#The first two headlines came to me first and then the rest I figured out as I went along

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Post Maiden-Home Win

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming will be skattered throughout the rest of the story. Please feel free to skip parts you find uncomfortable or to stop reading the rest of the story in general. no harm no foul.

The days between the Texas and Mexican Grands Prix were a whirlwind, but they started with a night I’d never forget. Fresh off my first Formula 1 victory—on home soil, no less—I was swept into a celebration that felt larger than life. Nearly every driver on the grid showed up, save for a few who had family commitments or simply didn’t have the energy for our kind of chaos. Even they made a point to swing by and congratulate me before heading off to their flights or their quieter plans.

For once, the usual rivalries and tensions seemed to melt away. We were just a group of racers, toasting to a milestone that felt as much theirs as it was mine. The party buzzed with laughter, music, and the kind of camaraderie you only find in moments like these. It was as if my win had become a victory for everyone who had ever dared to chase a dream.

The party was everything I imagined a post-win celebration could be—yet so much more. For the first time since I’d joined the grid, the spotlight wasn’t about what I lacked, who I wasn’t, or why I didn’t belong. It was about me—a victor, a competitor, an equal.

The night felt surreal. The other drivers hoisted me onto their shoulders, chanting my name as if I was their hero, not just the lone woman who had somehow clawed her way onto the grid. Lando handed me a drink with a grin, promising that "you'll never forget your first win party," while Franco spun me around in a dance I didn’t know the steps to but couldn’t stop laughing through. Even Max, who was usually stoic, clinked his glass against mine and said, “You deserve it. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

For a few fleeting hours, the endless battle for respect and recognition faded into the background. I wasn’t the woman who had replaced Lance Stroll and had her abilities questioned at every turn. I wasn’t the target of snide remarks, belittling jokes, or the subject of ugly rumors that accused me of everything from sleeping my way into the sport to only being here for the media attention. I wasn’t the outsider fighting for space in a world that had never wanted me.

I was a winner.

But even in the glow of celebration, the shadows lingered. I knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. The headlines tomorrow would still dissect every detail of my performance, and the doubters would still find ways to diminish my success. The whispers wouldn’t stop—about how my team must have favored me, how it was “just luck,” or how the other drivers had “gone easy” on me because of my gender.

Still, as the music pounded and the lights danced across the room, I let myself live in this moment. For once, the people around me weren’t doubting me—they were celebrating with me. I drank it all in: the laughter, the clinking glasses, the genuine congratulations. Even if the road ahead would be just as steep, tonight, I wasn’t just a female driver in a male-dominated sport. Tonight, I was a champion.

Knock, knock, knock.

The pounding on the door echoed like a drumline in my head. I groaned, pulling the pillow over my face, and prayed whoever it was would give up and go away. No such luck.

“Y/N!” Lewis’s voice came through the door, muffled but unmistakable. “We know you’re in there. Open up before I have Charles break the door down.”

“I’m not breaking anything,” Charles protested, his tone light and teasing. “But we will stand here until you let us in.”

I groaned louder, dragging myself out of bed. My head felt like it was splitting in two, and the room spun just from standing. I stumbled to the door and cracked it open, glaring at the two figures on the other side.

Lewis and Charles stood there, both looking annoyingly chipper for people who had been at the same party as me. Lewis held a bag of something greasy-smelling, and Charles waved a bottle of water in one hand and a sports drink in the other.

“Ugh,” I muttered, letting the door swing open wider as I shuffled back toward the couch. “I’m dying. Leave me here to rot.”

Lewis chuckled, stepping inside and setting the bag on the coffee table. “We figured you’d say that. So we brought reinforcements—breakfast and hydration.”

Charles grinned, handing me the water first. “Drink this before Lewis starts lecturing you about recovery.”

I sank onto the couch, sipping the water while Lewis unpacked the bag. The smell of breakfast sandwiches and hash browns hit me, and despite my nausea, my stomach growled.

“See? You’re not that far gone,” Lewis said, passing me a sandwich.

Before I could thank them, another knock came at the door, softer this time.

“Now what?” I grumbled, shuffling back to answer it.

When I opened the door, Lando was leaning against the frame, his hair a mess and his hoodie pulled halfway over his face like it was his armor against the world. Franco stood behind him, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“We heard there was a hangover party,” Lando mumbled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Did you bring food?” Franco asked, peering around him.

“Not you too,” I said, but there was no bite in my tone.

“You looked worse than me at the party,” Lando quipped, flopping onto the couch next to me. “And that’s saying something.”

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered, taking a bite of the sandwich.

Franco perched on the armrest of the couch, watching me like I was some science experiment. “Do you always look this awful after drinking?”

“Do you always look this awful without drinking?” I shot back, earning a laugh from everyone in the room.

As the boys bickered and passed around the food Lewis had brought, the headache began to fade, replaced by something lighter, warmer.

-time skip-

Later that day, I was shipped off to Mexico City for the next race. The plane ride was uneventful, a mix of peace and monotony as I rode alone. First-class perks and my comfiest headphones helped pass the time, but it didn’t stop the creeping anticipation in my mind.

When I landed, my manager was already waiting, hustling me through the crowded airport. “Let’s get you to the hotel,” she said briskly. “You’ve got a little time to settle in before the meeting.”

I nodded, grateful for the momentary reprieve. By the time we arrived, I was too tired to do much more than toss my suitcase in the corner and collapse onto the bed for a quick nap. The quiet was short-lived, though, as the "big post-win meeting" loomed closer. Apparently, with Fernando and me both in strong positions for points after years of tough seasons, the team wanted to capitalize on the momentum. They saw this as an opportunity—not just to boost morale but to prepare us for the new pressure we’d be carrying on our shoulders.

When I finally walked into the makeshift meeting space, the buzz of conversation among the team greeted me. I scanned the room, offering small nods and smiles to familiar faces. But one gaze stopped me cold.

I clocked him instantly. The same guy from last weekend. His presence was a scar in my memory—a faded yet sharp reminder of a strange encounter I hadn’t quite shaken. His eyes locked on me, unrelenting and piercing, like he was trying to peel away every layer of my being. It wasn’t just uncomfortable; it was invasive, like he was searching for something I hadn’t consented to share.

I busied myself with casual chatter among the team, doing my best to avoid his line of sight. But he didn’t seem to take the hint. His questions started out innocuous enough but quickly grew more probing, each one designed to worm his way past my walls.

“So, Y/N,” he said, leaning just a bit too close, his voice smooth but loaded with something darker, “what’s it like carrying the hopes of an entire country on your shoulders? I imagine it’s… intoxicating.”

I forced a polite smile. “It’s a lot of responsibility, but I try to focus on the team effort. We all contribute to the success.”

He chuckled, as if my answer amused him. “Modest. But we both know you’re more than just another driver.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. My grip tightened on the water bottle in my hand as I tried to steer the conversation back to safer ground, cracking a joke with one of the engineers standing nearby.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Fernando watching the exchange, his sharp gaze flicking between me and the guy—Henry, as he finally introduced himself. Fernando’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching just slightly. He seemed to sense my discomfort, his focus narrowing in on Henry’s posture, which was all demanding presence and misplaced confidence.

Before Fernando could step in, the door swung open, and our team principal, Mike, strode in with a clipboard. The room quieted instantly as he called everyone to order.

I exhaled a small breath of relief, grateful for the interruption. Henry finally stepped back, though I could feel his eyes lingering on me as the meeting began. My focus stayed firmly on Mike, but my skin crawled with the residual unease of Henry’s attention.

Whatever the team wanted to prepare us for, it seemed I’d have to brace myself for more than just the pressure of the championship fight.

As the meeting progressed, Mike laid out the agenda with his usual no-nonsense tone. He congratulated Fernando and me on our recent performances, his words tinged with that managerial mix of pride and urgency.

“We’re in a great position,” he began, “but we need to push harder. Especially with the Constructor’s Championship still within reach. To that end, there’ll be some changes to help maximize efficiency and improve collaboration across both sides of the garage.”

I shifted in my chair, already sensing where this was headed.

“Y/N,” Mike said, his gaze landing on me. “You’ve done exceptionally well under the circumstances, but as the newest driver, there’s still room for growth—both in understanding the car and in working more seamlessly with the engineering team.”

I nodded, doing my best to look composed. “Of course. Whatever helps the team.”

“Good,” he replied. “You’ll be spending more time with Henry and his team the rest of this season. They’ll walk you through the car’s nuances, collect your feedback, and ensure we’re all on the same page moving forward.”

Outwardly, I kept my expression neutral, but internally, I winced. Of course he would be leading this. I stole a glance at Henry, who sat across the room with that same infuriatingly smug posture. He gave me a small, knowing smile that only made my stomach twist.

“As for you, Fernando,” Mike continued, turning his attention to my teammate, “your side of the garage will be following a similar approach, though with less urgency. You’ve proven time and again that you understand the car and the team’s dynamics. But we’ll still use this as an opportunity to fine-tune.”

Fernando gave a slight nod, his face unreadable. I caught his eye for a brief second, and there was a flicker of something there—concern, maybe.

The meeting wrapped up with the usual reminders about strategy sessions and media commitments, but I barely heard any of it. My mind was stuck on the looming task of spending more time with Henry. I didn’t doubt his skills as an engineer—he’d been with the team long before I arrived, and his reputation for precision was well-known. But his unnerving presence made the thought of working closely with him almost unbearable.

As we filed out of the room, Fernando caught up to me, his hand brushing lightly against my arm. “You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

I hesitated, glancing around to make sure Henry wasn’t within earshot. “I will be,” I said, offering a small, forced smile.

Fernando frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his tone soft but firm. “If he gives you trouble, you tell me. Understood?”

I nodded, the weight of his words grounding me for a moment. “Thanks, Fernando.”

He gave a small nod before stepping away to join his side of the garage.

I took a deep breath and turned toward Henry, who was waiting near the door, his hands in his pockets and that same unreadable look in his eyes. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to nod. “Lead the way.”

This was going to suck.

-time skip-

The next day was grueling. Henry and two other engineers, Mark and Tom, had me stationed in one of the team’s garages, walking me through nearly every detail about the car ahead of the Mexican GP. Aero dynamics, brake wear, tire degradation on the high-altitude track—it felt like I was cramming for an exam I hadn’t studied for.

Mark and Tom were professional, efficient, and clear in their explanations. They answered my questions patiently, sometimes even offering diagrams to make things easier to grasp. But Henry... Henry was a different story.

“So, Y/N,” Henry drawled at one point, leaning casually against the workbench as if we weren’t on a tight schedule, “do you ever worry you’ll... break a nail handling the wheel? Or does the team have a special manicure budget for you?”

I froze, gripping the edge of the table to keep my temper in check. Mark coughed awkwardly, glancing between us, while Tom cleared his throat.

“Henry,” Tom said carefully, “let’s stay on topic. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

Henry waved him off with a smirk. “Relax, Tom. Just trying to lighten the mood. Y/N can handle a joke, can’t you?”

I forced a tight smile, biting back the sharp retort burning in my throat. “Let’s focus on the car, shall we? There’s plenty I still need to learn.”

For a moment, I thought that might shut him up, but Henry only leaned closer, his voice dropping. “You know, you’d learn a lot faster if you weren’t so tense. I could help you... unwind, if you’d like.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Henry—”

“Let it go, Mark,” Henry snapped, straightening up and glaring at him. “I’m in charge here. Maybe focus on your job instead of babysitting.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, but I forced myself to keep going. I nodded along as Mark and Tom did their best to continue the session, subtly redirecting the focus back to the technical aspects of the car.

By the time we wrapped up, my head was pounding—not just from the overload of information, but from the constant strain of dealing with Henry’s veiled jabs and innuendos.

Back at the hotel, I trudged into the lobby, my mood dark and my patience worn thin. As I passed through, a burst of laughter caught my attention. I glanced over to see a small group of drivers lounging in one of the seating areas, looking relaxed and carefree.

Charles spotted me first, his smile warm and genuine as he waved me over. “Y/N! Come join us.”

I hesitated, torn between my sour mood and the temptation of their easy camaraderie. Lando, sprawled across one of the couches, noticed my hesitation and grinned. “You look like you’ve had the longest day in history. We’ve got snacks and bad TV—instant cure for whatever’s bothering you.”

Franco leaned against the armrest, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “And if that doesn’t work, I hear Lando’s jokes are so bad they’ll make you laugh out of pity.”

Despite myself, a small smile tugged at my lips. “That sounds... tempting,” I admitted, stepping closer.

Charles patted the empty seat next to him. “Come on. You seem like you need this more than we do.”

As I sank into the seat, the weight of the day began to lift. Their laughter, their lighthearted banter—it was a reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone in this world, even if some days it felt like it.

For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.

[inthegardensofourminds]

With You I Bloom (Kimi to Yukite Saku) + The Onion headlines

[sirfrogsworth]

Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly. 

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart. 

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after. 

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form. 

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view. 

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla. 

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid. 

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again. 

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option. 

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal. 

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night. 

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot. 

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

[chiaraswritings]

Unexpected.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their characters, or their settings. This is certainly not canon.

Warnings & Topics: Suggestive themes, emotional distress, physical exhaustion, pregnancy. 18+.

Word Count: 3.9K words

Summary: Batmom! reader finds out she is pregnant a short time after marrying Bruce Wayne, not in the most pleasant of ways. Telling him won't be easy, but Alfred gives her some encouragement.

Author's note: After four hours of work, I deem my first fanfiction suitable for posting. Thank you for all the support. I hope you enjoy.

Listen on Spotify while you read…

It'd been two months since that beautiful, blissful, romantic day. Actually, two months, two weeks, and one day. But who was counting, right?

The newspapers were. Headlines of gossip news, huge block letters in bold, depicted that I had been spotted at the gym alone again, also describing their support for my "weight loss journey" since I had been "losing my figure". I had been reading this article over and over for about an hour. Damn. I inspected the black and white photo of myself in leggings and a tank top. The worst part about, well, everything, is that they were right. I was losing my figure, noticeably. 

I didn't even notice Alfred behind me until he spoke. "No matter how many times you read them, the words are not going to change, ma'am."

I jumped slightly. I hadn't been sleeping or eating well at all, my back and chest ached too much to relax, and heartburn hit me like a batarang after meals. I think I had gotten thirty hours of sleep in the last week, and maybe one meal a day. "Thank you, Alfred. Do you know when dinner will be ready?" 

"In a half hour, ma'am." The butler moved to the other end of the kitchen table to face me. "Those words in the paper are words that all who love you disagree with."

Alfred's words touched me if only a little, and I set down the paper. "Thank you, I think I'm going to take a walk." 

He looked concerned, but just for a moment. "Alright, ma'am. Try not to be late, the chicken may be devoured." 

Chuckling, I stepped out into the early evening light. I would not be late for dinner, living with five hungry men teaches you a lot. The sunlight embraced me, bathing me in its gentle rays, glimmering over my face. I felt positively glorious. Closing my eyes, I soaked it in. My husband would soon be home to kiss me and keep an arm around my waist. The simple thought of his touch made my mouth stretch into a smile. Five more minutes, and I'll go in. 

Five minutes turned into twenty. Being amongst the blooming flowers and the busy insects kept me occupied. Not only that, but a sudden headache had overtaken me. I sat in the grass, unladylike, watching the bees collect their last supply of nectar from the flowers for the day. Grass stains never bothered me anyway. I knew time was getting away from me, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to focus on anything. I didn't want to go inside because I didn't want bedtime to arrive. It was too painful to even think about. My head and back reminded me of that even now. 

My vision blurred slightly, I could only focus on a single flower on the bushes before me, bees continuing to fly around it. This was nice. I couldn't focus on a single thing, or think about anything, or worry.

I felt myself fall, sort of, to the ground. Fall was the best word I know to describe it. I was already sitting on the ground, but my muscles suddenly felt like pudding. My head bumped to the grass and laid to rest. Terror gripped my heart and throat for a single second before everything just... relaxed. My vision went next, but I was okay with that. This was so relaxing. I wanted to stay.

...

"Madam. Madam (Y/N)!" The voice came from... maybe a mile away. Maybe. Maybe ten miles. Maybe a hundred.

"(Y/N), madam (Y/N)!" Something cold was on my face. Ugh. I don't like that. The wind bit and stung at where the cold wetness was on my cheek. Ouch.

"Wake up, madam!" No. I don't want to. Go away. But the voice sounds scared.  

I slowly, slowly, with great effort, opened my eyes. Instantly they closed again. My friend the butler was hovering over me. What was his name again?

"Mom!" New voice. Go the hell away. I open my eyes again. 

"I'm here, I'm fine." Sitting up took much more strength than opening my eyes, but I managed to do so. Dick and Alfred worriedly stare at me. "I was just taking a nap."

"That wasn't a nap, it looked like you passed out." Dick was the one with the cold wet cloth. He put it to my head again. I gave him a withering glare, and he pulled it away again, looking apologetic. 

"It was a nap, of course I didn't pass out. Now let me return to it," I waved my hand in no particular direction, trying to shoo them away like mice.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to sleep on the cold ground in nothing but your loungewear, ma'am." Alfred took the cloth from Dick and put it to my forehead. 

Lord, they were being so annoying, I just wanted to go back to sleep. My eyelids drooped and my words slurred. "Bed hurts too much right now... just come back later..." my head finally dropped forward as vision began to diminish again. 

I couldn't really tell what they said next. What I could remember was, "Inside now... call the... when they can see her..." and "...got her... go and tell him... I've got it..." 

The sensation of being lifted did not startle my dozing. Neither did the shouting, nor the feeling of hands on my face. I had earned this sleep, and I was going to... enjoy... it...

...

I was awake, but I didn't want to open my eyes. It wasn't time. Please don't let it be time. I peeked a glance at my watch. Eight in the morning on a Sunday? Yeah, back to sleep we go. 

Before I could return to my dreamless sleep, I became aware of unidentified breathing beside me. Was that Titus? Or maybe Alfred. Maybe I had been kidnapped. Did I care? Hell to the no. All I cared about at this present moment was slumber. If I was kidnapped, I could sleep all I wanted while I waited for them to rescue me.

Then, like a train, uninvited and on its own, the back pain hit my lower body. I couldn't help the moan of discomfort that tore from my throat.

Instantly, a hand went to my forehead. It felt so cold against my warm head. I'd better see who this person with the cold hands is and tell them to go stick their fingers in a campfire before touching me again.

 When I opened my eyes, I realized I wasn't even in the garden anymore. Alfred, I told you I wanted to stay on the ground. But it wasn't Alfred who had put freezing digits on my forehead. It was my husband, my dearest Bruce, my wonderful partner in... crime didn't seem like a good choice of words. His worried blue eyes bored into my sleep-deprived (Y/C) eyes. Ouch, that gaze made my headache come back.

"Hello. Go warm your hands up," I told the love of my life before closing my eyes again. The light from the window seemed to be penetrating my very brain. 

"My hands are warm," replied the bearer of freezing fingers.

"Please, feels like your hands went to the Artic circle for winter vacation." My stubborn retort took a lot out of me, but I could practically hear his small smile. 

"There's my girl," he murmured. I opened my eyes again to smile at my wonderful... freezing... man. 

"Yeahhh, your girl's going back to dreamland. Night night." I grunted at the pain stabbing me in the back, the throbbing in my head, and the emptiness in my stomach.

"Not yet, sweetheart. Stay right here. The doctor's going to be here at ten, you should freshen up a bit." 

I opened one eye to glare unhappily at him. "Don't need a doctor. Need a nap."

His chuckle annoyed me to the very core, almost scaring away the shooting pains in my back. "I'm sorry, but this needs to happen. Do you know how worried we all were when we heard you had fainted in the garden? The boys hardly wanted to go on patrol, they wanted to look after you."

"The boys didn't want to go on patrol? You didn't want to look after me?" I glared playfully at my handsome knight. "And I didn't faint... just took a nap."

"On the cold hard ground?" His questioning gaze made me open both my eyes.

