#tiny confetti stream

[sometimesanalice]

Save Your Midnights for Me

Summary: This year has thrown you through a loop. You lost your job, you moved to San Diego, and you reunited with your summer crush from all those years ago who still is just as handsome as ever. As the clock ticks down, you can’t help but wonder what the new year might have in store for you.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 9k

Warnings: fluff and two pining idiots in love

(Author’s note: this one is for the hopeful romantics! Happy New Year, friends!)

You’ve always loved New Year’s Eve. The excitement, the fun, the champagne, the confetti. Everyone riding the high of the hope and potential of the new year ahead.

But tonight, you were on the clock instead of watching as it inched closer and closer to midnight with every tick of the second hand.

The evening has been a whirlwind of cheerful faces as you pour pint after pint of frothy, cold beers. Your arms were definitely feeling the burn of all the margaritas and whiskey sours you’ve been serving up. You were putting all your well-earned practice from the last four months of working at the Hard Deck into good use for the steady stream of Naval patrons who had come to gather and celebrate.

But you liked the steady flow. It kept you focused; it kept you busy. With your head down and your thoughts occupied with tasks and orders and drink recipes and tabs, it spared you from having to see Bradley with the girl in the silver dress who was making it more than clear whose midnight kiss she was after.

Bradley Bradshaw had been the star in all your daydreams growing up. You just never could have anticipated that you still wouldn’t be able to kick that summer crush on him, even all these years later.

This year… hadn’t been the greatest.

The meeting you’d thought was going to be the start of a new chapter in your career with that promotion you’d been hoping and working so hard for had ended with you clearing out your desk and turning in your ID badge, but not even the decent severance package they sent you out the door with could have cushioned that blow.

You’d been laid off from your tech job just in time for your industry to be hit with hiring freezes so glacial it felt like there must have been a breakthrough in global warming, as if the ice caps weren’t melting.

You spent days then weeks then months applying and interviewing on repeat like a groundhog’s day from hell, only to encounter more closed doors than open ones. Had enough ever-so-casual networking coffee chats that you were pretty sure you’d need to switch to decaf if you still wanted to have some functioning adrenal glands by the time you were fifty.

Coming close- so, so close- so many times. Having the final decision come between you and another candidate only for your fingertips to slip off the edge at the very last moment.

Still freefalling the same way you’d been since you’d first been let go.

With your savings dwindling and spirits low, you’d decided that what you needed most was to decompress and reassess. And where better than the place where some of your favorite memories had been made.

All it had taken was one call to your Aunt Penny for the little strands of silver lining to peek out from behind the gray clouds that had filled your skies lately.

By the end of the conversation not only did you have a place to land- the furnished loft above the garage with an ocean view from the tiny kitchen- but also a just-for-now job too, getting to work with her at the bar. Something to help get you back on your feet while the dust of your imploded life settled around you as you figured out your next move.

You weren’t known for staying in any place too long as it was, so it had been easy to pack up and leave the city you’d been living in for the Southern California sun, feeling lighter than you had in ages.

Your mom’s longtime best friend was quite possibly one of your favorite people on Earth. And still is.

There was nothing you looked forward to more than those summers you got to spend in San Diego, when you got to trade your textbooks for days out on the boat. Your family would rent at home near the Benjamin beach house and for almost two months it was carefree days of endless blue water and sand between your toes.

But without a doubt, the highlight of your summer was always Bradley Bradshaw.

A few years older than you, he’d been the cute boy who was the object of all your daydreams. You couldn’t remember who you first celebrity crush was, but you definitely remembered the boy with the curly brown hair who was responsible for giving you butterflies in your stomach for the very first time.

While your brother was more than fine trying to ditch you at every turn, Bradley had always made you feel like you were right where you were supposed to be. He always made you feel included. He had been the one to teach you how to wakeboard, gave you his free dole whip when he made a hole-in-one at Tiki Town, and sat next to you the first time you ever rode the Giant Dipper Roller Coaster.

Even though Penny and Mav’s relationship had been on and off for years, Bradley had remained a steady presence in your life every July and August.

Until the one summer when he didn’t show up.

You’d sat on the stairs with your arms wrapped around your knees that first night and listened on as your mom and Penny talked, piecing together the explanation for Bradley’s absence and why your aunt was dating the uninteresting man you’d met earlier that night at dinner.

The sun, the sand, and the sights were all the same. And yet everything had changed after that.

That had been your last San Diego summer.

You moved on, you went to college, you grew up. But you had never forgotten the boy who had made you feel like sunshine.

You’d always hoped he remembered you just as fondly.

When you heard that Penny and Mav were back together, you thought there might be a chance to see him again, you were always curious about how things had turned out for you. You just never expected for him to quite literally crash back into your life.

Or for all of those sun-warmed feelings came rushing back.

It was your third day of working at the Hard Deck.

You were still getting use to the lay of the land- and announcing corner whenever you made your way out of the stockroom- when you’d come out of the back with your arms full of refill napkins packs only to collide with a wall of muscles with a less than dignified oof.

“Oh, shit!” The hand that reached out to grasp your hip was probably the only reason you hadn’t landed on your ass, even as the napkins went everywhere. “Sorry, that was my- wait, Bee?”

The nickname from your younger years was exclusively reserved for close family and friends. Shortened over time from busy bee, a name your mom still wrote in your birthday and Christmas cards, because of the way you were always pursuing new activities with the kind of intense tenacity only found in the most precocious of kids.

Although, no one who’d known you squarely post-braces had ever called you that before. And definitely not anyone so solidly built with such a masculine, raspy voice.

But you knew those rich brown eyes and sun-streaked curls.

Just like you knew that under the soft looking linen blend shirt there’d be freckles dotted along his shoulder. Just like you knew that he was left-handed but preferred to throw a baseball with his right. Just like you knew he rode the Beach Blaster four times in a row that one time, not because he liked it, but because he was trying to get over his fear of heights.

“Bradley?” The right side of his mouth pulled up in a smile, seemingly pleased you recognized him. “Bradley Bradshaw?” you repeat, because even though he was standing less than three feet away from you, your brain was having a hard time processing the boy you’d known was now the man in front of you.

You hadn’t seen him since you were fifteen.

Although, you did try to look him up once in college when you and your roommates were tipsy off cheap sparkling wine and talking about first crushes. Giggling over poor choices and high-fiving over the ones who still Had It. Only when it was your turn, you’d found out pretty quick that he wasn’t on any socials- at least none that the four of you could sleuth out drunk on sheer determination and peach Andre. They’d let you have the rest of the bottle as a consolation prize when you’d all come up emptyhanded.

Bradley Bradshaw had remained a mystery to you, until that moment.

Gone was any trace of baby fat from his familiar face, replaced with a defined jaw and crinkles around the corners of his eyes. There were scars on his cheek and neck that hadn’t been there before, but the smile underneath that mustache was the same one from those summers all those years ago.

“It’s been a long time, huh?” Bradley said.

The only difference was the cute boy you’d known growing up was now quite possibly the most handsome man you’d ever seen.

“How’d you get even hotter?” you blurted. It only took a split second for your brain to catch up with your mouth, wincing at the words that hung in the air unable to take them back.

Bradley’s eyes widened in surprise just for a moment before he laughed. Loud and unguarded and amused.

Mortified and flustered you drop down to your knees to pick up the scattered brown craft paper wrapped bundles of napkins that littered the narrow hallway. His presence- and bulk- filling up the already small space.

He kneeled down next to you, helping to collect the packs. “I don’t know about ‘hotter’, but probably taller since that last time I saw you.” You couldn’t help but notice how big his hands were as he reached for the furthest one that was sent flying as victim of your two-person Big Bang.

And broader, you think.

“We’ve been doing a lot of push-ups lately,” Bradley chuckled, “I keep telling the squad to stop underestimating the old man, but they never learn. They’re still just as competitive as ever.”

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, needing a rock to crawl under. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that ruffled around a man before. So caught off guard that all semblance of casually cool had left the building. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, and attempted to diffuse the situation with some self-deprecating humor, “Well, I wish second puberty had been as kind to me as it was for you.”

“From what I can see, it looks like it was pretty damn kind to you too.”

You’d pressed your lips together and fought back grin as you shook your head, reaching for another bundle. The last thing you’d needed was for him to be charming too.

You felt his gaze on the side of your face, like he was trying to catch your eye, and when you couldn’t avoid it any further without making it weird you met those warmer than cinnamon brown eyes.

“It’s good to see you again.” There was an earnest smile still in place on his face as he passed you the napkins he’d collected from his side of the hall.

He looked at you- probably the same way you’d been looking at him only a couple moments ago- trying to reconcile the carefree girl with the stunned woman in front of him, seeing what changes could be picked out on a face that hadn’t been seen in over a decade. You didn’t dare call it interest that was flickering in his eyes, but you could safely say there was at least some curiosity reflected in them.

You knew he wasn’t flirting, just trying to make you feel better less awkward about your earlier slip. Playing along the same way he did when he’d sabotage your brother at the water gun war game at Belmont Park so that you could stand a chance at winning a stuffed animal prize.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” you replied, meaning it as you gave him a smile of your own for the first time and watching as his own grew a little wider.

“Bee? Did you find them? The napkins should be-” Penny came rounding the corner, taking in the scene in front of her and who you’d been delayed by. Your whole body jolted like she’d caught you playing 7 Minutes in Heaven instead of crouching on the floor. “Oh, I see you’ve found Rooster. And the napkins.”

“It was my bad, Penny, I plowed right into her,” Bradley- Rooster?- said standing back up, wrapping a hand under your elbow to help guide you up to your feet.

“Sorry, I’ll be right there,” you told her, gesturing with your napkin filled arms. He was quick to reach out and catch one of the slipping packs from the top of the pile before it could fall to the ground again, helping you to get them better situated and less like a Jenga stack waiting to collapse.

“There’s no rush. I just wanted to make sure you were finding everything alright.” Her eyes drifted back and forth between the two of you, before landing on him and flicking down to the hand still on your elbow. “Hey, since you’re here, would you mind grabbing a fresh keg of the Stone Brewing lager for me?”

He nodded, letting go of you and hooking his thumbs into his front pockets. “Sure thing, can do.”

“Thank you, Bradley. And Bee,” she continued, turning back to you, “You can just bring those up when you’re ready.” You didn’t know what to make of the smile she gave you before she’d set off back to the bar.

The two of you stood there in silence for a few moments, although it hadn’t been the uncomfortable kind.

Bradley cleared his throat, his mouth quirking to one side. “I feel like there’s some kind of ‘the birds and the bees’ joke here. One I’m not qualified to make since you were always the funnier one of the two of us.”

That time it was your turn to laugh. You were more than a little pleased when his deeper one mixed with yours.

You warred with yourself- still holding those damn napkins- whether or not to wrap things up and go take them to Penny, but you wanted to know more.

“Rooster?” you’d asked, tilting your head at him in question.

“Believe it or not, I finally got past that fear of heights,” he explained, “I’m a pilot now.” You felt your smile grow on its own, it was something he’d always talked about. You were happy to learn he’d made it happen for himself. “Rooster is my callsign.”

It was a name you’d heard a few times since moving into the loft above the garage. The way Penny said it always made it seem like you should know who she was talking about, you just hadn’t taken a moment to ask, figuring that you’d meet this mysterious ‘Rooster’ eventually. You just never would have guessed you already knew him.

You told him as much, adding on, “Maybe she thought we’d kept in touch.”

“I would have liked that.” You ignored the fluttering low in your stomach. There was something in his voice that made your mouth go a little dry. “What’re you doing later? Are you here for long? I’d like to catch up, if you have time for an old friend.”

Friend.

The word shook you out of whatever Bradley Bradshaw induced haze you’d found yourself in.

You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but one thing was for sure, all the two of you were ever going to be was platonic. It was a necessary reminder before any coconut sunscreen scented daydreams tempted you off course.

A smile stayed plastered to your face, one that felt more forced than it had been a few heartbeats ago, “I’m behind the bar until midnight, but I’ll be your friendly neighborhood bartender for the foreseeable future.”

Bradley grinned. “Guess, I’ll be seeing you around then, Bee.”

“I guess you will, Rooster.”

And you did.

You went from not seeing Bradley Bradshaw for over a decade to seeing him multiple times a week.

He kept you company at the bartop, swiveling on his stool, on slow nights as you found little projects to keep yourself occupied, like polishing and reorganizing the Hard Deck’s glassware collection. Filling each other in on the important things and people that had helped shaped the two of you into the adults that you’d grown into.

Rooster introduced you to his friends and teammates, making you feel not only included but liked you belonged in that same way he had when you were kids. Seamlessly bringing up common interests you shared with the people closest to him, giving you something to connect with them on your own outside of him. Always taking the initiative to extend invites your way to hang out at the beach or to check out the best spot for breakfast or to experience a Padres game complete with an unofficial culinary food tour of Petco Park.

He helped you paint the kitchenette in the loft a soft blue- with your aunt’s permission, of course. Meticulously taping off the countertop edges and cabinets, yet somehow ending up wearing more paint on an old, tightfitting UVA shirt that had seen better days than he got on the wall.  

And on Sunday nights he was seated across from you at the oak dining table with Amelia, Penny, and Pete for the weekly dinner the five of you all had together. They’d been back together for over a year now, and it seemed like it was for good this time based on the way they looked at each other. Your aunt was noticeably happier than she’d been even just a few years ago, that spark back that had been dimmed from an unhappy marriage.

You were happy for her and Mav.

He’d even taken you for a spin on his motorcycle. It was a one and done event, reaffirming what you already knew, that you were more of a four-wheel girl than a two-wheel one.

When you weren’t at the bar or working on the few remote side gigs you’d taken on to keep your skills feeling fresh, you were helping Amelia learn to code. It wasn’t your forte, but you were having fun spending time with her and teaching her what you did know. And in return, she’d help you to revamp your wardrobe a bit. You thought California cool looked good on you.

There had been a brief moment when you’d been packing up your old apartment when you’d worried about being lonely in San Diego not knowing anyone outside of your family, but you were the furthest thing from lonely and you had Bradley to thank for that.

It was nice to have friend.

However, you were finding that crush on him harder to get over than you anticipated.

