#musicians deserve better

[gregrambles]

Moving away from Spotify

Be aware, this is a three part post. The first is about my own frustrations, how I think Spotify can do better, and why they probably won't. Two and three focus on alternatives, legal and otherwise.

Generally speaking. I like Spotify - the service, not the company - but the company is unfortunately bundled into that experience. Their business practices since 2023 have been disheartening to say the least. I'm sure that there has been sooner signs than mass layoffs, including the layoffs of the team that helped designed the API and algorithms that made their service so much better for taste recommendations, but that was where I started to see things turn sour for my music listening habits.

You could probably track this back to Joe Rogan's insanely expensive exclusive contract for moving his podcast to Spotify when they were starting to expand into the podcast space, or the writing on the wall when they introduced that god-awful AI DJ hosted radio station that says the same three things every 6 songs and somehow manages to be less engaging than your hometown's Ryan Seacrest clone. But for me, I started paying attention when the passionate creator of Everynoise.com, Glenn McDonald, was let go.

If you're not familiar with Glenn's work, I highly recommend popping over to the website linked above and clicking around while Spotify still allows it to function. It's a fantastic display of what Glenn and the team he worked with built during their time at Spotify that forms this beautiful gradient of genres, most you've definitely never heard of. You can also read his blog where he posts insightful anti-corporate tech articles about music, your data and more.

Since then, they've been actively working against artists and customers on the platform, relying on AI generated playlists to fill what used to be a good discovery system for new music, alongside 2024 changes that split royalty payouts between audiobooks and musicians, resulting in a reduction in overall $/per stream. Most recently, Spotify has turned to withholding royalties from artists who receive less than 1000 streams in a 12-month period.

This last change affects more than 80% of all music on the platform.

Now, on the last topic, I'd like to acknowledge there's a very real reason for this change even if I don't think it's the right direction. As beneficial as streaming has been for self-published artists that would have previously had no means to get their music out on a world stage, there are those who would abuse the system for their own gain. In Spotify's blog post discussing the threshold changes, they discuss this.

You might not feel like you have much reason to trust the company who benefits by reducing how much they need to pay out, but artificial streaming, AI generated music and noise playlists have been a large problem as less ethical individuals have realised that simply uploading a large volume of songs or generating looping playlists of 30 second tracks can be an easy way to farm payouts in a way that directly harms real artists on the platform. You can lump this kind of fraud in with ad fraud, generating falsified listens or clicks on tracks so as to simulate large numbers of real accounts, or just capitalizing off of someone's sleep playlist. There's even botting services that you can pay for to boost streams.

It just so happened to be a win-win for Spotify in that they could chop back payouts to real artists while also making it much harder for fraudsters and grifters to create an easy paycheque for themselves. This also came with a reclassification of the more problematic, long-play categories of music like ambience and noise. Overall, I'd be willing to bet that alone solved most of the problems.

Instead, an artist could release an album, have a hit but then maybe the rest of the album doesn't get picked up by the algorithm and some songs don't cross that 1000 listen threshold, and as such nothing is earned from them. And they really do mean, nothing is earned. Those 1000 plays earn nothing. Even if you cross the threshold, it doesn't start generating royalties until then (per Spotify's own language in their blog post).

Overall, I am an advocate for paying for music. I think musicians deserve their due. Even if those 1000 streams only add up to roughly $3 USD in lost royalties, that's still $3 people paid to listen to that music that the artists never see. That's money the artists deserve to receive. Even something like Apple's payout threshold is a better option here, because at least the money still comes in.

The music industry has shifted substantially, with concerts becoming inaccessible, expensive and predatory (*cough* ticketmaster *cough*). Streaming is part of why this has become the biggest avenue for artists to get paid. It's also why I buy albums, I buy merchandise and why (when I can afford it) I do go to concerts. I almost always have music playing, and the people who make that music should be paid for their place in my life. So who's actually paying artists best then?

[darkrooklobby]

Klavier playing guitar~ 💜🎵

Ok so - they re-released the Apollo Justice trilogy (ironic name) (i'll release a rant post later) and I kinda forgot Klavier Gavin existed & that he was a musician? Looking at the games with a fresh perspective I think he takes the spot of my favorite prosecutor (at least, in the one game he's treated like a character and not a cameo 🥲)

I added a purple stripe in his hair because i think IT SLAYS. Thank you for coming to my ted talk 💅

Anyway! Enjoy cozy Klavier hours / jam session~💜🎵

[hopefulomens]

thinkin bout…. the musician,,,,,,, darkwood the musician save me… save me darkwood the musician…

[leatherbookmark]

"I know why you want to return to our world, Meggie! You just miss your boyfriend! But we haven't seen everything of this beautiful world yet!" Mr Mortimer sir your wife was enslaved for working as a scribe disguised as a man. In this world women are punished for learning their fathers' craft and your thirteen years old daughter would be already married if she was born in this world. I know the books are very pretty but Mo your wife is pregnant. I don't think they have c-sections here :(

[thewhizzyhead]

I know the reunion concert was literally just 2 days ago but my bros my guys my dudes I miss WATT so so much and I really do want this show Actually Revived because I miss my cheerleaders, pma's stories and music are fucking great and I wanna hear more, watt has so much room for improvement, and I wanna see watt thrive aaaaaaaa

[baycitystygian]

how did this audience not react at all to this absolute gem. if I was in the crowd and he told this joke I’d be screaming like a hyena with laughter

[thecolorsfucked]

uk it wasnt self love and deserving better that made me end my 12year situationship it was the callous and selfish way he talked about our friend(MY friend) blowing his skull off like he used it as a plot point in his own life and i had to guess who it was i had to use context clues bcuz he couldnt even acknowledge erik was a full person who mattered outside of the effects he had on this piece of shits life

[dinosaurwithablog]

I love this guy. He played it and sang it so well!!

Musician: Jesse Welles

Posted 11Dec2024

[deliciousmicroplastics]

some of the best of modern music is being wasted on ads

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Liam was a boy, and then a man, who suffered so much trauma and pain. He was bullied as a child and then lived a nightmare that I think none of us can really imagine of having that triggering experience replicated on a literally global public scale. He became a man who inflicted trauma on others. He was an addict who was unable to find a way out of that disease, and now never will, but who was open and vulnerable about his struggles. He was an incredibly talented musician and artist and an absolutely integral part of one of the most important bands of a generation; his voice and songwriting and skill in the studio shaped every aspect of what One Direction became at their best. He loved that band and being a part of that experience with his whole being and would never have stopped celebrating what they meant to us and to the world. He had problems and did bad things; that doesn't mean he was a bad person who didn't deserve to be loved and helped to heal- everyone deserves that- and the fact that that's not something that can ever happen now is devastating. I was very distressed by many of his actions; and I cared deeply about this man I didn't know and wished for better for him than this outcome.

I'm so deeply, deeply SAD tonight. I'm sad for Liam, who will never now have the chance to look back on this hard time and reflect on how far he's come, and for Liam's family, for his parents and his sisters who loved and supported him so much, and for everyone in the 1D band family and circles. And I'm sad for us. It feels like nothing will ever be quite the same, and that's hard and sad and shocking. It's a special kind of doubled grief, to mourn the loss of the person, and also of what he meant to us in this strange world of parasocial fanning, for the real him and also for the version of him that we made up and attached so much meaning to and for the escape that brought us. For him, and also for the easy uncomplicated joy of listening to those beautiful songs from happier times, which might never feel the same again. For the other boys, who we love so much and wish we could shield from suffering and loss and pain. For our fellow fans, who we also worry about the impact of this on. Everything about this is terrible, and I am sending so much love out to all of you. We are not alone, and it's okay to feel complicated emotions and it's okay to mourn and it's okay to care about how it effects you and your life, whatever you're feeling- it's okay. We are here with you. We are 1D family.

[thislovintime]

Photo 6 by Paul Natkin.

“In my eyes, Peter was a seasoned pro. He was easy going, humorous and took his music very seriously. [...] I am very proud to have played music with Peter. [...] He loved playing music with other musicians and loved being in a band.” - Jim Gibson, interview for This Lovin’ Time, September 2023 (x)

“[In the early 1980s, in NYC] I remember we went down to the China Club, and I took Peter down there, and… and I felt that a lot of the musicians, you know, disrespected him. He didn’t play, but I introduced him, ‘This is my pal, Peter,‘ and they were kind of, like, blowing him off a little bit, and I remember seeing, you know, that pained look on his face as these guys were being rude — or condescending; not so much rude, it’s just condescending, like, ‘Oh, you were the Monkee, pfff,’ you know. And… and I know it troubled him. [Once the resurgence and 20th anniversary tour came around] that’s when Peter started — when they started giving him, you know, some regard. - James Lee Stanley, The Monkees Pad Show no. 11

“Music has been a strong part of my life. That’s why I get so upset when I hear people talk about The Monkees not being able to play instruments,’ he asserted. […] ‘None of us, and I’m talking about [Micky] Dolenz, Mike Nesmith, Davy Jones and myself, were non-musical. We were real musicians and we played real music,’ he emphasized. ‘There was a lot of commercial hype involved with the emergence of The Monkees. Without at least a dollop of commercialism, you can’t make it in the business. Talent and commercialism go together. People liked to put us down, but we were there and we will be remembered,’ Tork offered.” - Citizens’ Voice, October 19, 1983

[littlechivalry]

Wedding Bell Blues

(no Upside Down AU, meet-ugly, Baker!Steve/wedding singer!Eddie)

--

Eddie is a wedding musician and it's pretty great actually. It's not the rock star life he dreamed of but it's a damned sight better than most people including him expected of Al Munson's little boy.

Eddie gets to play music. For a living. And he does pretty well. He gets to dress up a little snazzy. He gets free fancy food and a couple of drinks. And he gets to shoot his shot with anybody that looks like fun.

He's good at it too. That's the best part. His younger years spent being a low level drug dealer and a high level weirdo mean he can read a room in an instant. He gets the playlist from the bride usually, presses for some other song ideas, and he can tell who to take requests from at six paces. And who to ignore from across the room.

It's a good time.

Unfortunately not all ceremonies can be winners and based on the tension Eddie has felt from almost everyone involved in today's wedding it was going to be a tough gig.

Everything starts in an hour but Eddie isn't on until the reception so he has plenty of time to grab a smoke before soundcheck. He knows the venue pretty well and there's an alcove next to the vendor loading area. Nice flowers, a decent bench, and it's nowhere near the dumpsters.

This venue butts up against a small patch of woodland and Eddie wonders if he might have time to check it out, see if there's anything inspiring. He doesn't hike but he does enjoy a walk in nature.

Before he gets the chance a baby blue van with 'Steve's Sweets' painted across the side pulls up, blocking his sight line.

He mourns the loss of his view right up until the driver pops the door open and climbs out.

Oh, the beauties nature provides.

Acid wash jeans which under any other circumstances Eddie would laugh at are lovingly hugging possibly the finest ass he has ever had the pleasure of seeing.

The rest of the picture - when he can drag his attention away - is pretty choice too. A soft looking pink sweater, sleeves pushed up to expose sun bronzed skin making Eddie idly wonder if the man is that tan all over.

The crowning glory is a gorgeous head of hair framing a face that Eddie can only describe as pretty.

Eddie tries to turn his attention back to his cigarette. Admiring someone is one thing, leering like a creep is entirely different.

He takes a last drag and drops the filter on the gravel, grinding it out under his feet. Mentally he says farewell to the handsome stranger and turns to go back inside.

Eddie takes two steps before a suit clad man comes out of the building and pushes past him in a rush.

"Steven."

The man's not yelling, but his voice is the kind of loud that demands to be heard.

Eddie turns to watch as the man approaches the van and the other guy, Steve apparently, standing in front of it.

"What the hell are you doing here dressed like that."

Eddie should go inside. This isn't his business. But one of the perks of working weddings was the drama and this was very promising.

He stays where he is, standing just in front of the door. In case either man looks in his direction Eddie actually mimes patting at his jacket like he is looking for his smokes.

"I'm delivering a cake, Dick. And if it wasn't for Diana I wouldn't even be doing that much. She deserves to get something good out of this day."

Eddie bites back a smile, lowering his head a little so he can still watch what was happening ideally without being noticed.

"You will refer to me as father. I believe I have earned at least that much respect."

Eddie feels his eyebrows rise. This kind of drama was another part of why he likes weddings. Better than the soap operas he watches with Uncle Wayne.

"Sure," Steve snorts. "Tell you what, I'll compromise," and he continues, "Riiichaaaard."

"Grow up, Steven. You were invited here as a guest. You had better have a tuxedo in that stupid truck of yours, the ceremony starts in an hour."

"I was hired to bake a cake. Part of my fee includes delivery. That is literally the only reason I'm here. You and the future ex-Mrs Harrington will have to celebrate without me. Try not to cry yourself to sleep about it."

"You little asshole," Richard snarls. "You think you're better than me. You think I wanted you here? You owe me your presence. I have important people coming to this wedding and I need them to see my dutiful son at my side."

The baker laughs, a low nasty chuckle that sends a perverse shiver down Eddie's back.

"Tell you what, Dick, I'm booked up today but I'll come to your next wedding." Eddie looks up to see Steve is grinning, bright and as sharp as a knife. "I'll even get you a toaster."

Eddie lurches in place as he sees Richard lunge towards Steve. He is too far away to stop the man but he has to do something.

Before he takes a step the door swings open again and a petite woman comes rushing out.

"Richard?"

Eddie watches as she runs forward tugging at the satin bathrobe she is wrapped in. She freezes a few feet away from what had been brewing into a nasty fight.

"Steve? You're here-- oh, but your suit! Richard? What's going on?"

The older man doesn't turn around, doesn't seem to notice her at all but Eddie watches Steve gingerly move until he is standing between his father and the woman.

"Hey Diana," he says softly. "Sorry you had to see this, dad and me just have a difference of opinion. Everything's fine."

Eddie feels something in him clench. He is very familiar with the tone in Steve's voice. He had heard it from his uncle Wayne to his dad when he was a little kid. It is soft but firm, implacable. Eddie isn't sure exactly what is coming but he can tell Steve knew and that it would be bad.

The venue usually had at least two security patrolling the grounds, more if the reception was expected to be contentious. Eddie doesn't know where they are right now but hopefully not far.

"See what you've done Steven? God, you're useless."

"Richard, don't say that," Diana says, her voice rising.

The older man is turning from pink to red and Eddie can see Steve moving slowly, shifting his father's attention to him.

"That's me, Richard. Useless Steve. Flunked out of college and he bakes cookies like some kind of fairy. You sure you want to parade your failure of a son in front of the hoi polloi?"

Eddie hears Diana's gasp from where he's standing. "Steve, what are you talking about? Richard what's going on?"

Richard turns his glare on her and Eddie feels himself moving forward almost against his own will. He's not sure what he'll do when he gets there but he's never been the bystander type.

Steve just laughs. Bright and angry. "I'm not sure what my father told you about our relationship but we don't have one."

"No," she says. "Your father-- he told me-- "

When Eddie met her a few weeks ago he had seen a confident, charming woman that knew exactly what she wanted and was excited to be married. Now she looks confused, maybe even scared.

Eddie has gotten closer to this whole altercation than he wanted to be but since he is there and it looks like Steve and Richard are busy trying to glare holes in each other Eddie steps up to Diana and lightly grasps her elbow.

She startles and turns to face him. Her eyes are wide, wet and staring.

"Mr. Munson," she asks, softly.

Eddie tries to smile. "Mr. Munson is my uncle, ma'am. It's Eddie. Let's get you out of here, okay? Back inside."

Eddie is able to gently guide her a few steps away. He hates turning his back on the other two men but he needs to get Diana out of reach for whatever is about to happen.

"I dont understand," the bride mutters. "Steve used to be such a sweet boy. Mr. Harrin-- Richard. Oh, I'm so silly. Richard. He said-- this is so embarassing."

Her voice is pitched and tight and if she isn't crying yet she would be soon. Eddie resolves to get her inside and into the arms of literally any friendly face.

"Hey," Eddie says. "Let's just--" he scrambles for a name. Anna? Annie? "Amy, right? Your maid of honor? Let's get you to her, okay. You can sit down."

