#somewhere post scandal me thinks?

[thesunsetsea]

Do you know I could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you?

Unknown / Nth (Hozier)

[likelysobbing]

nah let reader get her lick back now cause I can’t have us going down like this. Reader needs to get with one of the team immediately but it’s not like no rebound things it’s fr serious and Paige cannot stand it but who cares anymore?

𖥻 STUNNED. azzi fudd x reader x ex!paige bueckers (for the streets 2)

synopsis: paige’s eyes are on other girls, so azzi’s eyes sure as hell won’t let off of you now—and they’re the loveliest you’ve ever had the honor to look back at.

notes: RAHHH here it is! FOR THE STREETS part 2 ! hi nonnie! this is lightly, lightly, lightly LIGHTLY based off a song called makasarili malambing by hev abi and kristina dawn. sorry this took so long i was receiving my education! also, 3k+ words. if u read this u better read it all the way…tell me what u think too. i love interaction hehehe. also, i tried not to make paige suffer VIVIDLY, because i feel like it hurts more for player!paige to just silently regret #EL EM AY OH. thank u. also i put emphasis on eyes (adoration), the color green (envy), and make a lot of references to the previous fic. it’s linked on this post so go on and read it if you haven’t already <3 also, tagging @elalfywhore as per request hehe. hope you guys like it.

cw: READER’S A BIT OF A BITCH AT FIRST, But ends up folding because no one resists azzi bro, readers sassy, azzi is insistent, paige has avoidant attachment issues, no distinct establishment of a relationship but there is an implication of azzi and reader being more and both parties being okay with that (except paige. paige didn’t consent), PLAYER!paige

azzi always watched you.

you ignored it, especially while you were with paige—but she always watched you. azzi’s eyes seemed to favor trailing down your body more than anything else. whenever you ran into her and paige, back when you were still a couple, you had always kissed paige on the cheek—and azzi nearly leaned in everytime you approached her for a hug; maybe she expected a kiss on the cheek too— that’s funny, actually. but that’s unlikely, right? you ignore it. there was no way. no way she could have had any sort of interest in you.

especially now that you’ve practically estranged yourself from paige and her friends; that includes the basketball team. you haven’t said anything to them beyond ‘hi’ , ‘bye’ and ‘have a good day’—and they know why. they understand why. who wouldn’t want to do the equivalent of bury themselves in a hole if their ex girlfriend who they were so intent on marrying ended it all through a phone call while getting head from another woman? come on. you were sure they understood.

included in this very obvious mass-in-real-life-ghosting phase was none other than paige’s closest friend, miss goo goo eyes, miss azzi fuckin’ fudd.

you really tried to get her eyes off you, but it didn’t matter in the end.

azzi always watched you.

or like, maybe it was watch over instead of simply watch. watching over was more akin to what she did—she always checked in on you, maybe when she thought you weren’t looking her eyes would end up somewhere on your body that wasn’t necessarily scandalous—more so the space between your neck and shoulder or a collarbone. regardless, she had her eyes on you.

but watching you or not, you’re sure azzi didn’t mind you distancing yourself. you’re 100% sure she understood you being a bit too far to look at now? there was no need to dwell on it. you’re sure. you’re 100% sure.

… okay, well, maybe you’re 99.99% sure.

azzi sat across from paige, eyes slightly narrowing and widening as she felt the burn of yet another shot. the bass boomed in both of their ears, and each beat rung through their brain, but all azzi could focus on was that paige had let you go.

you. sweet, lovely, you.

she knew she wasn’t being slick when she watched you—her eyes always seemed to rake down every one of your features, and she wasn’t embarrassed about it. you were beautiful, and in paige’s arms you found your place. azzi couldn’t trespass on that—not because of paige, but because of you. you genuinely believed paige was inlove with you—pathetic, unheard of, even—but with how paige treated you, azzi began to believe it too… or she would’ve, if she knew paige less.

azzi didn’t rain on your parade of delusions hemmed by paige’s beautifully sown in lies.

but she wouldn’t deny that you would look better with her.

“you’re thinking again.”

there it is; paige was never one to think a lot, so she always questioned why azzi did. her decisions spoke for themselves. azzi pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, tilting her head just enough to turn her nose up at paige, who grins like she knows what this look is. azzi always seem to come up with the craziest shit, and right now—paige’s excited to see what she comes up with next.

“what you thinking of?” uconn’s number five asks, that drunken lilt unmistakable as she balanced speaking to uconn’s #35 and getting a lap dance from the girl she beckoned over (she knew nothing about her besides the fact she had a nice ass). azzi shakes her head, one side of her lips quirking up. that mystery only serves to make paige even more curious—as always, she doesn’t think twice about digging deeper.

“nah, come on, there’s something—“

“no, paige,”

“there’s someone.”

well, azzi can’t deny that, can she?

so, she burrows deeper into her seat and looks away. paige points at her like she just connected all the dots, going “oh!” like a frat boy surprised that his hunch was even correct. “who’s she?”

“she’s a she.”

“she’s a she and her name is what?”

“she.”

“that’s not a name, bro—“

“how do you know she isn’t a name?”

“bro. don’t do this. i’m drunk.”

by this point, azzi’s (a little bit!) drunk too. there’s adrenaline in her veins; sprinkle in that crazy audacity that paige seems to have all the time, and she could simply say what’s on her mind right now. or, maybe she should just say it to get it off her chest.

“your ex.” azzi murmurs. paige’s eyes darken, flickering from the common deviousness azzi’s so familiar with to something genuine she can’t seem to place. her jaw tightens, smile faltering just enough to make azzi’s own quirk up.

the lights flicker from red, yellow, green and purple randomly. by this point, she’s used to the strain—shes even memorized the pattern. the lights are going from red, to yellow, green, purple— purple again. so why … is paige all green?

“sorry, i don’t mean to impose,” was what she said to you first. you couldn’t even register she was near you at all. why was she even here, sitting next to you in a nearly empty library she’d probably benefit more studying alone in? you weren’t even in the same major. if she had a test to study for, you’d be of no help.

it was stupid of you to even assume studying was on her mind.

she just… did her own thing. in silence. she didn’t push, didn’t press, didn’t— she didn’t do anything. she was just on her phone. why was she in the library if she didn’t have any work to do? she had a whole friendgroup—maybe she did it to get away from them? wait, but why would she need to get away from them? did she need to hide? was she annoyed? why would she be annoyed? well, you don’t suppose it was paige, paige would definitely be quite an annoyance—

“yes?”

her voice is soft. softer than a feather landing on your skin. yet, like a feather, amidst how light her voice is—you feel it. it’s one word, but it takes just that to make you feel the one feeling you know will lead to more than multiple disasters.

interest.

you are interested in her.

azzi fudd’s big brown eyes were something you (and anyone in your place) could only resist for so long, and with one bat of her eyelashes and the flash of her sweet smile that—oddly—didn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth. atleast, not like it usually did. you never saw her as anything more than paige’s bestfriend who was kind of into you (but also simultaneously there was no way she was into you because she was so pretty).

“you’ve been silent for the past two minutes.”

you blink. “… sorry.”

azzi smiles, again, and this time— you can’t help but smile back.

but it’s not that serious, isn’t it? there’s no harm in introducing new people into your life. there’s no harm even if it’s your ex’s bestfriend who’s watched you with for so long, and with such pretty eyes. there’s like, literally no harm.

you wouldn’t let there be any harm. you could open your heart to her a little. deal with her presence if it’s constant. bite back when needed, push away when called for, right?

“that’s okay.” she replies to you smoothly, looking back at her phone. “—just haven’t seen you in a while, you know.” she offers, and you freeze up. she doesn’t stop speaking. “i kind of.. missed you being close. like i get why—i understand, too, i just— you know..”

“yeah, i know you know. paige wasn’t really subtle with the breakup.” you murmured, “did she send you here to check on me, azzi?”

azzi blinks, scandalized by the accusation. “what… no? i don’t—i would never. i’m not like her— i mean, not like that— i just.. wanna be here?”

you raise an eyebrow, skeptically. “at this specific library?” and azzi inhales, “please don’t make me say what i know you know already.”

“i know a lot of things. but i don’t know what you think i know.”

“don’t you?”

“do i?”

“i just wanna be with you.”

that was easier to get out than you expected. hm, okay. okay— you tilt your head. “you’ve been with me enough, with how much you seem to hang around paige.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i’ve only ever known you as one of her minions.”

azzi’s eyes widen, and she nearly gasps—once again— SCANDALIZED, by your statement—but she doesn’t. infact, you don’t expect what she does—because she takes your jab in stride.

“wooow, minions, huh? okay, well—why don’t you try to get to know me beyond it?”

“i’d actually rather not. i know who you hang out with.”

“just because i hang out with her doesn’t mean—“

you interrupt her with the zip of your backpack and the slam! of your books closing. “you’re all talk. you never act.”

azzi tries to cut you off with a little “hey, wait—“, her hand on your wrist, her eyes wide and pleading but you do not budge.

you shake her hand off your wrist when she tries to stop you from standing up. it’s the perfect picture of cold ruthlessness you know paige doesn’t believe you have—and you know what? if azzi is going to act like a messenger pigeon, which you assume she is, then you’re going to make sure she has a lot to say to paige when she comes back.

unbeknownst to you, azzi looks at what was once your chair and frowns. she feels your absence more than paige does. more than paige ever will.

and it stings. both for you, and her.

she comes to you again. this time, you’re in another library, and somehow she has enough devotion to presumably ruining your life that she finds you. she smiles when she sees you, waving with a tiny ‘hello’.

you place your bag onto the chair next to you and go back to work. you’re in the zone, there’s nothing stopping you— apparently besides the girl plopping your bag down onto the (dirty!) floor. how rude. how does she have the nerve to sit next to you? why does she still think you’re good? she may want to ‘be in your presence’ but who said anything about you wanting to be in hers? what the hell does she think shes doing?

“i think maybe you should let me tell you what i’m doing here.”

“i actually think you should leave.”

“i’ve only sat next to you twice.”

“twice too many.”

theres a silence on the other end and you think you won. you can’t help the smile on your face—the rejection felt good, in a sort of cruel way. azzi didn’t have any part in you and paige’s downfall, but she did stand by and watch it—you—burn.

so you’d set fire to whatever she was dreaming of in return.

“i always thought you looked better with me.”

record scratch.

“you’re crazy.”

“i am not.” she replies, “just a tad bit tipsy.”

“it’s nine pm?” you scoff, and she shrugs, “pre-game. anyway, i mean it. i always thought you looked better with me. you would, wouldn’t you?”

this time, you leave in a hurry. there’s literally nothing but ‘evacuate’ in your head as you rush to pack your bags, spouting whatthefuckwhatthefuck in your brain as azzi, realizing the utter stupidity of her actions, begins to flail her arms around directionless as she tries to stop you from leaving again.

“okay maybe that was a little bit uncalled for, i’m sorry let me rephrase—“

“no, i am not letting you— and no, i do not wanna find out. you got me fucked all the way up—“

“listen, okay, i just think you’ve always been out of her league—“ she tries to reason, and you look at her incredulously.

“you’re talking about paige bueckers.” you say, back now turned to azzi as you begin to walk out.

azzi shakes her head, already toeing behind you— “i’m talking about my close friend. one who couldn’t see your worth— please, will you let me try again? god, i’m sorry— you’re just so pretty, okay? and you’re so fucking sweet, you have such a pretty face and i just can’t help but look at you—“

“that is so creepy, azzi.”

“it is! i’m sorry!” she whines, obviously more than tipsy, “i’m sorry! just—“ she takes you by the hand, and you freeze up because it’s been quite a while since you’ve had physical contact that had even a smidge of romantic intent, and when you look back— god, there it is.

big, brown eyes.

looking right at you, a tad bit glossy—wide, and paired with by far the prettiest pout you’ve ever seen. “please.” she whispers, keeping in mind how you’re technically still in the library and she’s been looked at thrice for her theatrics—“please? just… let me hang around. i’m not going to force anything i just—want to know you.”

you’re stunned.

you’re in no state to properly answer; your mind is going a mile a minute, and so in desparation to just speak— you speak with your heart.

“nnn… okay.”

that was your heart. it forgot all reason, dignity, and self respect, apparently.

maybe azzi giving you a wide, toothy smile was worth it though.

“you’re seeing her?” paige repeated, some drink she forgot the name of swirling in her cup. azzi nodded, “figured she’d need something soft to land on.” she murmured, and though her words seemed casual—there was more meaning to them than paige could understand. azzi’s tone was expectant, hopeful—she wanted something to bloom between the two of you—something nice. pretty. good.

“and what is that? your chest?” paige’s reply interrupts her, and though she tries to sound teasing—she sounds more... irritated.

“maybe.” azzi grins.

“get outta here.” paige scoffs, taking another swig of her drink as she slumps back into her chair. “you can have her, it’s whatever bro. liter-ally whatever.”

“mhm.”

azzi’s nonchalance only bothers paige even more.

“i hope you understand i’m not ready yet.” was the first thing you said right after that awkward moment back at the library, “for a relationship, i mean. like, this fast.” you clarified.

azzi nodded, bouncing off you well, “oh, me too—you don’t need to see me as a threat. i just want to know you. i know it’s going to be hard, considering well.. your ex is my best friend. paige doesn’t mind—“ she pauses, before trying to reword. “i mean that—“

“oh, that’s fine. i can tell she doesn’t.” you wave it off, and azzi just smiles apologetically as she continues. “even if it’s hard on the both of us, i want to see where this goes. i’ve watched you too long to not want to be close.” azzi shyly murmurs, before trying to rekindle a lighter atmosphere— “just don’t get sassy with me, okay? i don’t like fighting with you.”

it’s been five months now. since she’s said that.

specifically, since azzi began to try to woo you. every flower she gave was always your favorite one, every ramble you graced her with was met with actual listening ears and comprehension, and nearly every thing you wanted? you had it in your hands the next day. azzi wasted no time in trying to show you she in fact, wasn’t like bueckers (who seemed to be meaner these past weeks, impossibly)—you never had to doubt her.

like actually. you never had to doubt azzi.

she didn’t knock on your door three times, but she was… special. enough. to have a key by the third month. she didn’t look you in the eye all that much, too shy to properly maintain it, but you knew she watched over you anyway. and when she held your hand, she was the one that squeezed first.

even if she hasn’t popped the question yet, there is no doubt in your mind that she’s yours already. she may have had grandeur, but unlike paige, she did not let it define her love for you. no, she won you over by the littlest things. the things that mattered.

its been five months now. since she’s said that.

and it’s felt like… six / seven … years?

however long it’s been, you know there’s a connection. and azzi knows too, because why wouldn’t she? she somehow knows everything. there’s always solutions to problems with her, always an answer to a math equation or an existential crisis— its all so different.

different from paige, you mean.

with azzi, you’re always… stunned— from how much effort she puts in, how bright her smile is, how she never seems to not have time for you—hell, you’re stunned whenever you see her. you know there’s something there, but you don’t know who’s going to make a move first—or atleast, when she is.

you don’t know if you should care at all. you don’t know if you should put yourself first, or if you even have real questions. you can’t even ask azzi like you’ve formed a habit of doing because she somehow always says the right things—you can’t even muster up a question for her: what would you say? ‘bro please kiss me already?’ no way.

“you ready to go?” azzi’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink to see her holding her hand out. ah, that’s right— you’re hanging out tonight. she’s taking you to her favorite spot across the town—that’s nice. you can’t wait to be with her.

you have so many questions you can’t muster, but maybe you don’t need to ask. maybe you just need to feel—her touch lingers far more than it stays, always tingling on your arm or your back; her absence causes you more heartache than you’d like; … it’s just her. maybe there are no more questions. maybe you don’t have questions, but either way, azzi has answers. she might as well be the answer to everything, actually. maybe there’s no need to dwell, no need to label it yet—lord knows what azzi wants.

you take azzi’s hand and she squeezes it first like she always does. it makes you smile wider this time.

this time, love is kind to you. it is soft and slow and yet passionate all the same. you don’t know where it might lead but the look in her eyes is worth it. this tenderness is worth it.

and you’re not afraid, wherever this might lead you.