You still get annoyed at yourself when he smiles at you a certain way making your cheeks heat up and your stomach flip. Although, you try not to be too hard on yourself because he’s genuinely kind and good looking and you’re only human. God knows you’ve seen enough people notice him too from your perch behind the bar.

But there were worse problems to have.

You had spent that morning getting the Hard Deck decorated for the big New Year’s Eve party.

As the first to arrive, you’d gotten the coffee going on the ancient coffee maker that you were trying your hardest to get Penny to replace when a big hand skimmed the side of your waist, reaching past you to steal the cup you’d just poured for yourself.

You turned to see a sleepy looking Bradley standing behind you, his curled looked more like they were fresh off his pillow than the way you usually saw them styled.

“It’s too early for this.” You watched as he took a big swig from the cup, wincing as he registered just how hot Jimmy’s machine had brewed the coffee, just a couple degrees below scalding.

You gave him an unimpressed look, “Says the man who routinely wakes up at 5am for a sunrise run.”

“It’s the weekend, Bee,” Bradley said like it explained everything.

“It’s a Wednesday.”

“Schematics.” He took another deep sip of your coffee, but not before you caught the mischievous way his mouth was curved upwards. “Everyone knows the days between Christmas and New Years Day are the Wild West of the calendar year, every day is a weekend day from the 26th to the 1st.”

You actually hadn’t seen Rooster since Christmas.

You’d decided to spend the holiday in San Diego since your parents had decided this was the year they were finally going to check out the Christmas markets in Europe like they’ve always wanted too. And you didn’t want to crash your brother’s first Christmas as a dad, instead you’d sent the most obnoxious baby toy you could find online in addition to a silky soft stuffed rabbit with your niece’s name embroidered on the ear.

When you opened the front door with the pretty stained glass sailing boat picture window, you’d been surprised to see Bradley standing there with a white faux fur trimmed Santa hat and holding a bag with unexpectedly well wrapped presents in one hand and a creamy, cranberry-colored pie in the other.

Your hand stayed glued to the doorknob as his eyes trailed over you. The house had been warm but a shiver still worked its way through your body as he took in your festive pajamas.

Before he could say anything Amelia ever-so-helpfully pointed out the mistletoe you’d conveniently forgotten about that had been hung above the wood door. Frankly, she sounded a bit too enthusiastic about it.

He mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like little punk, although his tone was so affectionate that you thought you must have misheard him. But you didn’t get to think on it for too long because then he was leaning in, in, in.

Your heart shot straight into your throat at the first prickle of his mustache and then the slightly dry lips as they brushed against your cheek for the briefest of moments.

And then he pulled away all too soon.

Friend. Friend. Friend. You tried to remind yourself, but your heart was too aflutter to get the message.

He looked you straight in the eyes as he stepped back, “Can you do me a favor, Bee?”

You must have made a sound that was close enough to an mhm, because then he passed you the bag of presents and the pie waiting only long enough to make sure you had a good hold on them both before darting around you to chase after Amelia.

Amelia squealed when Bradley caught her, ducking his head down to drop a playfully chaotic kiss on her cheek.

He ended up giving Penny and Mav the same treatment too. Although Pete shoved him away good-naturedly when he tried to plant a particularly sloppy one on him.

All while your feet stayed glued to the same spot they were when he kissed you.

But that was six days ago. Probably the longest stint without seeing him since you collided with him that afternoon a few months ago.

The smell of strong coffee and cinnamon had coaxed you back into the moment, and you’d shook your head a bit like that would help you clear your mind with Bradley standing so close to you again.

“I don’t think it’ll take us too long,” you declared, trying to get focused back on the task at hand- that being the unofficial head of the NYE decorating committee, “I even made us a schedule.”

“Of course you did. Is it color-coded?” he asked over the rim of the chipped mug.

“And if it is?” you countered, unashamed of your planning. And then there was that damn smile of his.

“Then I’m really going to need this coffee,” he winked, and poured you a cup of your own.

You’d been right though. With everyone pitching in things came together rather quickly.

The morning moving steadily as the Christmas decorations were replaced with classic the gold and white and black color scheme you’d went with for the party. The silver tinsel tree covered in beach themed shaped ornaments with a few planes hung about by the front door might have stood out at odds with everything else, but metallic was a neutral in your book so you’d opted to keep the cheerful tree up just a little bit longer and tucked a few party blowers into the branches to tie it in with the rest of the space.

It was easy for you to get in the zone, delegating and divvying up the tasks on your color-coded schedule, putting all your project tracking skills to use. There were dozens of strands of string lights that had to gone up on the ceiling and along the walls. All of the windows with the snowflake cut outs you and Amelia had made for Christmas were framed in a metallic fringe. There was a station with hats and headbands and glasses in case anyone was feeling particularly festive. The tables and booths had been stocked with noise makers and confetti poppers in addition to the mirrorball centerpieces and confetti scatter.

Everything sparkled and shined, the light bouncing off everything gave the bar a wonderfully hazy glow, it was the perfect ambiance for the most hopeful night of the year.

At one point, you’d been working on hanging up some dangling golden stars from one of the ceramic mug rounders only to find Bradley standing there at the base of the ladder behind you with a well-defined arm stretched out just in case you lost balance.

And then just like that, your focus went out the window. Because then he was everywhere. He made it impossible for you to not notice him, especially since so many of your jobs and his overlapped, something you’d come to regret more and more as the hours went by.

You’d been working on tying off balloons and lamenting the fact you didn’t order another pump with the tying tool, when you’d decided to take a break to massage your numb fingertips. You looked up to check the progress made with fresh eyes, to see Rooster on a ladder helping Mav to get the netting set up for the balloon drop.

The athletic shorts he’d been wearing were hanging low on his hips. And as he reached up to hand Pete another nail it caused his t-shirt to ride up giving you a glimpse of toned stomach and tantalizing v-lines. It was just as tempting as it was taunting.

You’d switched to ice water after that.

The image was seared into your mind for the rest of the afternoon. Not even the freezing cold shower you’d hopped into the second you made it back to your loft to freshen up before the party had helped. Neither had the rushed orgasm to take the edge off, because it wasn’t your own fingers that you wanted.

He’d found you before the party well and truly started.

You’d been double checking all the prep, making sure you had the bar stocked up as was possible without losing any valuable space, when you felt a hand on your back. Bradley was dressed up in a navy suit that fit him in all the right places, looking more handsome than you knew possible. All broad shoulders and thick thighs. The top button of his pristinely pressed white shirt undone, giving you a peek at the divot base of his throat.

You weren’t sure what made you more flustered, that hint of his neck or the skin under his bellybutton that you’d seen only a couple hours ago.

A soft smile coasted over his face as he took in your New Years’ Eve finest. “You look-”

“I know, rhinestones for New Years’ Eve, how groundbreaking,” you joked, cutting him off and giving your best Miranda Priestly impression.

You were wearing a black velvet jumpsuit for the party. You loved the way it fit the curves of your body and the way the halter top made your collarbones and shoulders look. There was just a hint of skin with the keyhole near the bust. But it was also practical- right down to your plain black no-show panties you had on- so you could move easily without worrying about giving anyone an eyeful. It wasn’t the flashiest of outfits, there’d be more than enough sequins later on, but the way Bradley was looking at you made it feel like your off the rack might as well be haute couture.

“I was going to say, you look good. Really good.” Bradley takes his time letting his eyes drag down your body, his cheek kicking up when he lands on your shoes. “I especially like the birks, they tie the whole look together.”

The clogs you were wearing were decidedly unsexy, not many people could pull of the potato shoe, but you weren’t there as a party guest, you still had work to do and your night was just getting started. “I don’t think stilettos and stouts would mix together very well,” you said by way of explanation.

Bradley chuckled and reached out taking an end of the little rhinestone bow that dangled from right beneath your neck where the straps met and twirled it between his fingers for a moment. “I think this might be my favorite part though,” he rasps lowly. There was an intensity in his eyes directed at you that you hadn’t seen before.

For a moment it looked like he was about to say more, and then a glass shattered.

The sound of it caused you to crash back into your body.

“And so it begins,” you announced, taking a half step backwards and out of his touch, that rhinestone cord falling back against your sternum with a gentle thud that you felt reverberate in your chest.

You heard him say your name, but you were already setting off for a broom.

So you’d kept your head down and your hands busy.

It felt like for every drink you made, two more were ordered. Barely noticing as the final minutes of this year flew by while you garnished drinks with bright cherries and slices of lemon with a flourish before handing them off.

Offering smiles and well wishes to those here to celebrate. True to your namesake as you swiped cards and counted bills and mixed and poured and served the drinks to the ever-rotating people in front of you.

You made eye contact with Rooster a couple times throughout the night, the same way you usually did when you were behind the bar and he was there. Eyes drawn to him like a magnet against your will.

He hadn’t come up to you at all since before the party started. You’d seen him with the Daggers when you went to refill the water tank, heard the keys of the upright piano when you grabbed more ice from the back room, saw him talking with the girl in the shiny dress and her interested eyes as you put the freshly washed glasses away.

Just like he’d been the best parts of your San Diego summers, he’d become the best part of your year.

You’d spent the last four months trying to convince yourself that it was a silly crush, that you could will it away or get over it. But now just a couple moments shy of a new year barreling towards you, it was time to face the fact that Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t someone you were ever going to get over.

Although if you were honest with yourself, you weren’t sure you wanted to get over him.

You’re giving the counter a quick wipe down, taking advantage of the brief lull when the music cuts off, startling you out of your thoughts.

Twelve!

The countdown had snuck up on you. Just like everything else had this year.

Eleven!

You’d had your fill of unexpected surprises, some for the worse and some for the better. While it felt like you’d had more downs than ups, you were ending the year feeling the most content you have since you were laid off. And that was more than good enough for you.

Ten!

At the beginning of this year, you never would have guessed that you’d end it in San Diego. This year had taken from you, but it had also given you a lot. New friends, new places to explore, new memories, new hopes.

Nine!

You were still figuring things out and that was ok. Even though you still weren’t sure what was next for you, you knew everything would work out. One way or another you’d find yourself on the other side of this and able to look back with pride for making it through all the challenges that had been thrown your way.

Eight!

And while things didn’t shape out the way you anticipated them to, with goals still yet to be achieved and a vision board of ideas that you’d carry into the new year, you had so much to be grateful for.

Seven!

You liked San Diego- and not in the just-for-now way. You liked the life you were building here. You liked the beach and the sand and the sun. You liked you Sunday dinners with Penny and Amelia and Pete. You liked the people you were surrounded by. You liked the stories you’ve collected from your side of the bar. You liked the diner down the road with their perfectly shaped coffee cups. You liked your new normal while you got your feet back under you. You liked the potential you felt was here.

Six!

And then there was Bradley.

Five!

You were avoiding looking in his direction, too worried about what you might see, not wanting to end this year with another disappointment. You’ve come to accept that he had a piece of you that you weren’t sure you were ever going to get back. But that was something for you to deal with next year.

Four!

For now, you are right where you are supposed to be.

Three!

Because what is meant for you will never pass you by. Not in life and not in love. And that was something you could count on, something you could hold onto.

Two!

You smile to yourself and close your eyes.

The crowd chants One!

You breathe out and let go.

And when the cheers of Happy New Year! ring out, you breathe in and open your heart up to all the possibilities.

Enjoying the moment for what it was- exactly as it was- as the party noise makers started going off all around you.

As New Years’ kisses were traded.

As people greeted a fresh, bright New Year with wide-open and welcoming arms.

Where anything could happen.

Where anything was possible because the year was waiting to written.

You tip your head back and open your eyes, watching as the balloons you’d spent the afternoon tying knots in started to fall, slowly at first and then more until your view was a cocoon of black and gold and white and clear blocking out the rest of the world from view.

Time seemed to slow a bit as the confetti poppers joined the mix adding to the echo of fireworks going off nearby. The glints of gold and little shiny dots of sparkles and streamers seemed to hang in the air. There was a cacophony of cheerful noises, from the poppers to the people to the familiar sound of Whitney Houston being piped over the static-y speakers.

A moment of magic for you and you alone, as you pocketed the hope and optimism you felt rippling around you.

Over the next couple of hours pass just as swiftly as before. As you got back into the groove of serving people, your brain snagged on the sound of Aud Land Syne being played on the upright piano at the other end of the bar, and the only person it could be playing it.

It wasn’t long before people steadily started to trickle out the front door.

You’d made sure to shoo Penny out to the dance floor with Pete as the lineup of people slowed down enough for her to have some New Years Eve fun.

No one had gone too crazy, but even so, you helped arranged people rides to get home safe between closing out tabs and announcing the last call for the few people who wanted to stick it out until the very end. Waving to your new friends as they all slowly but surely made their exits.

You’d lost track of Rooster along the way, it would have been nice to wish him a Happy New Year, but it was probably for the best. It was easier on your heart to not know whether he left with some of the Daggers or with the girl with the silver sequins.

You just locked the door after the last couple stragglers had left for the night. You’d sent Penny away a little over a half an hour ago- along with Mav- since there’d been only a handful of people to look after.

She’d made you promise not to stay behind after locking up, but you didn’t see the harm in tidying things up a bit more. You were collecting the empty glasses that had been scattered about and abandoned on window ledges and tables when you caught a figure out of the corner of your eye, nearly causing you to drop the bus tub you were holding on to.

“Bradley! Jesus.” You set the plastic tub down on a table with more force than necessary, the glasses rattling against each other, and press a hand to your chest where your heart is rapidly knocking about. “What are you still doing here?”

You figured he left already, so you’re more than a little surprised he’s still here. And not just because he startled you half to death.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, putting his hands up. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, I was taking out some trash and then got held up talking to Jake for a few minutes. I didn’t realize everyone else had left.”

“I just locked the front doors,” you say, waving towards the now closed front door.

Bradley takes a cautious step closer. “So, it’s just us then?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look like he’s been partying for the better part of five hours, he looks just as handsome as he did at the start of the evening, whereas you’re sure you probably look as ruffled as you felt.

“We’re the last two standing,” you confirm, putting your hands on your lower back to stretch out the tightness that had settled along your spine over the course of the night, “But just barely, on my end.”