"Yes, it felt nice on my back." 

"Does your back still hurt, sweetheart?"

"Yes, it still hurts." 

"And you didn't feel like sleeping in the bed?"

"The hell is this, an interrogation?" 

"Maybe," he grinned.

"Go away," I retorted, closing my eyes. "I have to go to work, no time for doctors."

"I called and told them you can't come in this week."

"This... this is why I married you."

It didn't take long to fall back into blissful, painless paradise. Bruce left me alone, but I knew he was close by, watching over me. The mansion was so quiet and peaceful, I knew the boys were fast asleep.

Much too soon, I was being kissed awake. 

"Darling, Doctor Thompkin's here. It's time to wake up." Bruce's forehead kisses were, for the very first time in our relationship, annoying. 

"Ugh." I rolled over to escape, my back cracking. 

"Upsy daisy." He stroked my back, gently massaging my painfully aching muscles.

Sitting up took all the strength I had, and yet I had to find more to answer the questionnaire the doctor was springing upon me. Bruce stepped out mid-examination to answer a phone call, leaving the woman to observe my body and take into consideration my answers to her questions. Her questions seemed endless. "Have you been out of the country in the last month?" 

"No."

"Have you been feeling depressed or hopeless?"

"No."

"Are you on any medications?"

"No."

"Do you or any family members have history of scoliosis?" 

"No."

"History of heartburn?"

"No."

"When was your last menstrual cycle?"

"It's marked on the calendar, couple pages back." 

"Do you know what year it is?"

I gave her a funny look. "Of course I do, what's wrong with you?" Now I feel bad for saying that, but I certainly didn't in the moment.

The doctor chuckled, her friendly eyes had laughter lines around them. "Just wanted to make sure you're still with me. Are you on birth control?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been on birth control?" 

"Couple months. I went on it during our honeymoon."

"During?"

"Yes, we realized condoms and plan B weren't as convenient as the pill."

"I'm going to need a blood sample and then we're done here. I'll be in touch with the results. You don't seem to be suffering from scoliosis, but I'll contact you about x-rays to confirm. I haven't made a house call in a long time, or practiced family medicine, but I'll do everything I can to make sure we get to the root of this."

"Okay." 

The blood draw seemed to take longer than I remembered blood draws taking. The prick of the needle didn't disturb the haze of sleepiness that still surrounded me. The woman's departure signaled another wave of sleepiness to wash over me. Bruce and Alfred were showing the doctor out as my head hit the pillow. Pain shot up my back, but sleep had already captured me. 

Tomorrow turned into today, and then today became yesterday. It felt like I slept the whole Monday, skipping work and family dinner. Tuesday morning came with sunshine and kisses from my darling husband as I slowly opened my eyes. 

"Hi," I smiled at him. One of Bruce's arms was holding me almost loosely as he lay next to me in the white sheets. He looked worn and tired from a long night of patrol. I sniffed him. Good, he had showered. 

"Hello." His tired kiss on my lips was slowly waking me. "I love you."

"I love you too," I told him. My smile was getting bigger and my world was waking up. I traced the shape of his exhausted eyes. "Close your eyes. Sleep." 

"Mmph." His eyes closed and his body relaxed under my touch. Normally, Bruce was the one to hold me tight and kiss me to sleep, to caress my body and keep me safe. Looking over his body, I realized that he had been through a difficult night of patrol. A stitched gash across his back, an unhappy bruise on his jaw, scratches on his forearms. Worrying about my "condition" probably hadn't helped him stay alert out there in the dangerous night of Gotham. Guilt washed over me. My arms protectively wrapped around my dearest husband, my lips pressing to his forehead. Today, I was going to keep him safe, I was going to comfort him through his slumber.

...

Bruce's snoring wasn't exactly a lullaby, so I was up and about after a few hours. The boys were crashed in their rooms and Alfred was busy baking something that smelled like chocolatey deliciousness. I was looking over the morning paper, again, skimming for any mention of my family or I. Unhealthy habit, you could say. I was curled up in an armchair next to the bed, keeping the rustling of the newspaper pages to a minimum.

Vibrations of Bruce's cell phone made me look up. As silently as I could, I leaped up and grabbed the phone from the bedside table on Bruce's side. My husband's sleep was important to me, and if I had it my way, nothing at all would disturb it, not even nightmares. 

I carried the cell phone out of the bedroom and glanced at the caller ID. Doctor Thompkins. Results. Yes. This wasn't the first time I had answered my husband's phone, so I wasn't going to feel guilt over finding out my own test results. "Hello?"

"(Y/N), hello. I'm calling with your results."

"Tim's been telling everyone in the family it's yellow fever, please prove him wrong."

"Hah, no, it is not yellow fever... I'd say it's something a little more... serious."

I stiffened. My aching back didn't like that. "What's up?"

"We spoke about your history with birth control, but we need to talk about it again. It would seem that there was some window of time where you and Bruce were not using protection."

My backache must've hit my brain, because looking back, I can't believe I didn't catch on. "Bruce gave me a disease?"

"Not a disease. You're pregnant, (Y/N). I can't make an estimate on how many weeks you are, but I'm going to give you the contact information for an OBGYN. Make an appointment as soon as you can. Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne."

...

When Bruce woke up, I had to apologize to him for his cracked cell phone screen. I told him the truth, that I'd dropped it, but I didn't explain that it was from shock. He told me it was alright, that he'd pick up a new one, but he wasn't quite sure why I looked so very upset over dropping his phone. That would explain itself in time.

I didn't eat a thing at dinner that night, despite my full plate and coaxing from my family. Even the finest cut of steak is unappealing when something like that is on one's mind.

Who wouldn't overthink a thing like this? Pregnant, after a literal two months of marriage? Pregnant, while caring for four boys that you saw as your sons? Pregnant, after your husband had told you he didn't want anymore children? Pregnant, after you had both tried to be careful? Pregnant, to one of the greatest vigilantes and most successful businessmen in the world? Pregnant. I am pregnant. I might have my husband's baby.

"Mom!"

My head jerked up and I was greeted by five concerned faces. 

"Ma, you look like you're in another world," Jason forked a piece of potato. 

"Maybe I am in another world, Jay-Jay." I smiled slightly before standing. Ten eyes observed my every move. 

"Ummi, where are you going?" Damian, the one who I expected would be the least concerned, watched me with huge, worried eyes. 

"I think I need to sleep more. I will see you all tomorrow morning." I kissed every head at the table, my lips lingering on my husband's forehead. He rested his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me down for a gentle kiss. I think he noticed my hesitance, but I didn't stop to think about it or explain. My back only permitted me to walk up the stairs, but if I could've run, I would've.

Once Bruce and the boys had left for their night of patrol, I breathed again. Laying on the bed, clutching my pillow to my chest, trying to rehearse how I would address the situation to Bruce, it took a lot out of me. "Bruce, I need to tell you something," I mumbled. "No... Bruce, we need to talk." 

"Madam, I am not sure if you have noticed, but Master Bruce is not here." Alfred's voice startled me for the second time this week.

"I wish he was. I'm sorry, I'm... practicing." I tried to give my friend a reassuring smile but it came out as a grimace. 

"Good luck, madam," Alfred set down a cup of tea on my bedside table and gave me a genuine Alfred smile. Before he was out of the room, he turned back and looked me dead in the eye. "Master Bruce loves you very much, Madam (Y/N). He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink." 

I looked straight back into this wonderful gentleman's eyes. "Thank you."

...

I tried to sleep through the night, I really did. When dawn and my boys arrived, I was still wide awake, not having slept a wink. I trotted down the stairs to the batcave, taking extra care not to trip. Once on the floor, we went through our post-patrol routine of inspecting each one of my boys. First Damian, who shrugged me off several times before allowing me to look over him, then Tim, who accepted my worrying for what it was, then Jason, who pretended to be annoyed for show, then Dick, who looked over me as carefully as I looked over him, then finally Bruce, who would not stop kissing me, barely giving me a chance to check him for injuries. 

No one was truly hurt, but all but one were tired as they pulled off their suits. The boys trudged upstairs to their rooms, but my husband carried me valiantly up the stairs to our place in the master bedroom, like a knight carrying his princess.

Once the bedroom door was shut and he had set me down, I was instantly on my back laying on the bed, Bruce's lips showing affection to my neck and collarbone. A soft, throaty moan left my mouth as my husband kissed me, his hands working their way over my body. I was clothed in my favorite outfit of a tank top and leggings, and I knew they were at risk of being torn from my torso and limbs if I allowed this to continue. Besides... I had to tell Bruce. 

"Darling..." the word I said was half-moaned. "Darling, please, you need to shower."

"I thought you liked my scent?" Bruce chuckled, looking up at me, his hands working their way up my shirt. 

"Mmm, I do, but you are going to dirty our sheets that Alfred worked so hard to wash." 

"You have a valid point, but I don't like it." Bruce grinned and pulled off the little clothing he wore. I chuckled and rolled my eyes, watching him make his way to the shower. If I hadn't had such a burden on my mind, I would've joined him. I could hear him muttering insults at the slippery bar of soap that his large fingers always seemed to have trouble grasping, and it made me smile. My hand absentmindedly rested on my stomach and I wondered if his child would have the same troubles as their father.

Bruce's shower was shorter than usual. Much shorter than if I had been in there with him. Chuckling, I made room for my knight in the bed. He hadn't bothered to put on clothes, or dry his hair. Bruce climbed on top of me, drops of water falling from his hair to my chest. His lips reattached to mine, devouring the kiss like a wild man. I knew what he had on his mind from the way he caressed my body, and I had to put a stop to it. 

"Bruce... Bruce, wait." 

Concerned eyes met mine. "(Y/N)?"

Alfred's words replayed in my mind. He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. I stared into the beautiful blue eyes I had grown to take comfort in. "Bruce, Doctor Thompkins diagnosed me."

Instantly, his desire was forgotten. Bruce sat back on the bed and pulled me onto his lap. "Tell me, darling, what is it?"

His arms made me feel so safe. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink. "I... you need to expect the unexpected."

"So I'm guessing it's not yellow fever, since that's what Tim expects," Bruce smiled. The gentle attempt at humor didn't lift the worry in his eyes. 

"Heh, no... not exactly. It's... it's a baby." The last three words were much quieter than the others. 

Bruce looked at me quizzically. "I don't think I heard you correctly." 

"A baby," I honestly voiced my diagnosis, somewhat fearfully looking into his eyes. "I'm pregnant."

Bruce's glare pierced mine. He gently slid me off his lap and set me on the bed before standing and walking to the window to silently stare out of it. His breathing had changed, his body was stiff, everything about him seemed cold and hardened. 

My worst fears bit and tore at my heart, anxiety gripping my throat like a murderer. Oh Lord, he doesn't want me anymore. I didn't know whether to go to him, or leave the mansion, or stay in the bed, or cry, or speak. So I just waited, for a full two minutes, staring at my husband's scarred back. After waiting that long, tears began to prick at my eyes. I finally laid down and curled into the cold sheets. "I'm sorry."

I heard him turn. "What are you sorry for?"

"Not paying attention to my birth control. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," my tears left wet spots on the pillowcase. I closed my eyes tightly. 

Then I felt his weight on his side of the bed, he was laying beside me. Bruce collected me into his arms, tilting my chin up, asking me silently to look at him. I opened my wet eyes. 

"I'm not angry with you. I'm thinking about it. Just let me think." Bruce's rough, calloused fingers brushed against my peach soft cheek.

"Okay." I closed my eyes to fight back angry, hot tears. He pulled me to his chest, holding me to himself. I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. 

He must've held me like that for an hour before he finally, finally spoke. "Well, this isn't what I thought two months into our marriage would look like." 

My tears had left stains on his chest. Only a surge of bravery made me look up at him. "Yeah."

He looked down at me, smiled, kissed my lips, and I felt my husband's love course through my body. He may have turned me away physically, but he had never turned me away emotionally. I sat up on his lap, straddling him, my forehead resting on his, my hands on his cheeks. "I love you."

"And I love you," Bruce's fingers brushed against my waist. He seemed hesitant, and his eyes met mine. "May I?"

I was confused for a moment, but then I realized and nodded, beaming. "Yes."

His large hand rested on my stomach. The wheels in his head were still turning, but they had calmed, and they were only turning in the name of love. 

"Expect the unexpected." 

✧ Masterlist

✧ Similar Fanfiction

✧ Spotify

✧ Pinterest (Coming soon)

[athforskz]

Body Worship - Seo Changbin

Masterlist

Pairing: Changbin  x reader (afab) 

wc: ~2.7k

Type: Angst, smut, established relationship

Warnings: Insecurities (body image issues), cursing, mention of online bullying & death threats, crying, tons of kissing, love bites/ marking, sensory play (reader is blindfolded), unprotected piv, use of sex toys, prone bone, aftercare. Let me know if I missed any!

a/n: I don’t care who you are, but every single one of you is beautiful! You better believe it or I’ll send Changbin after you, myself! 😤

Enjoy lovelies!

It had been weeks since you showed your face to the public or been out of the house for that matter. All you wanted to do was stay home in your cozy bed and sleep. To say you were insecure was an understatement. Your boyfriend, Changbin, hadn’t really minded your increasing tendencies to stay in bed. He figured you were just catching up on some much needed rest. However, when it was creeping up on the third week of you turning down his date ideas he started to get worried. 

“Bunny, you doing okay today?” 

“I’m fine, Binnie.” You sighed from underneath the pile of blankets. 

Changbin let out a frustrated groan. He knew you weren’t fine, but he couldn’t figure out why. He finally had vacation time and all he wanted to do was spend it with you. Take you out to all your favorite places and maybe make some new adventures. 

You, on the other hand, despised the thought of it. Not because you didn’t want to spend quality time with your beloved boyfriend, but because of what his fans and media might think. You and Changbin had started dating a little over two years ago. At first the relationship was kept a secret with only his group members, close friends, and family knowing of your status. But once you both had felt comfortable you guys decided to make your relationship public. For the most part, it went over well with Stays accepting your presence and news outlets making headlines about you dating the K-pop idol. 

Even though the majority of fans and media welcomed you, there were still toxic fans and tabloids that tried to tear you down. Normally, you wouldn’t let the hate get to you, but some of the things you read in news articles or comments fans made chipped away at your confidence bit by bit. It started off with an unflattering photo caught by paparazzi when you and Changbin were headed to the airport, then the comments began rolling in. 

‘Her face looks so uneven’

‘She dresses like a toddler’

‘Changbin could do so much better’

You wanted to ignore it all. Push all the hate aside and continue with the happiness you found in Changbin. But just when you were getting used to the mild negativity, the death threats came. Some crazy fans had found your personal accounts, threatening you to stay away from their Changbin. There had even been a trending tag on Twitter reading ‘Save Binnie from his scrooge girlfriend.’ 

That was your final straw, the final push that had sent you into recluse mode almost three weeks ago. You started nitpicking your looks and facial features. You became hyper aware of every scar and stretch mark on your body. You would stand in the mirror pinching the chub of your stomach or thighs. Everything made you feel disgusted with yourself and the only way to feel any kind of comfort was to hide away. 

“Come on, you have to talk to me eventually.” Changbin wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Talk about what? There’s nothing wrong…” you lied through your teeth. 

Changbin pulled the duvet from your curled form. You whined trying to grab it back from him. 

“Binnieeee, please just leave me be right now.” 

“Not until you’re honest with me,” he retorted. 

You simply laid there feeling defeated, covering your face with your hands as tears welled at your lash line. He could hear the faint sniffles you were trying to keep quiet. Changbin became increasingly concerned and grabbed your wrists to move them away from your face. 

“Hey, hey baby, why are you crying? Please talk to me. I am begging you.” He was pleading with you. 

“Why are you still with me…?” You averted your eyes, not able to look your boyfriend in the face. 

“What are you talking about? I’m with you because I love you and you make me the happiest man on earth.”

“But I’m nothing more than an ugly fucking scrooge!” You had snapped, tears full on running down your cheeks as you completely turned your face away. 

Bin placed his hands on either side of your cheeks making you look at him. 

“Why are you saying this? Please don’t talk down about yourself, it breaks my heart to see you hurting.” 

“Social media and some of your fans have been saying rude things. But now I see that it’s all true.” You mumbled, halfway hoping he wouldn’t hear you, but he did. 

“None of it is true. You have to stop paying attention to those haters.” He said softly as he rubbed your cheeks with the pad of his thumbs. 

“You’re only saying that..” you tried to pull out of his hold but he kept you close.

“Baby, you are the most gorgeous thing to have ever walked this universe. People are always graced by your beauty when you walk into a room. I am beyond lucky to call you mine and I’ll personally fight anyone who thinks otherwise.” He declared to you.

“So you don’t think I look like the scrooge?” You sniffled.

He chuckled while shaking his head, “course not. You are my beautiful babes.” 

“I- I don’t believe it. I’m sorry.. I just feel so ugly and unworthy of you.” You sobbed again.

Changbin pulled you in close placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting off the bed. “Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you. Make you believe it.” He simply stated while walking around the shared bedroom gathering a few items and even lighting a couple of candles. 

For a minute you were confused. How was he going to achieve a seemingly impossible task? You had your mind made up and there was no changing it. Your insecurities were set in stone. 

After Bin had gathered what he was looking for he kneeled on the bed in front of where you were now sat up. 

“Close your eyes f’ me.” He said calmly.

“Bin, I don’t think-“ you tried to resist.

“That wasn’t a request, bunny.” 

You shut your mouth and followed his command, closing your eyes. You could feel some kind of thick silk being wrapped around your head, making sure you couldn’t see anything. 

“What are you doing?” You inquired.

“Shhh, I’m going to be the one asking questions. Understand?” 

“…yes,” you whispered. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised. Changbin ran his fingers through your hair, landing his palm on the crown of your head massaging just the way you liked it. You began to relax, your previous sobbing and sniffles coming to a stop. He then gripped onto the roots of your hair and maneuvered your head to the side so he had easy access to your neck. 

“Can’t believe you’d talk about yourself - my girl - in such a way. You have a wonderful mind and a beautiful body and I intend to worship all of it. Show you exactly what I see.” He placed a kiss on your neck, sucking and biting the flesh which will surely leave a mark. 

“You’re so pretty, so damn pretty.” He murmured with his lips still pressed under your jaw, moving to another spot to mark. Your breath hitched when you felt his tongue lick up the column of your neck. 

Needless to say, you and Bin hadn’t been the most intimate the last few weeks. So every kiss and every touch he gave you made you feel more sensitive. The way his hands caressed down your waist until he reached the hem of your shirt set your skin on fire. He pulled the clothing over your head and tossed it on the floor. You covered your chest with your arms out of reflex, but he stopped you. 

“Don’t hide this gorgeous body from me, sweetheart. I need to see you. I crave you.” He said in an almost animalistic tone. It sent shivers down your spine. Bin placed his hand between your breasts and lightly pushed you down to lay flat on your back. He then slid his hand to the side to cup and squeeze your right breast. “Such beautiful tits you have,” he leaned down to suck on the left. “So squishy and perfect,” he’d say between sucks and licks to your nipples.

You started letting out airy moans at his ministrations on your chest. Changbin came up to place another kiss on your lips before kissing down your sternum and down your stomach. The motions made you tense as you especially hated your abdomen. He sensed the change in your body language and rubbed your sides spending extra time there. His fingertips hooking into the hem of your sweatpants, pulling them down along with your panties. 

“Binnie.. don’t look please.” You started shaking from anxiety. 

“It’s okay, baby. It’s just me. Binnie’s got you, bunny.” He reassured you as he continued his kissing assault on your middle. 

“I especially love your soft tummy. One of my favorite parts of you and the best place to lay my head when we cuddle.” Changbin affirmed. You whined at his declaration, then you felt him go even lower, spreading your legs apart. You wanted to close them so badly but you know he’d just pull them open again. You couldn’t deny that you were dripping with arousal at this point. He landed a kiss on your wet core making you shudder. Then you heard him shuffling for something next to you. You kind of hated not being able to see anything but in a way it made you calmer. 

