#we made such a mess of a group and it's such a delight!!

[newtafterdark]

I drew all the player characters (not including my boy Sköll) from the D&D campaign I'm in with a couple of friends! :>

from top to bottom: Arik (with Promise), Beatrice, Eelf and Wig!

[yuechihua]

a strange case of bangboos.

summary: Harumasa brings exact Bangboo replicas of you and your Section Six coworkers to the office. For some reason, his Bangboo won't leave you alone.

notes: 3.7k words, author's notes, spoilers and references for Section Six special episode, fluff

There are a few things you’ve come to expect from your coworker, Asaba Harumasa: falling asleep at his desk during the middle of the day, sneaking requests for time off work alongside his pile of overdue reports, and walking into the office several hours late with a ridiculous excuse.

So when Harumasa strolls into the office for once, on time, with a light step and casual wave, it’s enough to make you look up from your flood of paperwork with a confused glance as he throws you a wink.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says cheerily, hand on his hips, stopping just short of entering the office. “I have a surprise for you all!” 

Soukaku and Miyabi, who have been diligently working (read: eating snacks and playing tic tac toe on official bureaucratic documents), are the first to run over. Yanagi remains at her desk, and the two of you exchange wary looks. 

“They’re so cute!” Soukaku says with childish delight, crouching down to mess with something half-hidden behind Harumasa and the open office doors. 

“How lifelike,” Miyabi muses, arms folded.

It’s at this point that you and Yanagi can’t resist striding over to see what Harumasa’s surprise entails. You’re greeted by the sight of several Bangboos crowding behind him. They appear to be custom-made: one in blue, one in black, one in white, and one in your favorite color—they’re the exact same as the Bangboo forms you and your colleagues had taken during a virtual reality attack from a hacker group. 

Soukaku is patting her Bangboo, her eyes bright as the Bangboo (Soukaboo, you decide it should be called) makes happy noises. Miyabi and her Bangboo (Miyaboo would be a good name for it) simply stare at each other without blinking, though after a moment, Miyabi nods, as if coming to some sort of internal decision.

“Bangboo?” Yanagi murmurs. “But why?”

“You can interact with them, you know,” Harumasa interjects.

“Interact with them?” you ask. 

At the sound of your voice, your Bangboo tilts its head at you. It appears to be sizing you up in the same way you’re observing it, with the same measured detachment. It’s a little eerie how similar it is to you, your mannerisms captured in a robot. 

Harumasa’s Bangboo (Asaboo, you dub it in your head) takes a few steps towards your Bangboo and tries to nuzzle it, only for your Bangboo to swiftly sidestep its advances, turning its body away in a clear sign of rejection. Asaboo lets out a sad little sigh, synthetic ears drooping, before it immediately perks up when its gaze alights on you.

“Ehn-nah!” Asaboo says, its mechanical voice sounding like the cheerful jingle of a bell.

Its body is chubby and white, smooth and sleek like the shell of a fat egg, and it preens under your newfound attention. Asaboo spins in a circle, revealing a little red target and arrow on its butt, and it takes all your self control not to throw your arms around it. 

There’s one thing you can’t deny: these Bangboo are absolutely adorable.

“It’s so much cuter than Harumasa,” you say out loud, arms crossed, as Asaboo beeps a little “eh-nah” in agreement, shuffling closer to you as it does.

“I agree,” Yanagi says. “Perhaps we could consider replacing Harumasa with this Bangboo. I imagine reports would come in a much more timely manner if we did.” 

“You know I can hear you, right?” Harumasa says, a faux wounded expression on his face.

“I know,” you say dryly. “But what’s the point of bringing them over? Don’t these look like the time we were turned–”

“It’s a change of pace,” Harumasa interrupts. “I figured we needed our own mascots, don’t you think? Think of the merchandising we can do. And they would brighten up the office.” 

“Yeah?” you say, unconvinced. “Since when did you care about that?”

“Well…” he continues, “There was also a deal at the shop I went to where if you bought one, you could get one free. Why wouldn’t I take advantage of such a good deal?”

Miyabi is watching Harumasa with a contemplative expression, her ear twitching slightly at his words. Before you can ask her what she’s thinking about, Asaboo suddenly tugs at your leg.

You glance down, and its chubby arms are wrapped around your calf, its little face peering up at you with its wide eyes.

“Eh-nah?” it asks, in the cutest, most innocent voice imaginable. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching down and patting the top of its head. It wiggles at your touch, reaching up its little hands, as if trying to feel the spot where you just pat it to capture your warmth. 

“It’s so cute,” you say fondly. 

At your words, Asaboo jumps up and down in excitement. 

“And it’s oddly attached to you,” Yanagi remarks. “Asaba, what does the AI data for these Bangboos look like?”

For the first time this morning, Harumasa looks abashed, but that doesn’t stop him from responding, “Well, these Bangboos are modeled closely on our personalities.”

“Harumasa, is there something you want to say to me?” you tease. “I don’t recall you being as desperate for my attention as this Bangboo.”

“I think this is very telling, Asaba,” Yanagi says, crossing her arms. 

“What on earth are you two talking about?” Harumasa says, widening his eyes, neatly sidestepping your questions and avoiding your gaze. “Telling in what way? Deputy Chief, don’t tell me you’re feeling left out. Should I order one for you, too?”

“No,” Yanagi says wearily, “That won’t be necessary. I’d rather you save your money for something useful.”

“This is useful, though! It’s excellent for team morale! Don’t you think they’re cute, Soukaku?”

“Hm…” Soukaku looks down at Soukaboo, who does a little hop. “They’re cute! I like them.”

“Don’t drag Soukaku into this!” Yanagi says. 

“I think my Bangboo will make an excellent training partner. I haven’t had a chance to spar with myself yet,” Miyabi interjects in a thoughtful voice. Miyaboo nods its head in agreement.

“Chief, not you, too!”

“I think it’s harmless, Yanagi,” you say. “It’s one of Harumasa’s better ideas.” As you speak, Asaboo tugs on your leg again, looking up at you with a pitiful expression. “Oh, are you feeling left out?”

You reach down and run your gentle fingers along Asaboo’s head, rubbing alongside its ears. It has a smooth, rubbery texture, but if you press down harder, you can feel the vibration and stabilized heat of its whirring machinery beneath its exterior.

Harumasa watches you with a conflicted expression. “Why aren’t you this nice to me?”

“You’re not as cute as Asaboo,” you say resolutely, and Asaboo lets out a little “eh-nah” of agreement. 

Harumasa purses his lips. His eyes narrow at Asaboo, and it’s the exact same expression he has  right before he lets loose an arrow aimed for an Ethereal’s core. “I’m starting to regret this purchase.”

“You’re the one who brought them over. Asaboo hasn’t done anything wrong,” you say. 

“But you’re taking its side!” Harumasa protests. “Against me, your loyal partner! Our bond is forged through countless adversities in the Hollows, against the worst Ethereals New Eridu has ever seen! And you’re choosing a Bangboo over me!”

“Our relationship is strictly business. This is different,” you say, fingers dancing over the top of Asaboo’s ears as it lets out a content sigh. 

“Harumasa’s been replaced,” Miyabi murmurs.

“He’s been replaced,” Yanagi agrees. “Harumasamasa has been replaced!” Soukaku says cheerfully.

“There’s no need to rub it in…” Harumasa glances at your Bangboo, which is peacefully sitting on the floor in a patch of sunlight, staring out one of the windows, oblivious to the chaos around it. He crouches, and holds out his hand, as if to pat its head. “Hey there.” Your Bangboo immediately jumps up and scampers away without looking at Harumasa, resuming its vigil farther away.

“Rejected, even by a Bangboo,” Yanagi murmurs. “Asaba, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”

“Tsukishiro, if you say that, that’s just going to make me feel worse, you know?” Harumasa says ruthfully. “But it’s fine. We can just let them run around a little longer.”

The newest members of Section Six settle into the office with relative ease. The Bangboo are given free range around the office, though you notice that Soukaboo likes to sit near anyone with visible snacks, and Miyaboo is found in increasingly odder positions: on top of the door, hidden in a bookshelf, or tucked under a desk. 

Your Bangboo, on the other hand, is perfectly content to help deliver paperwork or coffee around the office, though it’s not immune from Miyaboo and Soukaboo pulling it into sudden games. Asaboo has no similar luck with your Bangboo, which seems to ignore Asaboo’s attempts to get close. There’s a hint of dissatisfaction in your Bangboo’s expression, though you can’t tell where it’s coming from. 

So Asaboo ends up waddling after you, settling right next to the side of your desk. Whenever you get up to grab a cup of coffee, discuss confidential information with other officers, or simply to stretch, Asaboo immediately jumps up to follow.

“Not interested in playing with the other Bangboo anymore?” you say. The other Bangboo are hopping around in the distance, bouncing a ball Soukaku pulled out from her desk back and forth.

“Eh-nah!” it says, puffing out its chest.

“Well, I’m happy to hang out with you, too.” You pat its head once more, and it gives a wiggle of delight.

“I’m also happy to hang out with you,” Harumasa adds. His desk is right next to yours, so it’s easy for him to see everything that’s going on. You glance at him, with his chair pushed back from his desk, feet propped up on the table, ankles crossed.

“Sure, but you’re not voluntarily spending time with me. We work together,” you respond dryly. You don’t miss how his mouth tugs into a pout, looking for all the world like a displeased cat which has been denied its favorite meal. 

Around lunchtime, when you pick up your packed lunch to head to the break room, Asaboo jumps up and down in the air, holding out its hands.

“Oh? Do you want to carry this for me?” you say, holding the package aloft.

It nods enthusiastically, ears flopping, and you gently place your lunchbox into its hands. Asaboo clutches the bundle to its chest like its most precious treasure, though it’s nothing more than some plastic containers set in a carrying case, with a handle that pops out that Asaboo loops its hand through.

“I could carry that for you,” Harumasa adds. His head is down on his desk, gazing at you through the fringe of his dark eyelashes. They’re unfairly long and pretty.

“Are you sure?” you say, raising your eyebrow. “I thought you said you weren’t capable of lifting anything heavier than a single sheet of paper.” 

“Well, I’m feeling a burst of strength today, so–” Harumasa raises himself from his desk and reaches out towards your lunchbox, but Asaboo leaps back before his hand can even graze it. 

“Eh-eh-nah!” it says defiantly. 

“Oh, you little–”

“Don’t bully Asaboo,” you scold, moving to stand in front of it. “Come on, Harumasa. It’s just a cute little Bangboo.” 

“It just made a face at me,” he says indignantly, throwing his hands up helplessly.

“Well, like you said, the data for its personality is based on you.”

With that, you and Asaboo head towards the break room, Asaboo wobbling behind you cheerfully the entire time. The break room itself is surprisingly spacious, with floor to ceiling windows, tasteful plants tucked in corners, and clusters of tables and cushy chairs scattered about. Various gleaming, stainless state of the art kitchen appliances are huddled in the corner. It’s one of the nicer break rooms you’ve seen, and you have HSO budget to thank for that.

Asaboo quickly runs to a table near one of the windows, and hops up to place your lunchbox on the table. It’s a quiet spot, away from the other officers, and the sunlight pleasantly warms the area.

“Did you choose this place on purpose? You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, and Asaboo ducks its head, raising its hands to cover its face in embarrassment. Really, when it reacts like that, it’s hard to imagine Asaboo derives its personality from Harumasa. It’s not as if Harumasa isn’t thoughtful; in fact, you have a feeling the presence of the Bangboo is his roundabout way to make everyone happy, somehow. 

But Harumasa, clinging to your leg, or following you everywhere? It’s hard to imagine. Is that how he really wants to act around you, or is it simply that Asaboo has its own individual quirks, separate from the influence of Harumasa’s personality data? Despite Yanagi’s earlier comment about how “telling” Asaboo’s reactions are, your own teasing, and Harumasa’s reticent response, it’s not a clear marker for Harumasa’s own feelings. 

You’re not sure you want to use Asaboo to measure Harumasa’s feelings, either. That brings up its own complications, especially regarding your own emotions towards Harumasa. It would be a lie to say that Asaboo being Harumasa’s Bangoo doesn’t make you extra sweet to it. Well, that and the mischievous desire in you to see Harumasa pout. After all, it’s payback for all the teasing you’ve endured from him since the two of you joined Section Six.

You enjoy a quiet lunch with Asaboo, though once you’re both back at the office and you’re settled at your desk, Asaboo lets out a little “eh-nah” when it sees Soukaku holding up a picture to her Bangboo, a crayon drawing of her and Soukaboo in a field of flowers, holding hands. It immediately leaps up and heads out the door. You don’t have time to wonder at its behavior, though, not when you have a mountain of tasks that’s piled up since you were away at lunch.

“Your loyal companion left. Want me to take its place?” Harumasa offers.

“Get back to work, Harumasa.”

Ten minutes later, you’re interrupted from your workflow by the patter of mechanical feet and something tugging at your leg.

You look down to see Asaboo, covered in mud and grass stains, a trail of dirty footprints behind it, and a proud expression on its face as it clutches a flower in its hand. In contrast to Asaboo’s appearance, the flower is pristine, with soft, pure yellow petals.

“Eh-nah!” Asaboo says. It holds the flower in your direction.

“Oh, Asaboo, where did you get this? Is this for me?” you ask. You gingerly take the flower from its hand, and Asaboo looks proudly at you.

“Eh-nah. Ehn-nah-nah!” It jumps up and down for emphasis. 

“I’ll cherish it forever,” you promise, and carefully place the flower on your desk. You’ll ask Soukaku to help you press it later so you can preserve it. Was that why Asaboo had been looking at Soukaku’s drawing? Because it was thinking of you?

“If you want flowers, I can give you some, too, without ripping up the building’s lawn,” Harumasa says. He looks at you sleepily, with that familiar pout curling around his mouth.

“Then why haven’t you?” you tease him. “Besides, think about it. If Asaboo gives me a flower, isn’t it essentially the same as if you gave me the flower yourself?”

“It’s completely different,” he protests. “It’s not like I knew you wanted flowers. And Asaboo isn’t me. If anything, it’s…” He brings a hand to his tie, which already hangs loose from his collar, and unconsciously slides the knot lower. 

“It’s what?” 

“The Bangoo weren’t meant to do any of this,” he says. 

“I thought you said these Bangboo were bought on a whim,” you say.

“I did. That’s not exactly wrong, but…” Harumasa hops up on your desk, perching on a spot free from papers or office supplies. He crosses his legs, and you swing your office chair in his direction. “Sometimes, if you have a bitter memory, you can overwrite it by facing it over and over until you get used to it and it’s no longer so painful, right? Like exposure therapy.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Asaboo, at some point, has slowly run off to find the other Bangboo. They circle each other and jump around, an innocent dance of happiness, though Asaboo is watching your Bangboo more intensely than anything else in the room.

“Are you talking about the time we were turned into Bangboo?” you venture. It’s a memory whose threat has faded with time, becoming less of a menace and more of a funny office story to relay to coworkers. Dangerous situations and odd circumstances come part and parcel with your job.

Still, you can remember the sensation of being a Bangboo with startling clarity: the virtual buildings of Lumina Square inflating in size around you, wobbling on legs you weren’t used to, unable to wield a weapon. When you lifted your hands, a shock would jolt through you to see metal and not limbs and fingers. It’s a feeling of helpless you aren’t eager to return to.

“I was the first to turn into a Bangboo,” Harumasa says ruthfully. “And I couldn’t do anything. I had to watch everyone fight, knowing every second we wasted was a second closer to death. I had to watch you put your life at risk to keep me safe, and I couldn’t do anything at all. Everyone here is strong, but…” He taps his fingers on your desk. “You all pretend to be fine when you’re really not.”

How long has this been on his mind? It must have been what Miyabi noticed right away, from the very moment Harumasa started showing off the Bangboo. You slowly cover his hand with one of your own, entangling your fingers together. The heavy fabric of his gloves brush against your bare fingers, but you can still feel the bump of his knuckles, the curve of the back of his hand.

No one else in the office can see the two of you right now, the front of your desk with your computer and stack of books and folders acting as a barrier from the rest of the world.

“Harumasa.” You dip a finger under his glove, to feel the tender, warm, uncertain flesh underneath and trace designs on the back of his hand. His breath hitches. “You don’t need to take on everything yourself. You also like to pretend you’re fine when you’re not; you can rely on us a little more.”

“So the Bangboo weren’t a good idea, huh?” The joke comes out light-hearted and weak.

“No, they’re very cute,” you say. “I really like them, even if you don’t. But if you want to overwrite bitter memories, I think we should all do it together.”

A heated intensity steals across Harumasa’s face, his attention on you as unwavering and steady as a shaft of blazing summer light. “Together? Do you promise that?”

He bends his head a little closer, and you tilt your head upwards in response. Whatever it is he offers, you’ll accept.

However, before either of you can make another move, there’s a great crash, metal slamming on cold tile, and you instantly rise from your seat to seek out the source of the noise. In the middle of the offic, you see Asaboo collapsed on the floor, sprawled over like a fallen egg on its side.

“Oh no,” you murmur. But before you can rush over, something astonishing happens. Your Bangboo, which previously has ignored Asaboo, immediately leaps to Asaboo’s side, patting its head with its hands.

“Ehn-nah,” your Bangboo says worriedly.

“Eh-ne-ne,” Asaboo says back in a faint tone.

Your Bangboo cradles Asaboo’s hand in its own as it helps Asaboo stand. Asaboo leans on your Bangboo, though you can’t help but feel Asaboo’s steps are a little too energetic as your Bangboo guides it out of the door, their hands entangled together the whole time, probably to find a charging port or a mechanic. 

“Huh? I thought their Bangboo didn’t like Asaboo!” Soukaku says. She jumps up from her chair. Miyabi and Yanagi are clustered around Soukaku’s desk, ostensibly discussing some business that’s been interrupted by the Bangboo drama. “It didn’t want to play with Asaboo before!”

