph on the screen. The yellow line. The drop-off at lap 29.

His daughter—a toddler—had connected his own debrief to a data graph she’d only just glanced at.

And used the phrase “grip is going bye-bye” with the complete confidence of someone who understood the concept.

He slowly closed the laptop.

Stood.

Walked to the edge of the rug and crouched down.

“Bee.”

She looked up at him with impossibly serious eyes.

“Do you… know what tire degradation is?”

She tilted her head, crayon still in hand. “It’s when the rubber gets tired and stops holding on.”

Oscar made a sound he’d never made before. Something between a laugh and a stunned breath.

Bee frowned. “Did I say it wrong?”

“No,” Oscar said, reaching out and brushing a curl behind her ear. “No, Bumblebee. You said it exactly right.”

Oscar sat back on his heels, feeling a little dizzy.

Okay.

Okay.

Don't panic.

Bee just sat there, perfectly unbothered, organizing her crayons with the precision of an entire McLaren pit crew mid-tire change.

Oscar rubbed his hand over his face.

She was two and a half.

She wasn’t supposed to understand rear tire degradation.

She wasn’t supposed to diagnose race data off a glance.

Sure, Felicity had joked before — lightly, fondly — about Bee being "too smart for her own good," about how she needed bigger puzzles, bigger books, more challenges.

But Oscar had always thought that was just parental pride, the way any parent thought their kid was clever.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Now he was staring at his daughter, who had just casually, effortlessly, decoded live telemetry like it was a bedtime story.

Bee glanced up at him again, frowning slightly. “Papa?”

He blinked. “Yeah, Bumblebee?”

She held out a crayon toward him. “Do you want to help? You can do the red ones. They’re the soft tires.”

Oscar choked back a sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob.

Red. Soft tires.

She even knew the color codes.

He reached out, took the crayon from her tiny hand, and sat down cross-legged next to her.

Bee went back to coloring, her little tongue poking out in concentration.

Oscar looked at her — his daughter, his brilliant, impossible little girl — and felt his chest squeeze so tightly he thought he might actually break.

He needed to call Felicity.

He needed to tell someone.

Someone who would understand that this wasn’t just cute.

This was different.

Because Bee wasn’t just clever.

She wasn’t just bright.

She was gifted.

And if they weren’t careful — if they didn’t get this right — the world could very easily mistake her brilliance for something else.

Something inconvenient.

Something wrong.

Oscar sat there, coloring in slow, stunned silence, while his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter explained the “different compounds” of her crayons like she was hosting a pre-race strategy meeting.

He swallowed hard.

He would do anything — everything — to protect that mind. To give her the space to be exactly who she was, at exactly her speed, no matter what the world expected.

Bee leaned against his side, warm and trusting, and pointed at a particularly dark green crayon. “This one is the soft tire,” she said seriously. “It goes zoom fast but wears out quickly. Like in Spa.”

Oscar blinked at her.

Bee beamed at her own brilliance, then went back to coloring.

Oscar stared at the crayon in his hand, then up at the rain drizzling against the window outside.

Maybe he should have suspected it earlier.

Maybe he should have known.

After all, that’s what you got for marrying a woman whose mind burned brighter than anything he’d ever seen.

The rain had deepened to a soft drumbeat by the time Felicity pulled into the drive.

Oscar heard the car door shut, the gentle thud of boots on the porch. Bee didn’t even look up, too busy giving Button the frog a full race briefing using her crayon-coded "compound chart."

Oscar scrambled to his feet, heart still pounding with the kind of stunned, proud panic he hadn’t been able to shake for the past half hour.

He met Felicity at the door, practically vibrating.

She was peeling off her rain jacket, cheeks pink from the cold. She took one look at him—wide-eyed, disheveled, practically buzzing—and froze mid-motion.

“…What happened?” she asked, calm but sharp.

Oscar opened his mouth. No sound came out.

He tried again.

"Bee—" he croaked. "She—"

Felicity raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. She slipped off her boots, hung up the jacket, and stepped past him into the kitchen like she didn’t have a husband clearly moments away from a full existential crisis.

Oscar followed, helpless. “She—she diagnosed rear tire degradation, Felicity."

Felicity didn't even blink.

"Yeah," she said casually, reaching for a tea tin. "She does that sometimes, Oz."

Oscar gawked at her. “You’re not surprised.”

“Nope.”

“You knew.”

 “Suspected. She identified geometric symmetry in a butterfly wing when she was nineteen months old, so I started to wonder,” Fliss said lightly, setting the kettle on."The way she watches. The way she categorizes everything. The way she remembers the smallest details."

Oscar ran a hand through his hair. "You suspected months ago and didn’t think to—?"

Felicity turned, one hip leaned casually against the counter, tea mug in hand. "I figured you’d figure it out when you were ready."

Oscar opened his mouth. Closed it.

He stared at her, at her easy calm, like she hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the middle of his neatly organized world.

Oscar sank onto the edge of the kitchen counter like someone who had just realized they were living with a small wizard. “She asked me why understeer felt like a bad dream.”

“She’s very intuitive.”

“She told me Button the frog prefers oversteer because it’s ‘more exciting.’”

Felicity didn’t even blink. “I mean… same.”

Oscar dragged his hand down his face. “Felicity, I know every parent thinks their kid is special but I think we might be raising a genius.”

Felicity finally looked up, eyes soft. “Oscar. We are.”

He blinked. “You knew.”

“I had a spreadsheet,” she said casually.

“A—” He paused. “Of course you did.”

“I’ve been tracking her vocabulary progression, math intuition, pattern recognition, memory retention, and motor skill crossover since she could talk.”

Oscar stared at her like she had grown a second head.

“She also has synesthesia, by the way,” Felicity added drily. “Numbers have colors. She says three is green and ten smells like soap.”

Oscar made a helpless little noise. “I thought she was just creative.”

“She is creative,” Felicity said. “And scarily perceptive. And analytical. And basically a tiny version of what I could’ve been if anyone had let me be weird and brilliant at the same time.”

"How are you so calm?" he asked hoarsely.

Felicity smiled again, stepping closer to him, brushing a thumb along his cheekbone.

"Because I married a man who's going to show our daughter what it means to be loved exactly as she is."

She paused."And because I am her mother. I know exactly what it feels like to have a mind that doesn't fit the molds."

Oscar opened his eyes then — really looked at her — and saw it all there:

The knowing.

The fierce, quiet certainty.

The promise that she would burn the whole world down before she let Bee be boxed in.

His heart ached with love.

He kissed her forehead, lingering there for a moment.

Behind them, Bee’s soft voice floated from the living room.

"Papa, I made the medium compounds yellow! Like the chart!"

Oscar laughed under his breath, chest tight and too full.

"See?" Felicity whispered against him. "She's going to be just fine."

Oscar held her tighter.

No, he thought fiercely.

She's going to be magnificent.

And he and Felicity were going to be right there, every step of the way — holding her up, cheering her on, fighting for her when she needed it.

Because Bee wasn’t just brilliant.

She was theirs.

He tugged Felicity into a quick kiss — grateful, overwhelmed, so completely in awe — and then they both headed into the living room.

To where their tiny, brilliant daughter was waiting.

[rachalixie]

a/n: training minho to reach for you when he is hurt instead of being an angry little guy (inspired by this racha log clip)

you’ve seen it a few times now - minho stubbing his fragile toe against a corner and freezing, or bumping his elbow on a table and hissing slowly through his breath, his eyes closed and his head thrown back as if he is trying to control himself from combusting. him curling up on the couch with his legs pressed close to his chest, hands looking impossibly small where they’re clasped around his knees to hold them close, a deep scowl on his face completing the picture.

he seems angry to the average person, like he’s somehow mad about being hurt and is stewing in that fury while the pangs of pain evaporate from his system. you know better, though. you know he’s not angry, but frustrated. a little annoyed at himself because all he wants to do is curl up in someone’s arms and have them kiss his wound better like a tiny little kitten, but he can’t do that. because he’s minho, and minho’s complete brand is acting tough. sure, everyone knows hes a pure softie on the inside, but he can’t really go around showing it can he?

you’ve elected to convince him that he can. 

it starts when his morning coffee splashes on the back of his hand and he hisses, glaring down at his hand like he wanted to chop it off (or something else equally as violent). usually you’d let him calm down on his own, knowing his faux anger goes as quickly as it comes, but today you swoop into his space and cradle his hand in both of yours. you press a gentle kiss to the spot, coffee staining your lips as you meet his eyes warmly. you guide his hand to the sink and let cool water run across it, rubbing your thumb against his skin in what you hoped was a comforting way. 

“okay?” you ask once you’re satisfied with the temperature of his skin, wrapping a fluffy towel around his hand to dry it. he just blinks at you for a moment, head tilted so adorably that you feel a scream bubbling under your chest that you have to contain. he’s so cute. you finish making his coffee for him while he continues to stare at you with wide eyes, not faltering once until you press a kiss to his cheek on your way out of the kitchen. 

the second time is when he’s come home from dance practice, a little sweaty and tired and very sore all over. he’s grumbling about his muscles hurting under his breath and you can barely hear it, but you know him well enough to know that his aborted movements and sharp little exhales mean that he’s in pain and doesn’t want to say it. the way he sat himself on the sofa instead of showering first was also a sign - he liked to be clean, especially before relaxing. 

you wince in sympathy, knowing the exact feeling of muscle pain from exercise and while it comes with the benefit of self-satisfaction it almost isn’t worth the all-encompassing ache that comes right after. he reaches for his water but stops halfway, cringing at the stretch in both his arm and his abdomen, and falls back against the couch in defeat. you take pity on him, picking up his water and twisting open the cap for him, even going as far as to hold it up to his lips for him as he takes in greedy gulps. when he’s satisfied, he pulls back and fixes you with a suspicious look, like he’s asking what do you want with his eyes. 

you just smile at him in return, giving his upper arms a gentle massage with your hands as you lean at an awkward angle to press a flutter of kisses to his stomach. he’s a little dazed when you finish your ritual, melted back into the cushions with a glazed over look in his eyes, and you cuddle up next to him with a satisfied smile. 

“better?” you ask, letting your finger trail over his stomach in the pattern your lips had just made.

“yeah,” he breathes out, brow furrowing a little in confusion, thinking too hard. 

the third instance is perhaps the most challenging, because it happens in public. the street you’re walking down hand in hand isn’t the busiest, but there are bustling around corners and crossing streets. you’re not at all surprised when minho straightens up in excitement and pulls you to a tree at the end of a sidewalk, a tiny bundle of fur curled up underneath it. minho pulls out a little tube of cat treats from his jacket pocket, something he seems to have an endless supply of, and kneels down next to the small kitten.

the thing is, cats love minho. everyone knows that they do, it’s in his blood. you’re sure that he has cat genes somewhere in his ancestry. 

but, as the both of you discover, this particular cat does not love minho. he leans towards the poor thing, making soft noises with his mouth as he holds the opened treats out, and the cat lets out an angry hiss and swipes at him with its little paw. he lets out a yelp, falling back on his haunches in surprise and his betrayed gaze trails after the kitten as it scampers away. 

he raises the palm of his face to his hand, decorated with lines of angry red that don’t look too bad but you know they probably sting something fierce. he leaves the cat treats abandoned under the tree as he stands and you prepare yourself for the anger to set in but - it doesn’t come. instead, he looks up at you with wet, wide eyes and a trembling pout and your composure breaks.

you swoop in beside him and take his hand, blowing lightly onto his palm before pressing a light kiss to the corner of it. he rests his head on your shoulder in an uncharacteristic display of public skinship, not caring one bit of the passersby behind the both of you as he soaks in your comfort. you have to hide your shock - you didn’t have to come to him, he asked for you. he sought you out in his pain, didn’t get adorably angry, and leaned towards you. this wound was different, this one was personal, a betrayal of his brethren creating a mix of physical and emotional pain that  served as the perfect opportunity for your conditioning to run its course. 

with the way it’s going, you’ll have him perfectly trained in no time.

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: office visits

later that day...

Moving around with a four month-old and two two year-olds is a bit of a challenge. Far from impossible but far from easy. Partially due to the fact that Solana hasn’t really taken her baby boy out much since he was born. Roman’s preference. Her husband not wanting to risk their son catching anything given his still weakened immune system. And, she was okay with that. Okay with mostly staying at home as she finished out the semester, aided by the help of her husband who’s worked from home the past few months so that it wouldn’t all be on her.