Diana nods.

Behind him he can hear Richard and Steve hissing noxious words back and forth. There is no shouting but the air is heavy and hot with anger. Even though he was outside Eddie feels like he can't breathe.

Eddie gets Diana to the door, hadn't realized how close they really were, maybe 30 feet if that. It's open, anxious faces framed in weathered oak. He hands Diana off to her Maid of Honor who quickly sweeps the woman deeper into the hall and then he nods to Patricia Abernathy, the event space manager.

"Think we're gonna have a cancellation," he says, nodding towards the departing woman.

She rolls her eyes. "Can't say I'm surprised. I had a bad feeling about this one."

Eddie scoffs. "You have a bad feeling about all of them."

He turns to face where the two men are still in a stand off in front of the van. "You're not wrong though, I think. At least I hope they cancel."

Patricia snorts. "We got the deposits locked down and the contract is airtight so if they cancel we still get fifty percent of the remaining fee. I'll take that for the rest of the day off."

"You got a date, Patty? And it's not me? You're breaking my heart."

"Ha," she says flatly. "That pretty boy is more your type and from the way he's talking you're in with a chance. Now you keep an eye on those two. Security is on their way, we'll see if they can get here before these guys start really butting heads."

Eddie nods. It isn't the first time he had been called on to help manage fractious families.

He turns back in time to see Richard take a swing at Steve. The younger guy steps back out of the way and Eddie can hear his mocking laugh as far away as the door.

He moves closer to the two of them. Eddie isn't going to get in the middle of the fight but maybe if he reminds them there are other people around that might be enough to calm them down.

He watches Richard lunge forward and swing again. This time Steve can't move away fast enough and the blow glances off of his cheek.

"Hey," Eddie calls, now jogging towards them. "Hey, knock it off! You wanna fight take it somewhere else!"

Steve turns to face Eddie, opening his mouth as if he was going to say something but all that comes out is a low grunt as Richard hits him in the shoulder and shoves him to the ground.

Eddie throws himself forward, pushing Richard away. "What do you think you're doing," he shouts in the man's face but Richard doesn't seem to hear, pressing back against Eddie.

"You little bastard," Richard shouts at his son. "You're worthless! I don't know why I bothered."

"Go to hell," Steve replies.

That seems to make Richard even angrier which Eddie hadn't thought was possible. He isn't sure he will be able to hold him off much longer.

"Hey, what's going on here," a low even voice calls. It is the venue security guard, his partner just behind him with a hand on his radio.

Eddie feels himself relax and then stumbles back as Richard pushes him aside to fall on his son again.

Eddie turns to see both guards trying to pull the older man away as he continues to hit his son, screaming obscenities.

Not sure how to help, Eddie stands by. When he sees an opening he lunges forward and takes hold of Steve's shoulders, pulling him back and away.

The younger man fights against him at first, eyes closed and arms up in front of his face.  Eddie figures he probably didn't know whose hands are on him.

"Hey. Hey. It's me, Eddie. Shit. I work here. You're safe, security has your dad. You're safe."

Eddie steps back, loosening his grip on Steve but still keeping one hand on his shoulder, trying to sooth him.

A few feet away Richard is still twisting, trying to get free and attack his son again, but Eddie can see the guards have a good hold on him and it doesn't look like they will be letting go any time soon.

As Steve calms down Eddie lets go of his shoulder, instead crouching next to him. "You doing okay? I saw you had you hands up but he got a few hits in."

Steve lowers his arms and sits upright. He twists his neck back and forth and shifts his shoulders before opening his eyes and looking up at Eddie. "I'm okay. I'm fine. God, it's a soap opera isn't it? Fuck."

Eddie lets himself drop into a seat next to the other man. They both watch in silence as the guards march Steve's father around the corner to the front of the event hall.

"You know the bride? Diana," the guy asks. "She was my babysitter. When I was eleven."

"Oof," Eddie says. "So she was--"

"Seventeen then, and now it's been twenty years for her and about three wives for him."

"Scandalous," Eddie murmurs. He sees Steve smile and feels relieved. "What will people say. The 'hoi polloi' I believe you called them?"

Steve snorts. "A crowd of empty suits that exist solely to tell my dad how respected he is. Will he get arrested?"

"Maybe," Eddie says. "I think that might be up to you. It's assault at least."

"Ugh," Steve says, rubbing his face. "That's all I need. I'm trying to get him out of my life."

"Well," Eddie says. "I can attest that jail is very good at keeping deadbeat dads out of your life."

Steve starts laughing and then winces, wrapping an arm around his stomach.

"Shit, you are hurt," Eddie says, scrambling to his feet. "Do you need an ambulance? Patty probably called 911 by now."

Steve waves him off. "I'm fine. This is not my first fight and my old man hits-- well, I was gonna say 'like a girl' but then my best friend would kick my ass and I'm way more scared of her," Steve says, laughing softly.

He looks up at Eddie and holds out his free hand. "You gonna help me up? Or is chivalry dead?"

"Chivalry," Eddie repeats. "You a damsel in distress?"

"I might as well be," Steve says. "Now come on."

Eddie laughs and reaches down, gently guiding Steve back to his feet. He feels the man's weight leaning on him for a few seconds and despite the circumstances Eddie has to admit Steve feels good in his arms.

Once he is steady Steve steps back and Eddie lets him go.

Steve moves to the van and leans up against the metal surface. Eddie walks over to join him.

"So," Steve says. "What next?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I honestly don't know. The wedding is canceled, for sure. For today at least."

"Just for today? You think she'll marry him still?"

Eddie shrugs. "I have no idea. I wouldn't but then I wouldn't have said yes in the first place."

Steve leans back, tapping his head against the van a few times before he turns back to Eddie. "You know the worst part? This was my last delivery. Now, I have to deal with this stupid cake. Three tiers of lemon and raspberry." He laughs. "Do you think a homeless shelter will take a wedding cake?"

Eddie grins. "I don't see why not. At least something good will come out of today."

Steve looks up towards the hall. "I feel like I should say something-- to Diana, I mean. She was always really nice to me, she deserved better than this."

"I have found that good or bad people rarely get what they deserve. You don't really owe her anything but I can't fault the impulse." Turning towards the hall, Eddie gestures for Steve to follow him. "Just-- just don't apologize for him? Okay?"

Steve walks in silence for a few steps before he coughs roughly. His voice is thick and choked and he coughs again. "I, uh, I stopped apologizing for him a long time ago. His faults are his own. I just wish I didn't get dragged into it."

Eddie laughs. "I know that song."

"Yeah," Steve asks.

Eddie nods. They are at the door and he pulls it open for the other man, gesturing him in with a bow.

Steve stops in the doorway as Eddie stands up again. He is framed by the light inside and the scent of hothouse roses comes drifting out into the open air. Eddie can picture him suddenly in that moment standing at a balcony limned by moonlight.

"Hey Sunshine," Eddie says softly. "Buy me a drink and we can trade stories?"

Steve smiles. "Yeah," he says, with a small laugh. "Sure, why not." He holds up his hands, still dirty and scraped from the asphalt. "Help me get cleaned up and let me say something to Diana. Then we can talk."

Eddie nods, reaches out, and places his hands gently over Steve's. "Sounds good to me."

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 3: Gossip

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You’ve always felt like you belonged right at Franco’s side, but as he begins to grow in popularity, you begin to wonder if his world has any place for you. 

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort. Use of YN, mentions of anxiety disorders/therapy, reader has major self esteem issues and panic attacks. Appearance of Christian Horner (that man needs his own CW). There is a “manager” character that is not a reference to any of Franco’s IRL managers!

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @xivilivix

A/N: I can’t thank you all enough for all the love you’ve shown on this fic 💙 It’s been incredible. I do want to sincerely apologize for leaving you with all this cliffhanger before I have to take a small hiatus with the holidays haha. I played around a bit with perspective in this chapter, so I hope it still reads clearly! Also, if you want to be added to the tag list, make sure your blog isn’t set to hidden and that you allow tags or else I’ll be unable to do that on my end. As always I hope you enjoy it :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Sip the gossip, drink ‘til you choke

Sip the gossip, burn down your throat

You’re not iconic, you are just like them all

Don’t act like you don’t know 

Austin had been beautiful, and you had written down every word you could describing it. Mexico, however, was a race you wouldn’t exactly want to document.

It started out okay. Franco’s Forbes cover shoot was released, and, as predicted, it blew up the internet. Of course, you were happy for him. But to see the entire world want him almost as much as you wanted him was…disheartening.

For a long time, it had just been you and Franco. He had clawed his way up and earned everything he had achieved through hard work and unmatchable determination. You were his biggest fan and supporter. And it was just you and him against the odds.

You had been so happy for him to make it to F1 after all he’d worked for. And to see the world embrace him so wholeheartedly was beautiful. But you were scared, deep down, that you’d lose him in the glitz and glamor of pilot stardom. 

His place at Williams was only temporary, of course, but you knew that when he did eventually get a secure seat, your friendship would have to change. After all, you couldn’t fly around the world with him forever. But you figured you’d adapt, like you always did. It would all be okay in the end. Franco never gave you any reason to believe that you’d get left behind. 

That is, until Mexico. 

You barely saw him at the beginning of the week, with him being so busy filming for brand sponsorships. Come the weekend, a phone call from home had soured his mood. You let it be, knowing that now was the time to just support him in any way you could, even if that was just giving him space.

But on Saturday he had woken up feeling better, and you were happy, thinking that he’d turn this weekend around for the better. Mexico was full of Argentine fans, and again, you were both ecstatic for him and feeling a bit left behind. You weren’t from Argentina. You didn’t really speak Spanish. These random fans had that connection with him that you’d never have. 

You pushed it down—for now. You’d write about it later. 

But now you were on your way to Williams hospitality to meet Franco. He was beaming when you’d seen him at breakfast that morning. Some big Argentine musicians were coming to the paddock.

You would have been happier for him if he had introduced you to them. But now you sat in hospitality with Franco and the group, and they all completely ignored you. Franco hadn’t even introduced you.

Yes, you were naturally on the quieter side. Yes, you didn’t speak Spanish, which they now all excitedly talked in, laughing about something you’d never know. But did that really mean that you deserved to sit there, awkwardly glancing at your phone as your best friend ignored you?

And all the while, he was glancing over to the female singer sat opposite him. God, she was beautiful. And from Franco’s tone, you could tell he thought so too. He was flirting with her right in front of you.

Yes, you were just friends. But you had slept in his bed with him curled up into your side. He had celebrated every win with you since you were teenagers. But right now, you were nothing.

You just kind of stared off into the distance until you saw a familiar face. Lily to the rescue! She came over and waved to Franco and the group, who stopped their conversation for a brief second to wave back. 

“Hey YN, wanna come help us film a video?” she asked. Clearly this was just an out to help you escape the torture of being ignored. 

“Sure,” you agreed. When you got up to leave, Franco didn’t even acknowledge you. 

You and Lily walked into the garage. “Thank you for helping me out there.”

“Yeah, you looked like you were going through it. Were they that bad?”

“Well, I don’t know. Franco never even introduced me and I don’t speak Spanish.”

“So he just ignored you? That’s so rude,” he said, her face grimacing, “I’m sorry.”

You just shrugged and offered her a weak smile. There was that unspoken recognition from both of you; Franco had ignored you to flirt with the singer. She was everything you weren’t: beautiful, popular, confident. 

“Well, come hang with me and Alex. I’ll teach you how to make a tiktok,” she said.

You were surprised that her excuse hadn’t been an excuse at all—she actually wanted your company, unlike someone else. 

You went out to the pit lane to meet Alex. Fans were cheering from the sidelines. They were all screaming for Alex, of course, but a few yelled for Lily too. And one yelled for you. 

“YN! YN!” the girl yelled, Argentine flag in her grasp. Your head turned.  “YN! Can I get a picture with you?” she asked. 

You paused. “You want a picture with me?” 

She smiled. “Yes, if that’s okay.” You laughed, not mocking her, but just unsure to do with the absurdity of it all. 

“Of course,” you said, smiling for the camera. “I wasn’t trying to be rude,” you explained, “I’m just surprised you knew me.”

“Oh, we all know you. Everyone’s seen the videos of you and Franco. You all are so cute!” You knew what she meant—your friendship with him was endearing, you had to admit. But the reminder of him felt like a sharp dagger to the heart. Lily called you over, so you bid goodbye to the fan, an odd feeling settling in your chest. That could be unpacked later.

But later was sooner than you anticipated. You had a great time making videos with Lily and Alex, but they had gone to get lunch before qualifying, and you couldn’t find Franco anywhere. So you went to his driver’s room, and finding that even empty, you just gave up and stayed there. He had told you that his room was fair game to hide in if you ever felt overwhelmed, and you definitely did. Now that you were alone, all the emotions were rushing to the surface. 

So you opened your notebook to write.

I can’t believe Franco didn’t even introduce me to anyone this morning. I get it, I’m not like them. I’m not talented or famous or as beautiful as that girl is. God, she’s perfect. She’s everything a man could want. Why would Franco ever want someone like me? I’m just an anxious, dependent mess. I don’t blame him for flirting with her. I just wish he wouldn’t do it in front of me. 

You were spiraling, and soon enough tears came to your eyes. You tried to blink them away but it was futile. You felt like you were losing your best friend.

But, speak of the devil, he was at the door. 

“Oh, YN, I was looking for you,” he said absentmindedly as he walked in the room and fiddled with his helmet. “You left your phone in the garage, Lily has it.”

“Oh, shit,” you muttered. It seemed like you were developing a habit of losing things. You got up to meet Lily in the garage, making a mental note to stop at the bathroom to take a breather. You prayed that Franco wouldn't look at you, but today was your unlucky day, it seemed. As you walked out, he looked up and his eyes met yours, and you saw the concern dawn in his eyes. He moved to say something, but you just quickened your pace, and ignored him when you did hear him call after you. 

You found the nearest bathroom and broke down, allowing yourself to just cry it out for a few minutes. Your thoughts kept spiraling. You were ridiculous, you thought, breaking down over something so small. You were pathetic. No wonder he didn’t want you. Why would anyone? 

After a few minutes, you took a few deep breaths and steadied yourself and tried to make it look as if you hadn’t been crying. Qualifying would be starting soon. You quickly grabbed your phone from Lily, who thankfully didn’t say anything about your clearly post-sobbing session face, and you found a comfortable spot in the back of the garage to watch qualifying. 

He qualified 15th. Not great. Nothing to elicit a celebratory hug, though, God, you needed one right now. 

You were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and sleep away the weariness. So that’s what you did, skillfully avoiding Franco’s eye scanning the paddock for you.

When you got back to the hotel, you could barely change into your pajamas and get in the bed. You felt heavy like a block of lead. You checked your phone before bed, seeing that Franco had taken a photo with the musicians and posted it to Instagram. 

It was taken after you left, of course. As if you were never there at all.

The sight brought another wave of tears. You sighed in frustration and cried until the weight of it all lulled you to sleep.

The next morning, you didn’t even want to go to the grand prix. As you got up and tidied where you had gotten back and just thrown things around last night, you contemplated what to do.

On one hand, you wanted to support Franco even if you were upset. On the other hand, you thought you might burst into tears if you saw him again.

You just needed to write it out, and then you’d be able to face him. You grabbed your bag and fished around for your journal.

It was gone.

Shit.

Then you remembered, you had left it in his driver’s room yesterday. You groaned.

You checked your phone, intending to text him about it, only to find that he had already texted you last night while you were asleep. Just a simple, You okay? but you hadn’t answered. 

Frantic, you called him. He answered immediately. 

“Hey YN, you—”

“Have you seen my journal?”

“What?”

“My journal. I accidentally left it in your driver’s room yesterday.”

“No? I don’t remember seeing it.”

“Shit…” you whispered. Tears pricked in your eyes yet again. 

“I’m on my way to the track, I’ll check when I get there and ask the team about it,” he assured. “We’ll find it.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice dry. 

“Look, are you okay? You just disappeared yesterday—”

“I’m fine,” you lied. He knew you were lying. 