“I wonder if their Bangboo was just shy towards Asaboo,” Yanagi theorizes. “Or it’s possible it was jealous, too, of Asaboo clinging to someone else.”

“It’s most likely both,” Miyabi says. “I believe it’s always cared for Asaboo, and Harumasa by extension, but would loathe to let everyone know the extent of its feelings.”

Your face heats up as everyone’s gazes swing towards you, like bright stage lights revealing you to an audience you didn’t realize was there. You don’t even want to look at Harumasa, still perched on your desk, because you can already imagine the smug, overly pleased expression on his face. 

“I think we should talk about something else,” you suggest hastily. “Don’t you think Asaboo’s behavior was a little strange?”

“As Asaboo’s owner and foremost expert,” Harumasa says, one hand cupped around his chin, “I think it’s obvious Asaboo was faking its sudden bout of dizziness in order to get the attention of your Bangboo.”

“Why does that sound exactly like something you would pull off?” you say. “Like owner, like Bangboo.”

“Speaking of… I feel a little faint… I think… I need to lean on you…” Harumasa, with no attempt to hide his theatrics, begins to lean strategically in your direction, face landing on your shoulder, slumping his entire body so his weight falls on you.

“Asaba Harumasa, can you at least pretend to hide your intentions?”

“Can’t hear you… Still dizzy… We need to hold hands or I’ll fall…” 

Harumasa reaches for your hand with surprising speed, but you tuck it behind your back so he can’t hold it. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you instead, and it takes all your willpower not to shove him off and onto the floor. 

You can still feel the gaze of your other coworkers upon you, and hear the whisper of their conversation, though they aren’t making any effort to hide their comments.

“They’re embarrassed,” Miyabi says quietly.

“They’re very embarrassed,” Yanagi says.

“Super embarrassed!” Soukaku chirps. You close your eyes, face still hot. From now on, you’re not going to underestimate Harumasa’s or Asaboo’s capacity for cunning. As cute as the Bangboo are, maybe they are more trouble than they’re worth.

[aingeal98]

Need a Damian who constantly bullshits horrific outlandish shit about his childhood to mess with his family vs Cass who just shrugs and accepts it as normal.

They're talking in the group chat about worst things they've ever eaten and Damian, determined to win, claims that his grandfather made him eat nails as a child to strengthen his immune system and help him learn spy skills (Complete lie but it makes Bruce and Dick get that silly look on their faces that Damian finds hilarious.)

And Cass is like oooh did he make you ingest poisons too? What one tasted the nicest? And Damian's like uhhhh yeah I'm familiar with poison eating. Obviously having the superior body I ingested them all with no trouble.

Next movie night Cass slips him popcorn that does not look right. He's looking at it suspiciously and she seems so proud.

"It's arsenic and anthrax." She whispers proudly. "Don't tell the others. They were always the tastiest to me."

And Damian can only watch in horror as she reaches into the anthrax laced popcorn, grabs a handful and shoves it in her mouth.

He goes into the notes he keeps on his new family that night and makes an update to Cass's file that just says "Freak of nature???"

Meanwhile Cass is delighted to have another family member who she thinks understands that ingesting mercury can be a fun little treat sometimes. It's for enrichment Barbara, you wouldn't get it like we do.

(Damian does not get it. At all. But he has several new questions for his grandfather about what the hell they were doing funding David Cain's experiments.)

[fastandcarlos]

Meet Baby Ricciardo : ̗̀➛ Daniel Ricciardo

summary: after welcoming your first child, you return to the paddock and introduce everyone to baby ricciardo

You smiled wide as Daniel glanced back, checking that you were still just behind him. You followed him stride for stride as he parted the crowd, allowing you to easily wheel the pram through the paddock as you headed for the garage where you could make yourselves comfortable. 

“How many visitors do you think we’re going to have today?” Daniel laughed, holding the door open for you so that you could walk in, heading straight for his driver’s room. 

You greeted a few familiar faces as you walked into the hospitality lounge before throwing yourself down on the sofa in Daniel’s room. You were already exhausted as you reminded yourself how busy the paddock was, unable to remember the last time that you were there. 

It had taken a little bit of convincing by Daniel for you to return today, your daughter in your company. He’d been pestered endlessly by the other drivers, keen to meet your daughter for the first time, unable to stall them all for any longer. 

Daniel closed the door before taking a seat beside you. “I give it five minutes before they start appearing, you know how it is around here, nothing ever stays secretive for too long.” 

“You never know, they might all be too busy getting ready for practice to come over here.” 

“No way, you’ve got no idea how excited all of them are sweetheart.” 

The two of you made yourselves comfortable, but as expected, it didn’t take long. After just a couple of minutes Daniel opened up the door to see several figures hanging around outside, desperate for their first glimpse of your little girl, someone they already adored. 

After letting you know who was outside, Daniel lifted your daughter out of her pram, handing her to you and instructing you to find a seat at one of the tables of the lounge. As you did, Daniel stepped outside to greet them all. “Do you people not have anything better to do with your time?” 

The boys all shook their heads, peering through the open door to see where you were sat. After briefing them all to be quiet, Daniel invited the group in, pointing in your direction as they all hurried over, fighting it out to be the first one to get there. 

Your smile was wide as you looked around, Oscar, Lando, Charles and Max all stood around you, their eyes bright and their mouths open in astonishment. 

“Wow, look how cute she is.” 

“You guys...she’s adorable.” 

The sound of new voices had your daughter squirming, much to the boys’ delight. “She’s so small,” Max whispered, unable to take his eyes off of her, finding his breath taken away with how tiny she was. 

Daniel took a seat beside you as the rest of the boys all pulled up chairs, sitting as close to you as possible. They couldn’t get enough as you filled them all in and introduced her properly, barely able to get a word out without them cooing over something that she did. 

“Can we have a hold?” Lando excitedly asked you, nervously extending his arms out. “I mean, only if that’s alright, I’d just love to have a cuddle.” 

“Of course,” you responded, carefully standing yourself up, moving over to where Lando was. 

A gasp came from you at how light she was as you placed her into his arms, almost scared to hold her alone with how fragile she was, struggling to keep her eyes open. 

“How did you manage to create such a beautiful daughter?” Oscar jokingly asked Daniel, able to get a much better look at her now that she was in Lando’s hold. “There’s no way she’s got any of your genes going on there.” 

“And she’s not got the nose,” Charles sniggered, feeling Daniel hit against his arm. “I’m only messing, she’d look beautiful even with your snout.” 

After a few moments Lando passed your daughter onto Max who was beside him, feeling your eyes watch over him as they passed her, still slightly terrified of something happening. “I can’t actually believe that you’re a dad,” Max smiled over in Daniel’s direction. 

Truthfully, he couldn’t quite believe it either, it absolutely felt like a pinch me moment. He was loving life to say the least, finding every day that he was learning something new about the newest lady in his life, the lady who had captured his heart from the moment that she arrived. 

Daniel hummed as he draped his arm across your shoulders. “I was never too sure on having kids, but now that she’s here, I can’t believe there was ever a moment when I wasn’t sure.” 

“We always knew you’d be a good day,” Oscar chimed in response, “you’re like an old man and an annoying older brother all in one around the paddock, the perfect qualities that you need to be a dad.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, getting exactly what Oscar was trying to say. “He won’t like me for telling you this, but someone did actually shed a few tears too when I was in labour, well, he probably cried a river.” 

“I was not that bad!” Daniel quickly protested as the other boys sniggered at your story. “It was a pretty emotional moment; I don’t know what else to say. You guys all wait; you’ll know the feeling one day.” 

The memory of Daniel would always stick with you, he was an emotional guy, but you’d never seen him so overcome with emotion in your life. He didn’t know what to say or do as his heart raced, struggling to believe what you had done, and that his little girl was there. 

As silence descended, it was soon broken by your daughter letting go of a sneeze. A chorus of coos came from around the group again, everyone’s eyes landing on your daughter. 

“Well, that was officially the cutest sneeze I’ve ever heard.” 

Everyone quickly nodded in agreement with Lando, finding themselves falling in love all over again. “Do you reckon we can all mutually agree to just forget about having to drive a car today and spend all our day sat around here with this one instead?” 

It would’ve been nice, everyone agreed with Charles, but you knew it would never come true. However, the one you thing you were confident of was that you never needed to worry about your first trip back to the paddock as all the boys looked after you both, perfectly. 

“You better be coming to every race from now on,” Oscar warned you as you stood up to take your daughter back. “Do you know how calm I feel after sitting here? I’m going to need this relaxation before every race.” 

“I’m just coming to races for cuddles from now on.” 

“And I’m going to go and persuade Alexandra that we need a baby,” Charles added as Max finished talking. “It’s funny, she probably has no idea who any of these strange men sat around her are, does she?” 

“We’ll make sure as she can, she does,” Daniel smiled around at the four of them. “It won’t take long for her to know who her weird uncles are who drive cars around for a living.” 

“There’s nothing weird about us,” Lando protested, “although you can assure her we’ll be protective uncles who won’t let her ever go near a boy in her life.” 

“Can you please stop wishing my child’s life away?” You laughed in reply, “she’s barely a couple of weeks old, not a moody teenager about to rebel thank you.” 

Daniel smiled across at you as you spoke, “we’ve got all of this to look forward to darling.” 

“No way, she’s staying my baby forever.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[daenysx]

i got bored so here are some modern!james potter headcanons;

um- sunshine energy at its finest!!

james is one of the prettiest boys you could ever see in your life

his smile lights up every room he walks in

he has to take extra five minutes every morning to fix his hair because he always puts his head wrong on the pillow and messes the shape of his thick, wavy hair

heavy sleeper!! (cutest though, sometimes he sleeps with his mouth open)

he's a morning person but he usually goes to bed early, claiming he has to get 8 hours of sleep

sleeps naked. to your delight.

he likes getting slow back scratches and massages, he is addicted to get kisses on his neck and his cheeks, he LOVES being babied

always runs hot even when the room is cold. he's generous too, he holds your cold body in his arms until you get warmer

i once wrote that he makes the best iced lattes in the morning, i still stand by it

he'd practice to be perfect at making your favorite drink (mine is iced latte so i had to say it-)

breakfast fan!!

he never leaves the apartment with an empty stomach, the worst he can do is take some snacks or fruits with him if he runs late

loves morning runs, morning walks, morning work outs, morning stretches. anything to wake his body up

and we probably all know this but james potter is the type of man who knows his body well

he looks good and he knows it

he also knows what he should do to take care of himself and his health

i mean he likes waking up early and starting his day, but he'll stay in bed with you if it means he'll get cuddles (especially when it's cold)

he tries to wake you up by bribing you with promises of a shower together and breakfast prepared by him

speaking of showers-

um- if you don't mind me being a little smutty here,

james potter loves eating you out

and he loves it more when he gets to wake you up to his mouth

and he does it again when he convinces you into shower

he does it for his own pleasure really

because it feels so good to keep his mouth on you and rubbing himself to soft blankets at the same time

this man is never- and i mean never ashamed of coming into his pants

like seriously, just think about it

he adores that feeling of falling apart for you, he doesn't even need to be touched

needy. and that's hot.

he makes noises in bed. never stays silent. always tells you how you make him feel.

he likes being called 'my love'

king of getting you flowers because 'they made him think of you'

he makes fun of his blurry sight every time he loses his glasses

he can't read for long (sleepy boy alert) but he likes it when you read a book out loud for him

tries to compete with remus on how many movies he can watch in a row without falling asleep

he loses of course

he complains about sirius' smoking (stop acting like a saint prongs) but he takes a few drags when he's too stressed

now that's the thing- james potter doesn't like to burden others with his stress

he keeps things to himself when he's not joking

his glossy eyes give him away though

precious boy

he blinks a few quick tears on your neck when it gets too much

let's keep going with happy james because i can't handle the thought of him being sad

the best hugger ever!!!

strong arms, broad chest, smells perfect, knows how to squeeze your body with the best amount of pressure

you forget everything when he holds you

he never pulls away from a hug first

just my dream guy

another thing- he is so proud of himself when you laugh at his jokes

has a group chat with remus and sirius

never stops sending memes, sometimes drives remus insane

his spotify playlists are so complicated because his music taste changes with every song

he wants you to choose the music every time you're in his car

guys- james potter brainrot is something else, i swear i love him so much

that's all for now, let me know if you'd like a part 2

[diejager]

omegaverse anon here, could you do the cod group with a beta reader? Like, they stay really out of the way, not really used to getting any attention from alphas or omegas

Unusual Attraction Cw: omegaverse, awkward!reader, ell me if I missed any.

You were an oddity of a beta, your stronger nose made interacting with people harder than other betas, it made you stand out from your peers, they deemed you a beta stronger than the usual beta and that made you feel isolated and alone. You were used to alphas ordering you around and moving you from team to team for your nose and clear mind, you were a asset to have on certain teams where they needed a buffer that wasn’t an heat-prone omega. And despite your constant entourage of omegas and alphas, you never stopped flinching or wincing when someone’s scent became too strong, the musk burning your nose in an enclosed area like the mess hall, the training areas, or even public spaces. 

You preferred keeping to yourself, to alleviate the growing headache pounding at your head, to find a calmer corner of the base you were permanently moved to. You knew the people you worked with from prior assignments, a few times on month long covert operation and others on week long clandestine missions offshore, but you liked your silence when you could afford to find it. Even outside, their scents clung to your clothes, the strong smell of Price’s smoke and Ghost’s bourbon, the distinct notes of strength and dominance that screamed Alpha, Soap’s sweeter and softer citrus that you could pick up despite the scent blockers and Gaz’s gentle vanilla, a soothing calmness that reminded you that you weren’t the only buffer to the team, that you were the only beta.

“Found ye, Hound!” You liked the way Soap said your callsign, his accent coming into play to make it sound different —special. 

He swung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you to his side, your nose twitching from how close you were to his scent glands. You felt like he did it with intention, always finding a way to have you smelling like him and filling your mind with his scent, it was near addictive —so much so that you would’ve succumbed to it if you were an alpha, mind shutting off and body acting on it’s own volition. You wouldn’t blame anyone for it, Soap smelled so good, a sinful delight that people were deprived of, and when he wasn’t using the patches, it numbed your mind, made you slow and sloppy with your thoughts and acts. He knew the effect he had on you and he loved it from his constant hazing, flashing his gland in your face and drowning you in it whenever he could. Perhaps it was his claim on you, you never truly understood the whole dynamic, you were a buffer with a better nose, nothing more and nothing less.

“We were lookin’ fer ye,” he walked back in, still holding you in his grasp, “We’re going tae the pub. Thought ah’d come and get ye.”

They, on multiple occasions, had invited you to go drink with them, extending that olive branch your way with smiles and encouraging nods. You were tempted to accept, but you didn’t do well in enclosed and crowed spaces, so you declined over and over, but they never stopped asking you. It got to a point where you were waiting for them to stop asking, to tire themselves of befriended you, and yet, they never did, going so far as to pull you along despite your grumbling and exhaustion, promising a night of rest and relaxation at the pub. 

And fortunately, their words rang true, it was a blessing to your nose that the owners burned an overpowering but gentle incense that blocked all types of scents, a relief you rarely got. The only thing you could smell was the comforting scents of your new pack, the oil-packed burgers and fries, and the strong burn of alcohol, all thing that you didn’t mind as long as it came in moderation to your nose. After your first drunken and giggling visit to the pub with them, basking in their attention, Soap throwing himself over Ghost’s lap and grinning at you cheekily, Gaz leaning against your side, nuzzling the crook of your shoulder, Ghost’s big and warm hand grasping your thigh and Price looking on with so much pride. 

“The occasion?” You followed him blindly, blinking lazily at him.

“Yer third month with us,” he smiled widely, something carnal and wild, befitting more an alpha than the omega he was. Maybe that’s why he could easily pass as an alpha, with all his bravado and broadness, either way, he was a dangerous man alone, but as a Task Force, they were a menace.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry

[astral-prayers]

jack whose heard of you from murmurs and gossips from his fellow dorm mates, thinking about how it's only been a short while since you've mysteriously gotten into this world with how much trouble follows you. jack pities you, somewhat. but he wouldn't be found near any radius with you. he's not really that interested on being a part of your.. "shenanigans", savanaclaw's already an exuberant bunch of competitive try hards. but. whenever he hears the accomplishments you've done–managing to acquire a gemstone from the abandoned mines, being able to make two students work together without making any shady deals, standing against the housewarden of heartslabyul–all the air of trouble, mischievousness, and thievery immediately dissipates.

jack didn't really made much out of you at first, obviously. you tend to stick with your usual... chaotic friend group. he surmised that they made you feel at home, and practically make you clean up their mess but that's something only a bystander would think of so jack holds that thought off, undoubtedly he'd be like you too if he's in a world so far from what you've been used to. jack's thoughts about you is as blank as your interactions together, but it's altogether much more positive than your other schoolmates views towards you.

the first you talk to him, or rather even acknowledge that he also went to night raven, was just a simple bump in the hallway. it was almost lunchtime, only one more subject and every student's favorite time would come. there's a commotion going down the hallway, the garden's brimming with people doing their things, and jack's too caught up with his studying that he didn't register walking towards someone. there's a small yelp that elicited from your side, one which jack's ears perked too–he reacted pretty fast too, his hands surged to hold your arms before your awaited fall. just in time, he thinks. but he blinks, and sees that it's you; the Prefect, the one who's been plaguing the student gossip. jack's ears are straight up by that point and you wallowed out a "sorry, i didn't see where i was going!" and he huffed. "no need. i'm sorry i didn't see you too." he says, too aware of his tail wagging side to side, too aware of how your heartbeat's palpitating, and maybe a bit aware of some savanaclaw students looking at both of your way. but you don't seem to mind, maybe you're used to it (he thinks, yet again.) "no, no, it's my fault! really! i saw you were walking clearly while i was.. you know.. just waltzing about. really, i'm sorry." and jack cracks a curt smile, he retracts back his hand from your arms and fixes his cuffs before shaking his head. "it's okay, we we're both preoccupied with something." and you smile, and jack's feeling his tail puffing up, then he looks sideways and says; "i'll be going now. you should too, you'll be late to class." before anything else–before he does or says anything–jack starts walking. but the universe, or maybe You, seems to have other plans. "Wait! I never got your name–" you yell, albeit it could be considered a whisper too, you don't know, jack doesn't know. but what he knows is that he turns around and looks at your eyes, and says: "Jack Howl, nice to meet you." too fast but not too slow to notice your eyes crinkling in delight and a smile so sunny he starts to smile too. and then you reach out your hand for him, before saying the name he's heard people utter from the mouth he's heard others would spew out miracle sounding magic. "nice to meet you too! i'm the Prefect of ramshackle dorm, Jack!"

