#a superstar and he thinks about her all the time and he watches her games and blushes. you have to know | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

its-avalon-08 · 6 months ago

Note

Could you write something where reader and Lando have been in a relationship and reader has a heart condition and she never told Lando so he didn’t stress about her and to focus on racing, and Lando and her brake up because he stupidly told her he wants to focus on racing this year and after she left he realised his mistake as all the little things reader did for him before a race are all gone and everything just feels wrong and when he tries to contact her he can’t find her until a few weeks later he gets a call from the hospital that reader has fallen unconscious and when he gets there he then learns about her heart condition and that stress is not good for her heart. But happy ending.

heart flutters (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort, heart condition

The morning sun slipped through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Lando’s bedroom. Y/N was lying beside him, her hand resting on his chest, her breathing soft and steady. Lando felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

He couldn’t quite remember when his mornings had become this perfect, but he knew Y/N had something to do with it.

She shifted, blinking awake, and her sleepy smile met his gaze. “Good morning, love,” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," he replied, kissing her forehead. "Did you sleep okay?"

“Always do when I’m with you,” she replied, snuggling closer. “Although I could do without you hogging the blanket,” she teased, giving him a playful poke.

Lando laughed, pulling her closer. “Alright, alright, I’ll work on it.”

These mornings together, the lazy Sundays and cozy, laughter-filled moments, were Y/N’s specialty. She seemed to know exactly what he needed, especially on race days. She’d wake up early with him, helping him calm his nerves and making sure he had everything he needed. And every time, he’d find some new way she was taking care of him, even if it was something small—like hiding a little note in his helmet, wishing him luck.

“Hey,” Y/N said, watching his thoughtful expression. “You okay?”

Lando nodded. “Just thinking about how lucky I am,” he admitted, his voice soft.

Y/N blushed, rolling her eyes a little. “You’re getting sappy on me, Norris.”

“Just telling it like it is,” he replied, smiling as he watched her try to hide her smile.

They went about their morning, with Y/N humming along to the soft music playing in the kitchen as she made breakfast. She slid a plate across to Lando, along with a steaming cup of his favorite coffee. He took a sip, sighing in contentment. She’d even managed to get his coffee just right.

"Alright, mister," she said with a smirk, sitting down beside him. "What's the game plan today?"

"Game plan?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you were the expert at making my plans.”

“Maybe,” she replied, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But I like to think I’m just the support. You’re the superstar here.”

Lando rolled his eyes, chuckling. “You’re more than support, Y/N. You’re… you’re my everything, you know that?”

Y/N smiled, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, something he didn’t notice, too wrapped up in the moment. She covered it up with a quick laugh, brushing it off. “And you’re mine. Just… try not to get too cocky on track, alright?”

He laughed, squeezing her hand. “Can’t make any promises.”

Their relationship was filled with moments like these—easy, natural, just them being themselves. Y/N grounded him, kept him steady, especially when the world of racing felt overwhelming. She never burdened him with anything else, always making sure his focus was on the track. And she always brushed off his attempts to give back, saying his happiness was all she needed.

But it was Lando who felt like he needed her more than he’d ever admit.

As they finished breakfast, she reached out, taking his hand. "You'll do amazing, Lando," she said quietly. "You always do."

"I only do so well because of you, you know that?" he replied, squeezing her hand.

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes again, but there was warmth there, too. “Alright, alright, enough with the sweet talk. Go focus on your race and be the best you can be out there. That’s all I ask.”

Lando leaned in, kissing her softly. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Norris,” she replied, grinning as she kissed him back.

As he left for the track, he felt a familiar sense of calm wash over him. Y/N had this way of making everything feel right, grounding him no matter what lay ahead. He knew, deep down, that he’d never be able to thank her enough for everything she did for him.

And for Y/N, watching him walk out the door with that smile, she knew that was exactly how she wanted it to be.

It was late, and the rain was tapping against the window of Lando’s apartment as he paced back and forth, hands tangled in his hair. The 2024 season had been brutal, every race pushing him to his limit, the pressure of a potential world championship win weighing on him like a mountain. He could practically taste the victory, but the stress of it all had made him someone he barely recognized.

Y/N was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as she watched him pace. She’d noticed it for weeks now, the way he was shutting her out, snapping at her for even the smallest things, as if she were just another distraction.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice sharp. “Lando, can you stop pacing for two seconds and talk to me?”

He stopped, sighing heavily as he turned to face her. “What do you want me to say, Y/N?” he muttered. “That I’m exhausted? That I can’t focus with all of this going on?”

“All of this?” she echoed, hurt flashing across her face. “What’s ‘all of this,’ exactly? Because I thought we were a team, Lando. I thought I was helping you!”

“Helping me?” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, I have to focus. Every race, every lap, every second counts right now. I can’t… I don’t have time to be dealing with you—”

“Dealing with me?” Her voice was sharp, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Lando, I’ve done nothing but support you. Every single time you’re struggling, I’m here. And now you’re telling me I’m… I’m a distraction?”

He clenched his fists, too frustrated to back down. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! Every time I’m around you, I feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions. I need to focus on racing, Y/N. I need this championship.”

“And what about us, Lando?” she demanded, standing up, her own anger now matching his. “Do I mean anything to you anymore, or am I just some inconvenience? Because that’s exactly how you’re making me feel.”

He looked away, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Maybe it’s just not working anymore.”

Her eyes widened, the pain in them unmistakable. She took a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper. “So that’s it? Just like that? You’re giving up on us?”

“Maybe I am,” he snapped, though even as he said it, something twisted painfully in his chest. “Maybe I need to focus on my career. I can’t have anyone holding me back right now.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Holding you back? I’m holding you back, Lando? After everything I’ve done? The sacrifices I’ve made, the nights I stayed up worrying for you, the races I watched, praying you’d come home safe… that’s ‘holding you back’?”

“You just don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice softer now but still laced with frustration. “You don’t get the pressure I’m under, Y/N. I have a chance to win this championship, and I can’t be thinking about anything else.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she replied, her tone cold. “You’ve let this championship turn you into someone I barely recognize. The Lando I knew would have never pushed me away like this.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said, the words hitting her like a slap.

She swallowed hard, the hurt on her face plain to see. But she wasn’t about to let him get away with this. “You’re right,” she replied, her voice trembling with anger. “Maybe I don’t know you anymore. Because the man I fell in love with would have never treated me like this. He wouldn’t have thrown away everything we have because he’s too blinded by his own ambition.”

“Fine,” he spat, his anger still raging. “Maybe you should just leave, then.”

Silence fell between them, the weight of his words settling like a stone in the room. Y/N stared at him, her eyes filling with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“Don’t worry, Lando,” she said, her voice breaking slightly as she grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your precious championship.”

She turned toward the door, but stopped just before leaving, looking back at him one last time. “I hope it’s worth it, Lando. I really do.”

And with that, she was gone, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing in the silence of the apartment.

Lando stood there, the anger that had been burning inside him now replaced by a hollow ache. He’d gotten what he’d wanted—he was free to focus on his racing. But as he looked around the empty room, he realized just how empty his life felt without her.

Lando sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the silence pressing in on him like a weight he couldn’t shake off. It had been two weeks since Y/N had walked out. At first, he told himself he’d done the right thing, that he needed to focus on racing, that he couldn’t afford any distractions. But now, all he could feel was the aching void she’d left behind.

Race weekend had come, and the pre-race routines—the moments that had once been so seamless, so comforting—now felt cold and empty. His helmet was sitting on the counter, untouched. There were no little notes tucked into his bag, no reminders to stay safe, no lucky charm slipped into his hand just before he left for the track. Y/N had always known what to do, how to make him feel like he could conquer the world. Now, everything just felt wrong.

He leaned against the counter, clutching the edge, his heart pounding as he stared down at his helmet. The knot in his chest tightened with each passing second, a harsh reminder of how badly he’d messed up.

“Lando?” Max entered the room, noticing his tense expression. “You alright, mate? You don’t look yourself.”

Lando managed a hollow smile, waving him off. “I’m fine.”

But Max wasn’t convinced. He took a seat across from him, eyeing him carefully. “You’ve been off these past few weeks. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Yeah, just… racing stress, you know?” Lando muttered, though he knew it was a lie. It wasn’t racing stress—it was Y/N. She’d been his anchor, the one person who made him feel like he was more than just a driver. Without her, he felt like he was falling apart.

Max raised an eyebrow, skeptical but respectful enough not to push further. “Alright, well… if you need anything, let me know. You know I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Lando replied, trying to keep his voice steady. But as Max left, the emptiness clawed at him even more fiercely. He glanced back down at his helmet, the silence in the room growing louder, deafening.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He slumped down onto the floor, burying his face in his hands as memories flooded him. He remembered the way Y/N would look at him with those warm eyes, her voice filled with gentle reassurance.

The more Lando went through his days, the more he noticed just how much Y/N had been woven into every corner of his life. Each time he stumbled over a small moment they used to share, it was like a painful reminder of how deeply he had messed up.

Race Day Routine

When he sat down for breakfast the morning of his next race, he instinctively reached for the small bag she’d usually leave out for him—one filled with his favorite snacks, electrolyte packets, and a note in her neat handwriting that usually said, “For that extra boost, love. You’ve got this.” Every race day morning, she’d make sure his essentials were perfectly packed, knowing how easily he’d forget them in the rush.

But the counter was empty, and so were his hands. There was no note, no bag, no encouraging message. He’d scoffed at how overprotective she’d been, thinking he could handle it himself. Now, as he fumbled to prepare for his race on his own, the empty counter felt like a gaping hole in his chest.

Before the Race

In the paddock, he felt it again, the silence louder than ever. Y/N would always make sure to slip away with him for just a moment before he stepped into the garage, giving him a quiet pep talk when he needed it most. Her words, so full of calm and warmth, used to steady him, keeping the pressure from crushing him. She’d take his face in her hands, look him straight in the eyes, and remind him, “It’s just you and the track. Nothing else matters. Drive like only you can.”

He’d rolled his eyes at her sometimes, told her he didn’t need the cheesy encouragement—but she’d insisted anyway, saying, “Well, too bad, because you’re getting it.” Her words were like armor, a shield she’d wrapped around him before every race.

Now, standing alone by his car, he could feel the pressure creeping in, gnawing at him, and there was nothing to keep it at bay. He glanced around, almost expecting to see her in the crowd, but of course, she wasn’t there.

Late Nights in the Simulator

Back at the team facility, he spent more time than ever practicing, pushing himself harder, trying to keep his mind from drifting back to her. But even here, she’d left her mark. On the long nights, Y/N used to bring him coffee, perfectly made just the way he liked it, and sit beside him, giving him quiet company. She wouldn’t say much, just enough to keep his spirits up, occasionally throwing him an encouraging smile as he took lap after lap in the simulator.

And when he’d get frustrated, when he’d curse and slam his fists on the table, she’d place a calming hand on his shoulder, reminding him, “You’re Lando Norris, you can do this. Don’t let the tough laps get to you. Breathe.”

Now, he sat there, tense and alone, his coffee lukewarm and forgotten. No hand to steady him, no quiet reassurance. The simulator felt cold, and so did he.

At Home, Late at Night

Even the nights felt wrong. Y/N had always insisted on turning on the small night light for him, a tiny habit she’d developed when she realized that he hated stumbling around in the dark after a race, too exhausted to find his way. He’d teased her about it, saying he didn’t need it, but she’d laugh, saying, “Well, one of us does.” She’d make sure it was on for him every night she stayed over, like clockwork.

Tonight, he sat in the pitch-black room, the silence pressing in, the absence of the warm glow almost suffocating. He clenched his fists, swallowing against the ache that was rising in his throat. He missed her laugh, her teasing, the tiny acts of love she’d filled his life with.

Flashback

“You’re going to be amazing today, Lando,” she’d whisper, holding his hand just before he stepped onto the track. “Just remember, it’s not about winning or losing to me. I love you just the same, no matter what.”

And he’d feel his nerves melt away. She had a way of making him feel like he could face anything.

Now, without her, the fear crept back in, gnawing at him from the inside.

He pressed his palms into his eyes, a shaky breath escaping him. “God… what have I done?”

Every little thing she used to do, every act of kindness, every word of encouragement—he’d taken it all for granted. He thought he could focus better without her, that his life would be easier. But instead, all he felt was the emptiness of her absence, like a cold shadow in every corner.

His phone buzzed on the counter, and his heart jumped, a surge of desperate hope flooding him as he reached for it. But it was just a message from his manager.

Frustration tore through him, and he tossed his phone down, clenching his fists. He could still hear her voice in his head, her words from their last fight haunting him.

Flashback to Their Argument

“Don’t worry, Lando,” she’d said bitterly, her voice cracking. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your precious championship.”

He remembered her eyes, red and tear-filled, as she looked at him one last time, filled with a pain he’d caused. He remembered thinking he was doing the right thing, choosing his career, telling himself he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered to himself, feeling a tear slip down his cheek.

Everything felt different without her. The things he used to love—the rush of the track, the thrill of competition—they all felt meaningless now. He was pushing himself harder than ever, but it wasn’t out of passion. It was to numb the ache she’d left behind, to keep himself from falling apart.

But no matter how fast he drove, how hard he pushed, he couldn’t outrun the realization.

Race Day Morning

He stood in front of the mirror, suit half-zipped, his hands gripping the sink as he stared at his own reflection. His face looked drawn, the shadows under his eyes deep. The loneliness, the guilt, the regret—it was all written there, plain as day.

“You look terrible,” he muttered to himself, voice hollow.

He remembered the way she’d stand beside him, fixing his collar, laughing as she reminded him to keep his head cool. And now, all he had was his own reflection staring back at him, mocking him with his own emptiness.

Finally, the weight became too much, and he grabbed his phone, his fingers shaking as he typed her number. He didn’t know what he was going to say, didn’t know if she’d even answer. But he couldn’t keep going like this. He needed to apologize, to tell her how wrong he’d been, how much he missed her.

The phone rang, each ring feeling like an eternity. Just as he was about to give up, her voicemail clicked on.

“Hey, it’s Y/N… leave a message.”

He swallowed hard, the sound of her voice hitting him like a punch to the gut. Taking a shaky breath, he spoke, his voice breaking.

“Y/N… it’s me. I… I don’t know if you’ll ever listen to this, but I just… I’m so sorry.” His voice trembled, each word spilling out like a confession. “I was wrong, okay? I thought I needed to focus, but without you… everything’s falling apart. I miss you. I miss… us. Please… please just… call me back.”

He hung up, feeling the weight of his own words settle over him. But there was nothing else he could do now, except hope—hope that somehow, she might still care, might still give him a chance to fix the mess he’d made.

Lando had tried everything. He’d called, texted, even reached out to her friends, hoping someone could tell him where she was. But no one had any information; she’d slipped away completely. Days turned into weeks, and with each one, the realization sank deeper: she might never come back.

One night, Lando sat alone in his apartment, drained and unfocused, his phone resting on the coffee table. His mind was restless, jumping between regret and desperation, reliving their last fight, the look in her eyes as she’d walked out.

Then, the phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He grabbed it without thinking, not even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Is this Lando Norris?” a calm, professional voice asked.

“Uh… yeah, this is him,” Lando replied, his heart pounding.

“This is Dr. Kapoor from St. Thomas Hospital. You’re listed as an emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N.”

Lando’s stomach dropped, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes, yes, that’s me… is she alright? What happened?”

“She was brought in unconscious a few hours ago,” the doctor explained. “We’ve stabilized her, but we’d like you to come in as soon as possible.”

Lando didn’t need to hear anything else. He muttered a frantic “I’m on my way” before grabbing his keys and running out the door.

The drive to the hospital felt endless, each passing second stretching painfully as he sped down the empty streets. His mind raced with possibilities, the worst scenarios creeping in, twisting his insides. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly they were white.

By the time he burst through the hospital doors, he was gasping for breath, his heart pounding as he frantically searched for her room. A nurse pointed him down the hall, and he bolted, not caring how he looked, just needing to see her, to know she was alright.

He found her room and stopped, momentarily frozen by the sight before him. Y/N lay in the hospital bed, pale and fragile, wires and monitors surrounding her. The steady beep of her heart monitor filled the room, grounding him slightly, but the sight of her like this tore at him. Slowly, he stepped forward, his throat tight, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Just as he was about to speak, the doctor entered.

“Mr. Norris?” Dr. Kapoor’s voice was gentle, sensing his distress.

Lando nodded, barely able to manage a word. “What… what happened to her?”

Dr. Kapoor took a deep breath, her expression softening. “Y/N has a heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It’s a condition that can be exacerbated by stress, which could lead to fainting or, in severe cases, even heart failure.”

Lando’s face fell, his voice barely a whisper. “She… she never told me.”

“She might not have wanted to worry you,” the doctor said. “It’s common for patients with this condition to keep it private, especially if they think it might place a burden on others.”

Lando’s heart twisted, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realized why she’d never mentioned it. She hadn’t wanted him to stress, to worry, especially during the season when he’d been under so much pressure. She’d always put him first, even to the point of hiding something so serious.

He took a shaky breath, blinking back tears. “Can I… can I see her?”

The doctor nodded. “She’s stable now, and she’ll likely wake up soon. But remember, keeping her calm is crucial. She’ll need rest and minimal stress to recover.”

Lando swallowed, nodding quickly, but he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. “I’ll… I’ll take care of her. I swear.”

Dr. Kapoor offered him a small, understanding smile before leaving the room, giving him a moment alone with Y/N.

Lando stepped closer, reaching out to gently take her hand. His thumb traced over her knuckles, and he noticed how cold her hand felt in his.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have known.”

He sat beside her, the weight of everything hitting him all at once. “I was so… so stupid. I thought I needed to focus on racing, but… God, I was wrong. I was so wrong. You’re… you’re everything, Y/N. None of this means anything without you.”

He stayed like that, holding her hand, his head bowed as he let himself cry for the first time in weeks. All the pride, all the anger—it had melted away, leaving only the raw, aching regret of having pushed away the one person who truly loved him.