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even. yet she’s not as big and bad as shes made herself out to be right now. not at all.

in the same booth she was a few months ago, paige now sits alone. there are girls aching to get home with her, and she’s half-picking who should get that honor—but she’s trying to distract herself more.

the lights go red, to yellow, green, purple—purple again. so why does she feel so green?

envy is a rattle snake, and it wraps around her entire body. it squeezes tight, cutting circulation off to the point she’s so stiff she might explode— but it’s not because of you and azzi.

it’s not.

not even when her jaw clenches at the thought of you. and azzi. azzi is her bestfriend, and when she outright admitted to thinking about making moves on you—paige brushed it off with a laugh and a playful “she can’t even talk to half of us, bro—i got her heart broken … or like heartbroken or something.” but now, here she is.

and she’s not heart broken. shes not even bothered at all. she’s not.

she just doesn’t like to see you so close. why would she want you close? she’s done her time. pulled you in closer. you always burrowed in deep, she felt you in her heart. maybe that’s what sickened her— the feeling of endearment. you tried to reach your way in, but to paige it felt like you were tearing her apart—ripping her to shreds to crush the organ in your hands and make the victory against her sweeter.

she’s not heart broken. why would she be? there’s no one here breaking her heart.

there’s no one she lets close enough to even have a shot at it.

there is only her. and while she may not accept it, especially now? now that you are gone? now that she’s driven you away like she once did with every other girl who’s ever tried to come close—although you came closest—who came her way?

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even.

but her heart breaks, and she’s the one breaking it.

@likelysobbing.

[theonlyonesora]

The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Synopsis. “They were a pair—until we became a triangle.”

Chapter 01 – Pocket Boyfriend

The sun hit just the right angle on campus that day, golden and soft, like it had been filtered through a summer memory. I had collapsed onto the grass beside our little group, my backpack flung somewhere behind me and the weight of my finance finals finally peeling off my chest. I was free. My brain was still buzzing with formulas and late-night study sessions, but the only math I wanted to think about now was how many drinks I could responsibly down at tonight’s party.

“I swear if I failed macroeconomics I’m transferring to a cult in the woods,” Meg said, sipping iced coffee like it was the blood of her enemies.

“I’m going full wine aunt this holiday. Just me, my dog, a playlist called ‘crying at brunch,’ and no contact with reality,” Jessy declared, lying flat on her back with her sunglasses sliding down her nose.

And then there was Lily—perfect posture, hair somehow unbothered by the wind, scribbling something in her planner like we weren’t already mentally clocked out for the semester.

Lily and I had met in the first month of college. She was studying engineering, which meant she said things like “thermodynamics” and “fluid mechanics” and actually understood them. I was the finance girl with chaotic energy and a too-big planner filled with dreams and half-baked budgeting tips I never followed. We clicked instantly. She was the responsible one, I was the one doing tequila shots in the dorm hallway on a Tuesday. We balanced each other like opposite ends of a seesaw—somehow always meeting in the middle.

And yet, for all our closeness, there was always one ghost in the room: Oscar. Her long-term boyfriend. Formula 1 driver. Constantly flying. Constantly in another timezone. I hadn’t met him yet, not properly. He was always just on the other end of a FaceTime or in the stories she told, but never quite real.

“You should meet him,” she’d say. “You two are weirdly alike. It’s actually kinda scary.”

But the meeting never came. He was in Monaco. Or Melbourne. Or training. Or sleeping. But he never once seemed to mind that Lily and I were basically joined at the hip. And truthfully, I liked that. I liked that he trusted her. Trusted us. Because I loved her. Not in that way—not really. At least, I didn’t think so. Until that one day on the grass.

Jessy’s voice broke through the sleepy lull of our post-finals haze.

“So (Y/N),” she asked with a wicked glint in her eyes, “have you done it?”

“Done what?” I blinked, half-dozing.

“Ménage à trois.”

“Excuse me—what? It’s noon,” I groaned, sitting up. “It is way too early for this kind of scandal.”

“Just answer,” she pressed.

I laughed, brushing a blade of grass off my jeans. “No, I haven’t. Never done it.”

Jessy raised an eyebrow. “Not even curious?”

Before I could open my mouth, Lily’s voice slid in, soft and casual. “Are you curious?”

I turned to her. “Are you?”

She shrugged, playful, but something flickered in her expression—quiet, electric. “I don’t know… I think it can’t just be with anyone. But wouldn’t it be strange to do it with strangers?”

There was a pause. An almost imperceptible shift in the air. The kind of silence where a thousand things go unsaid but somehow still felt.

“I did it with a cousin once,” Jessy said, so casually she might as well have been talking about borrowing sugar.

“Oh my God,” Meg choked, nearly spitting her coffee.

“What?” Jessy blinked, genuinely confused.

“It’s family!” I said, horrified but laughing.

“It was high school!”

“Still!” I replied, shaking my head, half-disgusted, half-intrigued, and fully spiraling into the kind of laughter that makes your ribs ache.

Lily was laughing too, but something in her gaze lingered. She looked at me for a moment longer than usual, head tilted slightly, like she was filing something away in the corner of her mind for later. Like she was imagining something.

And I should have known then. I should have felt it—that thread pulling tighter, twisting quietly around us, waiting for the perfect night to snap.

.

Lily’s room smelled like coconut body lotion, hot flat iron, and vanilla perfume—basically the scent of girls getting ready to destroy lives

“You realize we’re just going to a bar, right?” I said, grinning. “Not the Oscars.”

“You can’t call it a ‘just a bar’ when it’s finals week and the entire city is out celebrating,” she replied, adjusting a gold hoop. “Besides, it’s been forever since we all went out.”

“We went out last week.”

“I said all

I rolled my eyes and stepped further into the bathroom, stealing a pump of her lotion while she was distracted. We'd been living together for four months now in a spacious apartment two blocks from campus—big enough for sleepovers in each other's rooms, dance parties in the living room, and nights spent sharing pizza and soft secrets. It was easy with Lily. Always had been.

And just as she picked up her phone to check the time, it started buzzing. Oscar.

“Speak of the devil and he FaceTimes,” I muttered, smirking.

Lily answered, holding the phone up to her face. Her voice instantly softened. “Hey, babe.”

I backed up a little to give them space but hovered just enough to be nosy.

“Are you with (Y/N)?” Oscar asked through the speaker.

I leaned into the frame dramatically, still in my towel. “Hello, pocket boyfriend.”

Oscar chuckled. “Hello, trouble.”

“Are you still calling him that?” Lily asked, amused but mock-exasperated.

“What? He’s always in your pocket! I’ve never seen him outside of a phone screen. Honestly, I’m starting to believe he’s AI.”

“Deeply hurt,” Oscar said with a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“But you're so polite about it,” I teased. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Our dynamic was weirdly natural for two people who’d never met in person. Friendly banter. Inside jokes. I’d always respected the space he and Lily shared, but I’d also never shied away from being me

“You two going out tonight?” he asked, brushing a lock of damp hair off his forehead.

Lily nodded, tilting the phone to show her outfit. “Yeah. The girls and I. Just bar hopping. (Y/N) made us promise we wouldn’t end up doing karaoke again.”

“That was one time!” I shouted from the bathroom.

Oscar grinned. “Just make sure she drinks water this time.”

“I always

Lily laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

Oscar’s eyes softened at that. “You always do.”

There was a little pause then. Just a second too long. Like the sentence sat there between us, warm and humming with something neither of us fully named. Because yeah—she always did. And sometimes, I worried I let her.

“I gotta get dressed,” I said, suddenly aware of the towel slipping a little too far down my chest. “Nice seeing you, Oscar.”

“Soon, I hope,” he replied. “In real life. Not just FaceTime.”

Lily smiled, eyes flicking between the two of us. “Maybe we’ll finally make it happen this summer.”

“Careful,” I said with a wink. “I might actually steal him.”

“She’d probably let you,” Oscar joked.

And Lily?

But she didn’t say no.

[dearmini]

𐔌 필릭스 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ the forecast said forever.. ౨ৎ

LEE FELIX! ⓘ frog umbrellas. goofing around in the unexpected rain. but it's okay, because you're with him!

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏f!lixie ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff ! 2700wc. ⎯⎯ ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. pure love, intimacy, kissing, unfunny jokes, cheesy, rain. ┆ ☆ ⋮ drabble .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ trying to consistently post while also studying for 10 hours a day.. anyway!! again, a super short drabble. enjoy !!!! >< happy reading!

you knew the sky had been lying to you all morning.

it had that syrupy sort of brightness that doesn’t feel warm, just suspicious—like the sun was peeking out of cotton clouds only to lull you into a false sense of security. and you, like a fool, believed it. even as the air got denser, heavier, humid like a held breath. even as the wind picked up and whispered, “you forgot your umbrella again.”

but you didn't really listen. you had earbuds in and a boyfriend who always said, "you'll be fine, baby, the sun is out," and when felix says things, they sound like promises. even when they’re just hopeful guesses.

now, as you stand at the edge of campus with your arms hugged tight around your tote bag, staring down a wall of rain like it personally betrayed you, you regret everything.

it’s not a drizzle. no, it’s biblical. thunder is laughing at you somewhere in the distance while your canvas shoes soak through in record time, squelching gently with each annoyed shift of weight.

and then— you hear it. the slapping of fast footsteps. the squish-squish of someone absolutely booking it across campus pavement.

you barely turn before a blur of yellow and frogs barrels toward you.

“baby!” he’s yelling before he’s even halfway across the street, voice bright and sunny and too cheerful for someone getting soaked to the bone. you blink. “why are you running-” and then he’s there.

felix skids to a stop in front of you, panting dramatically, holding the world’s tiniest, most offensively adorable umbrella. it’s lime green. with little frog eyes popping out on top. the handle is curved like a question mark and definitely designed for someone under the age of seven.

he beams. water drips from his golden bangs, his hoodie is soaked through, and his jeans are sticking to his legs like wet napkins. he smells like rain and vanilla lip balm and that weird artificial grape gum he chews when he’s anxious.

you can’t help it. you burst out laughing.

“lixie—” you wheeze, covering your mouth, “what is that?”

“what?” he gasps, scandalized, holding the tiny umbrella above you like it’s sacred. “you don’t like freddie the frog? he’s saved me three times this week.”

“that umbrella is the size of a dinner plate.”

he shifts closer, tucking the umbrella lower, trying to fit you both beneath it, which… barely works. your heads are nearly touching. raindrops slip down your exposed shoulders and trail along the curve of your arm, cold as melted ice.

“you forgot yours again,” he sing-songs, nudging your cheek with his shoulder. “didn’t i tell you it was gonna rain?”

“you also told me i’d pass my stats exam. and that chick-fil-a was open on sundays.”

“i never said that last one,” he grins, eyes creasing like sunshine through rainclouds. “that was wishful thinking. big difference.”

you roll your eyes, still half-laughing, and tilt your face upward to look at him. he’s beautiful in the most inconvenient way—wet hair curled over his forehead, lips pink from the cold, long lashes glinting with raindrops, and still smiling like he just saw a puppy in a window. you adore him. unfortunately.

“i’m freezing,” you mutter, pressing your nose into the sleeve of his drenched hoodie.

“then let’s run.”

“we’ll slip.”

“then let’s slip together.”

you give him the flattest look you can manage through chattering teeth. “you’re insane.”

he grins and shifts the frog umbrella so it’s directly over you, exposing more of his own shoulder to the rain. he leans in close enough that you smell his fabric softener—the honey almond one you picked—and bumps his nose against yours, affectionately.

you feel it in your chest. that achey-sweet sort of i’m so in love with you it hurts to be mad feeling. it crawls up your throat and makes your words softer.

“you didn’t have to come all the way from your apartment, lix.”

he shrugs. “you looked like a sad sock in the group chat. i had to save you.”

you frown. “i didn’t even say anything in the chat.”

“i could tell from your three read receipts.”

you blink. “you track my read receipts?”

he tilts his head, innocent. “i have my ways.”

you squint. “i love you, but you’re terrifying.”

he gasps, pressing a hand to his heart, mock-offended. “that’s not what you said last night when i made you grilled cheese at 1 a.m. and gave you foot rubs.”

“that was love,” you murmur dramatically, “not logic.”

felix giggles—a full, sweet, nose-scrunching sound that feels like fireworks under your ribs. he tucks your damp hair behind your ear and kisses your temple, then your cheek, then your forehead. you swear the rain pauses just for that.

“i love you,” he says simply.

not in a loud way. not like before. this one’s softer. quieter. like it’s meant to curl around your bones and stay there.

you close your eyes. you feel the way his hand slides down your arm, lacing fingers with yours, squeezing just enough to say hey, i’m here, still here, always.

and you smile.

“you’re such a frog,” you murmur.

“you love it.”

you press your face into his chest and sigh. “unfortunately.”

you don’t remember who let go first.

maybe it was you. maybe your fingers slipped from felix’s just slightly when your laughter bubbled up and spilled out of your mouth too fast for you to breathe properly. or maybe it was him—eyes twinkling under frog eyes, hair dripping into his lashes, body humming with too much joy to stay still.

either way, the umbrella falls.

it lands with a dramatic, soggy fwump between you both, tipping on its side like a defeated warrior. a puddle swallows it whole.

and then—

you look up.

and felix is grinning at you like he knows something you don’t.

"don’t even think about it," you say, backing up a step.

"think about what?" he says, all innocent sunshine and soaked denim.

"felix," you warn, lips twitching.

and then he bolts.

straight into the rain, arms out like he’s about to take flight, mouth open in a laughing whoop, kicking water into the air like a chaotic golden retriever.

“oh my god, you’re such a gremlin—” you start, but you’re laughing too hard to finish.

he twirls.

literally twirls. like he's in a musical. a very wet, very frog-themed musical.

“c’mon!” he shouts over the rain, already drenched, hair sticking to his forehead in fluffy strands. “live a little!”

“i am living!” you shout back, clinging to your tote like it’ll save you.

“live more!”

and then he’s running at you again—barefoot now, of course, because felix has no concept of weather-appropriate behavior—and you shriek, trying to dodge, but he catches your wrist like a kid on a playground.

“dance with me,” he says, eyes so wide and happy you swear the sky softens for him.

“i don’t dance in the rain!”

“you do now.”

and before you can argue, he tugs you into him.

you stumble, slip a little—your shoe skids on wet stone and your whole body collides into his chest—but he’s solid and warm despite the rain, and he’s already swaying you side to side like this is a slow song playing in his head.

it’s stupid.

it’s romantic.

it’s the most fun you’ve had all week.

"you're insane," you mutter into his soaked hoodie, your fingers curling instinctively into the soft, damp fabric.

"i'm your insane," he says, and he says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

the rain drums all around you, cool and constant, pattering on your shoulders, your arms, the top of your head. the sound fills every space between you, but felix still hums a melody low in his throat—some old r&b tune he always sings when he’s doing the dishes.

you smile against his shoulder. you can feel his heartbeat like a rhythm beneath your palm.

he spins you. like a doofus. like you’re at a ball. you’re soaked. you’re laughing. he steps on your foot and you yelp, but neither of you stop.

you twirl until you're dizzy. until the campus is a blur of grey and green and rain-slick bricks. until your cheeks hurt from grinning and your knees feel like noodles.

and then—he pulls you back in.

not like before.

not goofy this time.

his hands slide down your arms, water trailing after his fingertips like liquid ribbon, and when his fingers lace with yours again, it’s slower. like the moment caught up with him, too.

he steps close.

you tilt your face up.

your lashes are wet, your lips chilled, your clothes soaked through and clinging like second skin. but you don’t feel cold. not when his eyes look at you like that.

“hi,” he whispers.

“hi,” you whisper back.

he leans in and kisses you—soft, slow, full of rain and sweetness. it tastes like everything you missed about summer. like warm air and sidewalk puddles and first crushes. his lips are plush, careful, his nose bumping yours, your bodies curved like commas into each other.

you kiss him again.

because once isn’t enough.

because nothing with felix ever is.

when you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours. your breath mingles in the tiny space between you, warm and foggy and close.

“did you know,” he murmurs, “that frogs can’t swallow without blinking?”

you blink. “what?”

“it’s true.” he grins. “they push food down their throat by using their eyeballs.”

“that’s disgusting.”

“i’m just saying, freddie the frog is a survivor.”

you laugh again, the sound bubbling out uncontrollably, and felix looks so proud of himself, you swat his chest.

“we are going to get sick,” you groan.

“we’ll get soup,” he says cheerfully.

“you don’t know how to make soup.”

“i’ll learn. for you.”

“soup is boiled water, felix.”