“You’ve been busy tonight.” You hum in agreement and reach for a foam-covered glass that was left between the coaster holder and napkin dispensers. His big hand closing around it first and he pins you with a look, leaning a hip against the table, “So tell me, why are you still cleaning when you and I both know for a fact Penny hired a crew to take care of this in the morning?”

You don’t have an answer for him, at least, not one you were willing to share. That even though the ball had dropped and the confetti had fallen you weren’t ready to have the night be over yet. Knowing that the moment you locked up for good and got in your car and headed home, that the bottle of champagne you’d bought for yourself and plans with Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal wouldn’t hit quite the way you’d hope it would.

Instead, you offer him a shrug.

Bradley’s eyes search yours for a moment before he gives you a gentle smile. “C’mon, busy bee, I think you’ve more than earned yourself a glass of champagne.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, already making his way towards the bar, not that you put up much of a fight. The ‘Greatest Hits’ playlist that Penny had queued up for the night is still playing in the background, you recognize opening notes of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” as you trail after him.

You lift an eyebrow as he pulls out a stool for you, but he just mirrors you by lifting one of his own and gestures to the seat. You think you feel his thumb sweep over your hip as he helps you into the stool before stepping into the front bar. A little sigh of relief slips out of you, finally off your feet for the first time all night.

You’re tired, but it’s a happy kind of tired. You’d had a nice time all things considering. Seeing the bright faces of everyone tonight had made all the work you’d put in feel worth it, all the planning and prep and decorating made it worth it if tonight ended up being a fond memory for someone.

Bradley grins at you from over his shoulder mischievously, “You know, Penny’s never let me behind the bar before.” He says it so conspiratorially, like he’s getting away with something and you’re an eyewitness to his delinquency, as if he wasn’t a decorated golden boy of the United States Navy.  

You laugh, endeared by the boyish smile on his face. “Probably because you’re never wearing the right shoes,” you tease, wiggling a clog towards him.

And he chuckles, warm and affectionate.

Rooster finds the freshly washed glasses easily- Pete had done a great job as the designated dishwasher of the evening, loading and unloading glasses as quickly as they came with speedy efficiency. You see as his hand hesitates for a moment eyeing the already open bottle of champagne on the counter warily, and you point a glossy cranberry coated fingernail to the fridge under the counter, where you knew a few uncorked ones were still stocked knowing that Penny won’t mind if you pilfer a celebratory bottle to share between yourselves.

With your help he finds the chilled bottle and shoots the cork across the room with a cheerful pop! You make a mental note to pick it up later marking the spot in your mind, which he must notice because he says, knowingly, “Don’t worry, I’ll grab it later. You’re officially off the clock.”

He pours you a glass and then one for himself with a flourish, clearly showing off as the bubbles fizz to the top of the rim without spilling over. You’ve spent all night catering to everyone else, it’s nice to have someone looking out for you now.

Rooster holds out a glass for you, “Cheers, Bee.”

You smile and clink yours against his.

The bubbles burst across your tongue, refreshing and crisp. The two of you sip on your glasses of champagne in companionable silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm after a busy day and busier night.

“Did you have a nice time tonight, Bradley?”

“It was nice enough, I guess,” he says, giving you a half smile, “I’m having a much better time now though.”

You take another little sip, attributing the fluttering in your chest to the bubbles.

“It feels weird to be sitting on this side of the bar,” you muse, changing the subject, “You know, I don’t think I made you a drink at all tonight.”

He takes the bottle and pours you a little more. “People kept hogging my favorite bartender.”

You grin into your glass.

“I would have made time for you,” you say.

He leans down and fold his arms in front of him, so that your faces are level. “You would have?”

The answer comes easily. “Of course.”

Bradley gives you a look you don’t know how to interpret, like reading your face isn’t enough that he wants to know what’s going on inside of your head. You always kind of thought your cards had been on the table the whole time, but maybe you’d been keeping them closer to your chest than you’d realized.

“It was nice of you to make sure Penny and Mav got out on the dancefloor earlier.”

“You saw that?” It hadn’t been an easy feat, but it had been worth it to see them looking at each other in a way you hoped you’d find someday.

His gaze is steady when he replies, “I did.”

Flustered now, you feel your cheeks heat up. “Amelia and I had a bet about if he was going to propose tonight, and I thought I’d do my part to try and help her win twenty dollars. I didn’t think he would, at least not here in front of a crowd of people, but I hope he’ll do it soon.”

He nods, taking a sip of his own, the tips of his ears getting red.

You lean forward on your elbows, “Tell me what you know, Bradshaw.”

“I’m a vault,” he says, shaking his head.

“Does he have a ring?” you ask, elatedly.

Bradley takes another deep sip of champagne, giving you nothing, at least not with his words. But you don’t need him to confirm, not with the way his lips are turned up, clearly happy for his uncle and your aunt.

Good, you smile to yourself, that’s good.

“I also happened to notice that you didn’t get to dance at all tonight.”

“No, I didn’t.” You could have. Penny had tried to get you to take a few minutes to enjoy yourself, but you kept finding excuses to stay planted where you were. “There’s always next year,” you add, circling your finger around the base of your champagne glass.

Bradley steps out from behind the bar and takes the half full glass from your hand, setting it on top of a coaster in a move that you find entirely too appealing.  And holds out a hand out for you, “We should fix that.”

His large fingers wrap around your hand- strong and sure- as he guides you towards the old jukebox, the two of you walking over the confetti covered floor and though the sea of balloons that bobbed in your wake.

He lets go when the two of you have reached the middle of the makeshift dancefloor that had been cleared of the tables that were normally there for the night. Your feet stay put as he makes his way to the sticker covered jukebox and starts flipping through the options.

“I keep trying to get Penny to get a new one that takes a card,” you say nervously, filling the quiet, the air now charged with something new between the two of you. “Or one with an app, where people could pay and pick things from their phone.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” he teases playfully, still scanning through the CDs, clearly on a mission to find a particular song.

“She keeps a couple spare quarters on the ledge behind it- but uhm- I’m not sure if they’re still there or not, or if people have already used them. I could grab some from the register-”

You take a half step back, but Rooster stops you.

“Don’t go flying away, Bee.” He pulls out his wallet from the inside of his suit jacket and fishes out a couple coins, holding them out on his flattened palm for you to see. “You see, I’ve been saving these ones for just the right girl.”

You didn’t know your heart could beat so fast.

Bradley slips them into the machine with a metallic plink, once and then twice. The corner of his mouth pulls up as his eyes drift over you. “Yeah, you’re definitely an N24 kind of girl.”

He punches in the code and walks purposefully back to you.

The gentle sound of an acoustic guitar crackles to life over the old speaker system of the Hard Deck, the song much slower than you were anticipating. The opening notes are familiar ones to you, but different than what you were used to hearing. This rendition was delicate and atmospheric. Intimate. Almost like the music was wearing its heart on its sleeve.

Bradley wraps an arm around you and pulls you in. His eyes are heavy on yours, you feel the weight of them everywhere. He coaxes your hand onto his broad shoulder and takes the other one in his, drawing it to his chest.

He holds you close as he leads you in a dance.

No one has ever looked at you the way he is looking at you.

“Ask me about my night again,” he murmurs, invitingly.

You swallow. “Did you have a nice time earlier tonight?”

“No.” Your breath stutters in your chest and you miss a step, but he easily guides you through it. “No,” he repeats, “I didn’t because I couldn’t spend it with the only person I want to.”

Your voice has escaped you, not that you’d trust it not to completely give you away.

“This is the part where you ask me how it’s going now.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand, encouragingly.

“This doesn’t feel very friendly,” you whisper.

Bradley presses you even closer to him. Every part of you is touching him, and you’re warm everywhere. “That’s good,” he rasps, “Because I’m not really going for just ‘friendly’ here, honey.”

You see everything there plain as day, written all over his face.

All you can say is his name.

“Bradley.”

And he says yours in return, so gently like it’s precious to him.

“I kept hoping you’d look my way during the countdown. But then you looked so thoughtful and all I wanted was to see that moment through your eyes. I couldn’t look away, you’re so beautiful.”

Feeling brave, you slide your hands up his chest and around his neck, combing your fingers through the short hair at the base of his head. He hums, pleased and content.

“You didn’t get a New Years Eve kiss.” It’s a statement. Like he knows because he was paying attention.

Your stomach swoops, and it’s like you’re fifteen and riding the Giant Dipper again.

“Neither did you, it seems.” His eyes drop down to your mouth.

“No, I didn’t,” he confirms, raising a hand up and skimming his thumb along your lower lip. “But now I’ve got a whole year to practice.

Bradley brings both hands to cup your face. His eyes traveling from your eyes to your nose to your mouth, a soft smile on his face as he leans in to kiss you.

When his lips meet yours it’s like time stops. You can’t hear the music over the rushing in your ears or the beating of your heart. In that moment, all there is only Bradley.

There’s no hesitation in the way his mouth moves against yours. Or in the way his teeth grazes your lower lip, right before he follows it with his tongue. It’s as if he has played this moment in his head so many times before.

Like there was never a question in his mind about if it was ever going to happen, but when.

There’s a surety in his touch, in the way he cradles your face in his big hands, in the way he angles your head just right.

The way Bradley kisses you makes you feel like this is the moment he’s been waiting for the whole night.

That it’s the moment he’s been waiting the last four months for.

His kiss is sweet like cinnamon and you know you’ll never be the same now that you’ve had a taste of it.

Your first one of the year. And it belongs to Bradley Bradshaw. Just as you always hoped it would be.

He pulls away just enough to skim his lips teasingly against yours. “Happy New Year, Bee.”

“Happy New Year, Bradley.”

You grin and he dips back down to kiss you again.

Time ticks on, but this time there isn’t a countdown. Only his mouth against yours and your arms wrapped around his neck.

After a while, he pulls away again, looking entirely and thoroughly kissed. It’s a good look for him.

He smiles at you. “My mom used to believe in ‘beginning as you mean to go on’. Taking time on the first of a new year and doing something that you want to make a part of your year going forward,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “So if you’re up for it, honey, I’d like to take you out to breakfast at that 24-hour diner. Because I mean to go on with you this year and the next one after that if I’m lucky.”

“I’d like that,” you say, taking a snapshot of this moment and the way those warm, brown eyes are gazing at you. “Just as long as we leave some time for mine. I have an idea of how I’d like to ‘begin as I mean to go on’.”

“Yeah? What did you have in mind?”

You don’t answer, instead you just lean in close until you feel his smile pressed against your.

The two of you eventually lock up for the night, for good this time. But only after Bradley finally stops kissing you long enough to grab that cork he’d shot across the bar earlier, pretending not to see the way he tucked it into the pocket of his suit jacket.

He takes your hand in his warm one, his fingers slipping easily between yours like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

The sunrise is still a couple of hours away, but you can see the promise of dawn and all the possibilities it’ll bring.

Bradley turns his head back to look at you and grins, it’s wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkle.

A new day, a new year.

And you can’t help but think that this really will be the best one yet.

Happy 2025, tgm friends! I hope this is your year! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

If you want to know what song Bradley played for Bee 🥰

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[landoughnorris]

Drive You Home | OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x female!reader (gender barely mentioned)

Summary: You love your job, you promise. But the trials and tribulations of being a bartender tend to get to you. But the sweet prep cook might make it a little easier to survive your shift.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: restaurants (iykyk), alcohol, drinking, brief mention of smoking, fluff, swearing. if you’ve ever worked in a restaurant, you get it. reader doesn’t drive

Author’s Note: this is my first fic in like a DECADE :’) first finished fic. And I love me some Oscar. So here ya go.

“Max, this is an open kitchen.” You shout, voice sharp as it cuts through the thump of bass. You’re standing at the narrow gap between the kitchen and the bar, hands on your hips, already regretting the confrontation. “You can’t blast Charli XCX like we’re in a goddamn club.”

Max, the sous chef with a prepared sarcastic comment and a playlist that hasn’t changed since 2019, doesn’t even flinch. He shrugs, one greasy hand holding down the volume button on the speaker perched questionably close to the grill. The music spikes even louder, vibrating through the steel countertops.

Charles, manning the fry station, lets out a wheezing laugh, adjusting the tiny chef’s cap he’s been wearing like it’s sacred. No one else in the kitchen wears them anymore. He’s made it his thing.

You sigh, a long, defeated sound that seems to sink into your shoes. You don’t get paid enough for this. Whatever manager is supposed to be here right now is probably hiding in the office or still on their smoke break that started twenty minutes ago. Let them deal with Max and his dance-party grill line.

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck and stomp back across the bar. The receipt printer is still screaming, spitting out tickets in a tangled stream like confetti at a doomed celebration. You tear them free, shaking the paper out like a magician with a broken trick.

Behind the bar, muscle memory kicks in. You start assembling the long line of drinks, a steady rhythm of clinks and pours, metal against glass, liquid against ice. Shake. Strain. Garnish. Move on. You barely look up. The routine is almost meditative, the kind of precision that comes only from repetition and mild resentment.

You finish the last drink and bark toward the servers’ station without missing a beat. If their drinks die before they make it to tables, you’ll lose your mind.

There’s a delay. You glance up, already bracing yourself.

Lando struts over, cocktail tray propped on one hip, grinning like he owns the damn place. He’s wearing the same too-tight black shirt he always wears, the one that earns him endless compliments from drunk bachelorettes and lonely middle-aged women. His confidence is bulletproof and endlessly irritating.

“For me?” He says, plucking his drinks off the bar like you’ve left him a gift basket. “You shouldn’t have.”

“You can always make them yourself.” You reply with a brittle smile, sweeping his damp ticket off the bar mat and dropping it in the bin with a satisfying flick.

“And miss out on the joy of tipping you out every night? Never.”

You lean in just enough to meet his grin head-on. “Run your drinks before they die. Your Karens like their martinis cold and their bartenders invisible.”

You both glance toward Table 9, Lando’s regulars. Two older women in expensive blouses wave their fingers at him like royalty. One of them still has lipstick on her straw from the last drink. They flash him twin smiles, but when their eyes shift to you, the warmth disappears.

You press your lips into a fake-smile line and mutter. “Charming.”