[shadowxamyweek]

Where Does the Headcanon That Silver Is Shadow and Amy’s Kid Come From?

Much like Shadow calling Amy, 'Rose,' Silver being Shadow and Amy's kid is everywhere. If nothing else, he's often relegated to a distant descendant. When did we all agree though that this was just kinda a thing? To answer that, we're going to have to back up to Dragon Ball.

Sega has never hidden its love of Dragon Ball. Much of what is now Sonic Canon just started out as Sega artists and game designers delighting in some of the cool stuff Dragon Ball does, including but not limited to how the 7 chaos emeralds parallel the 7 dragon balls, and how Sonic's super form mirrors Goku's. This is important to keep in mind because there's another set of parallels that are being drawn when the, 'Silver is Shadow and Amy's kid,' headcanon comes into play. In Dragon Ball, there's an villain turned anti-hero/secondary protagonist called Vegeta and a very bubbly, very domineering woman named Bulma. The two get together and have a kid, named Trunks. Trunks ends up time traveling, specifically going back in time to prevent certain tragedies from happening. Aaaaand then once again, in Sonic, we have Shadow, being a villain turned anti-hero/secondary protagonist, and Amy, being a bubbly and domineering girl. We've also got Silver, who ends up time traveling, specifically going back in time to prevent certain tragedies from happening. *gestures loosely* People on Sega's payroll have noticed the parallels and commented on them as well. In 2008, on his Bumble King website, Ian Flynn answered some fan questions about the subject:

Later, in 2023, Flynn and his cohost Crouse over on the @bumblekast answered a question about this again:

(It's at 1:26:13, just in case I messed up the link) ---- TRANSCRIPT Crouse: Right, here's another question. This one is from ChaosSonic1. "This might kill this headcanon for others, but it always bugs me: people constantly consider Shadow and Amy as Silver's parents but that would be impossible due to two things. One, Shadow was in prison for 200 years. Thoughts?" ...That's only one thing but okay. [Laughter] Flynn: It is something that's come up because there were a lot of weird parallels, number one that silver was, you know, decidedly based on Trunks and I think it's quite obvious that Shadow is the kind of Vegeta of this group. It makes Amy default to the Bulma, which isn't really solid. I mean, if anything, Tails is the Bulma of the group, but you know there are no solid one to ones throughout the whole thing. You started trying to get too specific with it and falls apart. There was other stuff like-... something in Sonic and the Black Knight-... Amy was Nimune and Shadow was Lancelot and Silver was-... Galahad... Point being, within Autherial 1:27:40 within Arthurian, lore Silver's character was the child of Shadow and Amy's characters, which kind of made everyone go, 'beg pardon?' (Brief pause, this is slightly incorrect. Nimune is both the singular and plural name for water nymphs, one, or all of which, raised Lancelot. Galahad is *only* Lance's child. Again, like Dragon Ball, not a one to one, but enough to cock an eyebrow.) Flynn: There's also like the kind of vague mysticism around Amy and the fact that Silver can do Chaos Control so it's like, did he inherit Shadow's Chaos Control and his psychic powers from Amy? And it's all like extremely loose vague breadcrumbs that don't really so much make a line as they just are kind of scattered in the water for the ducks to eat so no, it doesn't really make any sense because like you said, in that timeline, Shadow was sealed away for like the duration and it's still 200 years. I don't think Amy was, you know, secretly carrying Shadow's love baby that long. That doesn't add up...- I mean, who knows. I mean, if that is your headcanon, if that's your ship, if that's how you want to connect the dots, go nuts. I'm not going to shoot it down.

Crouse: But there's also the whole thing, like time travel is a thing.

Flynn: Yeah.

Crouse: A lot of other things are things that could happen, like- [Laugh].

Flynn: And Amy's associated with Little Planet a lot, I get it, you can- you could put the pieces together that way if you wanted. I just don't think that's what Sega's doing with it.

Crouse: Well, no, but you know, who cares what Sega's doing except you I guess. You have to. Flynn: I do. It's part of my job.

Crouse: You have to care, but the rest of us now, we don't have to. Screw whatever Sega's doing, we can do whatever we want. My headcanon.

---- (This evidence I have to thank @shadamyheadcanons for. I remembered reading this ages ago, but couldn't remember *where*. She also provided the Bumblekast interview. ) I'm also going to point out, as many have before, that Sonic plays loose and fast with what Chaos Energy/Magic/Science/Whatever can and cannot do, including but not limited to time stuff as evidence in Sonic 06, where Silver debuted. I've also talked before that just because we see a future based off of the current events and trajectory of those events in 06, that does not mean that said-future is set in stone, and may very well change if the characters themselves make different decisions.

And that's *only* arguments for the headcanon that Silver is, in fact, their child. That doesn't include just how much more liberty there is in the headcanon that Silver is some distant relative, who's bloodline is intrinsically tied to Shadow and Amy. So yeah! That's where the headcanon comes from! It's moments like these that I can appreciate the lack of details in Sonic. That's not a thing I say very often, but in situations like these, it really allows for an open imagination of the different parts and pieces, and how they all fit together. Sonic is fun like that, and I love it for this reason <3

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Synopsis: When talented producer Y/n (known professionally as the mysterious "Celeste") accepts a position at JYP Entertainment to help Stray Kids with their comeback, she expects to focus solely on creating music. What she doesn't expect is the immediate connection she feels with Han Jisung—the group's quick-witted, sensitive rapper and producer who's been following her career from afar.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Heartbreak

Author’s note: I will be slower to update both Compass of the Heart and Forbidden Harmony. My dad passed away (it wasn’t unexpected we knew it was coming) but things have been kinda crazy lately and I haven’t had my normal downtime or headspace to write, so I’ll need to re read everything and get my headspace back with both stories. Thank you for all the love and support for both of my stories so far! 💜💜

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Masterlist

Chapter 3: Movie Night

"This is ridiculous," you muttered, staring at the mountain of boxes still cluttering your dorm. After almost a week in Seoul, you'd barely made a dent in unpacking, too consumed with studio work and adjusting to the new time zone.

You picked up your phone, checking the time. Just past nine in the morning on a Saturday—your first official day off since arriving. The perfect opportunity to finally transform this box-filled space into something resembling a home.

A knock at your door interrupted your planning.

"Coming!" you called, stepping carefully around a precarious tower of records you'd been meaning to shelve. You tripped over a stray cable, nearly face-planting before catching yourself on the edge of your desk. "Smooth, Y/n. Real smooth."

You opened the door to find Felix's beaming face, his smile impossibly bright for the early hour. Beside him stood I.N., looking slightly more subdued but equally cheerful.

"Good morning!" Felix greeted in his deep, resonant voice that still surprised you coming from his sunny face. "We brought breakfast."

He held up a bag that emitted a mouth-watering aroma of fresh pastries.

"And coffee," I.N. added, lifting a tray with three cups. "Americano, right? I remembered from yesterday."

"You two are actual lifesavers," you said, genuinely touched by their thoughtfulness. "Come in, but... fair warning, it's chaos in here. Enter at your own risk."

They stepped inside, eyes widening comically at the disarray of boxes and half-unpacked belongings.

"Whoa," I.N. breathed, taking in the scene. "Have you been living like this all week?"

"Unfortunately," you admitted with a sheepish smile. "Between the jet lag and studio sessions, unpacking kept falling to the bottom of my priority list. Right under 'remember to eat' and just above 'basic hygiene.'"

Felix laughed, placing the breakfast bag on the small kitchen counter—one of the few clear surfaces in the apartment—and turned to you with determined eyes.

"That's it. Operation 'Make Y/n's Dorm Habitable Before She Gets Buried Alive' is now in effect. We're helping you unpack."

"You don't have to—" you started, but I.N. was already opening a box labeled 'Kitchen'.

"We want to," he said simply, a soft smile on his face. "That's what friends do, right, noona?"

Warmth bloomed in your chest at the casual display of acceptance.

"Right," you agreed, returning his smile. "Thank you, Innie."

His eyes lit up at the nickname, a delighted grin spreading across his face.

Felix clapped his hands together. "Okay! Let's eat first, then tackle this mess. I'm an expert organizer—you should see my side of the dorm room."

"It's true," I.N. confirmed. "Everything color-coded and labeled. It's a little scary, honestly. I caught him reorganizing my socks by shade and thickness last week."

"They were in complete disarray!" Felix protested, unpacking pastries onto plates. "Who mixes ankle socks with crew socks? It's barbaric!"

You burst out laughing, feeling some of the tension you'd been carrying all week begin to dissolve.

There was something about these two that made you feel instantly at ease, as if you'd known them for years rather than days.

Over breakfast, sitting cross-legged on the floor because your small dining table was buried under equipment, the conversation flowed naturally. Felix told stories about their trainee days, I.N. shared gossip about other idols you'd worked with, and you recounted tales from LA's music scene.

"So why 'Celeste'?" I.N. asked, curious about your producer pseudonym. "Does it have a special meaning?"

You smiled, remembering. "It was my grandmother's name. She was the one who first taught me to play piano. When I started producing, it felt right to honor her."

"That's really sweet," Felix said, looking genuinely touched. "Family is so important."

"Speaking of which," you said, "how are you both dealing with being away from your families? Especially you, Felix—Australia's not exactly next door."

Felix's expression turned wistful. "It's hard sometimes. But," he brightened, gesturing between himself and I.N., "we've built our own family here. The members, the staff—even you now."

"Me?" You blinked, surprised by the quick inclusion.

"Of course," I.N. said matter-of-factly. "You're part of our team now. Even if it's just for six months," he added, a slight pout forming on his face that made him look even younger.

"Well, I'm honored to be your temporary family member," you said, feeling a surprising pang at the reminder of your limited stay. "Does that make me the cool aunt or the weird cousin?"

"Definitely cool aunt," Felix decided. "The one who sneaks us candy and teaches us bad words in other languages."

"I can absolutely fulfill that role," you agreed with a laugh.

"Enough emotional talk!" Felix declared, jumping to his feet with renewed energy. "We have unpacking to do! Innie, you're on clothes duty. Y/n, direct us. I'll be the muscle."

"The muscle?" you repeated, eyeing his slender frame with amusement.

Felix flexed dramatically. "These guns aren't just for show!"

What followed was three hours of organized chaos. Felix took charge with surprising efficiency, creating systems for everything from your vinyl collection to your extensive array of tea. I.N. was put in charge of clothing, which mostly consisted of him holding up various items and asking, "Where does this go?" before following your instructions.

"What even is this?" I.N. asked, holding up a shapeless garment with multiple straps dangling from it.

You squinted at it. "I... have absolutely no idea. Put it in the 'figure out later' pile."

"Y/n, this pile is becoming alarmingly large," Felix noted, eyeing the growing mountain of mysterious items.

Music played from your portable speaker as you worked—a playlist that bounced between your favorite hip-hop tracks and songs by Stray Kids that made Felix and I.N. groan dramatically but sing along anyway.

"Please, not 'God's Menu' again," I.N. begged when the track came on. "I hear it in my nightmares."

"COOKING LIKE A CHEF I'M A FIVE-STAR MICHELIN!" Felix belted out at top volume, using a rolled-up poster as a microphone.

You joined in, deliberately singing off-key until all three of you were doubled over with laughter.

"Oh my god, is that a first-press David Bowie?" Felix exclaimed, carefully lifting a vinyl record from one of the boxes. "Heroes? This is incredible!"

You smiled at his appreciation. "It was a gift from a mentor when I produced my first successful track. Do you collect vinyl too?"

"Trying to," Felix admitted. "It's Seungmin's thing really—he's got the serious collection. But I'm learning to appreciate analog sound."

"We should do a listening session sometime," you suggested. "I brought some rare pressings that sound completely different from the digital remasters."

"Yes!" Felix agreed enthusiastically. "Vinyl night! We can get Seungmin in on it too. He'll probably propose marriage on the spot when he sees your collection."

"Oh no, I can't handle another admirer," you joked. "Hyunjin's attention is already a full-time job."

"He moves fast, doesn't he?" Felix laughed. "I swear he practices those pick-up lines in the mirror."

"I caught him doing exactly that," I.N. confessed, arranging your sweaters by color. "Complete with smoldering stares and hair flips."

"No!" you gasped, delighted by this gossip.

"Oh yes," I.N. confirmed. "He has a whole routine. The lean, the smile, the casual touch..." He demonstrated, flipping imaginary long hair and striking a pose that was such a perfect imitation of Hyunjin that you choked on your laughter.

As you continued working, you found yourself sharing more personal stories than you had intended—about your family, your struggles breaking into the industry as a woman, your creative process. In return, Felix and I.N. opened up about their own journeys, the hardships of training, homesickness, self-doubt.

"Chan was my lifeline when I first arrived," Felix confessed, carefully arranging your books on a newly assembled shelf. "The language barrier was so frustrating. But he'd stay up with me, teaching me Korean phrases, helping me communicate with the others."

"He's like that with everyone," I.N. added, folding a sweater with surprising precision. "Always taking care of us before himself. One time he stayed up for three days straight helping me with my vocals before an evaluation."

"I noticed that in the studio," you said. "He makes sure everyone's ideas are heard, even when he clearly has his own vision."

"That's our leader," Felix said with evident pride. "Dad Chan in action."

"What about Han?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual. "What was he like as a trainee?"

Felix and I.N. exchanged a knowing glance that you pretended not to notice.

"Han was..." Felix began thoughtfully, "always the most contradictory person. Super confident on stage or in the recording booth, but then he'd barely speak in group settings sometimes."

"He once spent an entire day communicating only in written notes because he was too shy to talk to the new vocal coach," I.N. added with a fond smile. "But then he got on stage and absolutely destroyed his rap evaluation."

"He's gotten better," Felix continued. "But he still gets in his head a lot. Overthinks everything."

"Except when he's working with you," I.N. observed with a slight smile. "Chan says he's never seen Han so immediately comfortable collaborating with someone new."

You busied yourself with organizing your desk, hoping they wouldn't notice the pleased flush you felt rising in your cheeks. "We just happen to have compatible production styles."

"Music soulmates," I.N. teased, repeating Changbin's phrase that had apparently made its way through the entire group.

"So!" you said loudly, deliberately changing the subject. "What's the plan for the rest of the weekend? More dance practice for you guys?"

Felix allowed the deflection with an amused smile. "Actually, we have movie night tonight. The whole group. You should join us."

"Wouldn't I be intruding on your group bonding time?" you asked hesitantly.

"Not at all," I.N. insisted. "Everyone would love it if you came. Right, Felix?"

"Absolutely," Felix agreed. "Eight o'clock in the big dorm—that's Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Han's place. They have the larger living room."

"Well, if you're sure..." you said, secretly pleased by the invitation.

"It's settled then," Felix declared, as if it had been decided long before this conversation. "But first, we finish Operation Dorm Transformation!"

By mid-afternoon, the miracle had been accomplished. Your dorm looked not just habitable but homey, with your vinyl collection proudly displayed, photos arranged on walls, clothes neatly put away (and yes, color-coded), and even a small herb garden Felix had insisted on setting up in your kitchen window.

"I can't believe we did it," you said, looking around in amazement. "I would have taken weeks on my own. And probably would have just given up and lived out of boxes for six months."

"That's what friends are for," Felix said simply, throwing an arm around your shoulders in an easy, affectionate gesture that felt surprisingly natural.

I.N. moved to your other side, leaning his head briefly against your shoulder. "Does this mean we get permanent breakfast privileges since we helped, noona?"

You laughed, instinctively ruffling his hair. "Absolutely. My door is always open for you two, Innie."

His smile at the nickname was worth every pastry you'd have to buy in the future.

"Careful," Felix warned with a grin. "Innie will take that literally and show up at 6 AM demanding pancakes."

"I would not!" I.N. protested, then paused. "Well, maybe not 6. More like 7:30."

You laughed again, a full, unrestrained sound that felt like release after days of carefully maintained professionalism. "7:30 it is, then. I'll stock up on pancake mix. And maybe invest in some earplugs for my neighbors, because apparently Felix uses showtunes as alarm music."

"It's motivational!" Felix defended. "Nothing gets you going like 'The Circle of Life' at full volume!"

As they left with promises to collect you for movie night, you stood in the center of your now-organized dorm, a strange feeling settling in your chest. It had been a long time since you'd allowed yourself to form such quick, easy friendships in a professional setting. Usually, you maintained careful boundaries, kept relationships cordial but distant.

But there was something about Felix's warmth and I.N.'s earnest affection that had bypassed your usual defenses. And beyond that, something about this entire group that made you feel... welcomed. Included.

It was dangerous, you knew. In six months, you'd be back in LA, and they would continue their careers here. Getting too attached would only make the inevitable separation harder.