“still counts.”

you’re still holding him when thunder rolls again, rumbling like a sleepy lion in the sky. he hugs you tighter, resting his chin on top of your head, his body all soft warmth and heartbeat.

the world feels far away. like you’re tucked into a pocket of time too gentle to last forever.

but for now—you let it.

you close your eyes.

and just exist. with him. in this puddle. with frog umbrellas. and frogs. and love.

so, by the time you both make it to felix’s apartment, everything you’re wearing is holding onto the rain like a secret.

your shoes squish. your jeans cling. your bag drips a steady rhythm against your thigh. and your boyfriend—golden-haired, sun-souled, walking puddle that he is—has been humming the same tune under his breath for two blocks straight.

he opens the door like a gentleman. then leans against the frame like a flirt. one brow arched. one dimple out.

"you come here often?" he asks, voice low and syrupy.

you pause.

dripping. exhausted. dripping on the doormat.

and you say nothing. just blink at him. slowly.

then.. "only when a frog prince drags me here in the rain."

felix clutches his chest. “eugh.. that one had bite.”

“and yet,” you say, stepping past him into the apartment, shedding your soaked tote bag, “here i am.”

“you just couldn’t resist me.”

“or the frog umbrella.”

he makes a scandalized noise behind you, already tossing his hoodie onto a nearby hook with dramatic flair. the door closes with a soft thud, sealing you both inside a little world of foggy windows and warm lamplight.

the rain outside hasn’t stopped. you can hear it still—soft and constant, pattering against the balcony like applause. but inside? it’s all golden. cozy. safe.

home.

you pad toward the kitchen, shoes squeaking, socks cold and squishy.

felix follows close behind, undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand. it peels off with a damp shhhhk, revealing the skin beneath—golden, smooth, lightly flushed from the cold. he’s not showing off. he never does. but you notice anyway.

you always do.

he catches your eyes lingering and smirks.

“like what you see?” he teases, towel-slapping his hair dry.

you give him a once-over, dramatic and slow, then sigh exaggeratedly. “you’ll do.”

“wow.”

“i have standards, lix.”

he tosses the towel at you. you catch it just before it smacks your face.

the next twenty minutes are an adorable circus.

you change into one of his soft tees, while he rummages around the kitchen with vague plans of “soup or something?” you curl into the couch, legs tucked under you, towel over your head like a ghost, just watching.

and giggling.

because felix in the kitchen is like a baby deer learning to walk—enthusiastic, slightly reckless, charmingly unaware that the stove is on the wrong setting.

“what are you doing now?” you ask, watching him squint at the microwave.

“defrosting the peas,” he says with the intensity of a bomb technician.

“that’s… not what you think it is.”

“i can cook, y’know.”

you snort. “you heated up leftovers last week and called it gourmet.”

“because i sprinkled parsley. gourmet.”

he makes two mugs of cocoa in the meantime—using oat milk because he knows it’s your favorite—and brings one over to you like it’s an offering to a deity.

you take it. hold it in both hands. let the heat bloom through your fingers like tiny fireworks.

felix plops beside you, a blanket in one hand and his smile in the other. he throws both over you and tugs you closer. your cold toes immediately tangle with his warmer ones, and your nose buries into his collarbone like it belongs there.

“hi,” you murmur.

“hi,” he echoes.

the cocoa is warm. the couch is softer than it has any right to be. his body is even softer. the blanket slides over your shoulders, and he rubs small circles into your arm, slow and lazy, like there’s nowhere else to be but here.

and maybe there isn’t.

maybe the world outside doesn’t exist anymore. maybe this tiny apartment is all that matters. a little pocket of light and heat and you and him and the smell of chocolate and rain.

your mug rests half-finished on the coffee table now. he’s not drinking his either.

you both just sit there. sinking.

his thumb brushes your jaw.

you glance up.

and he’s already looking.

eyes lidded. half-laughing. half something else. that look. that soft, liquid honey gaze that only he gives you when it’s late and the world’s quiet and you’re close like this.

he doesn’t say anything. he leans in instead.

and kisses you.

longer this time.

it’s not rushed. not even playful. it’s the kind of kiss that feels like a story you’ve read a thousand times but still want to hear again. his lips are warm. slightly chapped. he tastes like cocoa and rain and everything familiar. his hand finds your waist, gentle, slow, resting there like he’s afraid of pulling you too close, too fast.

but you lean in anyway.

you kiss back like you mean it.

because you do.

you shift into his lap, blanket falling halfway to the floor. your fingers curl into his hair, still damp at the roots. he breathes your name against your mouth and it feels like poetry.

then: “your nose is cold,” he mumbles, laughing.

“yours too,” you whisper.

he presses his forehead to yours, noses bumping, your cheeks flushed and glowing.

“i think i’m in love with you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

your heart softens.

melts.

“i think i already knew,” you say.

he grins. that dimpled, sunshine, heartbreaker grin.

then whispers, “i also think i burnt the soup.”

you blink.

sniff the air.

“oh my god.”

he scrambles off the couch like a cartoon character—slipping, tripping, darting into the kitchen with dramatic gasps and yelps.

you follow, giggling, and catch him trying to save a charred pot that smells suspiciously like betrayal.

there’s a moment of chaos. of smoke and waving towels and the fire alarm chirping once in confusion. and then—

you both end up on the kitchen floor. still laughing. still glowing. still in love.

later.

the rain slows.

you’re back on the couch. wrapped in each other. your cocoa is cold. the soup is ruined. your hair’s a mess. but his hands are warm around yours, and your laughter is echoing in the walls like music.

and when he kisses your forehead one last time, whispering, “thanks for coming over,” with a wink—

you know it’s true.

you’d come here a thousand times. every day. if it means him. if it means this.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @inlovewithstraykids @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika — fill out this form to be added !!

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3 © heartsbyani, dearmini '25 ★

[cherryrikis]

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 008 ! accidental but pretty intentional

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note halfway point! i love this smau w my heart but i rlly wanna start a new one ☹️ this ep tho was so rushed bc i have hella hw uh oh

previous <> masterlist <> next

‘can we talk? meet me at the rooftop garden’

hanni reread out loud, constantly going over the text displayed on your phone as you stared blankly at danielle.

“what am i supposed to do?” you let out a groan, falling down to lay flat on the floor of the practice room.

“finish practice then meet him. duh. easy as that.” hyein replied as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“yeah, no shit. but i mean, what am i supposed to say to him? we haven’t spoken in over a week since it happened. plus we have music bank tomorrow.” you mumble in response.

“then you have to figure it out before tomorrow.” danielle encouraged as she pulled you up off the floor. she straightened out a few loose strands of your hair, before cupping your cheeks. “come one. one more hour!”

65 minutes had passed, and you found yourself taking the stairs up to the rooftop. when you stepped out onto the concrete, riki was already sitting on a bench, waiting.

“riki?” you softly called out to get his attention. “hey y/n.” he smiled, before gesturing to the spot next to him.

“so.. what’s going on?” you asked, reaching out for his hand. riki gently intertwined your fingers as he turned to face you.

“i’m sorry. for everything. the cafe was my idea. we shouldn’t have gone somewhere public, and now i’ve dragged you into this whole controversy.” he let out all at once, running a hand through his hair.

his face was just as tired as yours, but his eyes remained puffier than ever. you noticed it as you examined his face when you first sat down. the dating scandal had a huge impact. clearly, the feeling was mutual.

“oh, my poor riki..” you pouted. “hey, it’s not your fault. i’m just as involved as you are. none of this is on you. if anything, it’s that barista’s fault for exposing us.” you grimaced as you thought back to her post.

“i guess youre right. yn, you always know how to make me feel better.” he joked, lightly nudging your shoulder.

“guess it’s my specialty. i wish we could go out again though.”

“next time. when you’re officially mine and we can tell the world, that’s when i’ll take you out to a nice restaurant.” riki smiled widely.

“can’t take me out if your laces are untied.” you chuckled, gesturing to his sneakers.

“oh? i didn’t realize. i’ll tie it later.” he waved it off.

the two of you stayed up there for about two more hours, talking and catching up on everything you missed out on before, riki decided it was time to go back.

“let’s go? we can drive back together.” he suggested.

“i think we should go separately, just to be safe, since it’s not over yet. besides, i brought my car, so i cant leave it here.” you replied, feeling slightly guilty.

“yeah, no problem.” riki nodded, but you could tell he was still disappointed.

you stood up, walking towards the stairwell as riki followed from behind. you stepped about 20 paces before you felt yourself crashing down onto the concrete.

riki had ‘tripped’ over his shoelaces, before he ‘accidentally’ fell onto you. you felt him grip onto your waist before you both rolled over onto the floor, which just so happened to end up with his lips on top of yours.

you gently pushed him off with a groan due to the impact from the fall (and the uncomfortable position).

he let out a pathetic apology as you winced once he realized his left elbow was digging into your stomach. there was definitely going to be a bruise. or so you thought. but it was still quite painful.

“sorry.” riki said with a smug look. you squinted at him as you read his expression. he was sorry, for hurting you. not for kissing you.

you stared blankly at him, before standing back up, to grab your fallen belongings. “i’m just.. i have to go.” you muttered, not looking back at him as you hurried down the stairs.

he remained on the floor where you left him, thinking about whether he went too far or not.

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

[smutinlove]

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"—Jason Todd

Fem!Journalist reader x Jason Todd

When you had received the email from Bruce Wayne, you had almost passed out. It contained an invitation to the annual Wayne Charity Gala. It was official, you had been invited by the king of socialites, Bruce Wayne. You had been invited as both a guest and an active journalist who'd publish an article about the gala in the next coming days.

You stood on the steps of the venue, fumbling for the press ID in your tote. You had managed to find it and clipped it onto your blazers pocket.

You slowly made your way to the door and entered. There were only a few people, mostly making last-minute fixes and arrangements. You were thirty minutes early.

You put your camera equipment on one of the tables and started doubling-checking everything. Besides writing an article, you were also asked to document the event via photos and videos.

You felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. You turned around—camera in hand—it was Jason Todd. You had written an article on him about his scandals and such.

"It's you." he stated. Your eyes widened in surprise. "Indeed it is," you replied and bowed playfully. "Does Mr. Wayne need something?" You asked, wondering why he was here.

Jason put his hand on your arm. "No, but maybe a dance with me later, love?" he proposed with a small smirk. "I'll think about it." you replied cheekily. A dance with the son of Bruce Wayne did sound interesting.

He took your hand and placed a gentle kiss between your knuckles. "I'll see you later, love," said Jason as he backed away and left.

The event had started. Over a few dozen socialites had been invited. Bruce, the man himself, was surprisingly present. You had managed to take many pictures and videos.

You even wrote down a few details for the gossip section of the newspaper you worked for.

You did another circle around the gala, taking a few more pictures as Bruce and Selina Kyle danced in front of the crowd gathered in a circle. More people joined them.

You got closer, taking a few pictures of the elegant couple. You jerked back when you felt a hand on your waist. You turned around, ready to hit whoever it was.

"Relax, darling," it was a voice you knew a little too well.

"Todd," you muttered. "I was promised a dance," Jason uttered.

You sighed and put your camera in your tote bag. He took your hand and smoothly led you to the dance floor.

You put your hands on his shoulder; he put his on your waist. Everyone, including you two, swayed to the classical music that was being played. "Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked abruptly, causing you to step on his foot.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't be. I've never felt this way." Jason took your hand and placed it on his heart. You could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. "I saw you and I can't stop seeing you. You're in every corner of my vision. I can't breathe without you, darling."

You stood on your toes and gave him a peck on his cheek.

Both of you made your way off the dance floor and into a secluded corner. "I think I'm crazy in love."

His hands fell down to your hips; yours at his neck. His muscles were hard not to stare at. You looked away, trying to be respectful. The two of your gazed into each others eyes. "I think I'm crazy in love too," you finally answered.

"You wanna get out of here? Somewhere a little quieter?"

You nodded.

(orig fanfic prompt post)

I, like the fanfic writer I am, decided to make myself do a fanfic challenge. I'm basically going to write a fanfic per prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting

I'm doing this because I want to write more fics and because I want to test my skills 🤩

[wonwoonlight]

when he finds out you're sick through the internet

A/N: idol!au. OC is also a celebrity though I don't explicitly say what. tiny teensy angst bc cheol is a worried Boyfriend💔 1.5k words! another random word vomits bc that's the only way i know how to write now lol idk why but everytime i write this kinda fic it's always seungcheol looooooooooooooool. not proofread, but enjoy!

[part 2]

Seungcheol doesn't really get angry.

For the three years you've known him in which you've dated him for two, you've only seen him actually get angry a total number of three times. None of them was directed at you, and all of them are for reasons that you would've exploded upon way before he did.

Seungcheol is patient and rational.

Seungcheol is normally patient and rational.

But he's never normal when it comes to you. And even though the patient bit still stands, nothing about his feelings towards you is ever rational. He's a little too emotional, a little too rash, and a little too worrisome when it comes to your wellbeing.

So when he's relaxing in the practice room during a break with his members, for once not on his phone because he's charging it somewhere on one of the tables, and he hears Seungkwan gasps a little upon his phone, he thinks there's another scandal blowing up upon the industry. But when the younger guy's blown out eyes meet him, colors drained from his face, Seungcheol hates that he knew it could mean one thing: something happened to you.

He shoots up almost immediately, not registering any words that come out of Seungkwan's mouth. His hands shake a little when he unlocks his phone, and his heart drops when he reads the official post from your company's twitter account that states your current condition, that you might need to pause your activities for the time being due to health reasons, apologizes for the worries, and asks for the fans' understanding.

He wants to get angry.

At who, he’s not sure.

At your company, for pushing you even though they know your schedule is practically inhumane? At your manager, for not making sure that you have decent rest in between schedules? At you, because he’s been telling you to fucking stop running towards whatever goal you have in mind but you insist that you know your limit and you’ll know when to stop?

Apparently, no you fucking don’t because else this wouldn’t have happened.

The rest of the members look at him in worry, and Jeonghan silently walks to their manager and the other staff to let them know about the situation at hand, that Seungcheol would probably not be in his best state to continue practice at the moment. The leader would probably insist that they continue anyway, but they’ve practiced for almost five hours already anyway and they could spare an hour or two for the leader when it’s clear that he’s worried beyond measure.

Seungcheol bites his lip as he tries to call you, his concern skyrocketing by the seconds the longer the beeping sound goes, no sign of you picking it up. He tries one more time, but you still don’t answer and he’s about to hurl his phone at the wall when your manager calls him instead, tells him that he sees his name flashing on your phone, informs your whereabouts, and that he should just drop by your place in a few hours if he wants to see you because right now you’re still sleeping in the car and he’s taking you home.

He finds it hard to say anything, a lump growing in his throat until he manages to swallow it down and ask how you’re doing right now.

“She’s… exhausted.” Your manager says quietly. “I know it’s my job to take care of her but… you know her. She didn’t tell me that she’s been having a hard time sleeping at night the past few weeks and it finally took a toll on her.”

It’s hard to suppress his anger, his breath heavier than usual though it’s not too noticeable unless they know Seungcheol. He wants to scream at your manager, but he knows it won’t do anyone any good and it’s really not the time nor the place for that. So he mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ before he hangs up, his members looking at him with a mix of worry and understanding when he looks up at them.

“Go.” Soonyoung says. “We’ve practiced enough today. Take care of your girlfriend and tell us later.”

Seungcheol nods and sprints out of the room, beyond thankful that his members always have his back.

Seungcheol is glaring at you when you wake up, though the way his thumb is still softly caressing your head and the worry in his eyes clearly tell you that his anger is nowhere near his distress. 

You offer him a weak smile, unable to defend yourself because you know what his eyes are scolding you for.

“Sorry?” You whisper and immediately cringe at how dry your throat feels.

He doesn’t say anything as he helps you sit down and hands you your favorite mug. Taking in the moment, you frown at how weak you feel, though you really only have yourself to blame because you genuinely thought you’re okay and you can take it.

You know it’s on you for taking as many schedules as possible, practically everything that your company offers you even when your manager says he doesn’t think it’s physically possible for you to do all that in such a short span.

Thinking about it now, you realize that your manager and the rest of your team also gets the short end of the stick through your decision. Him, your make up team, and your stylists would all need to be with you and your ambition forgets to consider their wellbeing even when you wrongly claim you would be able to handle it.

Guilt starts to eat you inside out, and it grows even larger as you see Seungcheol in front of you–didn’t he say he had practice today?–his face screams distressed and his shoulders tense since God knows when.

“Hey, talk to me.” He says softly when he notices you’ve been spacing out and you’re nibbling on your lip like you would when you’re anxious, taking away your mug before enveloping your hands with his.