Lando winks. “Don’t worry, they just think you’re too edgy for their taste. It’s a compliment.”

You snort. “Tell them I’ll edge their next round into the trash if they don’t chill.”

He lifts the tray and twirls away, practically skipping toward them like some waiter from a rom-com. You watch him go, the light catching on the backs of the cocktail glasses, the little splashes of color bouncing as he walks.

Behind you, the receipt printer starts again.

You sigh, pull your hair back a bit tighter, and get back to work. The night is just starting, and you’ve already survived a kitchen rave, passive-aggressive drink orders, and Lando’s ego.

Only six more hours to go.

It’s karaoke night at the dive bar down the street, which means the closing crew is out in full force.

You’re perched on the edge of the bar, drink in hand, watching as Alex, one of the servers, belts out a Chappell Roan song alongside his girlfriend, Lily. It’s not a duet, not even remotely romantic, but they’re performing it like it is. To each their own.

Around you, your coworkers - your friends- scatter across the dimly lit space, loud and comfortable in the way only restaurant staff are after hours.

Charles and Max huddle in a corner booth, whispering conspiratorially and not-so-subtly scanning the room for drama. George and Lando are at a table nearby, racing each other through a pitcher of beer that tastes like metal and regret.

The rest of the crew drifts between the sticky pool table, the rickety booths, or outside for a smoke under the buzzing neon sign.

The song wraps up to polite cheers and half-drunken applause. Alex bounds away to rejoin George and Lando, while Lily saunters over to the bar, plopping down on the stool beside you. She orders another round and immediately ropes you into a shot of Fernet. You down it with a wince, the bitter syrup clinging to your throat, and gag as it settles in your stomach.

Lily laughs, clearly more amused than sympathetic. She leans her elbow on the bar, swirling her drink. “Alex never tells me the gossip anymore.” She complains. “I miss being in the loop. Ever since I switched to the golf course, it’s like pulling teeth trying to get anything out of him.”

You shrug, spinning the straws in your glass absentmindedly. The ice inside clinks softly. “Nothing too wild lately. The boys are still as unbearable as ever. I swear, management’s allergic to hiring more women.”

Lily hums thoughtfully and takes a slow sip. “So you’re not seeing anyone, then? I could’ve sworn that tension with Lando would’ve gone somewhere by now.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Absolutely not. I’d rather scrub fryer oil off the ceiling than hook up with Lando Norris.”

Right on cue, Lando materializes behind you, one arm slinging around your shoulders, the other around Lily’s. He reeks of cheap liquor and stale cigarettes. “You rang?”

You sigh, but he’s already deep in some ridiculous conversation with Lily, both of them laughing like middle schoolers. You lean forward on the bar, Lando’s arm still heavy on your back like a gym weight you didn’t ask for, and stare up at the TV mounted in the corner. It’s playing race highlights from some recent weekend, the sound muted under the latest karaoke attempt.

Suddenly, Lando throws his hands in the air, nearly knocking your drink. “Osc-Uber is here!” He yells, loud enough to rupture an eardrum.

‘Osc-Uber,’ Oscar Piastri, walks in, looking slightly out of place but not uncomfortable. He’s Lando’s roommate and one of the prep cooks back at the restaurant. You only ever cross paths when Carlos, your brunch-shift savior, calls out and leaves you to drown in a sea of mimosas and middle-aged women. Oscar usually works the early mornings, the quiet hours before the rest of you even clock in, so it’s rare to see him out like this.

He looks around a little sheepishly as Lando whoops again in greeting. It’s clear Oscar didn’t come to party. He’s in a big sweatshirt and athletic shorts, clearly planning to ferry his roommate home and vanish. Still, it’s sweet. You wonder if you’d ever have someone like that, someone who shows up just to make sure you get home safe, no app or fare required.

Lando announces to no one in particular that he’s grabbing one more drink and going to the restroom. He disappears toward the back, and Oscar slides into the now-vacant space beside you.

“Late night for you, huh?” You ask, glancing at his outfit. The bar light catches in his hair as he shrugs.

“I was up anyway.” He says, voice barely audible over the next singer. “Figured I’d make sure Lando doesn’t end up in the wrong house again.”

You smile faintly, something fluttering in your chest. Just for a second. It fades before you can name it.

Lando reappears with a dramatic yawn, bids an elaborate goodnight to every single person like he’s not seeing them tomorrow, then slumps onto the bar between you and Oscar.

“Take me home, Oscarino.” He groans, pressing his cheek against the sticky wood.

Oscar chuckles and gives him a reassuring pat on the back. Then he glances at you. “Need a ride?”

You hesitate, your cocktail straws tapping against your bottom lip. For a moment, you consider it; the flutter, the quiet offer, the easy kindness.

But you smile, shaking your head. “I’ll walk. I just live a few blocks away.”

Oscar nods, like he already knew what you’d say.

And the night rolls on.

Carlos makes a beeline for the exit the moment you set your bag down, tossing a careless wave over his shoulder like he has far more important places to be than behind the bar on a Thursday night. No goodbye, no warm-up chatter. Just gone. You shake your head, at least he keeps the bar clean and the liquor shelves stocked. It’s the bare minimum, but tonight, that’s more than enough.

The ticket printer kicks into gear before you even finish clocking in. You don’t get a breath, let alone a moment to center yourself. The words HH MARG spit out in bold, black ink like a warning. Happy Hour has begun, and it might just kill you tonight.

You fall into motion. Ice scoops, shaker tins, bottles, muscle memory takes over as the tickets pile up in a steady, relentless stream. The rhythm is brutal, constant. Even when you duck down to rinse syrup from the shaker tins, the printer hammers on, unfazed. You don’t feel like you’re working so much as being swallowed whole.

Then someone taps your shoulder.

It jolts you. You jump, the tin slips from your hands. It hits the floor with a metallic clatter, the contents bursting into a sticky splash at your feet, tequila and citrus pooling at your feet.

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “Are you kidding me?” You mutter, already turning to face the poor soul. “What have I said about coming behind the -”

But you stop. Because it’s not one of the usual suspects sneaking in for a lime wedge or a free drink.

It’s Oscar.

His brown eyes are wide with concern, scanning you like he’s half-expecting you to explode. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He says quickly, grimacing as he takes in the wet stain across your black shirt and pants. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The fight leaves your body before it even arrives. You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh, more weary than angry.

“It’s okay.” You say, grabbing a bar towel from your hip and dropping it to the floor to soak up the spill. “I was off in my own head. Are you alright?”

He nods, pulling a towel from the loop on his belt. “I’m already covered in enough kitchen grease, I probably wouldn’t notice if you dumped a whole blender on me.”

That earns a small giggle out of you, and you immediately regret it, like it slipped past your usual defenses. Where the hell did that come from?

You straighten up, tossing the soaked towel into the bin and grabbing the dropped shaker for the sink. “Do you need something?”

Oscar smirks, holding up both hands like he’s innocent. “Max wants a soda.”

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “And you’re doing Max’s dirty work now?”

He shrugs. “Charles’ dog is sick, so I stayed to cover his shift.”

You blink. “Since when does Charles have a dog?”

Oscar’s expression falters. “I… don’t think he does.” He exhales heavily, defeated, and that’s all it takes to set you laughing again, a soft snort you don’t bother hiding this time.

Shaking your head, you grab a plastic cup, fill it with Max’s usual from the soda gun, and hand it over. “Tell Max to get his own damn soda next time.”

Oscar accepts it with a smile.

“And don’t let those idiots push you around.” You add, patting his shoulder as he turns to leave. “Also, you’re helping me mop tonight. Non-negotiable.”

He gives you a mock salute before disappearing back into the steam and clang of the kitchen.

As you turn back to the bar, you catch Max watching through the service window, one brow raised in dramatic curiosity. You meet his stare, then flip him off without hesitation.

You’re soaked in tequila, the printer is still screaming, and happy hour shows no signs of letting up.

But somehow, the night doesn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.

Lando sits at the bar, exactly where he’s not supposed to be. Side work is meant to be done in the back section, out of sight, out of the way. But Lando’s never paid much attention to rules like that. He plants himself right where you’re trying to clean, rolling silverware with casual defiance, as if his presence is a favor and not an inconvenience.

You’re polishing glassware, lost in the rhythm of it, your thoughts elsewhere, when he says it; clear, blunt, and impossible to ignore.

“Are you in love with my roommate?”

Your hand jerks, and the wine glass nearly slips through your fingers. You catch it just in time, your heart suddenly in your throat. “What the fuck, Lando?”

He doesn’t flinch. Just rolls his eyes and starts to twirl one of the curls at the back of his neck. “Oh, Oscar, you scared me. Oh, Oscar, you can come behind the bar whenever.” His voice goes sing-song, heavy with mockery. “But I step behind the bar and suddenly the world’s ending.”

You place the glass down with deliberate care, set the rag beside it, and look at him. “I don’t sound like that.”

Lando jabs a fork in your direction like it’s proof of something. “But you’re not denying it.”

You hold his gaze. It lingers, steady. There’s an edge there, something unspoken sitting right between you.

Then the mop bucket squeals around the corner, and you both look over as Oscar appears, pushing it with a sheepish grin.

“Time to clean up my mess.” He says with a shrug.

Your expression softens before you even realize it. You smile at him, something warm, something instinctive.

Lando watches, then huffs a breath and turns back to his silverware, shaking his head like the whole scene annoys him more than it should.

The question still hangs between you, unanswered. Maybe that’s the point.

A few days pass, and now you’re standing in the walk-in cooler. It’s Sunday brunch, and somehow no one thought to order orange juice this week. You’re staring down a basket of oranges on the shelf like it’s your sworn enemy.

Outside, Max is shouting at someone about eggs that are definitely not over-medium, and his speaker is blasting a song in a language you don’t understand. The muffled chaos seeps through the insulated walls, a distant reminder of the mess waiting beyond the door.

Then it swings open, cutting off your brief moment of peace. You sigh, defeated, and grab the basket you’ve been dreading dealing with. Time to return to the hellscape people call your job.

“Are you okay?” Oscar stands just outside the walk-in, eyebrows furrowed, concern written across his face.

You grunt. “Sunday brunch sucks. Carlos is out golfing with his dad, and no one ordered orange juice.”

Oscar nods knowingly. “Ah. I think Lando’s with them. He was already up when I left.”

“Of course.” You mutter. “They always disappear when everything’s falling apart.”

“I’ll help.” He offers with a shrug. “At least with the orange squeezing. I need some anyway.”

Before you can protest, he takes the basket from your hands. The weight lifts, physically and emotionally, and you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

You perk up a little, reaching for the walk-in door. It jams, like always, but a solid shoulder shove gets it moving. As the cold air slips behind you and you step back into the heat of the kitchen, a tiny thought plants itself in the back of your mind:

You might just owe Oscar your life for this.

You can’t remember the last time a customer made you lose it like this. Maybe back when you first started bartending. Hell, maybe even further back, when you were still bussing tables or running the host stand, fresh-faced and eager to please.

You’re buried behind the bar when it happens. The ticket printer is screaming, a nonstop stream of orders spitting out like a cruel joke. The servers are underwater, and the crowd just keeps coming. It’s one of those shifts. No end in sight, no backup in reach.

You don’t even know whose table they’re from. The woman just appears in front of you while you’re trying to triage a lineup of drinks with your hands full and your brain already fraying.

“You made my drink wrong.” She snaps, slamming a glass onto the bar mat. “It tastes disgusting.”

You glance up from your shaker, eyes darting from her face to the mess now spreading across the rubber mat. Great, you think. Now I’ve got to clean the mats mid-rush.

“I’m sorry about that.” You say, offering the calmest smile you can muster. “If you let me know where you’re sitting, I’ll have your server get that fixed right away.”

She scoffs. Arms crossed. Unmoved. “No. You need to fix it. Now.”

You try to de-escalate, explain, redirect, anything to keep things moving. But it spirals fast. A few sentences traded back and forth, a building tension you don’t have time for.

And then it happens.

The drink hits your face.

Ice. Liquor. Glass shattering against the floor.

The bar goes silent.

The restaurant freezes in place, like the whole room just got flash-frozen in disbelief. You’re dripping, stunned, a breath half-caught in your throat as the woman snarls. “Maybe if you knew how to do your job right the first time, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

You gape. So does everyone else.

Someone, her partner, probably, is already trying to pull her away, mumbling apologies you don’t even register.

Behind you, Alex is suddenly there, stammering your name. “Are you okay?” He asks, gently, like speaking too loud might shatter you more.

You don’t answer right away. You’re not sure you can. You reach for the bar towel clipped at your hip, dabbing your face. Liquor stings your eyes. Tears? You’re not even sure if you’re crying or just overwhelmed. You look at Alex. His face crumples in guilt.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, hands lifted in surrender. “That’s my table. I must’ve rung it in wrong.”

“Not your fault.” You mutter, voice rough. You wipe your face once more, then turn. You’ve already made the decision, your body moving before your brain fully catches up. You grab your phone, your keys, your bag from behind the bar.

“I’m done with this.”

“What?” Alex follows you, panic rising in his voice. “Wait, we don’t have another bartender!”

“Not my problem.” You snap, tossing the damp towel onto the bar as you stride toward the kitchen.

Max’s voice booms from the line as you blow past the expo station. “What the fuck is going on?”

You don’t even slow down. You crouch to catch his eye beneath the heat lamps. “Some asshole threw a drink in my face. I’m leaving. Call Carlos. Or whoever. I’m out.”

“What?” Charles gasps from the sauté station, already pulling out his phone, probably to call the other bartender.

“If you leave, you’re not coming back.” Max growls, low and sharp, almost daring you to keep walking. His ticket printer whines next to him, spitting out another ten orders in defiance.

You pause just long enough to look him in the eye.

“That’s the plan.”

And then you’re gone, out the back door, leaving the heat, the noise, and the chaos behind you.

You’re halfway through your walk home when the sound of tires crawling along the curb pulls you out of your thoughts. A car creeps up beside the sidewalk, matching your pace. You tense instinctively, pulse picking up.

It rolls to a smooth stop. The window lowers with a soft whir.

“Hey.” Oscar says. “You want a ride?”