A few more seconds passed before you felt your boyfriend shift and a cold object was placed directly in your clit. Changbin clicked the device making it come to life. It was your vibrator. The sudden feeling making your body jolt and a whimper escape your lips. You couldn’t see it, but you could practically feel the smirk Bin would most certainly be sporting right now. 

“Now, you don’t get to cum until you admit how beautiful you are. Got it?” He established a rule that he wanted to make sure you understood. 

“Nng I- I can’t!” The vibrations were already drawing you close. 

“Oh you will, bunny.” He said matter of factly.

Changbin kept the little toy in place on your clit as his other hand along with his lips explored every other inch of your body. He chanted how beautiful, gorgeous, and stunning you were like a mantra. You tried to hold your orgasm back as long as you could but he knew you were on the edge by the way your hips bucked. 

“C’mon, say it. Lemme hear ya, honey.” 

Your brain went fuzzy and you just wanted to cum so bad. “M’ pretty! Fuck, s’ pretty!” You called out. 

“Good girl, that’s right baby. Good job,” he praised.

You were panting, trying to catch your breath as he let you calm down from your high. Changbin removed the vibrator from your soaked pussy, tossing it aside. 

Once your boyfriend felt you were ready he maneuvered you so you were laying on your front, facing your body to the foot end of the bed. He then placed a pillow under your lower tummy to make sure you were comfortable. You could feel him situate himself between your legs behind you, his weight slowly pressing onto your back. You felt a light tug to the silk ribbon he had tied around your eyes some time ago. It fell away, allowing you to see again. You blinked a few times to adjust to the lighting. When your eyes focused you could see he had moved you so you could see yourself in the mirror that was placed at the opposite side of the room. You immediately hid your face in the mattress, not wanting to bear witness to the reflection in front of you.

“Don’t look away, bun. Wan’ you to see how absolutely ethereal you look when we fuck.” He nipped at your ear before reaching a hand around to the front of you to grab under your jaw and lift your head. In your haste to hideaway you hadn’t noticed that Changbin was naked on top of you. You wondered how you could feel his cock throbbing so clearly on your thigh. 

“Don’t wanna look,” you whined while locking eyes with him through the mirror. 

“But you just have to see what I see when you cum. You look so pretty when you cum, baby.” You knew there was no protesting, so you simply nodded. 

Changbin lifted his hips slightly so he could line his cock up with your entrance that was currently clenching around nothing. He sank into you slowly, allowing you to adjust. Bin’s cock was thick and the stretch always burned deliciously when he first entered. You let out a breathy moan as he started to grind his hips into your core. The sound of skin smacking as he bounced off your ass. 

He could see your eyes glaze over with lust as pleasure overtook you. You kept your gaze on the mirror as your boyfriend fucked into you mercilessly from behind. “Yeah, that’s it, babe. So fucking gorgeous, my girl- ah,” he landed a harsh slap to your rear making the skin ripple. You let out a squeak between the string of moans falling from your lips. 

Binnie leaned down placing kisses on your back and shoulders, occasionally biting to leave his mark. He’d look up every few thrusts to make sure you were still watching yourself and at one point he saw the position of your eyes shift. You had siren eyes and your moans became more throaty, indicating to him that you were definitely into it. Into checking yourself out which is exactly what he wanted. 

Suddenly, Changbin reached around to grip your neck and pull you up against his chest. Making you both kneel while his other arm wrapped across your waist. His cock reached deeper this way and hit that spot that drove you wild. The knot in your core threatened to snap with every harsh pump of his dick. 

“M’ gonna cum! B-bin please!” You screamed while looking up at the ceiling, your vision becoming blurry. 

Changbin redirected your gaze to the mirror again as he felt your body spasming from your release. 

“Mm fuck look how gorgeous y’ look cummin’ on my cock like that,” he said between grunts as his own high washed over him. His seed spurting into you in waves. 

“So.. gorgeous,” you repeated as your orgasm finished wracking your body. You couldn’t help but watch how your body glowed after your second release of the night. A thin sheen of sweat adorning your body, almost looking like you were sparkling. You looked positively hot, maybe you could see in yourself what your boyfriend saw. 

You both stayed like that for a while, connected and calming down from the mind blowing sex. Changbin pulled out after a few more minutes then went to the bathroom to run a hot bath for the both of you. You laid on the bed feeling uncomfortably sticky from the sweat drying. Before you knew it your boyfriend had returned and picked you up bridal style in his strong arms and carried you to the bath. You giggled and kicked your feet at his display of strength. 

“Binnie! I can walk by myself ya know?” 

“I just fucked you senseless and you think you’d be able to walk straight?” He chuckled.

You huffed in response as he gently lowered you into the water. The warmth encapsulating your body. Changbin stepped in to sit behind you and pulled you back so you were laying on his broad chest. He kissed the side of your head and whispered sweet nothings in your ear while lightly tracing the love bites that were bruising on your skin. 

Somehow the marks made you feel even more confident. They were symbols of your loving boyfriend and that in itself was beautiful to you. 

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always very much appreciated!

Taglist: @doitforbangchan / @jehhskz

[seeingivy]

historic wins

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: mentions of implied SA/uncomfortable agent, nothing else too serious. reader has anxiety before performing, eren being sick in love, baddie moment

an: when I tell you writing this chapter took ten years of my life, it really did. i literally had the worst day ever regardless BUT i regurgitated out and i can't tell if i hate it bc my mood is bad or bc its actually bad if its bad let all just collectively close our eyes please bc it ACTUALLY gave me a tension headache FDSFDSF

previous chapter

--

You knock on the door, the stress sitting on your shoulders, as you hear rustling behind the frame. When it swings open, you’re met with Marco and Reiner answering the doors, the two of them swiftly pulling you in and slamming the door shut behind you. 

“Did anyone see you when you came in?” Reiner asks, his hand still pulling you up the stairs. 

“No. Was-is there someone there or-”

“Paparazzi. They’ve been swarming since yesterday, we've barely been able to leave as it is.” Marco responds. 

They drag you up the stairs and both push open the first white door open. You’re met with five pairs of eyes staring you down. Eren, Connie, Mikasa, Ymir, and Historia - who looks downright horrible. 

You figured it was bad. You had seen the headlines on your way down - saying Historia was canceled, her trending on Twitter, her socials getting blocked. And you always thought that situations like this were sensationalized when you weren't famous, something horrible to go through. But it’s worse than you expected.

She looks sick. 

Her complexion is pale green, her eyes rimmed red, and her hair is tangled into such a mess at the top of her head that it’s making your stomach turn.

The Historia you know - glimmering blue eyes, soft blow-dried hair - is no comparison to the downright ghost you’re looking at now. And the worst part of it all is her expression.

Broken. Defeated. Crushed. 

You walk forward, opening your arms for her to sink into, and she immediately breaks out into sobs. She’s crying into your shoulder, her salty tears making a home against your skin and her cries so loud they're giving you goosebumps. You can see the rest of them behind you - Mikasa and Ymir sharing a knowing look - as Historia lets go and crawls back into the middle of her bed. 

You take a seat next to Eren on the floor, the two of you crisscrossed against her pale pink walls. He links his hand with yours as you plop your head onto his shoulder. 

“Is that everyone?” 

“Yeah, Hisu. The rest of them couldn’t get off and Levi and Hange are on their way now.” Ymir responds, her hands making small circles into her back. 

“Okay. I-I appreciate you coming, even when everyone hates me right now.” 

“We could never hate you, Hisu. Ever.” Eren responds the tone definitive, angry, and firm. It only occurs to you now that you’ve never really seen Eren like this - his shoulders tensed up, the look in his eyes burning hot instead of softly warm. 

“I know, I just-”

“No one could ever make us change our mind about you, Historia. The shit they’re saying doesn’t even sound like you. Why would you randomly fire your agent when you’ve literally loved him for years?” Reiner responds. 

Historia’s face pales at the mention of her agent, the reaction catching all of you off guard. Eren pulls his arm around your shoulder as you both slump farther down the wall, the anticipation, the anxiety of what Historia’s about to say so palpable it makes your throat dry. 

“I did fire my agent.” Historia chokes out. 

You remember her agent well, from when you met him at the season two premiere. He was a tall guy, with chocolate brown hair and a fair amount of wrinkles. He couldn’t be much older than your own parents, but he was always the biggest supporter of Historia. The first person in line to brag about her, about how amazing her career has been, how many credits she has for how old she is. 

“Why?” Connie asks. 

Historia takes a deep breath, her head in her hands and her voice shaky as she starts explaining. 

“I was set to act in Endless Love, that big movie being produced at the end of winter. I had gotten the lead role and I found out on my birthday, while I was still filming that limited series. I-I threw a big party to celebrate the fact that I was turning eighteen, that I was getting my dream roles, that my work was finally coming to fruition and-” 

She pauses, leaning back on her bed as she screeches it out of her voice. And what she says hangs in the air, making your head feel like solid metal. 

“The party ended and he was…congratulating me on everything. And I told him that I appreciated everything he had done for me, how far he had helped me come. And when-when I said that, he said…if I was really grateful, I’d give him a kiss.” 

You pause, the implication sticking in your mind. Eren had hinted it to you before. That people in the industry take advantage, that they’re so powerful, so successful that it makes them feel entitled, deserving of whatever it is they please. 

“I fired him. He went on Twitter, made a few tweets about my character when the news broke and you know how he is. They’re-they’re dragging my name through the mud. Calling me spoiled, that I paid to get the roles that I had, calling me names, sending me death threats and I-”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Levi and Hange will be here any minute and you know they’ve had their fair share of this. Hange especially and they’ll know what to do and-” Ymir starts. 

“This is career-ruining. I didn’t do anything- anything at fucking all and my career is over if I tell the truth. I have to stay quiet, put my head down, and take it all if I still want to do this and I do.” 

You all sit quietly, head down as she pants, the words angrily spilling out of her mouth. The words hang in the air, the silence deafening. Because what do you even say to that? 

Can you really compromise your own feelings for the sake of your career? Your art? 

“Okay, Historia. Let’s talk, just us, okay?” 

You all turn your heads to find Levi and Hange leaning against the doorframes, Erwin standing at the back too. You all stand up, Historia running first to Hange and the rest of you following suit. You and Eren reach for Levi first, squeezing him way too hard. Levi ruffles both of your hair as you look up at him, a soft smile pressed against his face. 

“Okay, run off. Let us talk to Historia first, okay?” 

You both nod, letting go of Levi as you walk down the hall. 

“Levi?”

“Hm, Y/N?” 

“I missed you.” 

“Don’t be corny, brat.” Levi responds, glaring at you. You smile back and he most definitely murmurs something that sounds like I miss you too as you and Eren walk out. 

- 

The lot of you settle for milling around the kitchen, Mikasa talking Ymir down from her hill of rage in the back. You can’t help but watch Eren in the back corner, leaning against the counter with his eyes fixed on the outside. 

There’s a group of stormy, angry-looking gray clouds simmering in the air above, the grass outside lush and green. It’s positively gloomy, the weather matching the storm brewing in all of your heads. 

Eren flicks his eyes over at you, making a gesture for the two of you to go outside. You nod, setting down your phone as you walk over to him, the two of you sliding open the side door and walking out onto the pavement. Historia’s house opens up onto a nice green field, surrounded by lush, flowery hills. 

He’s walking faster than you, his long legs carrying him to the closest slope. When the breeze picks up, it’s moving through your hair strongly and sending a shiver down your spine with it. 

“Are you cold?” 

“Just a little, Eren. I didn’t realize it would be this cold outside.” 

He immediately shrugs off his dark green hoodie, the one you’ve seen a hundred times, and yanks it over your head. He’s placing it over your head haphazardly and you can hear him laughing at your protests. 

“You know, you could have at least aimed for my head when you yanked it on me.” 

“Be quiet. Let’s sit.” 

He plops down onto the grass, lying flat against the flowers as you join him. You’re both watching the clouds swirl above, the blades of grass whistling in the wind against your hands. 

“This is lying down, Eren.” 

“Oh, shut up. Do you always have to talk back?” 

You turn your head to the side, looking into his eyes. 

“Maybe a little bit.”

He rolls his eyes, turning his head back to the sky. You can tell he’s more tense than usual, his jaw clenched against his skull and his eyebrows knit in irritation. 

“Are you okay, Eren? You've seemed off today and-” 

“Quit asking me that!” 

You’re thrown off by the immediate rejection, the tone in his voice so angry it nearly makes you flinch. You can feel your skin burning - in embarrassment and humiliation for asking him something stupid-

His hand comes down on yours, squeezing three times, as he shifts over to face you. You follow suit, the two of you lying on your sides, face to face with your interlocked hands in between you. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I-I’m not mad at you. Marco and Connie, they’ve just been asking all day and I’m okay and it’s just getting tiring to-” 

“It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not. I-I can never be mad at you, I just-just got frustrated for a second, but never at you.”

You lift your hand, placing it on his ice-cold cheek, and squeeze once. 

“It’s okay, Eren. I know,” you whisper. 

He gives you a smile, closing his eyes as he leans his head against the flowers. They’re pale yellow and you silently wonder if they’re as soft as Eren’s skin feels under your hand. 

“I’m not okay, Y/N.” he whispers. 

“Want to tell me about it?” 

“I-I have a brother.” 

“Zeke. I remember, Eren.” 

“We-we don’t really get along anymore, but I loved him when I was a kid. He was always so cool - driving me around in his car to get ice cream, teaching me tricks on all the video games I used to play, and acting in all these really cool shows. But, he-he” 

You place a hand on his shoulder, moving it back and forth and trying your best to comfort him into talking. Eren was always the worst with words. 

“He had a scandal like this. And then he started talking to all these big producers, acting differently all of a sudden. He stopped talking to me all together after it all happened and only to my parents when he needed something. Even to this day, he’s come back from what happened but he was never the same. And I-” 

“That’s not going to happen to Historia, Eren. Don’t think like that.” 

He leans forward, dragging you into his embrace, as he digs his face into the crook of your neck. You bring your hands up, dragging him through the tresses of his brown hair as he squeezes harder. 

“It just-I got iced out by him. I wanted to be around him, wanted to be him and he just stopped talking to me all together. I loved him so much and I-

“Eren. Historia loves you. She’s not going to ice you or any of us out from this because she’s not like that. None of us will. And maybe your brother had a reason for what he did.” 

You and Eren stay like that for a few minutes, the words hanging in the air between you. You can feel your chest stinging at Eren’s words, his stress from the situation making more sense now. You curse the fact that Eren might have been dealing with something like death threats, people spewing hatred before he was old enough to even understand what it meant. 

“Hey. You’re supposed to be on my side, Y/N.” 

“This is being on your side. Sometimes that means being a devil's advocate a little bit, Eren.” 

He rolls his eyes as he readjusts and you can’t help but stare at them. His eyes. Bottle green, with specks of darker shades in the middle. Like a clear ocean or a shiny gem, glittering even in the dull light of the clouds. 

“What are you thinking, Y/N?”

“Your eyes have lots of colors, Eren. Pretty greens.” 

“Pretty?” 

“Pretty.”

He smiles, bringing a hand up to your cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of your lips. You can feel your body burning at the touch, at his eyes, at his smell all over you. 

“Eren. What are you do-” 

“Do you ever think about how we live in a fishbowl?” 

“A fishbowl?” 

“Like an aquarium. We’re fish on display, that everyone gets to point at and laugh at and enjoy. And then one day, when they don’t like us, they put their rods out and wring us out.” 

“I guess, Eren. Why do you-” 

“I like being a fish with you.” 

You lean back, squinting your eyes at him.

“You like being a fish with me?” 

“I just mean- that I- I like” 

“You think I smell like a fish, Eren.” 

“What? I didn’t say that- oh my god, I just meant that we’re two fishes swimming together and-” 

“The plural of fish is fish. Not fishes.” 

Eren rolls his eyes, getting up off the grass to tackle you in the grass, pinning you down by your arms to hover over you. He’s smirking at you, his lips only a few feet from yours. 

“You’re annoying, Y/N. I was trying to be cute.” 

“Let me go. Is this how you treat your fellow fish?” 

“Shut up. We’re not fish together anymore because you’re rude.” 

He gets up off of you, plopping back into the grass next to you. You’re both laughing, your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard and the blood rushing to your head. 

“I’m just teasing, Eren. The whole fish thing is cute.” 

“Now you’re just saying that so I’ll stop being mad at you.” 

“Hey! I get what you’re saying. It’s like…we’re fish. People stare and talk and whatever and it sucks. And no one really understands what it’s like to be a fish, even when they’re staring at us through the glass, but you do. They’ll always be something between us and them, but you and I are always on the same side. We-we have each other.” 

He smiles, bringing his hand back up on the back of your neck and pulling you closer to his face. When he talks, he whispers, the breath tickling your skin. 

“So if you got the fish thing why were you giving me so much attitude about it?” 

“I have to keep you in line, Eren. You can’t have all the cards.” 

“I don’t even have one, Y/N. Not even one when it comes to you.” 

He smiles, his eyes shut as he leans forward to press his lips to yours. But before he can, his phone starts buzzing behind him and he leans back, the two of you awkwardly scrambling off of each other. 

The moment passed. 

“Reiner. This better be something fucking good.” 

“What? Okay, we’re coming back now. Oh my god.” 

Eren stands up, holding out a hand to you. You place your hand in his and he nearly yanks you up, the two of you running downhill back to the house. 

“What-what happened?” 

“The TV awards. They announced the nominations.” 

- 

When you both run back in, Reiner and Marco immediately drag you to the center couch, next to Historia who's crying puddles and Ymir who's holding her like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Hisu got a nomination. Despite this shit.” Reiner says, smiling. 

You and Eren smile at each other too, piling onto Ymir and Historia, and squeezing hard. A win. 

When the program starts again, you’re all staring intently at the screen, you and Eren anxiously fumbling with each other’s hands as you wait for it. They’ve announced almost all of them, except the major acting ones which are the only ones you and Eren could really be nominated for. 

“Speaking of historic nominations, lead actor for hit series Attack on Titan, Eren Jaeger, has garnered three nominations - including a major six category for Actor in a Lead Role. He is the youngest person to be nominated for this award.” 

You turn your head, squeezing the entire circulation out of Eren’s hand as the realization sinks in. Actor in a Lead Role. Like Eren’s lifelong dream, Actor in a Lead Role. You reach forward, tangling your arms around his neck as Reiner and Mikasa pile on too, the three of you nearly strangling him by the way you’re shaking him. 

“Okay, okay let me go. You’re going to kill me before I can even go to the show and lose.” 

“Shut up. You’re so winning.” 

He rolls his eyes at you both keep watching the lady, announcing the costume design and casting awards. 

“And finally, our record-breaking announcement. Lead actress for the hit series Attack on Titan, Y/N L/N, has broken history by being our most nominated actress in Institute history. Including nominations for the ensemble cast, she has garnered five nominations, including two major six categories for Actress in a Lead Role and Breakout Actress. She is the first non-SHWA affiliated actress and the youngest to ever do so.” 

Eren drops the remote and turns to you, cupping your face in his hands and dragging your face as close as he can to his. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You-you’re insane. You just-” 

He nearly leans forward, pressing your lips together for the second time in the past twenty minutes, but Marco and Mikasa cut him off before you can, the two of them jostling you from his embrace to squish you in a hug. You give Eren an apologetic look, which he shakes his head at. 

They’re all squishing you so hard - Levi and Hange pressing kisses to the top of your head and Historia squeezing the life out of all of you - but all you can think about is one thing. Eren, standing a few feet away from you, smiling at you like you’re the sun. 

It only occurs to you then and there.

That you’re in love with Eren Jaeger. 

-  

You guys leave on your press tour two weeks later, meeting up in New York. You have a full day of interviews for the pre-awards show the day before and then you’re all going to fly out to Los Angeles together and attend the awards. 