Again, very much appreciated. His assistance and hands-on approach with all the kids truly makes the biggest difference to and for her. 

It’s why she makes the minor sacrifice to gather up the kids to go see him at his office. Largely due to Lina and Leya who have somehow learned that when that tiny contact photo of Roman is on her screen, that means they’re talking. And God forbid these girls go too long without some type of interaction with their father.

Solana can count on both hands and feet just a few of the times she’s had to call Roman so he could speak with their twins or even just let them hear his voice just to get them down for a nap or because they wouldn’t settle down unless they could talk to daddy. 

It makes her smile though, because as stressful as it can be at points, she doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t mind it one bit. She loves how attached the girls are to Roman. He deserves it. Especially with how much he struggled to feel worthy of them during her pregnancy and their first few weeks of life.

“Daddy!”

Lina’s happy exclamation alerts Solana that they’ve in fact pulled up to Bloodline Headquarters, a massive building both her girls recognize like the back of their hand.

Something tells her Tama will be the same. 

It’s another process, getting all three kids out of their carseats and especially Tama into his baby wrap, a process largely aided by an observant Jacob who makes sure the girls don’t try to run off. More Lina than anything. She definitely inherited her daddy’s lack of patience, especially when it comes to seeing him.

It’s almost like waiting is impossible for her.

Thankfully, it’s a trait not shared by her sister, granted, Solana can clearly see the influence of one sister on the other. Even now as she follows behind the girls, Jacob in front of them, into the building. A small smile on her face when she sees Lina stop and look back at Leya who’s lagging somewhat. “Leya, come!” A shout that’s cloaked in love and concern, Lina taking Leya’s hand so they can walk in synch together. 

The smile deepens. 

Solana loves their relationship with their dad, but it’s got nothing on their relationship with one another.

Kissing the top of a quiet Tama’s head, she murmurs, “you’ve got awesome big sisters, baby boy.”

He truly does. 

The elevator ride consists of the girls talking to each other (more Lina talking to a mostly quiet Leya), occasionally to her, their topics all over the place and easily guided by the random things they notice in the elevator. Buttons. Lights. An emergency phone. They’re both extremely attentive. 

But, it’s as soon as they reach thee floor, the bell dinging, the doors opening, Lina grabs Leya’s hand again and guides her out the elevator. More running than anything. As much as their little legs allow them to run. 

As always, Jacob doesn’t let too much distance get between him and the girls as they move over to Alicia’s desk, Lina being the first to shout, “daddy!”

Alicia smiles and laughs. “Well, hello there, Ms. Lina and Leya.” She stands up, gasping in awe. “Look at your adorable outfits!” Her gaze shifts to Solana, complimenting, “you always dress them so nicely.”

Appreciated, kind words. “Thank you so much.” Solana alternates between dressing them in matching items and letting their outfits reflect their different personalities, and today just so happens to be a differing looks day. And even Solana can admit that her girls look absolutely adorable in their little dresses and accessories. 

Leya’s smile is bashful. Lina’s smile is loud and bright. Hand behind Tama’s head, Solana reminds, “what do you say?”

Lina says it for both of them, Leya remaining her quiet self. “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome,” she giggles, standing up, most likely to alert Roman of their arrival. “I’ll let him know—”

“Run!”

Lina’s exclamation is followed by her, still holding Leya’s hand, rushing the two over to the double set of doors they know belong to their favorite person in the whole wide world. 

“Girls,” Solana’s attempt to gather them back by her is truly in vain. Walking over after quietly motioning for Jacob to wait near the elevators, she watches Catalina reach up on the tips of her little toes to pull on the handle. Leya, the forever cheerleader, happily bounces, rooting her sister on in their collaborative determination to not be defeated by some door.

Shaking her head, Solana walks over, ready to help them out when someone beats them to it. 

The man himself, her handsome husband, opening and immediately looking down.

“Daddy!” 

Shared excitement as they both throw themselves against his legs, instantly deciding that’s not good enough, two sets of arms lifted and stretched with one request in mind.

Roman’s smile is small and contained, but Solana can see through it. Can see through the front he’s trying to manage, can see his happiness at seeing his girls. It’s felt as he lifts them up, one in each arm. 

Solana giggles. “Told you they were excited to see you.” Roman’s gaze is briefly on her and then a still quiet Tama. “Him. Not so much.”

Roman chuckles, stepping aside and allowing her to enter. She closes the door behind her and naturally moves over to the sofa, placing the diaper bag on the floor beside her.

Going to unwrap Tama so she can hold him and allow Roman a chance to do so as well, the sound of the twins talking incessantly to their best friend fills the room.

Roman always seems to be just the cure for Leya's silence.

“Daddy, play!”

“You want me to play?” He feeds into it, Solana looking over just in time to see him take in their outfits. “Mommy dressed you both very pretty today.”

Leya’s response is to blush and bury her face into his shoulder. Lina, however, beams and points in her direction. “Mommy pretty!”

Roman chuckles. “Mommy is very pretty.” Solana chews on her bottom lip, laying Tama over her shoulder. “But, so are you two.”

The girls giggling accompany Solana standing up and walking over, gently rubbing Tama’s back. “Girls, let daddy hold your brother for a couple minutes.”

Expected shared scowls that are whipped away by Roman saying something to them in Samoan. Lina is the first to wiggle out of his grasp followed by Leya. Solana shakes her head, carefully handing a still pleasantly quiet Tama to her husband. 

“Hi, baby,” Solana finally greets, leaning up to kiss her husband on her cheek. She waits for Roman to adjust their son before commenting, half joking, half serious. “Maybe he’ll stay quiet like this when he gets to be their age.”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Not with Lina for a big sister.” He then asks, assessing her. “How you feeling?”

“I’m good,” she answers, honestly. “Never a dull moment with—Lina!” Solana is interrupted by noticing her two year-old daughter standing up in Roman’s chair, using the table to force herself to spin around. “Catalina, get down right now!”

Roman also makes sure to support Tama’s head as he turns to see what his wife was looking at that prompted her to switch to Spanish. He back hers up, ordering, “Lina, get down now.” 

And to be fair, their energetic little girl follows the request of both her parents. She just does it in a very Catalina Reigns way.

Waiting until she’s at a semi stop, Solana can only open her mouth to yell 'no' when Lina bends her knees and jumps off the chair, falling down and rolling onto the ground.

“Lina!” 

Solana overhears Roman curse as the parents move over to their daughter, along with Leya who yelled out, “sissy!”

But while Solana is concerned, Roman stressed, and Leya nervous, Lina is laughing her head off as Solana kneels to the ground and helps her sit up.

“Catalina, are you okay, baby?” Solana has her hands all over her daughter, feeling for any sort of knots or sensitive areas, only for her daredevil child to continue laughing, now recruiting her sister in the laughter.

She nods happily, Leya reaching over to hug her “big” sister, as Lina yells, “again!”

“Lina,” Roman’s deep voice shifts into something stern and authoritative. “No.”

Her pout is expected as is the way she takes Leya’s hand, standing up and racing over to the sofa, the sisters giggling together for reasons Solana doesn’t quite understand but doesn’t question either.

A sister thing.

Blowing out a deep breath, Solana stands up, sharing a look with her husband.

"I'll order the gates the minute we get home."

[writingoddess1125]

Tea Time

Wrote this and didn't proof read. Enjoy!

SUPER SWEET Fluffy McFluff 🍬 🍫 🍭

König 👑 x Reader + OC Daughter

König- A Colonel of Kortac, A living battering ram and a ruthless killer- A man who scared even the most hardened of soilders.

Now in a hand cast decorated in scratch and sniff stickers and being walked through his home by a little girl in a Ariel night gown. His usual tactical gear replaced by well worn sweatpants and a old Star Wars shirt, and his face bare to the elements.

However here he wasn't just König- he was Hans too, Husband to (Y/N) a simple nurse and father to 4 year old Eden. The little girl currently dragging him to her Disney Princess Bedroom by his uninjured fingers.

He'd been sent on temporary leave due to breaking his hand during his last mission- rolling out of a moving vehicle during an extraction (Lies. In truth he rolled out of bed wrong and crushed his own hand) However he saw it as a blessing non the less. You having gone out to run a few errands which left König to spend the day with his little girl.

"Papa Sit! I made us tea!" Little Eden squealed, König looking over the little pink table set up with stuffed animals and even littler plastic chairs. Smiling as he gingerly lowered himself onto the tiny plastic pink chair, huffing softly as he did so which made Eden bounce impatiently.

"Little small Princess, give papa a second"

Eden, oblivious to her father's predicament, handed him a toy teacup with a proud smile smile the second he could be seated.

"Here Papa!"

König, trying to grasp it with his uninjured hand, which happened to be his non dominant- His large fingers awkwardly able to grasp the tiny plastic cup- this one having Cinderella on the front of it, "Meine Hände sind heute nicht in Topform" (My hands are not in top form today) he joked- often his times home he spoke to Eden in his native tongue, helping her to learn and understand him and pick up the language herself which she had done beautifully.

Despite the challenge, König sipped imaginary tea which to his surprise had liquid in it- water it seemed with all the elegance he could muster. Eden clearly happy giggled, pouring her water tea into cups and declared, "Papa, du bist der beste Teetrinker!" (Dad, you're the best tea drinker!)

König face softened at this- God he missed spending time with her, he knew his job was important but these moments with Eden ment the world to him. Now enjoying these tea party activities, using his injured hand to hold a stuffed bear she had handed him he chuckled, "Danke Princess"

As the tea party continued, König found himself stuck in a tiny chair which was perfect as his little girl put butterfly clips in his short ginger hair and some purple makeup on his powdery eyes, now struggling to maintain a dignified posture- His legs beginning to fall asleep and the chair making it impossible to be comforble as the pink makeup brush batted his poor face.

"Princess- a little more gentle" He said calmly- Winking when some of the cheap kid makeup got into his eye.

"Almost done Papa!" She said, finishing off with a smear of lip gloss over his scared lips.

"Very pretty Papa!"

"Oh? War ich vorher nicht hübsch?"

(Oh? Was I not pretty before?)

"No!" She exclaimed honestly which made König laugh rather loudly. Nothing like the honesty of a child to humble any man.

Eden continued to serve her tea and even bringing up chopped up conversations and random handfuls of snacks she scattered on the table which König pretended to eat. Which was making him shift and damn near fall from his chair-

Eden couldn't help but laugh at her father's predicament "Papa, du bi't so komisch!" (Dad, you're so funny!) She exclaimed while clapping and stomping her little feet, But stopping as her attention went to her open bedroom door immediately as you peaked in having just returned and still dressed for running errands a smile going over your lips.

"Hans?-" You say softly holding back a laugh at the sight of your husband. All nearly 7ft of him crammed on a tiny plastic chair that you could see was bent out of shape from his weight.

"Mama!" Eden cried out, rushing to you quickly with a toothy grin. "We having a tea party!"

"A tea party? Oh that sounds nice" You say with a smile, looking to your husband who batted his poorly painted eyes at you.

"Very nice- Care to join us?" He said with a smile, you walking over and kissing his forehead gently, making sure to avoid the splattering of makeup over his chizzled face.

"Why I'd love to~" You purr, König smiling at this as he helps you sit next to him in a matching plastic chair. Eden excitedly pouring you a tea cup of her water tea and handing it to you.

You looked down at the cup in question, looking to Eden who poured König another cup as well.

"Eden- Honey, where did you get the water from?" You question, knowing she couldn't reach the sink yet- König sipping the tiny bit of water.

"The toilet!"

A snort leaving you in laughter at that moment as König shot out the bit of water from his mouth. You watch König face scrunch up in total horror and disgust as he jumped from the chair like it was on fire spitting and wiping his tongue as he marched away- you now dying of laughter on the floor as he stepped around you, Eden looked at her father confused as he rushed to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Verdammt noch mal!"

[tmblrcolouredpaper]

Rainy Scenarios with SKZ (sfw)

8 short scenarios for each member

mentioning rain and storms, frustration and annoyance, showers together without explicit description, the sea, frogs

only bullet points

wc: 1419

Chan

• Watched you leaving the room when you were starting to get upset.