You turn your head, already feeling the sting behind your eyes. You know what he sees; mascara streaked, skin damp, your expression locked somewhere between fury and humiliation. The drink was cold, the stares were worse. The silence after? Unbearable.

But Oscar doesn’t react. No flicker of surprise or pity. Just that even look of his, calm and unwavering.

“I’m fine.” You mutter. “I live a couple blocks away.”

Your hand shifts your bag higher on your shoulder like you’re preparing to walk again, but your feet don’t move. You don’t know if you’re frozen or just tired of pretending.

Oscar leans against the window frame. “Lando called me.” He says. “Said some woman threw a drink in your face and you walked out before anyone could stop you.”

You let out a bitter breath, half a laugh. “At least he wasn’t dramatic about it.”

Oscar’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile, but his voice stays level. “He was worried about you.”

You shrug. “Well, I’m not bleeding. Just… wet. And humiliated.”

He watches you for a beat, quiet. “You really want to sit at home and replay all of that by yourself?”

Your throat tightens. You squirm at how gently he says it.

You glance away, then back at him. “What’s the alternative?”

“Something better.” He says. “Doesn’t have to be big. Just not this.”

You hesitate. The street stretches behind you, empty and quiet, and home feels a million miles away, even if it’s just two blocks.

Finally, you shake your head. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Without missing a beat, Oscar unlocks the door. It swings open with a soft click.

“Then get in.” He says. “Let’s forget what happened. Or laugh about it. Your choice.”

You slide into the seat, the door shutting behind you with a satisfying thunk. The silence inside the car feels different, warmer. Like the first inhale after holding your breath too long.

You don’t say anything right away.

You don’t have to.

The two of you are tucked into the far corner of the dive bar, the one Max and Charles usually stake out for their whispered gossip and late-night scheming. It’s quieter here, dim under the flickering neon, and it feels like the only place in the world where no one’s watching.

Oscar had a pack of baby wipes in his car, because Lando’s usually a mess, and you used them to clean your face, scrubbing away the grime and the sticky remnants of your shift. It’s a small relief, but it helps.

He orders your favorite drink without asking, and a beer for himself. You blink in surprise. You never told him what you liked.

“You didn’t have to.” You murmur, reaching into your bag to offer a few bills, but he waves you off.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m still employed.” He quips, smiling beneath the glow of the neon sign buzzing quietly overhead.

You groan, slouching into the corner of the booth. “Don’t remind me. I thought Max was going to rip my head off.” You twirl your straws slowly, like they might distract you from how raw everything still feels.

Oscar checks his phone, brows lifting. “Speaking of.” He says, glancing at the screen.“Lando says a bunch of them are coming here after. Because you’re here. Do you want to leave before they show up?”

You shrug, leaning forward, elbows pressed against the sticky table as you rest your chin in your hands. “I don’t mind.” You say, looking at him. “You don’t have to stay, though. Not if you don’t want to.”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and light. “I think Lando would kill me if I left you alone.”

Something in your chest deflates. Your smile slips a little. He must notice, because his own expression falters.

“I’m here because I want to be.” Oscar says quickly, voice firmer now. “Not because Lando told me to. I promise.”

But your eyes must betray your doubt.

He reaches across the table and gently grabs your wrist. His touch is steady, grounding. “When Lando called, yeah, he sounded worried. But I found you because I wanted to. You’re the last person in that hellhole who deserves to be treated like that.”

Your shoulders ease. The weight lifts, just a little, and you let your hand settle into his.

“Thank you, Oscar.”

Before he can answer, the door to the bar bursts open with a loud bang that makes you jump, your hand coming back to your chest. Carlos storms in, wild-eyed, scanning the hazy room until his gaze lands on your booth.

“What the hell?” He says, already halfway across the room. He slides into the seat beside you with barely a pause. “Charles called me in a panic, said you were crying and Max screamed at you. What happened?”

You and Oscar exchange a look, a brief flash of mutual exasperation before turning back to Carlos.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” You ask. “Or did they call someone else in?”

Carlos shakes his head, lips pressed into a hard line. “No. I told Charles if Max wants to scream at people, he can deal with the fallout himself.”

His tone is fierce, protective. For a moment, you’re surrounded by a shield of loyalty, Oscar’s quiet steadiness on one side, Carlos’s fiery defense on the other. And somehow, in this dingy bar booth under flickering lights, the night feels a little less awful.

“I don’t know how you do it.” Charles whines into your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you in an almost comical hug. “It was hell. How do you even know what to put in what glass?”

His voice is muffled against your shoulder, and he rocks the two of you gently from side to side. You’re not sure if he’s trying to comfort you, or if he’s the one in need of soothing after being thrown behind the bar.

Across the room, Oscar sits at the counter with Lando and Carlos, all three nursing drinks as they watch Charles cling to you like a child returning from war. Oscar catches your eye and gives you a sympathetic smile, paired with a slight wince, as if to say “You okay with this?”

You grin back, nodding slightly. It’s absurd, but kind of sweet.

Eventually, Charles lets you go with a dramatic sigh and heads toward the bar to order his own drink, loudly declaring he’ll tip the bartender “like royalty” after his brief but traumatic stint on the other side.

Max appears next, silent for a beat before extending a fresh glass toward you. You take it, fingers brushing the cold condensation, before looking up at him.

He exhales, the tension still sitting in his shoulders. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He says. “Or said any of that in the window. You know you always have a job. Always.”

You blink, a little caught off guard by the apology. Your instinct is to look at Oscar again, and you find him already tuned in, no longer part of whatever nonsense Lando and Carlos are arguing about. He tilts his head at you, one brow raised in quiet encouragement.

You take a sip, stalling for just a second. “I need a day.” You say finally. “To think. To rest, you know?” You glance over at Carlos. “Carlos will work a double tomorrow. For me.”

“What?” Carlos spins on his stool like a startled cat. “I didn’t-”

You and Max exchange a knowing look before turning to him in unison.

Carlos sighs in defeat. “I didn’t have anything going on anyway.” He mutters, waving a hand dismissively as he turns back to argue with Lando about whether or not mini-golf counts as a sport.

Max claps a hand firmly on your shoulder, the weight of it familiar. “You just tell me what you need. I’ll do what I can.”

You roll your eyes, bumping your elbow into his ribs. “Don’t get too soft on me, Max.”

He scoffs, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth, and heads off to wrangle Charles back to their usual booth.

Oscar joins you a moment later, slipping into the now-vacated space at your side without asking. He watches you with quiet attention.

“So.” He says, voice soft but steady. “You might not come back?”

You shrug, glancing around the bar as your coworkers mingle around the bar. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Oscar laughs, his hand finding a small purchase on your hip. You don’t move away. “Apparently, Charles does a better job behind the bar than you’d guess. I think it’s all that charm.”

You snort, shaking your head. “God help us.”

The sounds of the bar swell around you; glass clinks, laughter, Charles shouting something ridiculous across the room, and you let yourself relax into the warmth of it all. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not surviving a shift. You’re just here, surrounded, supported, and finally starting to breathe again.

You clock out of your shift, the soft click of the register marking the official end of the day. You move through the new yet familiar routine, bag slung over your shoulder, a to-go cup in hand, while sunlight spills through the windows, catching in dust motes and glinting off the pastry case.

You smell like vanilla syrup, fresh espresso, and toasted oat milk, your kind of tired now, not the liquor-stained exhaustion of a bar shift. It’s a small, golden victory.

From behind the counter, Yuki, your manager, waves without looking up, still rearranging the croissants like he’s auditioning them for a magazine cover. “Get some rest.” He calls. “You’ve earned it.”

You smile, murmuring something in return as you push through the door into the warm afternoon.

Oscar’s car is parked at the curb, engine idling low, windows down. The breeze catches your hair as you walk toward him, steps lighter than they’ve been all day.

You climb into the passenger seat and hand him the warm cup. “I got you that tea you tried. The one with the fancy name you pretended not to like.”

He grins and presses a kiss to the lid like it’s sacred. “The sweetest in the world.” He says, before leaning over to kiss your temple. It’s casual, like breathing.

“You didn’t have to pick me up.” You say as you buckle your seatbelt. “I still live six blocks away.”

Oscar pulls out into the street, one hand on the wheel, the other draped loosely across the console like it wants to find yours. “Yeah, but this place is ten blocks from my house. And I don’t feel like letting you walk today.”

“You say that everyday.” You smile, glancing out the window as the town glides by in slow motion. “We could get bikes.” You suggest. “While the weather’s nice.”

Oscar snorts. “And end up like Carlos? No thanks. I’ll keep driving the car I’m financially shackled to.”

You laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. The kind of laugh that comes easy now. Easier than it used to.

He shoots you a quick glance. “Alex said everyone’s going to the bar tonight. Lily misses you.”

You sigh, resting your head against the cool window. “I miss her too. But bed at nine sounds so good right now.”

Oscar hums in agreement, then reaches over and places a hand gently on your thigh. His thumb moves in quiet circles, steady, like he’s reminding you he’s here. That you’re allowed to be still.

The silence between you stretches, but it’s not heavy. Just warm.

“We don’t have to go.” He says eventually, eyes still on the road. “We could just pick up dinner. Watch something terrible. Fall asleep halfway through.”

You tilt your head toward him, watching the curve of his jaw, the ease of his posture, the comfort of him.

“No.” You say softly. “Let’s go. Just for a bit.”

He smiles, slow and genuine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think I want to show up tonight. Not just survive it.”

Oscar gives your leg a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll show up. Together.”

As he turns the corner toward his street, the sky is soft with evening light, the breeze is still warm, and your tea is still sweet. For the first time in a long while, you don’t feel like you’re choosing survival.

It feels like choosing joy.

And tonight, that’s enough.

[kdh-tally]

Hi! I love your work! I was wondering if you could do a thing where the Saja Boys realize that being kpop idols was bit harder than they originally thought? Like debuting was easy but now that they've debuted they've got to deal with Dispatch and dating scandals and other things idols have to deal with!

Saja Boys Struggling with the Idol Life

Prompt : Saja Boys realising that being Kpop Idols weren't as easy as they thought.

Author's Note : So this might be a teensy tiny bit angsty but only cause i got super into it lol. Prior to this movie coming out I've been a mega kpop fan since like 2016 and completely adore everything about the kpop community except evil fans. I feel like i've seen my fair share of unfairness and just put all my frustration about what some idols deal with into this. Anyways, Enjoy!

The first few months after debut had felt like a dream. After getting past their initial issues with Huntr/x, the boys had a proper debut into kpop society. It was dizzying. A blur of encores, confetti, excited fans, and constant camera flashes that never seemed to end. They felt invincible. They were invincible. Hungry for fame, powered by an energy that was now being put to good use, excited to share their apparent talents with the world. After all, what was a six-hour schedule compared to centuries of the blood-soaked domain they used to live in?

But slowly, things changed, fans set higher expectations, critics got harsher. They were no longer the new and bright rookies. More groups made music, the Saja Boys were good but they weren’t the only boy band out there. Even their fans didn’t seem to help. They got more invested with the boys' lives, possessive over what they did and who they hung around. It was getting suffocating. 

Mystery sat slouched on the practice room floor, hoodie pulled up, hair hiding his face even though he was alone. He scrolled through the trending topics absently, thumb pausing at a familiar photo. It was of him at the gym, something their new manager had insisted all the boys do. He just so happened to have bumped into one of the female workers and someone had clipped it and made it out to be something it wasn’t.

The tags were misleading. 

#SAJABOYS_Mystery_DatingRumor #MysteryAndThePilatesGirl #DispatchAtItAgain

He exhaled through his nose. Quietly. Bitterly.

“You don’t even know her,” Baby muttered from beside him, Mystery hadn’t noticed him come in. 

“Try explaining that to twelve million people who already think they know everything about you.” the silver-haired boy sighed in response. He let the phone screen dim, the room sinking back into silence.

It wasn’t about the rumor.

It was about what came next. There would be comments dissecting his every move, fans creating timelines of when he must’ve "fallen in love", antis spinning it into him betraying the fans.. Even Zoey, who had also faced her fair share of dating rumors, had advised him to lay low for a bit. No solo lives, no fan interactions. “It’s best you let it blow over,” she’d said.

He wanted to tell everyone it was a lie. But what was the point of one person speaking amongst a crowd of yelling fans?

Romance stopped writing lyrics for the first time in weeks. His notebook remained open on his desk, pen idle.

He lay on his bed, watching some show Bobby recommended to him. His mind wasn’t on the movie though. He used to think emotions were a superpower. It was what he found most interesting about humans. That the overthinking, sensitivity, and deep craving to be seen was what made them unique. Was what made him unique. But now it felt like a trap. 

Every word he wrote was calculated. Will fans think this line is about someone? Will this become a scandal? Will they think I’m dating?

He couldn't even smile or zone out on live streams without worrying about whether someone would spin some fantasy made up tale in their minds about him thinking of someone else. It especially hurt to be told who he apparently loved by people who knew almost nothing about him. 

He had social media. He had seen the theories. Multiple fans claiming he had to be straight or gay or bisexual and many many others. He didn’t even know himself. He distanced himself from everyone, fearful of possibly being shipped with friends or even his bandmates. 

Even the fun stages weren’t fun anymore. He had once looked forward to the variety shows and challenges, but suddenly the hosts began asking personal and provoking questions. He’d started putting on smiles like makeup. Perfect, identical and completely fake.

As he moved to turn off the television, his room becoming engulfed in darkness, he remembered when they had just debuted. He missed those times. Where his biggest fear was if Mira would one day stab him with her guandao for flirting with her and not whether a sasaeng would break into his home. 

Jinu had always been the steady one. Their leader. Even when they fought he remained the glue of the group. Keeping them together both in demon form and as humans. But even he had a limit.

He stood in the dance studio well past midnight, practicing the same step again and again until his shoulder spasmed from the repetition. Not because he wasn’t getting it. But because he couldn’t afford to get it wrong.

Ever since their last stage, where a fan took a blurry photo of his hand coincidentally hovering a little too close to Rumi’s waist during a behind-the-scenes clip, he’d been trending for all the wrong reasons. Never mind that she was more than anyone would ever know to him. That they'd fought side by side in a war nobody even knew about. That he would give her every part of him if it meant seeing her smile.