After a few minutes, he felt her fingers twitch slightly in his hand. His head shot up, hope flooding his chest as he saw her eyes slowly blink open.

“Y/N?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

She blinked up at him, confusion flickering across her face before her gaze settled on him, and he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. “Lando…?”

He took a deep breath, his grip on her hand tightening. “I’m here. I’m right here, love.”

She tried to sit up, wincing as the monitor beeped slightly faster. Lando was quick to place a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. “Hey, don’t… don’t push yourself. Just… just rest.”

She looked away, her voice barely a whisper. “Why are you here, Lando? I thought… you wanted to focus on racing.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, but he forced himself to face her, to let her see the remorse in his eyes. “I was wrong, Y/N. I was so, so wrong. I thought I needed to do it alone, that I couldn’t let myself get… attached. But all I did was ruin the best thing in my life.”

Her expression softened, and he saw her blinking back tears. “You really hurt me, Lando. I didn’t ask you for much. I just wanted to be there for you, and you… you made me feel like I was a burden.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “And I hate myself for it. You did everything for me, and I didn’t see it until you were gone. I love you, Y/N… I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he reached up, brushing it away with a tenderness that spoke of all the things he wished he’d done sooner. “I’m here now,” he continued. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face, and finally nodded, her hand squeezing his. “You hurt me, Lando. But… I still love you, too.”

Relief flooded his face, and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

For the first time in weeks, Lando felt a spark of hope, knowing he had a chance to rebuild what he’d nearly thrown away. And as he sat beside her, holding her close, he vowed never to let her feel alone again.

Lando had been the perfect caretaker ever since Y/N was discharged from the hospital. He took her straight back to their apartment, rearranging everything in his life to ensure she was comfortable and safe. Every morning, he’d bring her breakfast in bed with a ridiculous grin, complete with heart-shaped toast and fresh orange juice. He filled her day with little surprises—flowers by her bedside, a new stack of her favorite books, and even a fuzzy blanket he’d bought just for her.

One night, Y/N woke up in the middle of the night, instinctively reaching for him, only to find his side of the bed empty. Confused, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. She hadn’t heard him get up, and her heart skipped slightly as worry bubbled up, wondering if something was wrong.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet padding softly as she went to look for him. She found him in the living room, seated on the couch with his laptop open and a small notebook by his side. His hair was tousled, and he had a focused, almost determined expression on his face as he typed something into the search bar.

“Understanding Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy” appeared on the screen, along with several videos, articles, and patient forums. Lando had a pen in his hand, and as he clicked on a video, she watched as he jotted down notes on a page, his handwriting a messy scrawl but full of sincerity. The video’s audio was soft, and she could hear the narrator explaining symptoms, risk factors, and the importance of a low-stress environment.

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she watched him, realizing just how much he was trying to understand, to do anything he could to protect her.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, tapping the pen on the notebook. “Avoid stress… maybe I can start doing a weekly meditation with her or, like… yoga? Yeah, that might help. And… maybe I should keep her work stuff organized so she doesn’t feel overwhelmed.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back any longer. She quietly stepped forward, and Lando jumped slightly when he felt her curl up on his lap, but he immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice tender as he brushed a hand over her hair. “What are you doing awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were soft, full of gratitude and love, and Lando’s heart swelled.

He gave her a sheepish smile, glancing at the open notebook. “I… I wanted to make sure I was doing everything right. I know I’ve messed up before, and I want to be the best I can be for you now. So, I figured… I’d do my homework.”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, blinking back tears. “You’re really… reading up on my condition?”

“Of course I am,” he said, his voice warm but serious. “I need to know how to keep you safe. How to make sure you’re not stressed out or worried, and…” He swallowed, his voice breaking just a bit. “I just want to make everything perfect for you, love.”

She buried her face in his neck, her heart aching in the best way possible. “Lando… you’re already doing more than enough. Just… being here with me, caring for me… it’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“But it doesn’t feel like enough,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’m never going to let you feel alone or unimportant again. You’re my world, Y/N. I want to make sure you’re as healthy and happy as you can be.”

She pulled back, looking at him with watery eyes, a small smile on her face. “Lando, I don’t need perfection. I just need you.”

His expression softened as he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Well, you’re stuck with me,” he said, grinning. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m gonna keep studying this and doing everything I can to make sure you feel safe and loved.”

She laughed through her tears, leaning into his hand. “You already make me feel so loved. I don’t think you even realize it, but you do.”

Lando’s smile turned gentle, and he bent down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because I’m crazy about you, Y/N. I just want to be the person you deserve.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his kiss settle over her, and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re already that person, Lando. You always have been.”

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around her as he held her close. “Good. Because I’m not stopping until I see that smile on your face every single day.”

As Y/N nestled closer into his lap, her attention shifted to the laptop screen, where a doctor was speaking in a calm, measured tone.

“Managing stress is crucial for patients with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy,” the voice on the video explained. “Avoid situations that may induce high emotional stress. For instance, hostile conversations, arguments, or other confrontational exchanges can increase strain on the heart.”

Lando stilled, his gaze fixed on the screen as those words sank in. She could feel him tense beneath her, a flicker of regret passing over his face.

“That… makes sense,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I’ve been so selfish. I didn’t realize that my own stress… my own words… could actually make things worse for you.”

Y/N put her hand on his cheek, urging him to look at her. “Lando, it’s okay—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, meeting her gaze with a deep, remorseful look. “It’s not okay. I didn’t just make things stressful; I let you feel like you couldn’t even tell me what was going on with you. I was so wrapped up in myself… I can’t believe I was so blind.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she watched him, the depth of his regret written all over his face. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “We’re here now. That’s what matters. You’re here, and I know how much you care.”

He exhaled slowly, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter. “I’ll never let stress come between us again, love. I promise.”

They sat together like that, wrapped up in each other, as the rest of the world faded away. Lando continued to stroke her hair, murmuring sweet promises of the future he envisioned for them. And for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt a calm settle over her, knowing that Lando was there, exactly where he wanted to be, and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

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goldfades · 3 months ago

Note

I think it just makes sense for a little blurb about crash out queen going to the lakers game supporting her hubby

I can def see her going super early to watch him warm up (wearing his new jersey obv) and the cameras follow her the whole time, she talks to jj, LeBron, and the rest of the team bc obv they all love her (LeBron brings up her finals logo 3 ofc) and the whole time luka is playing she’s just smiling so hard and being so supportive (but cursing in Slovenian when luka misses a shot hehe)

anyways ilysm my sweetheart superstar

omg this is such a cute way for the debut!!! here ya go, baby, i hope yall enjoy!!

You get to the arena stupidly early.

Like, beat-the-security-checks, lights-aren’t-even-fully-on-yet early.

But there’s no way in hell you’re missing a second of Luka’s Lakers debut—not the warmups, not the pre-game handshakes, not even the way he walks into this new era of his career.

And judging by the cameras that are already tracking your every move, the rest of the world is just as interested.

It’s been like this all day—your arrival getting broadcasted like you’re the one about to drop a 40-point triple-double. Social media’s having a field day with it. Clips of you stepping into Crypto.com Arena in Luka’s brand-new Lakers jersey (custom-fitted, cropped just enough to sit right on your waist) have already gone viral.

“Crash Out Queen in the building.”

“She’s rocking the 77 like she’s about to check in.”

“Nah, she came earlier than the entire Lakers roster, she is SO real for that.”

And honestly?

They’re right.

You step onto the court before most of the team even arrives, your sneakers squeaking against the polished hardwood. The arena is still quiet—just the faint thump of a ball hitting the floor, the occasional echo of voices carrying from the tunnels.

And in the middle of it, getting shots up like he’s the only person in the world, is Luka.

You slow for a second, watching.

He looks good in purple and gold—still unfamiliar, still something you’ll have to get used to, but good. His movements are sharp, effortless, the kind of locked-in you’ve seen a million times before. But there’s something else tonight, something extra in the way he follows through on his shots, in the way his jaw stays tight even when he swishes three after three.

You know that look.

He’s ready—but he’s antsy.

So, naturally, you fix that.

You walk straight onto the court—ignoring the cameras that immediately start flashing, the Lakers staff who pause mid-conversation, the social media team that’s definitely about to clip this—and step right into Luka’s space.

He barely gets the next shot off before you tug at the bottom of his jersey.

“Damn,” you tease, looking up at him. “They actually got you in Lakers colors. Thought you’d combust before putting that on.”

Luka huffs out a laugh, finally breaking focus. His eyes sweep over you, from the cropped version of his jersey to the smug grin you’re throwing at him.

“You really came this early?”

You scoff. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

He smirks, reaching out to hook a finger in your waistband, tugging you just a little closer.

The cameras are eating this up.

Before you can fire back, a familiar voice cuts through.

“Man, she really beat us here?”

You turn just in time to see JJ jogging onto the court, shaking his head in amusement.

You grin. “What can I say? I like to be punctual.”

“Punctual,” JJ repeats, giving Luka a pointed look. “You mean obsessed.”

Luka just shrugs like he doesn’t mind at all, like he’s actually very fine with you showing up before half the damn team.

And speaking of—

“Well, well, well,” a deep voice drawls from the tunnel.

You don’t even have to turn around.

“Here we go,” you mutter under your breath, just as LeBron himself strolls onto the court.

He’s already shaking his head, grinning, like he’s been waiting for this moment. “New York’s finest in the house.”

You cross your arms, smirking. “Gotta check out the new scenery. Make sure my man’s in good hands.”

LeBron laughs. “I know you’re not worried about that.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, he leans in slightly, voice dipping just low enough for the cameras not to catch it.

“So,” he says, a knowing glint in his eyes. “We gonna talk about that finals logo three or what?”

A groan rips out of you before you can stop it. “You too?”

JJ and Luka are already laughing.

LeBron grins. “I mean, I got my fair share of wild shots, but that one?” He shakes his head. “Crazy.”

You point a warning finger at him. “I swear, if you bring that up in a press conference—”

He holds his hands up, all innocence. “Hey, I’m just sayin’. Big time players make big time shots.”

You narrow your eyes. “I will start slandering your free throw percentage.”

LeBron loses it.

JJ has to walk away to keep from doubling over.

And Luka?

Luka’s just watching you—like he’s seeing all of this, the way you move so easily through his world, the way you fit into it like you’ve always been here, the way his teammates are your teammates—and like it’s doing something to him.

Like it’s settling something in him.

Like maybe, just maybe, all of this change doesn’t feel so scary when you’re here.

And yeah, the cameras are catching every second of it.

From the moment the game tips off, you are in your element.

Sitting courtside, front and center in your custom Luka Dončić Lakers jersey—the one that’s cropped just right, snug at the waist, with your own number stitched in tiny embroidery on the sleeve—you are a menace.

And not the quiet kind.

Luka’s locked in from the start, but so are you.

Every shot he takes? You’re on your feet before the ball even swishes through the net. Every time he gets downhill, carving through defenders like they’re nothing, you’re clapping, nodding, talking your talk because of course he’s doing this—of course he’s out here dominating in his Lakers debut like he was built for this.

And when he hits his first step-back three in that gold and purple uniform?

Oh, it’s over.

You’re out of your seat, yelling “That’s my man!” so damn loud that even the bench turns to look at you. The cameras catch everything—you pointing at Luka like you just hit the shot, like you knew it was cash the second he released it.

JJ is dying on the bench.

LeBron, walking back up the court, is shaking his head and laughing because he knew exactly what kind of energy you were bringing tonight.

And Luka?

Luka hears all of it.

His grin is instant, dimples deep, and he can’t help himself—he looks right at you as he backpedals on defense, giving you that smug, knowing look.

Like he loves this.

Like he loves you.

The whole game, you’re in it.

Every whistle, every foul—especially when Luka gets knocked around a little too hard—you’re making your feelings very clear.

At one point, he takes some contact on a drive, hits the floor hard, and you’re already up before the whistle even blows.

“Where’s the call?!” You throw your hands up, eyes locked on the ref like you might actually fight him.

And listen—some people might call it over the top, but you don’t care.

Not when Luka’s out there, playing his ass off.

Not when this is his first game in a new jersey, in a city that’s expecting everything from him.

And when the game gets tight in the fourth quarter, when every possession starts mattering a little more, you’re right there, standing, clapping, yelling encouragement between plays, telling Luka to take over—and he does.

Of course he does.

He lives for this.

And when that final buzzer sounds?

The Lakers win.

Luka’s brilliant—because of course he is.

And you?

You’re beaming.

You’re still clapping when Luka makes his way over, chest heaving from the last few minutes of high-intensity play, sweat dripping, eyes locked on you like you’re the only person in the arena.

Before you can say anything, he reaches out, grabs your face—big hands cradling your jaw—and kisses you, hard.

The crowd goes nuts.

The cameras catch every second.

And you?

You just smile against his lips, because yeah, this is the perfect way to end his first night in LA.

Hand-in-hand, you and Luka make your way through the tunnels, still riding that post-win high.

Everywhere you go, people are dapping him up, clapping him on the back, congratulating him. The energy is electric, and you can feel it in him—the way his fingers squeeze yours a little tighter, the way his whole body is buzzing with adrenaline.

He looks so damn good like this—sweaty, still in his game gear, the jersey a little untucked, his chain glinting under the bright hallway lights.

“You killed it tonight,” you say, bumping into his side as you walk.

He smirks, glancing down at you. “You think?”

You scoff. “Please. Like I wasn’t screaming about it all game.”

Luka grins, shaking his head. “You were crazy.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it.

As you step outside, the LA night air hits you, warm and thick with energy, fans still gathered outside, cameras flashing.

Luka tugs you in, arm wrapping around your shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before muttering, just for you—

“Best part of tonight was having you there.”

And damn, if that doesn’t make your whole heart melt.

You get to the arena stupidly early.

#luka doncic #luka doncic x reader #luka dončić #luka dončić x reader

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meadowfics · 2 months ago

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seoah's first sport

father!husband!kang dae ho x f!mother!wife!reader

apart of my 'kang family' series

warnings: none, however I do use the american way of saying football

the morning sun poured into the living room, casting a warm glow over the wooden floors as seo-ah bounced onto the couch beside you, her tiny legs barely able to sit still.

your daughter's face is glowing with excitement, her bunny hugged tightly against her chest as she beamed up at you.

“eomma!” she practically shouted, eyes wide with enthusiasm.

“eomma, i wanna play soccer like my friends at school!”

the school she goes to is a daycare, but I digress.

you blinked, slightly surprised at the sudden outburst, before a fond smile crept onto your lips.

“oh yeah?” you asked, gently tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“you wanna play soccer?”

she nodded furiously, her little pigtails bouncing with the movement.

“yes! jiho and min-seo play, and they say it’s really fun! they have real teams and everything, eomma! real games and goals!”

you couldn’t help but giggle at her excitement, her entire body practically vibrating as she spoke.

“that sounds amazing, baby. do you want to be on a team too?”

“yes!” she said without hesitation, gripping her bunny a little tighter.

“please, please, please?”

your heart melted at her excitement. she was only four, but her enthusiasm was undeniable.

“okay, okay,” you laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“let me talk to appa about it, and we’ll see what we can do, okay?”

“okay!” she grinned, throwing her arms around your waist before scrambling off the couch, her bunny swinging wildly as she ran off to play.

you watched her go, shaking your head fondly before standing up and heading toward the kitchen, where dae-ho was finishing up his morning coffee.

he was dressed in his usual work-from-home attire, sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt, his hair slightly tousled from sleep.

he glanced up as you entered, immediately sensing you had something to say.

“what’s that look for?” he asked, smirking as he set his mug down.

you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms.

“seo-ah wants to play soccer.”

he blinked, then let out a small chuckle.

“soccer?”

“mhm,” you nodded, “apparently, a few of her daycare friends are on a mini team, and now she wants to join too.”

dae-ho rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a moment.

“well… that’s kinda adorable.”

��right?” you laughed, “i mean, she’s only four, but if she really wants to try it, why not?”

he nodded in agreement.

“so, what’s the schedule like for this team?”

you pulled out your phone, glancing at the information the daycare had sent you.

“they practice once a week, and the games are on saturdays.”

he considered this for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee.

“well, since you’re home with the girls, you could take her to practice during the week, and i’ll come to all of her games on saturday.”

your heart warmed at his immediate willingness to adjust their schedules for seo-ah.

“you sure?” you asked, “i mean, we don’t have to sign her up if it’ll be too much.”

he scoffed, shaking his head.

“y/n, we’re literally in a position where we can do this without any stress. we have the time, and more importantly, she’s excited about it. we should let her try.”

you smiled, nodding.

“yeah and of course, if she ever decides she doesn’t want to do it anymore, we won’t force her to stay right?”

“exactly,” he agreed.

“it’s about her having fun, not turning her into some superstar athlete unless she wants to be of course.”

you let out a small laugh at the thought, imagining seo-ah running around a little soccer field, her tiny legs chasing after the ball with all the energy she had.

“alright,” you said, setting your phone down, “i’ll enroll her today.”

dae-ho smiled, stepping forward to wrap his arms around your waist.

“good. she’s gonna love this.”

you rested your head against his chest, feeling a sense of peace settle over you.

“i think so too.”

you couldn’t wait to see your little girl run around on the field, her face bright with excitement as she chased the ball with her tiny teammates. seeing her find something she loved, something that made her feel proud and happy, meant everything to you.

the sun hung warm and casted a soft glow over the small soccer field. little kids in neon orange jerseys ran around in packs, their tiny legs carrying them across the grass with excitement, while their opponents in bright blue did the same.

it was chaotic, unorganized, and absolutely adorable.

you stood on the sidelines, byeol snugly strapped to your chest in the lavender baby carrier, her tiny head resting against you as she slept peacefully.

beside you, dae-ho casually ate from a mini bag of chips, his eyes locked on the field with a look of pure focus.

meanwhile, seo-ah sat on the bench before warm-ups, munching on the small rice cakes you had packed her, her little cheeks full as she chewed.

she looked just like her father.

the similarities were crazy.

the way they both ate, their little habits of pausing mid-chew when something caught their attention, the way their eyebrows furrowed in the exact same way... it was like looking at two versions of the same person, one grown and male and one in toddler and female form.