But as you surveyed your dorm, now filled with touches of their help—the way Felix had arranged your books by color, how I.N. had insisted on making your bed with hospital corners—you couldn't bring yourself to regret the connection forming.

Whatever happened in six months, this friendship felt worth the potential heartache.

Han stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, critically assessing his appearance. He'd changed shirts three times already, which was ridiculous considering it was just movie night in their own dorm with the same people he saw every day.

Well, not quite the same people. You would be there too.

Felix had announced your attendance at earlier in the day, casually mentioning how he and I.N. had spent the day helping you unpack. Han had ignored the knowing looks Changbin shot him across the table, focusing instead on his food as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

"Just pick a shirt already," Changbin complained from the doorway. "It's movie night, not the MAMAs."

Han scowled at his roommate's reflection. "I'm just trying to look presentable."

"For who?" Changbin asked innocently. "We've all seen you in your Pokemon pajamas. The ones with the hole in the butt."

"That hole is barely noticeable," Han muttered defensively, finally settling on a simple black t-shirt. "And I'm not dressing for anyone. I just don't want to look like I rolled out of bed."

"Uh-huh," Changbin nodded skeptically. "Nothing to do with a certain pink-haired producer joining us? The one whose name you murmured in your sleep last night?"

Han's head whipped around. "I did not!"

"How would you know? You were asleep," Changbin said with a mischievous grin. "It was very sweet. 'Y/n, your production is so innovative... Y/n, your hair smells like strawberries...'"

"Shut up," Han groaned, pushing past Changbin to return to his room. "I don't talk in my sleep, and you're the worst roommate ever. What movie are we watching, anyway?"

"Hyunjin's choice tonight," Changbin answered, following Han like an unwanted shadow. "So probably something with beautiful people being dramatic and tragic while staring meaningfully into the distance."

"Great," Han sighed. Hyunjin's taste in films typically ran toward romantic melodramas that left everyone either in tears or existential crises.

"He's been talking about this one for weeks," Changbin continued, flopping onto Han's bed uninvited. "Something French. With subtitles."

Han grimaced. "I'll probably fall asleep halfway through."

"Not if you're busy watching someone else instead of the screen," Changbin teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Han asked pointedly. "Like literally anywhere that's not here?"

Changbin grinned, clearly enjoying Han's discomfort. "Nope. But seriously, what's the deal with you and Y/n? You've been weirdly quiet about her since that day in the studio."

Han busied himself with arranging items on his desk that didn't need arranging. "There is no 'deal.' We work well together professionally. That's it."

"Professional. Right," Changbin nodded. "So you're not bothered at all that Hyunjin's been flirting with her all week? I think he's planning to sit next to her tonight. Probably do the whole yawn-and-stretch arm move."

Han's hand stilled momentarily before he forced himself to continue his pointless tidying. "Why would that bother me? Hyunjin flirts with everyone. He flirted with the delivery guy yesterday."

"To be fair, that delivery guy was pretty cute," Changbin mused. "But you're changing the subject. And you're not even slightly jealous that Felix and I.N. spent the entire day with her while we were stuck in dance practice?"

"They were helping her unpack," Han said stiffly. "That's what friends do."

"And what kind of friend are you being?" Changbin challenged. "The distant, mysterious type who only talks about music?"

Han frowned, feeling called out. "I do talk to her."

"Discussing chord progressions and beat patterns doesn't count," Changbin countered. "When was the last time you asked about her life? Her interests? Anything not music-related?"

Han opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, realizing he didn't have a good answer. Despite their incredible musical chemistry, he'd carefully kept most of their interactions confined to work. Partly from professionalism, partly from the lingering awkwardness he felt around you that disappeared only when you were creating together.

"That's what I thought," Changbin said, taking Han's silence as confirmation. "Look, I'm not saying you need to make a move or anything. Just... be her friend. Get to know her. You might find out you don't even like her that much once you talk about something other than music."

Han doubted that very much, but he nodded anyway, if only to end this conversation. "Fine. I'll try to be more... friendly."

"Groundbreaking concept," Changbin deadpanned, getting up from the bed. "Maybe start with making eye contact for more than two seconds without looking like you've seen a ghost."

"I don't do that," Han protested.

"You absolutely do," Changbin insisted. "You look at her like she's simultaneously the sun and a scary movie jumpscare. It's hilarious to watch, actually."

Han threw a pillow at him, which Changbin dodged easily.

"Now come on," Changbin said, heading for the door. "Chan's ordered pizza, and if we don't claim our share, Hyunjin will eat it all while insisting he's on a diet."

As they headed to the living room, Han mentally practiced casual conversation starters, determined to follow Changbin's advice and interact with you normally tonight. Just friendly. Nothing more.

He could do friendly. Probably. Maybe.

The scene that greeted you when Felix and I.N. escorted you to the larger dorm at precisely eight o'clock was one of cheerful chaos. The living room had been transformed into a makeshift theater, with cushions and blankets arranged on the floor in front of the large TV. Pizza boxes were stacked on the coffee table alongside bowls of popcorn and an assortment of snacks that would make any nutritionist weep.

"Y/n!" Chan called out when he spotted you, waving you in. "Glad you could make it!"

"Thanks for having me," you replied, suddenly feeling a little shy about invading their personal space. This wasn't the company building or the studio—this was their home.

"We've been looking forward to it," Seungmin said, appearing from the kitchen with drinks. "Movie nights are a tradition."

"And now they're better because you're here," Hyunjin added smoothly, materializing at your side and slipping an arm around your shoulders. "You look beautiful tonight, by the way. That casual elegance is very hard to achieve."

You laughed, easing into the familiar pattern of his flirtation. Over the past week, you'd come to understand that Hyunjin's attention was largely playful—more a game than serious intent.

"It's just jeans and a t-shirt, Hyunjin," you pointed out, gesturing to your casual attire. "I don't think 'elegance' enters into it."

"You could make a trash bag look like haute couture," he responded without missing a beat, earning groans from several members.

"Down, boy," Changbin called from across the room, echoing his words from your first meeting. "Let her at least get inside before you start your routine."

"Routine?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at Hyunjin.

"I have no idea what he's talking about," Hyunjin insisted, but the slight coloring of his cheeks suggested otherwise.

"We've seen the mirror practice," I.N. stage-whispered to you. "All of it."

Hyunjin gasped dramatically. "Betrayal! From our youngest!"

"Just speaking truth, hyung," I.N. replied innocently, earning a playful swat from Hyunjin.

Hyunjin guided you further into the apartment. "I saved you a seat," he said, pointing to a spot on the floor beside him, piled with extra cushions.

"That's very thoughtful," you said, genuinely touched by the gesture despite its obvious motivation.

As you settled into the offered spot, you noticed Han enter from what must be the hallway to the bedrooms. His eyes found you immediately, then flicked to Hyunjin's proximity, something unreadable crossing his face before he schooled his expression back to neutrality.

"Han!" you called with a smile, patting the space on your other side. "There's room here if you want."

He seemed momentarily surprised by the direct invitation, looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights, but nodded, making his way over. "Thanks," he said quietly, sitting down beside you with a careful distance between your bodies, unlike Hyunjin who had no concept of personal space.

"So what are we watching?" you asked, trying to include both of them in conversation.

"'Portrait of a Lady on Fire,'" Hyunjin answered immediately, his eyes lighting up. "It's this amazing French film about forbidden love and art and looking—really, it's about looking and being seen. The use of negative space and the absence of musical score creates a visceral tension that—"

"It's about two women staring at each other for two hours," Han muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his tone.

"That's reductive and you know it," Hyunjin protested. "It's a masterpiece of cinema. The New York Times called it—"

"A very long movie about very intense staring," Changbin finished from across the room. "We've heard the speech, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin pouted. "You philistines have no appreciation for art."

"It does sound interesting," you said diplomatically. "I like films that take their time developing relationships."

Hyunjin beamed at you. "Exactly! The slow burn is what makes it so powerful."

You felt Han shift slightly beside you, and when you glanced his way, there was a faint color in his cheeks that hadn't been there before. Before you could wonder about it, Felix was calling for everyone's attention.

"Alright, movie rules!" he announced, standing in front of the TV like a game show host. "No talking during emotional scenes, bathroom breaks only during approved pauses, and anyone who falls asleep has to do the dishes tomorrow!"

"That rule was specifically created because of me," Han whispered to you conspiratorially, the first time he'd initiated conversation outside of work. "I can't help it if French arthouse films are better than sleeping pills."

You stifled a laugh, pleased by this glimpse of casual Han. "I'll poke you if you start snoring."

"I don't snore," he protested, then paused. "Do I?"

"Like a chainsaw," Changbin called from across the room, apparently overhearing. "We could record it and use it as bass in the next track."

"It's more like a cute little whistle," I.N. corrected. "Like a baby dragon."

"A chainsaw being operated by a baby dragon," Lee Know clarified helpfully.

Han threw a piece of popcorn at Changbin, who caught it in his mouth with impressive accuracy, causing a round of applause from the others.

As the lights dimmed and the movie began, you found yourself acutely aware of being sandwiched between Hyunjin and Han. Hyunjin made no effort to hide his attention, leaning close to whisper commentary about the cinematography or pointing out particularly beautiful shots. Each time he did, his arm would brush yours, or his breath would tickle your ear.

"See the way the light falls across her face?" he murmured. "Symbolizing her awakening desire."

"Or maybe the window was just open," you whispered back, making him clutch his heart in pretend offense.

On your other side, Han remained quiet but present, a different kind of energy emanating from him. You noticed he would tense slightly whenever Hyunjin leaned in, though his eyes remained fixed on the screen.

Halfway through the film—which was genuinely captivating despite Han's earlier dismissal—Hyunjin stretched dramatically before letting his arm settle behind you, not quite touching but definitely encroaching on your space.

"Subtle," you murmured, giving him a sidelong glance.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he whispered back, his eyes innocent but his smile anything but. "I'm just getting comfortable."

"Mm-hmm," you hummed skeptically. "Is this move number three in your mirror routine?"

He groaned quietly. "I'm going to kill Innie."

Despite your teasing, you didn't move away, amused by his transparent tactics.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Han glance at Hyunjin's arm, then back at the screen, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

On impulse, you reached for the shared bowl of popcorn at the same moment Han did, your fingers brushing against his. He jerked back as if burned, nearly upsetting the bowl.

"Sorry," he whispered, looking mortified.

"It's okay," you assured him, pushing the bowl closer to his side. "Here, you take it."

He hesitated, then took a handful, his eyes still not meeting yours. The moment of easy camaraderie from earlier seemed to have evaporated.

You turned your attention back to the film, trying to recapture the narrative thread you'd lost during these small interactions. On screen, the two women were growing closer, their glances loaded with meaning and unspoken emotion. It was beautiful and tense, the restraint making every small touch significant.

Beside you, Hyunjin sighed appreciatively at a particularly poignant scene. "See how she looks at her? That's real longing," he whispered, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, genuinely moved by the performances.

"Some emotions are too powerful to express directly," Hyunjin continued, still whispering. "They have to come out sideways—through art, through glances, through proxies."

You looked at him, surprised by the insight. "That's... actually really profound, Hyunjin."

He smiled, softer than his usual flirtatious grin. "I'm not just a pretty face, you know."

"I never thought you were," you said honestly.

"But you admit you think I'm pretty," he pushed, his playfulness returning.

You rolled your eyes. "And there it is."

He seemed pleased by this, his eyes lingering on yours a moment longer than strictly necessary before returning to the film.

You sensed movement on your other side and turned to find Han watching this exchange, an unfamiliar expression clouding his features before he quickly looked away. Something about his reaction tugged at your chest, though you couldn't quite name why.

As the movie progressed, you became increasingly aware of the subtle dynamics playing out on either side of you. Hyunjin's attention was flattering but performative—a game you both understood the rules of. But Han's quiet presence carried a different weight, one that affected you more than you cared to admit.

The film reached its emotional climax, the forbidden romance between the characters culminating in a scene of heartbreaking beauty. You felt a suspicious moisture in your eyes and blinked rapidly.

"Are you crying?" Hyunjin whispered, noticing your reaction.

"No," you lied, swiping discreetly at the corner of your eye. "Just something in my eye. Probably Felix's glitter. That stuff gets everywhere."

"It's okay to be moved," he said, his usual playfulness momentarily set aside. "Art should make us feel things."

You nodded, slightly embarrassed by your emotional response. When you glanced at Han, you found him watching you with a soft expression that made your heart do a peculiar flip. Unlike Hyunjin, he didn't comment on your tears, just silently offered a tissue.

The simple, thoughtful gesture touched you more than Hyunjin's deliberate attentions. You took the tissue with a grateful smile, and for a brief moment, Han's eyes met yours directly, something unguarded in his gaze that made your breath catch.

Then someone sniffled loudly from across the room, breaking the moment.

"Lee Know, are you crying?" Felix called out in disbelief.

"No," came the defensive reply, followed by an obvious sniff. "I told you, I'm allergic to Hyunjin's cologne. It smells like he bathed in it."

"I used a reasonable amount!" Hyunjin protested.

"If by 'reasonable' you mean 'entire bottle,' then sure," Seungmin quipped.

Laughter rippled through the group, dispelling the emotional tension of the film's conclusion. As the credits rolled and the lights came back on, conversations erupted about the movie's meaning and impact.

Hyunjin launched into an impassioned analysis, his arm still casually draped behind you. "The entire film is about the gaze—who is looking and who is being looked at. It subverts the traditional male gaze by—"

"Some of us are still processing our feelings," Seungmin interrupted, throwing a pillow at Hyunjin. "Save the film school lecture for tomorrow."

"What did you think?" Han asked quietly, turning to you while the others debated.

The direct question surprised you, especially given his reticence throughout the evening. "I thought it was beautiful," you answered honestly. "The restraint made every moment of connection feel earned."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I liked it more than I expected to," he admitted. "Hyunjin usually picks movies that are all style, no substance, but this one..." he trailed off, searching for words. "It felt honest somehow."

"Exactly," you agreed, pleased by his insight. "It wasn't trying to manipulate emotions, just present them authentically."

A small smile touched his lips. "Like good music."

"Like good music," you echoed, returning his smile.

Hyunjin's voice broke into your conversation. "Y/n, you have to back me up here. The final scene with the orchestra—pure cinematic perfection, right? The way the music finally enters after two hours of silence?"

Before you could answer, Chan announced it was time for a quick bathroom break before the group voted on whether to watch another film or call it a night.

"Prepare your arguments, people," Chan said. "Democracy in action."

"Democracy where Chan somehow always gets the final say," Lee Know muttered.

"I heard that," Chan called over his shoulder. "And I am deeply wounded by your accurate assessment."

As people dispersed temporarily, Hyunjin leaned closer. "Want to sit on the couch for the next movie? More comfortable," he said, his invitation clearly extending beyond seating arrangements.

"Actually," you began, trying to frame a polite decline.

"Y/n promised to show me something on her phone," Han interjected suddenly. Both you and Hyunjin turned to him in surprise. "That production technique we were discussing yesterday," he added, looking at you with barely concealed desperation.

"Right," you played along, though no such conversation had taken place. "The sidechain compression example. Very important. Revolutionary, even."

"Can't it wait?" Hyunjin asked, looking between you with suspicion. "We're having movie night."

"It'll just take a minute," you assured him, already standing up. "Professional curiosity. You know how it is."

Han scrambled to his feet beside you, relief evident in his posture. "We'll be right back."

Hyunjin didn't look convinced but shrugged gracefully. "Don't take too long. I'll save your spots. And I'll miss you every second," he added with an exaggerated wink.

"I'm sure you'll survive," you deadpanned.

As you and Han moved toward the relative quiet of the kitchen, you raised an eyebrow at him. "Sidechain compression example?"

He had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry. I just... you looked like you needed an escape route."

You smiled, touched by his perceptiveness. "My hero," you teased lightly. "Saving me from Hyunjin's cinematic analysis and wandering arm."

Han ducked his head, but not before you caught the pleased flush spreading across his cheeks. "I know how he can get sometimes. Especially with people he's trying to impress."

"And he's definitely trying to impress me," you acknowledged with a small laugh. "It's like being hit with a charm fire hose."

"With about as much subtlety," Han agreed, visibly relaxing now that you were away from the group.

"It's flattering, but..." you trailed off, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"But?" Han prompted when you didn't continue.

You considered your words carefully. "But I'm here to work, not to get involved with anyone. That no-dating clause exists for a reason."

Han nodded quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Absolutely. Totally sensible. Relationships complicate things."

"Exactly," you agreed. "Besides, Hyunjin doesn't really mean it. It's just how he interacts with women."

"True," Han said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Still, if he ever makes you uncomfortable—"

"He doesn't," you assured him. "It's actually kind of nice to have someone who's so enthusiastically in my corner, even if it's just for fun. Makes me feel welcome."

Something flickered across Han's face—disappointment? Hurt? It was gone before you could identify it.

"Well, we all want you to feel welcome," he said, his voice overly casual. "Not just Hyunjin."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was something more he wanted to say. "I know that, Han. And I appreciate it—especially from you."

"Me?" he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"Yes, you," you confirmed with a soft smile. "Our collaboration has been the highlight of my time here so far. I've never connected with someone musically the way I do with you."

His expression brightened, whatever shadow had been there completely vanishing. "Me too. I mean, same. I feel the same way. It's like—" he made a gesture with his hands, fingers intertwining. "—our ideas just fit."

"Exactly!" you agreed enthusiastically. "Like we're completing each other's musical sentences."

He nodded eagerly. "And you always know exactly where I'm going with a melody before I even finish it."

From the living room, Chan's voice called out, "Second movie voting in one minute! Get your drinks and get back here!"

"We should head back," you said, reluctantly breaking the moment. "Before they start without us."

Han nodded, pushing himself off the counter he'd been leaning against. But before you could move, he spoke again, the words coming out in a rush. "Would you want to work on some tracks tomorrow? Not at the company, just casually. I have some ideas that aren't really for the album, just... things I've been playing with."