It didn’t matter.

He was an idol now.

And idols don’t touch women.

He’d seen the magazines, blogs, articles written for anyone who was willing to listen. They painted him as an egoistical and cocky…. He couldn’t even bring himself to remember the words they used. It hurt too much to remember. 

Baby had taken his phone away, pleading with him to stay off the media. But he couldn’t help it. He was like an addict. He needed to know what the fans were thinking at all times. He needed to know who they thought he was.

He stopped dancing, turning to look at his reflection. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Chest heaving not from cardio but anxiety. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

Abby had it the worst.

Because unlike the others, Abby loved the attention. He needed it. Craved it. The cheers, the gasps, the fan edits with filters, it made everything feel more real to him.

But recently?

He’d been trending for laughing too much at a female MC’s joke, even though he genuinely found it hilarious. For standing too close to a back-up dancer. For wearing a shirt that fans claimed was from a "couple brand."

He was even shamed for what brought him the most joy. His muscles. He’d simply been on his way to the company gym one day, he and the other boys stayed far away from public ones after seeing what happened to Mystery. He took his regular spot, though a few other idols had been there as well, they were all friendly. 

Before he began his usual workout, he’d taken a little selfie. His shirt lifted provocatively to reveal his abs and everything. He posted it on his personal instagram story, thinking he’d given fans content for the day. 

Sure he’d put on a little weight but it was barely noticeable. The group was on a well deserved break and he was taking the time to truly take care of himself, even if that meant eating a bit more junk food than he should have.

He hadn’t expected the scrutiny. He’d seen multiple comments and videos going on about how he must have gotten lazy, about how fans missed when he was muscular, how he now looked overweight.

“I haven’t even eaten this week!” he exploded, throwing his jacket onto the dorm floor. “I had one stupid burger and that was it!”

Mira, who was visiting, tried to calm him down. “Abby, you know they don’t mean harm—”

“Then why does it feel like I can’t breathe without someone twisting it into a crime?” he deflated. 

She couldn’t answer. She simply wrapped him up in a tight hug as he broke down.

Baby stayed quiet most days. He was less snarky, didn’t go live as much, hung out less with Zoey and Rumi. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, but because he did. Just too much.

He watched all of his hyungs fall apart. He saw the way Jinu stayed up at night, scrolling through hate threads. The way Romance flinched when asked about “his type.” The way Mystery held his breath when female staff passed by. The way Abby was way less boisterous than usual.

Unfortunately he too had his own issues. People that were supposed to be his fans had begun to turn on him. Claiming he acted too much like a child. Claiming he needed to grow up. 

At first he had rolled his eyes, he wasn’t even that childish. People just seemed to enjoy placing the cutest member into the baby category. He didn’t want to let it get to him but he had gotten conscious of every move he made. He remembered Zoey calling it Paranoia. 

He didn’t eat on camera, as people flamed him for enjoying a strawberry. He didn’t play around with his hyungs as much. He didn’t even play into the whole aegyo thing anymore. 

And Baby hated it. Sure he didn’t care for acting childish but it had gotten fun. And now all the fun was sucked out of it simply because a few people decided they didn’t want him to act that way anymore.

He hated how self conscious he got. He hated how he felt like he couldn’t tell his group members in fear of adding more to their plate. It was suffocating. 

None of them had signed up for this.

Debuting had been easy.

It was staying on top that was killing them.

They had fought hunters and hellfire. Survived bloodshed and sacrifices. But nothing, not even Huntr/x, as experienced as they were, had prepared them for a world where they were no longer allowed to be human.

Where love was a scandal.

Where exhaustion was an attitude.

Where silence was considered ungrateful.

Later that week, they sat in their dorm in silence. No social media playing, no scrolling through the hate threads. It was just them, all together for the first time in days. Just boys who used to be monsters, now pretending to be perfect.

“We used to fight to survive,” Mystery spoke, breaking the silence.

“Now we’re just surviving to be liked.” Romance mumbled in resentment as he fidgeted with his bracelets. No one spoke for a while. Each boy struggled to swallow the truth that had been facing them the entire time.

Then Jinu nodded. “But we chose to keep doing this.” They all looked at him in disdain. “We agreed to do this because we wanted to show the girls that we were something good. And now we have to show that to everyone else too. We’re tired, yeah. But… maybe that’s part of being an idol.”

Baby groaned in annoyance, but a small smile, the first real one anyone had seen from him in weeks, tugged on his lips. “Why do you sound like a motivational speaker?”

Abby snorted. “Because he’s right.” It was true. Jinu did motivate them into joining his demon boy-band in the first place. 

“So what now?” Romance smiled with exhaustion.

Jinu stood up. “We rest. We take care of each other. Then we get back on stage. Because we owe it to ourselves.”

Slowly, they stood too.

Because if they had learned one thing from their past life, it was that you don’t stop fighting just because the enemy looks different.

[garden0fyves]

march madness is finishing tomorrow for wbb, so all i can think of is your rich bf!gojo sitting courtside at all of your games from sweet sixteen until your ultimate and inevitable appearance in the final four, and finally the championship. he always wears those stupid shirts that have some variation of ‘my girlfriend is on the court!’ with the dumbest pictures of you on them. they’ve unfortunately gone viral and espn and other sports accounts have been discussing it every time you play.

gojo does, however, understand your sport completely. he knows when to clap, when to boo, and when to hop out of his seat to cheer just a little bit louder. he’s the ultimate supportive boyfriend and he knows it. he always catches you before you manage to get to the locker room after your interview. he’s pressing sweet kisses to your sweaty face no matter how many times you whine about it being too hot. “my girl jus’ got one step closer to being a champion, i can get a kiss!” he always whines, pulling you tight to him.

unfortunately, this only gets worse when you win the national championship with your team. the white and blue (wink wink) confetti falls, and tears are streaming down your face. you’ve celebrated with your team, hugged the girls you’ve worked so hard with for the past three years. your coach affectionately kisses your temple before pulling you into a tight hug. it’s all so much. your heart pounds as the adrenalin rushes through you veins, and then your feet are gone from the floor before you can think of it, and stunning blue eyes are peering up at you with the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “you’re gettin’ a ring, baby!” you laugh, it’s watery but filled with so much joy. “i’m gettin’ a ring, baby!” you repeat back, pressing your lips to his.

gojo’s never cared for cameras. he’s popular in his own right, so he doesn’t have to be. but, some sort of pride swells in his chest because he knows everyone will see this. everyone will know how much he loves you and how much he supports you. it’s something he’ll never be ashamed of. he watches you with wonder because he’s never been good at sports. you’re so at home on the court. so perfect. so mesmerizing. if anyone deserves a chip, it’s you. and now you’ve got it.

he sets you back down after the two of you take a moment to breathe. he laughs when you sniffle, breaking out into giggles when you look down at his chest. ‘my fiancée’s a national champion!’ is across his chest with a picture from your team photoshoot for the final four. you sniffle again, giggle once more then you’re looking up at him with confusion in your eyes. “what?” gojo’s smiling widely at you as he slides a hand into his pocket, promptly dropping to one knee with the tiny box already open.

inside is the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen and it’s perfect. it’s a testament to the four years you’ve been together. to how well satoru knows you. as if you weren’t already crying enough you can barely see the genuine smile on your boyfriend’s face as you cover your mouth. “oh my god. oh my god!” you can vaguely hear your teammates cheering behind you, the crowd roaring once they realize just what’s happening on the court. “oh my god i hate you, satoru. yes!”

as he slides the ring on your finger, all gojo can think is that you look so beautiful. teary-eyed, sweaty, and disheveled from the game. you look real. you look like his future. and he’s reminded why you mean the world to him. why wouldn’t he give you two rings in one day? why wouldn’t he give you your fairytale moment? a national champion and a fiancée in one night, just like you deserved.

later that night, the two of you post with your championship ring on your middle finger and the engagement ring settled nicely on your ring finger. ‘winning on and off the court ♥︎’

—

wrote this will watching houston play duke so this is kinda ass, but hey guys! and #bleedblue LFG UCONN!!!!

[taro-pdf]

DCxDP: De-aged Danny is a Eldritch Little Ball of Mischief

This was not how Danny envisioned his evening going. Who knew that not only did an immortal ancient fae not only live in the infinite realms, but it also really didn’t like it when Danny told it that it couldn’t go around usurping other Kings’ kingdoms for funsies? Not Danny. Until about an hour ago that is. When the Observents observed the imbalance, they had told him about it. Apparently it was important enough to literally bury him in envelopes. Well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get away from paperwork for a while, Danny had thought. It turned out to be a much more difficult task than he’d anticipated.

Lucky for Danny, he’d just won the not-so-little spat and the fae capitulated in the end, agreeing to maintain but not expand the boundaries of its haunt. Unlucky for Danny, there was a different neverborn fast approaching, and from its posture, it was not wanting to just have tea. Taking just enough time to send out a “hurt/portaling away/talk later/careful” core message to his Fraid, Danny pushed the ectoplasm in front of him to the side and willed the Realms to take him somewhere safe. 

The swirling green energy was a relief. The Realms all but pushed him inside, and he fell through time and space, getting smaller and smaller to conserve the little ectoplasm he had left. He slid to the ground with a sigh. All he saw before the world faded was an overcast sky framed by the edges of apartment buildings.

****

Danny slowly woke up. The first thing he noticed was the gravel he lay on. It shifted beneath as he rolled over, bits clinging to his skin where he had been touching the ground. The second thing he noticed was the smell. The third thing he noticed was that there was a lot of noise coming from somewhere. He wrinkled his nose and sat up, rubbing at his eyes with his tiny hands.

Tiny hands?

Danny looked at his hands. They were indeed tiny.

He opened and closed his tiny baby hands experimentally. They made adorable little fists, but weren’t they supposed to make big fists? How big were his hands supposed to be again? He looked at his body. His hands seemed to be the right size compared to the rest of himself, so he decided to not worry about it.

What he would worry about was his immediate comfort, and the thing bothering him most was Why Did It Smell So Bad. He pushed himself into a sitting position and then floated just of the ground. He frowned at the metal wall in front of himself. Taking a few steps back, he saw it was a dumpster… which explained the smell, at least. So what was the noise? 

Peering around the dumpster, Danny saw a very small, colorful car, and the door opened to reveal a clown who shouldn’t be able to fit into such a small place. He laughed maniacally, just loud enough to cover the sounds of distress from nearby people. 

“Well, well, well, Batsy! Seems your little Arkham fun house can’t hold all this FUN!” Arms spread wide, a clown extricated himself from the car and walked forward, eyes fixed on something above him. “I think someone needs to remind Gotham how to live a little, wouldn’t you agree? Why don’t you all SMILE for me?”

He threw his head back and cackled. The sound sent shivers through Danny’s body and made him flatten his ears. Ears? He glanced up and didn’t see anything. When he patted his head with his tiny adorable hands, though, he found that he did indeed have soft pointy ears. Which was… something that he probably should have feelings about.

The sound of confetti popping drew his attention away from his (maybe new) ears back to the events outside. The bystanders were smiling now, tears streaming down their cheeks. Another pop of confetti, and their smiles stretched wider. They didn’t seem to be actually smiling. Danny watched as less colorful clowns brought more people up the laughing one. He reached into the car and pulled out another confetti popper. Danny frowned. It wasn’t right to make people feel scared, and it wasn’t right to make them smile if they didn’t want to, either. Danny may be small, but at least he knew that! He started forward. The clown was big but no matter how big you were, sharp teeth still hurt. Danny licked his lips. His teeth were very sharp. Changing his tail to less noticeable little legs and little feet, he crept forward.

As he opened his mouth to BITE that horrible no good very bad clown, he was snatched up and yote! Yote from one pair of big hands to another! They wrapped up his writhing form in a firm, one armed hug and then swung him away from the clown, away from the ground, and onto the roof, where he was unceremoniously plopped down. He blinked.

He blinked again. There were other people on the roof. Some were crying. Some were smiling. Some were standing and looking over the edge. Person Who Grabbed him was one of those. Person Dressed Like A Traffic Light was another.

“He doesn’t seem affected, but he might bite,” said grabbed.

“Tt. I will be able to handle the small child. What do you take me for?” Traffic Light uncrossed his arms, pulled something from his belt, and threw it with practiced ease. Danny heard a “oof” and then thud as someone’s body thumped to the ground. Traffic Light had hurt someone!

“No! Don’t hurt!” Danny lunged for Traffic Light’s elbow, only to be grabbed by Grabbed again!

“Woah, little one!” Grabbed wore a mask, but Danny could still see his smile. “We’re taking care of the bad clowns. They are hurting people, and we want them to stop.”

“Ok,” said Danny. He didn’t like the clowns. They could get very hurt for all he cared.

(started a long time ago and unfinished)

[bloodhoundluke]

you, forever —❦ luke hemmings

pairing: luke hemmings x ex! reader

description: y/n seems to be finally over luke, but what does she do when he shows up declaring his love for her in the pouring rain? this was requested with the prompts #4 "Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you cry” & #2 “Don’t do this to me” from my prompt list.

warnings: luke being a shitty boyfriend, a break up. angst. slight mentions of insomnia and disordered eating. cursing. a happy ending.

word count: 3,5k.

a/n: now that i am happy with this fic, it's time to publish it! the beginning of this story was heavily inspired by the song ‘moment i knew’ by taylor swift. i hope you like this one! ❤️‍🩹

The broken promises, the events unattended. His lame excuses. They grew a dagger in your heart, which stung time and time again. Your 23rd birthday was no exception. 

You hosted a party to celebrate your birthday. You never threw any parties, they weren’t really your scene. Luke was supposed to be there with you, his hands around your waist, wishing you a happy birthday. Against your wishes and his promises, he wasn’t there. Not on time, anyway.  Somehow you thought it’d be different this time. Did he even love you like he claimed he did? Did he even care about you? Hell, you even wondered if he was sleeping with someone behind your back. 

You tried to have fun, you really did. But as the night dragged on and you chugged down way too many tequilas, you bursted into tears in your bathroom. How could someone, your sorry excuse of a boyfriend, make you feel like this on your god-damn birthday?