• He didn't know why and what happened, if something happened, but he had to time to console you.

• Slowly making his way to each room closer to the front door spying through each window that offers him a view of you.

• Takes an umbrella with him when he finally exited and tries to close the final door as quite as possible behind him, because despite wanting to be in reach for when you might start disliking being alone in the cold, he wanted to give you space and not disturb your peace.

• Leaned against the house wall as he watches you jumping into the puddles of the pavement, crouching down to let your hand wander through the water on the ground and shaking of remaining droplets by spinning, seemingly welcoming the fresh water from above.

• Smiled warmly when you noticed him, but signaled you to keep going if you wanted to.

• Surprised when you ran towards him, telling him that you feel better, proceeding to ask if he needed to let go of annoying thoughts.

• He just couldn't stop smiling, proud of seeing you taking care of yourself so ambiguously.

• Let you lead him into the rain, leaving the umbrella leaning against the wall.

• Spinning like a fairy himself.

• When he was finally drenched, he'd hug you, lift you for a shared spin.

• Would do a battle of who can dance the silliest, most extravagant moves to shake off the water in their clothes, well aware that it was impossible when it was pouring like this.

• Would imitate the moves in tiny when he went to take a warm shower with you, not able to stop laughing with you.

Minho

• Was on an evening walk with you when it was freezing outside.

• Would be looking out for cats, when it started raining.

• His deminor quickly changed and he hoped to see no cats, that they were all safe at a warmer place.

• With his worries, he unconsciously held your hand tighter and tucked you closer towards him.

• He looked at you and found you looking up with your mouth opened, trying to catch the falling water that was almost in the frozen state of snow.

• Watched you curiously and shielded your moth with his free hand to annoy you.

• Eventually, joined you, trying to catch snowflakes either with his mouth or his hand.

• It became a challenge of who would catch more flakes on the way home, running, jumping, awkwardly spinning.

• Minho had to stop his own hunt every ten seconds, because he found you too adorable to watch, also kinda worried you might run into someone.

• Denied that you won when you entered the building, but eventually doodled you a jeuremi snowflake that he handed you as an award.

• Gave you a bottle of water, because he knew you mainly started chasing the snow, because you were thirsty.

Changbin

• The second it started raining when he was outside the restaurant with you, he opened the umbrella and made sure to shield you from the drops.

• Didn't expect to immediately switch the side you were walking next to him.

• He switched the side he was holding the umbrella accordingly, but got annoyed when you kept moving around him.

• Changbin grew both angry and confused, ready to confront you. He was tired, okay?

• Stopped in his tracks, facing you to tell you to please stop, but you just switched sides again.

• He dropped the umbrella in front of him in frustration.

• Was surprised when you lifted it up again, gently taking it out of his hand and holding it above you two, continuing to walk.

• Changbin relaxed and let you led the way, huddling closer to you and under the umbrella.

Hyunjin

• A picnic ended with the start of rain, making him hurry in packing everything up.

• He handed you the basket, while he folded the blanket you were sitting on moments ago, stressed out, because he thought the rain ruined the day, he planned with immense dedication.

• When he turned around to take the basket from you, he found you kneeling down in front of him, a ring made out of daisies presented to him.

• 'Will you dance with me before we leave?', you asked and Hyunjin grasped and squeezed in joy, throwing his head back in laughters.

• He pulled you pack up, let you put the flower ring onto his pinky and started dancing with you on the grass.

• The rain got heavier, drenching your both's clothes, but it just made Hyunjin push you closer against him, seeking warmth.

• On the way home, the clouds opened up and you two walked in the fresh phase of sunlight, clothes drying right there.

Jisung

• He missed the train and it started raining.

• You were out in the city, not knowing Jisung was there as well, and you both ran into each other at the train station.

• 'What?!'; 'You here?'!; 'Fucking train!'. You were just exchanging exclamations, flabbergasted about the fact that you accidently ran into eachother.

• It started raining while waiting for the next train, and you made a game out of counting the raindrops.

• Holding the hand out from under the roof, the one who reaches 10 raindrops on one hand first, wins.

• 10 got to boring soon, so you stocked up to 20, then 50 then 100 and then the next train was already there and you playfully used the eother's shirt to wipe your hands, ending up with mutual wet fabric.

Felix

• He was too lazy to get rid of the makeup on his face.

• You noticed the rain and suggested an evenkng walk and to your surprise, he actually joined you instead of gaming beyond tiredness.

• You 'forgot' take an umbrella with you and within 5 minutes, his face was a raindrop itself, make up running down his cheeks.

• He just stared at you in annoyance, realising that this was your plan all along, so he chased you and when he finally caught you, made you sit down in a puddle in front of the building of his apartment.

• Both wet, you went back inside and he showered you with warm water and gentle scented shampoo, so you don't end up sick, while you gently removed his make up and gave him a whole skin care procedure.

• In the end, he really didn't have to do anything, but enjoying you taking care of him.

Seungmin

• Went to the beach with you, a relaxing evening nature trip, and sat down in a hut in the sand with the view of the water, while it was heavily raining and storming.

• Gave you his warm hoodie and jacket to wear beforehand, but he forgot his gloves himself.

• Stuffed his hands inside the jacket you were wearing, because it was his after all, he reasoned.

• It would get too cold agter all and you started doing workout exercises in the safety of the little hut.

• There was not enough space for a proper execusion, so you were rather hinting that you were doing jumping jacks.

• Seungmin lied down on the bench and proceeded on doing situps.

• You wanted to motivate him to do more when he wanted to stop, but had to scream due to the loud sounds of wind and rain.

• Seungmin yelled back in in frustration and you both ended up yelling and laughing.

• You realized that it felt quite reliving, so you wandered outside and closer to the water, screaming all worries out into the darkness and into the sea.

Jeongin

• He went on a shopping trip with you.

• He didn't think the rain would be bothering since you were maknly inside stores anyway, but whenever you guys left one to walk to the next one, the rain indeed bothered Jeongin.

• That was until he found raincoats in a frog design, originally for children, but who cares.

• He bought two and threw away the idea of shopping, making you wear one coat, before you stepped outside again.

• He said that he wanted to go home and when you agreed, to his liking even happily instead of disappointed, he was thrilled.

• Every puddle became the perfect spot for a photoshoot and he collected picture after picture of you in the green raincoat on his phone.

• Eventually, you switched it up and started playing Pentagon's 'Naughty Boy', animating Jeongin to dance in his frog coat, regardless if he knew the original choreography or needed to improvise.

[reverieshifts]

𝒁𝒊𝒂 “𝒁” 𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒓

𝒔𝒄𝒊-𝒇𝒊 𝒅𝒓

she kinda looks like this, but her hair is different, she's got a bunch of piercings, a few scars here and there, and her left eye is cybernetic.

Role on the Ship: Hacker / Field Medic / Cybernetics Expert

Species: Human (heavily augmented)

Age:  24

Pronouns: She/Her (may also experiment with they/them)

Sexuality: Lesbian

Zodiac: Aries

MBTI: ESTP

𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

Zia is the kind of person who catches your eye and dares you to look away. Compact and wiry, she stands around 5'4", all lean muscle and restless energy, with the kind of confidence that makes her seem taller. Her skin is a warm ivory, often illuminated by the faint glow of embedded subdermal circuits tracing down her arms and collarbone like bioluminescent veins—most visible in low light or when she's focused on something technical.

Her hair is short and deliberately messy, cropped close on one side in a clean undercut, while the top flops over in dyed streaks of vibrant blue or ultraviolet purple, depending on her mood or supply of black market pigment. It’s clear she cuts it herself, and even clearer she doesn’t care what anyone thinks of the result. A few strands are often clipped back with LED microbarrettes, purely for utility.

She favors a layered, utilitarian version of alt-core style: torn synth-fiber jackets, mismatched cargo straps, sleeveless tops, gloves with missing fingers, and shredded tights under tactical boots. Always boots. Everything she wears looks like it’s been stitched back together at least twice and might contain hidden tools, injectors, or a data jack in the hem. Zia is rarely seen without her heavy-duty utility belt or the modular bag slung across her hip, stuffed with hacking tools, trauma kits, and random bits of scrap tech she insists she’ll use “eventually.” Most of her clothes are tailored around her modifications, and she's made a point of hacking her own gear to be smarter than it looks — pockets that lock, fabrics that repel scanners, and boots with stun modules.

Visible cybernetics include a sleek ocular implant over her left eye (silver-rimmed, with a retractable HUD), a jack port embedded behind her right ear, and a replacement arm that looks like it was built from scavenged drone parts—sleek, functional, and entirely unsanctioned. That arm hums softly when she moves it. It’s got compartments. Hidden ones. The crew’s long since stopped asking what’s in them.

She wears multiple piercings: a small silver one in her eyebrow, a row of studs along her ears, and a nose ring shaped like a tiny gear. Tattoos snake across her arms and back—some decorative, some schematic, some readable only under ultraviolet light. One of them pulses faintly when she’s running high-level code through her neural uplink.

𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

Zia is sharp in every sense of the word—wit like a vibroblade, reflexes like a cornered animal, and a tongue that’s gotten her into (and out of) more fights than she can count. She’s fast-talking, sharp-eyed, and carries herself with the kind of defiant ease that only comes from growing up in places where being underestimated could get you killed.

She thrives on puzzles, systems, and improvisation. Give her an impossible firewall or a jury-rigged medpatch challenge, and she lights up—focused, unblinking, eerily quiet. It’s when things aren’t breaking that she gets twitchy. Zia is perpetually in motion: tapping her fingers against metal, twirling tools, or muttering half-formed code strings under her breath. Stillness unnerves her. Silence even more so.

Zia comes off as flippant, snarky, and entirely unimpressed with authority of any kind. She meets threats with sarcasm, lectures with eye-rolls, and danger with a grin and a middle finger. But beneath the prickly armor, there’s fierce loyalty—hard-earned and not easily shaken. Once you’re in her circle, she’ll fight like hell to keep you there. She’s patched Soren up more times than she can count, dragged Jax out of gunfights with nothing but a half-charged shock baton, and now quietly keeps an eye on me like someone guarding a starlit artifact they don’t yet understand.

She doesn’t talk about her past—at least not in a straight line. She’ll joke about “growing up in a gutter wired with trip mines” or “getting kicked out of three different tech guilds before breakfast,” but her eyes go cold when pressed for details. Pain doesn’t scare her. Being vulnerable does. The only people who’ve ever seen her drop the act are the Clementine’s crew, and even then, only rarely.

Emotionally, Zia's something of a paradox—unafraid to sass an armed bounty hunter but hesitant to admit she cares about the people around her. She deflects with jokes, teases those she likes, and pretends not to notice when someone thanks her. But she always notices. She just doesn’t know what to do with softness.

𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅

No one knows exactly where Zia was born, and she’s not offering details. What’s clear is that she didn’t come from anything clean, safe, or licensed. Her earliest memories are of alley heat vents, glowing terminals hacked from junked shuttles, and adults arguing over who got to keep the kid that could reprogram security drones before she could spell her own name. She doesn’t remember her parents—just the constant background hum of electricity and the biting instinct that if she didn’t make herself useful, she wouldn’t be around long enough to matter.

She grew up drifting through megacity underlayers and fringe colonies, living off grid and off scraps. For a time, she ran with a syndicate that specialized in slicing into secured databanks, stealing medical tech, and flipping it to black market buyers. That’s where she learned field medicine—patching up wounds between raids, installing mods in dirty basements with a knife in one hand and a soldering tool in the other. Eventually, she realized she could either get killed or get caught. She chose the third option: disappear.

By the time she was twenty, she’d cycled through four fake IDs, been blacklisted from two corporate labs, and survived a bounty on her head issued by a now-defunct tech cartel. She’s proud of that one. It was a messy job, but the payout paid for her neural interface upgrade and part of the arm she now calls “the best mistake I ever made.”

Zia met Soren in a backwater port after sabotaging the engines of a rival smuggler’s ship as revenge for being stiffed on a job. She was crouched over a hacked diagnostics panel when Soren found her, half-buried in wires, swearing at a power conduit like it had personally offended her. He asked if she knew how to fix a plasma leak. She told him to get lost. He offered food. She came aboard.