“you two are so alike,” you muttered, shaking your head with a small laugh as you glanced between them.

dae-ho popped another chip into his mouth and shrugged.

“good genes,” he smirked, before nodding toward seo-ah, “she’s got my athletic skills too, just watch.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, though your heart warmed at how invested he already was.

the little warm-up drills started, and the moment seo-ah successfully tapped the ball with a tiny pass to one of her teammates, dae-ho sat up straighter, his hand hovering near his knee as if he were about to get out of his seat.

“that’s it, seo!”

he called, his voice full of encouragement.

you bit your lip, trying not to laugh at how intensely he was watching the game, but you had to admit...seeing seo-ah run around out there, her little face full of determination, made your chest swell with pride.

soon, the mini-game started.

the tiny players took their places on the field, and you could tell from how seo-ah was positioned that she was supposed to be one of the little defenders.

your heart could have burst at the sight of her little body bouncing in place, already eager for the ball.

suddenly, the ball rolled toward her feet and that’s when everything else went out the window.

seo-ah, your little girl, your firstborn, saw the ball and took off, straight up the field, forgetting all about her defensive position.

you and dae-ho exchanged a glance before laughing.

“you can pass it, baby!” dae-ho called, amused as he watched her tiny legs power forward, completely focused on reaching the goal.

seo-ah didn’t pass it. at least, not right away.

she kept dribbling, weaving between the other kids in her own version of ball control, before finally sending the ball toward a little girl on her team who was wide open in front of the undefended goal.

the girl kicked it in.

you and dae-ho immediately started clapping, your cheers loud and proud.

“great assist, seo-ah!” you called, your voice carrying across the field.

she turned, hearing your voice, and gave you a small wave, her tiny face lighting up with pride.

soon after, the other team managed to score.

your eyes landed on seo-ah immediately, noticing the way her little shoulders slumped, her bottom lip pushing out into a small pout.

“it’s okay, seo!” you called, giving her an encouraging wave.

she turned again, her big brown eyes locking onto yours before her tiny hand lifted to wave back.

near the end of the game, something magical happened, well at least for your oldest daughter.

seo-ah got the ball again, and this time, instead of passing, she ran full speed toward the goal.

tiny legs pumping, arms slightly out to the sides for balance, her face scrunched up in the cutest little look of focus... you and dae-ho were completely locked in.

she kicked it.

the ball rolled slowly but surely into the goal.

goal.

you and dae-ho erupted into cheers, clapping like absolute idiots around the other parents who looked at the happy parents with admiration.

“that’s my girl!” dae-ho hollered, grinning ear to ear.

your hands clapped together, your voice carrying across the field,

“way to go, seo-ah!!”

the loud cheers startled poor byeol, who had been peacefully napping against your chest.

she let out a small whimper, her tiny hands stretching slightly in protest of being woken up.

you immediately rubbed her back, rocking her gently.

“sorry, baby, eomma got too excited.”

on the pitch with seo-ah, her faces beaming. she turned toward the sidelines and saw you, saw her appa, saw that she had the biggest, loudest, most supportive parents in the crowd.

and that made her smile even bigger.

as the tiny game came to an end, you and dae-ho exchanged glances, both filled with the same overwhelming love for the little girl on the field.

kang family masterlist

#kang haneul #kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #multifandom account #squid game x you #meadowfics #player 388 #dae ho squid game #kang daeho #dae ho

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ellswritings · 2 months ago

Text

Just Friends?

Jey Uso (Joshua Fatu) x Reader

TW: Kevin Owens is the bad guy (sorry KO lovers), best friends to lovers, tension, angry Jey, fluffy as heck.

I’ll be working on some more CM Punk and Cody Rhodes stuff this week 🫶🫶

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮----------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The buzz of the stadium makes Jey bounce higher than he ever thought he could. He stands in his corner of the ring as the crowd chants his name loudly, fueling his adrenaline like a burning inferno. His body is taut, muscles coiled tightly as he mentally prepares himself for the fight ahead.

Kevin Owens was a beast in the ring. He knew exactly what to say to get under people’s skin. How to stab them exactly where it hurts. To remove their focus from the match at hand, but he wouldn’t let him do that. He was ready.

He had his guard up. There was absolutely nothing Kevin could do to throw him off his game. Especially with the pep talk he got before he even walked out. A small smile graces his face, his gold grill flashing in the light as he thinks about how his long time best friend, Y/N L/N hyped him up before his match. Something the two of them made a habit of doing the moment they became friends.

It wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows for the two of them. They entered WWE around the same time, Jey and Jimmy being a tag team and Y/N entering as a new low-card fighter, desperate to work her way up. And she did… they all did.

Jey remembers their first interaction like it was yesterday.

She was walking backstage, that same newfound twinkle in her eye that all the upcoming people had. Everyone who thought they had exactly what it took to be a Superstar. Jey and Jimmy had already been signed for about a year when they saw her. She was walking through the halls, a clear mission she had to accomplish. Her bag was slung over her shoulder in a composed manner despite how fast she was moving. She wasn’t wearing sweats and a t-shirt like most of the other people who were backstage. She also wasn’t wearing spandex and a tank top like they had grown accustomed to seeing. She had a nice pair of sleek shamrock green slacks with a tight fitting long sleeved black top. She looked like one of the executives or writers that sometimes made guest appearances to talk to the wrestlers, which is why it made people’s heads turn when they saw her gym bag.

She had tunnel vision. Didn’t pay any mind to the people whispering as she walked past or the odd stares she got from the more experienced personnel. Everyone in the room was wondering the same thing.

Who’s the new girl?

Well, mostly everyone. Everyone except Jey, who was glancing down at his phone as he walked down the hallway with his brother. He hadn’t been watching where he was going which is what led to him colliding with the WWE’s future fourteen time women’s world champion. Not that any of them knew that quite yet.

“Aye yo, what the hell?” Jey says rather snippily, catching his device midair before it made its collision with the ground. When he finally looked up he was met with the most piercing e/c eyes. He took the chance to take in her form. She was beautiful. Sleek h/c hair that framed her face perfectly, perfectly glossed lips, nicely manicured eyebrows, and her figure filled out her outfit nicely. It was a shock to him that he hadn’t seen her prior to that moment. She had the build of one of the many Diva’s that walked through the arena. Like she had been a pro for years.

Y/N felt her temper flare slightly at the offended tone of the man who just rudely ran into her. She had been watching where she was going, something he couldn’t be bothered to do considering the phone in his hand. Part of her wanted to snap at his attitude, but she knew better than to make enemies on her first day. Not to mention, she didn’t have time for a confrontation. She was already late for her introduction meeting with the execs and writers that would be in charge of her character, Y/S/N’s, journey.

Instead she just smiles in a sickeningly sweet way, but the condescension of her tone gives away the subtext of what she’s saying. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Y’know, you should really look up from that every once in a while. Life might end up passing you by and you wouldn’t even know it.”

Or, it was your fault asshat, stop staring at your phone.

And with that she simply continued on her way. Jey felt like he had just been smacked in the face. He could tell by the way she said it she wasn’t actually sorry, but her confidence, the way she didn’t stutter when speaking to him, it was something he wasn’t used to. Most of the other women backstage are all over him and his twin, but not her. She didn’t even bat her eyelashes. Even the smile she sent them was fake.

Jimmy lets out a small laugh, “Yo, you keep staring at her like that you might burn holes into the back of her head.”

Jey doesn’t address the quip, he continues staring at the woman’s retreating form until she turns around a corner and disappears into the maze of tonight’s arena. He licks his lips, a habit he tends to have when he’s in thought. “Who is she?”

Jimmy furrows his eyebrows, “How the hell am I supposed to know? Met her the same time you did.” He shoves his brother playfully, “Nice job crashin’ into her by the way. And then the way you acted like it was her fault? Real smooth.”

“Bruh it was her fault. She wasn’t in front of me when I looked down,” Jey shoves him back, but not with as much force as he normally would. His mind is still reeling about the fact she didn’t even stare at him for longer than five seconds. It freaked him out. She brushed him off like a tiny fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing around her head.

“Right…” Jimmy nods mockingly. “ ‘Cause you walking around with your nose in yo phone is what caused her to appear out of thin air.”

“Man, shut the hell up,” Jey rolls his eyes, continuing down the hallway and towards the locker room. Though he would be lying if he said he didn’t turn around to glance back at where he had just bumped into the strange woman.

It would be later that same day that he would be introduced to Y/N L/N. An absolute warrior in the ring. She was an instant hit with practically everyone. She seemed to have made a phenomenal first impression. Even people who typically kept to themselves gravitated towards her. And truthfully, Jey even found himself being sort of drawn to her personality. She was funny, charismatic, and calm. She was oddly level headed compared to the rest of the wrestlers backstage. She brought a different energy to the back that they didn’t see very often.

Josh kept his eyes trained on her, his head tilted as he analyzes her movements. She’s talking rather animatedly to AJ Lee with a wide smile on her face. Part of him feels guilty for reacting the way that he did when they originally met. His conscience subtly eats away at him, urging him to find a way to apologize.

He runs a hand over his face, sighing as his feet begin to carry him over to her before his mind can protest. His step falters when the sound of her laugh floats through the air like a soothing melody. He can’t help the small grin that covers his lips. How is it possible someone he’s never met is capable of making him smile simply by giggling. It makes him furrow his brows in confusion.

Y/N glances over AJ’s shoulder, her face falling slightly when she notices the man who bumped into her earlier. AJ notices her change in expression, looking behind her to see an awkward looking Jey Uso. She pats Y/N’s shoulder with a small grin, “Good luck with that,” she mumbles before walking away.

Y/N huffs out a small chuckle before turning her full attention to the man in front of her. She folds her arms over her chest, not in a malicious way that indicates she doesn’t want to talk, almost as a way to protect herself. She smirks, “I see you took my advice.”

Jey frowns, not expecting her to be the one to have started the conversation. “What?”

“You stopped looking down at your phone,” she points out, trying not to sound smug. “That’s good. It’d be unfortunate if you walked into somebody else.”

Jey’s taken aback by her forwardness. She wasn’t as forward casting her blame when it originally happened. Perhaps now that she’s more settled in, she won’t be as dismissive. It’s odd. He doesn’t feel defensive like he normally would. In fact, he kind of likes how cut and dry she is.

“Yeah…” he chuckles softly. “I actually wanted to come and apologize about that.” Y/N raises her eyebrows, surprised he had the courage to come and say sorry to her. Most wouldn’t. “I should’ve been watching where I was goin’. But y’know how it is with the phones and everything. Gets ya sucked in.”

Y/N’s posture visibly relaxes, her full smile returning. He’s easy to talk to… and not too bad to look at. She wouldn’t tell him that though. Judging by the half smirk he’s so good at sporting, she could already tell that comment would go to his head.

“Yeah, I get it,” she nods. “It’s easy to get lost in it sometimes. But just don’t forget to look up every once and awhile. It’s good for you,” she jests playfully. “Never know what you’re missing.”

Jey, feeling bold, takes a small step forward. Y/N has to crane her neck up slightly took look at him, his stature towering over hers, but she doesn’t move. Simply maintains eye contact and keeps her smile steady. “Y’know, you say that… but the way I see it, me having my nose in my phone led to me meeting you.” He points out. “So what am I really missing?”

“Smooth,” she says with an impressed tone. “But maybe we would’ve met under better circumstances where I didn’t think you were a complete asshole,” she counters just as prickly as he was slick.

“You think I’m an asshole now?” He tilts his head challengingly.

“Not necessarily.”

“Then I think the circumstances worked out well.” His smile is infuriating yet hypnotizing at the same time. Y/N wants to argue with him, but she can see the mischievous glint behind his eyes. He wants a reaction. And maybe she’ll give him one… just not one he’s expecting.

Y/N takes another good step forward, sticking her hands out to mess with the invisible wrinkles on his muscle shirt. Jey feels a certain electricity in her touch, lighting his body on fire. How is it possible to be so mysterious yet enticing? They just met and he already wants to know everything about her.

“That pretty smile might get you a lot… but not my attention.” And with that, she removes her hands, spins on her heel, and walks away. “Catch you later, Jey.”

Jey is more than stunned to say the least. That’s when he realizes, “Wait, I never told you my name!” He calls out confused.

Y/N turns around, now walking backwards with a smile on her face, “You really think I’d come to work for a place without doing research on the talent that’s already here?”

From that moment on, Jey made it his personal mission to get to know Y/N. She never made it easy, but he managed to worm his way into her heart, becoming her best friend within the entire company. Even though he annoyed her to no end pretty much every time they spoke, she loved him. They never lost that playful banter they had the first day they met.

While they were always playful, it wasn’t until he was having anxieties over an upcoming match that he realized how much of an emotional connection they had. He was pacing in the guys locker room when he heard the door creak open. He was half expecting Jimmy to walk in and scold him for still being in there when they’re next up, but he was surprised to see Y/N.

“Figured I’d find you in here,” she says with that signature smile that never fails to ease his nerves.

He doesn’t respond, just continues pacing back and forth. This match tonight means everything to him and Jimmy. Them winning means they’re finally working their way up. They had been on a losing streak recently due to story purposes, but tonight would finally be their ticket out of that. He has to put on a good show tonight.

His attention is pulled back to the real world when he feels her hand on his bicep, her grip soft and tender. Her e/c eyes boring into his, making the storm in his mind calm for a moment. “Hey… what’s goin’ on, Josh?” She asks softly. “What’s on your mind?”

The sound of his real name rolling of her tongue so easily makes his stomach flutter in ways he’s not used to. Recently he’s been having a hard time being around her without feeling like he’s got a swarm of butterflies wreaking havoc inside of him. He doesn’t know why or when it started, but it’s getting more difficult to control.

“Nothin’,” he shrugs her off, avoiding eye contact but not moving away from her touch. “ ‘M fine.”

Y/N frowns, the crease in her eyebrows as adorable as it always is. She forces Jey to look at her by using her pointer finger to turn his head towards her, “The hell you looking away from me for?”

Josh can see the genuine concern in her eyes and he already feels his resolve cracking. She’s always been able to read him far too easily. Not that he makes it hard. She’s told him since they met that he wore his heart on his sleeve.

She quirks an eyebrow, patiently waiting for him to answer. He sighs in defeat, “ ‘M sorry, Ma,” he apologizes, running a hand over his face. “I’m just stressed out.”

“About the match?” She tilts her head.

He lets out a small scoff, “Yeah.” He exhales heavily, moving to sit down on one of the many benches. “It’s daunting as hell. This is a huge crossroads for Jon and I. I mean, what if I mess it up? What if I forget my lines, or–or fuck up a move and hurt someone else or myself? What if the execs got something planned that they didn’t tell us about? There’s so much shit that could go wrong here.”

Y/N follows after him, sitting down as well. “Why are you talking like everything bad has already happened? You’re acting like you two already lost the match.”

“I’m not actin’ like anything,” he says, his tone becoming a bit defensive. “This shit ain’t easy, Y/N/N. You only gotta worry ‘bout yourself when you go out there. I’ve got a brother I gotta think about. If I mess up, I screw him over.”

Y/N stays silent for a moment, nodding her head as she takes in his words. She tilts her head, finally looking at him, “Y’know… I never pegged you as a whiny loser.”

Josh’s head snaps towards her, “What’d you just say to me?”

“I never thought of you as a whiny loser,” she repeats. “Maybe a whiny winner, but not a loser,” she adds with a small toothless grin. Jey can't help but scoff, looking away from her with an offended expression. Y/N sighs, once again forcing him to look at her again. “Josh, you’re not gonna mess up,” she tells him confidently. “You and Jon have been busting your asses for practically your entire lives to get to this point. You know what you’re doing. I mean, you guys were born to do this. You guys deserve this win. You deserve it.”

Josh’s eyes soften at her words. The way she says it, she really does believe in him. Maybe even more than he believes in himself. His eyes flicker over her face and there truly is no doubt seeping out of any part of her. She means it. “You’re a winner, Josh. You’re whiny,” she giggles softly, “but you’re a winner. So you have nothing to be worried about.” She shifts her body to fully face him, criss-crossing her legs on the bench. She grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. “You’re amazing at what you do, you need to start believing that.”

Instead of arguing, Josh simply leans forward, wrapping his arms around his best friend's body. He breathes in her body wash, the scent of it fogging his brain the same way it always does. She trails her fingers up and down his back, forcing any negative thoughts that were lingering to disappear completely.

And because of that pep talk, Jey Uso went out and won that match. She was right. He needs to start believing in himself the same way she does. But that one conversation started a very important pre-match tradition for the two of them. After that day, anytime they were nervous or had a huge match coming up, they would go out of their way to boost each other’s confidence. It was important, it kept them going when times were tough. Those small little motivational things helped them be better. Made them aspire to be more, which is how they became two of the biggest Superstars in the WWE.

That’s why he is where he’s at right now. In the ring, waiting for Kevin Owens to walk out so they can start their match. Jey wasn’t nervous for this fight, but for whatever reason, Y/N still felt the need to boost his confidence, his morale. It made him mentally smile thinking about all the positive things she said about him before he came out there.

Y/N truly is his biggest supporter aside from Jimmy. She’s the last one to be with him before he heads out and the first one to congratulate or console him when he comes back, and he loves her for it.

The two of them have been friends for over a decade now. She’s been there with him through plenty of ups and downs, and he’s been there for her. He’s seen her go through heartbreaks, triumphs, losses, wins, all of it. She quickly became family. He doesn’t even remember what holiday’s with his family look like without her anymore. She’s an integral part of his life. But over time, those feelings of friendship evolved into something more.