“YN, talk to me. Please.” His voice was soft with genuine concern, but it pissed you off. There was no way he could know he was the cause of your upset if you didn’t tell him. But you just couldn’t. Not now, at least.

“Can I just meet you at your driver’s room to look for it?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be there in ten.” You hung up the call.

You had calmed yourself down a bit before you reached the track, but it was no use when you met Franco at his room and found it empty. The desk where you had set yesterday to write looked strangely devoid of life. 

You all wordlessly continued to look for a while, and even went around asking the Williams employees about it, but it was no use. It was gone. 

When you returned back to the room, defeated, you couldn’t help but cry. 

For fear of embarrassment, you'd never cried in front of Franco before, but you didn’t even have the capacity to try and hide it anymore. At first he looked startled, like he didn’t know what to do. But as you crumpled onto the small couch and he saw your body wracked with sobs, he knew all he could do was hold you.

So that’s what he did. 

His touch was warm and comforting, but it just made you weep all the more. He just held you tighter, and you were enveloped in the smell of his cologne. “It’s okay,” he whispered gently to you, “I’m here.”

When the sobs finally left you, he looked in your tear-stained eyes and asked, “Will you talk to me?”

You had never wanted to do anything less. But you knew that these were the moments that counted. Your journal had become a crutch rather than a tool—now was the time to actually do the hard work to get better. 

You began, “It’s stupid—” 

“I want to know anyway,” he assured.

You paused, then resumed, “It just really hurt me yesterday when you didn’t introduce me to anyone.”

He made a confused face at you. “I didn’t?” 

“No, Franco, you didn’t,” you said, your tone getting angrier. “You were too busy flirting with that singer to notice that I was sitting there alone.”

“She asked about you, though. I told her you were just a friend.”

Ouch. Just a friend. 

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“You are,” he assured, but it felt hollow. 

“It doesn’t feel like it when Lily has to come rescue me from being ignored all day.”

“I’m sorry, YN. I didn’t even realize it, I was just caught up in the conversation. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Because I just felt like an intruder. I mean… I’m not a famous musician or anyone important in Formula 1. I’m not from Argentina, I don’t speak Spanish—”

He cut you off, “So? And you know my mother would adopt you in a heartbeat.”

You were unamused by his attempt at banter. “So, it just hurts because I don’t belong here. And when you ignore me, I’m just alone.”

He paused. “YN, I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say.

He continued, “But for the record, I was not flirting with anyone. You know the main reason I spend time with all these people is for the brand, right?”

You looked confused. “The brand? Since when do you care about your brand?” Franco was known for being impossible to media train. Why was he suddenly so concerned with his public reputation?

Even though you were alone in his driver’s room, he looked over his shoulder, listening out for any approaching footsteps. But you all were truly alone in the quiet morning at the paddock. “You have to promise to keep it quiet,” he said.

“I promise,” you whispered.

He leaned in closer. “There’s a chance, a very small chance, but a chance…that I could get a contract with Redbull next year.”

Your eyes widened. He continued, “Checo has been driving so bad that they want him out. But he brings in a lot of money and it’ll cost a lot to break my Williams contract. I need to show them that I can have just as much backing in Argentina as Checo has in Mexico.”

You were practically speechless. “Oh my God, Franco, that’s…”

But Franco was more worried about you. “The people are all nice enough, but I’d prefer your company over theirs any day. You’re still my best friend.”

The tears that threatened to fall now were happy ones, from pride in your best friend and the love you felt for him. 

You confessed, “I hope you get it. But I’m so scared that I’ll be left behind and forgotten.”

He reached to hold you again and you let him. “Never,” he said, “never. You’ve been here since the beginning, you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”

You both broke the embrace and he wiped a tear from your cheek. The soft touch sent shivers down your spine.

“Thank you,” you said. 

He smiled at you. “No, thank you for opening up to me. You ready for the race today?”

You nodded, “Always.”

He didn’t score any points, but the points weren’t the point anymore. Your conversation earlier had made you feel so close to him in a way you never had before. You watched the screens in the garage with a religious reverence, looking into his eyes when the camera switched to face him. They were focused, like the only things in the world were him, the car, and the track ahead. And for you, that was all there was in the world, too.

Your celebration after the race was more subdued, but nonetheless supportive. As he walked to the media tent, you all glanced at each other and you mouthed to him proud of you. He winked back.

You all had fallen into a familiar routine of dinner together and winding down in his hotel room, and tonight was no different. Again you all found yourselves in the same positions: him, cross legged on the bed, and you in the chair near him. 

The atmosphere was a bit tense though. Being back at the hotel, you couldn’t help but remember the horrible morning, and what you had lost—your journal. Who would have thrown away a journal from his driver's room? You had asked around the paddock again after the race and no one had seen it.

Or maybe it hadn’t been thrown away. Maybe someone took it.

Your mind wandered back to the last few conversations with Franco: your “stolen” lipstick, his asking to read the journal…

No. He wouldn’t. That’d cross a line.

But weren’t the contents of the journal crossing a line themselves?

Franco noticed how you’d gone quieter since you got home from the paddock. You all were both exhausted.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, lazily tracing circles in the comforter.

You responded with your own question. “Franco, will you be honest with me?”

He looked up at you, his face hardened with concern. “Of course.” He looked nervous. 

“Do you have my journal?”

He shifted his gaze away from you. “No,” he said, simple as that. 

“Franco,” you began, “listen to me. I’m not mad, but you understand how this looks, right? I know we joke about this kind of stuff a lot, but you asked to read it and then it suddenly disappears after I left it in your driver’s room.”

“I didn’t even go back to the room after you left,” he said.

“Maybe not. But you got there this morning before I did. And now it’s gone.”

He paused. “You really think I’d steal your diary?”

The situation had become too tense for your liking. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything,” you explained, “and I promise, I’m not mad. I just… there’s some things in there that are too personal for me to share with anyone, even you.”

“YN, I don’t have it.”

“Okay. I’m just saying, if you happen to find it, please promise me that you won’t read it. Please,” you quite literally begged. 

“I wouldn’t do that to you, YN. You know I was joking when I asked to read it, right?”

He wasn’t joking. Both of you knew that. And both of you knew that he had taken the diary.

You hoped that he would understand what you asked and respect your wishes. In a few days he’d text you saying that a Williams employee had randomly found it—another lie—and he would give it back to you, unread. And your friendship would go on like nothing had ever happened.

But what if it didn’t? What if he read every filthy word you had written about him?

You thought it through over and over later that night, back in your own room but unable to sleep. So you made a plan.

You and Franco, thankfully, would be on the same flight to Brazil. When you landed and went to the hotel, you’d swap out your room keys and go to his room while he did his media duties. Then, you’d find the journal in his room and take it back.

A few problems with the plan. One, It gave him the first 3 days of the week to read it, and two, it was fucking unhinged of you to go through your best friend’s stuff. 

You rolled over and angrily groaned into the pillow. 

Brazil was going to be an interesting time. 

Well, interesting was the understatement of the century.

It began on the flight, a flight that was way too fucking long. Thankfully, Franco had arranged for you to take this one together, so at least you had his company. 

You could never sleep on planes, they were too loud and uncomfortable. Franco usually did, but today it seemed he couldn’t; he bounced his legs and darted his eyes around the plane.

“Nervous?” you asked.

“Very,” he answered honestly. “There’s just so much going on this weekend.”

“I know,” you said reassuringly rather than condescendingly. “You really should try to get some rest though. It’s been a long few weeks for you.”

“I can’t. I’m too wired up.”

You felt an unexpected boldness come over you. “Close your eyes,” you directed, “and take a few deep breaths. Stay still.” 

He obeyed, and you grabbed his hand from the armrest between you and held it in yours. You felt him tense at the unexpected touch, but you slowly began to trace circles into his palm with your thumb, and he relaxed into it. With his own boldness, he placed his head on your shoulder and exhaled. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. You knew from experience that he’d be asleep for the rest of the flight, so you let yourself get comfortable with the familiar weight of your sleeping best friend pressing into your side.

Slivers of sunlight from the window traced the soft edges of his sleeping form. Even when unconscious, he was beautiful. If you truly wanted to, you could have turned ever so slightly and kissed his forehead without waking him. And God, you truly wanted to.

So you did, gently pressing your lips to the smooth surface of his skin. Maybe this was crossing a line, but it seemed like, at this point, all lines had been crossed between you two.

His presence calmed you enough that you were able to fall asleep, too. When you woke a few hours later, he was still fast asleep by your side, and you savored the moment.

But deep down you wondered how long this would last. You were head over heels in love with him. He was… well, you didn’t know how he felt. But he was your best friend in the entire world. He knew almost everything there was to know about you. 

He had four races left in F1. Four races until you would go back to your day to day lives; still intertwined, but not this close. And if he did get the seat, that you so desperately wanted for him? He’d be gone even more than he already was. You couldn’t follow him around the world forever. He’d go from city to city, race to race, club to club, woman to woman.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of him with another woman. You remembered the singer in Austin, how he said he wasn’t flirting with her, it was for the brand, whatever excuse he could come up with. You guessed it was true. Or maybe he meant that it didn’t really mean anything to him. Just playing up that side of him that the media absolutely loved. His Argentine charm was undeniable. 

Okay, then maybe it was true. Everyone knew Franco was a flirt, you especially. But it made it so much harder to determine, then, what was truly meaningful to him and what wasn’t. 

But your friendship meant something to him, right? He had asked you to come along to all his races. He made time for you in the midst of the paddock’s chaos. You had slept in the same bed. He held you when you cried. And now, he slept peacefully on your shoulder, hands still intertwined. How could that not mean something?

You didn’t want your fears of the future to make you miss out on the present. At some point you’d have to open up to him. But that moment wasn’t right now. 

And you were determined that you’d be the one in control, so when you landed and made it to the hotel, you enacted your plan you’d concocted earlier. When the receptionist handed you the keys, you waited until Franco was fiddling with your luggage to switch out two, making sure to hand him the correct key. He would never need to know that the other key in the little paper pocket was the key to your room, and if he did, he’d just assume there was an issue. A natural cover.

Okay, maybe you were smart and smooth with it. 

You knew you wouldn’t see much of Franco in Brazil. With stakes this high, he had an overwhelming amount of team meetings and media duties. Still, as usual, you all made your way to the paddock together. 

The energy was electric—in good ways and bad. Good: there were so many Argentine fans that you often found yourself questioning what country you were in. The amount of support was unreal. And each one of them were proud of Franco—but not as proud as you were.

Bad: Literally everything else.

But that was yet to come. You entered the paddock to a flurry of camera shots and a cacophony of voices yelling for Franco. 

Usually you liked to stay out of the shot of cameras, but it was impossible here. Franco did his best to draw their attention towards him and away from you, but it was overwhelming nonetheless.

As you all passed a group of fans, one in particular caught your eye. She was holding out two bracelets. “Franco, YN!” she called out. 

You both stopped to speak to her. “I made you all bracelets,” she said, handing one to you and the other to Franco. You read the beads: it had Franco’s name, number, and blue hearts. You smiled at the adorable gesture. 

“Oh,” Franco said, looking at you, “This one has your name on it. Let’s switch.”

As he moved his hand to do so, the fan said, “No, they’re supposed to be like that. They’re friendship bracelets for you all!”

“Thank you,” you said, unsure if the warmth of your cheeks was a soft blush forming or from the chaos around you. The fan had wanted you to wear each other’s names.

You kept walking, but when you were out of eyeshot, you offered to switch the bracelets around again, thinking the implication was a little too much for him. He refused, keeping your name around his wrist.

He went off to wherever he needed to be, and you went to William’s hospitality to find Lily, but unfortunately, she wasn’t in Brazil at all.

Maybe, in hindsight, what you did next was a terrible decision. But you did it anyway. 

You made your way to Franco’s drivers room for some privacy and pulled up your social media, looking to see what people were saying about him. 

Ever since he had confided about his potential for a seat next year, you had also cared about his brand, too. And, officially or unofficially, you were a part of that. Like Lily had told you, people were speculating. You just hoped that what she said about the people loving you was true. 

Fortunately, it was. 

Franco and YN being obliviously in love with each other; a thread

You tapped on the post, reading your way through the comments.

Does YN know that she’s living our dream?

Oh to be YN, being loved by Franco like that.

Need someone to look at me the way YN and Franco look at each other.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love YN, but Franco should be with an Argentine girl. They’d be a power couple. 

The comment soured your mood. You kept reading anyway.

Guys, I met YN in Austin and she was so sweet! Our girl is chronically offline because she was so surprised that I even knew who she was and like, girl, WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WE ARE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU!!

You smiled, the memory of the girl in Austin coming back to your mind. 

I love how we have all collectively decided to adopt YN as the newest wag even though her and Franco aren’t even dating 

You laughed to yourself, remembering how Lily had mistaken you for a wag when you first talked. Maybe that was the reason why.

You read the replies: 

To be fair, you don’t look at someone like that unless you LOVE LOVE them

Does anyone else think this is weird tho? I mean, they're just friends but the entire internet wants them to get together, must make things so awkward…

Honestly I’m glad they’re not together because if my bf flirted with other women the way Franco flirts with reporters, I’d throw the whole man away

You snorted. Of course, these random people on the internet didn’t know you, but they seemed to get inside your head a little too much for comfort. Or maybe you just weren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you always thought you were. 

Speaking of hiding your emotions, you had a job to do. Checking your clock, you knew that Franco was going to be busy for the next 3 hours before you all had planned to meet up again. He had a very important meeting with Christian Horner. Your heart skipped a beat and you said a silent prayer for your friend.

But now, you have a mission. You were going to get your journal back.

It would have been an easy task, if not for the fans. Thankfully you got out and into an uber undetected, but upon opening the door to his room, you cursed them in your head.

Gifts were everywhere. His team must have been gathering them all week, and Franco clearly wasn’t organizing them. 

You thought 3 hours would be more than enough to leave, find your journal, return it to your room, and get back to the paddock unnoticed. Maybe, you thought wrong. This was going to be a long 3 hours. 

As you searched, back at the paddock, Franco sat in the meeting that would decide the course of the rest of his life. His leg bounced uncontrollably, his mouth was dry, and he felt like he was going to throw up his breakfast. 

He wished you were here. Your presence always calmed him in moments like these; he had no idea where you were, and the intimidating presence of Christian Horner across the table did nothing to ease his nerves. 

“I’ve got to admit,” Horner said, “he’s exceeded everyone’s expectations. But a couple good races doesn’t tell us much.”

Franco’s manager replied, “Of course, we understand. But he’s got more than enough of a fanbase to rival any driver. I mean, just look outside and it’s a sea of Argentine flags!”

“Fans are good, but does that translate to sponsors? I mean, you’ve got to compete with Disney here. Not every driver can bring in that level of support.”

“We’ve gotten some strong sponsors recently, and a lot more in the works currently. Franco’s future is promising.”

“What about his PR? Any disasters there?” Horner laughed.  

Franco’s manager, however, did not. “He’s good. The fans love him, and he knows when to shut up.”

Franco suppressed a laugh. Anyone who had been around him for more than 5 minutes knew that he was a PR nightmare. And it seemed Horner knew it too.

“Now, that’s not what I’ve heard,” he said. “I’ve seen the videos. You strike the balance well for the most part, but you can’t be telling people not to buy Redbull merch.” They all laughed. “And you can’t be bringing your girlfriend to every race.”

Franco’s manager began to speak, but not before Franco cut her off. “My girlfriend?” 

“Yeah, YN isn’t it? As far as I’ve seen, the fans like her, but if she’s constantly around they’ll get fatigued. Again, it’s a delicate balance.”

“YN isn’t my girlfriend.” The sentence felt…odd, as Franco said it with a matter of fact tone.

“Oh, even better. We can get you with an Argentinian woman, then. Maximize that market.”

“A PR relationship? Those are real?” Franco questioned, and Horner laughed, as if Franco was the dumbest one in the room, and he certainly felt like it. 

“Not really. Just be seen a few times, like some posts, maybe go to events together if you wanna really get serious about it. Generate talk, you know.”