It was 4am when Luke showed up behind your front door, and you foolishly opened the door for him. The party was over, and you couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye. It was the same old story, I am so sorry baby, we had to work around a few things in the studio. I love you, let me make it up to you. I promise I’ll do better next time. 

You didn’t say a single thing to him as you let him in. Luke went to the bathroom, and as soon as he was out of your sight, tears began streaming down your face. You stood in your kitchen, and looked around. The alcohol-stained balloons, empty beer cans and the remains of confetti reminded you of your relationship with Luke. Sad, broken, bruised.

You sobbed and sobbed, hard enough not to notice Luke walking next to you.

"Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you cry”, he offered you his embrace, which you swore once was warm. And which was something you once wanted more than anything in the world. 

You sobbed against his chest. This was the last straw, you promised yourself. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You had turned a blind eye to his mistakes, always holding onto some tiny glimmer of hope he would change. You defended him time and time again to your friends and family. You loved him more than you loved yourself, and that seemed to be your greatest mistake. 

“Don’t do this to me”, you whimpered under his touch, still feeling the endless rivers building up in your eyes.  “Do what?”, he proposed the question as if he didn’t have a clue what was going on. His eyebrows frowned, and he bit his bottom lip. You couldn’t believe it really had come to this. You receded from his embrace, breaking the skin contact. 

“Pretend everything’s fine. Pretend we’ll be okay”, you swept your tears away, and saw the mascara stains on your hands. You swept them away with the helm of your dress, and wondered what was going through Luke’s mind. Did he even feel bad for missing your birthday party? Did he even understand how terribly he treated you?

“Y/N…”., he enunciated your name as if it was a warning, if there was some line you couldn’t cross.

“You knew this was doomed from the start. You played me along, Luke. I mean, fuck! I thought everything would change. I thought you loved me enough not to miss my own fuckin’ birthday!”.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it”.

“I’m sorry too”, you avoided direct eye contact with him, and left the kitchen with nothing but disappointment and anger. He didn’t even bother to come after you. 

And that was the moment you knew. 

—❦

The morning approached, and you executed your usual morning routines, only this time with a quicker pace. You could do this, you told yourself. You’ll be okay.

Luke was still sleeping, and you gathered his things from your apartment. The spare t-shirts and underwear. His toothbrush, his Vespa mug. Everything. You wanted to make this as smooth as possible. Not necessarily for him, but for you. You didn’t want him to stay around any longer than necessary. Sleeping with him last night was a mistake, even if you took all the anger into bed with you. You hated and loved him at the same time.

So, when you heard him shuffling in bed, you entered the room and leant against the door with a coffee mug in your hand. 

“Hey darling”, he smirked. The man had no idea. You forced a smile, and waited until he was decent and in his Pink Floyd t-shirt and black sweatpants. 

“Luke?”.

“Hmmm?”.

“I packed up your things, they are waitin’ for you in the hallway. I want you gone. Out of my life”.

—❦ 

The beginning was the hardest. The silent screams in the pillow, the loss of appetite. Your sobs echoed through every room in your apartment. There was no escaping him. His eyes, the prettiest blue eyes you had ever witnessed, haunted you wherever you went. Even the god-damn Rainbow Krispies yelled out his name. 

You carried his silent optimism with you, his voice reminding you everything would work out just fine. You begged the voice to stop time and time again, but it persisted, clung onto you tightly. 

For the first three months you couldn’t even say his name out loud, yet alone hear it coming from someone else’s mouth. It sounded wrong, the way they said it. Luke was supposed to come from your mouth, with your accent, with your tone of voice.

Slowly but surely, you started to see the world through realism-infused glasses. You didn’t think about him the first thing in the morning and the last thing before going to bed. You were okay. You didn’t need his love. Instead, you needed your own. A glimpse of hope was staring at you, you just hadn’t seen it before. 

—❦ 

The past few years had treated you well, and you had gotten the job of your dreams. Everything was moving smoothly, and you were excited for what the future held for you. You were still living in the same apartment, but you had renovated it to look more like you. The white living room walls were now replaced with the beautiful shade of juniper, and your decor had shifted from a Scandinavian style to a more earthly and antique-appreciating English countryside.

You had stayed out of relationships. Sure, you had gone to a few dates, but you never wanted to build anything serious with them. You considered them more like irregular hook-ups, not official dates. You decided to be on your own. You had everything you needed; friends, family and a job you enjoyed.

You were returning from work, and it was pouring rain. You held an umbrella over your head whilst Bon Iver was blasting through your AirPods. Thankfully it was a short walk to your apartment from the metro station.

A figure of a man, supposedly, sat in front of your apartment complex. Maybe he was lost. Maybe he forgot his keys inside. Maybe he was a creep. Shit. You grabbed your umbrella tighter as you reached him. 

And then you understood. Dark pants. A worn out leather jacket. Converse. Light, curly hair. A beautiful face, sculpted by the gods, was staring at you. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be.

Luke.

It really was him.

You glared at him, and took your earphones off in shock, placing them in their case. Luke got up from the staircase, and you both stared at each other for a while. 

The rain was pouring down, and the man hadn't even bothered to bring an umbrella with him. He pulled his soaking wet hair back with his hands and you couldn't understand why your ex-boyfriend was voluntarily hanging out in front of your apartment complex, in a weather like this.

“What are you doing here?”, you quivered and held your bag tightly against your body.

“I’m here to get my girl back”, he shoved his hands into his leather jacket pockets, and studied your face with a somewhat melancholic smile on his face.

“What are you talkin’ about?”, you asked, your tone nonchalant.

“I’m here to get you back. Or attempt it, I don’t know. I fucked up, Y/N, big time. And many times. And-”

Didn't he think it was a bit too late for that? “Luke, stop”, you interrupted him. You didn’t want to hear it, he had smashed your heart into pieces. He didn’t get to apologize to you. You didn’t want him to have any power over you. And it wasn’t fair how he showed up and reminded of his existence, just now when you were finally ready to open your heart to someone new. 

“Y/N, please? Hear me out”.

“Fuck you”, you cursed at him, and pondered walking away from him. But you stood in your place, hoping he could see the hurt on your face. 

“Okay, I deserved that. Is there more?”, he tilted his head slightly, and his eyes bored into yours.

“What do you mean?”, you gritted your teeth.

“Just fuckin’ yell at me, get it out of your system. Curse at me, tell me the things you hate about me”.

“If you came here for this, leave…please”, you begged. 

“No, no, no, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Shit. Uh…just give me a second, hear me out”.

“Okay”. You’d hear what he had to say, and then you’d leave him in the pouring rain. And you wouldn’t see him ever again. That was the plan.

“I, I know this might not mean anything to you, after I treated you, but it has always been you, Y/N. After all these years, you are the only one I have ever truly loved. Hell, I still love you. I still remember your favorite songs and the way you like your tea. How you like your eggs in the morning, and how you hate almond milk…And shit, I just, I need to get this off my chest. I am, still, so foolishly in love with you it’s unbearable. I want you, I want us back”.

You looked at him with sorrow in your eyes. When you tried to say something, the words escaped your lips, leaving you powerless.

As tumultuous your and Luke’s relationship was and despite the times you convinced yourself you hated him, you still caught yourself missing him and the relationship sometimes. But this…this felt a bit too much for you to handle right now.

“Say something, please….Anything”.

“I don’t know Luke. I mean, you hurt me. Time and time again. I don’t know if I want to go through that pain again”.

“I know”, he sighed. “Do you still love me?”.

“Despite everything, yes”, you sighed.

“So isn’t it obvious? If you love me, and I love you? Doesn’t that mean we should give it another go?”.

“But sometimes love isn’t enough, Luke. Love doesn’t fix everything, I thought you knew that”.

“I know you are cautious, and I don’t blame you. I put you through hell, I know. And if this makes me sound like a broken record, so be it… I fuckin’ love you, Y/N. I have always loved you. Just you. Nothing will change that. Not even the years in between that I haven’t seen you. Not even the fact that I am not the same person who I was those years ago, when I treated you like shit. When I made you cry every night. I remember it well, Y/N, I haven’t forgotten. It seems you are impossible to forget”.

“I think you are impossible to forget too, Luke”, you sighed again. “I just….I don’t really know what to say to you. I don’t even know what’s going inside my head right now. I…I need a moment to figure everything out”.

“I’ll wait for you”, he promised.

You took quick glances at each other in the rain, and a small smile crept upon Luke’s lips. You were soaking wet, and wanted to go inside. Against all your instincts, you invited him into your apartment.

“Are you sure?”.

“Yeah”.

“Really?”.

“Come on in before I change my mind”.

—❦

Luke hadn't been in your apartment in three years, and his sudden presence in your own space felt a bit nerve-wracking. Only if he saw that you had kept the mugs he once bought you. And his Blink-182 shirt that you never bothered to give him back. And the necklace hanging on the bathroom shelf that he had bought you on your 2nd anniversary.

You had changed to a dry set of clothes, and offered Luke a towel to dry himself up.

Luke sat next to you on your living room couch, as far as he could on the limited space of the two-seater. The silence was unbearable, it was eating you up. You had rehearsed every little thing you would say to him when you’d see him, but now it felt like the thoughts you once had escaped you the very moment you tried to reach them. 

You had offered him tea, and were drinking some chamomile tea yourself. A few candles were burning on the top of your coffee table, next to a pile of books and the coffee mug you had left there this morning. 

Would you really go through this with him again? Was it worth the try? Was it foolish that a small part of you thought it could work out this time? Did he really mean everything he said? Could he support his words with his actions?

“When you said you aren’t the same person you were before, did you mean it?”, you asked, and blew the tea slightly before drinking it. 

“I did”.

“What did you mean by it?”, you placed the tea mug at the top of the coffee table. You looked at the candle burning beside it whilst Luke talked.

“That I’ve grown. I am not a stupid 24 year old anymore, Y/N. I know what’s important in life. I know what kind of man I want to be, and I am trying to reach that everyday”, he explained with a certain softness in his voice. This Luke was patient, calm; not like the passive-aggressive Luke you once knew.

“So growing up has changed you, huh?”, you frowned your eyebrows, and studied his hair, which had been bleached. You liked this look on him, he looked refreshed. And more mature.

“And losing you”.

Your lips parted slightly at the comment and you noticed how he was fiddling with his ring that adorned his left index finger. He still did that. 

“Luke…”, he looked up to you as he heard his name, and you continued, “why didn’t you fight for me?”.

The narrative in your head that you had created through the years was that he didn’t love or care about you enough. That he had lied to you every time you went to bed, when he whispered those three little words to you. 

“Because I knew you deserved something better. It was the right thing for me to do'', he offered you a sad smile.

You swallowed loudly, his words getting a hold of you. You were fighting off the tears, not wanting to show Luke how much it was still hurting. 

“But now, I know, or fuckin’ desperately hope I am the man you deserve”.

“Do you really think it could work out this time? Us?”.

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”.

“‘Cause I am a stupidly huge hopeless romantic, I suppose”, he let out a small chuckle. Your lips curved into a smile, “And let me guess, you’re stupidly, hopelessly in love with me?”.

“You took the words out of my mouth”, he chuckled as you chuckled along with him. You had missed this. Hearing his adorable laughter. And laughing with him, hearing the sounds of your laughter blending in together like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“If we do this, hypothetically, of course, we should take it slow. Like extra slow?”.

”Yeah, of course. We wouldn’t want to rush a good thing, would we?”.

You smiled at his words, pleased with the fact he was on the same page as you. You would have never guessed, not even in a million years, that you’d discuss rekindling your old flame with the man that once tore up your heart. And that something inside you told you to trust him this time around. 

”Luke?”.

”Tell me”.

”I’ve missed you”, you confessed as if it was a sin, something you shouldn’t say out loud. Something that you could be punished for. 

”I’ve missed you too, Y/N”.

Something in you, some unimaginable force, wanted to throw yourself into his arms, and kiss him like you had never been apart. 

You could feel the tears forming in your eyes, and as you looked how soft and angelic Luke looked next to you, the tears began to stream down your face.

”Hey, hey… what’s going on, sweetheart?”, he inched towards you, and like a magnetic pull, you closed the gap between you. The proximity didn’t make you nervous, it felt like something that was bound to happen.

”I just..uh, fuck… I don’t know”, you managed to answer through the tears, ”Can you… hold me?”. He nodded, opened his arms and you placed your head against his beating chest. He wrapped his arms around you and your sobs grew more silent. He fondled your arm with his other hand, and you felt his face squished against your shoulder.

”Feeling better?”.

”Yeah. I’m sorry, I was just a bit overwhelmed, I guess”.

”Don’t worry about it. I get it”, he still stroked your arm gently, comforting you just the way you needed.

It all started to make sense. His light stubble against your bare shoulder, your black tank top perfectly matching with his, your steadily beating heart. 

You backed away from his embrace, the sides of your legs still touching one another. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, your fingers playing along with his, until Luke cleared his throat. 

”My mom asked about you the other day, by the way. Well, she didn’t really ask, I suppose, but she wished you were doing good. She loves you, y’know. You always knew how to make her laugh. And she loved how you used to watch The Bachelor with her, now no one wants to do it. And gosh, she never stops complaining about that, I mean -”

You pressed your tear-infused lips on Luke’s, and it took him a while to figure out what hell was going on, and when did, he brushed his lips softly against yours. His hands moved to hold your face and you placed your own behind the back of his neck. You started to grin into the kiss, you couldn’t help it, and soon realized Luke was doing the same as your teeth clashed along with his. A few giggles escaped both of your mouths, and you could practically feel the blood rushing through your veins. Luke closed the small gap between your lips, and for a while, you sat there in each other’s proximity.

”I want to try again, Luke”, you looked deeply into his baby blue eyes and found a sense of comfort in them.

”I want to do that too.. not like it was obvious or something”, he giggled. You loved his sudden nervousness, it was adorable. A large grin spread across your face, and faded as soon as you remembered the reality of your and Luke’s situation. Like you said it yourself, love doesn’t fix anything, not on its own. Did you and Luke have what it takes to make your relationship work again?

”How do we do… this?”.