You tear up almost immediately, and he moves to sit on the edge of your bed to usher you into his chest, patiently listens to your nonsense as you try to talk through your tears. He gets the gist of it: sorry–manager–company–wellbeing–my team–didn’t think it through–made you worry–overestimated myself–sorry–and the list goes on. He exhales as he hugs you tighter, both understanding and upset at the turns of events.

Being in the same industry, he gets what you’re trying to do, understands that you feel the need to keep on running while you’re able to, relates that you’re doing everything for yourself and your fans. But still, it’s hard not to be upset to know you’re pushing yourself too hard when he’s been telling you there’s no need to run as fast as you are without resting; that you’ll only hurt yourself one way or another and he hates that the one time he needs to be right, it’s this.

You end up laying down against his chest on your bed, hiccups and sniffles filling your bedroom along with a random song he’s humming against your head. You pull away to properly look at him, the first time you’re doing it since you woke up earlier, and his hum stops in question.

“Thank you.” You manage to whisper, your fingers grasping the front of his shirt without even realizing. “For being here when I woke up.”

He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why you’re thanking him, simply leans down to plant a long, chaste kiss against your forehead before he pulls up your blanket so it’ll cover you properly.

“Just… don’t surprise me like that again, okay?” His breath is warm against your face, pleasantly so, and you nod as you promise him that you’ll take better care of yourself moving forward. 

“Are you staying the night?”

“Yes, I’ll return to the dorm the day after tomorrow. They’ve given me a day off.” You cringe at his words, though thankful that he’s been in the industry long enough to attain that kind of privilege. But still, you feel bad that you’re obstructing his practice and his members just because you’re foolish enough to– “Hey. Stop. I know what you’re thinking. No need to feel bad. I’m actually glad I get to rest with you.”

“But–”

“No buts. The kids can do without me for a day.” He playfully bumps his forehead against yours, his lips hover above yours merely centimeters apart.  He doesn’t meet your lips, though he kisses their corner sweetly and wraps you back into his embrace to the point where there’s no space between you two. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Good night, Cheol.”

“Night, baby.”

“See you in my dream?”

“I’ll see you anywhere you want me to be.”

He hugs you tighter, and you try your best to return the gesture despite the awkward position of your arms. It’s uncomfortable and you’re sure your arms will be sore the next morning.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when you succumb to sleep and find Seungcheol smiling at you on the other side of your dream, as real as he can be.

cont.

[tenswrld]

true romance

popstar!haechan x upcomingartist!reader, angst, fluff

summary: haechan's the world's boyfriend — and yours too, i guess.

word count: 4.1k

listen to: true romance - pinkpantheress

a/n: first, sorry that its been so long...im trying to be better about writing but inspiration comes and goes,,i hope you will indulge in whatever this is!!! everytime i hear this song my mind goes to haechan for some reason sooo yeah >_< i have lots of drafts its just a matter of when or if i finish them LOL love yall tho & enjoy

•°. *࿐

tell me, do you view me the same or do you call me a stranger?

"leave a bit after me so no one sees."

haechan is popular — without a doubt one of the most popular artists of your time. everyone either wants to be him or be with him, to which you completely understand. everything about him screams someone who was born to be on a stage, stealing hearts and whatnot. with such a bright personality, it was almost impossible to not like him.

you've had the privilege of getting to watch haechan grow from singing songs he wrote in his bedroom on youtube to him performing them in sold out shows. you're a fan, of course, but somewhere along the way — with crazy luck — you've wiggled your way into his life and into his heart. the two of you were music artists wishing on every star for some kind of breakthrough to the industry (take a guess on who got it). naturally, it brought you together. you were there when haechan reached 5,000 subscribers, and you were still there when he was selling out shows to 50,000 people. you've stuck by his side for so long that you're sure that its where you fit best.

in the moment, however, you're not so sure anymore.

"leave a bit after me so no one sees."

the small smile on your face slowly disappears at haechan's words and hurt quickly settles into your chest. "...why? what would be so bad about that?"

haechan seems unable to grasp how upset you are at his words. he shakes his head with a small laugh. "it's not like that, y/n. but a scandal at this time wouldn't be good."

"a scandal?" you scoff slightly. "since when have you ever cared about that?"

he sighs and runs a hand through his hair that's still slightly wet from his post-performance sweat. "i just don't want to take any risks right now. especially since my album is coming out soon. you understand, right?"

"i fly all the way out here to see you, and you don't want to be seen with me?" you say with a trembling lip and a weak voice. you're hurt and you're angry, but can't seem to keep your tears at bay.

"i didn't say that."

"you might as well have," you spit back at him.

"let's talk about this later, okay? trust me, it would be a lot worse for you than it would for me." haechan picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder, making his way towards the backstage exit door.

frozen in place overwhelmed with emotion, you watch your boyfriend open the door. you think he's had a change of heart when he pauses at the door and turns back to you, but somehow he's managed to hurt you even more.

"maybe you should take these too," he says, placing the bouquet you made him back into your hold. the smell of roses and sunflowers taking over your senses as more tears well up in your eyes. you hope the flowers hide them from haechan's gaze. though, you're not so sure he'd notice anyway, as he'd already let the door close and left you behind.

•°. *࿐

'cause, baby, i don't care about the fame

people talk. as an upcoming music artist, you're aware that people talk. as the (hidden) girlfriend of a global superstar, you're more than aware that people love to talk about anything and everything that doesn't concern them.

you and haechan aren't on the same level of fame — not that it matters to you. it never mattered to you, really. even as haechan grew and grew and you remained with your significantly smaller (but still decent) following, fame was never your strongest desire.

yet, now, you're wondering that maybe if you were just a bit more famous, more popular, more well known, then you wouldn't feel as far away from haechan as you do right now. even as he sits beside you on the king bed of the luxury suite he booked for this stop of his tour, you feel further away from him then ever.

"i mean, what would people say about us, y/n? about you?"

"you keep saying that, hyuck, but you're not explaining it to me," you say, growing frustrated with him. "why is it just about me?"

he purses his lips before averting his gaze to the floor. "they'll say nasty stuff about you — that you're using me for fame, or money, or something like that."

you shake your head. "but you and i both know that's not true. we've been together for how many years now? their words shouldn't matter." you take hold of his hand and rub your thumb against his knuckles. "you could have nothing and i'd still be here."

"people don't know that," he scoffs. "they'll assume the worst about you."

maybe he's right — you're sure they will assume the worst about you regardless of your long, deep history with haechan. would he start to believe them? you think it, but you don’t ask — too afraid of the answer you might receive.

"what are you so afraid of?" you ask him softly, begging him with your mind for him to look at you.

but he doesn't, his eyes stayed trained on the ground and he can only weakly squeeze your hand that holds onto his own.

"i don't know."

•°. *࿐

tell me, why i don't play about you

every song is about you

haechan finally has a short break in between the legs of his tour and he chooses to spend every waking moment of it with you.

things between the two of you have felt rocky for a while. it makes haechan ashamed to say it, but he's been so focused on tour and his new album that he's pushed everything else to the side. he's a perfectionist and he feels like he's barely made it — he wants everything to work out perfectly and is committed to making sure that happens. he's not sure how long he's been brushing off anything non-career related, but he misses you — even if you're with him.

he flys the two of you out to a small, quaint place in kyoto where he finally gets to enjoy some peace and quiet in his life. he chooses to turn off his phone, not too keen with the idea of his manager berating him about all his responsibilities he'll have to tend to when he gets back. he's on vacation and he's here with you: the one person who's been with him through every up and down.

you're laying in his arms and haechan misses you to the point where it hurts — when was the last time he laid with you like this? the revelation urges him to pull you closer, placing a soft kiss to the crown of your head as you lay on his chest. he sighs into your hair, breathing all of you in. it's silent, for the most part, until you ask a question that rattles haechan's being.

"why do you not sing about me?" you ask it so softly that haechan almost misses it.

"what? what are you talking about?" he's genuinely confused as to what you mean. who do you think he sings about?

"i know a handful of your old old songs are about me, but you don't perform those anymore," you murmur into his chest. "ah, don't mind me, i'm just talking."

you sound embarrassed and defeated and haechan wants to cry. did you really not know? how long has he been pushing you away?

"y/n, every single song i write is about you," haechan professes. "i couldn't write about anyone else if i tried."

his words shock you, even if they shouldn't. you tilt your head up to look up at him and he looks down at you with the softest gaze.

"not that i ever would, anyway," he continues, a sad smile painting his face.

"you mean it?" you whisper to him, wanting so badly to believe him.

when haechan's resolve breaks and his eyes glaze over, you know he means it. his hold on you tightens with one hand and the other comes up to caress your cheek, swiping a tear you didn't even know had fallen.

"of course," he croaks. "you're my muse, y/n. you."

this time, you're wiping his tears away as he cries and cries into your palms. you shift the two of you so that he lies in between your legs, arms wrapped around your waist and face buried into your torso, your hands running through his hair. he's apologizing over and over and doesn't say why, but you know why. you regret ever doubting haechan's love for you — even if he was to blame.

but, just as you're certain you love him more than anything, you know that haechan loves you back all the same.

"it's always been you, y/n."

•°. *࿐

and everybody’s shouting out your name

“you look too handsome to be pouting like that, you know,” you tease lightly, approaching haechan to adjust his tie fondly.

he can’t help but smile at you as you do so, his hands easily finding their place around your waist, tugging you close. “if you tell me to stay, i will.”

you sigh and place your hands upon his chest, allowing you to push yourself up to place a soft kiss on his lips. his lips trail after yours once you pull away and he pouts at you again, eyes begging for another kiss but you push him back ever so slightly.

“you can’t miss this, hyuck, you know that. this could be really big for you!” you beam, swiping a bit of your lip gloss off of his lips. “some important people might be there.”

“but you won’t be there,” he whines. “what’s the point?”

you roll your eyes playfully. “you’ll be fine. now go, your manager has been waiting.” haechan sighs and leans down to place one more kiss on your lips.

you pull away before he can get carried away. “go! and put a good word in for me with taeyong, yeah?”

haechan rolls his eyes but smiles at you, pecking you on the cheek as he bids you farewell. “no promises.”

ੈ♡˳

it’s barely been over an hour and haechan wants to leave.

normally he’s able to tolerate these sorts of things — the bright lights, loud music, snobby people all trying to one up each other. he can get by and chat with anyone as if he’s known them for years. typically, events like these breeze by for haechan. why was he hating every second of it?

it’s lee taeyong’s end of year celebration party. of course, as his junior, haechan was invited. he’s grateful that he’s made friends with lots of other artists under his company, otherwise haechan would have been long gone within the first 45 minutes of arriving. but, haechan stays, mostly because he admires taeyong and does, in fact, bring up you and your songs — which, to his surprise, taeyong says he knows you and enjoys your music.

haechan isn’t given the chance to talk more, unfortunately, due to an excited kim jungwoo who locks an arm around haechan’s shoulder and drags him away.

“ow — hyung! i was in the middle of a conversation!” haechan grits to jungwoo, lightly shoving his arm off of him.

“my bad, it looked like you needed saving,” jungwoo chuckles. “come on, everyone’s been looking for you.”

jungwoo leads haechan to a small circle of people to which haechan knows as his small circle of friends: mark, his company's beloved canadian rapper; johnny suh, one of seoul's most popular djs; and of course there's kim jungwoo, kim doyoung, and jeong jaehyun who make up dojaejung, korea's heartthrob boy group.

"yo, where have you been?" mark greets him excitedly, lightly slapping him on the shoulder playfully.

"what do you mean 'where have i been', i saw you yesterday, mark," haechan grumbles.

"woah, someone needs a drink," johnny chuckles. doyoung is quick to hand haechan a glass of champagne.

haechan takes a large gulp, hopefully to ease whatever tension he feels in his shoulders. he's trying to enjoy the party, he really is, but all he wants to do is come home to you.

"everything okay?" doyoung asks him, concerned with the way haechan seems to be downing his drink.

the younger boy sighs. "yeah, i'm fine, sorry. just stressed out."

"oh, your album is coming out soon, right?" jungwoo remembers, nudging haechan with his elbow. "congratulations!"

the rest of the boys congratulate him and haechan can only half-heartedly reply despite being very grateful.

"i'm sure it'll be great," johnny reassures him.

"saw a lot of love songs on that track list," jungwoo teases. "got a special someone?"

haechan stills at his words and he's caught in an argument with himself. does he mention you? does he say no? is this how he wants people to find out you’re together? before he can even reply, though, jaehyun cuts in.

"speaking of, i heard that kim minjeong has had her eye on you for a while, haechan," jaehyun says. he raises his eyebrows at the younger boy and haechan gulps, the rest of his friends nudging him playfully as they coo at him.

"that's the model, right? and singer?" doyoung asks. "you should talk to her!"

haechan feels like he's going to be sick. maybe he's being dramatic — its not like they're shoving him into minjeong's face and asking him to profess his love. still, he feels like he's betraying you in some way and he realizes he has to go home.

"i can talk you up, probably," mark says. "we're normally at the studio at the same time."

“i heard that shin ryujin has been talking about you, too,” johnny pipes in. “honestly, who hasn’t been talking about you? i’m surprised you’ve done nothing about it.”

doyoung hums. “she seems like your type, donghyuck! i know some people over at —“

"no! no, don't — " haechan places his champagne glass onto a nearby table abruptly and sighs shakily. "just...don't. sorry, i-i don't feel well. i should go."

confused and concerned eyes watch haechan as he rushes towards the nearest exit. he doesn't bother saying goodbye to taeyong, but makes a mental note to send him an apologetic note tomorrow. haechan sees kim minjeong catch sight of him, and he's sure she's about to make an attempt to stop him to chat with the way she looks at him with a flirty gaze. haechan is quick to turn in the opposite direction and flees out of the nearest door.

haechan's manager comes out soon behind him, frenzied after trying to catch up to a frantic haechan. he doesn't get the chance to ask the latter if he's okay, too occupied with calling their driver upon haechan's request.

"home," he chokes out. he's out of breath and he feels dizzy — whether its from the champagne or from guilt, he's unsure.

"i want to go home."

•°. *࿐

i'm in the crowd, can you see my hand?

haechan has reached the encore of his final show of his tour, yet he still feels a pressure that he cannot explain.

its not from all of his seniors and friends that attended in support of him, he knows that. it's not from the different producers and music artists that flew to seoul for him, either. its a pressure that weighs on his chest that has made him feel unsatisfied with each stage, despite putting 150% effort in everything.

the crowd is going crazy for him after he delivers his final ment, and he takes a moment to soak in it all, in hopes it would give him some peace of mind.

then, his eyes finally spot you.

you, in the back row of some random section, sitting with your manager, with a banner with his name on it and a headband with bear ears perched on top of your head. he doesn't know if you can tell that he's staring right at you, but you start waving around the banner with excitement. haechan can't help but adore you even more than he already does.

time stops for him as he realizes that you're here. through thick and thin you've always been there — what has haechan ever done for you? he hasn't given you even a sliver of what you deserve, yet you've never left him. you stayed when he was a nobody, and even now when he's been terribly selfish, you let him be.

there are thousands of other hands waving at him, but haechan can only see yours.

"actually," haechan starts, quickly silencing the crowd. "there's one more thing i wanted to say."

from your seat, you feel your heartbeat quicken. haechan is still standing and looking into your direction and you know he sees you.

"there's someone very special to me that's here tonight."

your heart stops as you realize what he's doing and you can't help but glance at your manager in a panic. fans around you are murmuring in confusion since haechan had already given a shoutout to his guests.

"they've been by my side since i was writing silly love songs in my childhood bedroom," haechan says, a fond smile taking over his features. "i wrote those love songs about them then, and i still write every love song about them now."

the gasps and shocked noises at his confession fall upon deaf ears — to you, you and haechan are the only two people in the world.

"some of you may know her — she's an amazing music artist as well. far better than me, in my opinion, but maybe i'm a bit biased." haechan sees you laugh and can't help but chuckle too.

"my girlfriend, y/n, is here tonight, and i couldn't be more grateful. wave, y/n!" haechan calls out to you. surprisingly, the camera cuts to you as you wave shyly, hiding behind your haechan banner. even more surprising, the crowd cheers loudly for you.

"isn't she cute?" haechan asks. he's delighted when he sees and hears the rest of the stadium agree.

haechan finally feels that weight lift from off of his chest and he feels like he can breathe. he's happy — ecstatic, even — now that the world finally knows he's yours.