“Isn’t that what happens with YN now anyway? I mean, everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

“Yeah, but she’s nobody. No offense,” Horner said, as if his comment held no weight. “But with a celebrity or model? That really gets people talking. A little controversy is good.”

Franco felt sick to his stomach. She’s nobody. But she was somebody, to him. She was his best friend. 

“Look, kid,” Horner began, “I agree that you’ve got promise, but it’s too early to make any decisions right now. Show us what you’ve got in these last few races, and maybe we can work something out.”

Everyone rose to exchange polite goodbyes and handshakes. Franco felt like he was in a totally different plane of existence.

His manager came over to him afterwards. “You did well, Franco. We’ll just do as he said—keep focused, get results, and keep your head down. Seriously, watch it with the media.”

Franco nodded absentmindedly, but his manager wasn’t happy with that response. “What’s wrong?” she asked. 

Franco began, “Look, a PR relationship, seriously? And he’s telling me I can’t have my best friend in the paddock?”

“I think YN will survive if she doesn’t come to every single race.”

“But I want her here with me. I don’t want to hurt her.” He remembered Austin, holding you while you cried, afraid that he’d leave you behind. And here push had come to shove. 

His manager looked at him, incredulous. “Seriously, Franco, this is what you're focused on? You have a shot at a seat with Redbull, and you’re more focused on not hurting YN’s feelings? How do you expect to achieve this with that attitude?” 

Franco was upset now. “Don’t say that. Even Horner said I’ve been exceeding expectations.”

“I know you have, and we’re all proud of you. But you need to stay focused. Leave the women alone.”

“YN is not just a random woman, she’s my best friend.”

His manager’s frustration was growing by the second. “I know Franco. I know you love her, we all love her. But she is not your priority right now. Your future is, okay?” 

Hearing those words felt like a rollercoaster, complete with the euphoric highs and stomach churning lows. I know you love her—well, it was true, you were his best friend. But what kind of love? He didn’t know, and besides, the low—she is not your priority right now—he didn’t have the time or space to find out. 

He had a job to do.

All the while, you also had a job to do, but you were failing spectacularly. You had searched every square inch of that fucking room. You looked in every nook and cranny, every pocket and pouch, under the covers and even in the bathroom. Your journal wasn’t there. 

There was no way Franco was this good at hiding anything (other than emotions, maybe). You now had to entertain the possibility that you had been wrong all along.

Maybe he didn’t have the journal. Maybe you had just accused him of lying and shown that you don’t really trust your best friend. 

You let out a frustrated groan as you put everything back in place. You couldn’t believe it. 

If he didn’t have the journal, then where was it?

It was a question you’d have to answer later, because right now you were racing to reconfigure his room and get back to the paddock before anyone noticed that you were gone. 

You barely made it in time, arriving at the Williams garage with your body in fight or flight mode. You spotted Franco instantly.

“YN! There you are,” he said. “I thought I lost you.”

“Oh yeah, I was with some fans.” The lie just slipped out without you having to think about it. You’d never done that before—who were you becoming?

Franco looked confused. “You were? Since when do you willingly leave the paddock?” he questioned, clearly joking.

“Since I have to help the brand,” you smiled. “By the way, how did the meeting go?”

He just replied, “Good.” 

Franco was never a man of few words, so his hesitancy to speak was a red flag.

“Top secret?” you asked, thankfully giving him an out.

“Yeah, it’s… complicated.” 

“Well, you know I’m always here rooting for you,” you said, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. The gesture sent shivers down your spine.

Seriously, who were you becoming?

The next day didn’t make the situation any easier. The morning sprint had granted Franco another 12th place finish—no points, but still respectable. At least, it was to you. You could tell that he wasn’t happy. You knew that he pushed himself too hard, because how else would he be able to achieve, but it still broke your heart. You assumed that the meeting yesterday hadn’t been the greatest, and you wished that Franco would talk to you about it. But he didn’t. That was okay, you’d done the same to him before. You just wanted to be there to support him, even if it meant being on the sidelines, in the dark both physically and metaphorically.

And the darkness was looming over Interlagos. The forecast was horrific. The reality was even more horrific. 

As the rain poured down in sheets, you silently said a prayer for all the poor souls with General Admission tickets who must be swimming right now. You were nice and dry under the paddock, thankfully, but outside it was practically a monsoon.

Everyone knew qualifying would get postponed, it was just a matter of time until a final decision would be made. The atmosphere was tense—a championship battle loomed in the distance between Max and Lando, and Franco would be driving for his life. 

But as the hours passed and the rain continued, the energy around the paddock loosened up. You saw Lando and Oscar at the gates waving to fans, George jumping in puddles, Ollie taking naps against the warm tires. 

So, of course, Franco would enjoy his time too.

His manager stood in the back corner of the garage, talking with one of the media interns. Looking at her, Franco felt his frustration return. He had never been the stubborn type. But since making it to Formula 1, he had been told what to do left and right. Go here, say this, don’t do that. It pissed him off. 

He was going to do what he wanted to, at least this once. 

Of course, you were oblivious to all of this. You didn’t know what to make of it when he walked onto the pit lane, exposing himself to the elements. Within seconds his fluffy curls were flattened and he would be dripping in rainwater when he came back into the garage. 

“YN!” he called into the garage. “Come dance with me!” 

You looked up from your phone, and the garage around you was still buzzing, but you could feel everyone’s necks craning to listen and look upon whatever antics Franco was up to.

You just laughed and shook your head. You weren’t getting out in that mess.

But you didn’t have a choice. Franco marched his way up to the garage and yanked you out. 

You yelped his name playfully as he dragged you to the middle of the pitlane and put his arms around your waist. 

“What are you doing?” you asked him through your widening smile.

“Dancing. Having fun,” he answered. His arms stayed around your waist, too close to be platonic.

You turned to the crowd of fans in the grandstand in the distance. “We have an audience. Is this good for the brand?” 

It would seem ‘the brand’ was becoming a running bit, until Franco shut it down. “Fuck the brand. Dance with me.”

He pulled you closer, the only thing separating you being the layers of clothes that were thinning with the rain. He spun you and you all danced back and forth, giggling when you splashed in the  puddles swiftly gathering around you. 

And then he dipped you. The world felt like it stopped for a moment. You were suspended in air, an electric warmth between you and your best friend, the only two people in the world.

He brought you back up and you both stopped. Your eyes met for what must have only been a split second. It was like all at once, all the love you had for him flooded your heart, stronger than the unrelenting rain. 

Everything about him was beautiful. His arms wrapped around your waist, his eyes now looking at your lips—

He was going to kiss you.

That is, until his manager yelled at you both from inside the garage. “Franco! Quit fucking around and get in here!”

The moment was ruined.

You both sheepishly returned to the garage. Your anxiety had faded in that perfect moment with him, but had now returned with a vengeance upon hearing the frustration of his manager. Luckily, everyone else in the garage seemed to not care. But Franco looked like a kid getting called to the principal’s office at school.

Before you even got back in the garage, you turned to him and said, “Franco, I’m sorry for getting you in trouble, I—”

He cut you off. “You didn’t get me in trouble,” he joked, “I got myself in trouble. Don’t worry about it. You can shower in my driver’s room, I should have a spare sweater in there. I’ll try to meet you there.”

You nodded as you went your separate ways.

You did as Franco said, having a quick shower and doing your best to dry your hair in his driver’s room. You grabbed the spare Williams quarter zip he had and slid it on, relishing in the warmth and the smell of his cologne. You felt safe here, quiet and alone, knowing that he’d come meet you when he could. You scrolled on your phone to pass the time.

Of course, it had only been minutes and you all had already gone viral.  

You tapped on the post of a gossip page.

Williams driver Franco Colapinto and friend YN seen in Interlagos having a sweet moment dancing in the rain! Although the pair are quoted calling each other just friends, fans continue to speculate about the true nature of their relationship. What do you think? Sound off below!

You scrolled to the comments.

Might as well just make out with her in parc ferme smh

Why are they actually the main characters of a rom com

Sooooooo when is he proposing

YN the woman that you are. I’d ask what we are after being held like that

You smiled. Maybe the internet was starting to grow on you. 

Back in the paddock, Franco was soaked to the bone, shivering, and being scolded by his manager.

“I told you to keep a low profile. What was that stunt?”

“I was just having fun—”

“I know. That’s the problem. You are not here to have fun. You are here to compete.”

“Having fun doesn’t impact my ability to drive,” he said, his voice sharp with anger. “Look, I get that you want what is best for me. But I’m not stupid. Fans love this kind of stuff, they eat it up. And I’m improving every day with my driving. Just let me do what I do best.”

“And you’re doing this purely for the fans?” she asked. They both knew the answer. Franco was silent. She continued, “Franco, she’ll be here at the end of the season no matter what. But this opportunity won't if you don’t focus. You’re distracted.”

“This will be good publicity. The fans like it when I’m flirty.”

“You’re not here to be flirty. You’re here to drive,” she said with a forceful and final tone. She sighed. “The FIA just announced that quali is postponed until tomorrow morning. Go back to the hotel, get some rest, and come back tomorrow ready to perform, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. 

When he finally made it back to his driver’s room, he found you asleep on the small couch. He thought his heart would burst.

Quietly, he took a shower and changed into dry clothes. He sat down and just watched your sleeping frame, taking in how beautiful you were.

But you couldn’t stay here all night. He woke you up by gently brushing your hair out of your face, and you stirred at his touch.

“YN,” he whispered. “Quali is postponed. Time to go.” You sleepily rose and followed him out of the paddock, only fully waking up on the Uber ride back to the hotel.

The drive was quiet, but peaceful. It was dark out, and the rain scattered the light from the street lamps of Sao Paulo. Franco looked out the window, contemplative. It was a side of him you'd never seen before.

You placed your hand in the middle between you two, and wordlessly, he held it in his own.

It was unspoken, this new…thing, between you two. You both knew that something had fundamentally changed. It was a question of who would crack first. 

Franco knew, though, that his manager was right. He needed to focus. He needed to deliver. And you’d be here at the end.

But when he laid in his bed alone later that night, he couldn’t rest. All he could think about was that moment you both had felt, and his eyes that had focused on the soft skin of your lips. How badly he had wanted you in that moment. 

A line had been crossed, yes, but that wasn’t the only one. 

In his backpack, there had been a weight that had hung over him the past few days. A metaphorical one. He had kept it on his person at all times for safekeeping, not wanting to risk anyone finding out what he’d done.

He told himself he wouldn’t do it. But he needed more of you that he couldn’t have—not now, at least. 

But he could have this, right now.

So he sat up in bed, grabbing the small leather diary from the bag, and opened the first page.  

[steddieas-shegoes]

Country singer Steve Harrington, who has always leaned more into the pop country side of things (think Wanted by Hunter Hayes), but wants his third album to be more true to old school country roots.

His label agrees but only if he works with Eddie Munson, a rock star who had to leave the spotlight when he got kicked out of his band for, well, rockstar behavior gone too far.

Steve isn't amused, especially because he doesn't care for metal music or rock star shenanigans. He was "raised better" and doesn't think Eddie could sit down and write songs with actual emotion and feeling.

Cue long songwriting sessions where Eddie is trying his hardest to be on his best behavior because he knows this is his last shot at being taken seriously, and Steve being surprised every time Eddie proves that he's talented as a songwriter and musician, well outside the scope of just metal and rock.

They write a song that they're both so proud of, Steve asks if he'll record it with him just for fun. The released version would just be Steve.

Eddie agrees.

It's an incredible duet, something country music has needed forever, but Eddie doesn't want that version out there.

The label genuinely accidentally releases their version instead of the Steve only version. As soon as they realize, they remove it from official places, but it's too late.

Fans have already heard it and have gone crazy over it, begging them to let the radio play this version, begging for this version to be available for streaming. The Steve version is great, but it doesn't have the emotion that's laced in the tone of them singing together.

Eddie finally gives in when he sees how happy Steve is about the reaction to it.

But the label decides they want them to tour together, have Eddie work as his opening act, perform his acoustic songs that haven't been officially released anywhere. Eddie can't do it.

He can't go back into that lifestyle. He couldn't do it to his band, who made him promise that he'd come back to them when he got his shit straight. He can't do it to his fans, who stuck by him through some rough shit, but probably wouldn't support a fucking country music career. He definitely can't do it to Steve, who deserves to have someone with him who can be trusted not to go off the deep end.

So he runs. He hides. His uncle welcomes him home, congratulates him on finally embracing his country roots.

It doesn't take long for Steve to find him.

Because he'd been more honest with Steve than he'd ever been with anyone. He told him about his childhood, his Uncle Wayne, his struggle to make it. He told him about his worse struggle when he did make it, how he got in with the wrong people, the wrong things. Prioritized the lifestyle more than his own life.

Of course Steve knew where he'd run to.

Of course Steve came to remind him what his life could be if he allowed himself to find new priorities.

Steve's lips were pretty persuasive, but not nearly as persuasive as his promises to remind him what he could have if he kept his life his priority.

"But what if I let you down?"

"You won't."

"But-"

"No. You won't. You're gonna do amazing things for yourself. And I'm gonna be there to see it happen. That's all."

And he was.

They co-wrote Steve's entire album while Eddie worked on recording his own original songs. He liked that it was an old school rock and roll feel, some blues, some country, some hints of metal sneaking in on a couple songs.

He called his band to come help him with a song, hesitant to even ask, but they came. Of course they came.

He called his Uncle Wayne to play banjo on a song, worried that he wouldn't like the heavier electric guitar notes over it. Of course he loved being involved.

When their tour started, he let himself actually feel nervous.

But instead of running, he looked at the man who supported him through it, even when his own career was on the line.

Of course Steve was there.

[w1w2]

Bored

Part 1 - Paradise on Venus | Part 2 | Part 3

Ningning x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 9k

Synopsis: At university, Y/N’s world is turned upside down when she meets Ningning, a magnetic musician with a reputation for breaking hearts.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The campus buzzed with life as the late afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed quad. Students shuffled between classes and study groups, the muffled hum of conversation blending with the rustling of autumn leaves. In the heart of the engineering building, where the faint scent of solder and oil clung to the air, Y/N sat at her workstation.

The lab was a chaotic symphony of whirring machines and scattered blueprints. Y/N leaned over her desk, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully adjusted the wires on a small circuit board. A faint smile tugged at her lips as the LED light flickered to life, signaling her success. “Finally,” she murmured to herself, tucking a loose strand of her natural brown hair behind her ear. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, streaked with faint smudges of graphite from an earlier sketch. She had always thought of herself as more practical than glamorous, but her bright smile and soft, heart-shaped face had a way of catching people off guard.

“Y/N, you’re a miracle worker,” said Chaewon, sliding onto a stool beside her. Chaewon’s clipboard was crammed with notes, and her sharp, focused expression softened with a grin. “I’ve been staring at that thing for three days, and I still don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s just practice,” Y/N replied with a modest shrug, her tone light and teasing. “And maybe a little caffeine.”

Chaewon smirked. “A little? That thermos of yours could fuel an entire marathon.”

Y/N grinned and took a sip of her coffee, the warm liquid fueling her for the hours of work still ahead. Despite her cheerful demeanor, she had a focused intensity when it came to her projects, a quality that had earned her respect among her peers. Yet outside her small circle of friends, Y/N often felt a bit shy, preferring the quiet comfort of her lab over the bustling chaos of campus life.

The lab door swung open, and Yunjin sauntered in, carrying a half-empty bubble tea. Her caramel-colored hair was swept into a loose bun, and she looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had a project deadline looming. “What’s up, nerds?” she said, flopping onto a chair and kicking her feet up on the edge of Chaewon’s desk.

“Yunjin, if you spill that tea on anything, I swear—” Chaewon began, her voice laced with exasperation.

“Relax, boss,” Yunjin interrupted with a playful grin. “I’m just here to deliver the latest campus gossip. Did you hear about Ningning?”

Chaewon rolled her eyes, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What about her?”

Yunjin leaned in conspiratorially, her tone dripping with drama. “She’s already moved on from that junior in drama. Apparently, they lasted all of two weeks. I heard she dumped them during their coffee date. Brutal.”

Y/N didn’t look up from her work, but she felt Chaewon nudge her with an elbow. “You’ve heard about Ningning, right?” Chaewon asked, lowering her voice. “The ‘heartbreaker’?”