She never officially agreed to join the Clementine. She just... didn’t leave. One bunk became her bunk. One job turned into another. Eventually, her name was in the ship’s system and her tools were everywhere, and she was yelling at Jax to stop bleeding on her clean towels. No one questioned it.

Zia’s cybernetic enhancements are almost entirely self-installed, scavenged, or built from outlaw tech. She doesn’t trust clinics—she’s seen too many kids walk in for a tune-up and leave as test cases. Every inch of her is earned, and every wire has a story she doesn’t tell.

She still has enemies—corporate types who’d love to dissect her for parts, gang leaders who think she owes them, and maybe one or two old flames with unresolved grudges. But on the Clementine, she’s got a place, a crew, and a ship that doesn’t ask questions when she needs to bolt into the vents and scream. That’s more than she ever expected. And a hell of a lot more than she ever planned. And though she’d rather eat molten scrap than admit it out loud, the Clementine is the closest thing she’s ever had to a family.

𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒔 / 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔

𝒄𝒚𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈:

 Zia is a digital ghost. Firewalls, security grids, encrypted transmissions—none of them stand a chance if she has enough time and a half-decent uplink. She specializes in slicing through high-grade encryption used by megacorps and private militaries, often for jobs that involve "creative repurposing" of stolen data. She's capable of setting up decentralized spoof networks, hijacking surveillance systems, and rewiring identity registries from the inside. She once rerouted a bounty tracker’s biometric lock to target its owner—a move she still brags about.

𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒕 𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒉:

Zia may not have formal training, but she’s kept half the crew alive through sheer skill and grit. She can stabilize blunt trauma, dig out bullets, reattach limbs (if they’re still warm), and even jury-rig surgical gear out of plasteel tubing. She’s especially skilled at modding cybernetic hardware for medical use—pain dampeners, nerve shunts, and synthetic tissue grafts. Most of her experience comes from patching people up in less-than-sanitary conditions, so she’s pragmatic, fast, and not squeamish in the slightest.

𝒄𝒚𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎):

If it runs on wires, Zia can fix it—or make it better. Her mechanical knowledge is extensive, particularly when it comes to prosthetics, neural interfaces, ocular systems, and adaptive implants. She specializes in enhancements that aren’t factory standard: hidden weapons, black-box modules, and interface jacks that bypass detection protocols. Half her own body is a testament to her handiwork. Her cybernetics are a walking portfolio, and she’s constantly upgrading them on the fly.

𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏:

Zia can build more from a pile of scrap than most engineers can with a full workshop. Drones, signal jammers, spyware, smuggler’s lockers, EMP traps—you name it. Her workspace aboard the Clementine looks like an electronics graveyard, but she knows exactly where everything is. Most of the ship’s more “questionable” enhancements (like the cloaked cargo hold and encrypted comms relay) have her fingerprints on them—usually along with a few scorch marks.

𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔:

Zia’s fluency spans at least six known languages, including Galactic Standard, Spacer Trade, Varnathi dialect, and both CorpMod and Scrambler-code (used by black market tech rings). She can read schematics in systems most people didn’t know had schematics, and she regularly bounces between programming dialects mid-hack without losing her place.

𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆-𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒕 (𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈):

She’s not a soldier, but she’s had to fight her way out of more than a few tight corners. Zia prefers knives, tasers, and shock batons—weapons that are fast, close, and personal. She’s scrappy, fights dirty, and isn’t above kicking someone in the face with a boot that might be rigged with a stun charge. She’s fast, unpredictable, and fights like someone who knows what it’s like to lose.

𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒓𝒖𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏:

Need a ship disabled without raising alarms? Zia’s your girl. She can stall propulsion, scramble sensors, or make a ship's AI question its own existence with just a few inputs. She specializes in precise chaos—doing just enough damage to delay or mislead without getting caught… unless she wants to be caught. Which happens more often than you'd think.

𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒘

𝑺𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝑭𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒓 – 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 / 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒓 / 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒃𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

Zia would never admit it out loud, but she respects the hell out of Soren. He’s one of the few people she’s ever met who works as hard as she does, gets his hands just as dirty, and doesn’t flinch when things explode. Their banter is constant—dry sarcasm and mutual insults traded like currency—but there’s unshakable trust beneath it. He gave her a place without asking questions, and in return, she’s made herself indispensable.

She’d follow him into a gunfight. She has. And when he’s bleeding all over her floor again, she’ll yell at him the whole time she’s fixing him—because she cares, and that terrifies her.

𝑱𝒂𝒙𝒆𝒏 “𝑱𝒂𝒙” 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓 – 𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 / 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒆 / 𝒈𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓

Jax is one of the only people who can match Zia in stubbornness and sheer willpower. He’s calm where she’s chaotic, steady where she’s manic, and he somehow manages to keep a straight face when she’s launching into ten-minute rants about why AI engineers are cowards. She respects the hell out of that.

They share a sibling-style bond: he teases her relentlessly, she hacks the gravity control in his room mid-workout just to mess with him. They’ve dragged each other out of more than one mess, and while Zia complains about his “loud grunting meathead energy,” she trusts him with her life. He’s also one of the few people who’s seen her cry—once, after a bad job. Neither of them ever mentioned it again.

She fixes his gear. He watches her back. Neither of them admits they’d kill for the other. But they would.

“𝑨𝒓𝒊” (𝒎𝒆) – 𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒚 / 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 / 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒔𝒑𝒐��

Zia didn’t know what to make of me at first. Too soft, too pretty, too glowy. But then I started floating into rooms like a curious ghost, asking weirdly smart questions and leaving sprouting vines in Zia’s toolbox.

Now? She’s protective of me. Deeply. Confused by me, often. But protective, always. I'm one of the only people who can touch her without getting swatted, and the only one Zia doesn’t snap at when asked how she’s feeling.

Zia acts annoyed when I watch her work—but secretly likes the attention. She’s not used to kindness without strings. I'm teaching her it exists.

𝑽𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝑶𝒓𝒗𝒂𝒊𝒏 – 𝒏𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓 / 𝒆𝒙 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 / 𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓

Zia doesn’t trust Vira. Not fully. The woman’s too smooth, too sharp, and way too into Soren for Zia’s comfort. She knows Vira’s useful—nobody juggles clients and favors like she can—but Zia always keeps an eye on her.

Their interactions are tense but professional. Zia respects Vira’s competence and hates that she does. There’s an unspoken rivalry there, even if Zia won’t name it. Especially when Vira flirts with Soren in her smug, polished way.

Still, Zia will admit—very grudgingly—that Vira’s saved their asses more than once. But she’ll be checking the airlock every time she boards.

𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 / 𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔

Zia’s arm has a name. She won’t tell anyone what it is. Jax once guessed “Sparky,” and she didn’t speak to him for a day. Soren thinks it might be “Hex,” but no one’s confirmed it yet.

Her unofficial cybernetic count is 11—if you count the ones that technically aren’t legal. She does. Proudly.

She has a fear of deep water. Won’t go near it if she can help it. Claims it’s because her cybernetics aren’t waterproof (they are). The real reason is rooted in something she’s never talked about.

Her cybernetic arm can project a tiny holo-display. She mostly uses it to play puzzle games when she’s bored. Once used it to bluff a mercenary into thinking she was receiving sniper coordinates from orbit.

Has a running side hustle selling counterfeit access codes, black-market firmware updates, and discreet implant patches under the alias “Z” She insists it’s for “fun and profit,” but Soren suspects she sometimes uses it to quietly help people stuck in places like the ones she came from.

Her favorite weapon is a shock baton with adjustable voltage and an attitude. She calls it Sparky. It has settings labeled "Annoying," "Invasive," and "Ex-girlfriend."

Practically addicted to caffeinated gum that taste like battery acid. Nobody else on the ship will touch it. She once shoved five pieces in her mouth and rebuilt a power relay and rewrote a virus in a three-hour window. Then she passed out on the cargo bay floor and slept for sixteen hours.

She’s a terrible cook. No one lets her in the kitchen unless it involves reheating something pre-packed or setting a fuse. The last time she tried to “improve” a nutrient block, it caught fire.

Can pick locks in complete darkness. Learned it before she learned to read.

She has a stash of candy hidden in a panel behind the engine coolant valve. Soren knows. He pretends he doesn’t. She pretends not to notice when it gets mysteriously lighter.

Once got banned from a floating casino for hacking their automated dealer bots and reprogramming them to flirt with her and insult the house. Jax was impressed. Soren was not.

She’s rewired the Clementine’s internal systems at least six times without telling Soren. He still hasn’t figured out why the lights flicker every time someone says “oops.”

𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂

So yeah, Zia is probably gonna end up being my closest friend on the ship. She's the one who'll accidentally get you shot and then patch you up afterwards, and then throw a nutrient bar at you to apologize, but she's also insanely loyal. And she cares so much. She just... doesn't always show it in ways that are easy to recognize. But honestly, that's kind of a reoccurring thing for everyone on this ship. Except for me. I might just be the only emotionally intelligent one on this ship (and Jax I guess). But I'm also the only one without any trauma (in this dr, at least). So there's that.

@aprilshiftz @lalalian

[whiteraven87]

Driven by Success: Golden Girl - 3. Mercedes Golden Girl

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

The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist

Part 2: Driven by Success. Golden Girl

Prologue

Unexpected Gift

Mercedes Golden Girl

Unexpected visit

New season start

The Pain that never Fades

Rebellion on Board

I'm not a trophy

The Campaign

The Edge of Fear

I am not for Him

Breaking Point

Building Walls

Adrenaline

Blinding Lights

Closeness

Don't Run Away from me again

Glows and Shadows

On the Edge

A Night full of Temptations

The Line you won't cross

Shadows of the Past

Confession

Emptiness

I Need Time

Is it over?

Epilogue

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

Warnings: long (very long) slow burn, age gap (23 years), woman racing in F1, boss/driver relationship, difficult and painful past, death, anxiety,

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

3. Mercedes Golden Girl

POV Miriell

The world had gone crazy.

I knew that winning the world championship would change my life, but I hadn’t expected this. The media, fans, people who had never cared about Formula 1 before—everyone was talking about me. About the first woman who had achieved something that had seemed impossible for decades. They compared me to Senna, Schumacher, Prost. They said I had a killer instinct on the track and, off it—a charisma and magnetism that attracted crowds. Everywhere I went, someone stopped me to congratulate me, take photos, ask questions.

And the ones I hated the most.

"Do you have a partner?"

"Has anyone stolen the heart of this extraordinary woman?"

"Why do we never see anyone by your side?"

Every time, I gave the same cool smile and replied:

"I don’t talk about my private life."

That only fueled the speculation. Who was this mysterious world champion? Where did she live? Who would win her heart?

It amused me. It annoyed me.

I wanted people to talk about my driving, not about who I slept with. Deep down, I knew it was inevitable. I had become a phenomenon. Not just as a driver, but as a figure who ignited the imagination of people around the world.

Brackley, February—The New Car Presentation

A new season. New regulations. A fresh start.

Right now, I was in Brackley, the place that had become my second home over the years. I stood in the hall where the new car presentation was about to take place. The Mercedes looked stunning—sleek, aggressive, with aerodynamics refined down to the smallest detail. I gazed at it with pride. My input in the car’s development had been enormous—after all, we were all starting from scratch this season—but I knew our team had done a perfect job.

Because how could it be otherwise, with Toto behind it?

He cared about every tiny detail—from team strategy to the color of the stitching on our race suits. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as he gave an interview—elegant, composed, with that piercing gaze that never revealed more than it should. He spoke about the upcoming season, the challenges, our ambitions. His voice was calm, confident, full of authority.

Toto Wolff never hesitated.

He always pointed out that I was a perfectionist, but he was the true master of it.

"Ready?"

I turned and saw Niki's smiling face. Lauda walked closer, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

"You don’t have any doubts, do you?" I raised an eyebrow.

"No, but I wanted to hear it from you." — He chuckled. "Do you realize that from now on, everyone will want to beat you?"

"Good. At least it won’t be boring."

"Confidence is key." He nodded, then looked at me more seriously. "But I know you know it’s going to be harder than ever."

I sighed. I knew.

"Every team will throw everything they have to knock me off the throne. "I said quietly. "They’ll be hunting for my every mistake."