"y/n, you once asked me what i was afraid of, and i said i didn't know," haechan recalls gently. "but i know now." he purses his lips to prevent himself from choking up.

"you've always been so supportive of everything i've done. you've done so much for me and i'm not sure how i could ever repay you." haechan sucks in a sharp breath. "i'm afraid that i'll never truly deserve you."

the crowd coos and some fans in front of you turn around to look at you. you're a mess: tears are streaming down your face, and your hands are shaking. you hide pathetically behind your banner again as your manager wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder.

"i'm sorry for making you wait." haechan puts a hand over his heart, and you do the same. "i love you."

the camera cuts to you again and haechan glances at the monitor to get a better look at you as you mouth something back. haechan doesn't even attempt to conceal his smile or to hold back his tears. there's no use.

"i love you, too."

•°. *࿐

say what you want, this is true romance

“did you really have to mention that, hyuck?”

your boyfriend settles next to you on the couch, arm draping over your shoulder, as you scroll through his recent interview with vogue korea.

you pout at him and he's unable to stop the smile that takes over his face. he pinches your cheek and you quickly swat his hand away.

"what? what did i say?" he rests his chin on your shoulder to read the article for himself.

"i mean, does the public really have to know about me crying on our first date?" you complained. you continued scrolling and laughed as you read. "in what context would you ever have to tell vogue about our matching crayon shin-chan pajama pants?"

haechan laughs and presses a kiss to your shoulder. "honestly, i don't remember half of what i said during this interview. or any of what they asked me." he tugs you a little closer to him so that you're leaning against him, laying the two of you down. "all i know is that i'm pretty sure i started talking about you so much that they just called it a day."

"you're that obsessed with me, huh?" you teased.

haechan scoffs, wrapping both of his arms around you tightly. "obviously."

he watches you open instagram and sees you check the likes on your new post. he gasps dramatically, loosening one arm around you to snatch his phone from his pocket. "you posted?! where was my post notification?" he whines cutely.

he's a little too quick to find your account and he then quadruple clicks the picture to give it a like. "babe, why are your comments off? i was about to get really out of pocket," haechan whines again.

"okay, first, don't do that, please. save some of your dignity," you scold him. "but its because people are mean," you admit softly.

haechan's eyebrows furrow together and his tone stiffens. "who? what did they say?"

you sigh. "no one specific, don't worry. some people are just not too keen about us. your predictions were right, i guess," you attempt to joke, but it only makes haechan upset.

"here, come here," haechan beckons you up with him as he sits up. you're still under one of his arms, which he locks around your neck as he tugs you into his side. you're caught off guard, but lean into him anyway, arms wrapped around his torso. haechan lifts his phone up and takes selfies of the two of you, cheeks pressed together as you both smile uncontrollably.

you're both giggling like two high schoolers fresh into a relationship and you've never felt more happy and in love in your life. haechan presses wet kisses against your cheek before you eventually push his face away. still, he steals one more kiss from you — this time on your lips — and you let him.

"okay, i'm posting all of these," haechan declares casually, leaning back against the couch.

your eyes widen and you reach for his phone in an attempt to stop him, but haechan has already dodged you and raised his hand up. "hyuck, don't."

"why not? i'm in love with you, people just have to deal with it," he shrugs. "anyone who has a problem with us can get blocked."

you fall onto haechan's chest and he gladly wraps you up in his arms again. "you're stupid, but i love you."

"good, because i just posted it."

you peer up at haechan's phone and you see that he was true to his word. all of the selfies you just took piled into one singular post to which haechan captioned 'my heart'. you watch as he scrolls through the comments and blocks anyone with anything bad to say.

"wow, you weren't kidding," you say, amused.

"'course not. these people need to learn true romance." he leans down to kiss you one more time, this time letting the kiss linger. he pulls away but rests his forehead against yours, staring at you with eyes full of love. "i love you, too, by the way."

ੈ♡˳

haechan is popular — without a doubt, he's one of the most sought after guys in the industry. he's confident, charismatic, and he's bright. he's everyone's dream guy, it's no secret.

but, above all, he's yours, and you're his as well. he has devoted his heart and life to you and its not a secret to anyone anymore.

this time around, haechan wraps you up in his scarf to protect you from the cold before the two of you leave.

"i already have a scarf on, hyuck, just keep yours," you mumble from underneath the thick fabric.

haechan doesn't hear you (not just because he literally can't) because he's too focused on zipping up your jacket and tugging your beanie over your ears.

"okay," he says as he intertwines a hand in yours. he clutches the bouquet you made for him proudly in his other arm while he carries your bag and his own over his shoulder. "let's go home!"

its bittersweet as you realize how familiar yet different the situation is. you clutch haechan's hand tighter as he tugs you towards the backstage exit door, outside where the press and his fans are waiting.

he doesn't hide you anymore. no, instead haechan shows you off proudly and wholeheartedly as if it was what he was meant to do.

[cottonlemonade]

The One That Got Away

word count: 1153 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip ex-boyfriend!Iwaizumi x chubby!Reader (feat. Seijoh 4)

genre: fluff, exes to lovers

warnings: spoilers, like one suggestive line

synopsis: Upon his return to Japan Hajime runs into his ex. Although the breakup was necessary and with no hard feelings, Hajime has never been able to get over you.

In an attempt to show off some more impressive, foreign cooking skills he had picked up in California, Hajime decided to make spaghetti, and so typed up a list before grocery shopping, double and triple checking to make sure he had everything. For a while there he had thought back and forth about the appropriateness of just inviting you over like that. When he met you at a café earlier this week he first thought he was hallucinating. But when you felt his stare as you were waiting in line for your drink you recognized him instantly and struck up a conversation - asking how he had been and what it was like to be a high profile trainer for the national team. Had you kept up with him like he had with you? During his time abroad, whenever he felt homesick he would check what his friends were up to and ultimately his social media scrolling always brought him back to you. Seeing you doing so well at your job and enjoying evenings out with your friends made him happy. And his heart always skipped a beat when you posted a short video and he could see you smile and hear you talk and laugh and he could pretend he was there with you. It was one of the hardest decisions of his life to break it off with you even though it had been ridiculously amicable. Every once in a while he had been tempted to text you, ask you how you were and if you missed him even just a fraction as much as he missed you. So without thinking, that Tuesday at the café he had asked if you’d like to come to dinner at his place to catch up. At that moment he thought it sounded too forward, just inviting you to his apartment rather than take you to a nice restaurant. Maybe even your favorite from back when you were dating. But you had beamed and agreed.

And tonight he would be alone with you at his place. The thought sent a strange tingle through his body. But he wasn't intending to do anything so there was nothing to be scandalized about. You were two adults having dinner and talking. He ignored Matsukawa’s text with a link to his Best Make Out Playlist, shaking his head at the mental image it planted and instead concentrated on finding the right wine.

After grocery shopping he went to pick up dessert at a bakery he remembered you loved and drove home to get ready.

Training that morning had been very chaotic. Not only did Matsukawa and Hanamaki accompany him and hadn‘t stopped wanting to role play different romantic scenarios as Hajime was stretching but even worse they ganged up on him and only too readily tried to give him advice on the art of seduction. The further along their gym session went, the more they began making unnecessary kissing noises whenever the lyrics of the songs playing over the speakers were getting suggestive.

"You might wanna…"

Hajime looked down on himself to where Oikawa was gesturing and zipped up his jeans. His friend was in Japan for a few weeks to visit his family.

Leaning in the door frame, his former captain had only made one “helpful” comment after the other since he was in a successful relationship that was already going almost 50 days (and thus deemed himself a love expert), while he - Hajime - hadn't been in a relationship in years.

"You want me to stay here? Break the ice? Talk you up?"

Hajime glared at him in the mirror.

"Alright alright, didn't say anything. Can you drop me off somewhere before she gets here?"

The younger one sighed and threw a sharp look at his friend.

"You know, somehow I don't believe a national player is that broke that he can‘t afford a taxi."

Oikawa quickly put on a hurt expression then switched topics.

“Who are you meeting anyway? Anyone I know?”

Hajime avoided his eyes and Oikawa grinned as the realization hit.

“Y/n-chan?”, he teased.

Hajime didn’t respond, just took off his shirt and tried on a different one.

“Well, I gotta hand it to you, Iwa-chan. You really are playing the long game.”

“Shut up.”

Oikawa did, in fact, not shut up.

“It’s been what? 10 years since High School and you’re still not over her?”

“I told you to shut up, Shittykawa.”

“But this is too much fun. Have you been pining for her this whole time? Did you keep in contact after graduation? - She was so chubby in High School, it was really cute. Is she still chubby? Gotta make things fun when you’re alone. You can really hold on there while -“

“Go back to your hotel.”

Oikawa gasped, theatrically.

“I’m only here for two more weeks, Iwa-chan. Don’t you wanna spend time with me?“

Hajime closed his bedroom door and heard a satisfying bonk when the wood hit his friend‘s face.

__________

You felt Hajime brush a kiss to your shoulder and his arm snake around your tummy. Letting out a sleepy, raspy-voiced Good Morning he buried his face in the crook of your neck and breathed you in.

You turned to face him, blanket rustling, and snuggled your barely dressed form against his. Interlacing his fingers with yours he brought your wrist to his lips.

He rolled you onto your back so he was now on top of you, taking in this much adored sight before him with a dreamy expression. Then he sank lower to press a handful of sweet kisses against your forehead, nose, cheeks and lips before settling down with his head resting on your chest, ready for another round of snoozing. He made a happy sort of grumble when you played with his hair.

For a while you laid there in content silence, brimming with happiness, then a series of dings came from the nightstand. They were only a few at first, far enough apart for Hajime to ignore them. But when they grew in frequency he asked you to hand him his phone.

“Something important? Do you have to go?”, you asked, really hoping the answer would be No.

“Ugh, it’s just the others. They wanna know how our dinner went.”

You giggled. “Well…”

Hajime chuckled too, hugging you tighter with his free arm, while the other quickly scanned the increasingly annoying texts of his friends.

He typed a few words, then dropped the phone next to you, propping himself up to kiss you again.

The message pings now blew up, barely leaving a few seconds in between.

“Oh my god!”, he groaned, his lips against your neck, “Tell them to leave me alone.”

He didn’t stop kissing you when you reached for his phone. You didn’t bother reading all the incoming messages. You just wrote “he’s busy” and turned it to silent.

a/n: He 100% used that playlist but will never admit it.

[aft4rhours]

Hey guys! 🩷 Thank you so much for your asks and messages 🩷

Honestly I just wanna get something off my chest. Someone asked me if I'm leaving or using a new blog. Both? I made a new blog, but somehow the thought of coming back here still feels so uncomfortable. And I realised it's because I addressed and worked through the 'hate' part and all.

But... there is also an issue I have had with my own readers that I didn't expect to have.

Look, there is absolutely nothing wrong with having your kinks and all. My blog itself is pretty crazy.

But... it's fictional.

It seems not only 'haters' can't separate reality from fiction, but sometimes readers too.

There is a reason I have never called my blog a "kink blog" (again, nothing wrong with that!), but rather stuck to horror.

I have talked about this before but as my interest in darker shows and works grew, I wanted to write a horror story and I realised I had no idea how to, because I have spent all my life writing pg 13 romance and fantasy 😭

I wanted to get out of my comfort zone and challenge myself. So I jumped into deep waters with requests, hoping for inspiration, and for the first time tried writing horror AND smut.

I love storytelling, I love exploring new things in writing, so even though the smut part is so big on my blog, I always give my characters personalities and back stories (at least I try lmao) and dive into their mental state because... I love writing.

And I did always want my blog to be a safe space for everyone... but that's including myself.

And I feel like some people just.... I'm sorry I'm just gonna say it.

What do you mean you want a fic based on the The Burning Sun Scandal. WHAT DO YOU MEAN. 😭 What do you mean you want me to write about your cousin. 😭😭

Am I crazy??? That's a REAL tragedy, guys, and it's so fucking upsetting and disrespectful to the survivors. And no one even stops to think the author might be upset or triggered bc they're a survivor too or bc this is, again, A REAL TRAGEDY????

It's like watching murder on a screen. It doesn't affect you the same way a real life murder with a real victim would! But it might still be too upsetting or violent so warnings exist for that.

"Um you write non con that happens in real life too" absolutely. But I am not getting inspo from REAL CASES involving REAL PEOPLE and real trauma. The people, places, events, are MADE UP, and if any feelings or situations are inspired by experiences, they're MY OWN experiences, and even then my work is far from reality.

I am not glorifying Dahmer and writing smut about him ok?

😭😭😭

And the thing is we talked about this before and I thought I made that super clear on my blog, always.

If it wasn't before, then I guess this is the post I'm gonna have to pin somewhere.

I just... I expected this from the tea blog clowns, who are shocked a writer writes fictional non con but advocates for real victims 😭 Like you write about war and suddenly you're a real life dictator. 😭

It's OK to make mistakes and learn. I'm just so so so tired of dealing with people who don't care to learn and it almost makes me feel bad for writing here. I know I can't be responsible for my readers and I can't control who follows me. But just.

If it wasn't clear before. Even though I have this in my intro post.

I'm sorry if you were looking for something else, there are other blogs for that. I'm just a writer writing fictional stories.

The only Burning Sun Scandal fic I would ever write would be with all the men getting, literally, burned to death. 💀

Anyway. Sorry, I had to get that out, I feel like I have had so much to deal with on this blog and I'm just working through it.

Take care of yourselves 🩷 hope you're all staying warm and eating well.

I will be back around to check in soon, maybe edit a fic? Who knows, maybe getting this out will make me feel better. Love you sm 🩷🫂

[lxnely-lullaby]

This maybe weird to ask what does all your version of the WGP racers look like in human form? And what HeadCanon’s you got for them?

This isn't weird at all! When I got your question, it really got me thinking about what the WGP racers - minus Lightning McQueen - look like humanized, and I already had a draft of them in an old sketchbook of mine. But I decided to spice it up a little. ⚠️TW⚠️: MENTIONS AND VISUALS OF SELF HARM!

In my last post, I made an art piece of Shu Todoroki humanized, so I took that and put it in his model sheet. I made the Ka-Riu dragon more present on his right side, and less present on his left, similar to his car counterpart. He's probably the only racer with belts on his boots, and he's also the only one without fingerless gloves, rather gloves that cover his entire hands. He suffers from self-esteem and self-worth issues, which are the breaking points for his mental health. Not only does he suffer from those issues, he also suffers from anxiety, which he developed from the World Grand Prix scandal, resulting him in having panic attacks. He uses makeup and concealer on scars that show, so the media won't have a field day with him.

I imagine he listens to Japanese pop music a lot, and he likes reading in his spare time. He likes to visit Japanese cherry blossom gardens, because it soothes his anxiety and calms his nerves, and he loves boba (It's one of his guilty pleasures). Song: Anxiety by Besmorph and the Tech Thieves.

Francesco Bernoulli's humanized design was a near-instant design for him. I imagine he has this long curly hair that reaches almost up to his chin on one side, and the other side meets his eyes. Unlike the rest of his fellow WGP racers, his racing suit is open - Similar to how his car counterpart has open wheels. (See what I did there?) Like Shu, he does have scars, which he got from his time grieving for his papa before he got some sense knocked into him. As I explained in previous posts, Francesco lost his papa during a race and he didn't receive the news until after. His coping mechanisms were unhealthy, and his way of training for races was exhausting his body. Giuseppe managed to talk to him, and he has healthier coping mechanisms to deal with his grief now. I think he's a good cook, because Mama Bernoulli taught him, and he's 100% pansexual. He did have a little crush on Lightning McQueen, and he does flirt with him every time, because he's a hopeless romantic. He's probably good friends with Luigi and Guido, and they would probably have spirited conversations. Song: Looking at Me by Sabrina Carpenter

Miguel Camino was the most fun to do, in terms of design. I had fun doing his Spanish flag, and you can see it's present EVERYWHERE on his racing suit. I made the top half resemble a toreador jacket, as it connects to his past career as a toreador before he became a racer. He also wears toreador boots, which he first got in his early days as a toreador, so he wears them almost all the time. Miguel has a few scars from bullfighting, and he also has a few from the Porto Corsa incident.

He does bullfight in his spare time when he's not training for a race, and I imagine he has a real competitive streak that scares even Francesco at times. Song: Living La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin or Sugar by Maroon 5

Carla Velosa....I quit on her three times.