“I think everyone has,” Y/N replied, her tone dismissive. “It’s hard not to when people won’t stop talking about her.”

Yunjin snickered. “Well, it’s not like she doesn’t deserve the title. Ningning’s a legend. Boys, girls, it doesn’t matter. She charms them all, and then poof, she’s onto the next.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Y/N said, tightening a screw on her circuit board.

“She’s not all bad,” Yunjin added with a shrug. “I mean, she’s gorgeous, and have you heard her sing? It’s like.. wow. I’d let her break my heart just for the experience.”

Chaewon groaned. “Please. You’d fall for anyone with a guitar.”

“True,” Yunjin said with a laugh. “But Ningning’s different. She’s like...irresistible, you know?”

Y/N finally glanced up, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Are we done with the Ningning fan club meeting? Some of us are trying to work.”

Yunjin held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Don’t get all grumpy. But seriously, Y/N, if she ever sets her sights on you, good luck. She’s like a black hole. No escape.”

Chaewon chuckled but quickly sobered. “Honestly, though, it’s better to stay out of her orbit. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone coming out of a thing with her unscathed.”

Y/N shrugged, her attention back on her project. “Not my problem. I’m not interested in distractions.”

“That’s the spirit,” Chaewon said with a small smile. “Engineering comes first.”

But even as Y/N joked, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder about the girl everyone seemed so fascinated by. Who was Ningning, really? Was she as shallow and fickle as the rumors claimed, or was there more to her than met the eye? The thoughts were fleeting, though, easily dismissed as Y/N immersed herself in her work.

The sun outside had dipped below the horizon by the time Y/N packed up her tools and slung her bag over her shoulder. The lab had emptied out, save for a few die-hard students hunched over their desks. As she stepped outside, the crisp evening air nipped at her cheeks, and the distant sound of laughter floated through the campus. For a moment, she paused to take it all in, the golden glow of streetlights, the murmured hum of conversations, the faint notes of music from a nearby dorm window.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from her reverie. It was Chaewon, already texting about their group project for the next week. Y/N smiled and typed out a quick reply, her thoughts shifting back to the familiar rhythm of deadlines and diagrams. She had no time for campus drama, and certainly no time for girls like Ningning.

As Y/N made her way back to her dorm, she couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation from passing students. Ningning’s name seemed to crop up everywhere, a casual remark here, a whispered comment there. It was as if the girl was woven into the very fabric of campus life. But Y/N shook her head, brushing the thoughts away. Whatever allure Ningning held for others, it wasn’t something she planned to get tangled in.

By the time Y/N reached her room, the campus was quiet, the night settling in like a soft blanket. She set her bag down, stretched, and let out a contented sigh. Her world was simple, structured, and predictable, just the way she liked it.

The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of cups filled the cozy coffee shop tucked away in a quiet corner of campus. Its warm, amber lighting and mismatched furniture gave it a charming, lived-in feel, a favorite spot for students seeking a moment of peace amidst their hectic schedules. Y/N had claimed a corner table near the window, a cup of steaming coffee by her side as she thumbed through her notebook, sketching ideas for her next project.

Outside, the late autumn sun filtered through the glass, casting golden streaks across her notebook. She absentmindedly tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear, her focus entirely on the intricate lines forming on the page. It was one of the rare moments where she could block out the noise of the world and lose herself in her work.

Ningning had originally come in for a quick espresso to recharge between classes, but her attention snagged the moment she spotted Y/N by the window. She paused mid-step, her espresso order forgotten. Y/N’s quiet focus and natural beauty, framed by the warm glow of sunlight, were magnetic. Ningning tilted her head, her curiosity piqued.

The infamous heartbreaker was no stranger to attention, she thrived in it, danced in it, but there was something about Y/N that felt different. Ningning wasn’t used to people who radiated warmth but still seemed just out of reach, like sunlight on a cold day. Intrigued, she smoothed down her sweater and made her way over.

“Hey there,” Ningning said, leaning slightly against Y/N’s table with a casual confidence that turned heads. Her voice was light, playful, but with an unmistakable undercurrent of interest. “Mind if I join you?”

Y/N blinked, momentarily startled out of her thoughts. She glanced up, her eyes locking with Ningning’s. The other girl was striking, her dark hair framing her round face and her full lips curved into a disarming smile. It took Y/N a beat longer than she’d like to process the question.

“Oh, uh...” Y/N’s gaze flicked to the empty seat opposite her, then back to Ningning. “Sure?”

Ningning slipped into the seat, her movements as smooth as silk. “Thanks. I promise I’m not here to interrupt your work. You just seemed... interesting.”

Y/N arched a brow, her caution immediately flaring. “Interesting?”

“Yeah,” Ningning said, resting her chin on her hand as she studied Y/N openly. “You’ve got this whole focused but 'lost in your own world' vibe going on. It’s refreshing.”

Y/N wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so she simply offered a polite smile and closed her notebook. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“We haven’t,” Ningning said, extending a hand across the table. “I’m Ningning. But you can call me Ning. Everyone does.”

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking her hand. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Ningning repeated, her lips curling around the name like it was something to savor. “Cute name. It suits you.”

Y/N felt a faint heat rise to her cheeks and quickly looked down at her coffee. “Thanks.”

“So, what are you working on?” Ningning asked, gesturing to the notebook.

“Just some ideas for a project,” Y/N replied, keeping her answer deliberately vague. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to share the details of her engineering concepts with a stranger, even one as charming as Ningning.

Ningning, however, didn’t seem deterred by the lack of information. If anything, it seemed to amuse her. “Ah, the mysterious type,” she teased, her tone light. “I like that.”

Y/N glanced at her, trying to gauge her intentions. Ningning’s reputation echoed in her mind like a warning bell, but her demeanor, bright, playful, and somehow sincere, was disarming. Still, Y/N wasn’t about to let her guard down so easily.

“Not mysterious,” Y/N said, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Just focused.”

“Focused is good,” Ningning said, leaning back in her chair. “Focused means you’ve got your priorities straight. Let me guess.. engineering major?”

Y/N blinked. “How did you—?”

“It’s the vibe,” Ningning said with a grin. “The notebook, the intense concentration, the... thermos of coffee that could probably wake the dead. Am I right?”

Y/N chuckled softly despite herself. “You’re not wrong.”

“I knew it,” Ningning said, looking genuinely pleased with herself. “What kind of project? Robots? Cool gadgets? Something to save the world?”

“Something like that,” Y/N replied, her smile lingering. There was an ease to Ningning’s presence that was hard to ignore, even as her logical mind screamed at her to be cautious.

“So, what’s an engineering genius like you doing in a coffee shop? Don’t you have, like, a secret lair with lasers and blueprints or something?” Ningning’s tone was teasing, but her eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity.

Y/N shook her head, a laugh escaping her. “Even geniuses need coffee breaks.”

“Well, I’m glad you took one,” Ningning said, her voice softening just enough to make Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Y/N felt her caution flare again. She straightened in her seat, the faint smile slipping from her face. “You seem pretty good at this,” she said, her tone measured.

Ningning tilted her head. “At what?”

“Talking,” Y/N said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Making people feel like the center of the universe. Charming them.”

Ningning’s smile widened, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her gaze, respect, perhaps, or maybe just intrigue. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I guess it depends on your intentions,” Y/N replied, her voice steady.

Ningning leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting to one of playful challenge. “And what do you think my intentions are?”

Y/N met her gaze evenly. “I don’t know. But I’m not exactly interested in finding out.”

Ningning chuckled, a low, melodic sound that made Y/N’s resolve waver just a little. “Fair enough. But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“Oh?” Y/N said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not good at talking,” Ningning said, her smile taking on a mischievous edge. “I’m just good at finding interesting people. And you, Y/N... you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a while.”

Y/N wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or wary, so she settled for a polite nod. “Thanks, I guess.”

Ningning stood, her movements as fluid as when she’d arrived. “I should let you get back to your work. But I’m glad I came over.”

Y/N watched as she slid her chair back into place, her heart still beating a little faster than she’d like. “Thanks for stopping by,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

Ningning lingered for a moment, her gaze flickering over Y/N one last time. “I’ll see you around, Y/N,” she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m sure of it.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Y/N staring after her, a mix of curiosity and unease swirling in her chest. She shook her head, trying to focus on her notebook, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Ningning’s parting smile. Something about it told her this wasn’t the last time their paths would cross.

The days that followed their first encounter were, at first, unremarkable. Y/N busied herself with projects, classes, and her usual routine, convincing herself that the brief moment with Ningning was a one-off, a random meeting with no deeper implications. But she should have known better.

The first “coincidence” happened the next morning. Y/N had just found a seat in the campus library when Ningning appeared at the end of the aisle, a book in hand and a curious smile on her lips.

“Engineering, huh?” Ningning said, holding up the title. Fundamentals of Robotics.

Y/N blinked, then glanced at her own open textbook. “Let me guess.. you’re expanding your horizons?”

Ningning chuckled, slipping into the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. “Something like that. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a faint smile despite herself. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Always,” Ningning said, setting the book down. “So, how’s the genius project coming along?”

Y/N hesitated but found herself answering. “Still in the planning phase. It’s nothing exciting yet.”

“Everything you do seems exciting,” Ningning said, resting her chin on her hand.

Y/N shook her head, trying to fight the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet,” Ningning replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

The encounters continued. A few days later, Y/N opened her notebook after a lecture, ready to jot down a few ideas that had struck her during class. As she flipped the pages, a small, folded note fluttered out and landed on her desk.

She picked it up, her brow furrowing in confusion. The handwriting was neat but playful, the letters looping elegantly across the page.

Y/N,

Don’t work too hard, save some time for coffee with me.

-Ning

Y/N stared at the note, her heart doing an uncomfortable flip. She turned it over, half-expecting to find more, but there was nothing except a phone number scrawled at the bottom.

She glanced around the lecture hall, half-expecting to see Ningning watching her from the doorway or the back of the room, but there was no sign of her. When had Ningning slipped this into her notebook?

The thought made her stomach flutter, though she quickly shook her head, dismissing the feeling.

For the rest of the day, the note lingered in her thoughts. Every time she opened her notebook, the looping letters seemed to taunt her. She told herself it was ridiculous to even consider texting Ningning. What would she say? And wasn’t this exactly the kind of thing she was trying to avoid?

But by the time she was back in her dorm room, the curiosity had become unbearable. Against her better judgment, she typed out a quick message and hit send.

So, when exactly did you sneak this into my notebook?

The reply came almost instantly, and Y/N’s pulse quickened as she read the response.

Let’s just say I have my ways. Don’t worry, your friends approve.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress a small smile. She could practically hear Ningning’s teasing tone through the words on the screen.

I’m busy, she typed back, hoping the simple response would end the conversation before it could begin.

Ningning’s reply was quick and disarmingly bold Then I’ll wait until you’re not.

Y/N stared at her phone, unsure whether to laugh or groan. The sheer audacity of the girl was both infuriating and, admittedly, a little charming. She didn’t reply, but as she set her phone aside, she realized her lips had quirked into an involuntary smile.

It wasn’t long before Ningning escalated her efforts. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to know where Y/N would be.

One day, Y/N stopped by the campus café for a quick lunch between classes. The place was crowded, and she barely managed to snag a small table near the corner. As she unwrapped her sandwich, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Mind if I join you?”

Y/N looked up to see Ningning standing there with a tray, her easygoing grin as disarming as ever.

“Do I have a choice?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Ningning said cheerfully, sliding into the seat opposite her before Y/N could protest.

Y/N sighed but didn’t object. “Do you always invite yourself to people’s tables?”

“Only when the company is worth it,” Ningning replied, taking a sip of her iced coffee.

Despite herself, Y/N chuckled softly. Ningning’s confidence was relentless, but there was something about her energy that was hard to resist.

Over the next few weeks, the “coincidences” multiplied. Ningning appeared at the library while Y/N studied, waved to her across the quad, and once even “accidentally” ended up on the same bench as Y/N during a quiet moment by the campus fountain.

But sometimes, Ningning’s efforts weren’t subtle at all.

Y/N was midway through demonstrating her prototype at an engineering open house when she spotted Ningning at the back of the crowd. Dressed casually but effortlessly chic, Ningning stood out among the sea of students and faculty, her confident stance and bright expression impossible to miss.

Y/N’s hand faltered on her pointer, and she almost dropped it. Her heart raced as Ningning caught her eye, offering a small thumbs-up and a supportive smile.

Somehow, Y/N made it through the demonstration without completely losing her composure. As the crowd dispersed, she packed up her materials, only to find Ningning approaching her with that same infuriatingly charming grin.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Ningning said, her admiration evident.

Y/N sighed, trying to hide her flustered state. “What are you doing here, Ning?”

“Supporting a friend,” Ningning replied, her tone playful but her gaze sincere.

“We’re not friends,” Y/N said, though the conviction in her voice was notably weak.

“Not yet,” Ningning shot back, her persistence unwavering.

Y/N shook her head, unsure whether to feel annoyed or flattered. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I see something worth chasing,” Ningning replied, her smile softening.

The words lingered between them, and for a moment, Y/N wasn’t sure how to respond. There was something undeniably genuine in the way Ningning looked at her, like she wasn’t just chasing a thrill, but something deeper.

But the thought only made Y/N’s guard go up. She wasn’t about to be another name on Ningning’s list, no matter how charming the girl was.

Still, as Ningning waved goodbye and disappeared into the crowd, Y/N couldn’t help but feel that strange, persistent flutter in her chest.

As the days went on, Y/N found herself reluctantly softening. It was hard to remain indifferent in the face of Ningning’s unwavering attention. She wasn’t just charming, she was thoughtful in a way Y/N hadn’t expected, always finding small ways to brighten her day.

One rainy afternoon, Y/N was hunched over her laptop in the library, attempting to meet a looming project deadline. She barely noticed the pattering of the rain against the windows until a familiar figure slid into the chair across from her.

“Do you ever take a break?” Ningning asked, setting down a steaming cup of coffee in front of Y/N.

Y/N looked up, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t overwork yourself,” Ningning said simply, flashing a grin as she pushed the cup closer. “Black, just how you like it. And don’t tell me you’re too busy to drink it.”

Y/N hesitated but wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. “Thanks,” she said softly, her defenses cracking just a little more.

Moments like these became routine. A text to check in, a random gift of coffee, a casual conversation that managed to feel disarmingly intimate. Ningning had a way of slipping past Y/N’s walls without forcing her way in.

One day, Ningning invited her to a quiet café just off campus. “I’ll buy,” she offered, waving a hand at the menu.

Y/N hesitated. “You don’t have to keep buying me coffee, you know.”

“But I like spoiling you,” Ningning replied with a wink.

Y/N sighed but eventually agreed, telling herself it was just coffee.

The café was warm and inviting, its walls lined with mismatched bookshelves and vintage posters. They found a table by the window, and as they settled in, the conversation flowed with surprising ease.

Over steaming mugs, Ningning opened up about her love of music. She shared stories of late nights spent writing lyrics, the thrill of performing on stage, and the bittersweet moments of fame.

“It’s like chasing a high,” Ningning said, her voice softer than usual as she traced the rim of her mug with her fingertip. “Every time I finish a song or get on stage, it feels like nothing else matters. But sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever find something that lasts.”

The vulnerability in her words caught Y/N off guard. For a moment, the infamous heartbreaker seemed achingly human.

Y/N tilted her head, studying Ningning’s expression. “Why do you think that?”

Ningning smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe because nothing ever has. It’s always temporary, people, places, even feelings. Like they’re just waiting to fade.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She wanted to ask more, to probe deeper into the guarded part of Ningning’s heart, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she offered her own honesty.

“What about you?” Ningning asked, her gaze steady. “What do you want out of all this? School, life, everything?”

Y/N paused, caught off guard by the question. “I guess... I just want to create something meaningful,” she admitted. “Something that makes a difference.”

Ningning’s eyes softened, and for once, her smile wasn’t teasing. “I think you will,” she said simply, and the sincerity in her voice left Y/N momentarily speechless.