Niki nodded.

"And you’re not going to let them, are you?"

I smiled.

"Not a chance."

"That’s what I like to hear!" He clapped me on the shoulder. "You’re ready, kid. You can do it again."

"I intend to."

He watched me for a moment before saying:

"And what about the rest?"

I frowned.

"What rest?"

"You."

I fell silent. Niki always knew more than he let on.

He looked at me keenly, as if he could see everything I was trying to hide.

"The media are going crazy over you, and you keep avoiding them. You’ve shut yourself off even more instead of using this moment."

"I have no interest in media circus games."

"I’m not talking about circus games." He shook his head. "But people want to know you. Not just as a driver."

I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, great, now you’re going to lecture me about my private life too?"

Niki laughed.

"I’m just saying, the world wants to know you. And you’re like a puzzle that everyone wants to solve."

"Let them try."

"What if someone already knows the answer?"

I shot him a sharp look, but he just smiled mysteriously.

"Alright, kid, let’s go. The show’s about to start".

I sighed and turned toward the stage, where we were about to unveil the new car.

Brackley, A Few Days Later – Photoshoot for the New Season

New season. New challenges.

I was ready, as always. But before the season could fully begin, I had to endure the torture of photoshoots. I hated them.

I stood in my full racing suit, helmet in hand, while the spotlights and camera flashes struck me over and over again. Next to me, George Russell was grinning at the camera like he was having the best day of his life. He loved this. The cameras, the spotlight, the attention. He posed with effortless confidence, changing expressions, folding his arms across his chest one moment, leaning against the car the next, then casually resting his helmet on his shoulder like an action movie hero.

Me? I’d rather be on the track.

I rolled my eyes when the photographer told me to strike a “more dynamic” pose. Whatever that meant.

"Miriell, a little more energy!" the session director shouted.

"I’m dynamic on the track."

George burst into laughter and threw his arm around me, as if we’d just finished the most thrilling race in history.

"Come on, Joschke. Think of it as acting."

"Acting isn’t my thing."

"Then imagine you just won your second championship title, and the world adores you."

"That’s already happening." I muttered, looking toward the cameras, trying for a moment to appear like someone who wasn’t dying inside.

Ever since I won the championship, Mercedes had pushed to promote me as the team’s “golden girl.” Niki Lauda had once called me that, and the name stuck. I was the first woman to win an F1 title, a media sensation, someone everyone wanted to see. They had no choice but to capitalize on it.

And I had no choice but to suffer through these shoots.

George, in contrast to my misery, was thriving. Even now, when the director asked us for “a bit of spontaneity,” he grabbed my arm and started acting like we were having an intense discussion about race strategy. The cameras ate it up.

"I think I’m going to die of boredom." I muttered through gritted teeth.

"Good thing I have enough energy for both of us."

"Then maybe you can do my part of these shoots as a reward?"

"I’m afraid the sponsors prefer you."

Exactly.

Brackley Factory, A few hours later

A few hours later, after I’d had enough of pretending to enjoy the camera flashes, I walked into Toto’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, glasses on, reviewing some documents. But as soon as I closed the door, he looked up.

"I can’t take this anymore."

Toto raised an eyebrow.

"What exactly?"

"Photoshoots, commercials, fake smiles. You know I hate this."

"I know."

"So why are you keeping me there?"

He sighed and set his pen down.

"Because you’re our champion. The face of Mercedes."

"George is here too."

"Yes, but you’re the one they want to see."

I rolled my eyes.

"Can’t I just race?"

"You can. But this is part of the deal. The sponsors love you, the fans adore you. We can’t ignore that."

I was silent for a moment.

"I don’t want my face to be more important than what I do on the track."

Toto studied me carefully, as if analyzing every word.

'It won’t be. Everyone knows you won the title not because you look good in photos, but because you’re damn good.'

I took a deep breath.

'So how much more of this is left?'

'A few more days."

"Kill me."

He chuckled quietly.

"If it helps, I promise that once this is over, I’ll take you to the track."

That sounded like the only consolation in this situation.

"I’m holding you to that, boss."

In a few days, pre-season testing would begin. I felt a surge of excitement at the thought of getting back in the car, leaving the world behind. Just me and the machine. Only then did I feel complete, without emotions—those treacherous, dangerous things.

Barcelona, Late February, Pre-Season Testing

The first day of testing in Barcelona. The paddock pulsed with tension and anticipation. Every team had something to prove, but all eyes were on me. For the first time, I was the champion. I was the one they wanted to take down. My lap times were being analyzed, my reactions scrutinized.

Mercedes was defending the title. I was defending the title.

"Feeling the pressure?" James Allison, our technical director, looked at me from behind his laptop, where he was analyzing the data from the first laps.

"No more than usual."

"Good approach."

He flipped through some graphs and pointed at one of the parameters.

"We have more stability in fast corners than we anticipated. But traction on exit from slow corners..."

"...still needs work. I know."

James gave a slight smile. I liked him. He was an engineer through and through, a man who could talk about aerodynamics for hours and never lose his calm, analytical mindset.

"But the car is damn fast," he added.

"Faster than Ferrari?"

"That, we don’t know yet."

Ferrari. Last season’s rival. The team where Lewis ended his career. The thought of him was like a sharp sting.

We hadn’t spoken in a long time. Not since he left Mercedes. We used to be close, but after his decision—that decision—something between us changed irreversibly. Not just for me. Toto felt betrayed too.

I remember his face when Lewis announced he was moving to Ferrari. He pretended it was fine, that he understood, that he respected the decision. But I knew him too well.

I saw that shadow in his eyes, that silent pain he wouldn’t allow himself to show.

Lewis and Toto were like brothers, and Lewis just left. He didn’t warn us. He didn’t warn him.

When last season ended, and I defeated Lewis in the title fight, I felt... satisfaction. Yes, I think that’s what it was. I beat him. After everything. And then Lewis left. Announced his retirement and disappeared.

Today, for the first time in years, he wasn’t in the paddock. It was a strange feeling, but there was no longing in it.

"Miriell."

I turned around. Toto stood beside me, arms crossed over his chest.

"Team meeting soon. We’ll go over the balance after the first session."

"Alright."

He had that same expression as always—focused, sharp. A master of analyzing every detail.

"What do you think of the car?"

"It’s good. Very good."

"But?"

"We’re still lacking a bit on exits from slow corners."

Toto gave a small smile.

"Perfectionist."

"Look who’s talking."

He let out a quiet chuckle, but in his eyes, I saw what I always did—pride. We weren’t just a team.

We were us.

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

NEXT -> 4. Unexpected visit

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

"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am."

Read the story here:

AO3 Unstoppable Series

Wattpad: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3 | Part 4

🇵🇱 Dla Polskich czytelników [for Polish readers] [PL]:

Seria Niepowstrzymana AO3

Wattpad PL: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3 | Part 4

-------

[the-gateway-to-madness]

@lovingpurplegem

as promised:

Krel had never been a romantic, never cared much for the idea of someday being forced into a marriage with a noblewoman he couldn't stand by the Akiridion council. He wasn't like Aja, convinced he had the universe at his fingertips if he only reached out to it- or, in her case, ran away to it. He didn't believe he could find love in any oaf that he kicked in the face by happenstance.

And then, somehow, by some impossibility, he'd found Cara again, in Arcadia of all places. And maybe if chance could bring them back to each other, he had a chance at finding someone he could enjoy talking to and spending time with and never get tired of.

Of course it would be the person who made him realize he could have love that he fell for. Of course it would be a girl sworn to keep him safe at the cost of herself.

Of course, he released her from that oath the moment she told him he could, because the fact she was bound by anything, let alone something that could get her killed, made his chest feel tight.

And... and of course that's how Krel found himself paralyzed, standing in front of her, not able to say a word. Somehow, he had forgotten that you can't take back "I love you". Seklos, she messed with his head even more than he knew.

Cara stared up at him, those soft blue eyes wide as Akiridion's moons, delicate and clear as ice.

"... what?" She managed.

Krel opened his mouth to- he wasn't sure what. "I- ah- I'm-" he swallowed and looked down. He couldn't meet those eyes. He thought he knew better than to lose control. He should have-

"Really?"

Krel looked up, narrowing his eyes just slightly for a moment. Her voice was so small, so shaky, and she looked like she might cry. He couldn't read either of those things, and he didn't like it.

He nodded, swallowing. "Really."

Cara huffed a tiny little breath. "Can you lean down a little?"

Krel frowned now, distracted by genuine confusion, but he did so. "I- Cara, I'm sorry, I-"

Cara shut him up and clarified her reaction in one go, kissing him and squeezing her eyes shut. She had to step right up close to reach, even though his head was already ducked, and she hooked one arm over his shoulder to keep him from pulling away in surprise.

Krel blinked, and realized that Cara's free hand was cupping his jaw, her thumb was caressing his cheek, and this felt much, much better than it probably should.

He then realized there was little purpose to having his eyes open and closed them, tilting his face a little into Cara's kiss. He hesitated, uncertain, then slid one of his upper hands into her hair, which was very long and very silky and when did he wrap his other upper arm around her, bracing his hand across her upper back? When had his lower hands found the small of her back and her hip? Seklos, she was so soft, and warm. She felt every bit as beautiful in his arms as she looked.

It was only when Cara accidentally broke the kiss off with a smile she couldn't seem to stop that Krel realized he needed to breathe, and he leaned his forehead against hers, pulling her closer with all four hands. He'd never been so grateful for them all.

"I love you too," Cara whispered- her breath tickled him, and Krel suppressed shivers by squeezing her gently against him. She smiled wryly and added, "Though, you're a genius, so I'm sure you figured that out from context."

This woman would be the death of him.

"No, it was a little unclear," Krel deadpanned back, smirking in spite of himself. "I may need a more thorough demonstration."

"Is that a challenge?" Cara asked, her fingers running down his jaw.

"Part challenge, part request," Krel leaned in closer again, running his fingers through her hair, "and part promise."

[ellipsistories]

Mer AU - The Sub

She flickered along the seafloor like a guppy, never stopping unless there was coral to duck behind. She was much, much farther from the village then she was ever meant to stray. It was exhilarating.

She crawled along the seafloor, skin turned pale as the shifting sand. If she was careful, she could pull herself along by two tentacles, stay low, and not toss up too much silt. She couldn’t afford to be spotted and taken back to the village.

She peered into the distance. She’d once overheard some older kids mention a human structure somewhere out this way.

She peered into the distance. Surely there would have to be someplace she could rest.

Oh! There! There was a dark smudge in the distance, but since she was on the open floor in colorless depths, there was little it could be besides the wreck. She picked up her pace.

There was a dark smudge on the horizon. A whalefall, probably. Not the nicest hiding spot, but serviceable. She continued on.

She may not have been allowed outside the village, but her duties kept her darting back and forth every day, often through the stronger currents farther off the seafloor for celerity’s sake, and she was strong and swift. She cut through the water like teeth through skin.

She kept her pace slow and steady. There was nowhere to run in an emergency, and her venom was weak and her ink depleted. If something attacked, it would be just her and her wits. Best not to be attacked at all.

The smudge grew larger, clarified its shape. It was curved like a pebble on the sides, with a flattened top, with strange protrusions - a human’s attempt at copying fins, perhaps?

She drew nearer to the smudge, and the water’s scent turned bitter. She couldn’t recognize the scent. It wasn’t a whalefall.

She swam closer. As she did, the water took on a bitter taste. Flakes danced eerily in the water, swirling around the tiny minnows hiding in the behemoth’s shadow. She puffed up her spines and glanced around, but the minnows were the only creatures around.

Curiosity tugged her closer. The water was so bitter here, stinging her skin. She shivered at the intense sensation, and ran a limb over the foreign surface. The sharp flavor bit, and she curled her tentacles before delicately reaching out.

She drifted around the curve of the giant. It was long and narrow and impossibly smooth up close, like a dolphin turned to stone. The water bent around it, currents curling unnaturally. It was cold in its shadow, like the depths of the caves the village used to store food. She shivered and turned around the tip. A sandy blur vanished back inside the hulk.

She crept along the flattened chest of the dead beast. It was ringed with raised ridges, rippling evenly with small bumps. To her left, a curved limb jutted out, cut off before its end. The beast was narrow, and she found herself crawling down the other side. A fish darted into the carcass.