No matter how many times I watched her turntable on Youtube, I still had a hard time distinguishing the details on her car. I couldn't tell if the primary color was a light yellow or somewhere around white, but I'm mostly satisfied with her design for now. I wanted to show that her suit sparkles, because she's figuratively and literally a star when she hits the dance floor. She has silver studs on her boots, because on her tire rims, there are silver studs on there. The blue is lined along her suit, instead of in a gradient. I think she loves to do dancing in her spare time. She probably took dance classes when she was a kid, and the passion to dance just stuck with her throughout her entire life. You can even see her dancing when you play her turntable on youtube; There's music playing on there, and she's dancing along to it! Being the only girl in the WGP group, she's fierce and it only gives her a chance to prove what she can really do under the hood. Song: Just Dance by Lady Gaga and Colby O' Donis

Max Schnell was probably one of the easiest to do in terms of design. I put the German flag on most of his chest with the World Torque Championship League right into the center. Since he's mostly this dark purple, I wanted to make the German flag present on certain parts of his racing suit, and I put a mini one on his shoes, too.

Since he's an engineer, I imagine he has a masters degree in mechanical engineering and he uses those to modify his race car, and make any repairs on it if he can. He knows a lot about the mechanics of a car and how it works, and he loves to study the track before a a race, so he knows exactly how he should approach it.

Song: I Like Me Better by Lauv

I kinda had a hard time with Rip Clutchgoneski, mainly with his secondary colors, but I was able to make it work.

I wanted the red and green to extend from his chest to his right shoulder, and it kind of goes down his sleeve in this sort of wave instead of in a straight line. The green and red on his left sleeve covers most of the orange there, and as for the pants, the flag is less present there. I wanted to give Rip hair that reaches up to his shoulders and I also wanted to make it look a bit scruffy with a small braid on the left side.

Rip has a really optimistic personality that he gets from his parents, mostly from his mom. While his dad told him to work hard to achieve his goal, his mom was the one to assure him that even if he doesn't win his races, he'll always be their champ because they're his number one fans. Along with being able to compete internationally for the first time in his career, it's this kind of reassurance that he always has a smile on his face - That and it gives him the chance to prove that someone from New Rearendia can do anything. He always wanted to be a racer when he grew up, it's his dream.

Being trans masc for Rip, his parents were really supportive, because it gives them the opportunity to love him even more. He got top surgery when he was 19 years old, and transitioned when he was around 14 years old.

Song: This is Home by Cavetown

Raoul Caroule was fun to do, and also the easiest. Since his car counterpart I wanted the suit to have this spray-paint effect all over in this splash of color, and I wanted his hair to be this light blonde color that goes almost to white that is tied back with a dark blue headband.

Raoul is an adrenaline junkie that's worse than Miguel. He thrives from danger, but only when it doesn't put his life in danger. He and Max are close to each other, and loves rally with a fiery passion. He visits his old friends from Cirque du Voiture during his off season when he can, and he loves doing stunts just for the hell of it.

Song: Drag Me Down by One Direction

Nigel Gearsely's design was the simplest I could do, which is why his racing suit doesn't look as busy as the others. It's just dark green, with light green going down his sleeves, pants and chest, with yellow on his gloves and on the center of his chest.

He likes tea, and he uses the terms such as "chap", "bloke", and mate" whenever possible. Out of the WGP gang, he's not that much of an adrenaline junkie, but since he has this catchphrase "Right then, let me at that track!" I imagine he's real excited whenever he gets to race and he's confident that he'll win every time - Or that he'll place in podium finish, at least. He's best friends with Lewis Hamilton and probably Max Schnell.

Song: Sunflower by Post Malone and Swae Lee

Why am I just now realizing how similar his suit is Nigel's-

I think I had more fun with Lewis Hamilton's hair than I was supposed initially. I put those gold charms and accessories in his hair, but those charms are more present at the front than they are on the back, as you can the charms are at the end of his braids. I got the inspiration from Pinterest to put those charms in his hair, and in case it's hard to tell, his updo is half-up, half-down.

I didn't want to make his suit black or a lighter shade of it, so instead, I made his suit purple-black with a gold color instead of a neon yellow to make it agreeable with the primary color.

He prefers coffee over tea, and when he drank it once in Nigel's presence, it made Nigel upset. He's not ashamed of that tooth gap of his, and whenever he's around Jeff, he gets all excited because those two are like peas in a pod. Lewis and Jeff are in a happy, healthy romantic relationship, and I like to think they started dating a year after the events of the WGP.

Jeff Gorvette was kind of hard to do. I tried to make the flag look like it's moving on his racing suit, but I could never get it right, so I just settlled it for going straight down. There's more stars on his chest than there are on his pants, the blue is only present on his chest with the red being present on his pants.

Jeff and Lewis are - as I already said - are in a healthy and happy romantic relationship. I think he was the first one to confess his feelings to Lewis. The only reason he was able to was because Miguel told him to go for it, because it's better to get it off his chest, even if there was a chance Lewis wasn't going to reciprocate those feelings. When Lewis did reciprocate, Jeff probably cried because he had been holding it up for so long and the anxiety and stress finally caught up to him at that moment.

Besides being in a heathy relationship, Jeff is best friends with Lightning, Miguel and Nigel. He'd probably be the most extroverted out of the WGP gang if Rip didn't beat him by that record by befriending every single racer on day one at the WGP welcoming party in Tokyo.

[kvothbloodless]

Looking into the business side of the UHC shooting has really shifted my perspective on how to approach the practicalities of "greedy" businesses and similar things. To be clear, it hasn't in any way affected (and thus I'm not at all talking about) the purely moral side of things.

Disclaimers: Obviously for profit healthcare is morally repugnant, etc. etc. Please do not yell at me about the morality of private healthcare or how this entire post is evil because I'm discussing the situation at hand rather than the ideal world where we have public healthcare. Also, while I've done a decent amount of research over the past few days, I am still the furthest thing from an expert here, so please take everything I say with a heaping handful of salt, and feel encouraged to correct me if I make any dumb mistakes. Also also, most of this was realized by talking with friends, I did not just have an epiphany on my own.

That aside though, I've been looking at profit margins, and what contributes to costs. Mostly for the healthcare industry (insurance, hospitals, pharma, etc.) but I think this applies to most businesses (at least in America; this entire post is from a very American perspective). To vastly oversimplify, there are two types of corporate "greed", and the general categories of possible solutions look different.

The first is the one that Tumblr seems to treat as the only category, the one that we’re all thinking of when we say "corporate greed". This is where companies fuck over their customers/public to make big numbers even bigger, so they can keep expanding, make shareholders absurd amounts of money, etc (even this isn't actually that simple, but it is relatively kinda simple). This kind of greed can be affected/"fixed" by public pushback, government regulations, etc. Pharma companies fall into this category. The industry average for profit margins for pharma corps is in the large double digits, somewhere upwards of 50% (and to be clear that's taking into account the genuinely massive amounts of money they're investing into research and development, just to head off that line of argument). If a drug company is price gouging on a medication and it becomes a public scandal, they can easily afford to cut the price by A Lot, and still make a profit overall. If you pass laws that simply impose stricter regulations on production, or that cap prices, the companies will object and grumble and try to get around them, because that's what companies do. But at the end of the day, it's theoretically possible to just tell them to cut that shit out, and they Can do it.

Critically though, at least in healthcare, this is Not the category health insurance falls into. Nor most healthcare! This category only applies to businesses with a decent profit margin; the industry average for profit margins for both health insurance and hospitals is in the low single digits (and even though the executives are obviously insanely overpaid and ridiculously greedy, they still account for only a tiny fraction of these companies' budgets! Slashing the pay and bonuses of execs is not going to solve this problem)! Yes they're making Billions of dollars, but they're also spending billions. “Necessary” spending. We can discuss and debate Why this is the case (though it seems clear to me that the main culprits are massive inefficiency due to lack of centralization and the artificial, imposed scarcity on the number of new doctors and medical facilities), but I'm not interested in that here.

My point here is that, while obviously the execs of United Healthcare are greedy bastards willing to screw people over to make an extra .1% profit, the current system is set up such that they sort of have to be (again, this is not a moral justification). Like, the money has to come from somewhere! In the absence of government subsidies, a private insurance company is operating pretty close to the razors edge; if UHC wants to accept more claims, they've got to have higher premiums, or screw over their own employees across the board, or make up the money somewhere else (and again, slashing exec salaries and bonuses will not make a big dent here). This means that they are Not going to be nearly as amenable to public pushback, and even simple government regulations won't really work. If the government told UHC that they needed to accept more claims without raising premiums a corresponding amount (or slash all employees' salaries, etc.), then either UHC will find a way around those new regulations, or they will go bankrupt, and everyone they insured will have to go buy insurance from another company that did one of those other things.

While you Can rightfully still call this behavior greedy, it seems to me an obviously different Type of greed compared to the first category. It's a sort of systemically Enforced greed, rather than one owing to any given board's choices. Like, in the absence of single payer healthcare (obviously a better option), insurance companies Must be horrible and greedy because if they are not they will stop being a functioning company. And you can't really pass the buck! The profit margins for medical facilities and specialists and such are all equally small. This isn't a situation where you can say "well the insurance companies are unnecessary", because healthcare (in its current form, in the USA) itself is pretty expensive to pay for!

Prices are negotiated between a healthcare facility and each insurance corporation, so it gets a bit more complicated, but at the end of the day, these businesses rely on both the reliable but individually lower income from insurance companies, and the sporadic but insane price gouging they charge for people without insurance. And this sucks! But that doesn't change the fact that if you tell a hospital or whatever that they must significantly reduce how much they charge for, say, an MRI, or even an annual checkup, then they must either find a way to charge more elsewhere and make it up; they must fire employees or lower wages, lowering the quality of care; or they will go out of business. They just don't have a large enough profit margin to handle any sort of significant reduction in income.

Aha! I hear you say. While slashing executives salaries and bonuses wouldn't put a dent in expenses, slashing doctor's salaries would! And you'd be correct, to a degree. However, doctors have massive amounts of medical debt, and also regularly work 12+ hour shifts. Until that changes, significantly reducing their salaries (and it would need to be a Large reduction to make a useful dent in costs) is an extremely thorny issue.

So where am I going with this? No idea, to be honest. Except to say that, issues with murder and such aside, putting the fear of god into insurance CEOs quite literally Cannot make a major difference long or even medium-term. They simply do not have enough profit margin to play around with. As I said way earlier, this is not the sort of corporate greed that can be significantly "fixed" by public action or simple government regulations; without a major change in the entire system, private insurance companies are fairly essential to people getting decent healthcare, and those companies are obligated to be awful and greedy, or they will go bankrupt. I know I'm coming dangerously close to mentioning game theory and summoning Moloch, though this is really a couple levels below that, so I'll stop here.

Oh, except to say that, if you're dead set on shooting a CEO, go for a pharma corp one rather than health insurance.

[ladykailitha]

Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 14

I'm thinking about writing an epilogue/sequel to this because after reading the ending, I feel like I've cheated you out of something special, but the story feels like it should have ended after the rut. So let me know in the comments if you would like see the bonding and birth of their first child.

First of two chapters being posted today.

The after party. Tommy makes an appearance and Chrissy comes to rescue...well so do everyone in Stevie's corner, but especially her.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

****

The after party was buzzing with the who’s who of the industry. Producers and artists mingled with label execs and the best escorts Starcourt had to offer.

Steve had been invited to a couple of these in his time and always had fun.

Eddie was talking to this beautiful actress in a long purple and black gown. She had song on the soundtrack of her latest movie, surprising a lot of people with her vocal talents in addition to her acting.

Steve gulped down a bit of champagne to chase the bile of jealousy that he had forced back down.

“Well if it isn’t, Steve Harrington,” a cool voice said behind him.

Steve schooled his expression and turned around.

There was Tommy Hagan.

It had been a lovely couple of months where they hadn’t run into each at an event at all.

Steve smiled. “Hey, Tommy, you working a client or just the room tonight?”

When Starcourt supplied omegas to after parties like this one, they were allowed to network to get new clients. So not only were they paid well, they could bring in even more money by picking up new clients.

“He doesn’t love you, you know,” Tommy sneered. “This is all stunt to take the attention off of the fact that he fucked up with two omegas and nearly caused a scandal for the label both times.”

Steve knew that was the reason for the ‘fake dating’ contract. It was his business to know. “What’s the matter, Tommy? Upset that I get to fuck your favorite rockstar? You must have been so livid when you found out that I got invited to their charity gala and you didn’t.”

“You think you’re so special getting a million dollar cherry pop price,” Tommy snapped. “But that just means that you had to stay longer to pay it off, stupid.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I made that my first year. I didn’t have to stay, but I know my worth, sweetie. And it is a hell of a lot more than a million dollars.”

“You’ve got your claws in him now,” Tommy hissed, “but he’ll figure out that you’re as shallow as your intelligence.”

Steve flushed and Tommy smirked, knowing he hit the mark. The one thing that Steve was always worried about and that was coming across as the dumb bunny.

“I’m not stupid,” he whispered harshly. “Just because I haven’t gone to fancy schools doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”

Tommy laughed cruelly. “Look around you, Steve. This is all you’ll ever have. All you’ll know. You’re only worth is what’s between your legs, not what’s between your ears.”

Tears stung at the corner of Steve’s eyes.

Then there was a warm arm that slid around his waist and Steve leaned into the embrace.

“You okay, baby?” Eddie murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Much better now that you’re here,” Steve whispered back, nuzzling the under side of his throat.

“Stevie and I were just having a little chat,” Tommy said all false smiles, “weren’t we?”

Steve pressed further into Eddie’s side.

Eddie scoffed. “I heard what you were saying, it’s why I came over.”

Tommy blanched. “What?”

“And I did not like what you said at all.” He kissed Steve soundly on the lips. “Troy and Robin are waiting for you, babe. They’ll take you somewhere where you can calm down and I’ll be right behind you, okay?”

Steve nodded and went right into the waiting arms of Robin, Troy covering Steve from behind so no one could see how upset he was.

“You’re Tommy Hagan, right?” Eddie asked, low and menacing.

Tommy nodded.

“I’ve been hearing about your supposed rivalry with Steve from a couple different people tonight.” Eddie’s tone grew even darker.

Tommy opened his mouth, but Eddie held up his hand to stop him, “And no, Steve was not one of them. From other handlers and escorts. From what I could gather, you’re pissed because he rose to the top of the company faster than you did. He’s prettier, more charming, and better at his job.”

“Think whatever you like,” Tommy scoffed. But the red flush to his cheeks belied his statement.

“And now he’s dating the lead singer of your favorite band and you are just eaten up with envy and jealousy,” Eddie continued. “So you decided to go after Steve’s intelligence knowing it was a soft spot for him. But there are different kinds of intelligence and Steve’s is all emotional. And that’s what makes him brilliant at what he does.”

“Still makes him as dumb as a rock,” Tommy hissed.

Eddie just shook his head. “I’m making a complaint against you with the agency. This is really bad behavior for a Starcourt omega and doesn’t reflect well on them.”

Then Tommy really did pale. All color drained from his face, leaving his freckles more pronounced in the absence of color on his cheeks.

Eddie just shook his head and went in search of Steve.

Troy spotted him first and waved him over to a small alcove where Robin was rubbing Steve’s back as he struggled to calm down.

Eddie knelt in front of him and began rubbing his arms. “Hey, sweetheart. Do you need to leave?”

Steve took in a deep shuddering breath and held in his a moment. “No. Tommy is an ass but I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Eddie murmured, caressing Steve’s cheek with his thumb. “With the horrible questions, the sexist alpha, and now this asshole. You admit it affected you and we can go home.”

Steve’s lip quivered. “But what about you, don’t you have to be here?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie said, cupping his cheeks, “I have been here. I could duck out. The rest of the band is still here as well as Benny and our producer Alexi. They could hold court if you really needed us to go right now.”

“Tommy’s already been reported to management,” Troy said, cradling his ear. “They still want Eddie to make a formal complaint, but they’re pulling Tommy out and replacing him with Chrissy Cunningham.”

Robin nodded. “Elinor and a couple other omegas who were here with actual clients had run afoul of him as well.”

Steve raised his head. “Wait, really? He’s pissed that he was only here to work the room as opposed to being with a client? Is he stupid?”

Troy raised his hand and rocked his fingers back and forth. “The jury is still out on that one.”