Despite her better judgment, Y/N began to let her guard down. Ningning’s presence became a constant. A text in the morning, a casual greeting between classes, an unexpected but welcome companion during study sessions.

Y/N started to look forward to their encounters, even if she wouldn’t admit it aloud. Ningning had a way of making her laugh, of drawing her out of her shell with effortless charm. But even as Y/N grew to appreciate Ningning’s wit, humor, and surprising depth, a part of her remained cautious.

The stories lingered in the back of her mind, a whispered warning she couldn’t quite ignore. She’d heard them all. The trail of broken hearts, the fleeting connections, the people left wondering if they’d ever really known Ningning at all.

One evening, as Y/N lay in bed scrolling through her phone, a message lit up her screen.

You’re still awake, right?

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. What makes you think that? she typed back.

You’re too much of a workaholic to sleep early.

Y/N laughed softly to herself, shaking her head. Guilty.

Good. Meet me tomorrow after class?

Y/N hesitated. She’d avoided labeling whatever was happening between them, but Ningning’s persistence was wearing down her defenses.

Okay, she finally replied.

The next day, Ningning greeted her outside the lecture hall with her signature grin and a coffee in hand, black, just the way Y/N liked it.

“See?” Ningning said, handing it over. “I’m learning.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like it,” Ningning shot back, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Y/N shook her head, but her smile lingered. “Maybe a little.”

Their conversation meandered as they walked across campus together. Ningning pointed out little details Y/N had never noticed before, a graffiti heart etched onto a lamppost, the way the sunlight hit the clock tower just right at this time of day.

“You look like you’re always in your head,” Ningning said at one point, glancing at her. “I like pulling you out of it.”

Y/N paused, caught off guard by the comment. “Why?”

“Because I think there’s more to you than you let people see,” Ningning replied, her voice unusually soft. “And I want to know all of it.”

The words left Y/N speechless, her chest tightening in a way she didn’t fully understand. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she settled for a simple, quiet, “Maybe someday.”

Ningning’s smile widened, but she didn’t push further. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel tangled in Ningning’s orbit. The girl was a paradox. Effortlessly confident yet disarmingly vulnerable, playful one moment and achingly sincere the next. Y/N found herself watching for Ningning in places she hadn’t before, her presence sparking a warmth that was hard to ignore.

Still, the uncertainty lingered. Late at night, when the world was still and her thoughts had nowhere to hide, Y/N’s doubts crept in. She’d heard the stories, the whispers of people who had been swept up in Ningning’s charm, only to be left wondering if they’d ever meant anything at all.

Was she just another chapter in the same story? A fleeting thrill for someone who never stayed?

The question weighed heavy, but Ningning’s pull was undeniable. Every smile, every shared laugh, every fleeting touch sent a quiet hum through Y/N’s chest.

And no matter how cautious she tried to be, a small, stubborn hope flickered inside her. Maybe, just maybe, this time was different.

Over the next few weeks, Ningning’s presence shifted from surprising to familiar, her gestures taking on a quiet intimacy that Y/N couldn’t ignore.

One afternoon, Ningning showed up outside Y/N’s lecture hall with a guitar slung over her shoulder. Y/N frowned as she approached, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s with the guitar?” Y/N asked, falling into step beside her.

“You’ll see,” Ningning said cryptically, leading her toward the quad. They stopped under a large oak tree, the branches casting dappled shadows over the grass. Ningning sat down and patted the spot beside her.

Curious, Y/N followed, tucking her legs beneath her. Ningning adjusted the guitar on her lap and strummed a few chords, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

“I wrote something for you,” Ningning said, glancing at Y/N with a small, almost shy smile.

“For me?” Y/N’s voice wavered, caught between disbelief and something deeper she didn’t want to name yet.

“Of course,” Ningning replied, her gaze steady. “You’re my muse.”

Before Y/N could process the words, Ningning began to play. The melody was soft and tender, her voice weaving through the notes like a thread of silk. The lyrics spoke of discovery and quiet moments, of finding something real and unexpected in a world that often felt fleeting.

By the time Ningning finished, Y/N’s chest felt impossibly tight. She blinked, suddenly aware of the tears threatening to spill.

“What did you think?” Ningning asked, her tone casual, though her eyes searched Y/N’s face for a reaction.

“It was...” Y/N paused, swallowing hard. “Beautiful.”

“Good.” Ningning grinned, setting the guitar aside. “That’s what I was going for.”

The song was just one of many gestures that left Y/N feeling both flustered and deeply touched. Ningning had a way of making her feel seen, of finding little ways to show she cared.

One evening, Ningning led Y/N to a quiet spot on campus she claimed as her own—a secluded garden hidden behind the art building.

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Ningning explained, guiding Y/N through the overgrown path.

The garden was small but enchanting, with wildflowers growing in vibrant clusters and fairy lights strung between the trees. A small bench sat beneath a willow tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/N said, her voice soft.

“It is,” Ningning agreed, though her eyes were fixed on Y/N rather than the garden.

They spent hours there, talking about everything and nothing. Y/N found herself sharing pieces of her life she rarely offered to others—her dreams, her insecurities, the moments that had shaped her.

And slowly, without realizing it, Y/N’s guardedness began to melt away.

The shift in Y/N’s feelings was subtle at first, a flicker of warmth that spread through her chest whenever Ningning smiled. It wasn’t something Y/N could name or even admit to herself in the beginning. It was in the quiet moments. The way her heart skipped when she saw Ningning’s name light up her phone screen, the way her eyes instinctively sought her out in a crowded room.

But as the days passed, that flicker grew into something undeniable. The moments they shared, the laughter, the gentle teasing, Ningning had a way of drawing Y/N out of her shell without ever forcing it.

Y/N found herself looking forward to their time together. She’d scan the hallways for Ningning’s familiar figure, her heart leaping at every casual greeting or unexpected meeting. The thought of seeing Ningning became a quiet anchor in her day, something she never realized she needed.

It wasn’t just the grand gestures that moved her, it was the small, thoughtful moments that Ningning seemed to weave effortlessly into their growing connection. The way she always remembered how Y/N liked her coffee: black, no sugar, no cream. “Bitter, just like your soul,” Ningning had teased once, earning a reluctant laugh from Y/N.

The way Ningning noticed when Y/N was stressed, slipping in a joke or a funny story to lighten the mood. Like the time Y/N was buried in her project, her notes spread chaotically across a library table. Ningning had appeared out of nowhere, balancing two cups of coffee and a paper bag. “Emergency donuts,” she announced, plopping the bag in front of Y/N. “One bite, and all your worries disappear.”

“You’re impossible,” Y/N had muttered, but the fond smile on her lips betrayed her words.

And then there was the way Ningning looked at her, like she was the only person in the world who mattered. It was a gaze that lingered, warm and steady, making Y/N feel seen in a way she hadn’t in years.

Her guarded heart began to soften. The walls she’d spent so long building felt less like protection and more like barriers she was ready to let go of.

But with that openness came vulnerability. At night, when the campus was quiet and her thoughts refused to settle, Y/N often found herself turning over every moment in her mind. What was it about Ningning that made her feel this way? Was it safe to trust her? Was she just another fleeting conquest for the girl whose reputation preceded her?

And yet, despite her fears, Y/N couldn’t deny the pull. She began to crave Ningning’s company, her laughter, her presence.

One evening, as they walked back from another impromptu coffee run, Ningning nudged Y/N’s shoulder playfully. “You’re always so serious,” she said with a grin. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

Y/N hesitated, her thoughts a swirling mix of affection and uncertainty. She glanced at Ningning, her heart clenching at the way the streetlights illuminated her face, softening her sharp edges.

“I guess I’m just... thinking,” Y/N replied, her voice quiet.

“About what?” Ningning asked, her tone light but her gaze steady.

Y/N shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You ask too many questions.”

“Only when I care about the answers,” Ningning said, her voice softening.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away.

And one night, under a sky full of stars, Y/N couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

Ningning had insisted on taking Y/N to the rooftop of the performing arts building, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she practically dragged Y/N along.

“It’s the best view on campus,” Ningning said, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

As they reached the base of a narrow metal ladder leading to the roof, Y/N hesitated. “This is definitely not an authorized spot,” she said, crossing her arms.

“It’s a little risky,” Ningning admitted, flashing a mischievous grin. “But isn’t that what makes it fun? Come on, I’ve got you.”

Y/N sighed but followed Ningning up the ladder, her heart pounding, not from fear of heights, but from the fact that Ningning’s hand hovered close to hers, ready to catch her if she slipped. When they reached the top, Ningning helped her step onto the flat expanse of the rooftop.

Y/N gasped. The rooftop offered an unobstructed view of the entire campus, the lights of the buildings below twinkling like stars against the dark expanse of the night. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves and the distant hum of life below.

“This is incredible,” Y/N said, her voice filled with wonder. She walked to the edge, feeling the world open up around her.

“I told you,” Ningning replied, watching her with a satisfied smile as she spread out a thick blanket she’d brought along. She plopped down onto it, patting the spot beside her. “Come on, the show’s up there.”

Y/N joined her, sitting cross-legged as her eyes turned to the sky. The stars stretched endlessly above them, their light crisp and steady against the deep velvet of the night.

For a while, they simply sat there, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around them like a cocoon. Ningning pointed out constellations, her voice soft and unhurried. “See that one?” she said, gesturing with her finger. “That’s Cassiopeia. And over there—Orion’s Belt.”

Y/N tilted her head, trying to follow Ningning’s gestures. “I never really learned constellations,” she admitted.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Ningning said, her tone teasing but fond.

As Ningning explained, their conversation drifted, flowing seamlessly from constellations to childhood memories to silly campus stories. Y/N found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, her usual guardedness slipping away under the stars.

But as the minutes stretched into hours, the laughter faded, leaving a warm silence in its wake. Ningning turned to look at Y/N, her eyes reflecting the faint light of the stars.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Ningning said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s breath caught. The words were so simple, yet they felt like they carried the weight of something far greater. “Ning...”

Ningning leaned closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as if giving Y/N every chance to pull away. But Y/N didn’t move. She couldn’t.

Their lips met softly, tentatively at first, as though testing the waters. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the warmth of Ningning’s touch and the steady hum of the night around them.

When they pulled back, Ningning rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her lips curving into a small, tender smile.

“Ning,” Y/N began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ningning turned her head to look at her, her expression soft and expectant. “Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket beneath her. She took a deep breath, the cool night air filling her lungs. “I think... I’m starting to fall for you.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Y/N’s breath caught as she waited for Ningning’s reaction. She felt the weight of the moment, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure Ningning could hear it.

For a moment, Ningning didn’t say anything. Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, a small, almost bittersweet smile curved her lips.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Ningning said finally, her voice warm but tinged with something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

Y/N’s chest tightened at the response, a quiet ache settling over her. She wanted to ask what Ningning meant, to press for something more, but the vulnerability of the moment left her frozen.

Instead, she nodded, offering a small, tentative smile in return. “Thanks.”

Ningning’s gaze lingered on her, searching her face as though she wanted to say more but chose not to. Finally, she lay back down, her eyes returning to the stars.

They sat in silence after that, the stars above them casting a gentle glow over the rooftop. Y/N leaned back on her hands, her heart heavy yet strangely light. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of something more, even if it was fragile, even if it was fleeting.

The days that followed felt like a dream. Ningning’s texts came in as bright and warm as ever, and their stolen moments on campus carried the same spark that had first drawn Y/N to her. But something lingered in the corners of Y/N’s mind—a faint echo of uncertainty, of the bittersweet smile Ningning had given her that night.

At first, she dismissed it, telling herself she was overthinking. She threw herself into their time together, savoring the way Ningning seemed to light up her world. But as the days turned into weeks, that faint echo grew louder, a nagging doubt she couldn’t quite silence.

And then, almost imperceptibly, things began to shift.

The change was subtle at first. A missed text here, a rescheduled coffee date there. Y/N brushed it off as coincidence, after all, everyone got busy sometimes. But as the days turned into a week, and then another, Ningning’s absence became harder to ignore.

“Sorry, can’t make it today,” Ningning’s message read, the fifth time she’d canceled on Y/N in the past two weeks. Next time, I promise.

Y/N stared at her phone, her stomach twisting. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, the excitement she’d felt earlier that morning now a dull ache.

Ningning had always been vibrant and full of energy, but lately, her texts felt clipped, her smiles less frequent. Even when they did manage to meet, there was a distance in her gaze that hadn’t been there before.

At first, Y/N tried to rationalize it. Maybe Ningning was just overwhelmed with school or her music. Maybe she needed space. But even as Y/N told herself those things, her mind kept drifting back to the kiss.

It had been soft and tentative, yet it lingered in Y/N’s thoughts like a ghost, the warmth of Ningning’s lips pressed against hers. She could still feel the way Ningning had rested her forehead against hers, the whispered words that had felt so impossibly sincere in the moment.

The weight of uncertainty grew unbearable, pressing down on her like a heavy fog. Y/N found herself replaying their moments together, searching for answers in the smallest details. Had she said something wrong? Was it the confession on the rooftop? She could still hear her own voice trembling as she admitted her feelings, the raw vulnerability of the moment leaving her exposed.

Ningning’s response echoed in her mind like a broken record, not rejection, but not acceptance, either. The bittersweet smile, the way she’d deflected with a compliment instead of reciprocating... Had that been the beginning of the end?

Late at night, Y/N would lie awake, staring at the ceiling as her phone sat on the pillow beside her. She’d scroll through their old texts, rereading conversations that once made her heart race. There were photos, too, moments frozen in time. Ningning grinning with her guitar, Y/N laughing mid-sip of coffee, the two of them sitting side by side on the bench in the hidden garden.

Each image brought a pang of longing, followed by a sharp twist of pain. How had Ningning gone from being her source of light to feeling like a shadow slipping further and further away?

One evening, as Y/N sat in her dorm room, her laptop open but untouched, Chaewon leaned against the bedframe, watching her with concern. “You’ve been like this for days,” Chaewon said, crossing her arms.

Y/N didn’t look up. She was fidgeting with the edge of her blanket, her fingers twisting the fabric into knots. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Chaewon replied, her tone gentle but firm. “What’s going on with Ningning? Have you talked to her about it?”

Y/N sighed, her chest tightening as she pulled the blanket closer. “I don’t even know what to say,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if... what if she’s over it? Over me?”

Chaewon’s expression softened. “Y/N...”

Yunjin, who had been sprawled on the floor with her headphones around her neck, chimed in, her voice unusually gentle. “Then you deserve to know. Sitting here torturing yourself isn’t going to help.”

Y/N finally looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What if I ruin everything?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Ruin what?” Yunjin asked, sitting up and leaning forward. “She’s already pulling away. If you don’t say anything, you’re just going to keep feeling like this. And honestly? That’s worse than knowing the truth.”

Chaewon nodded in agreement. “You’ve been overthinking this for days. The only way to figure out what’s going on is to ask her.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her chest aching with the weight of their words. Deep down, she knew they were right. But the thought of confronting Ningning, of putting her heart on the line again, filled her with dread.

“What if she doesn’t care?” Y/N asked, her voice barely audible.

Chaewon reached over, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Then you’ll know, and you can start moving on. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself, Y/N.”

The room fell silent, the weight of their words settling over her. Y/N stared down at her lap, her thoughts racing. Confronting Ningning felt like stepping off a cliff, the fear of falling overwhelming.

But the alternative, this endless uncertainty, was unbearable.

“I’ll think about it,” Y/N said finally, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Good,” Yunjin said, a small, encouraging smile tugging at her lips. “And when you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

The opportunity came a few days later, when Ningning unexpectedly showed up outside the engineering building. Y/N had just finished her last lecture of the day and was packing up her bag when she spotted Ningning leaning casually against a nearby lamppost.

For a fleeting moment, Y/N’s heart skipped at the sight of her, her emotions caught between relief and longing. She couldn’t help but remember the rooftop, the way Ningning’s lips had met hers, soft and deliberate, as if the kiss had meant something to her too. But now, the usual warmth in Ningning’s expression, the playful spark that always seemed to light her eyes, was missing.