Everyone in the locker room, besides Y/N, could see it. The way his eyes travel across any room in search of her, the way he smiles whenever she speaks, the way he’s always the first to rush out when she wins a big match, how protective he is of her, how his jaw clenches whenever he sees her speaking to a guy who isn’t him or someone in his family. It’s clear as day how he feels, and no one understands why he hasn’t confessed yet.

It’s simple.

He can’t lose her. He’s terrified if he were to tell her, she wouldn’t reciprocate it. That she might become uncomfortable and over ten years of friendship would be flushed down the drain. He can’t risk that, which is why he’s been content being just her friend. Her best friend.

That’s when KO’s entrance theme rings throughout the arena. The lights are bright, blinding him for a split second but he keeps his face stoic. The crowd’s reaction was instant—half boos, half cheers, the chaotic blend only making Jey’s muscles tense even more. But he didn’t look up right away. He couldn’t. He needed to stay focused. He needed to keep his emotions in check.

“I’ve got this,” Jey muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Focus.”

But then Kevin emerged, strolling down the ramp with his usual cocky swagger. He had his usual sneer plastered on his face, taking his time like he had all the confidence in the world. Jey’s eyes narrowed, but his fists were still clenched tightly, controlling the rush of anger that was starting to bubble up inside him.

And then Jey saw it.

Kevin stopped mid-step, practically taunting him with his choice of attire—wearing Y/N’s merch.

Her iconic symbol covers his chest as he smirks. It’s a replica of the shirt Y/N wore earlier in the week for her promo with Rhea Ripley for their tag team match against Liv Morgan and Raquel Rodriguez. Her shirt was cropped and framed her perfectly. Josh even remembers complimenting how great she looked backstage to a couple of the guys as they watched from the monitor.

Kevin must’ve heard and capitalized on it.

Normally his heart skips a beat whenever he sees that symbol, but seeing it on Kevin makes Jey’s blood run cold. The arrogance in Kevin’s posture, the way he raised his shirt slightly, acting like it was his, the smirk on his face as he caught Jey’s glare—it was all too much.

He knows his face is now a bright red. He can feel himself snarling before he’s able to control himself. Kevin has always been a loudmouth, always finding ways to anger his opponents, but this? This felt personal. This is a line that’s being crossed, one that he can’t ignore.

Kevin easily spots the change in Jey’s demeanor and enjoys every second of his anger. He walks closer to the ring, microphone in hand as he grins from ear to ear. He looks Jey up and down, “What’s the matter, Uso?” His voice is dripping with mock sweetness. “Is it the shirt? You don’t like it? I thought it was pretty stylish. Looks good on me, no?”

Jey’s nostrils flared, his gaze locked on the symbol, and the way Kevin was practically flaunting it. His grip on the ropes tightened until his knuckles were white. His whole body stiffened as a tidal wave of anger surged through him. He hadn’t even realized how hard he was breathing until his chest tightened with the overwhelming rush of emotions. Every word, every taunt from Kevin, was a strike that cut deeper than Jey was willing to admit.

Kevin wasn’t done. He took another step forward, clearly feeding off the tension building between them. “I’m sure Y/N would appreciate a real winner repping her merch. A real man.” His voice is laced with insincerity.

Jey’s body was practically vibrating with fury, every muscle in his frame coiled like a spring ready to snap. His grip on the ropes was so tight his fingers ached, but he didn’t care. All he could focus on was Kevin, standing there, smirking like he had all the control in the world.

Kevin tilted his head, letting the tension simmer before he struck again. “See, that’s the thing about you, Uce. You live your whole damn life like some kind of joke. Like some circus monkey, doing tricks for everyone else. Dancing when you’re told, laughing when they say so. You act tough, but you ain’t real.” He gestured toward the symbol on his shirt again, twisting the knife deeper. “And Y/N? She deserves real. She deserves a man who’s actually serious about her, about himself. Not some whiny bitch too afraid to be honest with her. Too afraid to be his own man.”

Jey’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. His breathing was heavy, each breath coming out in sharp bursts as Kevin continued to run his mouth. His vision tunneled, the edges of his sight going hazy with rage.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me or Y/N,” Jey seethed.

Kevin chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, but I do. I know she’s got more fire in her pinky than you do in your whole body. I know she needs someone who won’t second-guess himself every step of the way. She deserves better than some broken man too scared to stand on his own.”

Jey snapped.

With a guttural growl, he lunged at Kevin, but just as he did—

Y/N’s music hit.

The crowd erupted as she charged down the ramp, her entire focus locked onto Jey. She barely even registered Kevin as she slid into the ring. She didn’t care about him. The only thing she cared about was the man she cares about, her best friend, the man she loves more than anything, the one standing there on the verge of losing himself.

“Jey,” she breaths, stepping right up to him, hands reaching out to touch his face, his chest—anything to ground him. “Hey, look at me,” her voice is demanding yet soothing, forcing his eyes to meet hers instead of glaring at Kevin. “You’re okay. I’m here.” Her hands feel soft against his cheeks, the chaos from the outside fading away for just a moment. He can see the concern in her eyes and it makes his chest ache. “Don’t get yourself disqualified just because he likes to run his mouth.

“Y/N–”

“No,” she cuts him off. “You don’t need to be angry because I’m here. I’m here with you. I’ve got your back.”

Jey’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes searching hers, finding something solid in them. Something real. The fire Kevin said he didn’t have—Y/N saw it. She always had.

But Kevin wasn’t done.

“You know what? Let’s make this interesting,” he smirked, looking between them. “When I win tonight, Y/N—you’re gonna be standing at ringside with me from now on.”

Jey feels himself about to fly off the handle again. He goes to brush past at/N so he can manhandle the man standing across from them, but before he could even take a full step forward, Y/N was superkicking the soul out of Kevin Owens.

The impact echoed through the arena, and Kevin dropped like a sack of bricks, sprawling onto the mat. The crowd exploded as Y/N glared down at him, fists clenched. “I’m not some damn prize to be traded,” she snapped.

Jey’s lips parted in shock, but before he could say anything, Y/N turned to him, cupping his face gently. She pressed a soft kiss to his temple, grounding him once more. “I’m behind you,” she whispered. “Always.”

Jey nodded, rolling his shoulders as the official stepped in to signal the start of the match. Kevin groggily pushed himself up, shaking out the cobwebs. The bell rang and Jey wasted no time.

He exploded forward, slamming into Kevin with a flurry of strikes, his pent-up frustration manifesting in every punch, every chop. Kevin staggered but fought back, catching Jey with a hard right and an Irish whip into the corner. Jey crashed against the turnbuckle, but when Kevin ran at him—Jey caught him with a big boot to the face.

Kevin stumbled back, and Jey climbed the ropes, launching off with a diving crossbody. Kevin rolled through, hoisting Jey up, and with a burst of power, slammed him down with a gutwrench suplex. The air was forced from Jey’s lungs as Kevin went for the pin— 1… 2… Kickout!

Jey clutched his ribs but pushed himself up. Kevin, ever the opportunist, delivered a nasty senton to Jey’s back, then locked in a chinlock, trying to wear him down.

“Come on, Uce,” Kevin taunted, yanking back harder. “Where’s that fight?”

Jey gritted his teeth, the words fueling him rather than breaking him. He fought to his feet, delivering sharp elbows to Kevin’s gut until he was free. He hit the ropes, came flying back—Superkick!

Kevin stumbled. Another superkick!

Jey saw his opening. He climbed the top rope, the crowd on their feet—Uso Splash!

1… 2… Kevin kicks out!

Y/N’s hands clenched at ringside, her eyes never leaving Jey. “Come on, baby,” she whispers, ignoring the pet name that just naturally slipped out.

Jey ran a hand down his face, frustration mounting, but he couldn’t let up now. He pulled Kevin to his feet, but Kevin shoved him off and caught him with a Pop-Up Powerbomb!

Jey’s body crashed onto the mat.

Kevin hooked the leg—

1… 2… Jey kicked out!

Kevin slammed the mat in frustration before hauling Jey up again, setting up for the Stunner. He went for it, but Jey managed to counter.

He spun Kevin around—Superkick! Kevin wobbles around which opens up an opportunity for Jey. Another superkick! And then—Jey hit the ropes, rebounding at full speed—Spear! The impact rattled the ring as Kevin folded over.

Jey crawled over, draping an arm over him.

1… 2… 3!

Jey Uso wins!

The arena erupted as Jey sat up, chest heaving. The official raised his hand, but before he could even process it, Y/N was in the ring. She rushed to him, grabbing his face with both hands, eyes shining with nothing but pride, “You did it.”

Jey, still catching his breath, managed a small, exhausted smirk. Y/N stood up, grabbing his wrist and raising his hand herself, standing beside him as the victor. Kevin was down. Jey was standing tall. And Y/N? She was right there with him, where she always belonged.

After the chaos of everything, the two of them went backstage with beaming grins on their faces. Y/N cheered from the side as she allowed everyone else to celebrate Jey’s big win. Her eyes sparkle with pride as she watches him get the attention he deserves. He’s not ‘Main Event’ Jey Uso for nothing. He earned this win the same way he earns everything: With hard work and dedication.

Once the crowd started to dwindle down, Jey shook hands and hugged the remaining individuals before turning his attention back towards his best friend. He zeroes in on her still smiling face and he doesn’t understand how her cheeks don’t hurt by now.

“Whatchu lookin’ at, huh?” He says playfully, slinging his arm around her shoulder, hugging her closely to his frame.

Instead of having a sarcastic quip ready, her eyes remain soft, “You,” she answers simply.

The tenderness of her voice catches him off guard for a second. That same fluttering feeling in his stomach arises as she stares at him like he’s the only thing in her world. He recognizes it because it’s the same way he looks at her.

The air between them shifts from light and celebratory to serious and loving. There’s still a sense of happiness, playfulness, like there always is, but it’s accompanied by something more this time.

“Why, hm?” He dips his head down so he can talk to just her, no one else. “Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

She hums quietly, “I’m just so proud of you,” she admits in an almost whisper. “That’s all.” Jey feels his heart beat skyrocket for a moment as he sees the genuine pride in her features. “Kevin doesn’t know what he’s talking about… I’ve never seen someone fight with more fire than you.”

“I don’t know, ma…” Jey says with a grin. “You might have me beat there. Your superkick nearly took his damn head off.”

Y/N giggles softly, “Well, we already knew I was better than you,” she jests.

Jey scoffs affectionately, “Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “You a brat you know that?”

“Only to you,” she fires back. Another moment of silence passes between them and Y/N watches Josh’s expression shift. She tilts her head, “Now you’re the one lookin’ at me all weird,” she pokes his chest. “You okay?”

He lets out a breath, running a hand over his face, “I don’t know…” he admits quietly. He looks hesitant to admit whatever he’s thinking about.

“Talk to me,” she encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just… I know I almost lost it out there,” he says. “I couldn’t keep my cool. Could’ve been real bad if you didn’t show up when you did.”

Y/N shakes her head, “Josh, you were fighting for yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. Your temper just made you fight harder. And you won.”

Jey swallows hard, his throat tight. He looks down at her, searching her face, and suddenly all the words he has been holding back—the feelings, the frustration, the need—came rushing out.

“I wasn’t just fighting for me,” he tells her honestly. “I was fighting for you, to protect your name, who you are. I hate hearin’ people talk about you like you’re some possession,” he confessed, his voice rough. “Like you’re just something to be won.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re more than that. You’re—you’re everything, Y/N.”

Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“I don’t just lose control because of what they say,” he continued, stepping closer. “I lose control because I care about you. So damn much.”

Y/N sucked in a quiet breath.

Jey reached up, running a hand down his face before letting out a soft, almost breathless laugh. “I don’t even know how to act right when it comes to you. I feel like I can’t think straight. I don’t know how to be just your friend when everything in me wants more.”

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she just reached up, her fingers threading into his mullet with a kind of tenderness that made Jey’s chest ache.

His breath hitched. He had been touched before, but this? This was different. This was her.

Her other hand came up to his cheek, and then—before he could even process it—she leaned in and pressed the softest, most deliberate kiss against his lips.

Jey exhaled against her, his hands instinctively coming to rest on her waist, pulling her closer, like he had been waiting for this forever.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against his, her fingers still tangled in his hair.

“I care about you too, Jey,” she murmured. “I always have…”

Jey closed his eyes, letting himself breathe her in, letting the moment settle between them. His thumb traced slow circles against her hip. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice lower now, more vulnerable.

Y/N smiled. “Yes, you dummy,” she giggles.

He rolls his eyes once more, “Girl, you better watch yo mouth,” he smiles endearingly, leaning back down to connect their lips. He can feel her smiling against him and everything seems to fall into place.

For the first time in a long time, Josh felt like he had won something that actually mattered. And he wasn’t letting it go.

#female reader #jey uso x reader #jey uso imagine #world wrestling entertainment #kevin owens #wwe imagine #wrestling #main event jey uso #best friends to lovers #love story

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prettygirl-gabi · 4 months ago

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Chapter 19: Stormy Nights

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: heavyyy angst, reader calls Paige insecure, I think that's all idk...

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: in this moment nothing's perfect...

Welcome to the chapter 19 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

I could hardly believe it when Coach called me into his office after practice last week. He handed me a folder with credentials for two major games: a Seattle Storm game and a Lakers game. Apparently, he’d sent some of my best work to sports media outlets, and they were impressed enough to invite me to cover these games. It was an incredible opportunity, one I couldn’t turn down.

Paige had been supportive at first, giving me one of her signature grins and pulling me into a hug when I told her. “That’s huge, babe,” she’d said, kissing my temple. But as the day of my flight to Seattle grew closer, I noticed her enthusiasm dimming.

Now, as I sat courtside at the Storm game, camera in hand, I tried not to think about the way Paige had barely kissed me goodbye that morning. This was my moment, and I needed to focus.

The game was electric. Watching Nika Mühl command the court was surreal—she was as fiery as ever, her passion and energy infectious. She caught my eye a few times, waving and grinning during warm-ups. After the game, the Storm secured a dominant win, and I wrapped up my work feeling accomplished.

Nika approached me as I was packing up my gear. “Yo, superstar photographer! Long time no see!”

I laughed, hugging her briefly. “You killed it out there. How’s life in Seattle?”

“Busy, but good. What about you? Still dealing with Coach and the circus back in Connecticut?”

“Barely,” I admitted. “I’m trying to branch out, and this was my first big opportunity, thanks to coach.”

Her eyes sparkled. “We need to celebrate. Come out for a drink with me and some of the team. It’s on me.”

I hesitated, knowing how Paige might feel about it, but Nika was insistent. “C’mon, it’s one drink. You deserve it.”

The bar was loud and filled with Storm fans celebrating the win. Nika and I talked about everything: her adjustment to the WNBA, funny memories from our UConn days, and how much we missed some of our mutual friends. Someone at the bar recognized Nika and started recording. I didn’t think much of it—Nika was used to the attention.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized how bad it looked. My phone was blowing up with notifications. Clips of me and Nika laughing and sitting close at the bar, and taking shots together were everywhere, with captions like "New WNBA power couple?" and "Storm fans ship Nika and mystery girl!"

My stomach sank. I texted Paige immediately, explaining that it wasn’t what it looked like. But she didn’t respond.

When I got back to Connecticut, Paige was waiting for me in my dorm. Her arms were crossed, her face unreadable.

“Hey,” I said softly, setting my bags down.

“Hey?” she repeated, her tone sharp. “That’s all you have to say after what’s been going around all week?”

I sighed. “Paige, it wasn’t like that. Nika and I were just catching up. It’s not my fault someone filmed it.”

Her jaw tightened. “Do you have any idea how bad this makes me look? People are acting like I’m some fool while you’re out there with my old teammate.”

“It’s not about you,” I snapped, frustration boiling over. “This was a work trip. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was with our friend not some random bitch, now be for real, P!”

“But you didn’t think about how it would feel for me, did you?” Paige shot back. “You didn’t think about what it would be like to see my girlfriend all over social media with someone else, laughing and looking cozy.”

I threw my hands up. “What was I supposed to do, Paige? Lock myself in my hotel room? Stop living my life because you might feel insecure?”

Her eyes flashed with hurt. “Insecure? Are you serious? I trust you, but this—it’s humiliating. And the worst part is you don’t even seem to care.”

I took a step back, trying to calm myself. “I do care. But I can’t control what other people think or post. You have to trust me, Paige.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her voice softening just slightly. “I do. But it feels like you’re slipping away. Like everything else is more important than us.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” I said quietly. “You know how much you mean to me.”

“Do I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. It was Nika, texting to check if I’d made it back safely. Paige glanced at the screen, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I can’t do this right now,” she said, grabbing her coat. “I need some air.”

She left before I could stop her.

Later that night, I called Nika to clear the air. She answered on the second ring.

“Hey, everything okay?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Not really,” I admitted. “Paige and I had a huge fight because of that video. People are shipping us, and it’s causing problems.”

Nika sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would blow up like this.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “But it’s a mess now. She thinks I don’t care about her or our relationship.”

Nika was quiet for a moment. “You know, Paige loves hard. She always has. And she’s probably scared—scared of losing you, scared of what comes next after UConn.”

“She said she feels like I’m slipping away,” I admitted, my voice breaking.

“Then show her you’re not,” Nika said simply. “Remind her why you’re worth fighting for.”