Eddie looked back between Troy and Steve in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“It depends on the client,” Steve said, “but an escort can make $1000-5000 a night. But working a room, you’re paid an five grand plus the chance to pick up future clients. Alphas that aren’t there with anyone who might have an event coming up that would be improved by having an escort. Maybe their rut is coming up soon. Working a room can net an escort closer to ten to fifteen grand.”

Eddie blinked. “Holy shit. Now, I’m wondering how he could be so stupid.”

“I could answer that,” a warm female voice said behind them.

Steve looked up and grinned. “Chrissy!”

Eddie stood up and turned around to see one of the prettiest female omegas he ever seen. Her strawberry blonde hair was artfully pulled back in a wavy bun, highlighting her green eyes and dazzling smile. She wore a pink mermaid tail dress that had feathers on her hips and on the train. She held a matching clutch.

She gave Steve a hug. “I’m sorry Tommy was an douchebag tonight, cher. But I’m here now.”

Steve relaxed, the last bit of tension bleeding from his frame with her casual support.

“So why would d-bag want a client over working the room if the gains are greater working the room?” Eddie asked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

He had changed, too. The tuxedo pants had been replaced by leather ones, and he wore a band tee under a leather jacket. His knee high boots gave him a little extra height on Steve even in his own heels.

Chrissy smiled up at him. “Because if you’re working the room, that means you weren’t good enough to get a client going to the Grammy’s. It’s about the prestige of being with a big name artist. And that clout can’t be bought. Steve here is going to get more requests being at Eddie’s side, then I will from working the room.”

Robin snorted. “Only because Steve’s that hot.”

Steve ducked his head to hide his blush. He really did have the best of friends.

Chrissy giggled. “There’s a little bit to that, sure. But the salient point is that Tommy is jealous because he knows that even with Eddie courting Steve, Steve is going to make a hell of a lot more money than Tommy could hope to dream of in just this year.”

“He was trying to upset the escorts on jobs so that they would leave,” Troy said, “which would free up the clients for those only working the room.”

Steve and Chrissy gave Troy an appraising eyebrow, impressed.

“Sounds about right,” Steve said. “Which means leaving would be giving in to his schemes. Plus, Chrissy is here now. That makes the party way more fun.”

Eddie held out his hand and helped Steve to his feet. “Whatever you want, princess. I am but yours to command.”

Steve wagged his eyebrows. “Something I’ll consider for tonight.”

Robin and Chrissy wolf whistled.

Troy just shook his head. With Robin in tow, Troy melded back into the crowds to keep an eye on Steve from a distance.

Chrissy was introduced to the band. Jeff was immediately smitten by her charms.

He was falling over his feet to impress her.

“Jeffy here writes our music,” Eddie told her and Steve. “I write the lyrics and he turns them into songs. Really I have the easy part. He does all the heavy lifting.”

Gareth, immediately picking up on where Eddie was going with this followed that up with, “Yeah. Which considering he boxes to stay in shape it’s really easy for him.”

“You box?” Chrissy asked, all interest. “Do you actually get in the ring or do you just go up against punching bags to prevent ruining the prettiest face of the band?”

Steve hissed at her, “You take that back! Eddie is the hottest member of the band.”

“Hottest guitarist, maybe,” Elinor huffed. “Hottest member is clearly Gareth.”

The three alphas were starting to growl when Brian stepped in. “Guys, guys. You’re all very pretty. The prettiest. Now can we move on?”

Just when everyone had calmed down, he said, “Besides we all know the best looking one in the band is me!”

His friends dogpiled him and wrestled him to the ground.

Chrissy leaned over to Steve as the four of the tussled. “Do they do this often?”

Steve just shrugged. He hadn’t had the chance to hang out with band yet.

Elinor rolled her eyes. “They are like this all the time. In a minute or so, they’ll get tired, give up and move on like nothing has happened. They’ll straighten their clothes and hair, all the better for it.”

Sure enough they did just that.

Brian looked the worst for wear considering he had been the one under attack, but nothing was torn or out of place and quite quickly they were looking like nothing had happened.

“I love these dorks,” Eddie murmured. “So, so much.”

Steve kissed his cheek. “That’s good, because I think you’re stuck with them, being in a band and all.”

Jeff giggled. “Is he stuck in here with us, or are we stuck in here with him?”

Steve tapped his lips thoughtfully. “Oh, definitely the latter.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested.

Gareth shook his head. “No, no. I’m with Steve on this one. We are definitely stuck in here with you.”

“Traitors,” he muttered darkly.

Steve nuzzled his scent gland and Eddie’s alpha purred. It took every ounce of Steve’s professionalism he had to keep the replying chirp quiet enough that only Eddie could hear.

Eddie grinned. “Just let me make the rounds one more time and then you and I will get out of here.”

Steve nodded and then watched him go. He grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed in one gulp.

Chrissy’s eyes went wide and she slipped her arm through his and murmured, “Come on, cher. Let’s talk, you look like you need it.”

Steve nodded and followed her outside to get some fresh air. Once there he told her all about his night and not just the Tommy fuckery.

“I was standing there already feeling jealous about the gorgeous female omega actress that he was talking to and then Tommy came in and poked at my other biggest insecurity and I just crumpled...”

Chrissy put her arm around his shoulder and laid her head on his chest.

“You’re going to have to decide if that side of his job is going to be worth it, because if you’re freaking out over him just talking to an actress,” she said gently, “how are you going to fare when he goes on tour?”

Steve sighed. It was one of the reasons that Neil never requested to court him. Being on tour all the time, the constantly being away from Steve who was very much of fixture of LA.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “But he stirs something inside me that I have never felt before and it’s addicting. It feels like flying and I worry that I’ll fly too close to the sun and fall.”

“Soar anyway, Steve,” she advised him. “It’s scary and it’s new. But soar anyway. You deserve a chance at happiness, just be sure to tell Eddie when you feel this way. Because he’s not a mind reader. He can’t see what’s happening behind his back.”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Eddie was told Tommy was harassing you,” Chrissy said. She held up her hand before Steve could say anything. “Now before you get all in your head thinking that he had to be told to come to your rescue, we both know that’s not true. But he had to be told you were in danger. Because it was happening where he couldn’t see. So you have to tell him when you’re feeling left out or jealous, because if it’s happening where he can’t see, he can’t fix it.”

Steve let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I see what you mean. If I had been more honest about the actress, Eddie would have already been by my side and maybe Tommy would have still approached or not, but probably not.”

She nodded. She turned around and saw Eddie looking for Steve. She spun Steve around and pushed him toward Eddie.

“Now go get your man.”

Steve stumbled into the venue and began moving quickly so he could reach Eddie faster.

Suddenly Eddie had an armful of soft omega.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured into Steve’s ear, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. “You ready to go home?”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Take me home, Eds.”

****

Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

The confrontation with Tommy had been stewing in my head since I first starting writing the story, originally it was going to be with the Nancy and Billy at New Yorker party but there was already too much going on in that chapter so it got moved here.

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[bennyboyfics]

can your write one where reader previously dated another player on tour and now she’s with Ben and people are kind of judging her for moving on too fast and with another tennis player.

Not yours to judge || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: Ty for the request, also first time writing smut (ish) so lmk how it is lol

Wc: 1,437

Warnings: Slight smutt!!! angst, r being slut shamed

MASTERLIST

-

It was supposed to be a good night. Ben had just come off a straight-sets win, adrenaline still buzzing beneath his skin, hair damp from the post-match shower, and that boyish smile that always made your chest flutter was aimed directly at you.

The moment the hotel room door shut behind you both, he was already pulling you into his arms, kissing you with the urgency of someone who didn’t want to waste a second. You tried. God, you tried to match his energy. You kissed him back, hands tangled in his curls, pretending you weren’t still carrying the weight of a thousand eyes on your back.

You pretended you didn’t hear the whispers. The laughter that stopped when you walked past. The way some people—some players—looked at you like they already knew everything about you, based on who you used to love and who you love now. Ben’s lips trailed down your neck as he guided you back toward the bed, his voice low and affectionate.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he murmured. “You looked so fuckin’ good watching me out there.” You managed a soft laugh, and he took it as a green light. Clothes came off slowly, your body going through the motions, your limbs moving almost automatically. You let him touch you, kiss your skin like you were something sacred.

But the longer it went on, the more it felt like you were floating somewhere else, outside of yourself. You weren’t here. You were back in the locker room hallway earlier that day, where a pair of WTA players had passed by you and one had snorted, “Guess she’s got a type.” Or in the players’ lounge where someone muttered “tour slut” under their breath like you wouldn’t hear it.

You were in the middle of a thousand online threads you had no business reading, dissecting your life like it was a scandal instead of a heartbreak that led to something real.And now Ben was above you, eyes dark with desire but filled with so much love. His hands on your hips, his lips on your chest. You wanted so badly to stay present for him.

For you. But it felt like you were wearing someone else’s skin. “Babe,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “You okay?” You nodded quickly, lying with your body instead of your words. You pulled him in for a kiss and let him believe everything was fine. But when he entered you, slow and deep, you felt the crack break open.

Your breath hitched—not from pleasure—but from panic. The tears hit before you could stop them. “Wait—Ben, stop.” Your voice shook. He froze instantly, still inside you, concern flashing across his face as he hovered over you. “What? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” You shook your head and pushed against his chest, needing space, needing air.

“I can’t—I’m sorry, I just—I need you to stop.” He moved off of you immediately, sitting back on his heels, wide-eyed and panicked. “Okay, okay, it’s okay,” he said quickly, voice soft but alarmed. “Hey, hey, look at me—what’s going on?” You sat up, pulling the sheets around your chest, your entire body trembling. The tears came harder now, falling freely as your hands covered your face.

Ben slid closer, one hand resting gently on your back. “You’re scaring me, babe. Talk to me. Please.” You took a shaky breath, fingers digging into the sheets. “I just—I can’t stop thinking about what people are saying,” you whispered. “About me. About us.” Ben blinked, confused. “What do you mean? What people?”

You looked up at him then, your face blotchy and wet, voice cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding in. “They’re calling me a slut, Ben. For moving on. For dating you. I hear it around the courts, the lounges, even online. They think I’m just sleeping my way through the tour. They think I never loved him and that I’m just using you because you’re the next hot thing.”

Ben stared at you, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief to anger. His jaw clenched. “Who the fuck is saying this?” You shook your head miserably. “It doesn’t matter. It’s everywhere. I see the looks. The way they talk. Like I’m just some pathetic girl who can’t be alone for more than a second. Like I have no self-respect.” Your voice broke entirely then.

“I thought I was over it. But it’s eating at me. And tonight I just wanted to be with you, I did. But I couldn’t get it out of my head. I felt disgusting.” Ben was silent for a beat, processing, his hand still stroking your back. Then he exhaled slowly, voice tight with restrained fury. “You are not disgusting.” You sniffled, eyes falling to your lap.

He reached for your chin and gently tilted your face back up toward his. “You hear me? None of that shit is true. You’re the strongest person I know. You had your heart broken, you picked yourself up, and you found love again. With me. That’s not something to be ashamed of.” Your bottom lip quivered.“They don’t see it like that.”

“Then fuck them,” he snapped, and your eyes widened slightly at the sharpness in his voice. “I mean it. Fuck anyone who thinks they have the right to talk about you like that. They don’t know you. They don’t know what you’ve been through. And they sure as hell don’t get to make you feel like shit for loving someone again.”

He softened, hands cupping your face now, thumbs wiping away your tears. “You’re allowed to move on. You’re allowed to be happy. And if that makes people uncomfortable, that’s their problem. Not yours.” You finally let out a broken laugh, burying your face in his chest. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Ben held you tighter. “Because it’s cruel. And because it’s personal. But you don’t have to go through it alone.” He kissed your forehead, then the crown of your head, murmuring between each press of his lips. “I got you. You’re mine. And I’m not gonna let them tear you down. Not now, not ever.”

You melted into him, body still trembling but slowly easing in the safety of his arms.“I’m sorry for ruining the moment,” you whispered. He pulled back enough to look at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just hate that you’ve been carrying this by yourself.” His eyes searched yours. m

“From now on, you tell me when it gets too heavy. You don’t have to protect me from it.” You nodded, chest tightening with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere,” he added softly. He leaned in and kissed you gently, not with lust but with love—slow and deliberate, like a promise whispered through skin.You felt yourself finally start to breathe again.

[hugshughes]

Patience is a Virtue C. Loveland

Colston Loveland x fem!Minter!reader

synopsis - Colston gets the trophy, and finally gets the girl.

wc - 3.8k

contains - UNEDITED! this is based off of this request! READER IS COACH MINTER(michigan defensive coordinator)'S DAUGHTER!!!!!!! kissing, hugging, fluff, cursing, stress over the game. guys if u don't like my cute outfit i picked then #1 ur a hater and #2 it's not a big deal! think of something else🤞🤞🤞 cause my Adidas navy handballs with gold accents ARE STAYING. there IS a picture of the outfit im describing but im obvi not gonna stick it in the middle of the fic so if anyone wants that i guess request or message me lols?

an - GUYS PLEASE LET THIS POST LETS PRAY TOGETHER. THIS WAS CUTE. i've been getting the BEST requests lately. i'm on my Michigan FOOTBALL grind. ive spent a long while introducing the jesse minter daughter reader.... she might have to stick around. i want to write for Blake Corum but don't know what to do because literally all i have written for the past week is like "girlfriend or friend of player reader comes to watch their playoff game, reader and love interest kiss after love interest wins game" so... DONT GET ME WRONG I LOVEEEE WRITING THAT SHIT. but it feels so repetitive. BUT THIS? I LOVED THIS. daughter of the coach is so scandalous and i love it. minter is only 40 so like we're just saying he had his daughter (reader) pretty young, like 21. hope u enjoyyyyyyyy ;)!

-

You woke up with a start. Your body jolted as you brain registered a shout somewhere in the room. You sucked in a breath, opening your eyes, only to close them again. You squinted, trying to orient yourself. You were in a hotel room, your brothers were the ones shouting.

You groaned at the realization, then let out a shout when you felt three small bodies land on top of you.

"Holy shit, get off of me!"

They immediately scrambled, most likely going to tell your mom you cursed in their presence. You loved your 3 baby siblings, but they were pains in your ass sometimes.

You heard a faint "she said shit mommy!" in the conjoining hotel room, and rolled your eyes. You sat in bed, stretching, grabbing your phone before grabbing your bag and locking yourself in the bathroom before your mom could scold you so your siblings shut up about it.

Today was the college football playoff championship, and it was safe to say your family members above the age of 8 were stressed. It was 8:11, and you had to be out the door by 9:50. You showered, drying your hair after and then starting to pick your outfit. You brought a lot of different gear, you had not clue what you wanted to wear to the game. You had so much Michigan gear, and even more maize and navy colored clothing, courtesy to your father.

After almost 30 minutes, you decided on a cute denim skirt, a maize long sleeve, and your navy Adidaas Handballs. You perfected your hair and makeup, successfully erasing any signs that you'd only been awake for about an hour.

You came out of the bathroom all put together, your bag and pajamas in hand. Your siblings were sitting on your bed, watching something on the TV. Since you guys had 6 people in your family, you'd gotten two hotel rooms with the connecting door in the middle. You slept in one room with your little sister on the other bed, and your parents and brothers slept in the other room. You walked through the connecting door, checking the time. 9:17.

Your mom was getting ready in the bathroom when you walked into it. You sat on the closed lid toilet and started talking to her about the plans for today.

"You really gotta stop cursing in front of the littles!"

Your mother scolded you, a grin wide on her face. She was joking, of course. You and your parents had always been close, you'd been their baby for the longest. You'd been with them since they were two just married 20 year olds in college. Not that you remembered it, but you were there for all of your dad's junior and senior year games when he played at MSJ. You'd been there through all the coaching jobs. From Cincinnati, to Georgia State, to the Baltimore Ravens, you'd been there through all of it.

You sat with your mom until it was time to go. Your dad corralled everyone together, taking a photo before you all headed to the elevator. When an elevator came, it opened up and there was barely any room unless your parents held two of your siblings, so you told them to go ahead and that you would wait for the next one.

You only waited about a minute before the doors slid open again, revealing none other than Colston Loveland. His eyes lit up, a grin shining on his beautiful face. You'd always had a weird little thing with Colston. No words were ever said about it, but there had always been a vibe between you.

Being the daughter of the defensive coordinator definitely drove a lot of the guys, even ones you had classes and other school related things with, far far away. The boys knew how protective their coach was of his family, and didn't want any bad blood on the team. Something about you just attracted Colston so heavily. He knew he shouldn't even think about it, but he never could help himself.