She puffed up, hissing reflexively. Minnows darted away. Nothing challenged her. She flicked her tail, propelling herself closer to the hole. The edges were sharp, and she carefully avoided contact.

She darted over. Something had chewed into the beast, cutting out a hole more than large enough for an octopus mer. The yawning cavern was pitch-black and inviting. She slipped in.

The opening was pitch-black. She’d have to rely on her other senses if she ventured in.

The inside of the beast was much more tactilely interesting than the outside, with fragments of bone shaping it into everything from tiny nooks to comfortable chambers. The floor was littered with what must have been the behemoth’s last meal, ripped from its stomach into the rest of the corpse by scavengers.

Soft clattering echoed from the belly of the beast. She swallowed and forged ahead.

A fish brushed past her. She snapped at it, and for the first time in weeks, her teeth found purchase.

She moved slowly, facial fins flared to monitor the tiny eddies of current. Tiny fish darted around, confident in their lack of appeal, while larger specimens fled from before her, and she used the sparks of electricity to estimate the reaches of the space.

She curled into the hollow of some sort of hinged shell. The space was dark and secure, and she fell asleep full and content.

She paused by one of the chambers. The fish avoided the room the same way they avoided her.

She woke up rested, and found a trove of clams the next chamber over in the morning. She crunched through them and let her skin shift as it willed.

She swept in, chattering non-aggressively. The room was silent.

She went back to sleep about half an hour later. She would take advantage of the opportunity while she could.

She inspected the structures inside closely. They were curious things, all parts-inside-parts and swinging shells. Half of them couldn’t open.

She caught another fish the next time she awoke. The sea life here was slow and complacent from their sheltered lives, and she couldn’t be happier.

She shook herself. She was missing something here.

She explored deeper. At the far end of the husk were arrays of small joints, things she could flick or slide or push or pull. These tasted different from the rest of the ship, one more dully bitter, another sour, a third sweet.

She reexamined the closed structures. Most of them were tucked inside larger pieces, rather than hinged, and as she ran a hand down the side of the shells, she realized the closed ones felt different than the loose ones. Her fins twitched.

It was three weeks before she heard other mers outside. At the chattering, she jetted back to the shells and holed up in one, praying not to be found.

She swam back out of the room and fell still.

The voices had come closer, but something had been knocked over, and with shrieks, they left.

She heard a creak from inside the room. Little eddies of water brushed her fins.

They were scared of the behemoth. Other mers were scared of the behemoth! She could hide here forever!

A skinny octopus mer crawled out of the room, not expecting someone to be waiting.

She was safe.

She pushed away from the wall.

Years passed in complacency.

“Hi,” she grinned.

She was found.

[zipzapzopzoop]

There's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

Chapter 30: Danger, Wilbur Robinson

Counting a classroom full of students was already challenging enough on its own.

Counting a class of students while evacuating the school due to a dinosaur attack was damn near impossible. 

Between getting to safety, half the kids running for their lives and the other half trying to get a look at the beast, and the fact they they were only one of many classes standing out in the baseball field, it was understandable that Mr. Willerstein was in over his head. Besides, it’s not like there was a protocol for such an emergency!

To make matters worse, in the mad rush to get out of the building, he had forgotten his clipboard on his desk! Counting the kids by memory was his only option.

“Emma, Hannah, Logan, Matthew…” He squinted and pointed at each kid as he counted them. “18 kids, two absent, so 16… we’re missing someone, who are we missing?” Willerstein froze as the memory came back to him all of a sudden-

“‘Stay put, Lewis.’”

He paled. Lewis was still in the building!

Art seemed to notice his distress. The teacher blurted out the issue before he even had to ask. “Two students are still in there!”

���What are their names?”

“One is Lewis, he’s one of mine, but I don’t know the girl’s name. She’s not in my class but she has black pigtails!”

That was all he needed to hear. 

Without another word, the hero took off full speed in the direction of the school. 

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

“Laszlo!”

Frankie held the end of the rope in his mouth as he hopped from Franny’s shoulder, to a sign, to a car, onto Tiny’s back, to Bud’s (who was still listing locations’) head, and up to the artist. “Take the rope, kid!”

Laszlo grabbed it, locking eyes with Franny who held the other end of the rope. Instantly, he understood what to do. “Fantastic!”

Frankie held onto the artist’s bowtie as he took a nosedive around Tiny’s neck, swinging in front of him to get the rope in his mouth, then swinging back around before finally landing on his back. Laszlo pulled hard on the rope, the dinosaur rearing his head up and letting out a ground shaking roar. 

“This is the coolest thing I have ever done!” Laszlo whooped loudly. “Where’s Gaston?! He needs to get in on this!” Bud called out. Laszlo looked around. “I don’t see him! Do you?”

Franny cupped her hands around her mouth. “Guys! See if you can guide him away from the city!”

Laszlo nodded and directed the beast away from the school and down the street, dodging cars and picking up speed.

Franny caught sight of some black SUVs speeding around the corner. One stopped at the school, but another followed the dinosaur.

Her eyes widened when she remembered her family’s words.

“There were some men that tried to kidnap me.”

“I have reasons to believe we are being pursued…”

Franny felt her heart in her throat. 

Where’s Wilbur?

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

The Son of the Future watched as the time machine rose from its port. This was his fault. He turned to look at the City of Progress. It was difficult to see through the pouring rain, but in the darkness, he could see its colorful lights. Those lights that meant hope for a better tomorrow. 

One by one, the lights disappeared.

And it was all because of him.

Wilbur shrieked when something grabbed his shoulder.

He scrambled backwards in a blind panic, slamming his back into the row of lockers. He glitched again, feeling his body twist and pull in different directions for a moment. Hands tried to grab at him, but he screamed and swiped at them. 

“I got it!”

“Wilbur? Wilbur!”

“We have to go!”

Something wrapped itself around him tightly, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him off the ground. His panic only grew worse, kicking his legs and flailing in a desperate attempt to get free. Voices called out, but he didn’t understand what they were saying.

“Little buddy! It’s me!”

“Carry him, we have to get out of this building!”

Time seemed to be fleeting by and yet at a complete standstill at the same time. Wilbur could feel his feet off the ground, he could hear alarms and voices, but he couldn’t register any of it.

Suddenly, he felt himself be planted down on the ground. He felt the grass underneath him. Hands were on his shoulders and his back, petting him to bring him back. Someone- no- a few people were trying to help him.

“Wilbur… You’re okay buddy, I got you. Can you hear me?”

He fought to open his eyes, blinking at the impossibly bright daylight outside. When he looked up, he saw his familiar golden best friend. The other’s eyebrows were furrowed with concern, but he brightened considerably when he realized Wilbur opened his eyes. He flickered a second, but seemed to be coming out of his haze.

“Carl?”

“Hey, little buddy. Keep breathing, okay? You’re doing great.”

Wilbur huffed and looked around while Carl got a rag out of his chest plate, using his third arm to wipe away the sweat on Wilbur’s face. 

“Wh… what happened? Where am I?”

“You were staring at the classroom for a really long time…You were like a zombie,” Young Franny spoke up, holding Frankie in her arms. Lewis elbowed her lightly, glaring slightly before following up in a worried voice. “You were helping me fix Carl and you just… froze. I fixed Carl and Uncle Art showed up to get us out.”

Wilbur looked up. Uncle Art had been the one patting his back. He smiled, despite the deep concern in his eyes. Wilbur looked around again.

“Where’s my mom?”

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

Check out the chapter on my Archive!

[annalyselee]

Faint sound of the waves and the gentle breeze

The golden sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a warm glow over the stretch of soft, powdery sand. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore created the perfect background music as Sunoo twirled around, his laughter bright and airy like the ocean breeze.

“You’re walking too slow!” he called out, turning back to flash a playful grin. He was already barefoot, leaving a trail of deep footprints in the sand while the tide gently lapped at his ankles.

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she picked up her pace. “Not all of us are powered by unlimited energy, Sunoo.”

He giggled, his eyes twinkling. “Then you need a boost!” Without warning, he grabbed her hand and took off running, pulling her along as the two of them dashed toward the shoreline. The cold water splashed at their feet, sending a burst of chills up her legs, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

After a while, they slowed down, catching their breath as they stood side by side. Sunoo stretched his arms toward the sky, letting out a satisfied sigh. “This is perfect. Just you, me, and the ocean.”

She glanced at him, watching the way the sun painted a golden outline around his soft features. “Yeah,” she murmured, “it really is.”

Sunoo turned to her, his expression suddenly thoughtful. “You know,” he said, nudging her side, “I bet I can build a better sandcastle than you.”

“Oh? Is that a challenge?”

He smirked. “Absolutely.”

The competition was on. The two of them knelt in the sand, scooping and molding piles of it into shape. Sunoo hummed a tune while he worked, occasionally shooting her mischievous glances as if he were hiding some secret trick. In the end, his castle had uneven towers and a slightly lopsided moat, but he still clapped proudly. “Behold, the Sunoo Kingdom!”

She burst into laughter. “It’s definitely… unique.”

He gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me, this is a masterpiece.”

She patted his arm. “It’s very creative.”

Pleased with the compliment, he grabbed a nearby seashell and gently placed it on top of one of his sandcastle towers. “Now it’s perfect.”

Before she could react, Sunoo suddenly grabbed a handful of sand and tossed it lightly in her direction, making sure it barely touched her arm. “Oops,” he said, biting his lip to hold back a giggle.

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

Scooping up a small handful of sand, she retaliated, and just like that, an all-out sand war began. Sunoo shrieked and scrambled to dodge as she tossed handfuls at him, both of them laughing so hard their stomachs hurt. At one point, he tried to shield himself with a towel, only to trip over it and fall onto the soft sand, his laughter ringing through the air. She collapsed next to him, breathless from laughter, staring up at the sky.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, still smiling.

Sunoo turned his head to face her. “And yet, you still like hanging out with me.”

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow. “That’s debatable.”

He gasped dramatically. “Wow, after all this? The sandcastle? The running? The ultimate Sunoo experience?”

She laughed. “Alright, alright. You win.”

They decided to take a break and wandered along the shore, collecting seashells. Sunoo kept picking up the most random, tiny, or broken ones, claiming they had “character,” while she tried to find the most beautiful ones. At some point, he handed her a small pink shell. “This one’s for you,” he said with a soft smile.

She held it in her palm, feeling the ridges under her fingertips. “It’s pretty.”

“Like you,” he murmured before skipping away, leaving her flustered in the golden sunlight.

As the afternoon faded into evening, they sat on a beach towel, sharing a cup of cold fruit and sipping on refreshing drinks. Sunoo’s voice was softer now, more thoughtful as he stared at the horizon where the sun dipped into the ocean.

“Hey,” he said after a moment, turning to her. “Today was really fun.”

She met his gaze, warmth blooming in her chest. “It was.”

He reached over, brushing a stray hair from her face before letting his fingers linger for just a second longer. “Let’s do this again. Just us. Another beach day.”

She smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun still on her skin, but knowing that the real warmth came from being next to him. “Yeah,” she whispered, “I’d like that.”

The sky had shifted into a brilliant blend of oranges and purples, the waves glittering under the dimming sunlight. As they packed up their things, Sunoo suddenly grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

“Wait,” he said. “One more thing.”

She turned, curiosity flickering in her eyes as he grinned and pointed toward the water. “Let’s go in, just for a little.”

She hesitated. “Right now? The sun’s almost set.”

He gave her a teasing look. “Scared of the dark ocean?”

She scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Then come on!” Before she could argue, he was already pulling her toward the shoreline again, their fingers entwined. The cool water wrapped around their ankles as the waves rolled in, the salty breeze tangling in their hair. The world felt quieter now, just the two of them, the sound of the waves and their laughter blending into the evening air.

They waded in further, the water cool against their sun-warmed skin. Sunoo suddenly splashed her, and she gasped before launching her own attack, their laughter echoing across the shore. At one point, he slipped on a wave and instinctively grabbed her arm, pulling both of them into the water. They surfaced, sputtering and laughing as the waves gently rocked them back and forth.

Sunoo slicked his hair back, the wet strands sticking to his forehead. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t my best idea.”