Her words stayed with me long after we hung up. I didn’t know how to fix things with Paige, but I knew I couldn’t let this be the end.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 ,.... (more to be added)

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peachie-bumblebee · 2 years ago

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FNAF SECURITY BREACH NSFW HEADCANONS

MAIN 4

MINORS DNI

getting back to my ROOTS with this one!! hope my community is still out there- the dlc has brought back my love for the game :) i haven’t posted SB content in a LONG time so a reminder- I ONLY WRITE FOR CHARACTERS WHO PASS THE JACK HARKNESS TEST. They are OF AGE OR ABOVE, have HUMAN OR ABOVE INTELLIGENCE, and can VERBALLY GIVE INFORMED CONSENT. The SB animatronics are canonically sentient. None of the past ones are. okay- back to the content :D

CW: ONE PREGNANCY MENTION, KINK RELATED T0YS, SEMI-PUBLIC MENTIONS, DACRIPHILIA

GLAMROCK FREDDY

lord have mercy…

he’s the most virgin coded out of all of them. i’m sorry.

but do I think he’s a TOTAL virgin? no.

there are FREAKS out there (me writing this and y’all reading this-) who would 1000% show up to the pizzaplex just tryna get a piece of the fazballs

SORRY

he’s the type to silently get off in his dressing room and then get all embarrassed about it like there’s someone there to judge him

he’s an actual sweetheart in the sheets. he’s so so nice about everything. as we go down the list this DECREASES.

don’t push him too fucking hard tho. if you’re one of the ones who read my old fic Competition, you remember.

his fingers vibrate.

and so does that dick.

he’d turn it on inside of you and listen to you gasp before putting a hand gently over your mouth and hushing you.

he seems a lot like a gasper. maybe the occasional curse word coming out, but mostly praises of how good it feels.

i know he is a messy cummer. i’m right and that’s final.

he’d be absolutely humiliated after the fact and go get a wet washcloth asap, but it’s a very shocking amount anyway.

pregnancy isn’t a concern, but he’s still wary about cumming inside for some reason. he’s the type to make sure it’s okay like 3 times before he does it.

okay i lowkey think he’d be into getting handcuffed. i don’t know what handcuffs could genuinely hold him, but if you brought them out he’d be (figuratively) SWEATING

i think his eyes roll back when he cums. and i’m correct. eat me.

he’s the lead member but he’s humble about it… except a few times in bed. then he lets it go to his head(s). just a bit. ;)

if he was in a relationship he’d have a thing about his partner dressed in his merch

switch! but the most vanilla out of everyone- but remember, not completely.

…he’d eat his cum out of you.

no he is NOT gonna call you superstar during sex leave me ALONEEE

GLAMROCK CHICA

my biggest hc for her will and will always be that she has a MASSIVE toy collection. she is a toy girl. do i know how she gets them? not exactly.

but I DO know that they’re all pink and white and sparkly!

that doesn’t mean it’s all vanilla toys though (respect to the vanilla community but it is not me :) )

she does own a hot pink flogger and she WILL happily use it on a groupie or her partner.

she’s such a tease. she’s such a fucking tease jsghskbnsjh

doesn’t matter if she’s domming or subbing (60/40 ratio)

she’s a TEASE

and she giggles during sex

her whole bubbly pink happy girl thing doesn’t stop

she’ll put you in a bubblegum pink sex swing and use a big ass vibrator on you while giggling and telling you how cute you look

i know she likes pulling on nipples I KNOW SHE DOES

for those who used to ask- no, she can’t give head with her beak. and she’s not taking it off. sun/moon can’t give sloppy either BUT THEY MAKE IT WORK!

AND SHE DOES TOO!

she can fuck up the guitar with her fingers, what else do you think they can do?

she’s the type to pull you into a side room, hush you, finger fuck you, then send you on your way with a hug

i know for a FACT SHE WEARS A STRAP!

yes it IS glitter. it is also 9 inches.

and if you want more, she has more ways to give you that.

she’s also the type to get you front row tickets and put a remote control vibe in you so she can watch you squirm right in front of her.

she’s also a praiser, but there’s a lot of false sympathy in there too.

food aftercare. she wants to eat 3 pizzas with you. food is her love language

ROXANNE WOLF

YOU BETTER BARK LIKE YOU WANT IT!

she’s a dom. she just is.

god I miss that fic I wrote.

she’s so fucking cocky in bed. it’d be insufferable if she wasn’t so hot and so good at sex.

if who she’s fucking is AFAB she’s EATING IT!!!! YOU CAN BET ON IT THAT SHE DOES MUNCH!

if they’re AMAB then you can expect her to lean them back on her chest and give them the most intense handjob of their life.

in general, the animatronics are stronger than people, so when they’re rough they’re still not going at their hardest. that would actually just kill you.

she’s a show-off. she’ll leave marks in very noticeable places on purpose so that everyone knows that you’re getting fucked by THE Roxanne Wolf

she’s a hair puller. I just know she likes to wrap her claws up in it and pull.

don’t fucking pull hers though, she doesn’t like that shit.

yeah her tail wags when you eat her out, what about it? don’t point that shit out, it’s embarrassing to her.

she curses so much during sex.

the strap is purple and THICK. if you want more then she’ll just hit up Chica for a new one. Chica is more than happy to help. and more than happy to watch.

she’s only the jealous type if its some rando loser. THEN she’ll fuck the living shit out of you while telling you how she’s the best and making you repeat it back to her.

if it’s Monty or Chica? If you’d be into it too, then yeah, she’ll share.

…Freddy is more of a hard sell, but it’s not a hard no.

it’s more of a “Yeah yeah yeah but why do you wanna fuck the dumbass bear? Why him? Monty’s got a bigger one, I’ll tell you that.”

yeah but roxy baby his doesn’t vibrate

she comes off a winning high after a particularly close race, she’s going to go feral on you

with those eyes of hers, she can find you wherever you go. so if she’s randomly in the mood and her partner is there, even halfway across the pizzaplex, she’s on her way to pull you into her room and take some “private time.”

MONTGOMERY GATOR

hhhhhhooOOOHHH BOY

y’all remember the start of SB where he’s fucking up his room?

prepare to be destroyed HSGDHJSGBDNH

degrades. degrades the fuck out of you. it’s a toss up between Roxy and Monty who’s the more cocky, but he’s certainly meaner.

LONG ASS DICK. IT’S HUGE WITH ALL SORTS OF BUMPS AND RIDGES AND SHIT.

head pusher IF you’re okay with it. consent is mandatory.

he’d grab all his partner’s hair if they had any to grab, even just an INCH and go ham.

his long ass dick matches his long fucking tongue.

loves giving lethal backshots LOOOOOOOORD HAAAAAAAAVVVEEEE MEEERCYYYYYY

he’s not only breaking the bed, it’s straight up sawdust. idk how his partners live but they certainly live happily after.

as cocky as he is, he’s not exactly a selfish lover by any means. yeah, he’ll edge you, but he also likes to get his partner real sloppy if you catch my drift.

he aims to make you cry from pleasure. it’s straight up his goal.

i just know he knows EXACTLY where all the right spots are. you don’t even gotta tell him, inside or outside, no matter personal preference, he can always pinpoint his partner’s sweet spots

and then he proceeds to abuse the fuck out of that knowledge

he gets so jealous over Freddy, it’s insane

he sees his partner in his merch, he’s ripping it to shreds.

Roxy is less of a threat. That can be more of a collaborative effort.

he honestly doesn’t know how much of a freak in the sheets Chica is. If he had a threesome with her and she whipped out her chest of fun he’d be like “DAMN BITCH WHERE’D YOU GET ALL THOSE” and she’d be like “^-^ wanna see my buttplug collection? :>” LMFAOOO

GROANER. he GROANS LIKE CRAZY

also a bit of a growl but NOT in the cringe tiktok way don’t worry

HOPE YALL ENJOYED!!! I really hope I can start to find my old community with this :)

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yvaineseleneposts · 6 days ago

Text

Skating on Thin Ice

A/N: Should I write a part 2?

Pairing: Mat Barzal x reader

Words: 3k

Warning(s): none

The bar was alive in that electric, low-key kind of way — not packed, but just busy enough to feel like something could happen. Warm lights flickered across faces and cocktails, laughter buzzed beneath the music, and the hum of a Friday night buzzed in my veins.

I wasn’t looking for anyone. Not really.

Then I saw him.

Across the room, near the edge of the bar, Mathew Barzal leaned against the counter like he belonged there — like the air naturally curved around him. He was dressed simply: a fitted black tee, dark jeans, a chain that caught the light when he shifted. His hair was a little messy, in a “just ran a hand through it after practice” kind of way, and his jawline? Criminal.

I froze for a second too long. “Emily,” I hissed, grabbing my friend’s arm. “That’s Mathew Barzal.”

She turned, pretending to stretch. “Where?”

“Black shirt. Leaning on the bar.”

Her eyes widened. “Jesus. You’re right.”

I tried not to stare, but it was like my eyes had a mind of their own. And then — he looked over.

His gaze locked with mine. Just a flicker. Barely a second. But I felt it all the way down my spine.

I laughed it off and turned away quickly, heat creeping up my cheeks. “Okay, I think he saw me.”

Emily smirked. “Think? That man scanned you.”

But when I looked back a minute later… he wasn’t looking anymore. He was laughing with some guys, sipping from a bottle of beer, totally unbothered. I told myself I didn’t care.

And then — ten minutes later — he looked again.

This time, it was longer. Slower. Almost… curious. His head tilted slightly, and I could’ve sworn the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was considering something. But just like that, he glanced away.

It became a game.

I’d glance across the room, and sometimes I’d catch him watching me. Other times, he’d be deep in conversation with someone else. But he never came over. Never waved. Never even smiled.

He looked. That was it. Looked, then looked away.

Another girl approached him — a leggy brunette with model energy — and I watched him smile at her. He leaned in, said something that made her laugh. His hand grazed her back.

Something twisted in my stomach.

I tried to act cool. I turned to Marcus, my best friend — all glitter and sass and oversized confidence — and muttered, “I hate how cute he is. And I hate that he’s talking to someone else.”

Marcus sipped his cocktail, eyes sharp. “Then do something, babe.”

“He hasn’t even said hi.”

Marcus glanced over. “He’s looked at you like, five times. He’s just being a coward.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I’m just being dumb.”

He set his drink down. “Or maybe he needs a little push. Come with me.”

“What are you—?”

He didn’t let me finish. He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor, grinning wickedly. The music shifted into something with a deep beat, and Marcus wasted no time pulling me close, spinning me like we were in a rom-com montage.

I laughed, half flustered, half amused. “This is so transparent.”

“Exactly the point,” he winked. “Let’s give NHL boy something to think about.”

We danced like no one was watching — even though we both knew one person was. Marcus twirled me, dipped me, tossed his head back like we were in the middle of a musical. And all the while, I kept catching flickers of him from the corner of my eye.

And then… he moved.

Mathew stepped away from the brunette. Said something — probably an excuse — and started walking. Straight. Toward. Me.

I felt my heart thud against my ribs, and Marcus leaned in one last time to whisper, “Showtime.”

Then he slipped away into the crowd, leaving me standing there — flushed, unsure, and very much aware of the 6'0" athlete making his way into my personal space.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, warm, and exactly as magnetic as you'd imagine. “Mind if I cut in?”

Marcus raised a brow and gave me a wink. “She’s all yours, superstar.”

And just like that, I was dancing with Mathew Barzal.

I blinked up at him. “Was starting to think you didn’t dance.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure if you were with him.”

I smirked. “Best friend. Very gay. But thanks for noticing. You looked over like, six times.”

He laughed. “Noted. Yeah… I know. Regretted not walking over sooner.”

“Well,” I said, stepping a little closer, “you’re here now.”

He smiled — that slow, devastating kind of smile that made the wait worth it. “Yeah. I am. I’m Mat by the way.”

“I know,” I said, leaning in a little. “I’m [Y/N].”

Mathew leaned in slightly, just close enough for his scent to reach me — fresh cologne with a little edge of sweat and whatever magic lives in NHL locker rooms. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I smiled, trying to stay cool even though my heart was fully sprinting. “I mean… since you did interrupt my dance.”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair, and nodded toward the bar. “Come on. I owe you.”

We slipped through the crowd, the space between us charged but casual. Up close, he was somehow even more attractive — that laid-back, sleepy-eyed thing going on, but his gaze was sharp. Focused. When we got to the bar, he turned to me, elbow resting casually on the counter. “What’s your drink?”

“Tequila soda. Extra lime.”

He gave a little approving nod and flagged the bartender with one smooth gesture. I could see heads turning — probably Islanders fans clocking who he was — but he didn’t seem to notice, or care.

“So…” he started, handing me the drink a moment later, “what’s your story? You from around here?”

I took a sip, letting the lime hit before answering. “Born and raised. Got stuck here and never left.”

He smiled. “Stuck?”

I shrugged. “Work. Friends. Rent that’s too good to give up.”

He chuckled. “I get that. I almost left a few times. But New York has a way of keeping you.”

There was a pause. Comfortable. His eyes met mine, and I could feel the tension shift. Like the small talk was just scaffolding and we were finally getting to the part that mattered.

“I saw you earlier,” I said quietly, leaning in just a bit.

He tilted his head, teasing. “Did you?”

I rolled my eyes, smirking. “You looked over. A lot.”

He grinned, lifting his beer to his lips. “Yeah. I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“So why wait so long?”

He glanced at me, then away, almost sheepishly. “I don’t usually approach girls in bars. Especially not ones who already have a very... enthusiastic dance partner.”

I laughed. “Marcus? Oh, no. He just wanted to make you jealous.”

He raised a brow. “It worked.”

The beat from the dance floor shifted — something darker, slower, heavier. I glanced back over my shoulder toward the crowd and then up at him. “Wanna pick up where we left off?”

He set his beer down. “Thought you’d never ask.”

We moved back into the crowd, and the second we were surrounded by people and rhythm and heat, it changed.

This time, there were no friends watching. No pretence. Just us.

He stepped close behind me, one hand resting on my hip like it had always belonged there. Our bodies moved together, synced in that easy, instinctive way. I let my head fall back slightly, his breath brushing my neck as he leaned in.

“Damn,” he murmured. “You’re a good dancer.”

I turned to face him, still moving, our bodies close. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His hands slid around my waist, slow and deliberate. My arms looped around his neck. The space between us vanished.

The tension that had stretched all night? It snapped.

We weren’t just dancing anymore. We were pressed together, warm and reckless and dangerously close. His hand slipped lower on my back, pulling me in. My lips brushed his jaw — a near-miss — and he looked down at me like he was seconds away from closing that distance.

“Barzy,” someone called behind us, but he didn’t look away.

He was looking at me. Eyes dark, hungry, locked in.

“You good?” I whispered.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just didn’t expect this.”

“Did you want it?”

He leaned in, lips grazing my ear. “More than I should.”

The crowd blurred. The bass disappeared. And I knew — if we didn’t stop soon, we wouldn’t stop at all.

The space between us was nonexistent now — Mathew’s hands were on my waist, my fingers tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt. The rhythm of the music pulsed beneath our feet, but it might as well have been silence. The only thing I could feel was him.

He looked down at me again, searching my face like he was making a decision.

Then he kissed me.

Not a polite, testing kiss — but a real one. Like the kind that comes after a slow burn, a long night, and far too many almosts. His lips were soft, but his grip was firm, one hand rising to cradle the side of my face while the other pressed into the small of my back, holding me close.

I melted into it.

The dance floor could’ve fallen away. The music could’ve stopped. People moved around us, oblivious or maybe just pretending not to see, but in that moment, there was only the taste of tequila and lime between us and the heat spreading through my entire body.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless.

“You kiss like someone who knows exactly what he wants,” I said, a little dazed.

Mathew gave me that lazy, crooked grin. “I waited long enough.”

I laughed and ran a hand through my hair. “Okay — I need to go to the bathroom before I combust. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” he promised, eyes locked on mine.

I turned and threaded my way through the crowd, cheeks flushed, heartbeat racing. Inside the bathroom, I leaned against the sink and stared at my reflection, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Mathew Barzal kissed me. On a dance floor. In the middle of a packed bar.

I splashed cold water on my wrists, fixed my hair, reapplied some lip gloss, and when I stepped back out into the noise and bodies — I scanned the room.

And he was gone.

I looked near the bar. Nothing. Near the spot where we’d danced. Empty. I even checked the corners where his friends had been earlier. Still nothing.

My chest tightened.

I did a slow walk through the entire room — twice — hoping maybe he’d just stepped away to grab a drink or say hi to someone. I even slipped outside to check near the entrance. But he wasn’t there either.

No text. No follow-up. Just gone.

Back inside, Emily raised a brow when she saw my face. “What happened?”

“I—” I looked around one more time, then turned back to her, stunned. “I don’t know. One second we were kissing… and then I went to the bathroom… and he’s just... not here.”

Marcus leaned in, frowning. “He left?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know. I told him not to go anywhere. He said he wouldn’t.”

Emily put a hand on my arm. “Maybe he got pulled away? Or stepped out to take a call or something?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Maybe.”

But the moment had passed. The connection was severed. And all I was left with was the ghost of his mouth on mine and the sharp sting of wondering if it had ever meant anything to him at all.

I told myself I wouldn’t obsess over it.

That maybe Mathew Barzal had a good reason for vanishing. That maybe he meant to come back. Maybe his phone died. Maybe a friend needed help. Maybe... a thousand excuses I didn’t actually believe.

But the truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

It wasn’t just hot — it was something. Something that felt like it could’ve meant more if he hadn’t disappeared like a ghost in the middle of my favorite night.

By Sunday afternoon, I was pacing in my apartment, replaying the way he looked at me just before his lips touched mine. Like he was sure. Like I was what he wanted.

Then he was gone.

I texted Emily:

me: ok. i can’t take this. i need answers.

emily: i was waiting for this moment.

me: what’s your plan?

emily: we’re going to his game. tuesday.

me: is this stalker behavior?

emily: it’s hockey-fan behavior with a personal subplot.

And so that’s how, on a brisk Tuesday night, I found myself at UBS Arena, crammed between Emily and Marcus in seats that overlooked center ice. I wasn’t exactly a die-hard fan, but even I could admit: seeing him skate in full gear, focused and lethal, was enough to short-circuit a few brain cells.

“There he is,” Marcus whispered, pointing as Barzal lined up for a face-off.

He looked calm. Collected. Like a man who hadn’t kissed me breathless and then vanished without a word.

“Do you think he’ll recognize me?” I asked, suddenly unsure.

“Oh, honey,” Marcus said. “He felt that kiss. He’ll recognize you.”