"Hey coach."

You rolled your eyes at him playfully as you stepped into the elevator. He always called you coach, he had to remind you he was one of your dad's players. You would've loved to forget that for two seconds.

"Hi Cole."

He could've died. You'd called him Cole, instead of Colston. It was the smallest, most insignificant little thing, but it made him melt.

"Where's your family at?"

You tilted your head towards him, he wanted to talk, okay. You smiled at him, he loved it.

"The other elevator was too full, some of the guys were on the way down too."

He nodded, the smirk never leaving his face. You thought about kissing it off of him, then realized you had just thought of kissing his smirk off of him. Shit. You were in deep with this kid, and there was little to no chance anything would ever happen.

The elevator reached the lobby, and Colston gestured for you to step out first. You exited the elevator, the boy hot on your tail. You were immediately greeted by a hallway packed full of Michigan players, coaches, families, and more.

You have Colston one last glance and smile before finding your mom, taking your baby brother out of her arms and into yours, playing with him. Colston's eyes followed you, he admired you as you smiled and laughed with your brother. You were perfect. He was gonna have to find a way to get around the fact that you were his coach's daughter.

You held your brother with one arm and your sisters hand with the other as you smiled at the cameras, walking through to the buses. Your family followed behind the rest of the coaches and families, the team trailing behind you.

The ride to NRG took longer than you assumed it would, almost an hour because of the traffic, and it didn't help that everyone could tell that the buses were transporting one of the CFP Championship teams in them.

Everyone went into the stadium together, through some backstage type area. You walked with the team until you had to go separate ways. You hugged your dad, squeezing him tight. You would see him again before the game, so you saved your 'Good luck, I love you Dad.' sentiment for then.

You'd always had a special connection with your dad, you were closer to him than almost anyone else. You were his baby, his first baby. Still, you were his baby in his eyes. Your dad would do anything for you, and he was quite protective. Though he was protective, all he wanted was for you to be happy, and if it meant dating one of his guys, he would have no problem with it.

Your family sat bored in the box of the stadium, looking down on the field as Washington practiced. There was over 6 more hours till the game started, and there was practically nothing to do.

You took a nap on the carpeted floor of the box with your siblings for a couple hours, your mother snapping photos that although you were embarrassed of, were undeniably cute. Once you guys had woken up, there was about 2 hours till game time. You voted with your family on whether you guys wanted to stay in the box, or sit way close to the field. You all wanted to be closer to the field, you wanted to see the action head on.

Your family departed the box, along with a few others to see the team one more time before the game. You got down onto the field in about 20 minutes, and stood with your dad for awhile. When you were being told it was time to go, you quickly hugged your dad.

"Good luck, I love you!"

He thanked you, saying the three words back as you guys waved at him, going to leave. Your eyes caught on a certain brunette as he ran off the field, his eyes finding you quickly. He smiled at you, ugh, that smile.

"Good luck, Cole!"

You smiled at him, right before you turned to go up the tunnel. More and more fans started to pour in as you got settled into your bleacher seats. You were three rows from the bottom with a perfect view of the field. You settled in as the national anthem ended and the game began.

As the game progressed, you were so happy to say that Michigan was winning, the entire time. You'd caught Colston's eyes multiple times during the game, letting it linger for a few seconds before giving him a stern look and gesturing towards the field. He'd mouth back, 'okay, coach.' and turn back around. Your mother caught the interaction once, her heart warming seeing her baby with a crush.

You stood up, your brother in your arms as you jumped up and down, shouting, Michigan had finally won! You cheered and danced around with your little siblings as you celebrated. You were all so insanely proud of your dad. Soon though, you were being escorted to the field, eager to see your father and congratulate him.

Blood was pumping and hearts were racing as you exited the tunnel, smiles burned onto your faces as you went to look for your dad. You held your sister's hand as you two ran around, trying to find him. Your mom shouted, and you turned to look at her. She pointed to your left, and there stood your dad, hugging one of his players. Your sister went back to your mom, to walk over to your dad with her as you all but sprinted over to your dad, weaving in between sweaty boys and families.

Your dad saw you incoming and held his arms out accepting your forceful hug. You both laughed, your dad squeezing you tightly. Your best friend had finally done it.

"Literally told you you would do it."

He laughed again, agreeing as he laid a kiss to your temple, pulling back with one arm to accept your other siblings into the hug, who'd finally made their way over. After a minute, you took your siblings from your dad so your mom could hug him, and kiss him, much to your brothers' disgust.

After talking with your dad for a little, you spotted a familiar 6'5 frame standing by himself as his teammates walked away from him. You sauntered over, shouting his name when you were in earshot. The brunette quickly turned around, the smile already gracing his face deepening.

"Well hi, coach."

"Congratulations, Cole. You know your catches were pretty legit."

You gave him a slightly impressed face, shrugging your shoulders. He laughed, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You can't win 'em all over, can you?"

You laughed in turn, stepping closer to him. Colston's heart was racing as he looked down into your eyes.

"But really, Cole, you were incredible, serious."

He nodded, accepting your praise with a grin, before he looked around, over-exaggerating a look of being in thought.

"You know, coach, I think I might just deserve a reward, for my quote incredible performance."

Your eyes widened, your heart starting off, faster and faster.

"Really? What might that entail, Cole?"

Shit, he was gonna have to kiss you if you kept calling him that. He was about to take the leap. He knew he had to at some point, and he was on an adrenaline rush, that just chanted at him to do it.

"Well I think it entails you accepting a date with me back in Michigan."

Your jaw dropped slightly, you were dumbfounded. Colston really wanted to go on a date with you?

"For real?"

Colston nodded, seemingly confident, though he was shaking in his boots on the inside.

"Well then, I think we can make that work."

Colston's heart erupted. He literally could not have been happier. He'd just won the Natty, and got his dream girl to agree to a date, holy fuck. You got nervous all of the sudden, leaning up to kiss his cheek, before turning to leave.

"Just text me, Cole!"

He nodded, his eyes following you as you went to go find your family again. His family came back over to him, they'd been gone for just a second but stopped and waited when they saw him talking to you. His family, especially his mom, knew quite a bit about you.

You found your family, immediately grabbing your moms hand to pull her a few steps away. You looked at her with the biggest eyes ever, still in shock over what had just happened.

"What's up, sweetheart? Why are you all, thousand yard stare-y?"

"Mom Colston just asked me out, and I said yes! And then I kissed his cheek! And then I left!"

Your mom laughed, her baby was finally growing up. You'd had a few boyfriends in all your days, but you'd never been proper crushing like you were right now.

"That's so good! I knew this was coming, we just had to wait for one of you to get the courage."

You blushed, hiding your face in your hands. Your smile suddenly dropped, a realization coming to you.

"Is dad gonna hate me?"

"Why would I hate you?"

Shit.

You ended up telling your dad later on in the night, when you were tired and sitting in the back of a restaurant the team was celebrating in. Your family didn't party for too long, having a 4, 7, and 8 year old didn't exactly allow you guys to stay out for too long. Even your parents 19 year old daughter got a bit cranky if she stayed out too late.

When you told your dad, he just laughed. He knew you and Colston had things for each other, he was waiting for the tight end to make a move.

-

You were stressing. Tonight was your date with Colston. You sat at your vanity, ranting to your roommate over it. You put on makeup and did your hair, wanting to look cute but not over the top.

Colston had told you to wear comfy clothes, so you were in one of your most common outfits. Leggings and a Michigan sweatshirt. You stared at yourself in the mirror, doubting yourself. You had known Colston for over a year, almost two, but you didn't really know him that well. You wanted him to like you so badly.

"Babe, you look fantastic. He's going to stare at you all night."

You sighed at your roommate's encouragement. But before you could respond, you got a text from Colston. He was outside your dorm building. Your roommate pushed you straight out the door, saying bye.

You went down the stairs quickly, making your way out of the complex. You saw Colston as you opened the door, slipping out. He looked up and smiled at you, his stupid beautiful smile.

"Hey, Gorgeous."

You felt the heat on your face even in the Ann Arbor cold. You smiled, shaking your head as you gave him a spin, showing off your extra casual outfit.

"Even in this ensemble?"

He nodded, his smile deepening. He pulled you into his side, hugging you. You were immediately enveloped in his warmth. You ducked your head down to hide the shock in your eyes. He smelled really good.

When you pulled away Colston led you to his car, opening the door for you before going around and getting in. You two buckled up before Colston pulled out of the parking spot, setting off into Ann Arbor. He gave you the aux, warming your heart. You both knew he probably didn't listen to the same music as you, but he wanted you to listen to whatever you liked.

Smaller Acts by Zach Bryan came on when you hit shuffle on your main playlist, making you smile. You resonated with the song, always having thought that smaller acts of love were more important than any grand gestures. You got to really look at Colston while he drove. He kept his eyes right on the road always, until you got to a red light, that's when you'd jerk your head back forward as he turned to look at you. He was really pretty, his jaw was so insanely defined, he had a strong neck, and the deepest brown eyes. You stared at the tattoo on his left forearm, he was hot, to put it simply.

You drove for around 40 minutes before the car slowed, pulling onto a gravel driveway. You looked out of your window, seeing a large screen and projector, and lots of cars. He had brought you to a drive in movie. You could've cried when you saw the sign reading the movie you would be seeing. Ocean's 11. The very first time you ever talked to Colston, he'd asked you your favorite movie. You said you couldn't pick one, then settled on Ocean's 11 because it was one you'd seen so many times you could quote any scene.

You couldn't believe he remembered. You'd never mentioned it since then. That was the kind of smaller, seemingly insignificant thing that meant the world to you. You jerked your head to the left, staring at Colston with wide eyes. He was dealing with the tickets for a few seconds before you pulled into a spot, then he finally looked to you.

"Cole, I cannot believe that you remembered."

Colston smiled, and on the inside he was celebrating that you loved it. What he hadn't expected though was you leaning over the console and hugging him. It was honestly the sweetest thing any guy had ever done for you, you were beyond grateful for this boy, and it was your first date.

"This is the sweetest thing a guy's ever done for me, I'm being serious."

Though you were mostly saying that about the fact that he'd remembered, the date itself was also amazing. Colston knew you enough to know that you'd have preferred this over any fancy restaurant, and that meant a lot.

"It's the least I could do, coach. You mean something to me, 'm gonna take care of you."

You just squirmed in your seat, getting more comfortable and smiling as you looked ahead of you. You wordlessly reached over and slipped your hand into his, pulling them into your lap.

Colston was so happy he could've gotten out of the car and started dancing. He acted as cool as he could on the outside. You two settled in as the movie began.

At some point, Colston had reached back into the backseat and grabbed a blanket that he tossed into your lap, and a bag of food and snacks.

You traced your free hand over Colston's tattoo, admiring the line work and shading. The movie ended, and Colston's hand stayed with you as you two began the drive back. You fell asleep on the drive, your head leaning against Colston's arm.

You woke up slowly about 5 minutes out from school. You kept your head on Colston's arm, but allowed yourself to carelessly stare at him in your tired state. At a stoplight, he turned to look at you, smiling deeply when his eyes met your sleepy ones.

"Hey, coach. Nap good?"

You smiled and nodded, yawning at him. He laughed lowly, turning his head back when the light went green. You parked outside your building, dampening your heart. The night had been perfect. You sleepily got out of Colston's car, after he told you to not dare opening your own door. He walked you up to the entrance with his hand on your back, rubbing his fingers back and forth lightly.

When you got to the door you stopped and turned around, wrapping your arms around his middle.

"Thank you so much Colston. This was like, the best date I think ever."

He smiled, hugging you tightly. Colston had the best time, obviously you were gorgeous, but getting to talk to you one-on-one without interruptions was his idea of a good time. His insides melted whenever you fell asleep, and before then, he could've swore he was in love while you traced over his tattoo.

You pulled away from him, looking at the boy through heavy eyes. He looked absolutely handsome in the dim lighting of a street lamp. You put your hands on his shoulders, leaning up and kissing him. You probably wouldn't have if your drowzy mind hadn't commanded you to. Obviously you wanted to, but you weren't sure if it was 100% mutual yet, but it was.

Colston's hands went to hold the back of your head, his hands in your hair. He kept the kiss shorter than you would've liked, knowing you were tired.

You looked up at him with stars in your eyes, a smiling fighting its way onto you face. Colston's hands shifted from your hair to your jaw, rubbing his thumb over your cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow baby."

Your blown out eyes widened at the name, your heart clenching in your chest. Colston saw the reaction, his lips quirking up the slightest bit.

"I'll see you, Loveland."

You let go of him, turning towards the door. You paused for a second, quickly turning back around and kissing Colston again. Colston's hands grabbed at your hips, pulling you closer. Colston smiled brightly into the kiss, giggling to himself.

You pulled away from him, a grin falling to your face.

"You ever gonna let me leave, coach?"

"Thinkin' about it."

"You get inside, gorgeous. It's too cold for you to be out here."

You smiled, nodding at him, letting go of him for the last time.

"You gotta go too, off season just started. You gotta stay on your A-Game Loveland."

He laughed at you, shaking his head as he watched you walk into the dorm complex, turning the corner and out of his sight. You ran back up the stairs and to your room, squealing like a 13 year old as you described your date to your roommate.

Colston sat in his car, texting his mom that everything went well. When he put his phone away, he finally let himself think that you were the girl he'd want to be with forever. It was finally real. The boy just had to be patient.

[stellacartography]

Let Us Be Gay image care of pre-code.com

Day 10 Coat | Grimace | Paper

"A bit on the nose, yeah?"

They were sitting close together before the screen in Mycroft's theatre. Their shoes were somewhere by the front door. Greg's winter coat was hung in the cupboard. Greg himself sat curled in his socks on the champagne velvet setee under a plush throw blanket.

"Let Us Be Gay is meant in the older, more traditional sense of happy or carefree. Although it is a pre-code film, the most scandalous thing about it is the ending. At least, from a modern perspective. I'm sure the audience in 1930 found the divorce storyline most titllating."

Mycroft glanced at Greg. He was looking much steadier since they'd eaten. He'd had a bit of a peaky, haggard air about him when he'd first opened the bottle. Now, the whisky was bringing out the roses in his cheeks and the mischief in his smile.

"Is this what you do with your free time, then? Watch old movies?"

"With the little that I have, yes. Although I've been known to work from this very settee on a Sunday afternoon."

"That so? You'll have to let me join you next time. I wouldn't mind working the weekend from here."

Bold, Mycroft thought, eyeing Greg's glass. "You would be most welcome."

"Long as I don't ruin it this evening. You going to give me the boot if I talk through the film?"

"Hardly. Why do you imagine I have my own cinema? I prefer not to constrain my own reactions."

"You like to talk during films?"

"Both to and about the characters. If it becomes unbearable you must say."

"Oh, I think I can handle that."

Mycroft started the film and dimmed the lights. He returned to the settee with a pouf which he dropped in front of Greg.

"I can retrieve another if you'd rather not share."

The title screen lit up the room.

"Film's starting. No time. We'll have to share."

Greg reached up and tugged Mycroft by the arm. Mycroft settled beside Greg. They were closer now as they shifted to prop their feet on the pouf. The film began with Kitty fussing over her husband, Bob.

"She's a gorgeous creature."

"Mmm," Mycroft agreed. "Norma Shearer. She became quite a decorated actress after this."

"For this film?"

"No, but I like her in this one."

As the story progressed and Bob's girlfriend appeared at the door, Greg became agitated.

"Are you joking? He invited his girlfriend to the house?"

"Men behaving badly."

"Are you sure this is a funny one?"

"It is a comedy in the strictest sense," Mycroft said as Kitty wept on the screen.

They sat watching quietly for long minutes. Greg was close but not quite touching Mycroft's side. Their legs rested on either side of the invisible border down the centre of the pouf. Their hands sat relaxed in their own laps and Mycroft could feel the heat of Greg's arm through both of their shirts and the breath of air between them.

When their heroine reappeared, Greg whistled, "What a makeover! Divorce looks good on her."

"It does have that effect on some people."

"Yeah, still waiting on my post-divorce glow up," Greg murmured ruefully. Mycroft wasn't sure he was meant to comment until Greg nudged his side and prompted, "This is where a good friend would say, 'You don't need it, Greg.'"

Mycroft looked at Greg sidelong. "You don't need it, Greg," he said.

A surprised grin dawned on Greg's face and the softly spoken "Thanks Mycroft" was so heartfelt that Mycroft couldn't think of anything else to say.

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