“Hey,” Ningning said as Y/N approached. Her tone was casual, almost detached, and it hit Y/N like a cold gust of wind.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. Her chest ached with the weight of unspoken fears. “What’s up?”

“I thought we could talk,” Ningning said, motioning toward a bench nearby.

Y/N hesitated, her stomach twisting into knots. The weight in Ningning’s voice made her chest feel heavy, but she nodded and followed.

They sat down, the bench cold beneath them, the late afternoon air thick with tension. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them charged with unspoken words. Y/N stared at her hands, her heart pounding. Finally, she forced herself to break the silence.

“Ning, is something wrong?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady. “You’ve been... distant.”

Ningning sighed, leaning back against the bench. Her gaze drifted toward the ground, her expression unreadable. “I’ve just been busy,” she said, her tone evasive. “You know how it is.”

“No,” Y/N said, her voice firmer now. She turned to face Ningning, her eyes searching for something, anything, in her expression that might make this make sense. The memory of the kiss burned in her mind, the way Ningning had held her gaze afterward, her soft smile that had felt like a promise. “I don’t. This isn’t like you. You’ve been canceling plans, avoiding me... Did I do something wrong?”

Ningning’s jaw tightened, and she looked away. The silence stretched, growing heavier with each passing second. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and strained. “It’s not about you, Y/N. I just... I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

Y/N frowned, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “What does that even mean?” she asked, her tone sharper now.

Ningning stood abruptly, running a hand through her hair in a gesture that betrayed her own agitation. “It means you’re getting too attached!” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I didn’t sign up for this, Y/N. I’m not... I’m not looking for something serious.”

The words hung in the air, stark and unrelenting. Y/N’s breath caught, her chest tightening as the meaning sank in.

“You could have told me that from the start,” Y/N said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “Instead of making me feel like this meant something.” Her voice cracked on the last word, the memory of the rooftop twisting in her chest like a knife.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ningning said, her tone softer now but no less cutting. She sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging as though the weight of the conversation was bearing down on her. “You knew what this was, Y/N. Don’t act like I promised you forever.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from Y/N’s lungs. She stared at Ningning, her vision blurring with the tears she refused to let fall. She thought of the rooftop again, the kiss, the way Ningning had looked at her, the tenderness that had felt so real.

“Wow,” Y/N said, her voice breaking as a bitter laugh escaped her. “I guess I was stupid for thinking you were different.”

Ningning’s expression faltered, a flicker of regret crossing her face. For a moment, it looked like she might say something, anything, to take the sting out of her words. But she didn’t.

The silence between them was deafening, the sound of distant footsteps and murmured conversations on campus fading into the background.

After what felt like an eternity, Ningning took a step back, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, though the words felt hollow, lacking the sincerity Y/N so desperately needed.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving Y/N sitting alone on the bench, her heart in pieces.

Y/N stared after her, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. The ache in her chest was overwhelming, a crushing weight that made it hard to breathe. She replayed Ningning’s words over and over in her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

She had let herself hope, had let herself believe in the possibility of something real. But now, all she could feel was the sharp sting of her own naivety.

Y/N sat there long after Ningning disappeared from view, the cool air biting at her skin. And when she finally rose to her feet, her legs shaky beneath her, she felt like a stranger to herself, an empty shell of the person Ningning had made her believe she could be.

That night, Y/N sat in her dorm room, staring blankly at the wall. The ache in her chest felt unbearable, like a weight she couldn’t escape.

Chaewon and Yunjin tried to comfort her, but their words barely registered. All Y/N could think about was the way Ningning had smiled at her, the way she had made her feel like the most important person in the world, only to tear it all away.

For days, Y/N went through the motions, a shadow of herself. The ache in her chest was constant, her thoughts circling the same unanswerable questions. She avoided crowded spaces and clung to the solitude of the library or her dorm room, trying to outrun the memories that haunted her.

But it was impossible to avoid Ningning completely. The whispers started small, fleeting remarks overheard between classes. By the next day, they had grown louder, until her name was everywhere again.

Ningning had released a new song, and by midday, it was all anyone could talk about.

The excitement was palpable. Groups of students huddled around phones, earbuds shared between friends as they leaned in to listen. The name Ningning was on everyone’s lips, and the whispers grew louder with each passing hour.

Y/N didn’t need to ask what all the fuss was about. The ripple of energy in the air, the knowing glances from her peers, and the snippets of lyrics she caught in passing were enough to tell her everything she needed to know.

“Have you heard it?” Yunjin asked as she leaned against Y/N’s desk that afternoon, her voice hesitant.

Y/N froze, her pen stilling mid-note. She didn’t look up. “No,” she said flatly, her fingers tightening around the pen until her knuckles turned white.

Yunjin shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward Chaewon, who was perched cross-legged on Y/N’s bed. “It’s... good,” Yunjin ventured cautiously, as if trying to test the waters.

“I don’t care,” Y/N replied, sharper than she intended.

The words hung in the air for a moment, tense and unyielding. Chaewon cleared her throat. “It’s called Bored,” she said softly.

The name sent a jolt through Y/N, her stomach twisting into knots. She clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay calm, but the rush of emotions was almost too much to contain.

Chaewon glanced at Yunjin before speaking again. “It’s... everywhere,” she said carefully. “People are talking about it nonstop. I thought you’d want to—”

“I don’t,” Y/N interrupted, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Yunjin flinched slightly, while Chaewon’s expression softened with concern. Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples as guilt tugged at her chest. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I just... I can’t.”

Her friends exchanged a look but didn’t press further. “Okay,” Yunjin said, her voice quieter now. “We get it.”

They backed off, changing the subject to something mundane, but the damage was done. The seed had been planted, and as the hours dragged on, it grew roots, wrapping itself around Y/N’s thoughts and refusing to let go.

By the time evening settled in, the buzz on campus had faded into the background, leaving Y/N alone with the silence of her dorm room. She tried to study, burying herself in equations and diagrams, but her mind kept drifting back to Ningning.

What had she written? Were the lyrics inspired by their time together?

Y/N shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface. She didn’t want to care. She didn’t want to think about Ningning, didn’t want to give her the power to hurt her again. But the more she tried to push it away, the stronger her curiosity became.

By midnight, she couldn’t resist any longer. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, headphones in hand, she stared at her phone. The screen glowed faintly in the dark, the song queued up and ready to play.

Her heart pounded as she hesitated, her finger hovering over the play button. What if this only made it worse? What if the lyrics confirmed everything she’d been afraid of?

She exhaled shakily, trying to steady herself. Then, with a deep breath, she pressed play.

The opening chords were slow and deliberate, the melody haunting. Ningning’s voice poured through the headphones, smooth and rich, carrying an edge of something unspoken.

I’m so pretty in your head, boy, yeah Picking flowers, put ’em right behind my ear

The first verse hit like a wave, crashing over Y/N with its familiar imagery. She could see it—Ningning’s playful smirk, the way she tucked a flower behind her ear during one of their walks across campus.

Eyes catch you daydreamin’ Look at the signs, love as advertised

The lyrics dragged Y/N back to the rooftop, to the moment when Ningning had leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper: “You’re beautiful, you know that?” The memory of the kiss rose unbidden, a bittersweet pang twisting in her chest.

Am I messing with you When falling for you, falling for you? But I'm not the one to keep

She could still feel it, the warmth of Ningning’s lips, the way the world had fallen away in those brief seconds. But now, under the weight of the song, that memory felt hollow, as if it had never truly belonged to her. Her chest tightened. The words echoed her own uncertainty during those weeks, when she’d questioned every touch, every glance, every word Ningning had spoken.

But then the chorus hit, the upbeat rhythm masking the sharpness of the words.

Takin’ up a good rush, don’t try to fight it Paradise on Venus in your eyes I always come in hardcore And love you ’til the day I’m bored

The weight of the lyrics settled over Y/N like a lead blanket. Her throat tightened, the meaning slicing through her defenses. The sweet gestures, the stolen moments, the vulnerability Ningning had coaxed from her, it all felt hollow now, reduced to a fleeting rush.

As the song continued, vivid memories flooded Y/N’s mind:

Ningning surprising her with coffee on a rainy afternoon. The garden hidden behind the art building, where Ningning had whispered secrets under the moonlight. The rooftop, the stars, her trembling confession.

And then the confrontation. The way Ningning had looked at her, the words she’d spoken “You knew what this was, Y/N. Don’t act like I promised you forever.”

The music swelled, Ningning’s voice rising with it, each lyric cutting deeper than the last.

Turning your hellos into goodbyes I always come in hardcore Love ’til the end of the road, then I tend to get bored

Y/N felt the tears spilling over before she even realized she was crying. She clenched her fists, trying to push the emotions back down, but the song didn’t relent. It was raw and unapologetic, a mirror held up to the whirlwind of emotions Ningning had left behind.

By the time the final chorus faded into the soft hum of the outro, Y/N was trembling. The last line echoed in her ears, a whisper laced with finality:

Yeah, maybe it’s on me, I should’ve said it before But I tend to get bored.

Y/N pulled off her headphones, letting them fall onto the bed beside her. The room felt impossibly quiet, the absence of Ningning’s voice almost as unbearable as the song itself.

She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling as tears streaked down her face. Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, doubts, and memories she couldn’t shake.

Had any of it been real? The chase, the laughter, the moments that had felt so genuine, had Ningning felt them too? Or had Y/N been just another fleeting “rush” for someone who never stayed?

The ache in her chest felt unbearable, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate Ningning. Not completely.

And as she lay there, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts, one question lingered above all the others:

If it was just a rush for her... why did it feel like so much more to me?

The ceiling blurred as tears filled her eyes again, her heart heavy with emotions she didn’t know how to name.

And somewhere in the silence, Y/N wondered if she’d ever have the courage to ask Ningning the questions that still haunted her.

[pastlivesxpastlie]

𓍯𓂃Lovesick

mdni 18+

Summary: Vessel becomes fixated with you after you provide him some comfort at a party. Are you as gone for him, too? Pairing: Vessel x fem!reader wc: 4.7k head's up: vessel x you, smut with plot, friends to lovers, afab!reader, no y/n, oral sex (m receiving), pining + yearning, talk of male masturbation, texting, absolutely idiots in love, angst, bit of a slow burn (?), use of "good boy" and "good girl," tit play, couch sex, cowgirl, light choking, HEA, threats of waxing poetic about progressive metal

Taglist aka Situation Enjoyers™️: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga @adenobabe @jeriiicho @milk--bones @myaudiocommentary @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @0hg00dgirl @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder @cheomain @evisnotok

“On your knees….please. Yes, like that. Mmmmph. Thank you.”

Vessel can’t help but still be polite. He can’t believe his eyes. Nor the feeling of the night air on his hard cock. He’s floating above himself and watching himself get jerked off outside at a house party. It’s not enough that he feels the spit on your palm. That could be his hand and this is just an elaborate fantasy. One of many.

But it would be the first about you. You were untouchable. You’re just a friend…just a friend…just a friend…only a friend. 

“Can I use my mouth?”

Holy fuck. This is real life.

In his fantasies, no one asks. Vessel doesn’t dream about giving consent. He dreams of being craved. Taken. Always willing. His breath catches. 

“Hey, it’s ok,” you whisper, “we don’t have to anyth-“

“Do anything to me. Please.”

His head falls back with a soft thud against the house. Getting head was always fun but this felt therapeutic. You had, of course, asked Ves why he seemed down. You always asked him those kinds of things. “Someone who cares asks those things,” he’d told himself, “but someone who loves you does something about it.” Now you’re on your knees in the dirt sucking him off. How did this even happen?

𓍯𓂃earlier...

Vessel slumped in the couch and mindlessly dragged his fingers on his thigh. He had made his rounds and said “hi” to the people he wanted to talk to and smiled awkwardly at the people he sought to avoid or didn’t know. He deserved a little sit down after that. The past few months had put him in a rut. There was always a post-tour slump but this one hit different. Vessel felt down. Down because he had writer’s block. Down because it had been gloomy this week and the week before and before that etc etc. Down because his bed was cold. Thinking back on the hook-ups during tour already got boring. The old encounters going stale. Does he hook up again with someone randomly against his better judgement or does he deal with it?

On more than one occasion, Vessel had been accused of being naive when it came to love, to which he responded, “I’m just being cautious.” Where some might be naive about love and affection and throw themselves at the first person who did the bare minimum, Vessel was naive in that he just figured people were being nice or he just got lucky. Otherwise, people didn’t really want to mess with being in a relationship with a musician. They’re broody. They’re too busy. They’re married to their work. They’re full of themselves. Vessel internalized those things. Sure he was broody to begin with, but that was his brand. But everything else, sure, he could be married to his work and keep himself busy. “Just earth sign things!” Easy as that. And maybe one day someone else’s indifference towards commitment would rub off on him. His rumination is interrupted when the couch sinks a bit beside him and he feels a soft punch on his arm. 

“What does it mean when I don’t get ‘hi’ or your awkward smile, hm?”

His heart warms up a bit. It’s you. You teeter somewhere between “friend” and “good friend.” It’s always nice to see you but you leave it at that. You see each other when you see each other. He shrugs and looks over at you. “Didn’t see you. Bet you were hiding or something.” 

“Tsk. Fine. Maybe I was. We know too much about each other’s awkward little quirks,” you sigh. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to see you, though. How you been?”

Vessel laughs to himself, thinking of the miserable spiral you interrupted. “Imagine how much more awkward this could get if I told you the truth.” But you don’t laugh at his little self-deprecation. That makes him nervous. His insides churn. You’re just watching him, waiting to hear what he has to say. Why do you do that? So many people ask “how are you” because it’s polite…why do you care so much? “Look.” Vessel finally speaks again and flattens his hair. “I’m not great.” 

You shift and exhale softly. “Yeah. Me neither.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He can see it in your eyes. You’re not trying to have some misery-loves-company-circlejerk. You have that same “mask” on as him. “Hate to hear that.” For a second Vessel feels something stir within him. Your tone is unenthusiastic but he knows it has nothing to do with him. He’s just glad to bond with someone, even if it’s over something lame like depression or whatever is eating at you both. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh just…general bullshit.” You shrug but Vessel knows whatever it is, you can’t just shrug it off. “Like if I’m so stuck, maybe this is where I’m meant to be. Even if it hurts.”

He makes an “o” shape with his mouth and is lost in thought. He has certainly felt that way before, but hearing you say it about yourself is heretical. He hates that you think that way. “No.”

“Oh. Well…alright. Thanks Ves, you healed me.” You chuckle dryly. He rolls his eyes and pats your leg. “So what’s got you down? For real.”

Vessel’s smile fades. “I feel…stuck as well. Just…going through the motions.” He scratches the back of his neck. “All the excitement of the last couple of months just…ripped from me. Gets hard to keep up with my emotions when I’m…frankly…bored. Bored of feeling this way. My own company.”

“I get that. Like you have to have things changing or moving all the time.”

“Exactly. Like some kind of jump that isn’t a substance or…whatever.”

“Hah…yeah… sometimes I just feel like…” you begin but pause.

“Like what?” Why are you blushing like that, he wonders idly. And why is it suddenly the cutest thing he’s ever seen?

“Uhm. I feel like…I need to get laid. That would fix me, right? Huge load of emotions and hormones released with someone you like…what could be better?”

“Oh is it that simple?” Vessel laughs. A genuine, warm laugh. You’re so silly, he just loves talking to you. And he loves how you laugh with him. He was scared for a second that you might take it personally, but he’s glad to see that you too have a sick sense of humor when you’re feeling unwell. 

“Maybe it is. Guess…we won’t know until…” you trail off.

“Until we try…” Vessel’s throat goes dry. He tries to swallow hard before nonchalantly scoping out how many people were on the patio. 

𓍯𓂃

Vessel always had to make things happen, and he was fucking exhausted from it. Now you were happening to him. You clued in on what he wanted when he suggested you both get some fresh air. Hell, you were the one who found the perfect spot for this tryst. 