The invitation surprised and pleased you. "I'd love that. Your place or mine?"

"Yours might be quieter," he suggested. "Our dorm gets pretty chaotic on Sundays. Lee Know practices dance routines in the hallway, and Changbin has this habit of bursting into rooms without knocking to share 'spontaneous lyric inspiration.'"

"So basically musical jump scares?"

"Exactly," Han laughed. "Last week he nearly gave me a heart attack shouting about metaphorical butterflies at 6 AM."

"It's a date," you said, then immediately backtracked at his widened eyes. "I mean, not a date-date. A work date. A friendly music session between colleagues. A collegial, professional, absolutely-not-romantic arrangement between two music people who make music. Together. But not, like, together-together."

Your rambling only made things worse, and you felt your face heating up. Han's lips twitched, clearly trying not to laugh.

"Right," he agreed, a small smile playing at his lips. "Between friends."

"Between friends," you echoed, finding that you meant it. Despite the initial awkwardness, there was something about Han that made you want to know him better—not just as a musical collaborator, but as a person.

As you both headed back to the living room, you found Hyunjin had indeed saved your spots—though he'd rearranged the cushions to create less space between your position and his, while widening the gap to Han's place.

"Compression technique all sorted?" Hyunjin asked innocently.

"All sorted," you confirmed, settling back down. "Revolutionary stuff. Music production will never be the same."

"I'm sure," Hyunjin said dryly. "I particularly enjoyed how this urgent technical discussion happened right after I offered you a seat next to me on the couch."

"Pure coincidence," you insisted, patting his hand condescendingly. "Don't take it personally."

"Good, because we're watching a horror movie next," Felix announced gleefully. "I won the vote!"

Groans and cheers mixed around the room, with I.N. looking particularly distressed. "Can I sit with you, noona?" he asked, already moving closer with his blanket. "I hate scary movies."

"Of course, Innie," you said, making room for him on your other side, which consequently pushed you closer to Hyunjin, who looked entirely too pleased with this development.

"It's not even that scary," Lee Know said dismissively. "Just some haunted orphanage with creepy children."

"That's literally my worst nightmare!" I.N. protested. "Besides, you scream louder than anyone during these movies."

"I do not!"

"You climbed onto Changbin's lap during 'The Conjuring,'" Felix reminded him. "And refused to go to the bathroom alone for a week."

"That was a calculated strategy to get out of chores," Lee Know claimed unconvincingly.

As the lights dimmed again and ominous music filled the room, Hyunjin leaned in close. "Don't worry," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "If you get scared, I'm right here."

You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. "My hero," you whispered back, deliberately echoing the words you'd said to Han minutes earlier.

From beyond Hyunjin, you caught Felix watching this interaction with interest, his eyes darting between you, Hyunjin, and Han. When he caught your gaze, he raised a meaningful eyebrow that you chose to ignore.

The movie began with a typical horror setup—teenagers in a remote cabin, making obviously poor decisions. As the first jump scare hit, I.N. yelped and buried his face in your shoulder, his hand clutching your arm.

"Tell me when it's over," he mumbled against your sleeve.

You patted his hand reassuringly, feeling a surge of protective affection for him. "It's just a movie, Innie. Nothing to be afraid of."

"That's what the first victim always says," he mumbled pathetically.

On your other side, Hyunjin used the excuse of another scare to slide his arm around your shoulders, this time making contact. "For support," he explained with an innocent smile that didn't fool you for a second.

"How chivalrous," you said dryly, but allowed it, partly because moving would disturb I.N., who was now practically hiding behind you, and partly because it was comforting in its own way to be surrounded by their attention—I.N.'s innocent dependence and Hyunjin's playful flirtation.

But as the movie progressed, you found your eyes drifting to Han, who sat slightly apart now, watching the film with apparent concentration. Once, he glanced your way, his gaze dropping to Hyunjin's arm around your shoulders before quickly looking back at the screen.

The slight tightening of his jaw made something twist in your stomach—not unpleasantly, just... complicatedly.

A particularly violent jump scare made everyone react—I.N. squealed and disappeared completely under his blanket, Felix shouted something in English that was definitely not PG-rated, Seungmin knocked over his drink, and even Lee Know flinched visibly.

"I'm going to need therapy after this," I.N. whimpered from his blanket fortress.

You laughed, rubbing his back through the blanket. "I'll protect you, Innie."

"Promise?" came his muffled reply.

"Promise," you assured him. "No scary movie monsters allowed near my favorite dongsaeng."

This earned a small smile as he peeked out from the blanket. "I'm your favorite?"

"Absolutely," you confirmed, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Hey!" Felix protested from across the room. "I thought I was your favorite!"

"You can both be my favorites," you laughed. "Different categories."

"What's my category?" Hyunjin asked, not wanting to be left out.

"Most determined," you replied diplomatically.

"I'll take it," he nodded, seemingly satisfied.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like if circumstances were different. If you weren't here temporarily, if there wasn't a contract clause, if professional boundaries weren't so important to maintain.

But they weren't different. In less than six months, you'd be back in LA, and this—whatever this was—would be a memory. A good one, hopefully, of creative collaboration and unexpected friendship. Nothing more.

That was what you told yourself as the horror movie reached its predictably bloody conclusion, and I.N. finally emerged from hiding against your shoulder, and Hyunjin reluctantly removed his arm as everyone stretched and prepared to call it a night.

That was what you repeated silently as Felix walked you back to your dorm, chatting about plans for a shopping trip next weekend, and as you confirmed your music session with Han for tomorrow with a casual wave that belied the anticipation you felt.

Just temporary. Just professional. Just friends.

But as you got ready for bed in your newly organized dorm, you couldn't quite shake the memory of Han's expression when he saw Hyunjin's arm around you, or the warmth you'd felt when he offered you a tissue exactly when you needed one, or the way your heart had skipped when he suggested working together outside the studio.

Just temporary. Just professional. Just friends.

If you repeated it enough times, perhaps you'd start to believe it.

The problem was, you weren't sure you wanted to.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Next>>

Taglist: @iknow-uknow-leeknow @loveconsumingmedia @lze325 @hanniesbubuwife @offl-ine

[missaengg]

An Ikevil Secret Santa

Day 2 of Ikemen Advent: Secret Santa Made for Ikemen Advent hosted by @queengiuliettafirstlady and @candied-boys Featuring: All the Ikevil Men & GN!reader Tags: crack fic, humor Word Count: 1538

Huffing, you stood at the head of the impressive dining table, nine pairs of eyes staring back at you. You were sweaty and out of breath, but it didn’t matter because you felt a sense of immense pride at your most recent accomplishment – gathering the nine members of Crown into one room, a difficult, if not grueling task.

It had taken you an hour… an hour… to gather the nine men into one dining room.

It had required bribery – unlimited rounds of ale the next time you visit the pub with Roger, negotiating a week’s worth of being worked to the bone by Jude, and a giant glass of strawberry milk for Harrison.

It had required fending off seductive teasing – Alfons and his inappropriate suggestions on what the two of you should be doing instead on the table, though thankfully, he dragged Elbert into the dining room with him.

It had required shameless begging – pleading with Ellis and Liam in your quest to get all the members to stay in the room once you got them there.

The only two members who came and stayed willingly while genuinely anticipating what you had to say were Victor and William.

But you did it, and here they were… seated and waiting with pots of tea – now likely cold — placed along the table length before them.

“Thank you for meeting,” you greeted them, wiping the sweat off your brow and clapping your hands together. “With Christmas coming up, I have a proposal–”

“A ten way romp?” Alfons languidly interrupted. “Naughty girl.”

Roger snorted, and you felt your eye twitch, but you settled on glaring at the raven-haired scoundrel instead. “No,” you responded stiffly. “I was thinking we could–”

“Sounds like a waste of my time,” Jude grumbled.

Your eye twitch intensified. “You haven’t even heard what I’m about to say.”

“Don’t need to,” Jude quipped. “Comin’ from a silly lil birdie like ya, it’s gonna be stupid.”

From beside Jude, Harrison cracked open a sleepy eye, “This sounds troublesome.”

An exasperated sigh left your lips, and a vein pulsed on your temple. You knew not everyone at Crown would be onboard, but it occurred to you in that moment that you may have… underestimated their level of enthusiasm.

“Now, now, let’s listen to what our beloved Fairytale Keeper has to say,” Victor, ever the mom of the group, admonished the men.

You glanced at Victor’s beaming face, your heart glowing with gratitude. Victor might be over exuberant and over enthusiastic at times, but you could always count on him to be kind and supportive.

“Please, continue, dear Robin.”

“Thank you, Victor.” You smiled at him. “As I was saying, this year, I thought it’d be fun to hold a Crown Castle Secret Santa!”

You cheered, holding up your arms, expecting to hear… well, something… anything really other than the absolute silence that hung in the air.

“Secret… Santa… Yay?” you tried again, waving your arms around in a half-hearted cheer.

Nine pairs of eyes stared blankly back at you. 

Your arms drooped, though they didn’t fall down all the way. You wondered what you should do to assuage the awkward silence, whether you should double down and pull a Victor or if you should shrug and throw out a ‘just kidding’ before hightailing it out of the room.

All of a sudden, the room exploded in a thunderous cacophony of noise.

“Oh, what a delightful idea,” Victor exclaimed, clapping his hands.

“Knew this would be a waste of my time,” Jude snarked.

“What’s Secret Santa?” Ellis and Liam asked.

Roger simply broke into a raucous guffaw.

Harrison groaned.

William hummed, sitting back in his chair, an amused twinkle in his eye.

“Only if I get you, my delectable Robin,” Alfons taunted with a sultry wink.

You froze, your brain attempting to process the jumbled mess of words hurtling towards you all at once. 

“Quiet! Quiet!” you shouted. The noise died down, and you held up the bowl containing ten folded scraps of paper with the names of those present written inside. “The rules are simple. We each choose someone from the bowl, which we keep a secret, and we buy that person a gift for Christmas. Gifts have to be a minimum of five pounds and no more than twenty pounds.”

“Oh, this sounds like fun,” Ellis remarked.

“Thank you, Ellis.” You smiled at him gratefully, relieved that there was someone other than Victor who seemed excited for your idea, but your relief was short-lived because at that moment…

“Tch, I’m not doin’ this,” Jude snapped and crossed his arms, glowering at you.

“Jude,” Ellis called to the surly man. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Jude looked like he was about to retort something back, and to prevent any more of his biting sarcasm, you hastily blurted out, “Another week as your gopher.”

His amethyst eyes snapped to meet yours, narrowed into dangerous slits. After a palpable pause, he relented. “Fine, but I’m workin’ ya till ya drop.”

“What if I don’t want to participate?” Harrison then asked.

You exhaled slowly, which did nothing to calm the rising cortisol running through your veins. “I’ll treat you to that strawberry dessert you like. In fact, I’ll buy you all the strawberry items on the menu.”

That seemed to satisfy the minty man because he slouched back in his chair with his chin propped on his hand.

“Anyone else?” you asked, looking around the room. Alfons raised his hand, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Yes, Alfons?”

“Can we gift something indecently fun?” he asked.

You opened your eyes, staring at him incredulously. “No, you may not. Please keep it rated, at the very least, PG.”

“Can we gift alcohol?” Roger piped up, a shit-eating grin splayed infuriatingly on his lips.

“Only if they like drinking,” you answered pointedly. 

“Does it… have to be… beautiful?” Elbert asked in his hauntingly tragic voice.

“No, Elbert,” you replied before asking, “Anyone else?” No one else spoke. “Great, I’m going to go around the room and have everyone choose a name.”

You turned to Liam who was sitting closest to you on your left, holding the bowl out to him. Liam gently smiled at you before reaching in and pulling out a scrap of paper. You smiled back, stepping to Harrison who sat beside him with the bowl, when Liam suddenly cried out.

“Oh, Harrison, I got you!”

You sighed, turning around to face the cat-like man. “Liam, you’re supposed to keep who you got a secret.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Liam apologized, his rose-colored eyes wavering.

Your heart twinged seeing the downcast expression on his face. “It’s okay. We can just start over.” You held the bowl back out for him to return his current slip and choose another. “Keep it a secret this time.” “Ok,” Liam said sweetly and unfolded the paper close to his eyes, shielding it with his palms.

You turned back to Harrison who reached in and pulled out his selection. Then Jude, who grabbed his with a rough, scornful swipe. Then Ellis, who uttered a small thanks. Then Elbert, who remained silent. Then Alfons, who ran his fingers sensually across yours much to your chagrin. Then Roger, who flashed you a rogue grin. Then William, whose eyes still twinkled with amusement, and finally Victor, who exuded a child-like jubilance.

You glanced down at the last remaining piece of paper in the bowl and then looked up at the members of Crown who were reading theirs. “Any questions?”

Some of the Crown members were scowling at their selection. You chose to ignore the scowls, choosing to focus on those who were beaming back at you or shaking their heads in response.

“Wonderful!” you chirped. “Remember, keep who you got a secret, and don’t lose your paper so you don’t forget who you got. We’ll trade gifts at Victor’s Crown Christmas party.”

“We’re done now, yeah?” Jude didn’t wait for you to answer, standing from his chair and moving towards the exit. “Ellis, ya got three seconds to follow me ‘fore I double yer workload.”

Ellis hastily stood up. “Thanks for organizing this,” he sweetly uttered before following the rude, sadistic man out the door.

One by one, the members of Crown shuffled out of the room.

As Harrison and Liam left towards the end, you heard Liam ask, “Hey, Harrison, what do you think Alfons will want for Christmas?”

You sighed again, groaning as you plopped down into Victor’s empty chair. You had anticipated it wouldn’t be easy, but never did you fathom it would be this difficult to corral nine men into what you thought would be a fun activity for Christmas.

The room fell silent. Eagerly, you reached for the last remaining piece of folded paper, carefully unfolding it. You bit your lip, wondering who you would be shopping for tomorrow when you went into town. You prayed for it to be Ellis, Harrison, Liam, or Victor – four of the members you figured would be the easiest to please.

You held the slip between your shaking fingers, and as your eyes traced the curl of the letters, your eyes bulged and your mouth dropped open.

Because... on the piece of paper, written in your neat handwriting… was your name. 

“God damn it!”

[tonixe]

mistress

a/n: Nothing for the moment, but I will try to set up a schedule for when I'm going to post my next fic so it can be organized. I lowkey love the mature version of coriolanus snow, he is like Daddy or like zaddy, just AHHHHHH.

warning: penetration, p in in the v, cheating, breeding kink, reproductive coercion, baby trapping, toxic dynamics, spanking, misogynistic coriolanus. (maybe considered as dark content)

pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

word counter: 2.4k

pt 2 of goverment hooker

taglist`` @slut4ethan

A few months passed, then years...

—since your sexual encounter with the gentleman you met at the bar, you had stayed on the low until meeting him, you wouldn't lie to yourself that your heart yearned to see him again, though being a peacekeeper couldn't guarantee if he was still here. Though you went back to your old habits, bringing in men and seducing them to fill your pockets up for sexual favors, you never felt anything inside the relationship. It was just a casual exchange for goods and pleasure.

If they were well fooled by you, they would do more to win your heart like gifting diamonds, jewels, fancy dresses, heels, and expensive, luxurious bags. With a card, always handwritten to you in black pen with a bouquet of flowers, maybe roses, peonies, or tulips. Usually red, or pink, colors that represent 'romance' or 'love'. You manage to catch on to when men would send you these gifts, you enjoyed being showered in lavish things but it would bore you a little,

Due to your interesting status, you manage to sneak into important parties, the fancy ones you like. The ones with champagne and the aged wine were expensive, the big chandeliers with jewels and diamonds hanging from them, and the huge halls with delicate porcelain vases and tiles. You got an invite from one of the fools of men you were messing around with, some known politician in Panem. Walking into the gracious hall, wearing a black cocktail dress, and some diamond jewelry given to you by your several misters, clutching onto your matching black purse.

Small chatter fills up the hall, as you steal a glass of champagne from the waiters passing it around. You still had to walk with the fool you tricked, holding onto his bicep lovingly, fluttering your lashes at him, and laughing at his empty 'witty' comments. "Darling, what is going on right now" You said, pursing your lips together, you knew he would answer your cute antics. "The new president of Panem is here," the man said, you looked at him, fluttering your eyes back at the new information. "Who is here, darling" You pushed your chest on his arm, starting to make him flustered with your inappropriate antics, "Sir Coriolanus Snow" he responded, your eyes widened at the family name, backing up from his arm. The name of the man you lay with years ago, "He's here?" you exclaimed, and he nodded. "Oh my," you stopped, "We will meet him, will we?" you twirled your hair, looking up at him with your doe eyes.

This would be your big chance, your chance at stopping boring yourself around useless men, your life would be filled with riches, a lavish lifestyle, and expensive jewelry. Even being the First Lady of Panem made you feel thrilled and better than fooling around with a stupid man who isn't faithful to their wife. "We will, my beaut," he said, before wrapping his around your waist, it made me feel disgusted. As we sailed across the halls, talking to other politicians and influential people, until we saw the devil himself.

Coriolanus Snow...the now-elected president of Panem. Your eyes sparkled in delight, though the encounter was long ago, he looked well-prim and mannered. He was wearing a red suit, a tucked collared shirt with matching dress pants, and his hair was longer than the peacekeeper's mandatory buzz cut. It looked like he was talking to another group of well-off people, you watched him as he talked to them and finished up their conversation. Before he walked away, it looked into the hall out of the ballroom. It was your chance to talk to him, maybe he'll remember you. Some part inside of you doubted but the other side was hopeful, "Darling, I need to powder up my nose, I'll be gone for a few minutes" You turned towards him, and he nodded. You clutched onto your bag and followed Coriolanus out of the ballroom.