Not only are you nominated for six awards - which you still haven’t wrapped your head around - you’re also performing at the show. Your agent had reached out to you a few days after the nominations list went out and mentioned that you were listed to perform at the show. 

You hacked it out with Eren. You’d play the piano and perform New Year’s Day, the song you wrote together last year on your birthday, and be done with it. It’s the song you have the most practice working on since the rest of your songs are half-baked. 

But now that you’re doing press, you barely have any time to practice - being stuck between interviews all day. You shake the thought from your head as you and Eren clip your microphone jacks to each other’s shirts before walking onto the stage and standing in view. 

“My name is Eren Jaeger and I’m one of the leads of Attack on Titan.” 

“My name is Y/N L/N and I’m the other lead of Attack on Titan. We’re going to be taking a Friendship Test today!” 

Around halfway through the interview, the crew brings you and Eren little notepads and pens, instructing you guys to compliment each other. You scribble a few thoughts down as you and Eren stand on the stage, now facing each other. 

“Okay, you first, Eren.” 

Eren flips the notepad in his hands, awkwardly fumbling with his fingers when he does. When he looks up, his green eyes are awkwardly meeting yours. 

“Jeez, Eren. I didn’t realize it would be this hard for you to compliment me.” 

“Shut up. I was just thinking about how to start.” 

“More like thinking of what to say.” 

“Be quiet.” 

“Okay, okay. Compliment me, Jaeger.” 

He rolls his eyes, giving you a smile as he runs his eyes over the notepad. He seems much more at ease now, the awkwardness from before coming off in waves. 

“Y/N. I am the most stubborn person on the planet. Which only speaks volumes about how patient, understanding, and compassionate you really are for being my best friend.” 

You can feel your throat getting dry and your eyes welling with tears at literally the first sentence, taken aback by how sincere Eren’s being. The soft eyes, the one he only reserves for when he’s lying down on hills or writing songs with you on the piano are out in the flesh, and they’re making your heart pound so much you’re sweating under the lights. 

“You’ve always been able to sense my feelings - my happiness, my frustrations, my pain - without me having to tell you. And you always, always know how to say the right thing to bring me back down to Earth from it all. You make me a better person and I love you for it.”  

You can feel the tears streaming down your eyes as reach up to wipe your tears away, knowing you’re smudging the makeup your team spent hours on. 

“You’re not terrible to look at either.” 

He smiles into the camera on the side and you can feel the tears spilling from your eyes, your nose filling with snot. 

“Eren.” 

“Told you it was good.” 

“Shut up. That was so sweet, I didn’t even know you knew half of those words, let alone what they mean.” 

Eren reaches forward, rolling his eyes at you as he squishes your cheeks. 

“I literally just called you the best person I know and you’re still being annoying?” 

“Yes. It’s a full-time job.” 

He turns to the camera, moving your squished face towards the camera with him. 

“Do you guys see what I have to deal with? My girl is literally the most stubborn person on the planet.” 

“Didn’t you call me infinitely patient five seconds ago?”  

You both stand back on your marks as you wipe your tears, reaching forward to hold Eren’s hand. You squeeze three times, which he returns with another three squeezes, before you take your own notepad and read your compliment out to Eren. 

“Eren. I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you. Not only because you took a chance on me after our first screen test, but every other hiccup along the way was only something I could swallow because of you. You-your steadfast determination and belief in me is something so inspiring, so warm unlike anything else. You’ve always been a safe place for me, somewhere I can always run to when I need someone. I’m so glad we can always be fish together.” 

Eren smiles at the fish line, leaning forward to crush you in a hug. You can smell the clean laundry smell on his shirt, breathing it in as you soak in Eren’s embrace around you. 

“Hey Y/N.” 

“Hey Eren.” 

“I love you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too, Eren.” 

After the interview is over, you and Eren are stuck on this stage for another hour before the rest of the cast comes to do another interview. You both stay in the back, near the snack table and run through the song again.

“Eren.” 

“Hm?”

“I don’t know why I got signed up to perform at this thing. I-I don’t think I’m ready to perform this song yet.” 

“You are. New Year’s Day is a great song and you’re an amazing singer. Plus, the person you wrote the song about is really attractive, so that helps your case too.” 

You reach forward to flick his cheek. 

“Shut up. New Year’s Day is not about you.” 

“I’m literally your inspiration. You literally wrote a love song about me.” 

“You wish, Eren.” 

“I don’t have to. I can see it written all over your face, sweetheart.” 

“Sweetheart? When did you become so cocky?” 

“When did you become so beautiful?” 

“Eren.” 

“Y/N.” 

You’re both cut off by one of the crew members, a shorter, older woman standing near the table with her eyes fixed on you. She smiles when you guys both turn towards her, extending her out. 

“Hi. My name is Le-”

“Leila. I remember. You helped us fix the microphone packs before we started!” you respond. 

“Oh. Yes, Leila. I can’t believe you remembered that. I-I was going to ask you for a favor if that’s okay.” 

“Sure. We’d love to help however we can.” 

“My daughter. She’s a really, really big fan of the show. I was wondering if we could take a picture together so we could send it to her.” 

You smile, gesturing to Eren to stand up with you as you take a picture with her. You and Eren are both taller than her so you put your hands around her shoulders and muster the biggest smiles you can for the picture.

“Are you sure you didn’t want us to make a video of us saying hi to her or anything? Or maybe call her if she’s free? If there’s a paper here we can sign something as well or anything you want.” you ask. 

“Oh, I couldn’t impose. You guys have been so kind already and-” 

“Nonsense. Eren and I are just going to sit here and I’d really love to help make her day. You work so hard day and night on these sets for us and make sure everything works by the time we get here and we really, really appreciate it.” 

You and Eren end up filming a video for her daughter since she’s already asleep so you can’t call her, and you and Eren also sign a few posters for her to take home to her daughter. 

“Y/N. Just so you know, you’re amazing. My daughter was so inspired when you signed yourself up to perform at the awards show after you openly talked about how nervous it makes you. You actually gave her the courage to sign up for a dance team at her school and she actually made it on the team now. My point is you’re a big inspiration to everyone and the strides you’re making for all of us don’t go unnoticed.” 

She gives you both one last hug as she runs off back to the other side of the set, giving you a smile as she leaves. Eren brings his hand around your shoulder, leaning forward as he smiles at you. 

“You hear that, Y/N? You’re an inspiration.”

“It’s weird to hear that, Eren. I remember being that kid watching Hange win on the screen when I was little. And if I win-” 

“When. When you win.” 

“If I win, it’s weird to think that I could be that for someone else.” 

“You’ve always been that way. People are just noticing it now.” 

“Do you have to sign yourself up to sing for the awards, by the way? Because…I never even told my agent that I had written a song. She just told me that I would be performing and then I started prepping.” 

“Yeah. You have to send a demo for them to accept the performance.” 

You lean back, even more confused than you were before. There’s no demo of New Year’s Day. How could they accept your performance if there’s no record of you singing it? How could they even know you wrote a song when the only person who knows you even finished it was Eren? 

Eren. 

“What did you do?” 

“Hm?” 

“You did something, Eren. What did you do?” 

“I didn’t do anything.” 

“Eren.” 

“Maybe, I took the sheet music and recorded a demo of me singing it. And convinced them that it would sound even better when you did it, because it’s your song.” 

You smack him across the shoulder. 

“You signed me up to sing the song? In public, on live television?” 

“The song is good. You’re a phenomenal singer. And you can’t become a triple threat unless people hear you sing.” 

-   

You stand on the other side of the curtain, shiny and gold, as you readjust your dress one last time. You take a deep breath as you give a smile to Marco and Jean, who are right behind you, squeezing your arms. 

“You’re good. You look great and you’re going to kill it tonight. And Eren just walked out on the carpet so he’ll be right there.” Marco says, smiling brightly at you. 

You nod, giving the two of them a smile back, as you part the curtains and walk out onto the red carpet. You can feel your ankles shaking from the heels you were wearing, making sure to walk slowly so they didn’t tangle with the long, purple billowing fabric of your dress. As you turn to the right, you’re immediately blinded by the flashing lights and the sound of screaming from the photographers on the other side of the red carpet. 

The lights are so blinding that you can feel yourself squinting, trying your hardest to muster a smile with your eyes closed. You can already feel the embarrassment coming on from how these pictures are going to trend later, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“Put these on.” 

You turn to the left to see Eren, his hair messily styled to perfection. He’s holding up sunglasses, a matching pair in his hand as well. You both place them on your nose, garnering a big amount of cheers from the paparazzi as you both pose together, Eren’s hand around your waist. 

“How did you know?” you whisper under your breath. 

“You can barely handle Armin’s Polaroid. You get used to the flashes, but the first time it’s hard to adjust. And this is a big night, so I had to make sure I had a contingency plan.” he says. 

“Always thinking ahead, huh?” 

“Only for you, sweetheart.” 

All you can think about is the awards, the performance, and the anxiety building in your stomach with every passing second. You force a smile as you both walk down the carpet, stopping every few seconds to take pictures and smile. At one point, Eren stands in front of you in the camera, blocking the view. 

“What a picture, Eren. You really want them to get a shot of your ass?” 

“No. Your dress. It’s kind of sliding off the side.” 

You look down, realizing that in all the movement and sweating you’re doing under the lights, that one of the clasps keeping the fabric in place came undone. You quickly tuck the clasp back together and look up to shoot Eren a smile. 

“Thanks. You just saved me from flashing everyone on the carpet.” 

“That doesn’t sound too horrible, doll.” 

You and Eren turn around to find Sukuna and Nobara standing at your side, the two of them wrapping their arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheeks. Eren immediately yanks Sukuna off, his arm stiff around Sukuna’s shoulder. 

“You never get less annoying, do you?” Eren asks. 

“Not really, no.” 

“You look really pretty, Y/N. We’re really rooting for you, we want you to win.” Nobara says, her hands squeezing yours. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. These types of things are kind of a long shot, Kugi.” 

“We know. Doesn’t stop me from rooting for you though.” 

You smile, leaning to take a picture with her before the four of you walk off to the side, continuing your conversation. 

“Where are Yuu and Maki? I haven’t seen them since they started dating and stopped responding to my texts.” 

Sukuna and Nobara share an awkward look, leaning forward to whisper in your's and Eren’s ears.

“They broke up. Well, just wait. You know the mess they're in is going to find its way to the tabloids somehow.” 

You and Eren cringe as you share a look, thinking about Historia’s scandal from a few weeks ago. You can’t imagine how much worse it must be when it involves the two of them. The intimate details of their relationship being on display.

“You look pretty, doll. Way more confident and self-assured than you were when I met you. It suits you.” 

Eren slithers his hand around your waist, the grip firm, as he responds to Sukuna. 

“She’s always been like that.” 

“Okay, Eren. Pipe down. I’m not about to be swapping saliva with your girl anytime soon. Though you might want to get a move on that, everyone’s going to have their eyes on your girl by the end of the night.” Sukuna says, smirking at Eren. 

“You sound disgusting, Sukuna. Like a pervert.”  Nobara says, rolling her eyes at him. 

“That’s what happened with Yuuta and Maki. Everyone went all gaga for Yuuta after the movie dropped. And after she sings too, Eren’s going to fight to stay afloat over here.” 

“Ignore him, Eren. His neurons are decaying as we speak.” Nobara responds, giving Eren a smile. 

“I’m well aware,” Eren says, giving the two of them a smile as they walk away. 

As Sukuna walks away, Eren only tightens his grip on your waist, literally seething with anger as he turns to you. You can tell he’s burning, that he’s jealous or aggravated like he always is when Sukuna's around, and you put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I hate that guy. So much, Y/N.” 

“You know he just says that because you’re easy to piss off right?” 

“Are you really taking his side?” 

“I’m just saying. You give him a lot to work with when you react like that. You should try to be zen. Like a flower.” 

"I'm so zen right now." 

"There's a vein on your forehead that's pulsating from how hard you're clenching your jaw, Eren. You're more of a cactus than a pretty flower."

Eren rolls his eyes as he drags you into the auditorium, the two of you taking your seats at the front. 

-  

Five awards later - two of which you won - and you’re standing behind the stage ready to puke. You choked out your best acceptance speech when you won Breakout Actress, spilling tears as you spoke, and luckily enough the other award was one you and Eren won together. He carried most of your speech together, though Eren spent most of it raving about you. 

Reiner’s still on stage, doing his acceptance speech for Breakout Actor and you’re ready to annihilate yourself. When you came back out after winning your award, getting ready for the performance, you received the worst news possible. 

You have to play the piano while you sing. You have to play the piano while you sing because the pianist you’ve been practicing with has food poisoning. 

You lie down flat on the ground, the silver dress you just put on, feeling heavy against your skin, weighing you down. 

“Are you okay? Y/N, you’ll be fine, it's just a piano.” 

Marco brings his hands to the side of your face, lifting your head so he can rest it on his lap. You’re totally aware of the fact that Marco’s sitting on this disgusting floor with you, in his expensive ass outfit, because you’re having a meltdown. You make a mental note to thank him for it later. 

“Oh my fucking god, Y/N. Can you believe it? We’re literally breakout stars.”

You look up at Reiner, now having come off the stage with his shiny silver trophy in hand and a huge smile on his face. You give him a weak smile back, the pressure in your head only getting more intense when you realize it’s your turn. Reiner nearly cringes at the sight of you, which you ignore as you flutter your eyes shut. After the ad break, they’re going to roll out a shiny black piano you're expected to play. 

“Get Eren.” Marco says and Reiner gives a swift nod. Reiner leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, whispering good luck, before he runs off into the background. 

Not even thirty seconds later, you’re met with Eren, a third person now sitting on the dirty floor with you with the softest expression on his face. He’s taken both of your hands, pressing your knuckles to his lips as he presses a kiss onto them both. 

“You okay?” 

“The pianist. Has food poisoning. I have to play the New Year’s Day piano, Eren.” 

“You have magic hands. You can do it.” he whispers.

You can feel Marco’s hands in your hair, fixing away the flyaways as you look up at him. Marco nods too and you can feel yourself feeling dizzy. 

“I can’t do it. I can’t sing for the first time and play the piano. I-I can’t do this.” 

"Y/N. Come on. You can do this." 

You can feel the tears burning in your eyes when you meet Eren's bottle green ones, washed over in concern. And you know that it's just a piano, that it's juat a crowd, and that it's a song that you've sang a million times. But the anxiety is as big as a balloon, ready to burst into something ugly the second you walk out there under the lights.

Eren frowns as he looks over at the piano, getting rolled out onto the stage, and the crew awkwardly looking at you splayed out on the ground. They're pointing at their watches, signaling that if you're going to perform, you're going to do it now. And Eren can't let you choke, not when it's this important. So he does the only thing he can think of. 

“I’ll play the piano." 

You sit up and put your hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard on the fabric of his suit. 

"Huh?" 

"I'll sit at the bench with you. Play it for you so you can focus on singing." 

“Really, Eren?” you whisper. 

“Can’t do anything without me, can you?”

You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, his face immediately turning pink at the sensation. He holds his hand out and helps you up, his hands leaning forward to fix the folds of your dress. You both stand on the side of the curtains and you’re nearly positive you’re cutting off circulation to both Marco and Eren’s hands as you wait for your cue. 

When you and Eren walk out, taking your seats on the piano bench and adjusting the microphones, you stare at the crowd. There’s a light flashing on you and Eren that’s partially obstructing your vision. You’re staring out at them - two hundred faces you don’t know and half a million watching at home. 

Don’t choke. Don’t choke. Don’t choke. 

It’s only then that Eren stops playing the piano, his hand on his shoulder shaking you. And then you realize now that he had started. Meaning he had played the entire intro waiting for you to sing and you didn’t. That you blanked on stage. He places his hand on your chin, lightly guiding your face to look at his. 

“It's okay. Just you and me. Like we did on set okay?” 

You nod and Eren starts playing the piano again. And before you know it, you’ve choked out the last lyric, and Eren’s holding your hand as you both bow on the stage. You see people cheering, standing up out of their seats as you walk off and you feel like your heart is about to burst out of your chest. When you get off into the curtains, they immediately start yank the microphones off of you two as you reach forward for Eren’s hand. 

“I-I blacked out. Was it bad?” 

“It was amazing. You’re amazing. You-you’re” 

Eren leans forward, wrapping his hands around your neck and pressing his lips to yours. You can still feel people moving around you, setting up things for the closing part of the ceremony, but the only thing you’re paying attention to is Eren. And his lips. And the way he’s pulling you closer like he can’t get enough of you. 

When you pull apart, you’re both panting, smiling at each other, foreheads pressed together. 

“Thank god. If I got cock-blocked from kissing you a third time, I was actually going to commit murder.” 

“You want me so bad,” you say, sarcastically. 

“Obviously.” 

You both smile and turn to the left, to a very smiley Marco staring at you two. And then you cringe, remembering that you and Eren are literally backstage and there are like seven people who just watched you suck face in public. Marco walks up, wrapping his arms around both of you and hugging hard. 

“I love you guys.” 

“Marco. Don’t-” Eren starts.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You need time to figure out whatever is going on, without Connie and Sasha up your ass the entire time. But I’m really, really happy for you.” 

“Really, Marco?” you ask, leaning into Eren’s touch. 

“It’s always been you guys. You guys better not break up or else I’ll come hunt both of you down. And if I’m dead, I’ll come back to life just to haunt you guys.” 

You both laugh, smiling at Marco and then each other. Levi and Mikasa call you from the other side of backstage, gesturing for you to come over to watch the video of the performance. You give Marco and Eren a smile before you run off to where they’re standing. 

“Told you she liked you, Eren,” Marco says, elbowing him in the side. 

“I love her,” Eren responds, watching Mikasa and Levi crush you in a hug as you all hunch over the video of you and Eren performing. 

Marco smiles, giving Eren a pat on the back before he walks off to join you. Eren stays, trying to commit the memory to mind. You in a sparkly, silver dress looking at him like he's the sun. 

Eren Jaeger is in love with you. 

- 

Two afterparties later and you and Eren are in a disgusting tattoo parlor down the street. 

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this, Eren.” 

Eren smiles as he presses a kiss to your cheek, the two of you leaning through the little prints in the binder. You’re getting matching tattoos. 

“I can be very persuasive.” 

“Uh-huh. More like hypnotic. I’m half convinced you have me under some spell right now.” 

“You pick what we do. Whatever you want, I’ll get it tattooed.” 

“We should do something special, Eren. Like something that has significance to us.” 

Eren smiles, lifting your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles again before he responds. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s do fish.” 

You smile, nodding at him. 

“Koi fish. Like from that show, the Last Airbender. One fish is the ocean and the other one is the moon” you say. 

“I call the ocean, Y/N.” 

“What? I wanted to be the ocean.” 

“No. That doesn’t fit.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because the moon pulls on the ocean. The waves in the ocean, objectively the best part, don’t exist without the moon. I’m the ocean. You’re my moon.” 

You smile, leaning forward to kiss Eren before you tell the artist the design you two want. And when the two of you walk out, matching sore arms from the ink, you can’t help but wonder how you ever got so lucky in the first place.

A few years down the line, you stare at Eren's blocked contact and think back to that moment. The two of you running down the streets, bathed in dim lamplight laughing into the night. Matching tattoos, a confession on the tips of your tongues like you're two soulmates destined to be together. 

You wonder where it got so fucked up between the two of you in the first place.