The game was fast. Violent. Beautiful in a way I hadn’t expected. And Mathew — he was everywhere. Fast on his skates, sharp with his passes, scoring a goal that sent the arena into chaos. I clapped like a normal person, but my heart was flipping in my chest like I had something to do with it.

When the buzzer signaled the end of the third period — 3-1 Islanders — my stomach dropped. This was it. My chance. If I could find him.

Emily was already three steps ahead. “Players exit by the loading dock. We’ve got ten minutes to get over there.”

I blinked. “You’ve done this before.”

She shrugged. “I’ve dated musicians. Same principle.”

We slipped out of our section, weaving through fans, skipping past security with just enough fake confidence to not get stopped. By the time we reached the gated player exit, a handful of other fans had already gathered — mostly teenage girls with signs and sharpies.

I hung back a little, nerves fluttering.

The first players trickled out, some stopping for photos or autographs. Then he appeared — black cap, Islanders jacket, duffel slung over one shoulder. Mathew Barzal.

I froze.

He was halfway to his car before Marcus gave me a shove. “Go. Now.”

I stepped forward, heart pounding, and called out softly, “Mathew?”

He turned. His eyes scanned the small crowd — then landed on me. Recognition flickered. Then something deeper. Surprise. Regret. Something he didn’t hide fast enough.

He took a few steps closer. “Hey…”

I folded my arms. “So, you do remember me.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course I do. Look — about that night…”

“You kissed me,” I said, trying to stay calm. “Then I go to the bathroom and poof — you’re gone.”

“I know,” he said, voice low, eyes sincere. “And I’m sorry. I got pulled away — my teammate got into something outside, I had to help get him out of it. Then I came back in and you were gone.”

I blinked. “You looked for me?”

He nodded. “Everywhere. Even asked the bartender if he saw where you went.”

That stupid twist in my stomach uncoiled, just a little.

I hesitated, then said, “So now what?”

He smiled — not cocky this time. Just hopeful. “Now, I ask if you’ll let me buy you a drink. Not in a crowded bar. No games. Just… us.”

I tilted my head, letting the tension ease. “And if I say yes?”

“Then I promise,” he said, stepping closer, “I won’t disappear again.”

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writerswall26 · 1 year ago

Text

My Sweet Cairo (Part 2)

Synopsis: The Ravens' Soccer team Captain fell in love for Cairo Sweet

Warning: Slight cursing, Student-Teacher relations. Other than that, none that I know of (but feel free to correct me)

Words: 1.7k

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome. But I think confusion would start here before the good climax. Happy Reading!

"Before we start our lesson, we want to congratulate our soccer team’s captain for winning us the semi finals last saturday night." Mr. Miller told the class where they cheered and whistled. Y/N smiling humbly while she saw Cairo clapping with them, a warm smile on her face.

"Told yah we'll bring home the championship this year." Y/N told Mr. Miller who laughed.

"I do hope so. Alright, let's continue!" He clapped and proceeded with their class.

Despite Cairo just sitting prettily in the front row, Y/N did not mind her as she was so engrossed with their lesson.

After their class, Y/N waited for Cairo outside of class patiently and she was out in minutes with Winnie.

"What do you want now, superstar?" Winnie asked in playful annoyance, rolling her eyes.

Y/N rolled her eyes as well. "I'm not here for you, miss creepy girl. I'm here for her." Y/N said, turning to Cairo with a sweet smile.

"To what do I owe you, superstar?" Cairo teased which made Y/N groan as she leaned her head back.

"See what you did there?" She turned to Winnie who raised her hands in surrender which Cairo giggled.

"What is it?" Cairo finally asked, curiously.

"Would you want to have dinner with me? Saturday night?" Y/N asked, fidgeting on the strap of her duffel bag.

"Are you asking me on a date?" The smile on Cairo's face never left.

Y/N shrugged. "If you want to call it that, I'm not complaining." She smiled.

Winnie and Cairo gave each other a look before the shorter girl turned to her.

"I'd take you up on it, but I got something going on saturday, I'm sorry." And that, my friend, hurts like a fucking bitch.

Y/N nodded, her face faltering at the rejection. But she still managed to smile and nodded.

"I see. It's okay." She said, starting to walk back slowly. "I'll see you around, then."

She was not feeling herself after that but she saw this coming as well. It's reaching to say that Cairo's gonna accept immediately after just a small interaction and one game.

"What's with the long face, sweetheart?" Jasmine asked as soon as she sat down in their physics class.

Y/N gave her a small smile as she shook her head, getting the rejection out of her head. "Nothing, just feeling a little under the weather." She said and said nothing more.

She was bummed out until saturday and her mother noticed it.

"What's wrong, darling? You've been looking a little down lately." Y/M/N, her mum, said while putting the lasagna on the table.

Y/N smiled at her mum. "Nothing. Just tired." She said before she stood up.

"Where are you going? We're gonna have lunch soon." Her mother called her but she just continued walking.

"I'm gonna take a breather. Don't wait up. Love you." She said before she took her bike and went for a small ride.

She was feeling the breeze and all that when the rain started pouring.

"Goodness gracious!" She muttered as she went faster to find a place to shelter on. And she did, on a big tree in front of Vanderbilt. She was drying herself up when her gaze fell on two particular people on the porch of the place.

"What the fuck?" She muttered to herself, it's Cairo and Mr. Miller, close to each other, smoking.

Her mind was running a thousand times over. What the fuck is Mr. Miller doing with Cairo outside of class? But then again, both of them are writers, it's a poetry place. She stared for a long time, watching and waiting and praying for nothing to happen. And when nothing did, she let out a small sigh.

She shook her head to get back to her senses before she rode her bike again. An anger about to blow inside her and the more she stays, the more it bubbles. She can't have that. So, she rode, fast on the rough wet road.

"Fuck!" She screamed over and over and over again until her tires bumped into something, causing her to lose her balance and be thrown off her bike a couple of feet away, her body slamming on the rough road causing a few nasty scratches in her left arm and a bump on her head.

She laid there, breathing heavily as she tried to feel her body, her legs, her arms. Thankfully, she's still functioning. So she pushed herself up, groaning as she limped to her bike, she checked on it first and was thankful that it was not wrecked. She sighed before she got on her bike and pushed through despite her entire body aching from the impact.

When she got home, her mum immediately rushed to her, checking her up from head to toe before leading her to the living room couch to sit.

"What happened to you, darling?" Her mum asked worriedly as she got a baskin of hot water and her medical kit.

"Didn't see a rock on the way." She answered quietly as her mother started tending to her.

"Was it pouring hard? You should've taken shelter and waited for it to stop." Her mum said softly while cleaning her scratches on her arm and face.

The two of them were silent while her mum's patching her up. After she was done, she kissed Y/N's forehead and fixed the things she used.

"Go get changed before we have our dinner." Y/M/N said, she did what she was asked to.

Y/N walked up to her room, threw her clothes in the laundry basket and changed. The image in her head was not leaving but she soon blocked it out when her mother called her for dinner.

"The finals is a week away. You should take care of your body if you want to win." Y/M/N told her gently while giving her a portion of her food.

Y/N smiled softly. "I know. I was being reckless, I'm sorry I made you worry."

Y/M/N smiled, patting her hand gently before they started their dinner together.

"Will you be able to watch?" Y/N asked in the middle of their dinner.

Y/M/N grinned beautifully. "Of course. I've already told the hospital I'm taking a leave to watch my wonderful daughter crush the opposing team and win that championship cup!"

Y/N chuckled at her mum's enthusiasm. "That's over reaching, mother." She says but her mum shook her head.

"This is your final game before university and you will, for sure, by no means, win the cup. And I'm so so proud of you."

Y/N's heart warmed at her mother's proud smile. She's been talking non-stop about this championship and how it's gonna look on her university portfolio, so her mother wanted her to do her best to win this championship this season.

On monday when she got to her English class, worried looks were thrown her way when they saw her wounds and the scratch on her face. Even Winnie did not give her the usual flirty attitude she usually gives whenever she sat down beside her.

"What happened to you?" Winnie asked worriedly, checking her up.

Y/N shrugged. "Just some scratches here and there."

"You have an entire bandage on your arm, Y/N. Not to mention, that thing on your face. That's not some scratch." Winnie said, concern laced in her voice.

Y/N gave her a smirk. "You worried now, sweetheart?" She tried but Winnie did not smile one bit.

Y/N sighed and faced her to show her the bandage. "Look, I fell off my bike, okay? But I'm perfectly fine now. My mum made sure of that the entire weekend." She assured the girl.

Winnie stayed quiet for a moment before she nodded. "Sure you're okay though? No broken bones or something?"

Y/N chuckled. Winnie can be adorable when she wants to.

"I'm perfectly fine. No broken bones or something." She assured Winnie who nodded with a smile.

Their class starts with Mr. Miller introducing another quote from a book and they're to make their own interpretation of it and present it in their next class.

After their class, Y/N immediately fixed her things hoping to run away from a certain brunette girl which she failed miserably as she was already in front of Y/N before the taller girl even had the chance to step out.

"What happened to you?" Cairo asked, her voice gentle and worried.

Usually, Y/N would smile and be all giddy but after what she saw last saturday, it's like all the happiness in the world had vanished.

"I fell off my bike. Excuse me." Y/N said, pushing past Cairo who followed her outside.

"Are you really going to be like this?" She heard Cairo saying from behind her.

Y/N groaned, letting her head fall back before she turned to look at the smaller girl. Winnie's even worried while watching.

"Like what, Cairo?" She asked, annoyance evident in her voice.

"This." Cairo said, pointing a hand at her as she walks in front of Y/N. "Are you really going to ignore me? What? Because I said no to you last saturday?"

Y/N's ears tinged at what was being accused of her. She wanted to burst out and say she saw her and Mr. Miller at Vanderbilt together, close and inappropriate. But she refrained herself, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves down.

"I'm not avoiding you. I have physics. And why do I care if you're out somewhere with God knows who? I'm not expecting you to say yes just because we had a small interaction and you watched one of my games. I'm not that shallow." Y/N's voice was restrained, her face red from trying to calm down.

Cairo was shocked to see this. She was not expecting Y/N to have a side like this. The few times she's seen this girl, she's always smiling and laughing. Never this angry.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? Let me make it up to you. Come by to my place, let's have dinner tonight." Cairo said, holding a hand to Y/N's chest and caressing it gently. Her big brown eyes are soft and apologetic.

Y/N stared at her for a moment before she sighed, bowing her head to calm before she gave out a small smile.

"Forget it." Y/N said as she stepped back, letting Cairo's hand fall on her side with a pained look.

"Finals on Saturday night, Winnie. Hope to see you there." Y/N said before she walked back and went to her physics class, not bothering to throw Cairo another glance.

#jenna ortega x reader #cairo sweet x reader #tara carpenter x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #cairo sweet #tara carpenter #wednesday addams #miller's girl

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insomniac4000 · 19 days ago

Text

ChrisMD- Wedding Woes

The problem with being two internet-famous people in love was the internet part.

There was ChrisMD; The Youtuber. Known for football, free kicks, chaos with his mates, and his occasional vulnerable chatty videos about his mental health, and of course his short stature had somehow managed to keep his engagement to Y/N two million subscribers on Tiktok superstar, travel vlogger, and Instagram queen almost entirely under wraps for eight months.

That was a miracle in itself.

They had told their friends in phases: George Clarke first, who accidentally threw a cushion across the room and screamed when Y/N held up the ring during a game night. Then WillNE and Harry Lewis, who immediately began placing bets on who would cry more during the ceremony (odds were on Chris). Reev had cried when he found out. Theo Baker filmed a vlog that never aired where he just talked about how happy he was for them for ten minutes straight.

But they had kept it tight. Incredibly, miraculously tight.

Except now, three weeks away from the wedding, the pressure was mounting and they were both worried about fans catching on. Certain corners of the internet had ears sharper than any dog, eyes sharper than any owl, more cunning than any fox. They knew things, they found out things, they could be relentless. They were watching them. Always. And Y/N was exhausted.

She stood in the kitchen, steaming cup of coffee in her hands as she was deep in thought. She felt Chris’s arms snake gently around her waist from behind, his voice low. “Still thinking about it?”

Y/N didn’t answer for a beat. Then: “It’s like we’re fugitives.”

He chuckled into her shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ve always wanted to be in a spy movie.”

“Chris.”

“I’m serious. We’ve got code names. Secret locations. George almost booked his flight under ‘Mr. Clarksworth’ like he was in Mission Impossible.”

Y/N sighed, leaning back against him. “It’s just not fun anymore. I didn’t think I’d care, but… they don’t know when to stop. I hate hiding. I hate lying.”

Chris turned her around, his expression gentler now. “We’re not lying. We’re just protecting it, protecting us.”

“They think we don’t trust them they’re still our fans.”

“Do you trust seven million strangers with knowing the time and place of our wedding?”

Y/N frowned. “…Fair point.”

Chris pulled her into a hug. “We’re doing the right thing.”

She let herself be wrapped in it for a moment. “I just wanted one thing… one thing that was just ours. But it’s like even when I’m not filming, I’m still being watched.” People often argued as she was a public figure that she wasn’t entitled to any privacy but she disagreed. Just because there were some aspects of her life that she felt comfortable about sharing that didn’t mean her whole life should be an open book.

Chris didn’t argue, in fact he wholeheartedly agreed with her. They only soft launched their relationship after four months because someone found out by studying Instagram backgrounds and recognising they were in the same place, twice. That was all it took. One of the main reasons why they fell in love was because they were on the same page, they understood each other. She knew him beyond free kicks and being short. He knew the Y/N who cried when she was overwhelmed, the one who needed quiet walks with no cameras, the one who didn’t want to feel like her entire life was up for review in the comments.

“Hey,” he said softly. “If it gets worse, we can cut more people. Smaller wedding. We can even just elope. Seriously. I’ll marry you in a shack on the beach if you want.”

Y/N looked up at him, amused despite herself. “A shack.”

“With a dog as a witness.”

“A dog?”

“A goat, then. Whatever Cabo Verde’s got.”

She finally smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

He kissed her forehead, and for a moment, it all melted away.

Despite the tension, the operation was going surprisingly well. Their friends were incredibly supportive; George had filmed three weeks worth of his Podcast in advance, Arthur and Bach announced a season break for a month so no suspicions would be raised there. Will had a plan to set his Instagram location to constantly bounce between London and Madrid to throw people off. Her best friend and fellow content creator had a bunch of grid posts ready, some from the hen which had already taken place in Malta a few weeks before which would hopefully throw people off the scent, but even so the pressure was bubbling.

Two weeks until the big day, Y/N had a proper meltdown.

It was 1 a.m., and they were packing in their bedroom, surrounded by suitcases and crumpled lists. Chris was folding shirts. Y/N was staring at a list of last-minute confirmations from the wedding planner. And then, without warning, she burst into tears.

Chris was beside her in a second. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

“I just…” she sobbed, “I can’t; what if someone leaks it? What if it pisses it down?What if the flowers don’t arrive and the cake melts and I trip walking down the aisle and some idiot with a drone films it and I end up on MailOnline as ‘Influencer Bride FAILS Wedding’?”

Chris bit back a laugh and instead pulled her into a hug. “First of all, you could fall face-first into the cake and I’d still marry you. Second, we’ve got this. Everyone’s been so amazing. We’ve made it this far. And third—what if it’s perfect?”

She sniffled against his chest.

“What if the flowers are beautiful, and the sun sets at the perfect moment, and you walk down the aisle and I’m crying like a mug and everyone’s just... really, truly happy for us. And no one ruins it. Because we didn’t let them. But most of all, it will be perfect because I’m marrying you.”

Y/N pulled back, her eyes glassy. “That was disgustingly sweet.”

“Thank you, I try.”

She exhaled shakily. “I just hate this side of it. The guessing. The pressure. People thinking they’re owed every part of us.”

Chris nodded. “We owe them great content. We don’t owe them this.” He kissed her head, it was her absolute favourite kiss and always calmed her down.

The flight out was like a covert operation

All guests were told to stagger their flights where possible and arrive through different airports. Everyone was instructed not to post until after the wedding.

George, Bach and both Arthur’s arrived together and pretended they were shooting a platform roulette when the recording had actually taken place a few days beforehand. The Sidemen had an airtight excuse; they just posted that JJ and Tobi were in Dubai, a planned diversion. Even Freezy played along, posting photos of him “in Italy” while sipping cocktails on a veranda in Santa Maria.

Y/N and Chris flew separately, Chris going through Frankfurt, Y/N via Lisbon, meeting secretly in a quiet corner of the Cabo Verde airport before being whisked away in a blacked-out van.

“This is insane,” Y/N muttered, laughing despite herself as she flopped into the seat. “Feels like we’re in a spy movie.”

Chris leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Worth it though. Hi I’m Bond. Chris Bond.”

“You’re so corny,” she giggled, he sent her a cheeky grin in return, the type that made her heart melt.

The villa they were staying in the night before was everything they’d dreamed of.

Perched on a cliff with whitewashed walls and bright bougainvillaea, it had gorgeous views of the sea, warm breezes, and an air of tranquil privacy. Local chefs were preparing fresh food. The planner had delivered everything on time. The cake was perfect. The dress was here.

No one had leaked a thing.

The night before the wedding, Y/N stood barefoot on the balcony, her curls bouncing in the breeze. Below, fairy lights twinkled in the garden where guests were laughing over cocktails.

Chris joined her quietly. “Hey.”

She turned, smiling softly. “Hi.”

He reached for her hand. “Tomorrow’s the day.”

“Tomorrow, I’m going to marry you.”

They stood in silence for a while, just holding hands and watching the waves crash.

“I’m glad we did it this way. Despite all the stress. Y/N whispered. “We did it. We really kept it quiet.”

Chris pressed a kiss to her temple. “Tomorrow, we get to celebrate. Not for them. For us.” They toasted glasses of champagne.

The wedding was perfect.

No drones. No paparazzi. No fans screaming. Just laughter, family, friends, elegance, sunlight, and the sound of waves in the background.