Maybe just maybe he'll remember you, I mean how can he not. Not after a promise he made to you, well maybe a promise, you were too fucked to realize what he said but it was something.

It was awkward following him, would he think of you being a stalker, you weren't, you followed him until an empty hall before he stopped mid-way, "You don't have to follow me around, you know" He spoke, making chills run down your spine. Pushing back a strand of your hair over your ear, "You probably don't remember don't you?" You cocked your head to the side, you watched him as he turned around ever so gracefully on his heels, looking straight at you. Your cheeks flushed, he looked mature, rougher around the edges. His blue eyes iris looking at your e/c ones.

"Pardon?" He asked doubt starting to fill you up, "Not even the promise of you coming back to me, fill you with any ideas?" You cocked your eyebrows, giving him a little smile. Holding your hands together to your stomach, "Y/N?" his eyes widen at the new fact, "In the flesh" you smirked, raising your hands up. "You never were going to come back, weren't you" You faked a sad tone in your voice, flickering your eyes to your hands, walking up to him. He didn't respond, "Never thought a Peacekeeper would be the next President of Panem, " You rambled on, flickering your doe eyes at him, "So, how are you now?" you smiled, "I'm well off now" He responds, he put his hand inside of his pockets. "Well, I'm sorry what happened to your friend, I heard about the hanging" he sniffed, you watched if would tense up at the words, but he didn't at all.

"Well, he was setting up a rebellion against the capitol, so he would be punished for it" He finished, it was harsh for him to say that about a friend, you thought he cherished, it was a man that was from the capitol, never thought someone like that would care about district people at all.

"That was harsh, ain't it?" You pursed your lips, "No, it wasn't harsh enough" He said, his eyes flickering at you. You played with the bracelets on your wrist, "—And, you Y/N..." you turned your head at him as your name came out of your lips, "I have done my research on you fully"

"Oh really" you cocked your eyebrows, you were amused at what he was going to say, "Your the capitol's slut, a woman who slept her way through the capitol, with politicians, congressmen, and senators, how many do you trick for gifts and money" There was an odd tension between you it was thick, "Your right, but not as accuracy. I don't sleep my way through, I only trick, I'm not just a whore you know" you pouted and placed your hands on your hips. "So, does it make you think differently of me" You put your hand underneath his chin, surprisingly he didn't curve you or stop your attempt, his eyes looking at yours. Feeling his hands on the sides of your hips. "Not at all" He whispered, before he pulled you into a kiss. His tongue explored your cavern, and you felt yourself getting aroused by the hungry kiss. You knew your plan was bound to work, putting your arms around his neck, withdrawing from his lips. "We shouldn't do here, it would be improper" You looked away, feeling shy in front of him.

"The hall is going to be over soon, so tell your mister or whatever man you brought here to go home alone, you'll be coming with me" You felt his breath against your ear, making you feel sensitive underneath your dress. You felt his hands trailing your waist, "Alright" you flickered your eyes to him, "I will" you tracing the shape of his collar and coat.

The car ride was filled with tension, the car was luxurious though. You enjoy it very much. Feeling butterflies in your stomach, your cheeks flushed. He was already wrapped around your fingers, it was an easy hook and reel. Feeling the car halting at a big manor, your eyes brighten up, "We're here" He stated, the door opening up for you, as you stepped out of the car, and walked with him inside the estate. The estate was beautiful, with blossoms, and freshly trimmed grass and trees around the houses. Stepping onto the perfect cobblestone path with him, you bit your lips at the thought.

The guard in front opened the manor's large doors, as you walked in, clutching your bag to your stomach. "It's a beautiful estate" your eyes darted around the luxurious manor.

"It is" he responded back, before looking at you, his heels trailing back to your front. "Let's go towards the bedroom" Your eyes brightened, as you felt his hands on yours pulling you into his chambers, your heels echoing around the large mansion. The door were closed by him and locked. He pulled you into a kiss, his hands rubbing your waist and your curves hungrily, the kiss making your knees feel weak. His hands trailing the zipper of your dress, you were too busy with his lips on yours to comprehend what was going on. Feeling the cocktails dress dropping and your lingerie being shown to him, as he withdrew. "You weren't going to show that guy, all of that were you?" He muttered, "No" feeling the strap of your bra falling to the side, "Not at all" you smiled, feeling his hands on your body, as he carried you. Your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, as he kissed you further.

He pushes you onto the enormous bed, his hands rubbing on you. His hands trailed down to your panties rubbing your clit harshly, making you mewl, "Corio" you whined, your chest heaving up and down. Finger dipping into you further inside, your velvety walls clenching around his fingers, you grind your hips to his hand, feeling your skin heat up, desperate for a release.

Squirming against him, "Your so desperate, aren't you" he mocked, His fingers plunging in and out of you several times making you feel immense pleasure. "Corio, please I'm close" you whined, feeling your hands gripping onto the sheets. Feeling a wave of pleasure coming down on you, squirting out. Your chest heaving, you looked at him withdrawing, his fingers dripping with your juices. Watching him lapping his tongue at his fingers, making you press your thighs together.

He took off your black panties, slowly. You lifted your legs as he fully took it off. "Take it all off, Y/N" He whispered, his eyes looking at your almost bare body, you clipped out your bra, dropping it to the floor, your breast being displayed to him. "Do you like them, Corio?" you fluttering your eyes at him, propping your chest up. You looked at his awaiting form, and your eyes dragged to his lower abdomen area tightened up in his dress pants. Cocking your head to the side, "I need you, Corio" you purposely slurred your words, "Please" watching him unbuckling his belt, and taking off his boxer before he mounted on top of you, your back on the bed. You spread your pussy lips for him to align himself in you.

Feeling him inserting himself into you, sinking into your clenching walls. Your throat ripped out a wanton string of moans, it felt like his cock got bigger, his cock stretching you out deliciously. His low growl tickled your ear before he started moving, massaging your inner walls. His cock fucking into your cunt, sloppy sounds filling up his chambers, everything feeling hot around you. Your plan was working out, no condoms just raw sex. You just need him to cum into you, and you were guaranteed to get something of Coriolanus. His hands on your hips as he thrust into you, feeling his cock brushing your cervix making you jolt, "Fuck" you cursed, opening your legs further for him, his pelvis slapping yours. His balls swinging onto your lower ass. You squirmed under his touch, his hands touching your chest. Rubbing your nipples, harding against his fingers.

His rough hands groped your chest, biting down on your lips. Your swollen clit, being abused with his hand and your chest. You choked out a sob, his brutal pace making you feel weak, your eyes dropping down. Your tongue lulled out, as he fucked into you, biting marks into your neck, chest, and stomach. Gripping onto your waist harshly, tears pricking on your waterline, his hands dancing from the swollen nubs of your chest to your neck, as he lightly presses, making you tense up holding his arm, your eyes rolling back, his hips rutting into you.

Your panting echoed through the room, his pace didn't stop at your tears going down your cheek, your black mascara bleeding through, your lipstick was smeared. Everything on your body was sensitive, "Corio, please—" you puff out, before he flipped you over, your face onto the soft pillows, your hips up in the air, the cool air hitting your pussy.

Before he continued to abuse your cunt, his hips fucking into you, his cock touching parts of you, kissing your cervix deeply, making you wail, the sheet already messy. His hair sticking onto his forehead, sweat dripping down from his body, your well-manicured nails grasping the sheet. "I'm close" He groaned, feeling his hands landing on your ass. Making you jolt, several of them onto the plush of your ass. The pain makes you squirm, your cunt dripping. His arms pulling you into a chokehold close to his chest, feeling hot thick liquid filling you up, looking at your flat stomach filling up your cum. Your doe rolling back at the sudden warm feeling that didn't stop. Before he released you, your body bounced on the bed.

Feeling him withdrawing from you, and cum dripping from you. your body trembling, feeling your legs numbing down. Coriolanus body on top of you feeling his soft member on your ass, "Don't even think about it" He whispered, pushing a strand of your hair over your ears, "I know that's what you planned for" He danced his fingers on your collarbones, 'N-no" you managed to stutter out, "Don't lie my dove, isn't that the reason you follow me or had your eyes on me" He trailed on, "I just missed you, Corio" you lied through your teeth, "Don't lie, it doesn't suit you.." he touched your chin.

"Why did you do it?" You mumbled, "How could I stop, it so hard not to imagine you swollen with my baby" He said, "Besides—

Thats all your good for"

[societyfolklore]

Loki’s Gift-Giving Guide to Mortal Relations

Title: Loki’s Gift-Giving Guide to Mortal Relations Summary: Loki, in an attempt to ingratiate himself with the Avengers, begins leaving them macabre 'gifts' Word Count:  1.7k

Warnings:  Silliness! Fluff nonsense- humor… (Well not funny funny.. just..this is a silly post)   No beta read, and not super thought out either…just go with it it's Christmas damn it! A/N: Not my idea, inspired by a post made @mycroftrh that has now become whatever this is now...since it’s Christmas (ish)

The Avengers were used to weird things happening around Avengers Tower. It came with the territory of being Earth’s mightiest heroes. They had fought alien invasions, battled rogue AIs, and stopped countless catastrophes, but this-this was something entirely different. For the third day running the group was met with the decapitated bodies of a number what looked to be HYDRA agents. Dumped at their front of their doorstep-neatly tied up with glowing green runes spelling out-

‘To the Avengers, with admiration’-it was becoming, disgusting clear that Loki was up to something…bizarre.

“What the hell is this?” The groan came from Stark while taking in the scene from the lobby, arms crossed as the team stared at the latest ‘gift.’ “Is this supposed to be a threat? Some weird, magic mafia message? Are we being punked?”

Natasha crouched next to the mess, her sharp eyes narrowing as she examined them with her usual no-nonsense precision. “It’s Loki. Has to be. Who else uses this much flair for something so unnecessary?” She gestured to the glowing symbols, her tone tinged with exasperation. “It’s practically screaming his name. Plus, well the green.”

Rogers just let out a heavy sigh, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Why would he send us bad guys all wrapped up like some demented Christmas present? Does he think we’re- allies now?” His tone was incredulous, as if the idea of Loki’s cooperation was more shocking than the elaborate display before them.

Bruce glanced around nervously as if he half expect Loki to just sudden appear tilted his head looking back at the bodies. “Maybe it’s a trap. They could be booby-trapped with…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the bodies of the HYDRA agents, his mind undoubtedly cataloguing every worst-case scenario.

Thor, however, broke into a broad grin as if he’d just discovered something delightful. He stepped forward with his characteristic enthusiasm. “Nay, friends, it is no trap! Loki is merely…” The grin faltered a little as he looked at the concerned looks of his friends but tried to reassure. “Expressing his affection!”

The lobby fell silent. Even Clint, who had been quietly eating a bagel in the corner, paused mid-chew to blink at Thor.

“Affection?” Tony repeated flatly. He stared at Thor as if waiting for the punchline to an elaborate joke. “You’re saying your psycho brother, who once tried to enslave the planet, is affectionately dropping off corpses and terrorists like a murderous Santa Claus?”

Thor nodded enthusiastically, seemingly oblivious to the disbelief in the room. “Indeed! It is the way of our people. He is offering tribute as a sign of respect and camaraderie. Why, on my two-hundredth birthday, Loki orchestrated the assassination of a minor warlord in Alfheim as a gift. It caused quite the interplanar incident, but it was very thoughtful!”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze locking onto Thor. “So… this is normal for him?”

“Aye! Though I… did not realize he extended such courtesies to mortals. This is a great honour!” Thor’s tone was earnest, almost proud.

Tony started rubbing his temple like it would stop the growing headache, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, let’s backtrack to the part where Prince Diva assassinated a warlord for your birthday. Did… Did anyone explain to him that not all gifts need to involve bloodshed?”

Thor frowned in thought, his expression clouding over as he seemed to piece something together. “We may have tried. Though it occurs to me now that perhaps Odin’s approval of those deeds…” He trailed off, his voice softening as a shadow of realization crossed his face.

Tony’s eyes lit up, his tone shifting to one of mock delight. “Ok, hold up. Are we unpacking trauma? Is this going to be fun?” He turned to Bruce with a grin. “Banner, get your therapy voice ready. Point Breaks about to have a breakthrough.”

Thor waved him off with an annoyed huff. “Loki’s past deeds are of no concern now. What matters is that he seeks your acceptance. These…”-he gestured grandly to the bound and unconscious HYDRA agents-“are his way of saying he wishes to be… friends.”

Clint muttered through a mouthful of bagel, “Yeah, friends who dump bodies at your door.” He took another bite, entirely unimpressed with the explanation. “Which of you idiots asked for a cat for Christmas?”

From the rooftop across the street, cloaked in an invisibility spell, Loki smirked as he watched the Avengers examine his latest offering. Surely, this time, this time they would appreciate his efforts. The Midgardians prided themselves on ridding their realm of filth like HYDRA, and Loki had delivered the scum directly to their door. What more could they want?

“Ungrateful mortals,” he muttered, though his tone was more exasperated than angry. He had spent hours dismantling that cell, carefully orchestrating every detail to ensure maximum impact. From slipping past the hapless guards to embedding subtle chaos spells that left the agents confused and disoriented, every step had been an art form. Even the glowing runes adorning the bindings had been a personal touch-a flourish of his own design.

As the Avengers debated his motives, Loki found himself dwelling on the absurdity of it all. Back on Asgard, such actions would have been heralded as heroic-a declaration of loyalty and cunning prowess. The court would have whispered in awe of the intricate methods and decisive execution. Had Thor truly failed to explain their culture to these mortals, or was he intentionally withholding that knowledge for some unfathomable reason? Was this, perhaps, another one of Thor's oafish oversights?

The idea rankled. Loki’s gaze shifted briefly toward the New York Sky line, his thoughts wandering to the many times he had tried to prove himself. All Loki wanted was acknowledgment. A nod, a smirk, even a begrudging ‘thank you’ from Thor would suffice. But no, they always assumed the worst of him. Always the villain, never the ally. Did they not see that he was trying?

A flicker of irritation danced across his features. Were mortals truly so obtuse, or did they simply enjoy painting him as the antagonist? Surely, Thor could have explained the significance of such gestures. Or had Thor dismissed the act himself, brushing it aside as another of Loki’s ‘antics’? The thought stung more than Loki cared to admit.

He sighed, leaning against the cold stone railing of the rooftop. Below, the city buzzed with life, its mortals scurrying about in their endless routines, oblivious to the grander schemes that played out above them. Perhaps his gestures had been… misunderstood. Maybe these mortals needed something more tailored to their sensibilities-something simpler, less grandiose. A gift of flowers, perhaps? No, that was too banal. A box of chocolates? Loki scoffed at the idea.

Yet, as his thoughts circled back to the Avengers, a different notion took hold. Loki’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. If they wanted less bloodshed, he could oblige. He would find a way to outwit their expectations, to craft a gesture so cunning and sincere that even they could not mistake his intentions. But where was the fun in that? Perhaps he could combine his flair for the dramatic with their mortal simplicity. Yes, that might just suffice.

For now, though, he would watch and wait. The wheels of his mind turned, already formulating his next move. After all, Loki was nothing if not adaptable.

Back at the Tower, Thor finally cornered Loki in one of his dramatic rooftop brooding sessions. Loki had been preparing to slip away after leaving another ‘gift’-a dossier containing the locations of several underground arms dealers, meticulously bound with enchanted ribbon-but his brother’s booming voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Brother,” Thor began, crossing his arms as he approached, “I have come to speak with you about your… gifts.”

Loki turned, his expression an artful mask of indifference. “Gifts? You mean my contributions to your pitiable band of heroes?”

“Aye, those contributions. They do not understand your intent. In truth, they are… concerned.” Thor’s tone was carefully measured, though there was an undertone of exasperation.

Loki’s brows knit together, the faintest hint of a pout forming. “Concerned? I deliver them their enemies, eliminated and gift-wrapped, and they are concerned? Ungrateful wretches.” He sniffed indignantly. “Do they not realize the effort I expend for their benefit?”

Thor clapped a hand on his shoulder, the force of it making Loki’s pristine posture waver slightly. “Brother, Midgardians are… different. They do not view such gestures as we do. Perhaps try a different approach? A… less bloody one.”

“Different,” Loki repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. “Different in that they lack the wit to recognize a masterpiece when it is presented to them?” He paused, crossing his arms in defiance. “And what, pray tell, should I offer? Trinkets? Flowers? Shall I craft them little baubles like some mortal craftsman seeking approval?” His voice was biting, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his sharp gaze as he flicked his hands about in mocking gesture.

Thor grinned, ever the optimist Loki sarcasm doing nothing to deter is attempt to correct the mistake. “That would be an excellent start. Perhaps something that demonstrates your intellect and skill without… dismemberment.”

Loki’s scoff was immediate, though he didn’t immediately dismiss the suggestion. He paced the rooftop, his coat trailing dramatically behind him as he mulled over Thor’s words. “They are so fragile, these mortals,” he muttered to himself, though loud enough for Thor to hear. “Always repulsed by the sight of blood, offended by the faintest display of power. Fine. If these mortals are so delicate, I shall craft them gifts more befitting their sensibilities.”

Thor’s grin widened, his pride in his brother evident. “Now that is the spirit! Use your brilliance to show them you are more than they believe you to be.”

Loki rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further. “Very well,” he said at last, his tone regal and begrudging. “But if my efforts are once again met with disdain, do not expect me to spare their fragile sensibilities next time. I shall not suffer such indignities endlessly.”

“Agreed,” Thor replied cheerfully, clapping Loki on the back. “I look forward to seeing what you create, Brother.”