--

next part linked here

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06  @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp

pls comment on this post or any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3

[starlightkun]

⏯ teaser word count: 839 | full fic: 9.5k ⏯ genre: fluff, established relationship, band au, punk drummer!sungchan, sequel to filler episodes, reader isn’t completely boring anymore! yay!, she’s still figuring it out a little bit but it’s not a full-fledged quarter life crisis anymore, ft. shotaro/eunseok/wonbin as sungchan’s bandmates, and nct dream 00 line as reader’s normal friends™ ⏯ warnings: the usual cursing, and reader gets creeped on briefly in a scene but gets out of there very quickly, and that’s really it! if i missed any please let me know ⏯ extra info: this is the sequel to filler episodes, it cannot be read as a standalone! ⏯ estimated release: saturday, august 3, 2024 3:00 p.m. eastern time

At the end of the show, you were sat at the band’s merch table. In addition to being the de facto tour manager and photographer/videographer, you also usually managed the merch table for Roses for Eyes. The headliner had plenty of crew to spare to work it, but you wanted to help however you could, and this was honestly one of your favorite parts. Various members usually came to hang out by the merch table and meet and talk with the concert goers, and you loved hearing all the praise that was showered on the guys. Almost nobody had heard of them before coming to the concerts, but it made your chest puff up with pride at how many people stayed just to tell the guys how much they loved their set.

Roses for Eyes didn’t have a lot of merch. In fact, they had exactly one kind of t-shirt, and CDs of their one and only semi-professionally recorded EP for sale. Which made your job easier, you just had to either hand them a CD, or ask their size in shirt.

“Oh my god, you’re here too!” Your next customers were the women who you had spent almost the whole concert with, their eyes sparkling with recognition and delight at you.

“Yes, I am!” You laughed as one reached out to fix your hair. “I’m everywhere, I swear. What can I get you guys?”

They each got a shirt, and a couple got CDs too. As you ran their cards and accepted their cash, they raved to you about the show.

“You know, I’d never heard of them before this, but they were so good!”

“That’s what everyone says,” you replied with a grin.

“I loved the first song they played, that was like—” She started mimicking the melody, and you recognized it immediately.

“Ah, ‘Lonely as Mars’!” You perked up. “That’s one of my favorites.”

“What’s your favorite song then?”

“Oh, I can’t say.” You grinned. “It’s not released yet…”

They all laughed and giggled at this. One peeked at the track list of the CD she had just bought from you again before looking up at you. “Guess we’ll have to wait until it’s released then, huh?”

“Yes, yes, please keep an eye out!” You couldn’t help it, you were proud of your boyfriend and the rest of your friends.

“Alright, beautiful, we’ll stop holding up your line.” One of them chuckled, giving your cheek a final tweak before the four of them moved over to the short line to chat with the band.

You couldn’t pause on that moment for too long, as more patrons came up to your table.

Once people had finally started trickling out of the venue, and you had no line left in front of either your merch table or to meet the band, you were unsurprised when Sungchan pulled up an extra folding chair next to you.

“You know,” he let out a sigh, scooting right up next to you until your legs were pressed together. “I think we need to completely deck you out in Roses for Eyes merch from head to toe.”

“One, you guys don’t even have that much merch. Two, I think all that would accomplish would be making me looking like a crazed fan.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I am your biggest fan,” you acquiesced with a giggle at how serious he looked, squeezing his leg. “But we need security to let me in, you know.”

“What about a shirt with my face on it?”

“I think that’d be even worse.”

“It can say ‘CREW’ on the back or something.”

You laughed again. “I did tell that guy I was working, you know. Which did nothing.”

“I know, baby, I’m not mad at you.” Sungchan put an arm around the back of your chair, leaning in closer to inform you, “I was up on stage wishing I could’ve been kicking his face instead of the bass drum.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t hop off stage just to beat up somebody in the crowd.” You whispered back. “Even if it would’ve been deserved.”

“God, I don’t know if I can take another month of hearing you get hit on from right next to me.” He was presumably referencing times like now, with you at the merch table and him nearby talking to patrons.

“You think I like hearing people compliment your tattoos as an excuse to feel up your arms?”

“I don’t let them!” He protested. “And sometimes they do actually like my tattoos!”

“I know, Sungchan,” you snickered. “It’s hard being the hottest couple ever, isn’t it?”

“God truly gives his toughest battles to his sexiest soldiers,” Sungchan joked back, letting his arm drop down to your waist.

“Hey, on the bright side, tomorrow is the Venue:Hell show,” you reminded him. “I’ll have Jeno and Jaemin and my other two much less sturdy friends there. Not to mention Anton, Sohee, and Seunghan.”

He didn’t seem much happier about this, letting out a little grumble, “Mmm, alright.”

⤷ masterlist

[happilysmythe]

❥ 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

trent frederic.

word count: 5.0k

warning: explicit content

"can you blow my mind?" — tyla

A/N: i recently received a request for trent and a leafs fan. i was given creative freedom and this is what i came up with. hope you like it, nonny <3

- - -

Bruins win Game 7 in OT.

The headlines came out at a rapid rate, informing the rest of the world that the Boston Bruins made it out of the first round and turned the Toronto Maple Leafs into mulch. Again.

Trent Frederic, along with a few teammates, were on too much of a high to return to their rooms at the hotel they’d been staying in just yet. Though they were home in Boston, coach Jim Montgomery thought it would be smarter to have the guys stay in a hotel instead of going back to their homes and apartments. Team bonding, he said.

The bunch set off for the bar inside the hotel, only a few blocks away from TD Garden, waiting a few hours before slipping in nonchalantly. They weren’t trying to get outed too fast, and they usually didn’t. Even once they were recognized, not much came of it. Most people were too drunk by then to make a scene, anyway.

So they sat down at the bar and ordered a few beers, celebrating accordingly and talking amongst themselves. They would finally let loose for just a night before the inevitable start of round 2 in just two days. They’d be having practice the next morning and flying down to Sunrise, Florida to face the Panthers, who were on their extensive break after knocking the Lightning in just 5 games.

Trent decided he’d had enough after his fourth beer, so he left his share and stood up to make his way out. As he turned around, his body hit something with a thud. He looked down and saw what it was that he came into contact with; a thin blonde woman with her arms out, jaw slack, and an empty hand that once held her drink.

Oh, and a Maple Leafs jersey.

“Oh, shit,” Trent muttered, compressing his lips.

You scoffed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I can get you a new one.”

You looked up, a look of guilt on your face as your hands fell back down to your sides. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve been looking where I was going, too—”

You paused.

“Where do I know you?”

He remained silent, shooting you a look as if to tell you that it should be obvious. It wasn’t long before your face dropped and it hit you. He suppressed a grin at your realization and parted his lips to speak.

“Name’s Trent,” he spoke smoothly, “but something tells me you already figured that out.”

“Well, you’re one of the last people I’d like to see right now,” you rolled your eyes, arms folded. “What’s a guy like you doing at some random bar at,” you looked at your watch, “12 in the morning after the game where you just knocked my team out of the playoffs?”

“Had to celebrate somehow,” he winked.

“Oh, god,” you grimaced. “I really do hate you guys.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” he laughed, putting his abnormally large hands on his hips. Your eyes subtly followed their path.

“Lighten up,” he teased. “C’mon. What’s your name? I know you’re not a,” he pinched the fabric of your jersey and pulled it to see the numbers, “Marner. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

You sighed at his remark and told him your name, but he made a face afterward.

“Too long.”

“Too long?”

“I think I’ll stick to Marner,” he told you, much to your dismay.

“Gross,” you replied irritatedly. “I don’t particularly feel like giving you the privilege of using a nickname. Just use my real name like everyone else. ”

“I’m all set, actually. I think I’ll stick to mine.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“You gonna let me buy your drink or keep bitching about who I am?”

“Fine,” you sighed, “buy me the damn drink.”

He and you made your way to the other side of the bar, far enough away from the rest of the guys and the few friends you went with that you wouldn’t be noticed. You sat next to each other on the bar stools, Trent talking your ear off and you reluctantly replying with mostly one-word responses.

“You can’t be that angry with me,” he finally spoke, breaking another silence. “I’m not the whole team, you know.”

“I can and I will,” you shrugged, sipping your almost-empty drink.

“If you won’t talk, then I’ll just have to make you talk.”

He put his elbows down on the table and turned his head to face you, “Why’d you decide to come out in public after that game? I wouldn’t have even bothered to show my face in a bar wearing that. You here with other people or something?”

“I came with a couple of friends.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

You looked down. “They wanted to come down here. I told them it was probably a bad idea because of the fact that we’re, you know, Leafs fans. They did it anyway so I just tagged along.”

“Bet you didn’t expect to run into me,” he nudged you with his shoulder, bringing a faint smile to your lips. “There you go,” he teased when he noticed your expression. “See? I’m not so bad.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy is a bad look for a woman like me,” you retorted, a playful undertone to your words. It was uncharacteristic compared to the closed-off manner you had with every other response. You wouldn’t admit that, however.

“Oh, she jokes,” he took the final sip of the drink he’d bought himself upon sitting with you, even after deciding he’d had his last beforehand.

“Shut up, Frederic.”

“We’ve regressed to my last name now? Can’t even call me by my first?”

“But you won’t use mine at all,” you rolled your eyes, “Trent.”

You looked at him for maybe a tad longer than you should’ve, eyes slowly moving down his body. He wore a white collared shirt that hugged his arms and gray dress pants that looked awfully tight around his thighs. You couldn’t help but notice the facial hair he’d grown since the start of the round, giving him a gingery mustache with a somewhat patchy beard. You’d seen what he looked like before that and were undoubtedly intrigued by it, regardless of whatever grudges you held against him. But you couldn’t let him know that.

So you turned to face the television above the bar, watching the commercial in a quiet trance as if nothing happened.

“Hey,” he tapped his finger on the bartop, diverting your attention back to him. “Tell me something,” he softly requested as you looked back, adjusting his body to face yours. “Why did you let me buy you the new drink if you weren’t going to talk to me, hm?”

You swallowed, “I wasn’t going to be rude.”

“The real reason,” he pressed.

“There is no real reason.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “so why were you staring at me before?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lowered his voice and brought his face just slightly closer, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I mean,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders, “unless I didn’t see you looking for a while there. But I’m pretty sure I know what I saw.”

“Just…just shut up, Trent, alright?”

“Sounds like I hit a nerve,” he noted and you rolled your eyes. “You know, you’re cute when you’re irritable.”

His grin widened when you shook your head again, promptly informing him of how annoying he was once again. “But if I’m really being honest here,” he lifted his fingers and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think you’re pretty.”

At this, your hardened exterior softened. Your head turned just slightly so that he was in your field of view and you sighed gently. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

“I, um,” you cleared your throat, taking a breath, “I was looking before.”

“I know,” he softly responded, hand slipping down until his palm rested on your thigh. Initially, you flinched at the contact, but your muscles relaxed when you realized it was a warm gesture rather than one with malicious intent.

“You don’t have to be so cold,” he told you. “No matter who I play for, I’m just a guy.”

You were more attracted to him than you wanted to let on, and it surely didn’t help that he was being nicer to you. You suppressed a smile and faced him fully.

“It’s not that, it’s—it’s the point,” you flatly responded.

“You can look at me again,” he teased, thumb rubbing your thigh. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Your gaze lingered on him again, eyes flitting down to his lips before you looked away. It wasn’t hard for him to see through you—after all, you allowed him to keep his hand where it was, even after refuting his words. He took notice of your wandering eyes and finally pieced it together.

“Like the new look, eh?”

Your brows furrowed and you swallowed, “What new look…?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” he replied with certainty. “You have a thing for the scruff?”

“Please. I don’t even know what you looked like before that,” you lied, taking an unsteady breath.

“Doesn’t change that you were looking at it, does it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, lips parted as you tried to think up an excuse. “No,” you finally gave up, letting your head hang down. “It doesn’t, because I have seen you before and I do have a thing for it. For you,” you shook your head, laughing at the reality of how weak you truly were. How stupid you must have looked to him. “So tease me all you want, say that you told me so—you’re right.”

A ringed finger slipped under your chin and tilted your head toward him, his face mere inches away from yours.

“I’m not going to tease you.”

You swallowed, expression falling as your eyes locked with his. They were brown, you noticed. And they were…warm. They largely contrasted how he looked at you previously. It brought you to an entranced sort of state.

His touch was soft, comforting. But in a way that made you want him more. Caused your mind to wander to places you knew it shouldn’t have gone. It felt good. Really good.

And you had no business wondering what the rest of him would feel like on you.

“Where are you staying?” you blurted out.

“Upstairs.”

“Take me,” the words left your mouth before you could protest.

An eyebrow raised and his grin turned to a smile. “Gladly,” he whispered, lowering his hand and standing up.

He held his hand out and you hesitantly took it, allowing him to discreetly walk you toward the exit of the bar. You ducked when you saw your friends, praying that by some miracle they didn’t see you walk out with Trent Frederic.

“Trent,” you whispered, clutching onto him harder now that you couldn’t be hidden by the darkness of the bar any longer. “What if someone saw?”

“You would’ve known by now. Trust me,” he reassured you as the elevator doors slid open. You walked in and the doors shut, enclosing you in the small space. “And if anyone did,” he started, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck, “it’s none of their business, anyway.”

“Mhm,” you agreed softly, eyes beginning to close when you felt his warm breath on your neck.

“See? Not so hard to agree, is it?”

“Mm…no…”

He laughed softly in your ear and pressed a tiny kiss to the skin behind it. He intricately placed a few more on the exposed skin, prompting a faint hum from your lips as the doors slid back open. His hand found its place on your waist as he gently pushed you out, guiding you down the hallway and finally stopping in front of his door.

By now, you’d become urgent—urgent to feel his lips on yours no matter how much you told yourself it was a stupid idea. You lived in Toronto; a whopping 500 miles away. And he played for Boston, the team you hated with a passion so strong that you vowed to never let yourself be endeared by them. Yet there you were, standing next to the forward who contributed to your favorite team’s loss, wanting nothing more than for him to make you feel oh, so good.

And he would.

The door clicked open and he pushed the lever down, stepping aside to let you in. He was quick to pin you to the door with his body, arm coming up behind your head to lock it and toss the room card to the side.

“I can’t believe I let you charm me.”

“What can I say,” he rasped, leaning in closer, “I know how to get a girl in my room.”

His lips finally connected with yours and you immediately reciprocated, hand flattening against his chest and gripping the material of his shirt. You pulled him closer, slipping your free hand around his neck before tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The hair above his lips rubbed against your skin, the feeling eliciting a faint hum from your mouth into his. He grinned at this and hooked his fingers under the blue jersey you wore, pulling away promptly and carefully lifting it up.

“Taking this shit off,” he mumbled, pulling the fabric over your head and discarding it to the floor. “You’d look much better with mine.”

You rolled your eyes, “Not going to happen, Trent.”

“We’ll see,” he grinned, moving his lips to your neck and marking up the skin, drawing whimpers from your mouth.

Your hand snaked into his hair, fingers threading between the dusty ginger strands as you pushed his head closer. He kissed up to your jaw, sliding his hand up to your neck, the other placed on the bare skin of your hip. His fingers pressed into the nape of your neck and his thumb rested just under your chin, hand pressing the back of your head against the door as his lips kissed a path down your jawline.

“Shit,” you moaned breathily, reaching for the buttons on his shirt as his mouth returned to yours hungrily.

You worked your way down, the material of his shirt parting and exposing his skin as each button fell open. His tongue slipped between your lips, grazing your teeth before rolling over yours languidly. Soft fingers untucked his open shirt from his pants and began to trace his stomach, moving slowly up to his firm chest. The action caused the large hand around your neck to tighten its hold, prying a moan from your throat.

“Didn’t know,” you panted, “—didn’t know you wore a chain.”

“Like it, mm?”

The way he grinned down at you brought a lump to your throat. He made you nervous. Weak, even. And the height at which he stood compared to you surely didn’t help. So you nodded curtly in response, hoping he’d take the hint and not press you further.

But he took it and instead removed his hand from your neck to slide it down and meet the other at your lower back, promptly hoisting you up. Your hands moved to his face and held it while you continued to kiss him, him walking the two of you away from the door and in the direction of the bed. You kicked your shoes off just as he grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall outside the bathroom and laid it lazily atop the sheets. He then lowered you onto your back and let go, allowing you to lie comfortably on the bed as he remained on his knees in front of you.

He quickly shed himself of the torn-open shirt and tossed it toward the empty bed on the other side of the room. His body soon hovered over yours, an arm on the bed on each side of your head as he kissed you again. His lips moved to your neck once again, working the skin until soft moans slipped through your parted ones.

“Trent,” you exhaled, chest rising and falling deeply, “isn’t…isn’t someone else staying here with you? There’s—mm—two beds.”

“There was,” he mumbled into your skin, moving down to your collarbones.

“So couldn’t we get—”

“Was,” he repeated. “He already went home to his girlfriend. And I have both room keys.” He chuckled softly and reached around your back to unclasp your bra, the fabric coming loose on your chest. “So relax.”

You nodded and lifted your arms for him to pull it off, him letting it fall from his hand before kissing a path down the valley of your chest. His body moved down as he continued down to your stomach, then to your waist where his fingers hooked in your pants and slid them down your legs.

You kicked them off and opened your legs, allowing Trent to slip between them. He gently kissed your inner thigh, slowly working his way up until he reached the lacy fabric that covered your skin. He looked up, making and not breaking eye contact with you as he took the waistband between his teeth and tugged the fabric slowly down your legs. As he rose upwards, they and your pants were dropped to the floor.

Warm breath fanned the skin between your aching thighs, awaiting his touch oh, so impatiently. His fingers brushed the area, dragging themselves slowly up and down. His eyes flitted up to you, a faint grin playing on his lips before focusing back down.

“God, you’re wet,” he rasped, leaning down and settling his face between your thighs, your legs atop his shoulders. His hands wrapped around your outer thighs and gripped them, pulling you in promptly.

“Especially for someone who claims to hate me so much.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned, “Think that’ll make me like you any more?”

“No, but maybe this will.”

With that, his mouth wrapped around your clit, tongue swirling around and eliciting a gasp of shock from your parted lips. Your eyes widened as he sucked gently, hands kneading the warm flesh of your thighs.

He then trailed downward, planting small, light kisses on the sensitive flesh, all before his tongue carefully parted your folds and delved slowly inside. Your fingers gingerly threaded into his strands, palm flattening itself on the back of his head as you pushed him down, your body weak with the need for more friction.

The hair that had recently grown above his lips brushed against your skin, rubbing back and forth forcefully and bringing meaning to the term, ‘hurts so good.’

“God, fuck,” you groaned, hands tenaciously gripping the sheets and his curls as his tongue moved in a rhythm that was just enough to make you long for more.

He lapped at you mercilessly, expert movements of his tongue coaxing soft moans from your mouth. A cocky grin stretched across his lips as he brought you to the brink, then pulled away, forcing a whimper from you at the loss of contact.

A large hand was removed from your thigh and brought between your legs, knuckles once again dragging lazily along the sensitive, needy skin, but refusing to give you the satisfaction of doing what you wanted most. He was teasing you; punishing you for the way in which you treated him earlier without giving him as much as a chance to prove himself.

“Trent,” you whined impatiently, hips writhing involuntarily against his bearded face.

“Mm…what?”

You refused to admit the irrevocable attraction you had to him because you didn’t want to let him win. And now he was being a bitch to you, just like you were to him. He chuckled softly and pressed the tip of his finger to your entrance, allowing you to feel the small bit of pressure that came with it. 

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers tightening in his curls.

Enough was enough and he pushed the finger in, drawing a moan from your lips before adding another and thrusting them in and out with no room for complaint. The cold metal of his ring brushed against your sensitive inner walls and you gasped at the initial contact, your rampant mind having forgotten about the jewelry to begin with. And deep down, you loved it.

His mouth returned to your skin, tongue licking small stripes on the mound of flesh above his fingers, the scruff on his chin rubbing roughly against it. You knew you were going to have burns on your skin caused by his facial hair but you didn’t care; you just wanted to keep feeling him.

“Trent, don’t stop.”

He laughed quietly and sped up the pace of his fingers, urging you even closer to the edge. Your thighs closed in around his head, hand still pushing his head down. He hummed in satisfaction, the noise vibrating against your skin as he felt you clench around his long fingers.