Y/N walked down the aisle barefoot, veil trailing in the breeze. Chris’s hands shook as she approached, eyes already glassy. George tried not to cry. Reev failed miserably.

Their vows were quiet, private things. Promises made not for content, not for cameras, but for each other although Chris couldn’t help but add a little joke about the number of subscribers he had.

At the reception, they danced under string lights while the sea sparkled behind them. The food was phenomenal. Harry got too drunk and gave a speech about true love that ended in tears. Liv gave them matching friendship bracelets “to commemorate your ultimate collab.” Becky forced everyone to do a shot, even Chris’s nan, who was a little bit too willing to comply.

No one checked their phones. No one streamed. No one leaked a thing. It would be posted soon, in their own time. When they were ready, maybe after the honeymoon but for now it was their little secret.

#chrismd #chris dixon #chrismd fic #chrismd x reader #chrismd imagine

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hearts4werka · 6 months ago

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NNN day 8 | Adorable Chaos

summary: one day you woke up to Matt becoming the best dad for two of your little fur babies, showing all of the affection you wanted to show them yourself but couldn’t and there was Matt fulfilling your little dream

warnings: FLUFF, none! Cutesy content ahead of Matt being an animal dad

authors note: I keep falling behind the time I have set to post the fics and idk why 😭 another amazing idea brought to me by pookie @/strnilolover, and I was watching s4 of obx and when I tell you I was balling my eyes out but here’s the fic 😋 luv y’all and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The sun had barely rose up, casting a warm sunny glow over the room of my small apartment. In the living room, the soft purring of a cat mixed with the gentle tapping of tiny feet on the wooden floor. There was also the soft snuffling from a hedgehog, whose tiny, spiky body was inside a bunch of cozy blankets. My boyfriend Matt officially calls himself the ultimate caretaker of Molly and Mochi, and it was clear he wore that title with proudness.

I watched from the kitchen, a soft smile spreading across my face as I sipped at my fresh morning coffee. I was supposed to be getting ready for the day, but the sight before me was simply too adorable to look away from. Matt had transformed the living room into an own castle for my pets. Fluffy beds litter the floor and couch, precariously placed toys, and a mini cat tower took the most space, all precisely placed just for Molly and Mochi.

He sat on the floor, cross-legged, as Molly approached him, her eyes becoming wide with evident curiosity. In one swift motion, Matt pulled out a tiny feather toy from behind his back and as he waved it in the air, she transformed from a completely calm kitten to almost like a small hunter, jumping around and playfully swatting at the air. “You see, girl? You’ve got it! Just like that!” Matt cheered, his voice laced with enthusiasm. Molly responded to his praise with a soft meow, her tail wagging back and forth as she enjoyed all of his attention. Next to him, Mochi was busy sniffing through all of the delicious treats laid out like a buffet.

Matt had took time out of his evening searching through the pet store’s best treat options for Mochi picking out crunchy bites as if he was picking out red wine. He pointed at Mochi, who was blissfully munching away and announced, “Look at him eat! He’s such a cute little thing!” The sight of Matt caring for my pets stirred something deep inside of me, like an overwhelming warmth that got into every corner of my heart. It was adorable how he had essentially assumed the role of their caring parent, going above and beyond in his care for them.

“You know,” I joked while walking into the room, admiring the cuteness of a mess on the floor, “I thought I was the one who adopted them.” Matt turned to glance at me, his face lighting up with playful mock. “You think a mom can spoil her kids too much? What about the dad’s, huh? We can spoil the little fur baby’s too from time to time” Molly hopped onto Matt’s lap, immediately settling down as if to agree with his statement. Her spine straight and head tucked inside, she was in complete trust. Mochi, getting a bit jealous stomped over towards them and nudging Molly with his tiny nose as if to say, “Hey, I want attention too!”

Matt chuckled and scooped Mochi into his hands, gently cradling him. “Don’t worry, buddy! You’re our little superstar,” he said, giving Mochi a soft scratch on his spiky back. Mochi snuggled into his hand, his small body curling up into a ball of joy. I leaned against the door frame, admiring the scene as my heart fills with affection thats radiating off them. There was something so sweet about watching Matt collapse into a pile of giggles as he struggled to get Molly and Mochi to be at peace with each other in a small game. The way he showered them with affection made your own small attempts to gain their favor feel nearly impossible and slipping away.

“Okay, okay! Molly, you’re the champ! Now Mochi, your turn!” he exclaimed joyfully, as he attempted to get Mochi to follow the sound of a new toy from the ground. In that moment, Matt was entirely in his own bubble completely absorbed in their moves, treating my pets with the kind of love I’d only imagined giving them myself. I slowly walked closer, enveloped in the warmth of their laughter and the peaceful calming sounds that filled the air.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, you sat down beside him. “I think they’re starting to like you more than me,” I joked, wrapping an arm around him. Matt grinned, his eyes beaming with warmth. “Well, can you blame them? I’m a pretty cool fur dad” He pulled me closer, and even in the perfect chaos that these two little creatures brought into our lives, I felt something for sure-this was your family now-imperfect, chaotic, but filled with love.

I gave him a little smile, allowing myself to lean against him as Molly snuggled further into him and Mochi settled onto Matt's other knee. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I whispered, knowing in my heart that the love I had for Matt only became deeper by the way he accepted every weird flaw of our little fur filled family.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

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throneofrayllum · 1 month ago

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THOUGHTS ON JWCT SEASON THREE

(spoilers ahead)

WHAT THE MOTHER FUCK WAS THAT

THAT WAS SERIOUSLY THE BEST SEASON IN CHAOS THEORY AND CAMP CRETACEOUS COMBINED

I WAS ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT THE WHOLE TIME

Ok...now that I got that out the way...

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YASAMMY BROKE UP?! WHAT THE FUCK. To whoever predicted that and I was like "No not in a million years"...I'm real glad we didn't bet on that.

I do not think it's gonna be a permanent thing...they're fucking YASAMMY. I am so sure this is just for character development and drama because they're the wives. Couples break up all the time and then get back together. My brother broke up with his wife like...five times when they were dating and now their married with kids so...I have hope.

WE ARE SO GETTING DINOSTAR WHAT THE FUCK I'M SO HAPPY. AGHHHH. "Because I know you superstar" SHOOT ME I CRIED. The way Darius held her so tight during that hug in the last ep...

DARIUS NEVER GIVING UP ON BROOKLYNN BROOO

I'm just so happy...Dinostar nation we won.

Kenlynn is dead. Like, that's done. I will say I am very sad because it was my main ship for a lonnggggg time, and they will always hold a special place in my heart, but it's over. I knew they were dead for sure when Kenji had no interest in going after Brooklynn. If he was still in love with her he would've. That relationship is damaged beyond repair. I'm not saying Kenji doesn't still love her, because he does, he's just not in love with her anymore.

BUT DINOSTARRRR

Gia and Ben are so cute!!!!! They're so soft and sweet. Gia is an absolute angel omg. Also I don't know about y'all but I'm headcannoning Gia as trans.

SMOOTHIE OMGGGG. I'M OBSESSED. KENJI IS A SUCH A DAD OMG. I WANTED TO CRY WSHEN KENJI HELD HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME.

But also what the fuck is the name "smoothie" . Like WHY Kenji. It's cute but WHY.

THE TIE IN TO DOMINION. IT WAS ALL SO PERFECT I FELT LIKE I WAS ASCENDING TO HEAVEN EVERY EPISODE I WATCHED.

The Handler being dead is probably devastating for a lot of y'all, and I send my condolences, but I have like zero feelings about her death lmao.

BROOKLYNN IS SUCH A FUCKING BADASS. She was absolutely ruthless and I loved it. I also loved watching her genuinely do BAD things like when she almost got Davi's arm chomped off and when she stuck the laser on him and then after was like "oh my god who have I become?" Watching her become more and more morally grey was such a treat and I ate it up.

But also, she's still our girl at heart. She was just playing the long game...sometimes a little too well. But she's still camp fams Brook.

Ben was cracking me up this season lmao

ALSO SAMMY AND YAZ CALLING EACH OTHER 'BABE'. AGHHH.

BROKERLYNN. LAB PARTNERS. They 1000% slept together and I am so sure of that. When Soyona told the Handler to "never lay a finger on Brooklynn again" I SCREAMED. The way Soyona grabbed Brooklynn's WAIST and pulled her closer to her side in that scene too? STOP. I also LOVED Brooklynn's "checkmate" moment with Soyona. Brooklynn is THAT BITCH.

Seeing Soyona in her dominion fit did something to me bro. SHE'S SO DAMN HOT.

I sympathize with Sammy because of what she went through with her family, and I feel so bad for her, but it made me sad how she lost ALL her faith in Brook.

Yaz being so steadfast in her faith in Brooklynn made me so happy. I love their friendship and I love that it was kinda touched on this season.

Anyways...that's not all I have to say and I have so many more posts coming but HOLY SHIT Y'ALL. BEST SEASON YET.

#jwct #jurassic world chaos theory #jwcc #jwct s3 #jwct season 3 spoilers

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goldfades · 5 months ago

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𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐄 ───── LAMELO BALL

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.7k (i got a bit carried away per usual)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | lamelo spots you courtside, turning in the game of his life just to impress you. what starts as playful banter at an afterparty quickly turns into a connection that neither of you can ignore.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lamelo being COCKY AF, ummmmm... mentions of drinking, banter, allusions to lamelo being a hohohoho, just very banter-teasing heavy

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | i'm feeding the secret lamelo ball fangirls out there cause i see you and i fw you a lot cause ur just liek me, i hope yall enjoy !!!

The buzz of the Spectrum Center feels electric tonight. Maybe it’s the high stakes of the game, or maybe it’s just the way Lilah’s energy rubs off on you—effortless and magnetic, like she was born to thrive under these arena lights. You sit beside her, court-side, her gold bracelets jingling softly as she waves to someone across the court. Her husband, Miles is warming up, all easy confidence and sharp focus. He catches Lilah’s eye, grins, and points toward the two of you, a silent “this one’s for you.”

Lilah leans in, her voice just audible above the noise. “Miles is going to kill it tonight. He always does when I’m here.” She nudges you playfully. “You’re my lucky charm, though, so don’t go thinking you’re off the hook.”

You laugh, shifting in your seat as the players take their positions. Basketball’s never been your scene, but when Lilah called and begged you to come as her plus-one, you couldn’t say no. Something about her insistence—“You need to get out more!”—made it impossible to refuse. And now, as the lights dim and the announcer’s voice booms through the arena, you’re glad you came. The energy is infectious, the atmosphere electric.

Then, your attention shifts.

Number one, LaMelo Ball, steps onto the court. He’s hard to miss—tall, sharp-cut features, and an aura that makes it seem like he knows everyone’s watching him. Which, let’s be honest, they probably are. He moves with a kind of casual arrogance, his presence larger than life even among his teammates. You’ve heard his name a dozen times, always tied to words like prodigy or superstar, but seeing him in person is something else entirely.

And then it happens.

As if sensing your gaze, he glances your way. It’s quick, just a flicker, but enough for his eyes to find yours. Time slows—or maybe it’s just your imagination—because for a moment, it feels like he’s staring straight through the noise and chaos of the arena, right at you. There’s something in his expression—curiosity, intrigue—that makes your breath hitch.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that’s almost imperceptible, then turns his attention back to the court. But you notice the difference immediately. His movements become sharper, his energy more focused. Every pass, every shot, every step is precise, like he’s putting on a show and you’re the intended audience.

Lilah nudges you again. “I think LaMelo just checked you out.”

You laugh it off, but your pulse betrays you, thudding a little too hard against your ribs. You’re overthinking it, you tell yourself. It’s just a coincidence, an accident.

On the court, LaMelo thrives in the rhythm of the game. He’s always been good at this—reading plays, threading passes, finding space where none should exist. But tonight, something feels different. There’s a spark under his skin, a hum that makes every move sharper, every decision quicker. He knows exactly why.

Between plays, he glances toward the courtside seats again, where you’re sitting with Lilah Bridges. He doesn’t even know your name, but he can’t stop looking. There’s something about the way you’re perched there, so effortlessly composed, your laugh soft but luminous whenever Lilah says something funny. The arena lights hit your face just right, making you impossible to miss, even with the chaos of the game surrounding him.

“Yo, Melo,” Miles mutters during a timeout, smirking as he catches LaMelo glancing toward the sideline. “You good? You’ve been zoned in all night.”

LaMelo grabs a water bottle and takes a quick sip, playing it cool. “I’m always locked in.”

Miles doesn’t let up, chuckling as he leans closer. “Nah, not like this. You’ve been balling like you got something to prove. Who’s got you locked in like that?” He follows LaMelo’s line of sight, and when his gaze lands on you, his grin widens. “Ahhh, I see. You’re been peepin’ Lilah’s friend.”

LaMelo doesn’t confirm or deny it, but the way he smirks back says enough. “Who is she?” he asks, keeping his voice low, casual.

Miles shrugs, wiping his face with a towel. “That’s Lilah’s girl. She’s cool, real chill. Don’t know if she’s your type, though.”

LaMelo raises an eyebrow, his confidence peeking through. “What makes you think she’s not my type?”

Miles laughs, shaking his head. “Man, I’m just saying. She doesn’t seem like the type to get caught up in all... this.” He gestures vaguely to the court, the arena, the larger-than-life spectacle that comes with being LaMelo Ball.

LaMelo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he lets his eyes drift back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward when he catches you clapping at something Lilah says. There’s something about you that feels... different. It’s not just the way you look, though that’s definitely a big part of it. It’s the way you carry yourself, like you’re perfectly content to stay in the background, even though the spotlight would suit you just fine.

“She doesn’t have to get caught up in all this,” he finally says, dribbling the ball idly as the timeout winds down. “I just wanna know her name.”

Miles shakes his head, chuckling. “Good luck with that, man. Lilah’s probably gonna run interference if she thinks you’re trying to pull something.”

LaMelo grins, his confidence unwavering. “Guess I’ll just have to ask her myself.”

When the whistle blows and the game resumes, he’s locked in again—but this time, it’s with a purpose. He’s not just playing for the win. He’s playing to make sure he earns your attention, the same way you’ve unknowingly captured his.

The ball is in his hands again, and LaMelo moves like the court is his stage. Each dribble echoes, every pass and shot calculated to perfection. He’s already good at this—great, even—but tonight, he’s playing like he’s got something to prove. To himself? Maybe. To you? Definitely.

He steals a glance toward the sideline during a lull in the game. You’re still there, leaning slightly toward Lilah as the two of you talk. Whatever she just said has you laughing, your head tilted back, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as if to stifle the sound. It’s unguarded, genuine. LaMelo feels his focus falter for half a second, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“Yo, stay with me!” His teammate barks as he claps his hands, trying to pull LaMelo’s attention back to the game.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” LaMelo says, waving him off. And he is good—better than good, actually. He’s in a rhythm now, and the team is feeding off his energy. Every basket he scores gets the crowd louder, and every assist he dishes out has the bench on their feet.

But you’re still there, just at the edge of his vision, a quiet distraction that’s becoming harder to ignore.

By halftime, the Hornets are up by ten, and the arena is buzzing with excitement. LaMelo plops down on the bench, catching his breath. Sweat drips from his hairline, and he swipes at it with a towel. As the coaches huddle the team together, his thoughts drift back to you.

Miles is the first to notice. Again.

“You ain’t slick, bro,” Miles says, shaking his head with a grin as he grabs a Gatorade. “I saw you peeking at her all through the second quarter.”

LaMelo scoffs, though he doesn’t bother denying it. “I wasn’t peeking. I was glancing. Big difference.”

Miles laughs, the sound low and knowing. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself. I’m just saying—don’t let Coach catch you getting distracted out here.”

“I’m not distracted,” LaMelo shoots back, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. His smirk is quick, confident. “I’m locked in. You see the score?”

“Yeah, yeah, we see it,” Miles says, rolling his eyes. “But don’t think I didn’t catch you asking about her earlier. You really gonna make a move on Lilah’s friend?”

“Why not?” LaMelo’s answer is immediate, like he’s already decided.

Miles shakes his head, taking another sip of his drink. “She doesn’t look like the type to fall for all that charm you’re so proud of.”

LaMelo just grins, leaning back against the bench as the coaches wrap up their halftime pep talk. “Good. That’s the fun part.”

The game resumes, and LaMelo’s energy is sharper than ever. The crowd roars with every shot he makes, every assist he dishes. He’s putting on a clinic, and it’s impossible not to notice. The announcers are hyped, the fans are on their feet, and even his teammates are feeding off his fire.

And yet, every time he scores, his eyes flicker back to you.

It’s subtle—so quick that most people wouldn’t catch it—but Miles does. And so does Lilah, apparently. By the fourth quarter, she’s leaning over to whisper something to you, a sly smile on her face. You glance toward the court briefly, and for a split second, your eyes meet LaMelo’s again.

That’s when he knows.

The final buzzer sounds, and the Hornets walk off the court victorious. The energy in the arena is electric, fans cheering as the players exchange high-fives and congratulations. But LaMelo’s already thinking about the afterparty.

As he heads to the locker room, he catches up with Miles. “So, what’s the move tonight?”

Miles raises an eyebrow. “Why you asking me? You don’t usually roll through these things like that.”

LaMelo shrugs, keeping his tone casual. “Just curious. Lilah’s coming, right?”

“Yeah,” Miles says slowly, catching on. “And I’m guessing her friend will be there too?”

LaMelo doesn’t answer, but the look on his face says it all.

Miles chuckles, shaking his head as they head down the tunnel. “Man, you’re bold. Good luck with that one. She’s way out of your league.”

LaMelo smirks, the challenge lighting a spark in his chest. “No such thing as out of my league.”

As he steps into the locker room, his mind is already racing. He doesn’t know much about you yet—just the way you look when you laugh and the fact that you’ve already got him playing like he’s got something to prove.

But he’s determined to find out more.