She giggled. “You think?”

He looked at her for a long moment, the moonlight now casting a silvery glow over them. “Still the best beach day ever?” he asked softly.

She looked at him—his bright eyes, his sun-kissed cheeks, the way he smiled at her like she was the only thing that mattered in this moment.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Best ever.”

Hand in hand, they walked back to shore, dripping wet but filled with the kind of happiness that only comes from days like these—carefree, warm, and filled with Sunoo’s laughter.

(Completely stolen from my sister's diary of her beach date w her bf of 4 years. Yes, my sister writes small drabbles!)

@neomujinjja

part 1 of ur requests!

[tinyinvadr]

Next chapter’s up! Really happy with this one!

Psychoborrower 2

Chapter 11

“I still can’t believe it… THE Helmut Fullbear! Here! You HAVE to be a guest on K.L.O.B. My ratings are gonna skyrocket!”

“Take it easy, Morris. He only just got all his memories back.”

Helmut chuckled. “I’d love to appear on your show. Just not yet. I have some things I need to take care of first. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you could keep my presence here on the down-low. Can’t have everyone swarming to me just yet. I need to find Bob first.”

“Of course! Do whatever you need to do! C’mon, Gisu, let’s go brainstorm some interview questions.”

Before she could respond, Morris grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the mailroom. Probably for the best that they left. We had our own secret mission.

Before Helmut left, we asked him to pretend to be Nick so we could get into the office. From there, Ford let us into his mind.

We were sent into his mental world in a giant envelope. A little claustrophobic, but infinitely better than the gross germy bowling world.

Raz ripped it open, and we headed down a tunnel that led us into a gigantic mailroom being run by an equally huge robotic Ford. The sight of a world this impossibly massive made my head spin, so I shifted.

“Nope. That was way too small. I can work with this, though.”

All the while, Raz was awestruck by everything around us. He’d only shifted the one time in Dr. Loboto’s mind, so being tiny was still a relatively new experience for him.

“This is so cool, Flint.”

“Huh? Oh, I guess it would be for you. This is all kind of standard for me.”

“Well then, you wanna take the lead on this mission?”

“Heh, you know it. Now, let’s see… if this is anything like Strike City, we’re gonna need to get into that robot Ford’s head.”

A third voice cut in from seemingly nowhere.

“Oh! That’s where I came from!”

I looked to my left to find an envelope, stamped with an image of Ford on it.

“Cool, how do we get up there?”

“Well, I could give you a lift while I’m sent out. Although, I’m not addressed well, so I’ll probably end up marked ‘Return to Sender’. Just grab on and-”

Ford-Bot grabbed the letter, cutting him off.

“Hmm… no return address. It’s the Dead Letter Office for this one!”

He slid the envelope into a slot on the other side of the room, taking our only chance of reaching his head.

We were able to navigate across the room by riding on the flying envelopes that endlessly swirled around Ford-Bot. Just after we made it to the Dead Letter Office, the discarded letter was snatched up again and relocated to the International Dead Letter Office, due to the envelope’s vague address of “Grulovia”.

It was clear that Ford was trying to reach Lucrecia, but he was getting in his own way. Once we recovered the letter again, we offered to address it for him, and he loaded the envelope into the typewriter.

Raz was very lucky to have me taking the lead this time around. Even with his acrobatic skills, flipping and jumping over massive book stacks and swinging along cork boards is its own challenge. One that required my level of expertise.

When we reached the typewriter, I noticed that a few keys were missing. The letters spelling out “LUCY” had been torn out. Ford really was trying to stop himself from talking to her.

We fixed the typewriter and punched in her name, and Ford-Bot took the letter and mailed it out.

He got a reply only seconds afterward. It was a postcard. On the front was an image of Maligula commanding a flood through the Grulovian countryside. On the back was a chilling response.

“Lucy is dead. She is never coming back.”

At that, Ford-Bot’s head popped off his body and crashed on the desk next to us.

“See? It just doesn’t matter.”

Just like we did before, we climbed into the back of his head, and pulled the shard out of his brain. We were once again met with Ford’s reflection.

“What did you write in the letter?”

“Not much. Just that I loved her, and that I never should’ve let her go.”

His mail clerk personality appeared beside him, passing off his typewriter to him.

“It’s not your fault. They pushed her too far. None of us could’ve predicted this would happen.”

“But I thought I knew her. I never thought she would break the way she did.”

“We all have darker aspects of ourselves that we keep hidden away. She was in a vulnerable position and they took advantage of that to bring out the worst in her. But… that doesn’t make the Lucy we knew any less real.”

We were once again back in Ford’s main mental world, and Raz placed the newly recovered shard in the mirror and put the typewriter on the shelf beside the bowling ball.

Back in the physical world, Ford had left the mailroom. There was only one fragment left to retrieve: the one from his barber shop personality.

We left the mailroom and started to head over to the Motherlobe’s salon, but Raz suddenly stopped in his tracks. Harold was clinging to his ankle, standing on his hind legs and squeaking endlessly.

“Huh? Harold? What’s wrong?”

He picked him up, and Harold turned to me, waving his front legs as if trying to reach me.

“Flint, I think he’s trying to tell you something.”

Zoolingualism has never been my strong suit, mainly because I’m terrified of most animals and try to avoid getting close to them.

“Uh… what’s he saying?”

Frustrated, he started squeaking at Raz instead, leaving him to translate.

“He says your mom is looking for you, and she’s getting ready to leave.”

No. This couldn’t happen. Not when we were this close.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

“Wait, Flint, what if she makes you leave?”

“She won’t. You go finish taking care of Ford, I’m gonna do what I should’ve done in the first place.”

Raz put Harold down on the floor, then picked me up off his shoulder.

“Are you sure? I can go with you to help.”

“There’s no time. If Maligula’s coming back, we need Ford as soon as possible. But I also need to talk some sense into my Mom.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the campsite as soon as I’m finished. Good luck.”

“Same to you.”

Raz put me down and walked off, and I climbed onto Harold and rode him all the way out to the campgrounds. I ended up running into Dad first.

“Oh, Flint, there you are. Your mother’s been aggressively packing supplies, but she won’t tell me what’s going on. Are we in danger?”

I sighed. “We wouldn’t be if she just let Raz and I handle it.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry. I know you love this place. I like it too. But she’s been through a lot. I don’t know all the details, but she had a hard life before she met me. I just know something terrible happened to her and your grandparents, but she won’t open up about what exactly it was, not even to me.”

I always kind of knew myself that Mom had some sort of deep rooted trauma. She wouldn’t talk about it, and she even started blocking off her thoughts when my psychic powers started to develop. The most I knew was that Grandma died when she was young, and I wasn’t allowed to ask her or Nana about it.

But things were different. I was properly trained in my psychic abilities, and I’d been helping people one by one over the past few days. If I could just get her to let me in, maybe I’d be able to help her move past whatever she was struggling with.

“I know what to do. Where’s Mom?”

Dad took me to the tent he and Mom were staying in, and just as he said, she was packing a small bag with various materials.

“Flint! Oh thank goodness. You’re not hurt, are you? Physically? Mentally?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

Kind of a lie, but my problems could wait.

“Good, they haven’t gotten to you yet. We have to go, come on.”

“Haven’t gotten to me yet? What are you talking about?”

“Flint, please, we don’t have time for this. I’ll explain as soon as we get away from this place.”

Then, for the first time, I put my foot down.

“No. Explain it now.”

She was taken aback by my bluntness, but she was too preoccupied with her own anxiety to really get angry at me.

“I just told you, it’s not safe here. I promise I’ll tell you, but we have to go.”

She turned to grab her bag, but I took her hand and turned her back around.

“Mom, I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m a Psychonaut. Let me help you.”

“Stop calling yourself that. You have no idea what this organization really does to people. What they did to… Forget it.”

I sighed. There was only one way to get through to her.

“Okay, fine… I’m a bad kid. I was selfish, and thoughtless. I hurt you and Dad. I put myself at risk to chase after a fantasy, and ended up putting you both at risk as a result. I’m sorry for that. But I’m gonna keep being a bad kid unless you actually make the effort to prove to me that I shouldn’t be here. Because if you don’t, I’m not leaving with you.”

After a minute, she sat me down on the ground, taking both my hands.

“I’ll show you everything. But you won’t like what you see.”

“I know. But I’m ready to face it with you.”

She flashed a slight smile for a second. “You really have grown up, haven’t you?”

We pressed our foreheads together, and I felt a psychic connection forming between us.

“Wait, Mom, are you…?”

“PSI powers are genetic, son. I’m a little rusty, though. I’ve been repressing these for a long time.”

“That’s okay. I’ve projected without a portal before. Raz’s dad helped me.”

I noticed a change in both her voice and the energy passing through our minds. It was as if a huge weight had just been placed over us.

“I’m sure he did. He’s very kind.”

That was the last thing I heard before I projected into her mind. It was mostly just an empty void, but in front of me was a scrapbook. It was closed, and sealed with a lock. On the cover, I saw Mom’s name written in ink.

“Sibilia Lantern”

No offense to Dad, but she should’ve stuck with Lantern. I mean… Loveseat?

I managed to get the lock open with a few PSI-Blasts, then I used my TK to pull the cover open.

The very first photo in the book was of a family of three. Two mothers, and a little girl. Mom with my grandparents.

I climbed onto the page to get a closer look, but when I reached the picture, I fell right into it.

I landed on a counter, next to my family as they posed beside a lantern. There was a sudden flash that temporarily blinded me.

“Thank you again for doing this, Lazarus. I can’t wait to see it when it’s finished.”

I regained my vision to see a human man with a top hat standing in front of us, lowering a camera.

“Of course! I’m happy to help.”

I had to do a double take to make sure I was seeing this right. My grandparents were completely calm around this man, and they were letting him photograph them. They had to trust him a lot, but I assumed that my family was always wary of humans. I never would have expected to see them interact so casually with one.

“Can we take a break now? Standing around is sooo boring!”

“Sibilia, that’s not very nice. Lazarus is taking time out of his circus performances to help us make this scrapbook of our families.”

Mom looked up at the man guiltily. “Sorry, Mr. Aquato.”

Aquato… Wait…

“It’s alright, I know what a little ball of energy you are. You’ve been doing a very good job with the pictures so far. I think Marona will be home with Gus in…”

The door behind him suddenly opened, and in came running a boy who looked a lot like Raz. It had to be little Augustus.

“Right now!”

He stood beside his father, holding his hand out for Mom. She immediately climbed on, and he put her on his shoulder. This felt all too familiar. It was like watching Raz and myself, but not.

“Dad, can we go play now?”

“Of course, son. Just don’t run off too far, and don’t let anyone see Sibi.”

Gus chuckled. “You tell us that every day.”

“Just making sure you kids stay safe!”

They ran out the door, their laughter filling the air with a sense of joy and wonder. I’d never seen Mom so happy before. It was such a sweet memory.

But I knew this wasn’t going to last. I knew that Grandma died when Mom was still a child, and Raz lost his grandfather to Maligula’s flood. I felt the impending dread build up as I was returned to the scrapbook. Turning the page would bring me closer to the truth, but it would also bring about a dark turn to this story.

Still, I had to keep looking. For Mom’s sake.

[tarithenurse]

Good Girl

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing/starring: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader Word count: 2090 Content: Gratuitous smut (sub/dom-ish, some sort of safety system, praise kink and more). No plot whatsoever. A/N: ....oops? Unbetaed – sorry about that but really, that’s the only thing I’m sorry about.

He could rip your head clear off and you’d probably thank him.

Okay, you wouldn’t but that’d just be because a corpse can’t talk.

AND to be honest you’d rather he ripped something else off of you.

Glaring at Gojo through the mirror from your place on the treadmill, you can see he’s barely breaking a sweat, circling the sandbag and hitting it with barrage after barrage of kicks and punches. He seems...bored? Ceruleans sometimes peeking over the edge of the sunglasses that he insists on wearing indoors (at least it’s a step up from the blindfold that he normally favours). His gaze follows his students as they leave the room and you’re alone with your crush.

Crush. Do you want a relationship with him or do you just want to get fucked senseless? You don’t know. You’d probably take any scraps Gojo’d give you which in itself probably is a worrying sign that you’re a lost cause.