His lips sucked on your clit in a steady pattern, causing your release to rip through you, prying a moan from deep within your stomach. You fisted the sheets tighter as your hips writhed against his face and fingers, legs beginning to shake from the pressure. Trent continued to work you through it, tongue lapping up the wetness that accumulated until you sunk back down into the mattress, spent.

Slowly he removed his fingers, first bringing them to his lips to lick them clean before rising back up. You inched backward on the bed until your head pressed against the pillow, Trent following and planting himself on his knees between your legs. His fingers reached down and fumbled with the buckle on his belt, eyes never leaving your body in the process. It wasn’t long before his belt haphazardly hit the floor, then his pants and his painfully hard cock was freed from its constraints. A rough palm placed itself on your knee, rubbing it slowly.

“Trent,” you swallowed, drawing his attention back up to your face. “Con—”

He raised his hand to cut you off, a gold wrapper resting comfortably between his index and middle fingers. The action having rendered you silent, he promptly took the foil between his teeth and pulled, spitting out the excess before taking out the latex and rolling it onto himself. You soon felt the pressure of him at your entrance, legs subconsciously widening to let him slip between them further, then heard the sound of him groaning as he pushed into you.

You swore it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard.

He leaned forward slowly, giving you just a moment’s time to adjust to his size as he stretched you out. Your breaths were unsteady, eyes screwed shut as your fingers maintained their forceful grip on the sheets around you. Your mind was racing, but you knew one thing for certain—the man was about to fucking blow it. His body hovered above yours as he kissed a path from your stomach up to your neck, hands pressing into the mattress on each side of you.

“Where did you,” you breathed, “get that?”

“Pocket,” he rasped, mustache brushing against your neck.

Eyes wide, you responded, “That’s not—”

“Relax,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. “I put it in there today.”

Then you impatiently lifted a hand to the back of his head and pushed his lips onto yours, kissing him urgently and wordlessly telling him to just move. He obeyed your silent command and pushed his hips into yours, burying his dick into you before pulling back, leaving only the tip inside. He repeated the process at a steady, slow rhythm—tortuously slow, at that—until your back was arching, hand in his hair sliding down to his shoulder blade as the long, coffin-shaped nails dug into his soft skin. The chain that you’d noticed earlier tapped against your cheek, the feeling provoking you to throw your head back against the pillow.

His hand slid up your front, fingers curling around to the nape of your neck and thumb resting under your chin once again, pulling your head back up as he quickened his pace, driving into you with more force. Every inch of his thick cock slid smoothly along your velvety walls, your mouth frozen in its open state as his lips worked at your neck again. And god, you just couldn’t understand what made you hate that guy in the first place. It must have slipped your mind completely.

Upon the first thrust of his hips, he felt just how tight you enveloped him. The immense pressure of you wrapped around his strained length, practically squeezing it. The age-old trick of conjuring up the most repulsive of thoughts seemed nothing but moronic to him in the past, yet for some reason he found himself naming off presidents in his head to prevent from coming so fucking soon. He only wished that he could feel it; really feel it, if it weren’t for that godforsaken rubber that separated him from you.

And he’d make it his mission to do so, whether you lived five hundred miles away or not.

He just hoped he’d last when he finally did.

The hand around your throat closed just slightly, using just enough pressure to threaten your intake of breath without causing any pain. It was delicious. You didn’t have the will to fight it—your body had already submitted to him long before, and there wasn’t much that you could focus on other than the feeling of him roughly thrusting into you, lips marking up one side of your neck while his hand firmly gripped the other.

The sounds of your mixed moans bounced off of the walls and you began to wonder whether anyone could hear it or not; if any of his teammates were close by, walking back to their rooms from the bar. The thought instilled enough fear for you to weakly voice it.

“What if—ah—what if someone hears us?”

“Let them,” he rasped, kissing behind your ear.

“But—”

“God, shut up,” he pushed his lips to yours, swallowing your words, moans, and expletives that threatened to destroy your mediocre attempt to stay quiet. His tongue rolled over yours, low hums reverberating in your mouth and filling your ears.

Finally, he released his hold from your neck, allowing the air to flow smoothly into your lungs once more. The hand reached for yours, roughly threading his fingers between yours before pushing the two forward and pinning the back of your hand to the headboard behind you. You let out a whimper at the sudden contact but quickly gripped his hand with a matching force to his as he hit the sweet spot inside you and a familiar pit in your stomach formed.

“Close,” you panted, back arching off of the bed and forcing your front to press firmly into his.

“I know,” he told you, grip tightening as the taut line in your stomach snapped.

His mouth enveloped yours again to swallow your noises, tongue swiping against your bottom lip. Your inner walls constricted around his length as you hit your climax, nails digging into his back as you grasped desperately at him for stability, support—any sort of strength that he could provide you with. And he did, grunting sporadically as he fucked you through your second orgasm, thrusts growing sloppier.

It wasn’t long before he twitched inside you, hitting his own peak and letting out a deep moan. Your name—to your surprise—left his lips in a slurred form, repeating it softly as if it were a hymn. Sweat coated your forehead, droplets dripping slowly down your face, and the frontward strands of your hair had grown wet. His curls dripped with his own sweat as his lips hovered just centimeters above yours, warm breath fanning your face and gaze aligning with yours.

You finally swallowed, “Wow.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, hand letting go of yours and gently running up and down your side.

He waited a moment and carefully pulled out, the action drawing your eyes shut before he slipped off the used latex and disposed of it. You adjusted yourself as he did so, ridding the bed of the towel and briefly cleaning yourself up before you felt a piece of fabric hit your arm. You looked down to see a large, black t-shirt on the bed and grabbed it, quickly slipping it on as he walked back over. He motioned you under the sheets and you silently obliged.

Your back pressed against his chest, chain pressing into the skin as an arm wrapped around you and a hand flattened on your stomach. His other fingers pushed your hair to the side, exposing the skin to his eyes, and he saw the faint marks his fingers left on your neck. A pair of lips brushed against your ear and the soft rasp of his voice returned.

“You know, that’s a Bruins shirt,” he teased, scruff grazing your damp skin as his lips connected with your shoulder.

“Mhm,” you flatly responded.

“Going against your word pretty fast, eh?”

“Yeah, well,” you started, nuzzling back into him. “I told you I hated you and ended up in your bed, so,” you turned to him slightly, “unreliable source.”

He chuckled softly and brought his fingers up to brush your hair back, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. “Night, Marner.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and he laughed one final time before closing his eyes and relaxing into you.

So, against everything that you stood for just hours before, you fell asleep in Trent Frederic’s arms without much forethought. In his shirt and his bed, effectively leaving your friends behind because they’d for some odd reason just slipped your mind completely.

And when Trent woke up the next morning, he was no longer in your company, much to his dismay. Any trace of your presence the night before had perished, down to the towel on the floor. But there was one thing—one saving grace that caught his eye as he scanned the room.

A piece of paper on the nightstand with a phone number scribbled on it and a small note below it that read,

“For the next time you’re in Toronto.”

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 7

y’all I am SO SORRY this is so late. I’ve been caught up with end-of-year stuff at work and planning for next year. but I’m posting the last two chapters now🙃

I’m not sure how active I’ll be moving forward lol, 2025 is shaping up to be a pretty big year for me, professionally speaking, and that either means I’ll have more free time or less. Idk. But thank you for supporting my writing!!! You guys make me happy🩵🩵🩵

table of contents

found god at your ex’s house

To be entirely honest, the longest and only conversation you’ve ever had with goddamn Keeley Jones was at the Prada show right before you found out about Bean’s existence. 

You’d prefer to keep it that way but fucking Madeline is friends with her so now you’re headed to a stupid, awful, horrible girls’ night at her house and you’d rather fucking die.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But your experiences concerning Keeley have been unpleasant at best. 

She first caught your notice in a tabloid on a yacht with Jamie and a screaming headline to match your screaming mind. It was two weeks after Jamie came over for the last time and apparently not enough time to get over him.

You’d gone straight to Madeline’s to scream into a pillow.

Then she was in your instagram, and when you had blocked her she appeared in fan edits and fucking WAG accounts. Then she was at the Prada show and in magazines and on the telly. It felt like no matter how much you tried to shut her out, Keeley fucking Jones remained as a painful reminder.

It wasn’t her fault per se, but you hated the role she played in Jamie’s deterioration. 

And now Madeline is fucking friends with her.

“What the actual hell, Madeline,” you groan. “Keeley fucking Jones? Are you serious? She’s the fucking worst. AND she’s not to be trusted! The girl hardly has two braincells to rub together.”

Madeline rolls her eyes. “I understand that you hate her. But she’s kind and sweet and actually a bit brilliant. I’m not going to tell her about you or Bean, but she’s not some vile, boyfriend-stealing bitch.”

“I’m not saying that,” you reply as you try to get Clare to burp. “I’m just saying that the girl could stand to grow up a little.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She has. I think you’d like her.”

“Fuck off,” you scoff right as Clare burps. “See? Clare agrees.”

Madeline shrugs. “Clare is three months old. She doesn’t get a vote.”

You wrinkle your nose and say, “You mean unless she agrees with you, right?” and Madeline smiles her most angelic smile. 

“All I’m saying is you’re more than welcome to come with me tonight.”

“I’d rather die,” you inform her.

—

Jamie has the day off. They won against Aston Villa on Sunday so he’s supposed to be resting, but he’s never been very good at that.

So he does what any self-respecting person would do and goes to his ex’s house.

He forgets Roy fucking Kent is going to be there until the man himself has opened the door but Jamie musters up some arrogance and breezes right by him. Keeley knows he’s coming anyway, so he’s not going to be harassed by some grumpy old twat.

Roy must be sick or something because he doesn’t say anything. If Jamie weren’t so consumed with his own worries he might actually be concerned.

But he’s not so he sits on Keeley’s couch like he belongs there and lets her hand him a cup of tea before she sits down next to him.

Roy isn’t far off, pretending to read a book but Jamie is abso-fucking-lutely positive he hasn’t turned a single page yet.

But absolutely FUCK it because he needs Keeley’s professional, girl opinion.

“I’ve got a kid,” he says, and both Keeley and Roy do absolutely horrible jobs at pretending they’re shocked.

“Fuck off, how the fuck did you know?” he protests. “Was it Ted?”

Roy and Keeley exchange a Look and it just makes Jamie madder.

“Technically it was Coach Beard,” Keeley says in a mousy voice. “We figured you’d tell us when you were ready, Jamie.”

That’s just confusing. “How the fuck did Beard know?” he asks.

“Kid looks just fucking like you,” Roy says and that makes Jamie mad too because when the fuck did Roy see Clare?

“I saw them on the green when I was with Phoebe,” Roy clarifies and Jamie takes a minute to file that away as Roy Kent’s first-ever non-swearing sentence.

He says, “fucking hell,” because really, fucking hell. He went from not knowing he had a baby to knowing to apparently the whole Richmond coaching staff knowing (and apparently meeting) her.

Keeley asks, “Is that why you’re here, babes?” and her gentle voice actually makes him want to fucking cry so he just nods and puts his head in his hands.

“Don’t know shit about being a dad,” he says, voice muffled, and Roy slams his book shut because apparently he has shit to say.

“Fuck off, Tartt,” he says. “Stop being a little bitch.”

Keeley exclaims, “Roy!” but she’s also curious about what he has to say because she doesn’t do anything else to stop him.

“I fucking mean it,” he continues. “You fucking come here expecting to fucking cry on the couch and be told you’re fucking shit at something and throw a fucking pity party, so fuck off. You might be a shit father, you don’t fucking know, but that girl doesn’t fucking think so and if I were her, I’d hate your fucking guts. So untwist your fucking pants and stop being a fucking whiny little bitch. Go fucking be a dad and if you’re shit, you’re shit. But stop looking for fucking sympathy for something you’ve made up in your stupid fucking twat brain.”

With that he pushes himself out of his chair, swears at his knee, and disappears into the kitchen, presumably to remain silent for the next year since he’s met his word quota.

Jamie looks at Keeley as if to say, Are you hearing this prick? but Keeley just lifts a shoulder and says, “He’s right, babe. You’ve got to actually go do something about it.”

So Jamie pinches the bridge of his nose and recounts everything his mum told him over the phone for some extra review.

—

Clare is easy, as far as babies go, but for some reason tonight she’s decided to be an absolute terror. She won’t eat, won’t go to sleep, won’t calm down. She just cries and cries and no matter how many times you check her temperature or her diaper, she cannot get it back together.

It doesn’t help that you’re tired, either. Like, newborn-level tired. And hungry, too. You’d order in but Clare hasn’t even allowed that so you open the fridge as best you can while bouncing Clare up and down. All you can see is a jar of gherkins, a can of soda, and some lemons. 

And a fucking banana which must be Madeline’s because you’d rather die of starvation than eat that shit.

Fucking hell.

I am not going to cry you tell yourself sternly, except that doesn’t do anything except allow tears to well up faster than if you’d just let it alone.

You can’t call Madeline because she’s at Keeley’s and you’ll be damned if you interrupt her girls’ night. Madeline didn’t sign up to be tied down and she deserves a non-parent friend, so she’s not an option.

For a split second, you debate calling Jamie. But that’s a level of desperation you haven’t quite reached. You close the fridge and are saved from deciding what to do next by a knock on the door.

Clare wails like she’s being murdered, so you hope it isn’t the police but it isn’t, it’s just Jamie with a bag of groceries. He’s in the house setting up in the kitchen before your brain catches up with your eyes and Clare just cries the whole time. 

You know exactly what he’s making before he’s even pulled out half the ingredients. It’s chicken pesto risotto, the dish you always begged him to make whenever he had a moment of free time. Jamie can cook maybe four things in total, but damn he can cook them well. He slices some bread, puts it on a plate with some butter and hands it to you, swapping the plate for Clare so easily that if you didn’t know better you’d think he’s been doing it his whole life. She stops crying the moment she’s in his arms and honestly, you’re too tired to worry about it. You crash on the couch and fall asleep after two bites.

It’s dark out when you wake up, but the lights are on in the house and it’s warm. Someone’s gently caressing the top of your head and saying your name, so you open your eyes to Jamie standing over you.

He’s looking at you with a soft expression, and your heart aches. It all feels too painfully normal.

He says, “Food’s ready,” and holds out a hand for you to grab.

You hesitate for the barest fraction of a moment before taking it. “Little Bean’s asleep in her bed,” he continues. “You hungry? Figured we could eat then you can go back to sleep.”

You nod. “Smells good, J. Are you planning on spending the night, then?”

Jamie shrugs. “I thought- I don’t know, I thought maybe you could use a break.”

He sits next to you at the table. The food’s been set out, and it’s still warm. It’s also the first meal you haven’t been responsible for in a good long while.

“So you’re just here now,” you say. “You’re the kind of person who shows up, cooks dinner, puts the baby to bed and watches telly in the evenings? You could barely handle a relationship, and now you want a fucking family? You can leave me all you want, but I swear to God, Jamie, I will murder you if you hurt Clare.”

It’s frustrating because it feels like you’re at an impasse. Jamie can come back once he’s shown he��s changed, but he can’t really show he’s changed if he can’t fucking come back, can he?

It doesn’t matter that he probably has changed and you know deep down that even he isn’t a big enough dick to abandon his daughter.

Jamie says, “I am. I mean, I won’t. I mean, fucking hell, you don’t have to fucking murder me, yeah? Just give me a chance, like.”

You snort. “Do you even know how to change a diaper?”

Jamie says, “Googled it, didn’t I?” and that makes you genuinely laugh. Of course he did. But you laugh too loud and it wakes up Clare, who lets you know she’s irritated with a shriek. You knock your head lightly against the table and whisper, “Fuck,” before putting down your fork. You push your chair out and Jamie stands, lightning-fast.

“I got it,” he tells you, and you raise an eyebrow.

You reply, “Okay,” because if he’s going to act like a father, he’s going to have to put in the work. And you’re hungry and this is your favorite meal. Besides, what’s the worst that’s going to happen?

So Jamie goes to Clare’s room where she’s sobbing like there’s no tomorrow and you continue to eat while straining your ears to make sure Jamie isn’t panicking.

Unfortunately, you didn’t account for the fact that the worst thing that could happen is Jamie comes back out after ten minutes with a sleeping Clare on his chest and he looks so fucking hot that you want to jump his bones then and there. 

Jamie is thankfully oblivious. He sits back down and pats Clare on the back so she doesn’t wake up again.

“How’s the food?” he whispers. “Haven’t cooked in fuckin’ ages.”

“Good,” you whisper back and then you lapse into silence. 

 “I can stay the night, if you want,” Jamie offers after a bit, and you glare.

“Not like that,” he hastily amends, “I mean if you want to sleep. I can feed Clare and whatever.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Jamie. What the fuck do you want from me? You can’t fucking come back here and play house when you want, and I get it, your dad’s a piece of shit and you don’t want to be like him. But you’re in the fucking Prem, Jamie.”

(“Got relegated,”) he mouths, but you just keep talking. “Fine. You’re in the Championship but everyone knows you at least are making it back to the Premier League and someday you’ll be with a team in the Champion’s League and that’s a lot of travel. It’s a lot of nights alone, and you’re not exactly the kind of person who likes sleeping alone.

Jamie looks offended at that, but it’s true. He’s twenty-six and in his prime.

This whole thing is just one giant circle with no solution. 

“Oi,” he says, and he’s got his serious expression on. “I don’t want anything from you. I want you. Not even because of Clare, but she’s mint. I was coming to find you the other night because I wanted to fix things. I told you that. I meant it, I want to get back together. I know I’m hard to love sometimes but swear down, I want to make it work. Keeley’s on me about commitment and shit and I dunno, it sounds nice. I’m fucking tired of fucking around. That shit’s exhausting.”

“Yeah, because a baby and a girlfriend isn’t fucking exhausting as well.”

Jamie wrinkles his nose. “Fucking Garnacho’s having a kid. If that little shit can handle it, I can too.”

You concede. He has a point. “Fine. You can spend the night. I’m going to shower and then pass out, which means you’ve got the dishes and Clare. You can sleep in the guest room, yeah? I’ll set up the baby monitor.”

Jamie smiles, and before you can really think it through, you lean over to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say softly before heading upstairs. You’re going to get an earful from Madeline later, but for now you’re going to get good sleep for the first night in a long while.

next chapter

[libraryofloveletters]

chapter one: colour me red

Chalres Leclerc x Fem!Reader + Carlos Sainz Jr x Fem!Reader

Warnings: new relationships, a little bit of flirting, carlos is having some bad thought - malice from carlos as well, charles is oblivious, alcohol and the consumption of, reader is getting caught in a wicked web already, a bit of lying and one hint to a sexual innuendo

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's Note: welcome to my new series! chapter one isn't very long, just an opening little thing but chapter two will be juicy and I will be posting the first insta file on Sunday :) I'm not sure how often I'll be updating as I have classes but I will try to get chapters out to you as often as possible :) I hope y'all enjoy it!

Call My Name Masterlist

--

Preseason was such a boring time to be a Formula One driver.

Most of their responsibilities were turning up for events being hosted by sponsors and attending multiple meetings to make sure that they have everything they'd need in the car. As much as that does benefit them, they would much rather be on track.

Hence why they were so glad today was the last of the preseason events. Ferrari was hosting their season opener at Maranello this evening.

Carlos has been twirling around from the moment he arrived, being dragged from one sponsor to the other as if he didn't already see them at some point in the last few weeks. The one person he was really looking for was his teammate, Charles.

The Monegasque driver had been hinting to Carlos that he's seeing someone, and that he would be bringing her to the event to meet everyone. He can still hear Charles' words in his head; a beautiful woman, god she's so beautiful.

Carlos, whose curiosity got the best of him, went looking for this beautiful woman online, searching every variation of a headline he could think of and yet, nothing.

He was starting to believe that Charles made her up.

Speaking of Charles, he was nowhere to be found. He figured he'd get a drink and then head out in search of his friend.

He isn't sure what came over him as he approached the bar and as much as he knew staring was rude, he couldn't help himself.