As Thor turned to leave, Loki lingered on the rooftop, the wheels of his mind already turning. His expression softened briefly, the faintest trace of uncertainty crossing his features. Could he truly bridge the chasm between himself and these mortals? And if so, would it be worth it? With a deep breath, Loki squared his shoulders, determination hardening his expression. He would try-not for them, but for himself. As he turned to leave, he considered his next move. Perhaps a feast? No… something grander. He had plenty of time to decide. After all, Loki was nothing if not patient.

(And.. I think that might wait till next year... Thank you if you made it to the end of this silly bit of nonsense!)

[st4rgzer]

messy (spencer reid)

summary: what was supposed to be a romantic date turned into a messy mix of glitter, paper, and tiredness

genre: pure fluff

cw!: unless your afraid of glitter i don’t think there are any

a/n: head over heels for this man, i need more requests!! (this was not requested i made this 5 minutes ago)

“spencer i’m not sure we’re doing this right” you giggle, waving your hand frantically in an attempt to unstick the paper glued to the palm of your hand. you can’t even recall how it got there. meanwhile, spencer had glitter on his cheekbones from trying to tuck his hair behind his ears, you were delighted to fix that reoccurring problem by putting his hair into a little ponytail.

“but they make it look so easy” he laughs, the dry glue clung onto his fingers, something that would easily set a germaphobe off. he easily bent the rules with you.

in an attempt to have a romantic date, you had bought a scrapbook kit online. to your surprise, it came with about 100 different items, ranging from colourful papers, stickers, glitter, and other nightmares hid in pretty pink plastic. it thankfully came with a little booklet of instructions. to your dismay, the instructions came in french. the only language spencer fell victim to. oh but wait! you had taken french classes in high school! yeah, you ended up using google translate.

“okay we could stick this photo here…” you held between your sticky fingers a polaroid of you kissing spencer on the cheek, while spencer looked at you with a grin. it was a fond memory of when you had gone to the pier with him and the team. one of the many group dates you had after spencer introduced you to the them.

“no. nuh uh. we are not ruining that photo by putting it into this- death trap!” he quickly warned, hissing as he tried to grab the picture, instead just getting it even more sticky. both of you were holding onto the photo, fingers stuck. you both shared a look before bursting out in laughter, as opposed to crying about the messed you had made and the state of your faces and hands.

after safely peeling the picture from both your hands, you both fell onto the couch with a sigh. curling next to spencer and resting your head on the crook of his neck, not minding the purple glitter in his hair than would later be such a pain to get out of the couch.

“i love you, even if you’re awful at scrapbooking” you gently placed a kiss to his jaw, his hand coming up to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing a soft kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“well maybe if you’d paid attention in your french classes…” you could hear the grin in his voice. you looked up at him, squinting, faking a death glare before breaking and laughing once again. you felt spencer’s laughter as you placed your head on his chest.

you sighed before closing your eyes. spencer pulled back the hair on your face, and pulled you into a more comfortable position where your neck health wouldn’t be jeopardized. he unbuttoned the sleeves of your shirt and pulled them down, knowing how uncomfortable it made you. he figured the cleaning up of everything could be done later, for now, he takes in your mesmerizing face, finding new spots and marks to adore, tracing your lips with his finger before pressing a kiss to them. whispering goodnight as he drifted off, taking a mental note to become better at scrapbooking for you.

a/n: i am going to off myself i love this man sm

[rems-writing]

When in Rome Milan

》 Pairing: Seonghwa × gn!reader

》 Genre: smut

》 Wordcount: 500 words

》 Rating: mature

》Type: drabble

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

Based off dat one vid of Hwa during tour. IYKYK

NSFW prompt from Illusion Net: *"My breath just made you quiver. Imagine what my tongue can do."*

It was supposed to be you teaching him a lesson. It was supposed to be you cockwarming him as punishment for what he did on stage. So how did things go south quickly? Let’s date it back to a few hours ago. 

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

“DID YOU SEE IT?!”

“SEE WHAT?!”

Your friend, who is the second biggest atiny in your friend group (you being the number one of course) shoved her phone in your face. You grumbled in annoyance as you tried to put her phone at a distance where you can still see yet your eyes won’t be even more fucked up. The annoyance soon melted away when you saw what she was referring to. 

Seonghwa’s solo performance. 

Ateez were currently in Milan, Italy and of course, the concert started off with Seonghwa’s solo performance. Since you were the biggest shinestar and also his significant other, you were used to the sluttiness of his solo performance. However, your eyes went wide and your jaw went slack when you saw a newly added element to his performance. 

Seonghwa slowly inching his hand upwards before inserting his fingers into his mouth. 

After doing that, he proceeded to do his performance like normal before proceeding with the rest of the concert. Feeling fuelled by this, you grabbed your purse and an emergency suitcase before marching out of your house and hailing a cab towards the airport. By the time you reached there, you quickly booked a flight to Milan and sat in your first class seat with anticipation. When you landed, you called an uber and gave the driver the address to the venue. Surprisingly, there was no traffic at this time so the drive was perfect. You didn’t care if you were jetlagged. 

You were going to teach your man a lesson. 

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

So much for the lesson. 

A few hours later, Seonghwa was kissing you feverishly, moving you back and forth on his cock and edging you along the way. Your original plan was to cockwarm him, edge him, and have your own fingers down his throat as part of his punishment for adding that move to his solo performance. Unfortunately, he said something that made you forget everything and caused you to be reduced to nothing more than a whimpering mess. 

“Oh, darling… Just my mere breath can make you quiver in delight. Imagine what my tongue can do to you if we had more time in our intermission.”

Seonghwa surged forward and left a quick kiss on your lips before lifting you off his lap. A whine left your lips as you felt empty. Seonghwa chuckles at the adorable sight and shoves his cock back into his pants before covering his body with that stupid leather harness he calls a top and his purple velvet jacket. He swipes your bottom lip with his thumb and smirks. 

“Meet me back in my hotel room and I’ll be sure to make you squirt on my tongue.”

You’ve never ran faster in your life. 

[pix-writes]

Congrats on 1000 likes!! Wondering if I could request ford with an environmental scientist!reader? Like where ford enjoys theoretical physics and maths, the reader is more focused on geology and biology? No worries if not!!

Dearest anon, you don't have to worry because this is right up my alley!!! I studied earth sciences so let's gooooooo! 😁🥳

Stanford Pines x environmental scientist!reader

Rating: SFW

A/N: Was terrible at physics but I love earth sciences so this is practically a self insert? lmao! Ford finds someone who likes to infodump as much as him about their academic interests! ^^' so sorry that the reader rambles so much. The wilderness must be explored! Hope you enjoy!

"You mean to tell me that you think you've discovered species hitherto unstudied and you didn't call me until now? Are we even friends?!"

That had been your reply on the phone. Ford chuckled, relieved that you had been available and eager to accept. He was perhaps inundated with work and whilst he didn't want to admit where he was limited in his expertise, he knew he could afford to extend his studies and offer someone else an opportunity. He was glad it was you.

You had Fiddleford to thank for your introduction, you had been in a group campaigning for environmental rights on campus, the hubub was something Ford would've generally ignored, but Fiddleford had seen some familiar faces amongst the crowd and he couldn't deny that he was curious about the cause.

He'd found out why you had seemed familiar, as you recognised them from the shared lectures you had.

"Ugh! They made us take a course in statistics, but honeslty, I'm hopeless at it! It's right at the end of the day, too, so I'm trying hard not to fall asleep, you know?"

"Um, well, I actually don't find it that bad."

"But we both agree the professor drones on something awful, right Ford?" Fiddleford gave him an encouraging nudge with his elbow.

"My god, he does!"

"S-so, um, maybe if you sat next to us, I- we could help you? We both take mathematics."

He had been nervous at first, afraid that you would reject him for his six fingered hands. Rumours had been spread across the BMU about him and so far only his roommate had been the most accepting.

But like him you hadn't noticed at first, once you did you had only picked up his hand and said -

"Woah, far out!"

When he had slipped his hand away you had actually apologised.

"Don't give a damn what the rest of them think, Ford. Anyway, I think they're cool!"

And thus your friendship had been forged. Your shared courses were brief together, but you both had a love of DD&MD and kept a campaign running through college.

His excitement for someone coming to relieve the isolation of his life in gravity falls was curtailed, slightly, once you had started pouring over his work. He had temporarily forgotten that you were nearly as scrupulous as himself.

"I can't believe that you were recording these like this! What if your work was to get lost or destroyed, hm? There is so much to do here!"

Eagerness had devolved into critique it seemed, and Ford felt like he was losing the war.

"There's nothing even here about habitats or behavioural patterns for this entry... overall, this is inconsistent, Dr Pines."

He huffed, putting his hands in his pockets. "So are you going to accept the task or just pull it apart for the rest of the week?"

You tried to suppress a grin and failed. "When can I start?!"

Ford shook his head. "Just the same as when we were in college. You take too much delight in messing with me!"

Your laugh rang out over the lab. "Gotta keep you on your toes, Stanford! Like you, I have high standards."

"You can start whenever you're ready, of course."

"Good, because I want you to show me your latest find you talked about."

"Well, I'm glad you called me, seems like there's a lot of work to do here and it's not good to lone work so remotely, Ford, you know I wish you contacted me sooner had I known you were-" You gasped as you looked down into the river and Ford spotted one of the plaidypuses he had discovered last week.

"Oh this is fascinating, Ford! I wonder how they've developed such a pattern, perhaps in the falls they are not predated on? Yeah, maybe that's it."

This sparked a conversational debate, Ford elaborating on what he had said over the phone, how he had discovered them, what else lies in the forest surrounding.

"And just look at this waterfall, a perfect example of differential erosion! Did you know that this kind of basaltic rock in Orgeon was actually formed around..."

Ford looked over to you, you had gotten up close to the edge of the waterfall, as close as you could on dry land, pointing out formations. He tried his best to add in hums of response at the right places, however, his mind had drifted as he saw how your face was highlighted by the light filtering down through the trees. The way the light breeze blew at your clothes, the sparkle in your eyes that lit up your expression as you talked about your subject.

His heart swelled with affection, he had been so lonely before, and he was kicking himself on how he hadn't thought of this sooner; it was so... energising to have someone around with a similar level of passion for their studies as he has.

"Ford, the camera! Quick!" Snapped out of his reverie he realised you had been trying to get his attention, directing him to the shore where a group of plaidypuses had arrived.

"Right!" He took a few photos, managing to get the measuring rod that you placed carefully in the foreground without startling the creatures.

A few tranquil minutes passed as you watched the group glide effortlessly in the water away from you, leaning back on the grass with your hands, legs dangling off of the ledge.

"What were you thinking about? You've got that far away look in your eye."

"Oh, er, nothing! Just an equation." Ford could feel a blush forming.

"Didn't think that'd be something you'd have trouble with."

"Really (name), just because I have a PhD in the subject doesn't mean I don't have to work at solving anything."

"Yeah, yeah, tell that to the girl still trying to get approval for her original proposal." Voice laced with sarcasm. "What're you on now, you're 8th PhD or whatever?"

"10th, actually."

"Jeez, man! Do you ever rest?" You laugh and Ford can't help but join in. "Don't worry, you can get back to your equations and scanners or... whatever else you do with physics! The river isn't far, I'll be studying their ecology for now, then we can decide on the rest."

"Sounds like a plan!"

[midnightdraftqueen]

THE LIBERATION BALL

Speirs x OC!Nurse | Fluff

Warnings: None

As always, this story is based on the dramatized 2001 HBO series - Band of Brothers. This story is not meant to disparage or otherwise belittle the real stories of Easy Company and others that sacrificed their lives in World War II and armed conflicts thereafter.

It started with a whisper—an idea barely louder than the laughter of little girls.

The town was quiet now. Not empty, not eerie, just quiet in the way peace can be, when it’s new and everyone is still holding their breath to be sure it’s real. Easy Company had been quartered here just two days, tucked into aging stone apartments and half-crumbled storefronts that still bore the scars of occupation. Margaret Sinclair and the other rear aid station nurses were lucky to find themselves all in one building, crowded in with three families who hadn’t evacuated, who’d stayed through the worst of it.

The girls were the first to warm.

They spoke in halting English, eyes wide with fascination as they watched the nurses dab on lipstick with trembling hands, comb their hair into tidy plaits, and scrub blood from bandages like it was nothing. Louisa, no more than nine, had immediately taken to Maggie, her hands tugging gently at Maggie’s sleeve the second morning.

“Mademoiselle… a ball. With dancing.”

“A… ball?” Maggie repeated, and Louisa beamed.

“Oui! A ball. For… happy. For… not crying.”

Maggie’s throat caught.

The other nurses rallied around the idea like it was a mission briefing. A young boy named Peter, no taller than the mess tin he insisted on carrying, was sent running up and down the street to pass the word. By afternoon, the entire block was humming with preparation. Mothers shook their heads, insisting it was too much, too kind. But the nurses wouldn’t hear it.

“You let us in your homes,” Maggie told one woman, hands still wrapped around the ribbon she was tying into Louisa’s hair. “This is the least we can do.”

The ball took shape in that magical, haphazard way only children’s dreams can.

Old dresses were pulled from chests, still faintly smelling of cedar and time. Shoes were polished until the scuffs shone like badges. Louisa’s dress was a size too small, its sleeves pinching her arms and the hem barely brushing her knees, but she twirled like it was made of diamonds.

Someone found a phonograph and a handful of records. Tinny French waltzes warbled through the broken windowpanes. Tables were dragged into the cobbled street, covered in wrinkled linens and set with chipped plates. Dandelions and daisies, picked from the edges of old craters, stood proudly in cracked jam jars.

Snacks were cobbled together from cupboard corners—hard cheese, tins of fish, one blessed jar of cherry preserves—and whatever the nurses could spare from their rations.

The girls gathered shyly, unsure of where to begin. But one of the nurses stepped forward, spinning Louisa in a slow, careful circle, and suddenly the street was alive. They danced in groups, in circles, even alone. Some of the little boys tried to mimic them, only to devolve into wild whoops and staged tumbles that sent the girls into fits of giggles.

And then, a ripple of surprise.

The sound of boots.

The boys from Easy Company appeared—drawn like moths to the laughter. Winters at the front, arms casually behind his back, nodded once to the gathered crowd.

“We heard some ladies were throwing a ball,” he said with a small smile. “Figured you might need a few more suitors.”

Gasps and wide eyes. Peter actually dropped his mess tin.

The girls froze in delight.

Winters bowed deeply and offered his hand to the first little girl brave enough to step forward. She curtsied, awkward and delighted, and the entire block erupted into cheers.

Liebgott, half-smiling in that unreadable way of his, lifted Louisa into a proper waltz hold while Luz cut in to spin her sister in a clumsy circle. Perconte and Randleman began a mock duel for the children’s amusement.

Even Nixon got roped into helping pour “champagne”—water and apple juice into mismatched teacups—as Maggie hovered nearby, tucking curls behind ears and smoothing skirts with the kind of reverence usually reserved for battlefield wounds.

For a moment, no one was crying.

The sky turned a soft pink as the sun began to dip, and the girls, breathless and glowing, clung to their dance partners like royalty. Maggie stood with her arms crossed, watching the swirl of it all: a street turned ballroom, soldiers turned knights, a war briefly forgotten.

Winters came to stand beside her, brushing the edge of his sleeve with one hand. “You did all this?”

Maggie shook her head. “Louisa did. We just followed orders.”

He glanced at the girl—now beaming up at Toye as he handed her a wildflower.

“She’s going to remember this night for the rest of her life,” he said quietly.

Maggie nodded. “So are we.”

Eventually, the light faded to gold and the street was bathed in the hues of a setting sun and the warmth of laughter that bounced off stone walls.

Tables sagged gently beneath the weight of empty cups and half-shared army chocolate. Maggie stood with one hand on her hip and the other resting lightly on Louisa’s shoulder as the girl caught her breath from another round of twirls. Peter had passed out, slumped against a nurse’s lap with crumbs on his cheeks.

But… not everyone was in the thick of it.

Off to the edge of the square, just past the reach of the phonograph’s crackling music, a small knot of older boys hovered in a clump—arms crossed, noses wrinkled, feet shifting like they might bolt at any second. They watched the dancing with furrowed brows and muttered in French too quick for the nurses to catch.

But one soldier noticed.

Ronald Speirs, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a stripe of dirt still clinging to one cheek, strode toward them with casual purpose. He held a tin cup in one hand and the gaze of a man who’d crossed battlefields more comfortably than ballrooms.

He came to a stop beside them and looked down. “What’s the problem here?”

The tallest of the boys—Jean-Luc, maybe eleven—lifted his chin. “Boys are tough,” he said in broken English. “They don’t dance in circles.”

A ripple of agreement passed through the group like a nervous current.

Speirs didn’t flinch. He nodded once, slowly. “Maybe not in circles.” Then he leaned down, just slightly, voice low and conspiratorial. “But boys who are tough dance with pretty girls. Don’t they?”

Jean-Luc’s mouth opened and closed. He glanced sidelong toward the makeshift dance floor where Louisa, cheeks flushed and smile bright, was laughing with one of the nurses.

Speirs followed his gaze. “I’ve seen you watching her.”

The boy flushed crimson.

“She’s pretty,” Speirs continued. “And smart. Nurse Sinclair told us she’s the one who put this whole thing together.”

Jean-Luc’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Louisa… got soldiers to come play with us?”

“Yes, she did.” Speirs looked him square in the eye, expression unreadable but his tone just dry enough to provoke. “And if you don’t go dance with her—I will.”

That was all it took.

Jean-Luc’s shoulders stiffened. With a deep breath, he stepped forward. He walked straight across the cobbles, pausing just behind Louisa and tapping her shoulder. She turned, surprised. He awkwardly offered his hands in something that resembled a waltz hold.

Louisa’s face lit up.

She took his hands without hesitation, and they began to move—hesitant steps, uneven turns, more shuffle than spin. But it was dancing, no doubt about it.