“Y-you like doing that?” he whimpers. He can’t make out much of your features but he feels you nod and smile and…fuck, take him deeper in your mouth. He’s holding his breath. He knows he shouldn’t but if he doesn’t exert some kind of control over himself he’ll lose it. But when you grab his waist and start literally fucking your face with his cock he has to let go. He grips your hair, willing himself to resist overpowering you and thrusting harder against your movements. “Ffffff-fffuck.” He whimpers softly and bites at his lip… wishing you had kissed him before you got started so he could imagine it again while you savored every inch of him. His entire body shivers when you moan against his cock, making him realize you like the sound of his whimpers. His pathetic little pleas and moans.

“‘That feel good, Ves?” You whisper, stroking his cock as you catch your breath? “Hmm?”

He nods and whines, trying to not be loud. Thank god it was dark, otherwise you would have seen the tears threatening to spill. The way he bit his hand to keep from moaning out loud. What if you two got caught? What if another friend heard what you pulled from him? “Fuck…you’re gonna make me cum…”

“That’s a good boy.” Vessel feels his stomach drop as you start sucking him off again but with more enthusiasm. Like you need him to cum. And he does. But you don’t move…you keep your mouth on him. And he  might be the one cumming down your throat but he’s not claiming you. No. 

You. 

Own. 

Him. 

Somehow, and much to his delight, Vessel does not lose sleep over the ordeal or his new-found, all-consuming feelings for you. In fact, he’s never slept better. Sleeping once meant loud, restless dreams; now it means a nestling in and wondering about you before dozing off…imagining he’s holding you. He keeps telling himself it’s infatuation. It’ll go away. He’s just starstruck from the way you took care of him. But then…the ruminating started…

Each morning, Vessel wondered about you. Maybe today you’ll share something on Instagram that he can make a little comment on. Send a react. Yes, sure, you’re friends, but you’re not “close.” When he looked into your soft, sweet eyes the other night he wondered how a darling little thing like you learned to give head like that. Suddenly your life story became his Roman Empire. Were you a natural? Did someone give you gentle pointers the first few times? Or did you have to do it a lot to get good? Did you have to go jumping from man to man to find the love you so desperately craved? This made Vessel’s blood run cold. The thought of sweet, wonderful you merely being an option to other men. A small voice told Vessel that perhaps he himself was just an option. Maybe you did stuff like this a lot. One among many. Vessel chided this voice. Locked it in a dark little room with no ventilation. You were good. You wouldn’t use anyone. In fact, you probably did learn this from practice because who wouldn’t love you?

Vessel knows he’s being stupid. You two like each other but he won’t reach out. Then again, you don’t reach out either. That’s ok. He had no coherent plan of moving things forward. He was also terrified the spark you two shared would be gone if you tried hanging out again. What if you couldn’t handle his schedule? Or didn’t find it endearing when his moods never let up? What if that stupid voice was right? Most of the time, he resigned himself back to “I’ll see her when I see her,” and a cheeky wank to take the edge off. But that always left him feeling guilty. Empty. 

This particular morning he had been deep in thought about what your favorite position might be and how many times he could make you cum just from fucking you at a torturous pace that way. Today’s position of choice was doggy, but bent over his desk, on top of his notes from recording and writing sessions. That was what you deserved. You drove him to absolutely hopeless distraction…you should be bent over while he stands behind you, fingers melting into your flesh, holding you in place. He swears this will be the last time he jerks off thinking about you…but because of that he can’t help but edge himself. Thinking about you is easy. Not because you yourself are easy…but because Vessel realizes how naturally desirable you are. Seeing the way you took control and took care of him opened his mind to this entirely new world of fantasies. The heat blooming from his groin to his tummy made him stop for the third time. Yes, in this fantasy you were bent over for him…but there was more to it. You were doing him a favor. Good boys got to take breaks. Good boys stuck in a rut need to empty their brains and fill up their girlfriends. FUCK he wanted you to be his girlfriend so bad. And that thought scared him…as does the sound of his phone buzzing a few times. His train of thought vanishes along with his hard-on. Cursing whoever who messaging him this early, he grabs his phone but then makes the most embarrassing noise known to man. 

You: hey isn’t this a band you like?

the second message is the link to an instagram post

You: they’re doing a last minute show next weekend 

And sure enough, one of his favorite niche prog metal bands was playing in place of someone else at a local venue on Saturday. And tickets were dead cheap. Another message. 

You: if I knew anything about metal I’d go with you. Not sure how much fun I’d be 

Sirens! Flashing lights! All the bells and whistles going off in Vessel’s brain are firing. His inner little voices of reason (and everything in between) begin a debate.

“She’s flirting!” “Obviously, she’s flirting she sucked your dick.” “Can’t be that deep mate, she’s just now talking to you after a month.” “Sure it is, it is has to be flirting! She’s practically begging for you to invite her!”

Vessel: lol I could send you a playlist :)

“Mate, come on, what are you doing?” “Invite her over to hear the playlist. That’ll will be cute” “and then fuck her. Fuck her like the sl—“

Vessel rolls over and screams in his pillow. He will not have a meltdown over this.

Vessel: or we could throw you in feet first? Come with me? 

… … … 

Those infernal fucking “typing” bubbles are killing him. 3 minutes of that. Then no response. Vessel isn’t sure what he did wrong or if he did do anything wrong. He tries to go about his day but there’s still that nagging suspicion that he did too much. But when he least expects it…

You: sorry this is so last minute. are you busy tonight? 

Vessel: no, I’m not. Why?

He bites his lip as he waits to see what you’re planning. He wonders if you want to talk about what happened…or maybe do it again…or maybe act like nothing happened. 

You: I just don’t want to be alone tonight.  Vessel: I don’t want to be either.

It’s set then. He’ll go to your place…maybe have some drinks…maybe get a chance to thank you for the fun. He wanted to taste you. To make you cum like he did for you. Too many nights he spent wondering what you’re into. He had cast you in his mind as a soft domme, probably just because that’s what tickled his fancy at the time. But you had this caring…almost nurturing sense about you that night. You touched him like he was precious…like he would break if you didn’t take your time. He wanted to show you he was tougher than that. He could take it. The mere thought of even getting a chance to kiss you and make you feel even a fraction of the pleasure you gave him made his cock twitch. The time between now and when he was reunited with you would be torture.

But when he gets to your place, he doesn’t feel confident enough to act smooth or even touch you. If anything, he wanted to touch your hair. Literally just brush back the strands you missed when you tucked it behind your ear. Finally he musters the courage to stand beside you as you’re getting him some water. You’ve sucked his dick, the least he can do is move your hair. He moves in for the kill…but perhaps a bit too fast, because just as his hand reaches your personal space, you turn your head to look up at him and... receive a cheek full of Vessel knuckles. 

He moves quickly to cup your face, desperate to show you he didn’t mean to whack you, but he’s greeted with a surprised chuckle and your smile. Not that one you put on for friends or staged photos…your real smile. He could die happy right now. Just absolutely melt. If he ever wanted to write true, honest to god love ballads he would think back to this moment. This gooey, gushy feeling. He feels confident, the same confidence the mask gives him, and presses a soft kiss where he accidentally got you.

“Ves…” 

You still smile but he sees something behind your eyes. Vessel keeps his hands on your face…his heart breaking and stomach dropping. He had noticed you weren’t posting regularly on your socials and even then you seemed a bit less animated. He’s learned your tells. There’s smudges from yesterday’s eyeliner that somehow looks effortless but still betrays the fact that you didn’t wash your face last night. In his mind, Vessel likened you to a shrinking violet. The kindest, most gorgeous girl who ever graced him with her presence trying to hide herself away. This wouldn’t do. Even though he didn’t feel like he had the emotional energy for himself…he desperately wanted to be here for you. After the past four weeks of falling down a rabbit hole imagining you as a soft, caring, dominant partner, he suddenly felt needed. He wanted to provide so bad it hurt. 

“What’s the matter, love?”

“I…” your voice cracks and you shake your head. He backs off a bit, letting you have some space. “It’s been a rough few weeks. I’ve…missed you and felt like…a fucking idiot the whole time.”

Vessel nods and takes a drink of his water. “Yeah. Getting laid didn’t fix us, did it?”

You laugh ruefully and cross your arms. “It’s made me worse. How about you?”

“You first.”

You roll your eyes and stretch your neck. Vessel nearly loses his mind at how you bite your lip as you look him up and down. This is what he wants. To be under your gaze. Please. Keep him there. His breath catches. You could tell him to leave right now and he would. But instead, you keep talking. 

“To be completely honest with you, I didn’t think there was anything between us other than like…being friends. So I don’t know what came over me when I just…literally threw myself at you. I shouldn’t have done that. That’s…stupid reckless behavior.” You wring your hands a little and look down. “How can I expect to be taken seriously if I just—“

Vessel puts his hand up. “Stop that.”

“But I’m serious, Vess-“

“I said…’stop that.’ I take you seriously. I’ve always taken you seriously.” Vessel considers you for a moment. While he’d love to take you to bed, he’s desperate to lift you up. To reassure you. “Love, if you think you shouldn’t be taken seriously, imagine how I feel. You could have written me off as a jerk for letting you—“ but Vessel stops himself before he waxes poetic about your blowjob skills and ruins the moment. “I didn’t even follow you after we were done. Call you. Message you directly. After everything…I shouldn’t even have the chance to be with you.”

You shake your head and look down. “I know you’re not after one thing…I know it. But…why can’t I believe it? It’s nothing personal, I swear I just-“

Something deep within propels Vessel to pull you in for a gentle kiss…and to his utter delight you melt right into his touch. You fit so ridiculously perfect in his arms and mesh so well against his lips. He lets out a soft moan right as you break the kiss. Vessel had already been taken with you, but now he was enchanted. “Give me a month. I’ll show you how serious I am about you. It’s not just the sex…I promise.”

Your breath is ragged…you’re overcome with emotion and desire. You nod up at him. “All the time you need…”

“Good girl…” Vessel cocks his head, amused that he just called you that. He meant it in an encouraging way but…if the shoe fits. “Would you like that? To be my good girl?”

Your eyes get a bit dark, but not out of anything malicious. Your chin raises. “Ves…I would be anything you asked me to be. I don’t think you understand what you’ve done to me…” You pause but Vessel can’t even begin to formulate a thought. Were you as borderline obsessive as him? “You shouldn’t be on my mind the way you are. I mean…what are you doing to me? You’ve shown me so much kindness and your own vulnerability…that shouldn’t turn me on. It’s endearing and admirable, sure, but why do I…I just want to take care of you. I’m sorry I just…I feel guilty for…for falling for you because see me and you let me suck you off…I mean…how old are we?”

He’s taken aback a little. Something in your mind is tricking you. “Sweetheart,” he cups your cheek, “if it makes you feel any better, I feel the same. When I saw how down you looked a bit ago…” he shakes his head and sighs, “took everything in me to not start confessing everything just to see you smile. I want you. I want…everything that makes you ‘you.’ And I get the feeling you want the same…right?”

For a long second, you don’t say anything. You stare up at him, glassy eyed. He doesn’t need verbal confirmation. He’s passed that. He’s no longer timid about you. His lips meet yours in an agonizingly slow, tender kiss. Vessel’s hips press you against your kitchen counter, letting you feel his excitement. It wasn’t pure arousal. It was the excitement of being open and honest with each other. The emotional push and pull of comforting you but also receiving your reassurance did things to him. Oh fuck. Oh no. This was love, wasn’t it? Your hands pull at his hips, bringing one of his legs between yours. You moan softly, and he pulls from the kiss.

“Do you think about me at all?” He whispers breathlessly? You moan as his lips ghost your ear. The feeling of your thighs tightening around him makes his cock twitch. He wishes your thighs were around his hips…or even his face. You bite your lip and whine a little as your hips buck involuntarily.

“I think about fucking you on my couch everyday.”

Obviously the next stop is the couch. Vessel sits down and pulls you to straddle him. His kisses become more ravenous. Finally…the girl of his dreams is on him. He’d do anything for you right now, but he wants you a little vulnerable. You, of course, had been pining, too. What’s the harm in being pathetic together? He pulls off your shirt and nearly looses his mind when your soft flesh comes into view. Your precious tummy. Your squishy tits. Fuck. It was all his. “Get your pants off.”

You hop off his lap and do as your told. Vessel just watches and unzips his pants, adjusting them and his boxers to let his cock out. He bites his lip and strokes himself teasingly as he watches you pull off your leggings and panties. Drooling at the sight of your nude legs…the hint of your pussy. He beckons you forward seductively, a little taste of what’s to come once you’re in reach. 

“How wet are you, love?” He asks, letting his fingers dip between your legs. You moan softly as his fingers trail up and down your slit, enjoying the wetness he’s caused. “I don’t even need to help you, do I? Excitable girl. Aren’t you?” All this gets from you is a nod. You’re so gone. He leans back on the couch and pulls you toward him. He’s still completely dressed in his henley and jeans, but you don’t seem to mind. He positions you on his cock and lets you set the pace. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been fucked, but he knows to be kind and let you adjust to his size. His eyes roll back and his head thumps against the couch. Something about how your body takes his cock makes his insides melt. You run your fingers through your hair and arch your back as you lower yourself completely on him. “Don’t move…don’t move, love.” He adjusts slightly to bring your chest to his mouth. His soft kisses and kitten licks pepper your breasts, causing your pussy to clench. It feels amazing. He’s being so gentle, but on the inside he wants to ravage you. Even after getting off everyday for a month thinking about you, you still excite Vessel into a frenzy. 

“Oh…oh Ves…” you gasp as he takes your nipple between his lips. You both moan as his cock twitches against your sensitive walls, but he keeps you still, cockwarming as he teases and makes out with your nipples. He shamelessly buries his face in your chest and moans, squeezing your ass to pull you close. Vessel can hardly believe it. You’re finally in his arms, his cock is stuffed inside you, and you want his love just as badly as he wants yours. He pulls his face away from your body to look up at you and whisper.

“You’re my girl now. You know that?” He puts his finger that had touched your pussy in his mouth and sucks, making sure you how see gone he is for you. “Gonna make you so happy…”

Vessel can hardly believe what’s coming out of his mouth, but pussy from someone who accepts you unconditionally will do that to you. He thought he was only built for fleeting infatuations and hooks up. But here he was…making promises he’d sooner die than break. After playfully torturing you with how his cock twitched inside you every time you kissed him or made a little sound, he starts to move your hips.  You look positively angelic on his lap completely naked taking his cock. His eyes roll back and he realizes that whatever half baked fantasy he had about fucking you didn’t prepare him for how good you felt. How warm and safe he’d feel under the weight of your body. It’s almost too much. Not that he’d cum yet. No. He just wants to say stupid things like “I love you;” and “we should move in together;” and “please call me a good boy.” That little submissive voice was still in him. He knew you were responding well to him taking control but he wanted that gentle control from you again. 

“Am…am I good for you?” He rasps out as you steadily grind against him.

“Mhm…so good…you…you like being good?”

Vessel’s eyes roll back and he nods pathetically. “Just for you.” 

You bury your face in the nape of his neck and suck little pink love marks up and down it. He moans with each one, clenching your body impossibly close. “I can’t move when you hold me like that…” you say backing up a little. You take his wrists gently and pin them against the back of the couch. He licks his lips and smiles dreamily. “Oh you’re pathetic, aren’t you?” Your fingers intertwine and he lets out a contented sigh.

“So pathetic…”

“You like being good but you like getting in trouble, too, huh?”

Vessel’s brain is mush. He knows you’re lightly degrading him and he fucking loves it but he has no concept of what’s happening other than “yippee perfect girl is being perfect.” He just nods and lets you fuck him for all he’s worth, cumming when you wrap your dainty hand around his neck. 

Later at what can only be described as a debrief at the pub, you share a large basket of fries. Vessel takes a deep breath as he attempts to act normal after having his mind blown and emotions pulled in all kinds of different directions. “This is good, yeah?”

“The fries?”

“For Christ’s sake…”

“Oh sorry, you mean…us…yeah. This is good. Really good. Are you scared?”

Vessel looks at the table and then at you. Honesty is his only option. “Terrified.”

“Same.”

He ponders for a moment and puts his hand palm up on the table. “Do it scared?”

You plop your hand down on his, “and together.”

“Now about this gig next week. I need to start your lectures on progressive metal-“

“Oh god.”