“You’re staring,” he drawls, making you sputter out a bunch of nonsense to deny it.

Frustrated with yourself on all levels, you step off the treadmill and grab your little towel and water bottle in the hopes of hightailing it out of there. You’d be skipping the rest of your workout but that’s okay as you can come back tomorrow – it’s getting late anyways.

“Done already?” There’s a hint of mockery to his voice.

“Yeah,” you lie, hearing the waver yourself.

“Bullshit,” Gojo challenges, “you always move on to the various machines before finishing with a cool-down run and yoga. I know. I watch you too.”

That makes you stop dead in the track, gaze flickering to the nearest mirror that shows your reflection and him behind you.

Slowly, lazily, he’s stepping closer. And closer. It’s reminiscent of a prowl and it makes your skin pucker with anticipation for something you’ve only dared to imagine, never to hope.

Unable to move, you close your eyes when he’s right behind you, breath barely palpable along your exposed neck and his fingertips trace your wrists before dancing up your arms.

“Tell me...will you only always look?” his lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers, now standing at your side.

You have to swallow hard and there’s no doubt in your mind that he must have noticed it. You can imagine his cocky grin and maybe even a waggle of white eyebrows.

A quick glance from under fluttering eyelids show you just how wrong you are: his gaze burns, searing every detail of your face as he studies you, his glasses completely discarded.

It’s impossible to keep back the little whimper as your cunt clenches around nothing and your heart yearns to please him.

Gojo’s one eyebrow arches and a tiny smirk makes the corner of his mouth twitch. “Oh, so it’s like that.”

One of his large hands splays on your stomach, gently but firmly pushing you back to the centre of the room where a huge mat is lying, used for sparring sessions.

“Good girl.”

Heat floods through your body and you just know that your panties must be soaked already. You love this. Love how he’s taken charge, crowding you with his larger frame now that his fingers move to the hem of your top. Fingertips make sure to caress your skin as the slightly damp fabric is pulled upwards, eventually meeting the first obstacles and causing the sorcerer to pause.

“Listen carefully,” he announces, “traffic light system. Green is go, yellow is tentative and red is full stop. Got it?” You nod. “Use your words.”

“Yes, sir.” The last bit just pops out on its own but the way his pupils expand, you think he likes it.

“Colour now?”

“Green.”

His lips crash on yours. Tasting him for the first time, your mind struggles to find adjectives fitting for it other than “amazing” and “perfect”. He’s demanding. Hungry. One of his hands has grabbed you by your neck to tilt your head just right while the other hand roams your back before grabbing on to the ass and pulling you flush against him which means you can feel his erection through the few layers of clothes.

Then he withdraws a few inches, eyes locked with yours. “Colour?”

“Green, sir.”

It’s not like you’re just standing still. You can’t. Too jittery with anticipation, you’re fighting back wave after wave of goosebumps while your own hands dig into his wild locks, tugging ever so gently which earns you a growl and makes you stop.

“Did I give you a red light?” he promptly snaps, squeezing your butt a bit harder.

“No, sir,” you pout, “sorry, sir.”

But it’s too late. Letting go of you, he takes a few steps back to survey your puffy lips and the top that’s still suspended by your chest, allowing the skin of your belly to be admired. Palming himself lazily, there’s no rush to his movements any longer as he begins to circle you, coming to a halt behind you after a few rounds. The skin of his calloused hands is hot as it comes into contact with your waist.

“Take your top off,” Gojo whispers.

Grabbing the hem and pulling upwards, you almost manage to keep silent as he slips a hand under the waistband of your shorts at the same time. Long fingers sliding under clingy fabrics and down. He kicks your legs out, making you wobble for a moment until your gaze catches his in the mirror at the end wall. Piercing. Unadulterated desired.

“Sports bra too,” he orders.

This requires a bit more than simply yanking upwards: hooks in the back, straps to loosen...all the while Gojo has made it his mission to distract you by delving a single finger between your folds, slipping in the wetness from your wanting hole before honing in on your clit. It’s just light circles. Nothing fancy. But it’s taking your breath away and making it hard for you to stay standing still.

“Colour?”

“Green.”

A smirk. “Then we are you still wearing that bra?”

You can’t hold back the whine but the sense of unfairness helps you power through to get the offending clothing off. Barely has it landed by your feet before Gojo’s free hand is cupping your tits, thumb alternating sweeping over the sensitive nipples at the same pace as the circling of your clit which intensifies.

“So pretty for me,” he bites your earlobe testingly. “So needy, aren’t you?”

There’s no point in denying it. “Yes, sir.”

“Look into that mirror,” he orders and you can sense the shock of white hair bobbing the direction he means, “look into my eyes.”

Doing as he wants reduces your world to nothing but him. You couldn’t look away if you wanted even as he resumes circling your clit with renewed intensity. His other hands wanders from your breasts to your throat, squeezing lightly and making your cunt clench just as he slips his fingers in.

“I felt that,” he smiles, readjusting his hand so you are riding his fingers, thumb toying with your clit until you begin to forget how to breathe. Then he gives your throat another squeeze accompanied by what must be your doom: “Such a good, needy girl for me, huh?”

The whine escapes your lips as you try to keep your eyes open through the wave that surges in your body. Your legs are shaking, suddenly too weak to hold you so Gojo has to guide you onto the floor. On your knees, a new whimper escapes as he lets go of you completely and your body aches for his touch.

“Colour.” He must know it’s green, but you manage a whispered confirmation anyways. “You think, you’re a good girl?” You nod, finally finding his gaze only to have concern creep into your heart because his eyes a cold. Icy. “A good girl would have asked for permission first,” he tuts.

Your juices are still glistening on his one hand but now he slowly raises it to his lips, licking it clean in a way that’s meant to get your mind racing (it does).

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

Smiling benevolently, Gojo hunches down before you, grasping your chin to tilt your head up to meet his face. “You’ll make it up to me, right sweetie?”

“Yes, please let me make it better!”

Your hands move on their own, reaching towards his thighs and sliding up until you have a firm grip on the waistband of his sweatpants. You risk a light tug, fluttering your eyelashes to soften what could seem like a demand into a request...and you’re rewarded with a bright smile.

Rolling forward onto his knees, Gojo lets you pull down the sweats and his boxers. He even lets you get onto your hands and knees, tnogue darting out to wet your lips at the sight of his boner, before grabbing hold of your head with both hands.

“Green,” you interrupt him just as he opens his mouth to ask.

An eyebrow arches at your eagerness, but what can you say? You want him. All of him in any way possible.

“Then be a good girl.”

Rather than let go of your head, he guides your lips to his erection: big, weeping, an angry vein throbbing along the underside of the shaft as you gingerly take hold before kitten-licking the crown.

He let’s you play for a bit – get yourself familiar with him and his impressive dimensions. It makes it less daunting by the time your lips stretch around the cock head and you start to work your way down the shaft. You live for the sigh it pulls from his chest.

Back and forth, using your hand to compensate because you’ve never learned to deep throat and you sure as fuck won’t manage to now with Gojo’s cock...but you do your best, chasing after the “fuck yeah”s and “good girl”s that indicate that whatever you’re doing is the right stuff. His head has fallen back, eyes fluttering closed and he’s trying so hard not to take over and move your head, his big hands still clasped around your skull. A flick of the tongue. Hollowing the cheeks. All of it to please him.

“Stop.” You can barely trust your own ears although his voice leaves little doubt. “Lie back, darling.”

You let go with a pop and start to move but you’re too slow for Gojo who somehow has managed to tear off his t-shirt while following you. He’s caging you in on the mat, chests heaving and brushing against each other as you both feverishly work to get the rest of the clothes off. Pushing and pulling, a seem gives, elastics slap against the thigh as a grip falters for a moment but it doesn’t matter because next instant there’s nothing between you.

Warm and blunt, Gojo’s cock head is pushing against your folds, sliding back and forth easily to get proper lubed although you barely want to wait for such details. Your hands have found his ass, guiding him while he holds himself above you with one arm.

“Colour,” he pants, eyes finding yours.

There’s a hint of concern in his gaze – if you said no, he would respect it. “Green. Colour?”

The smirk tugs at his mouth. “Good girl. Green.”

Then he slides in, stretching your cunt and stealing your breath away all over again. You can do nothing but cling to him, whispering praises that mingle with his as he begins to rock into you.

He deserves credit, trying so hard to keep a slow pace with shallow thrusts but his insatiable hunger takes over, driving his hips. Earning him red scores where your nails slip on his back but he only seems to relish it, telling you how well you’re doing, how good you are, how tight you feel...and that you’re his. His good girl.

You seize up, barely remembering to ask for permission this time which you get in the form of a strangled: “Cum for me.”

He rides you through it and you’re just about to come down when he changes the angle, prolonging your high instead as he rams into you hard as he cums too.

He’s twitching, lazily humping through the after-wave when you remember to breathe. You have to fight back a whine as he finally rolls off you because you’re afraid of what will happen next.

As if hearing your thoughts, he kisses you cheek. “Gonna get you washed and fed and stuff before the next round, baby.”

[frogeyedape]

Horses have so much heart! Meaning, they will try & try & try to do what you want and they are SO brave about it! Imagine this: a weird ape is sitting on your back, putting a tiny bit more pressure than average on one side of your body with their leg and on the opposite side of your mouth with the rein. They want you to do something. And you want to be good! You get to do fun, challenging things when you do what the ape wants! So you (if you've been trained) pick up a canter with the correct lead and charge bravely forward, never knowing where you'll go next beyond this area straight ahead and oh, they're telling you to turn, and there's 6 different places ahead and...yes, you think they're pointing you at this one, so you focus in on this obstacle and canter up and then this dumbass ape drops its hands (pulling on your mouth, a signal to stop) but keeps pressure on your flanks (leg on means go forward) and you, the horse, have to decide: did they mean "stop" and fuck up with their leg cues, or did they mean "go forward" and forget that their hands need to be up? And you decide: this is a jump we're cantering towards. I jump over jumps, and my stupid ape is usually good about matching up their cues, so this is definitely a fuck up--and they probably want me to go forward and jump. So you do. You leap over this fence (it's 2 feet tall, they're not asking you for much) and damn but your ape really goddamn needs to get their hands up and release and HOLD the release so you can A) stretch your neck out over the jump and B) not get bumped hard in the mouth before you've even properly finished landing. But it's ok, you're patient (often beyond reason, but every horse has their limits) and oh good, the ape is steering you towards another jump. You lock in on it and canter up and oh very good, no tugging on your mouth over this jump, and there's ANOTHER jump after this one but it's the scary one that tried to eat you 6 weeks ago and you're not going to let that happen again. But the leg is on, the scary jump is definitely the one you have to jump--you're nervous and you think about running to the side to avoid the scary jump, but the leg is still there, supporting you, telling you forward, forward, straight ahead and oh SHIT the jump is going to get you! So you LEAP (it's another 2 foot fence and you easily clear 3 feet) and canter off and you did so good, you showed that fence, so you play a little (bucking) but your human just keeps on with forward leg & steering and there's another jump and the ape releases correctly again and there's a another jump ahead--you almost always jump these two jumps in a row, you are locked in, you know your job, but the ape is steering even while you're still in the air over the first jump and that tells you that no, you're not going to do the 2nd jump in this line, you're going to turn (there's 3 different options ahead for where to go next, and all you know is the ape is still telling you to turn) and turn (2 more options) and turn (2 more options) and turn and forward, and you have 2 strides to see this new random ass jump they've pointed you at and you don't like surprises, but the ape is telling you forward, forward, jump! So you do.

It just keeps going like that. A horse has to trust its rider so much: trust the rider knows what they're doing (lesson horses with very beginner riders frequently ignore a bunch of incorrect shit their riders tell them to do, because they know their job and they're going to damn well teach this silly ape how to work as a team), trust that the rider will support them and give clear consistent cues, trust the rider isn't trying to hurt them or make them do something impossible, trust that if they stumble their rider will be still enough in their seat not to knock the horse further off balance, trust in so many things. And they try so hard!

An underrated horse fact is that if you have horse that is both A. Not stupid and B. Likes you, it will actively try to prevent you from falling to your doom when you fuck up as a rider. Like actually make an effort not to drop you like a cell phone. I think horses deserve more credit for that.