The other boys stared like they’d just witnessed a miracle. Then they turned, wide-eyed, to Speirs.

He didn’t smile, exactly. But something like pride flickered behind his eyes as he barked, “What are you waiting for? MOVE, MEN. MOVE.”

The boys scattered like troops under orders, each scrambling toward a girl, a partner, a piece of the joy that had suddenly become acceptable.

The street erupted into a fresh wave of laughter.

Parents clapped from their stoops, nurses cheered. Maggie caught Speirs’s eye from across the square and shook her head fondly. He gave a barely-there shrug and smirked and took the now-empty tin cup with him as he strolled back toward the dance floor, passing Louisa and Jean-Luc as they spun into a too-fast turn and collapsed into a fit of giggles.

And behind them all, the phonograph played on—scratchy, warbled, perfect.

The music softened as the evening wore on—less wild giggles and chaotic twirls now, more swaying shadows and sleepy smiles. Some of the littlest ones had begun to nod off, heads in laps and fingers sticky with jam. A few older children still circled each other in mismatched pairs, reluctant to let the night end.

Louisa, never one to let a good moment slip away, clutched the edges of her skirt and spun once, her laughter ringing like a bell. Then she stopped—eyes scanning the crowd of adults lining the edge of the square, lounging on steps and folding chairs, sipping from tin cups, hands idle.

She narrowed her gaze.

“The grown-ups,” she whispered to Jean-Luc. “They don’t dance.”

Jean-Luc followed her line of sight and nodded solemnly. “We fix that.”

They moved like a miniature tactical unit. Louisa zeroed in on another nurse, Este, who was mid-sentence when she was grabbed by the hand. “Come on!” Louisa declared.

“Louisa—” Este started, laughing, but the girl wouldn’t be denied.

“You dance now,” she insisted, tugging Este straight toward George Luz, who blinked as he realized he was being ambushed.

“She’s yours!” Louisa said, beaming, and gave Este a final push.

Luz looked at Este, grinned, and offered a dramatic bow. “Well, if the lady insists.”

Este rolled her eyes but smiled and took his hand. “Try not to step on my toes, radio boy.”

Elsewhere, Jean-Luc had his own plan.

He approached Speirs slowly, hands tucked behind his back, wearing the same faint smirk Speirs himself had worn earlier.

Speirs eyed him. “What?”

Jean-Luc tilted his head, feigning innocence. “You watch Nurse Maggie.”

That made Speirs pause. His brow lifted—just a little. “I do, huh?”

Jean-Luc crossed his arms. “You go dance. Or I will.”

Speirs blinked, and then—surprisingly—chuckled.

“Okay, kid,” he said with a shake of his head. “Touché.”

Across the square, Maggie stood near the edge of a table, her hands brushing down the front of her skirt as she straightened a wildflower vase. She turned at the sound of footsteps.

Speirs stopped just in front of her, hands loose at his sides.

“Looks like I’ve been challenged,” he said, nodding toward Jean-Luc, who gave a smug little wave from behind. “Kid called my bluff.”

Maggie laughed. “So now you have to dance?”

“I guess I do,” he said, extending a hand. “Unless you’re going to make me look bad in front of a bunch of ten-year-olds.”

She took his hand with a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The music played on—soft, sweet, a simple waltz from a scratched record—and Speirs stepped in, placing a careful hand on her waist, leading like it was something he’d done a thousand times.

Maggie blinked in surprise as he turned her, the motion smooth and sure.

“You’re good,” she said.

He gave a tiny shrug. “My mother insisted. Said a man should know how to dance and write a proper thank-you note.”

She laughed as he spun her. “I bet you’re hell with stationery.”

He grinned—an actual grin—as they moved together, his steps guiding her through the slow rhythm of the street-turned-ballroom.

Then, without warning, he dipped her.

A perfect, movie-worthy swoop that pulled a chorus of gasps and dreamy squeals from the watching girls. Louisa clasped her hands over her heart. Este did a double-take mid-spin with Luz. Even Perconte let out a whistle.

Only Winters didn’t blink—just raised his cup toward the pair and nodded, like he’d known all along.

Maggie’s breath caught, but she was laughing as he pulled her back upright, one hand steady on her back.

“Well,” she said, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “That was unexpected.”

Speirs tilted his head, still holding her hand. “That’s war, Nurse Sinclair.” He offered a sly smile. “Always keep ’em guessing.”

As the music carried on, more adults joined the dance—mothers pulling fathers into long-forgotten steps, nurses trading partners with soldiers, laughter echoing under the stars.

And for a few more minutes, the war receded again—tucked behind the walls, hidden beneath the rhythm of old records and the flicker of candlelight.

—————————— 🪖🪖🪖🪖 ——————————

The last notes of music had long since faded, replaced by the soft scrape of chairs being tucked in and laughter drifting into low murmurs. The stars above the town shone unobstructed for the first time in years—no blackouts, no bombs. Just quiet.

Soldiers helped sweep the street clean, Luz dramatically balancing a cracked plate on his head before depositing it with a bow into a bucket. Winters had rolled up his sleeves and was folding table linens with the quiet precision of a man who found comfort in order.

Parents gathered their children like petals—cradling tired limbs, brushing dirt from knees, whispering promises of warm baths and soft pillows.

Maggie sat on the stoop of the apartment building, Louisa fast asleep against her side, her arms still curled like she’d been dancing in her dreams.

Speirs approached without a word.

He crouched, hands gentle as he slid one arm beneath Louisa’s legs, the other behind her back. She stirred just once—then curled instinctively into his chest like she’d always belonged there.

Maggie stood and followed, her steps light beside his boots as they walked inside.

In the kitchen, her mother, Jeanne, stood at the sink, sleeves rolled and hands slick with suds as she washed sticky cups and jelly-smeared plates. She turned when she heard them, a tired but soft smile on her face.

“My sweet girl,” she said in French-accented English, “I saw her really smile tonight. A real one. First time in a long time.”

Speirs nodded once, voice quiet. “Where should I put her?”

Jeanne dried her hands on a dishcloth and gestured down the hallway. “My room. At the end of the hall. The girls sleep with me since their papa went into the resistance. He is away. To keep us safe.”

He met her eyes—something unsaid but understood between them—then carried Louisa down the hall.

Maggie followed, silent.

They entered the room where Louisa’s sister already lay asleep, a stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her chin. Speirs knelt and gently laid Louisa down, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.

Maggie stepped in and smoothed Louisa’s hair, fingers lingering just a moment longer. Then she straightened, and together they slipped from the room, pulling the door closed behind them with the softest click.

In the kitchen, Jeanne was still at the sink.

“You were good with her,” Maggie said as they walked back toward the front door.

Speirs gave her a sidelong glance. “You sound like that surprises you.”

“It does,” she replied, then stopped walking, turning to face him. “But not because I didn’t think you were capable. Because I thought you wouldn’t want to ruin that killer reputation. Though I think your dancing prowess might have already poked holes in that.”

He smiled. An honest, warm, quiet thing. “I think I’ve got enough of a reputation that the men know well enough not to ask questions. Besides, like I said… you’ve got to keep ‘em guessing.”

“Ahh,” Maggie teased, arms crossing. “It’s all part of the bigger strategy. Your twinkle toes and way with children are tactics to maintain mystique.”

He tilted his head. “Hmm. You might be a better intelligence officer than Nixon.”

She let out a laugh—surprised and delighted. “I’m definitely telling him you said that.”

From the sink, Jeanne turned, catching sight of them in the low light.

“Lieutenant,” she asked, not stern but curious, “you leave?”

Speirs nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am. I figured I’d let you ladies get some sleep.”

But Jeanne just shook her head and said, “You can sleep here, no? Real bed in Louisa’s room. With Margaret.”

Maggie blinked. “Jeanne, that might not be—”

But Jeanne only raised a brow, that distinctly maternal mix of grace and steel. “No scandal here. Besides…” She nodded toward the door. “Your friend Este, she went off with that loud little one she danced with. I doubt she will be back tonight.”

Maggie turned to Speirs, mouth twitching. “Well, Lieutenant… you up for a sleepover?”

He looked at her, at the warmth still lingering in the air, at the clean plates stacked and the hum of peace under the surface of it all. Then he gave a small smirk.

“I guess it’ll add another layer to my coordinated mystique ”

The house was still as they made their way down the hall.

From the kitchen came the faint sound of Jeanne washing the last few dishes, her movements gentle, like even the clinking of cups was afraid to break the spell of the night.

Maggie stood in what had once been Louisa’s bedroom—now hastily repurposed with army blankets and a secondhand pillow for her use. A tiny dresser still held chipped ceramic animals and the frayed ribbon of a childhood once uninterrupted.

Speirs leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He hadn’t said anything when Maggie changed into her cotton nightshirt—he’d respectfully turned to face the shelves, as if pretending to study the titles of worn French books he couldn’t read. But she could feel his presence all the same, like static in the air.

“You stand like you’re guarding the door or considering a war crime.” she said lightly, sliding her brush through her hair.

His mouth twitched. “Muscle memory.”

She tossed the brush onto the dresser and turned to face him. “You staying?”

“I’ve been invited,” he said. “By two women who are terrifying in very different ways.”

That made her laugh.

He stepped into the room then, slowly, and looked around. “This used to be Louisa’s?”

Maggie nodded. “Jeanne said she insisted I sleep here. Said it would make her feel better. Like she was doing something for us.”

He looked at the faded bedspread, still patterned with flowers, and the stack of folded pajamas left on the chair. “She did plenty.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Maggie sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her legs up under the blanket. “You’re not sleeping on the floor. I’m not that cruel.”

“I’ve slept in foxholes, Margaret,” he deadpanned. “I think I’ll survive a wooden floor.”

But she just lifted the corner of the blanket. “There’s room.”

He hesitated.

“You’re not scandalizing me,” she added softly. “Just… don’t be weird about it.”

That earned a rare huff of amusement. “Copy that.”

He moved around the bed, pulled off his boots with quiet efficiency, and lay down beside her on top of the blanket, arms folded behind his head.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Outside, a dog barked in the distance.

Maggie turned her head slightly, studying the way the moonlight caught on his lashes. “You really are full of surprises.”

“I try.”

“You twirled me around the street like it was second nature,” she said. “Carried a sleeping child. Talked big tough boys into dancing.”

He turned his face toward her, one brow arching. “You left out bedding down beside a nurse in a floral twin bed.”

“That too.” Her smile curled, sleep-heavy but sincere. “Ronald Speirs: war hero and master of unexpected tenderness.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, voice barely above a whisper, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She looked at him, earnestly. “I don’t.”

And with nothing left to prove, and no one left to impress, they both sank into the hush of night.

Not touching. But close.

Breathing in the same silence.

Morning slipped in slowly, casting gold through the worn curtains of Louisa’s old bedroom. Maggie stirred first, blinking against the warm light. Her arm was flung over the edge of the mattress, and the faint scent of soap and dust filled the air.

Ron was still beside her, flat on his back, arms folded loosely over his stomach. The floor creaked as Maggie sat up, stretching, hair a tangle over one shoulder.

“You snore,” she murmured.

“No, I don’t,” he replied without opening his eyes.

“You do. Not loud. Just enough to sound smug in your sleep.”

He cracked one eye open. “Smug breathing. Add it to the list.”

Before she could retort, the door banged open.

“Margaret!”

Louisa, in a whirlwind of curls and excitement, burst into the room like a bullet.

Jeanne’s voice followed in rapid-fire French from the hallway. “Louisa! Laisse-les tranquilles!”

The girl froze in the doorway, blinking as she took in the scene—Maggie still half-tangled in the covers, Speirs in undershirt and fatigue pants sitting up calmly, boots still by the door.

Jeanne appeared a breath later, flustered and blushing furiously. “I’m so sorry—désolée—she is excited, she forgets doors.”

Maggie just laughed and waved her off. “It’s alright.”

Ten minutes later, they sat around the kitchen table—Maggie in her uniform jacket now buttoned and tidy, Speirs polished into his usual battle-ready presence. They ate slices of dark bread with jam, sipping watery coffee while Louisa perched on a stool, still talking a mile a minute.

Then the clock chimed the hour, and duty returned.

Speirs had a briefing. Maggie was needed at the rear station to help with triage reports and supply distribution.

They didn’t have time for anything beyond a nod goodbye.

Around lunch, the makeshift mess was a bustling maze of folding tables, tin trays, and clatter. Maggie sat down with a bowl of watery soup and a hunk of bread, wedging herself between Este and one of the clerks from HQ.

Across the room, Speirs sat with Winters, Nixon, and Welsh—each man in varying stages of uniform, field maps and notepads scattered on the table between bites.

Then the door flung open.

Louisa charged in, skirt flaring, determined as a one-girl mission.

“Maggie!”

Maggie immediately stood, eyes scanning for signs of trouble. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” Louisa said brightly, holding up a familiar silver glint. “Your soldier left this!”

In her small hand gleamed Speirs’ cigarette lighter.

Across the room, Speirs had frozen mid-sip.

Maggie felt the weight of a hundred eyes snap to her. She smiled through it. “Thank you, sweet girl. I’m sure he’d miss that.”

Louisa nodded, proud as anything. Then—loudly, confidently, and without an ounce of hesitation—she asked, “Are you getting married now? You slept in bed like my mama and papa.”

A clatter as Speirs choked on his coffee.

Winters blinked. Nixon lifted his eyebrows with barely concealed delight. Welsh smirked over his cup.

Around them, murmurs began. Suppressed laughter. Curious glances. A few outright stares.

Maggie threw her head back and laughed. “No, sweetie. I’m not marrying Lieutenant Speirs.”

Louisa frowned, turned, and scanned the room—then landed on him again.

“Good,” she declared. “Because I want to marry him.”

The room erupted.

Luz’s cackle was the loudest. Someone—possibly Perconte—actually slapped the table. Even Winters ducked his head, biting back a smile.

But Speirs stood. Calmly.

He walked across the mess with deliberate steps and knelt down beside Louisa.

“Miss Louisa,” he said, eyes level with hers. “I’m honored. Truly. But I don’t know where the war will take me, and I might be a little too old for you.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t seem old.”

That drew another ripple of laughter.

Speirs grinned. “Even so… I think Jean-Luc might be a good man to keep around.”

Her expression turned thoughtful. “He did dance. And he gave me his dessert.”

Speirs reached up and unpinned one of his collar insignias. Carefully, reverently, he pinned it to her dress. “So you don’t forget me.”

Then he leaned forward and pressed the gentlest kiss to her cheek.

She beamed, eyes bright.

Maggie, watching it all, felt her heart expand in her chest like it had nowhere else to go.

“I’ll walk her home,” she murmured, and Speirs nodded.

As she and Louisa exited into the street, chattering softly, Speirs turned and returned to his seat at the officers’ table.

He sat, deadpan, coffee cup in hand.

The looks hit immediately.

Nixon didn’t even wait. “So… smoking jackets or full tuxedos for the wedding?”

Winters, dry as ever, added, “I’ll speak to Sink about adding a flower girl to the chain of command.”

Speirs raised his coffee. “You’re just jealous no one’s proposed to you.”

Welsh grinned. “If I thought it’d get me a kiss and a pin, I’d kneel right now.”

Around them, the laughter began again, but Speirs didn’t look at them.

He looked toward the door.

Toward the street.

Toward where Maggie and Louisa were walking, hand in hand in the sunlight.

And for the first time that day, he smiled like he didn’t care who saw it.

—————————— 🪖🪖🪖🪖 ——————————

The sun had long since sunk behind the rooftops, turning the narrow alleys of the little town to soft shadows and golden lamplight. Most of Easy Company was packed up, trucks and gear staged, boots polished and orders given. The lull before movement always felt like a held breath.

Maggie found Speirs near the edge of the courtyard, where the town thinned into fields. He stood alone under a crooked tree, cigarette between his fingers, watching the smoke curl toward the stars.

She joined him quietly, hands in her coat pockets, shoulder brushing the worn bark as she leaned beside him.

“You know,” she said, nudging his arm, “your impromptu marriage proposal really turned some heads today.”

He exhaled a soft breath through his nose, amused. “She’s a determined girl.”

“She’s smitten.”

“Clearly,” he muttered, holding the cigarette out to Maggie.

She took it, inhaled, passed it back. “Though I have to say, you didn’t NOT encourage her. You gave her a whole pin, Lieutenant.”

“She earned it,” he said evenly. “Boosting morale.”

“The real kicker though,” he said, tilting his face to look at the woman beside him more clearly, “is how confidently you told her you weren’t marrying me.”

“Aww,” she teased, grinning. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Hmm,” he replied, flicking ash into the grass. “That implies I have feelings to hurt.”

She turned her head, looked at him through the dark. “You do. You’re just very selective about who sees them.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then:

“Well. I guess you should feel honored then.”

She didn’t smile right away. Just looked at him—really looked.

“I am,” she said softly.

That landed between them with a weight neither of them rushed to move.

The wind shifted. Somewhere behind them, a Jeep rolled by. Voices murmured from a barracks window, the low murmur of tired men playing cards, preparing their gear.

And then Maggie bumped her shoulder gently into his.

“If you do ever propose to me,” she said lightly, “I want more than a standard-issue Army insignia pin…I’d at least expect some jump wings.”

That drew a laugh from him—short, low, real.

She laughed too, tipping her head back, letting it spill out without apology.

They stood like that a while longer. Not making promises. Not defining anything. Just sharing a cigarette and a moment of rare peace in a world that rarely offered either.

Eventually, Speirs stubbed out the cigarette against the tree.

“We roll out in the morning,” he said, voice quiet again. “Zero five hundred.”

She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

He glanced at her one last time, then started to walk back toward his quarters.

Halfway there, he turned back.

“Maggie?”

“Yeah?”

A pause. A flicker of something almost like a smile.

“You’d look good in wings.”

And with that, he disappeared into the dark.