To his left, sat the most beautiful woman he had seen in his life; hair curled and tossed over her shoulders, her complexion complimented the red dress she had on and Carlos' eyes wandered over her legs, crossed over one another and he looked up and down until he stopped at the black heels she had on - the bottoms red like her dress. Expensive, he thought to himself.

A woman's voice breaks his thoughts; "did your mother not tell you that staring was rude?"

He smiles when his eyes meet hers. "Only if there's a reason I shouldn't be staring."

"So you're saying," you twirled the straw in your glass. Carlos notices your manicured nails, French tip - a term he learnt from his sisters. "That there's a reason you should be staring at me?"

"Can't help myself," he smiles again, stepping closer before sitting on the stool next to hers. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

The woman laughs, her hand resting on his arm that was stretched out over the bar counter. Carlos' knees bumped with hers, her own leg shifts, stretching out and her foot pressed to the bottom handle of his seat.

Carlos is lost in thought, watching as your lips wrap around the straw. His mind is filthy, he can't help but think what your mouth would feel like around his - You called him out to him.

"Does that line ever work for you?"

"Sometimes."

"Well," she smiles at him, her nails scratching over his arm before moving it. "You're not so bad yourself," she smiles at him sweetly.

Carlos sits with the woman for a while longer, buying her another drink as they chatted; he revealed more than she did, she simply nodded along and when he asked what she's doing here, she told him she's been invited.

As has everyone else; he tells her and she smiles, shrugging.

Someone rests a hand on her lower back, causing her to shift in her seat to see who it is. Carlos looks over, seeing that his teammate, Charles, was now leant down to press a kiss to the woman's cheek.

"You're okay?" He asks her, his hand on her shoulder as he stands behind her. Her hand reached up to rest on his, nodding. "Absolutely."

"Carlos," Charles smiles, "I see you've met y/n."

Carlos blinks, looking between you and Charles; he finally makes the connection. You were the mystery woman.

"So you're y/n," he smiles at you - to be fair, you didn't tell him your name nor did he ask.

"I am."

"I was starting to think that Charles made you up, that you weren't real and were just some fiction of his imagination." He smiles, making you two laugh.

"She's real, mate!" Charles laughs and you nod, offering him your arm. "I'm very real, feel free to pinch me and confirm."

As innocent as your gesture seemed, there was something underlying in the way you said it, the way you looked at him. Carlos doesn't say anything, glancing at his teammate before he reaches for your wrist. His index finger and thumb dragged across the soft skin of your wrist, meeting in the middle to pinch you.

The two of you are smiling at each other, Carlos's hand rests over your wrist and as much as you knew you needed to move your hand, you didn't. Charles was oblivious, he's yet to notice the tension growing between the two of you.

He speaks, squeezing your shoulder. "If that's all, mate," he smiles, "I'm gonna take her around to meet everyone, yeah?"

You smile at your boyfriend, scooting off the stool which lifted your dress a tad too high for Carlos's mind not to wander.

"I'll see you around, Carlos." You smiled at the man, interlocking your fingers with Charles' before picking up your glass.

Carlos nods, "don't let them bore you too much," he tips his beer bottle in your direction, taking a sip as you walk off with his teammate.

God, he wished he didn't feel the way that he did and he knew it was wrong, so bloody wrong, but he can't help it.

Charles was kind and he deserved love, Carlos knew as much but if you, this beautiful woman - so sweet and so charming, loved him as much as Charles seemed to love you, then why would you flirt with him?

You didn't suit Charles; you were opposites.

Mysterious, funny, charming, kind, sweet, smart - as the list goes on, Carlos does realize in fact that you do suit Charles in some ways but he held a bias.

He met you first, here.

That meant you were supposed to be his, not Charles's.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, he would make sure you would be his one way or the other.

---

It's quiet, the room smells manly in a way, a scent that you've come to know as Charles. The bathroom door was opened after his shower, the man brushing his teeth as you watched tv in bed.

A phone buzzes on the nightstand, you don't look over but Charles hears it from the bathroom. "Is it mine?" He calls and you lean over, reaching for it.

His phone screen was dark but yours had lit up. "No! It's mine," you call back, pick to check who had messaged you.

There's a notification from Instagram.

Carlos Sainz (carlossainz55) has requested to follow you. 3m ago.

Charles comes out of the bathroom, finding you staring at your phone. "Everything okay, love?"

"Yeah," you smile, "just instagram."

He gets into bed, pulling the duvet up. "Anything interesting?"

"No," you shook your head, unlocking your phone to accept the request. "Just my friend tagging me in some give-away," you laughed before setting your phone back down.

Charles smiles, letting you lay against his side as you two watched whatever was rerunning on tv.

A few floors below the two of you and a room to the left, a man's phone lights up with a notification from Instagram.

Y/n L/n (youruser) has accepted your follow request. 1m ago.

Carlos reaches over for his phone, reading the words and smiling to himself; it's every man for himself now.

--

add yourself to the call my name taglist!

taglist: @aadslovesmads @lieswithoutfairytales @steephanie07 @topguncultleader @darleneslane @barnestatic @ravisinghs_wife @elisaa-shelby @piggyinthesea @cmleitora @kmc1989 @themandaloriansdiaries @oconso

[obaex]

the one that chases you (four) - rafe cameron

summary: you learn the lengths that rafe has gone to chase you and make an important decision about your future together that has ripple effects across the island.

word count: 1.5k

series masterlist

It had been nearly four weeks of starting every morning on a run with Rafe. Despite the early starts, you found yourself jumping out of bed to get dressed and meet him in your driveway, eyes eagerly scanning the gate at Tanneyhill for his sauntering gait. It had quickly become your favorite part of every day. Your body had gotten stronger, allowing you to push your runs further, the prize of extending your time together the motivation that you needed. Well, that, and the bets you placed along the way.

"If I beat you to the next street, you have to run home shirtless" you panted.

"What?" he said - and you were off before he could register the challenge, your unfair advantage securing your win, enjoying your eye candy all the way home.

Mornings together turned into afternoons together, laying by the pool, riding in his golf cart or going to the beach with your friends who had all welcomed you back to the kook life with open arms. You weren't sure where things were headed with Rafe, but you could tell he was serious about you. You would catch him staring at you throughout the day, a goofy smile on his lips, not to mention he was very openly affectionate with you in front of everyone, touching you constantly, whether it was a hand on your leg, his arms wrapped around you, resting his head on yours, or peppering your face with kisses despite the teasing he endured from Kelce and Topper.

Before things went much further, you realized you needed to tell Sarah.

You caught up with her one morning after your run as you and Rafe were getting water in the kitchen at Tanneyhill. She came in the front door, a brief trip home to get a change of clothes before going back to John B's.

"Well hellloooo" she said, taking in the two of you in your sweaty running clothes.

"Hey girl!" you said, reaching over to give her a hug as she ducked away from your sweaty body, both of you laughing. "Can we catch up?" you asked, tilting your head upstairs and she agreed. You gave Rafe one last look as he shot you a wink and reached out to smack your ass on your way.

You lay flat on Sarah's floor, staring up at the ceiling, not wanting to get sweat anywhere as she walked around her room, swapping out clothes and repacking her duffle bag.

"So there's something I wanted to tell you" you started.

"I figured as much" she said, smirking at you.

"I'm kinda seeing someone" you admitted.

"Mhmmm" she said encouragingly.

"You know him, he's a really great guy."

"Yeah?" she said.

"Yeah. I'm really happy."

"I can tell, you are literally glowing Y/N, although that might be from the sweat?" you both laughed at that.

"Promise no matter what, you'll have an open mind?"

"Oh my gosh you can stop dancing around it already, I know you're hooking up with Rafe, the whole island knows."

"What!?"

"This is headline news! People have been shipping the two of you for years."

"Why didn't you tell me?" you said, cheeks flush with embarrassment that Sarah had heard so much about you both.

"Because he's my brother!? I don't know. It weirded me out at first when people started talking about it but at the same time, I know he's had a thing for you forever. I think it's kinda sweet. I mean I know I told you to wait for the boy that chases you, I didn't think you'd take me so literally" she laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"Rafe hates running, hates it. Once he graduated and quit lacrosse he vowed never to do it again. But he saw you out on your run one morning and realized you did it every day, so he went out there and tried to keep up with you."

You sat up now, listening intently as she continued, her back to you as she rifled through the clothing in her closet.

"I don't know, maybe he likes it now? He ran every day while you were gone, too, even though he'd be moping around when he got home" she paused. "I think he wanted to make sure he didn't miss you coming back.”

The idea of Rafe Cameron waking up every morning for six months to do something he hated for the chance to spend time with you melted your heart.

"Thanks for your blessing" you said quickly, popping up to give her a sweaty hug despite her mock annoyance as you ran back downstairs.

You found Rafe in the kitchen leaning against the counter on his phone. He looked up at you as you entered the room, "How'd that go?" he asked, putting his phone down as you sauntered over to him, popping up on your tiptoes to slide your hands around his neck, pressing his back into the counter and kissing him deeply. You could feel his smile kissing you back as his arms circled your waist. "Mm, that good, gorgeous?"

"Sarah shared some pretty interesting information with me" you said mischievously. He stopped kissing you, eyes narrowing as he looked at you skeptically.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like how much you love running" you said.

An embarrassed smile came across his face as he hung his head in defeat.

"Guilty as charged" he said. "I hated it. Seriously. Who would put themselves through that kind of torture voluntarily? It's so boring and tedious and painful."

"Why didn't you tell me!? We've been doing it for weeks!" you said, slapping his shoulder playfully.

"Because I know it makes you happy. Plus, I didn't know any other way to strike up a conversation with you at first without it being weird. Eventually it just became our thing and I grew to love it, love doing it with you..." he trailed off. He looked like he wanted to say something else and you studied him inquisitively, tangling your fingers in his, encouraging him. He looked down at your hands, avoiding eye contact, rubbing your knuckles gently with his thumb as he continued.

"The first morning you weren't waiting for me in your driveway, I didn't know what to do. I knocked on your door and no one answered. I called and you didn't pick up, so I ran anyway, thinking maybe you had started without me. But, no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't find you. It didn't even cross my mind that you just weren't going to be there anymore. I did that for a week and then weeks turned into months and then one day you're just back sprinting your brains out ahead of me. I thought I was delusional. I saw you slow to a stop and I didn't know what to do or say, I panicked so I kept running. I didn't make it another quarter mile before I turned around and ran after you, but you were already back in your driveway." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed to admit that he had literally been chasing you around the island without you knowing it.

"That is the sweetest, saddest thing I have ever heard" you said, laughing kindly.

He lifted his eyes to yours, drinking in your face, your sweet smile.

"Been chasin’ you for a while, gorgeous, just glad that I finally caught up" he said earnestly, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Apparently the whole island knows" you muttered between kisses.

"Good" he said simply.

"Yeah?" you replied.

"Yeah, I want everyone to know you're my girl."

"Your girl?" you said eagerly, eyes twinkling, trying to play it cool, but the excitement in your voice extremely obvious.

"If you want to be?" he said, hesitantly.

"Of course I want to be your girl, Rafe Cameron" you replied.

He scooped you into his arms, your legs circling his waist as he kissed you deeply, his heart soaring.

The pogues were sitting around a bonfire at the Chateau, Kie strumming her ukulele, Pope and Sarah deep in conversation, JJ laser focused on rolling a blunt as John B scrolled through his phone.

"Wait, what?" he said out loud before he could catch himself.

"What?" asked Sarah.

"Nothing, never mind" he said quickly, casting a knowing look at JJ.

Missing his glare, Kie insisted, "Well now you have to tell us."

"Not important" he replied curtly.

"What is it bro?" JJ asked, picking up on the tension.

"Here" John B said, tossing his phone to JJ, resigned, knowing that he was going to find out sooner or later.

JJ scrutinized the picture closely, face scrunching up in disgust as realization dawned on him and he looked over to Sarah, "So, what? They're together now? Is she fucking him?"

"Real nice, JJ" she sneered. "That's my brother and my best friend you're talking about and you lost the right to ask that question two months ago. You made your bed, now you have to sleep in it."

Cursing loudly he stomped away from the bonfire, up the steps and inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

taglist: @louie-bug, @wh0reforbucknasty, @magnificantmermaid, @houseoftwistedspirits

part five

series masterlist

[aectpen]

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ❆ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

m.list

pairing: sunghoon x ex figure skater->idol!fem oc

synopsis: 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐤𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩, 𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐄.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬.

chapter two: kayo

the girls had been called to an urgent group meeting to "discuss the group's future." the five girls; chaerin, haru, sujin, zena, and jie, painfully anticipated disbandment news. they debuted a year ago, but failed to reach any feats worth mentioning. they always did their absolute best, but in the saturated kpop market, they were just a fish in the sea.

the door swung open, immediately silencing the murmurs of the girls. three men in suits walked in alongside their CEO and manager. the atmosphere was heavy. their sadness was replaced by confusion. if they were supposed to disband, why were there new people here?

"i know you all must've been confused and shock." the girls nodded profusely. "but hopefully our news makes you excited." the once tense atmosphere became hopeful. their furrowed eyebrows relaxed to their original state. "first of all i have to introduce myself, i am a director from hybe labels."

"there's actually no way." haru whispered to jie.

"i am pleased to announce that as of today, kayo is now the newest edition to the hybe family!"

slowly, the initial shock transforms into smiles that spread across the faces of the members. the girls hold each other's hands tight in gratitude. they had a steep disadvantage coming from a new, unknown company. this is exactly what they needed to make it.

"we have taken a significant liking towards your group and believe that your talents deserve a bigger audience."

the rest of the meeting described the transition to the hybe company building and a brand new dorm. the acquisition came with many benefits. they currently had to share a small 2 bedroom apartment. the new dorm would give all of them their very own room. it was all a dream come true.

[★BREAKING: HYBE Acquires Small Agency Knock Out Entertainment Home To Girl Group KAYO]

the news spread quickly. the label held an amalgamation of different fandoms. millions of people viewed the headline and took an interest in why they would be bought in the first place.  many of them wondering if they'll be able to sit at the same table as hybe girl groups. some people checked out their music and immediately declared themselves stans.

they went out to celebrate with a meal that night. they couldn't possibly eat an ordinary meal at the cramped apartment with such joyful thoughts on their mind.

"i don't think i could act normal. imagine going to the bathroom and running into fucking le sserafim." jie is thee biggest yunjin fan.

zena elegantly lifted her pinky while taking a sip. "you're gonna need to tone down that language when we're there. we're expected to play the part of sophistication," she emphasized in a posh accent.

"you literally cuss every other word. it'll probably be the hardest for you. i for one am naturally a class act you should strive to be me." haru said.

sujin couldn't help but scoff. "i know you're not talking, haru. beomgyu will file a restraining order on you the moment you step foot in that building."

meanwhile, chaerin absentmindedly scrolled through Twitter, looking people's reactions to their group joining hybe. her attention was drawn to a trending post where her name was boldly highlighted.

[guys apparently chaerin from kayo is the girl from sunghoon's pre debut pics]

hooniesboo: so she was a figure skater?

uppersidedream1n: people r saying they were partners

starryikeu: wait that's kinda crazy that they ended up under the same company

jjongwonie: kinda hope they talk about it im nosy asl

as chaerin scrolled through the comments, a rush of old memories enveloped her, triggered by the images of her and sunghoon over the years. among them was a cherished selfie, snapped after they won gold together.

upon receiving the news initially, she couldn't help but feel elated, recognizing that this opportunity is not granted to everyone. as the leader, she wanted to keep the upbeat mood, hyping up the celebratory actions of the girls.

on the inside, her stomach was churning. when she chose to become a trainee, she hoped she would never come face-to-face with him. she was reluctant for him to see that she had opted for the same journey that had once left her heartbroken when he chose it. she didn't want the old feelings of betrayal to come back.

enhypen's presence was inescapable. their music echoed through their dorm, their faces adorned ads, social media, and tv screens. chaerin avoided going into the shared history she so desperately wanted to bury. each glimpse of his face reignited visions of a universe where their paths hadn't split into two. in this perfect world, they'd be standing together at the olympics, triumphantly biting that gold.

now, chaerin found herself yearning for him to forget about her. she had no desire to unravel the complexities of their past. awkward greetings and uncomfortable exchanges were the last things she wanted. she wished for a silent understanding. for him to ignore her, and for her to ignore him. four years had passed, and they were strangers now. yet, despite the time that has past, it felt as if his apology lingered in the air, as fresh as if it had been uttered just yesterday.

[fluffydavey]

a prompt thing!

davey is sick and doesn’t show up to sell (or modern au to school/work/etc)

i'm distracting myself with writing so feel free to send me any prompts and i will try my best to write them!! &lt;3

At first, they barely notice anything is wrong. Davey's back in school, but he's continued selling papes with the boys in the evenings and at the weekends. Although Davey had been a quick learner in the early days, he's becoming slower and he looks distracted.

It's brushed off with jokes, until Davey doesn't even have the energy to respond. "Sore throat," he musters, and Jack sends him home and promises to give their equal share to Les when he gets home that evening. He doesn't think much of it - the cold New York winters are harsh, especially during your first time selling in Demeber, and Davey looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over on the best of days.

He walks Les home that night, refusing a dinner proposal again, and bids the younger boy goodbye and shouts out "make sure that brother of yours doesn't skip out on any more hard work!"

But Davey doesn't show up the next day, and neither does Les. Nor do they show up for three more days after that. Jack gets tired of waiting for the boys with no answer. He climbs up the fire escape to try and get into David's room, when he sees the outlines of tall figures looming in the background.

"He's burning up," one of the men say, leaning over Davey's bed. "Hot to the touch!"

He tries to make it through another window, when he's blocked by Sarah. "You can't be here," she says, worry dripping from every word.

"Davey?"

"They say it's scarlet fever," she says, and Jack's read too many headlines about how it's been killing children all over the world. His heart sinks, feeling utterly hopeless.

"Les?" he asks, clinging onto some hope.

"He's okay, he's with our grandparents. They wanted me to go too, but I told them I wouldn't go anywhere without Davey," she says confidently. "He'll be okay Jack."

"I..."

She places an arm on Jack's shoulder, giving him a sad, knowing look. "I know, Jack."

"What happened?"

"He came home from school, and ma caught him coughing up blood into a handkerchief. She told him to rest, but he only got worse. He was getting sick, kept complaining about pains. I've never seen him like that before Jack, it was scary. I haven't been able to see him since," she says, and Jack can tell she feels as lost without Davey as he does. "Go back Jack, they won't let you anywhere near him. I'll let you know when there's news."

Jack knows better than to argue with Sarah, so he lets himself wander off, walking back to the lodgings on autopilot. He doesn't say anything when he returns, not sure how to break the news to all of their friends who had been waiting for Jack to turn up with the Jacobs' boys behind. Instead, their eager faces begin to fall, and Jack runs straight up to the penthouse. He tells them eventually, and the lodgings don't feel the same as they used to anymore, not without the infectious laugh that follows the two wherever they go.

It's a long week, until finally Davey and Les join the line to pay for their papers. It's Crutchie who spots them first, and the boys run to crowd their friends. Les looks like he's eating up every bit of fame it takes, although Jack can see the protective grip he has on his older brother's hand.

"What? You miss me?" Davey asks, as Jack watches him smiling at the sight before him.

"Don't do that again," Race says, barging in to be the first to give Davey a hug. "You had us worried sick. I couldn't win a game of cards for days."

"I'm sorry that I through you off, your game" Davey says, as Specs is the next person to hug him, Les still holding onto him with a strong clutch. "Guys, I'm okay. I swear. Got it all out of my system."

One by one the Newsies say their hellos, and get on with their days, but before he catches up with the two, he watches Davey divide his share with Les, giving the young boy a few more papes than usual. Jack joins them then, puts his satchel around his arm, and he tells Les to run ahead to some women in the park talking.

"You really scared me Dave," Jack says, and watches as Davey's eyes wander from his excitable brother to his selling partner. "I saw you one night, when the docs were all crowded round you. And I just kept dreaming that I'd wake up and you weren't with us no more."