The afterparty is in full swing by the time you and Lilah walk in, the pulsing bass of the music vibrating through the floor as laughter and conversation fill the space. It’s one of those places that feels effortlessly cool—dim lights, plush leather seating, and enough space for the players to spread out without it feeling cramped. You weren’t planning to have too much fun tonight, but the energy in the room is infectious.

Lilah tugs you along toward the bar, her arm looped through yours. “Okay, first rule of these parties,” she says, grinning as she leans in close, “always let me order your first drink. Miles swears I have good luck when it comes to the bartenders.”

You laugh, watching as she flags someone down with a wave and effortlessly orders for both of you. A minute later, a glass of something bright and fizzy is pressed into your hand. You take a sip, pleasantly surprised by how smooth it is, the citrusy kick warming you from the inside.

“Good, right?” Lilah asks, already sipping hers.

You nod, letting the drink loosen you up as you glance around the room. The players are scattered across the space, some tucked into booths with their significant others, others leaning against the bar, laughing and clinking glasses. It’s easy to spot LaMelo. He’s tall, for one thing, but it’s more than that. He has this magnetism about him, like the energy of the room shifts wherever he goes.

And right now, his attention is on you.

You notice it immediately—the way his eyes seem to find you no matter where you stand. He’s subtle about it, leaning casually against the bar as he talks to one of his teammates, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. But every so often, his gaze flickers in your direction, lingering just a beat too long before returning to his conversation.

At first, you try to brush it off. He’s probably like this with everyone, you tell yourself. Smooth, confident, the kind of guy who knows the effect he has on people. But the longer it goes on, the harder it is to ignore. Each glance feels deliberate, like he’s testing the waters, waiting to see how you’ll react.

And you can’t help it—you start to react.

You catch yourself standing a little straighter, your laugh a little more unguarded, the occasional glance in his direction just to see if he’s still looking. He always is. It’s a game, one that you didn’t realize you’d started playing, but now that you’re in it, you can’t seem to stop.

“Okay, spill,” Lilah says suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. She’s leaning against the bar beside you, her lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Spill what?” you ask, trying to sound casual as you take another sip of your drink.

She tilts her head toward LaMelo, who’s still standing across the room, his attention now fully on you. “Don’t play dumb. I saw the way you two were eyeing each other. What’s the deal?”

“There’s no deal,” you say quickly, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrays you.

“Uh-huh.” Lilah doesn’t look convinced. “He’s been staring at you all night, and don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you keep looking back.”

“I’m not—” you start to protest, but she cuts you off with a laugh.

“Relax,” she says, her tone playful. “I’m not judging. I mean, it’s LaMelo. He’s... well, you’ve seen him. But I’m just saying, if you’re into it, I’d say the interest is mutual.”

You glance back toward him, and sure enough, his eyes meet yours. This time, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he raises his glass slightly in a silent toast, his smirk deepening when you feel yourself falter under his gaze. There’s something disarming about the way he looks at you—confident but not cocky, curious but not overbearing.

“See?” Lilah teases, nudging you with her elbow. “I told you.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as you turn your attention back to her. “I’m just here to have a good time, Lilah. That’s all.”

“And you should,” she says, her smile widening. “But just so you know, if you’re not careful, he’s going to be the highlight of your night.”

You don’t respond, but the way your pulse quickens at her words tells you she might be right.

The party is in full swing now, the music loud enough to vibrate through the soles of your heels, and the energy in the room has shifted into something more electric. A few drinks in, you’re feeling looser, lighter. Lilah’s infectious laughter and Miles’s constant teasing have you at ease, your initial hesitations about the night fading into the background.

You’re seated now, perched on one of the low leather couches with Lilah on one side and Miles on the other, their banter flying back and forth like a friendly game of verbal ping-pong. You chime in every now and then, mostly to laugh or roll your eyes at one of Miles’s exaggerated stories about life on the road with the team.

“Tell me I’m lying,” Miles says, leaning back with a triumphant grin after his latest tale.

“You’re lying,” Lilah shoots back immediately, taking a sip of her drink.

You laugh, shaking your head as you reach for your own glass. The world around you feels pleasantly fuzzy, the edges softened by the buzz in your veins.

“Y’all don’t believe anything I say,” Miles grumbles, though his tone is more amused than annoyed.

“We believe the parts that make sense,” you counter, flashing him a teasing smile.

“Oh, she’s got jokes now,” Miles says, nudging you with his elbow. “Lilah, where’d you find her? She’s got a little spice.”

Lilah grins, leaning toward you conspiratorially. “You should see her when she’s really on a roll. She’ll have you questioning your whole life.”

You laugh again, the sound light and unguarded. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this carefree, and you let yourself sink into it, the atmosphere wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him.

LaMelo.

He’s making his way across the room, his long strides purposeful but not rushed. He’s dressed casually—ripped jeans, a designer jacket, and a chain that catches the light just right—but there’s something about the way he carries himself that makes him impossible to ignore.

“Yo, Miles,” LaMelo calls out as he approaches, his voice cutting through the hum of the party.

Miles looks up, grinning as he leans back against the couch. “What’s good, Melo?”

LaMelo stops in front of the group, his hands tucked into his pockets as he nods toward Miles. “Just making my rounds. What’re you over here talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just telling these ladies about how I carried you last season,” Miles says, his grin widening.

LaMelo rolls his eyes, his smile lazy and amused. “Yeah, sure. That’s why your stats were looking real pedestrian, huh?”

Lilah laughs, nudging Miles. “Don’t let him come over here and do you like that.”

“I’m gonna let him have it,” Miles says with a wave of his hand. “Only because I’m in a good mood.”

LaMelo chuckles, his gaze sliding over to you for the first time. His smile softens, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“And who’s this?” he asks, his voice dropping just slightly, the playful lilt in his tone unmistakable.

Lilah jumps in before you can answer, her grin smug. “This is my girl. Be nice, Melo.”

LaMelo raises his hands in mock surrender, his eyes still on you. “I’m always nice.”

You can’t help but smile, the warmth of his attention settling over you like a spotlight. “I’m [Your Name],” you say, your voice steady despite the way your pulse has quickened.

“LaMelo,” he says, extending a hand toward you. His fingers are warm when they close around yours, his grip firm but not overpowering.

“I know,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His smile deepens, a flash of teeth that somehow feels both charming and dangerous. “You know, huh? Should I be flattered or nervous?”

“Depends,” you reply, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Do you usually get nervous when someone knows who you are?”

Miles lets out a low whistle, shaking his head as he looks between the two of you. “Oh, this is about to be good.”

LaMelo chuckles, leaning slightly closer, though he’s careful not to invade your space. “I don’t get nervous,” he says, his tone easy but confident. “But I gotta admit, you got me curious now.”

“Curious about what?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“About you,” he says simply. “Lilah’s been holding out on me.”

“Oh, don’t drag me into this,” Lilah says, laughing as she raises her hands. “You can ask her whatever you want. I’m staying out of it.”

The conversation flows easily after that, his questions playful but sincere, your answers just teasing enough to keep him on his toes. The world around you fades, the music and the chatter of the party becoming a distant hum as you go back and forth.

Every now and then, you catch Lilah watching you, a small, knowing smile on her face. You can feel the heat of LaMelo’s gaze every time he looks at you, and you’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the chemistry between you, but you find yourself leaning into it, letting the moment stretch and unfold in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

And when he laughs—low and genuine—you realize you don’t mind it at all.

As the conversation flows, Lilah gives you a sly smile and stands, tugging on Miles’s arm. “Come on, babe, let’s grab another round,” she says, her tone overly casual.

Miles glances at her, then at you and LaMelo, and smirks knowingly. “Oh, I see how it is. Melo’s about to show off his ‘game,’ huh?”

“Go,” Lilah says, rolling her eyes and shoving his shoulder lightly. She looks at you one last time, her expression smug. “Have fun, girl.”

You watch them disappear into the crowd, your laugh trailing after them, but the moment they’re gone, you feel the shift in the air. It’s subtle, like the space between you and LaMelo suddenly carries a different weight.

“Guess it’s just us now,” LaMelo says, leaning back against the couch with an easy confidence.

“Looks like it,” you reply, glancing at him over the rim of your glass.

“So,” he starts, stretching the word out as his eyes flicker over you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, “how long you been friends with Lilah?”

You set your glass down on the low table in front of you and cross your legs, meeting his gaze head-on. “Long enough to know she’s trouble.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, Miles says the same thing, but I think they balance each other out.”

“Definitely,” you agree, your lips curving into a small smile. “She keeps him in check, though. You should’ve seen her last week when he left his sneakers in the living room. I thought she was going to throw them out the window.”

LaMelo laughs, shaking his head. “Miles? Yeah, that sounds about right. Dude’s messy as hell. He leaves his stuff everywhere in the locker room too.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “And you’re not messy?”

He smirks, leaning forward a bit. “I didn’t say that. But I’m smarter about it. I know when to clean up.”

“Oh, so you’re strategic about your messiness,” you tease, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

“Exactly,” he says, his grin widening. “You get it.”

There’s a pause, not awkward but charged, the kind of silence that feels more like a question waiting to be answered. His eyes stay locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze softened by the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says finally, his tone thoughtful.

You blink, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, leaning back again, his arms draped casually along the top of the couch. “I don’t know. Most people at these parties, they’re either trying too hard to impress or acting like they don’t care at all. But you… you’re different.”

“Different how?” you ask, narrowing your eyes slightly.

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re real. Like, you’re here, but you’re not trying to be seen, you know? And you’re funny. Most people wouldn’t call me out for being messy two minutes into a conversation.”

You laugh, feeling a flush of warmth creep up your neck. “Well, maybe you’re just easy to tease.”

“Oh, I am?” he asks, his eyebrows lifting in mock surprise.

“Definitely,” you say, your tone playful. “You’ve got that vibe.”

“What vibe?”

“The kind that says you’re used to getting your way, so you don’t know what to do when someone gives you a hard time.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, you don’t hold back, huh?”

“Not really,” you admit, shrugging. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

“I don’t,” he says, his voice softening just enough to make your stomach flip. “I like it.”

For a moment, the world around you seems to fade, the noise of the party dulling to a distant hum. He’s leaning slightly closer now, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. And maybe it’s the drinks or the way his smile feels like a secret he’s letting you in on, but you find yourself leaning in too, just enough to match his energy.

“What about you?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What about me?”

“Why are you here tonight?”

You laugh softly, gesturing toward the general chaos of the party. “Lilah dragged me, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoes, his smile turning teasing. “But you’re staying. That means something.”

“Maybe I just like good company,” you counter, raising an eyebrow.

“And am I good company?” he asks, his tone dipping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

You meet his gaze, holding it for a beat longer than you probably should. “You’re okay,” you say finally, your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“Just okay?” he asks, feigning offense as he presses a hand to his chest. “Damn, I thought I was doing better than that.”

“You could be,” you reply, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Guess you’ll have to step up your game.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Alright, I see how it is. You’re a challenge.”

“Is that a... bad thing?”

“Not at all,” he says, his grin softening into something more genuine. “I like a challenge.”

And just like that, the banter shifts into something deeper, the playful teasing giving way to a quieter connection. You can feel it in the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, and in the way your own walls start to lower, letting him in just a little more than you expected.

And for the first time that night, you wonder if Lilah was right. Maybe this party was worth it after all.

The night deepens, the party’s energy settling into a comfortable rhythm as conversations grow louder and laughter fills the spaces between songs. The buzz of a few drinks has made everything feel lighter, easier, and you find yourself more at ease than you’ve been in a while.

LaMelo is right there with you, his laughter rich and unrestrained, his eyes lighting up every time you say something witty. You’ve lost track of time somewhere between his playful teasing and the stories you’ve been swapping, your banter feeling less like a first meeting and more like reconnecting with someone you’ve known forever.

“You fell off a jet ski because... you weren’t paying attention?” you say, your laughter bubbling over as he shakes his head, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

“I wasn’t paying attention because my brother was trying to race me!” he defends, leaning forward as if his explanation will make it sound less ridiculous.

“And how’d that work out for you?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He laughs, shrugging. “It didn’t. Clearly.”

You shake your head, the grin on your face refusing to fade. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says, his gaze steady on yours. There’s something in his tone, in the way he looks at you right then, that sends a small thrill through you.

As the conversation flows, the space between you feels smaller, even though neither of you has moved. The music thumps steadily in the background, but it’s like you’ve created your own bubble, the party fading into a distant hum.

At some point, Lilah and Miles return to your little corner, Lilah plopping down next to you with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, I’m officially tired,” she announces, though the glint in her eye suggests she’s anything but.

“You’re always tired,” Miles teases, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t start,” she warns, though her smile softens the words. Her gaze flickers between you and LaMelo, and you can see the gears turning in her head.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at her suspicious expression.

“Nothing,” she says, dragging the word out as she leans closer. “Just noticing how much fun you’re having over here.”

“Lilah,” you warn, though you can’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t mind her,” LaMelo says, his voice easy and warm. “She’s just jealous I’m better company than she is.”

“Oh, please,” Lilah scoffs, though she looks thoroughly entertained. “Anyway, we’re heading out soon. You two wrapping this up or what?”

You glance at LaMelo, unsure how to answer, but he beats you to it. “Not yet,” he says simply, his eyes still on you.

Miles chuckles, standing and pulling Lilah to her feet. “Alright, we’ll leave you to it. Don’t have too much fun now.”

“We won’t,” you say, rolling your eyes as they walk away, though you can feel your cheeks heating.

LaMelo leans back, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiles. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you say, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’re just... nosy.”

“They mean well,” he says, his tone easy. “But they’re definitely nosy.”

You laugh, and just like that, the playful atmosphere returns. Another round of drinks later, you’re both laughing over some absurd story he’s telling about a teammate, the kind of laughter that makes your stomach ache and your eyes water. You can’t remember the last time you felt this comfortable with someone so quickly, and it’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

As the night winds down, you find yourself sitting closer to him than you were before, the warmth of his presence almost tangible. When the conversation finally slows, he looks at you, his expression softening.

“This was fun,” he says, his voice quieter than it’s been all night.

“It was,” you agree, smiling.

“I should probably let you go before Lilah comes back and drags you out of here,” he says, though there’s a reluctant note in his tone.

“Probably,” you say, but neither of you moves right away.

After a beat, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, holding it out to you. “Here. Put your number in.”

You hesitate for only a second before taking it, your fingers tapping at the screen as you save your contact. When you hand it back, he glances at it, his smile widening just slightly. “Got it.”

You stand together, and he walks you toward where Lilah and Miles are waiting near the entrance. LaMelo lingers as you say your goodbyes, his hands tucked into his pockets and that easy smile still on his face.

“You heading out too?” Miles asks, clapping LaMelo on the back.

“Yeah, in a bit,” he says, his eyes flickering to you briefly.

As you step outside into the cool night air, Lilah hooks her arm through yours, a knowing smile on her face. “Well, that went better than I expected,” she says as you walk toward the car.

“What do you mean?” you ask, though you can feel your heart beating a little faster.

“I mean,” she says, drawing the word out, “that Melo doesn’t usually exchange phone numbers. He usually... invites girls over.”

“Oh,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

“Oh,” Lilah mimics, her grin widening. “Girl, he’s interested. And don’t act like you’re not, too.”

You don’t reply, but the small smile that creeps across your face says more than words ever could.

The morning sunlight filtered through your curtains, warm but unwelcome as it coaxed you awake. You squinted at the brightness, groaning softly as you turned over in bed. The faint hum of last night’s energy still lingered in your veins, memories of laughter and teasing banter replaying in fragments. Your mind, unbidden, drifted back to LaMelo. The way his smile had crinkled the corners of his eyes, the low timbre of his laugh, the quiet confidence that seemed to fill the space around him.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, swiping it open almost instinctively. No messages. Your stomach sank a little, disappointment curling low in your chest. Not that you were expecting anything—not really. Still, you’d exchanged numbers. It wasn’t unreasonable to think he’d reach out. A simple “good morning” or a follow-up joke from last night. Something.

But the screen stayed blank.

With a huff, you tossed the phone aside, telling yourself it didn’t matter. You barely knew him. He owed you nothing. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the slight pang of rejection. Shaking off the feeling, you got out of bed and set about your day, throwing yourself into work to keep your mind from wandering too much.

The next few days passed in a blur of tasks and deadlines. You kept busy—busier than usual, if only to distract yourself from the lingering thoughts of LaMelo. You told yourself you weren’t thinking about him, that you didn’t care whether he texted or not. But every time your phone buzzed, your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat before you realized it was just an email or a message from Lilah.

By midweek, you’d all but convinced yourself to forget about him entirely. Clearly, whatever connection you thought you’d felt hadn’t been mutual. And that was fine. Disappointing, sure, but fine. You’d move on. You always did.

It was late afternoon when it happened. You were sitting at your desk, half-focused on your laptop while sipping from a cup of tea. Your phone vibrated on the table beside you, a faint buzz you almost ignored. But something made you glance over.

One new message.

You picked up the phone, the screen lighting up in your hand. And there it was.

hey, it’s lamelo

Two words. That was all it took to send your heart into an unreasonably giddy tailspin. You stared at the message, your mind scrambling for a response even as your pulse quickened. You tried to play it cool, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. But the stupid smile tugging at your lips betrayed you completely.

For a moment, you just held the phone, rereading the message as if it might disappear. Finally, you started typing back, deleting and retyping several times before settling on a response.

hi, took you long enough

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the send button. Was that too flirty? Too casual? But before you could overthink it any further, you hit send, the message disappearing into the ether.

The wait for his reply felt endless, though it couldn’t have been more than a minute. When your phone buzzed again, your heart leapt.

had to make sure you’d still be interested

You laughed out loud, shaking your head at his audacity. It was classic LaMelo—cocky but somehow charming enough to pull it off.

and what if i wasn’t? you shot back, your fingers flying over the keyboard.

His response came almost immediately.

guess i’d have to work harder to change your mind

You smiled, biting your lip to keep from grinning too widely. If there was one thing LaMelo knew how to do, it was keep you on your toes. And, despite yourself, you realized you were more than okay with that.

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