"Hey, hey. Jack, it's me. I'm here. I'm here and I'm okay," Davey says, grabbing Jack's hand. There's no one too close by, so Davey seemingly decides to risk such a bold move. "I'm really sorry that I scared you like that, but it's okay now."

Jack looks down at their hands, and wishes he could capture this moment with his new paint. Instead, he begins to trace the lines on Davey's hands. "I was afraid you wouldn't know just how much you mean to me."

"Jack -"

"You can't go anywhere, okay? Because I can't stop thinking about you and it's driving me crazy. I was too cowardly to say it before, but you've been it for me. And I've been crazy gone after you from the very beginning."

"Okay," Davey says, and Jack watches him.

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll stay. Here with you, for as long as you'll let me."

Les runs up to them, dime in his hand before he looks at them both. "Gross. Come on, these papes won't sell themselves!"

Jack watches the kid run off, proud as punch, and he wraps an arm around Davey's shoulder, bumping into him. "One day I'll have you selling like him."

Davey pokes him in the side, before laughing to himself. "Oh shut up. You're the worse."

"You love it though."

"Yeah," Davey says, staring earnestly into Jack's eyes. "I really do."

[momentswithmani]

As I arrived to the place, I had a smooth check in. Although I was on a pretty lengthy line, I was still able to go in the front of the stage. DJ Miss Milan was also encouraging more folks to move closer to the stage, which was reassuring. I was dancing a lot to the music she was playing, and she would notice me being so lit a couple of times.

Once she started playing “Water” by Tyla, she decided to hold a contest for free tickets. Two young black women were doing the choreo for the song. DJ Milan was like “make some noise if you think this person went hard” to both of them. Afterwards, she was like “it’s unfair to put two black queens together, so you both get a free ticket!” Which I thought was dope.

Fast forwarding to my queen, fave, and amazingly multitalented artist Rakiyah’s chance to perform. She had a dope entrance. It was giving space galaxy, alien communication type of entrance. One part of her outfit was lit up, and her aesthetic was *chef kiss*. I made it a mission to get noticed easily by her in the crowd. I yelled “I love you Rakiyah!”, she responded “I love you too baby!” and I was hyped. She performed for the rest of the show as an opening act, and I was vibing along.

The headliner named Jai’Len Josey put on a great performance too. It’s my first time knowing about her, and I knew I needed to tap into her discography! I was right near her family + best friend whom I complimented. She does RnB herself, and got the crowd lit with her amazing energy. It gave me the impression majority of the people in the crowd were there for her, which was dope.

After the show, I figured I’ll go to the back where they were selling merch. I went over to her section, saw she was standing near, and I freaked out. I went up to her, and asked for a selfie first. Then, I told her who I was, and that I’m the girl she saw in the front of the crowd. I proceeded to tell her about me discovering her since around 2018.

From her music video “Like You”, to us interacting on Twitter, to me interacting with her in her Discord group chat, we slowly started to build history. As soon as I mentioned Discord, she was like “was that the conversation when we talked about my artist development + me needing recommendations?” I responded “yes, that was the convo!”.

At the time, I was willing to give her some critiques, such as posting more of the content that helps her get around, and the type of videos that work for her the most. Around the end of that convo, I told her my name Mani/Amani. It was a way for her to remember me, since I consistently had the name MomentsWithMani. She said, “wow, I can finally put a face to the name”. I responded, “yep, this is all me!”.

I was telling her how proud I was of her journey, how good her performance was, how on brand and dope the intro to her performance was, and started telling her how much of her merch I have. One of the key merch, was the poster she was giving out from one of her first releases that she signed that I still have on my wall. I also have her “Like You” poster and a tshirt of her. I also got a keychain from her some years back.

I also asked about her outfit, which unsurprisingly she put it together herself like the creative queen she is! She expressed her sentiments on how grateful and appreciative she was of my support. How I’m one of her biggest “Rockets” (her fandom name), and she was in awe of me being around and contributing to her journey in my own way. Her finding out I was the one in the front who was also the same person that interacted with her for years online, her face was giving 🤯😦😧😲.

She was just like “wow”. I explained to her that I’ve waited years to meet her after following her for a while now, and I was glad to get the opportunity of seeing her perform. I came out to show her support, since it was very necessary that I do so. She had thanked me, and appreciated the support I’ve had towards her throughout the years. As we said our farewells, I was in a high about me interacting with her in person for the first time, and the experience was way better than I expected.

[punkrockdentalplan]

CREAM OF THE CRAP

From Meatbreath to Meatskid, finding the Worst Band in America just wasn't as easy as we had imagined. Mark Blackwell explains.

Hell is full of musical amateurs: Music is the brandy of the damned. - George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman

IT WAS THE BIGGEST STORM TO HIT MANHATTAN IN DECADES. Subways flooded. Bridges closed. Scuba divers were deployed to rescue motorists on the FDR freeway. Yet a lone soul braved the torrential rains, stumbling up Sixth Avenue with a massive garbage bag stuffed with packages. That soul was me and that bag was the fourth load of crap sent in by hundreds of bands, each of which swore it sucked worse than the rest. I painfully plunged from Spin to the residence of our ad departments Fred McIntyre for yet another dreary listening session.

It started quite innocently, with a contest under the headline "Do You Suck?": "So you and some other losers got together and tried to start a band? None of you can play your instruments, carry a tune, or write a decent song even if your lives depend upon it? ... Well, congratulations! You win!" The constant barrage of material from pathetic excuses for bands that record companies are forever hawking had sparked the idea: If this stuff is marketable entertainment, i.e. good music, just think what the bad stuff out there must sound like.

The rats come out of the woodwork for the $500 prize. Everyone seemed to have a terrible band, and those who didn't rushed to start one. By the deadline, we amassed six large trash bags of submissions. In the next two days, the mail filled yet another bag. (Late entries weren't disqualified. Any true Worst Band wouldn't;t necessarily be punctual.)

Fred and I convened to begin judgment. The first candidate was Meatbreath's metallic failure, Givin' Grandma the Sausage. Next came Iron Dog's not-so-aptly titled We Know How To Rock. Then Headwound, Rectal Pizza, Uncouth Bastards, Choking Victim, and Up the Horses Ass. It became increasingly clear this wasn't going to be a pleasant experience. Finally Fred lost it. As we listened to entry 68, the Inbreeders from Hazelwood, Missouri, he jerked he repulsive tape from the stereo and began stomping it to pieces. We called it a day.

Every wretched band was eventually given the spotlight. The social calendar of Contributing Editor Jonathan Bernstein, the third prospective juror, suddenly became unusually full, but he managed to show up for a few of the sessions. The "system" became more and more informal. The first day everything was indexed in computer files. That soon degenerated into notebook scribbles for only the worst. Anything that upset Fred's roommates dog Pogue was given special consideration. We lost official count at around 300. It was a mess. It took forever.

"What are you looking for?" people asked. "What makes a band really suck?" Massachusetts contender Mess put it perfectly: "Any garage band that can play out of tune and puke on stage (at least we can). But to truly suck, you have to be a complete disappointment." Very good point. (Mess was disqualified for being too smart.) Musically (to use the term loosely), most of the stuff was poorly recorded, sloppy punk rock -- not much worse than the stuff SPIN's Assistant Research Editor Daniel Fidler can frequently be found enjoying. Anything we figured he'd listen to was disqualified as being too "good." Another large percentage ran the gamut from goofy rock in the Ween vein to pure jokey-novelty stuff. This included bands that simply changed the words to popular hits. (Ohio's Martha McMillan pushed the cover version category to the extreme with her stirring vocal-only renditions of two entire Siouzse and the Banshees albums.) Rap, country, metal -- you name it, we got it, and it was bad.

The dominant trend thematically was , to put it bluntly, shit. Several bands, including Steaming Pile, wrote their bios on toilet paper. Somewhere around the 200 package, there surfaced an odorous entry that included much more than writing on it's roll. We weren't amused. The members of New Hampshire's Flux set out to disgust with a video showcasing themselves throwing up. The wannabe punk pukers were also documented shoplifting and setting dead animals on fire. Sex was a popular theme, but less popular than disease.

Perks were plentiful. Men w/out Underwear sent a "promotional quiche lorraine." Condoms, home-made shirts, soap, chalk, and cigarettes were popular promo items. The Electric Sex Hens mailed the largest package, which included many "bribes" such as a broken watch, cheap sunglasses, and more useless toys.

We somehow narrowed it down to three finalists: Oklahoma's Wood Pussy, California's Sheriffs [sic] of the Apocalypse [sic], and Florida's Scraping Teeth.

Wood Pussy specializes in loud noise rock performed in the nude. Its video included a less-than-lovely segment in which a beer bottle was employed by one of the band's female members in a manner that makes Madonna's mineral water bottle scene look like Sesame Street. Wood Pussy, however, was much more a performance art group than a band.

Interestingly enough, the Sheriffs of the Apocalypse were signed to Indiana's UGCO, a fine label we uncovered, which caters expressly to really terrible music. The Sheriffs were indeed bad enough to be separated from the pack, but upon close examination they weren't much worse than groups on certain metal labels. Finally, after much debate, we settled on Scraping Teeth.

The Teeth are bad. They're painfully boring. They try to shock. They fail. They try to frighten. They fail. They're sort of like what you'd get if you took one of those "scary" monotonous bands such as Skinny Puppy or Swans, and got rid of everything remotely interesting and clever. Tiresome, effects-ridden guitar and weak vocals from Rat Bastard. Flat, plodding bass and weak vocals from Fishfungus. Out-of-sync, sloppy drums and weak screaming from Dimthingshine. And, unlike many of the entrants, they're a real band, not a joke -- three years old and still suck. Congratulations, Scraping Teeth. You're the Worst Band in America.

Those of you who were just too damn good to win, don't despair. Keep not practicing and watch for the next Worst Band in America contest. Not here, of course. You think we'd go through this again?

AND THE LOSER IS ... SCRAPING TEETH

All that young James Rite knew was that the cover of the first King Crimson album -- the big, red face caught in a silent scream -- "looked really cool." He had no notion thhat one day he'd give voice to that scream. Soon he started listening to experimental jazz, then a little Stockhausen, and it all began falling into place. Now he drums and yells under the nom de plume Dimthingshine with the Miami-based trio, Scraping Teeth, whose repertoire of one long dissonant, atonal, relentless ache. Sure, the set list purports to feature individual tunes such as "Blow Me While I Shit" and "Mary Had a Fucking Goat," but this is a journey beyond the pain threshold, where there are no stops and the driver is some sort of Nazi dentist who won't stop screaming!

So James, you are in the Worst Band in America. How do you feel? "I feel like I just won something on The Dating Game," he gushes, breathlessly. "I hope my screams had something to do with it."

The accolade occurred at a juncture in the Teeth's career when the members were rather despondent about the band's local standing. "Other bands hate to open for us or follow us," says Rite. "They get scared. They don't want to talk to me after they've seen me screaming." And the audiences? "There have been a couple of incidents. People try to start fights.

However, this belated recognition has imbued the trio -- Rite, bassist Isaac "Fishfungus" Ersoff, and guitarist Frank "Rat Bastard" Falestra -- with new optimism: "We went into the studio the other night 'cause this got us excited. It's pretty much the same. I say to the guys, 'Let's sit down and work out a tune,' but nobody wants to. We never practice. Anything we do, we make up on the spot." (At press time, Scraping Teeth had gone on something of a hiatus. Apparently, someone just stole James Rite's drums from the back of his car. His luck just never ends.)

JONATHAN BERNSTEIN

May 1993 issue.

[storiesforallfandoms]

stop disrespecting my partner ~  pete davidson

word count: 1897

request?: yes!

“Can you write a genderfluid fic she/they where Pete Davidson and his friends comfort the reader after the media constantly misgenders them? Also can you have it end with Pete and the reader going back home and cuddling.”

description: it’s not hard to respect someone’s pronouns, but it seems like the media has a hard time doing it for his partner, which greatly pisses him off

pairing: pete davidson x genderfluid!reader

warnings: swearing, misgendering

masterlist (one, two)

It’s not that hard to respect someone’s pronouns and gender. It’s not hard to fact check before you publish an article, just to make sure you’re using the right pronouns and not disrespecting someone. A quick Google search, it would take all of maybe ten minutes.

But I guess whoever writes these tabloid articles don’t have the time for a quick Google search, no matter how many times I’ve publicly stated that my pronouns are she/they and that I’m genderfluid.

The first time it happened was after Pete and I were spotted out together for the first time. A paparazzi saw us out on a date and took some pictures, which ended up all over the Internet mere seconds later. The original site that posted them had titled their article, “Pete Davidson spotted with new girlfriend! Check out their adorable breakfast date here!”. Somehow, within that short amount of time, the website had been able to find out my name and spread it throughout the article alongside words such as “she”, “her”, and “girlfriend”.

Pete and I weren’t upset. We figured we’d be going public about our relationship soon enough. I took to my Twitter, which had blown up since the pictures and articles were posted, to share one of the articles and added, “Just a heads up for future journalists, I’m genderfluid and go by she/they. Pete refers to me as his “partner”, not girlfriend. Flattered by the sudden popularity though :)”.

I figured that would set things straight. Of course I didn’t care when people called me “she” or “her”, but I did want to encourage anyone and everyone to also call me “they” and “them”, and preferred to correct the title Pete used for me.

Fast forward a few months and another article was published about Pete and I. This one was after Pete had mentioned me in his most recent interview, where he (in the words of the article’s author) gushed about our relationship and how happy he was to be with me. I would’ve been excited for the article, maybe I would’ve even felt a little excited and fuzzy, if it wasn’t for the headline.

“Pete Davidson gushes about girlfriend, (Y/N), during his appearance on The Late Show”.

The word stared back at me, yet another challenge by another ignorant journalist.

“Girlfriend”.

It was funny cause the quote they used in the article from Pete directly referred to me as “my partner”, and even the host of the talk show had referred to me as such. It was just an intentional misgendering for no reason, just like the rest of the articles written about us.

It was becoming hard to ever go online. Every time something was posted about me, I’d have to see yet another post that included me being misgendered, which just fueled the fire of those who liked to hate on me just because I was dating Pete. It was getting to be mentally draining and I really just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.

Acting on impulse after seeing that article, I deleted all my social media accounts without a second thought. I threw my phone onto the bed next to me and decided to get lost in a new series on Netflix in order to keep my mind off of everything.

I was three episodes deep when my phone rang. I was so invested that I didn’t even look at my caller ID as I answered. “Hello?”

“Hey,” came Pete’s voice.

I smiled to myself and paused the show. “Hey babe. How’s it going?”

“Oh you know, same shit, different day. Got another talk show tonight.”

“Guess I’m staying up all night to watch it again.”

He chuckled. “Listen, it’s probably not a big deal or anything, but why did you delete your social media?”

I cringed to myself. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice since he wasn’t on social media either, but someone must’ve told him. Or it was all over the celebrity news already that I had deleted my accounts.

“I figured I’d distance myself from social media for a while. For my mental health,” I explained. “The same way you did.”

“For the same reason I did?”

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. “Maybe.”

“Honey, you don’t have to tell me, but you do know I’m here for you no matter what, right?”

“I know you are.” I laid back on the couch and sighed again, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m just tired of seeing people misgender me. The tabloids do it all the time whenever they write about me, and it’s just encouraging people who don’t like me to purposely do it knowing I’ll see it. I’m just over it. I want to get as far away from that shit as I possibly can.”

Pete was quiet for a minute. I wished I could be with him to see what his reaction was. I knew he was very protective over me, especially on this topic, but I didn’t want him getting too upset on my behalf. This was my shit, I should be the one to deal with it.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” he finally said.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not your fault. People are just ignorant and shitty. There’s not much I can do besides ignoring it, which is why I deleted social media.”

There was a voice on the other end before Pete said, “Sorry babe, I gotta go get ready for the interview. Are you gonna watch?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I’ll watch.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have even asked.” I could hear the smile on his face and couldn’t help but smile back. “I love you. Call you tomorrow.”

“I love you, too.”

~~~~~~

I was half asleep when the alarm I set to remind me about Pete’s interview went off, startling me back to consciousness. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and switched to the channel that was playing the talk show. Pete wouldn’t be on it for a while, so I took this as my opportunity to get a glass of water and a snack while the intro stuff played.

When he finally came out, he was all smiles and waving to the cheering audience. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a blazer over it; classic Pete fashion, but he still looked adorable none the less.

He sat down across from the host, who thanked him for being on the show.

“Thanks for having me, man,” Pete responded.

They went on to talk about Pete’s newest project, showing a clip from the movie before going on to talk about it for a while. He talked about SNL and how he was excited to get back to working on that, even though he was equally as excited to be working on his own solo projects. The crowd cheered when he teased a potential new stand up special, which was totally in the works but he couldn’t talk about it yet.

“I won’t spend half the set joking about my ex-fiancée this time,” he joked. “I’m actually in a happy, long lasting relationship.”

“Good for you, man. You seem really happy with (Y/N),” the host said.

“I am,” Pete said with a wide smile. The smile slowly fell, however, as he added, “But I’m not too happy with the people who write about them, or us.”

The host’s eyebrows furrowed together. “What do you mean?”

Pete sighed and shifted in his seat. “Well you see, before I came out here, it was brought to my attention that an article was written about me from the last late night show I was on when I talked about (Y/N), and the author of that article decided to misgender (Y/N), and to seemingly use the wrong terminology about them on purpose.”

I had my glass of water half raised to my lips and froze at the mention of me. I put my glass down and moved to sit at the very edge of my seat, my eyes glued to the screen as if I were watching the most important thing in my entire life.

“I’ve talked about it before, and they have too on their Twitter, but (Y/N) is genderfluid,” Pete explained. “Usually goes by she/they pronouns, which means that when talking about them you can use “she” and “her”, but sometimes they prefer “they” and “them”, which is what I usually call them. And they prefer the term “partner” over “girlfriend”, so I call them my partner.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” the host said, gesturing for Pete to continue.

“In the time that the two of us have been together, every time there’s an article written or paparazzi photos taken, they misgender (Y/N). They use she/her pronouns and they constantly call her my girlfriend, despite the times both of us have spoken out about it. And now it’s gotten so bad that (Y/N) deleted their social media accounts today because it was getting to them mentally. So, I just wanna say, here on national TV, that anyone who thinks it’s okay to purposely misgender my partner and not respect their wishes is disrespectful as hell and an absolute asshole, and I hope you lose your jobs because if you can’t even respect someone’s pronouns you don’t deserve to have a writing job.”

The crowd started cheering for Pete as the host clapped as well and told him his speech was incredible. I zoned out the rest of the interview as I just thought about what Pete had said. I was so shocked I didn’t even notice that they had moved on from his segment into something else.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Pete’s number. It rang a few times before he answered with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Oh shit,” I said. “I forgot about time differences, did I wake you?”

“No,” he said. “Well, you did, but it’s not late here or anything. I was just feeling tired so I decided to try and nap. What’s up? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just...I was just watching your interview.”

“Oh.” He sounded more awake now. “Are you...you’re not upset with me, right?”

“Oh my God, no! Of course not! What you said in that interview was honestly the most amazing thing anyone has done for me.”

He chuckled a little. “It can’t have been that amazing.”

“You’d be surprised. Not everyone I’ve dated has been as understanding with my gender identity as you are. Most the people I’ve been with would prefer to call me she/her and call me their girlfriend even if I wasn’t comfortable with that, and others just didn’t really understand all that much.”

“See, that’s just shitty. You don’t deserve people like that in your life.”

“I know,” I said, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “They’re not in my life anymore. You are.”

I could hear his smile as he responded, “That’s true, and I’m forever grateful that you’re mine.”

“Come home soon, will you? I really miss you. The bed is too empty when I’m alone.”

“I promise I’ll be home as soon as possible.”

“I love you, you know.”

“I know, and I love you too.”