”I don’t think there’s a manual for this, but we’ll figure it out together”, he kissed your temple.

So you promised each other you’d do everything in your power to make your relationship work again. That night you made up for the lost time, and talked about everything that had been going on in each other’s lives. You babbled about your work, and he listened to you like your voice was his favorite sound. He showed you his tattoos which he had gotten, and the lotus quickly became your favorite. You shared your traveling stories, and he told you what it was like to be on tour. And when you got emotional about missing him for so long, he got emotional too. And suddenly you were sobbing against each other, your legs entangled with his and his lips brushing over yours.

And when you woke up the next morning, with Luke’s arm hanging around your torso, you knew you had made the right choice.

© 2023 bloodhoundluke.

[kinglazrus]

this isn't the beginning (but it's a start)

An AU where Portal Danny went missing his senior year of high school, and he's back home twenty years later.

Ch. 2 | Masterpost | Read on Ao3 | Cover art by @lil-yardstick | Glass figures by @what-even-is-sleep

Chapter One: Oblivion

It was always going to hurt.

Words: 2085 Warnings: mild gore

The star is dying. Tiny flares stretch into the darkness, fiery tongues lapping at the air until the thread of light tethering it to the whole breaks and the heat is lost forever as it dissipates. The star grows smaller with every burst. Dimmer. Colder.

It’s dying, and he might be dying with it, but that feels trivial in comparison. He dies every day.

It always starts in the burial ground, where he roams between the graves. Most of them are little more than mounds, gentle slopes in the grass where something is buried underneath. But others have been tended to so carefully, marked by stone with flowers laid upon them, as if to show there can still be life there.

It’s a nice sentiment, if a bit mistaken.

His memories are buried there, interred deep beneath the dirt and beyond his reach. Most are lost to him, and the few he knows, he knows only by the words carved upon their tombstones. They’re stories he’s been told, faces described, names repeated so many times they should be burned into his brain, but somehow manage to slip away from him again.

But he always wanders, and digs and digs and digs, until his nails are torn and his fingers bleed, and still there’s nothing. If there are any caskets here, he’s never seen them. He lays at the bottom of an empty grave, hands folded over his chest, mud clinging to his fingers as the damp seeps into his clothes and hair. He closes his eyes and wishes the dirt would pour over him. Sometimes it does, stinging his eyes, filling his mouth and nose. Pressing down on him until his ribs creak. And another piece of him dies as he goes stiff and cold.

But he doesn’t get to stay dead. When he wakes, he has to claw his way back up, remind himself who he is and why he’s here. And the next time he pitches forward into darkness, it happens all over again.

So, he’s used to dying.

Then why does this hurt?

It was always going to hurt.

A whimper pulls from his throat, and he holds the star even closer.

He could cradle it in his arms, before. Curl around it as he was enveloped in its light and warmth. Now, it’s caged between his palms, casting soft shadows that sink into the creases of his knuckles as he tries to hold the light in, but it just streams through his fingers while the space between his hands shrinks. Maybe he’s killing it faster. Squeezing the life out of it. Suffocating it. Or maybe, if he lets go, the cold surrounding them will rush in and snuff the star out. Or, without his hands to contain it, all the fire will burst out in one brilliant flash that leaves him blind and aching.

Another shudder ripples through him, and as his head bows toward his clasped hands, a drop rolls from his eye, carving a path down his cheek. It touches the corner of his mouth, seeping into the cracks of his dry skin. When he licks his lips, he tastes iron.

He mistook the blood for tears, at first. Tried to blink it away when he felt his eyes growing wet, and stared down at the polka dot napkin in his hand as his vision went fuzzy. Pretty pastel flecks—yellow, pink, blue, green—scattered like confetti across the paper, except where it was already smeared with red.

He pressed his thumb against the wet spot, wondering how it got there.

“Hey, put that back,” an older woman said. She stood just in front of him, not too close, but enough that he was backed into a corner between her, the wall, and the row of lockers beside him. Her frown deepened the wrinkles around her mouth as she took his hand in hers, raising it up to his face and pressing the napkin against his cheek, just below his eye. She held it there for a second, then squeezed his shoulder.

“Do you know what we did today?” she asked.

“I don’t...” It wasn’t meant to be an answer, but she took it as one. Rightly so. He wasn’t sure what he was doing right then, much less earlier in the day.

“What about the date?”

He blinked at her slowly.

“Okay.” She worried her lip, then ran her fluttering hands over her hair, which was pulled back into a tight bun. “Okay, hon. Go sit down.” She grabbed his shoulder once more and tugged him forward, nudging him toward a nearby doorway. “I’ll get your bag and be right back.”

She lingered another moment before heading down the hall, walking so briskly that each step kicked at her long, flowing skirt. She wasn’t quite running by the time she turned the corner, but it certainly wasn’t a walk.

He wondered what her name was.

Then he blinked, flinching in surprise when his eyelashes fluttered against a napkin pressed into his hand, and pulled it back.

Hm. Polka dots. Like confetti. Marred by two bright red stains. He started raising the napkin back to his face, because she had told him to keep it there.

Who?

He paused. That’s right. Or wasn’t right. He was alone.

That’s okay. Everything is fine.

His head throbbed. He crumpled the napkin in his fist and stumbled toward a nearby doorway. Everything spun as if balanced on a point between his eyes, and he could really use a moment to sit down. As he stepped through, the world tilted around him. His shoulder struck the door frame, and he would have pitched forward if not for the door itself, into which he stumbled as his knees went weak. He braced himself against it, leaning heavily on the doorknob while squeezing his eyes shut, and didn’t move until the world settled enough that he could look without feeling a swoop in his stomach.

Identical tables took up most of the room, their chairs poorly tucked, tops strewn with empty chip bags and paper cups. A few crumbs here and there, and some spilled juice that hadn’t dried yet. Along the wall beside him, a row of hooks overflowing with jackets and backpacks. On the far side of the room, a solitary desk accompanied by filing cabinets and a shelf crammed full of books.

One of the fluorescent lights above his head, the second from the left, flickered, clicking and buzzing as it flashed on and off. He stared at it until the stripes of light were burned on the back of his eyelids, and he tore his gaze away.

He looked to the tables again, to the crumbs and empty wrappers, and the crumpled napkin in his hand, and knew had forgotten.

The first shiver brought him to his knees.

It’s okay. It’s okay.

He gasped, clutching his shirt while tears poured from his eyes, but the drops that hit the tile beneath him were red. A howl filled his ears, keening and desperate and echoing all around him. Or maybe it was him. He could barely hear anything above the noise, but somehow a single shout broke through, and his head whipped up to see a woman in the doorway.

Oh, her.

The last thing he saw before the shadows rose up to meet him was the shape of his name on her lips, and then he was swallowed. Plummeting into the darkness and spat out here, before the dying star.

So it hurts.

Because he might be dying, too. Really dying.

He can’t remember what that feels like, but he imagines it’s something like this. With a heat building in his chest while his hands shake from a chill seeping even deeper. Trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as his tongue scrapes, like sandpaper, against the roof of his mouth, and every muscle in his body constricts until his head is bowed toward his knees in a mockery of confession.

He grasps his throat, fingers wrapped so tightly that he might have been choking himself.

“No.” It’s barely a word. A croak. A wheeze. The smallest moan pushed between his lips. Maybe it’s not a word at all, but he knows what he means to say as the iron blooms across his tongue. “Please.”

He can’t breathe. He doesn’t even need to, but now he can’t, choking as something wells in his throat. Guilt, maybe. How much has he pushed this mind away this past year? It’s not like he didn’t feel it. The pull. At first, just the brush of someone reaching out every couple weeks. Then a firm tug every few days. Then every day, as the gentleness gave way to desperation and pokes and prods that made him snap his teeth.

He wanted to answer. Wanted nothing more than to sink into this dream and see that familiar face. He’s sure he would be received with a smile, despite turning his back on it for so long. But he couldn’t. Not until he was ready. Did he even notice when it stopped reaching out? He tries, now, to recall the last time he felt that nudge against his mind.

How long ago was it? A few days, a week, a month. He can’t say. Time is such a difficult thing.

And now...and now...

He tries to reach back. Presses the star against his chest and wills the dream open, waits for the light streaming into the darkness to coalesce into the shape he knows so well. Instead, heat blooms in his chest, as if all the warmth the star lost has found a home behind his ribs. A spark catching and settings his organs on fire as it tries to burn him out.

So maybe he’s choking on his guilt, or it’s maybe just the mass squirming in his throat. He can’t feel it against his hand, but it’s there. Wriggling as it tries to dislodge itself. Scratching against the muscle. He imagines his throat splitting open and a fleshy mass spewing into the stars, squirming amongst the gore as it drifts into space. But no blood wells beneath his fingers.

He wouldn’t even care if it did.

He tries to gasp out, “Please, no, please,” but his chest squeezes and crushes the words before they can form.

No, that’s not quite right. It’s not a press in, but out, grinding the plea against his rib cage. A fullness, like when you eat too much and your stomach stretches to its limits, except the feeling rises from a place deeper within him. Where his heart used to be, where his core now resides beneath layers of ozone and ectoplasm that he moulded in a facsimile of flesh. A little too much swelling against the limits of this body and pulling his skin taut, something that should not be possible for a being who contains galaxies.

His mouth opens, though no sound falls out. He’s not even sure which of them he would be crying for, now, if anything but blood were pouring from his eyes.

Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go, please.

The stars around them blur. Not dying, just swallowed by the spots dancing at the edge of his vision. His eyes want to fall shut, but he refuses, afraid that if he even blinks, the star will disappear while he’s not watching.

It’s slipped from his grasp while he was thrashing and gritting his teeth. Flares burst off it in every direction as it shrinks smaller and smaller. He reaches toward it with one hand while the other clutches at his chest.

Stop this.

How?

Get it out.

The thing in his throat squirms and slips further down.

Get out!

Cracks spread along his chest. His skin burns as it splits open along old wounds, up his neck and across his jaw. He digs his fingers into the cracks, reaching inside his chest until he finds something soft and fleshy, and he squeezes.

Lightning rips through him, setting every nerve on fire, and his jaw snaps shut. A crack rings out as something in inside him gives. The sound echoes through his head. Blood oozes alongside the ectoplasm as he withdraws his hand, and the cracks along his skin seal once more. The heat rushes out of him, and though the throb in his chest is still there, it’s ebbed slightly, and he finally goes limp.

At the same moment, the star goes out.

—

Masterpost | Next chapter

[leeknowsnot]

CHAPTER 11 — The Loudest Silence

For a second, everything stopped.

The bustle of the school festival—the hollering booth vendors, the idle chatter of students, the looping K-pop song from the speakers—faded into a strange silence. Lina stood frozen in place, her breath caught in her chest, her eyes locked onto Seungmin’s. He hadn’t looked away since the words left his mouth. There wasn’t a trace of laughter in his expression this time. No mischief. Just calm sincerity laced with something unreadable in his dark eyes.

“I like you.”

She should’ve scoffed. Rolled her eyes. Crossed her arms and asked him if this was another joke, another prank to get a rise out of her.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because in that moment, her brain was flooded—not with outrage or sarcasm—but with static. A feverish heat coiled beneath her skin as she tried to make sense of what was happening, of what he meant. And if he really meant it.

And then—

POP!

The sudden burst of confetti to her left made her flinch hard enough to step backward and nearly knock over a decorative display of heart-shaped balloons. Lina blinked rapidly, trying to recover her senses as a stream of pink and white paper spiraled down like spring snow.

“What the—?”

Beside her, Seungmin chuckled—not the smug kind, but the one he wore when something played exactly into his hand.

The students stationed nearby cheered and clapped.

“Congratulations!” one of them beamed, stepping forward with an enthusiastic flourish. “Successful confession! Matching keychains for the couple!”

Lina’s brows drew together as she looked around. For the first time, she noticed the banner hung above their heads in messy glitter glue: CONFESSION BOOTH – Tell them how you feel with a bang! Giant hearts and caricatures of blushing students decorated the sides, and now she realized that the crowd wasn’t just passing by—they were watching. Whispering. Giggling.

Her throat dried. Her gaze snapped back to Seungmin, but he was already glancing toward the source of a new sound—his name being called from across the walkway.

“Yah, Seungmin! Get over here! The strength test line’s finally short!”

It was his teammates. The baseball boys, waving him over from a game booth at the end of the lane.

He turned back to Lina for just a moment, leaning in slightly, enough for her to catch the clean scent of his cologne and the slight rise of a grin on his lips.

“I wanted the keychain,” he said quietly, holding up the tiny plush dangling from his hand—a brown dog in a baseball cap. “Thanks for playing along.”

Her stomach dropped.

Then he winked, easy as ever, and with a casual, almost lazy wave, added, “You’re free to go back to your cute little café now. I won’t keep you.”

And just like that, he turned, jogging toward his friends, his laughter folding back into the soundscape of the festival like it belonged there.

Lina didn’t move. Not for a long while.

Her fingers curled unconsciously around the matching keychain the booth attendants had dropped into her hand. A similar animal keychain, only this one was a white cat and it had a ribbon instead of a cap.

Playing along?

Was that all it was?

Her cheeks were hot, but not from the confetti. She stared down at the stupid plush for another second before slipping it into her skirt pocket, barely aware of her own movements. The air felt suddenly too warm. The crowd too loud. The sunlight somehow too sharp.

She started walking.

Not because she knew where she was going, but because she needed to move, to do something before her thoughts caught up with her and destroyed her.

He hadn’t meant it. That was what she told herself. He hadn’t really meant “I like you.” Not like that.

She knew how Seungmin was—flirty, teasing, lighthearted. He made everything into a joke. A performance. She’d seen it. How girls blushed when he smiled at them. How he used charm like second nature. He knew what to say. When to say it. And how to leave people like her stunned in his wake.

But still—

Why did her heart react like that?

Why couldn’t she laugh it off?

Why did it hurt just a little, watching him laugh with his friends like it was any other day—while she was here, walking back alone, unsure what the hell just happened?

Lina let out a sharp breath through her nose and kicked a loose pebble as she crossed the festival square, weaving through students still bustling between booths.

It didn’t help.

Nothing was helping the fact that her pulse hadn’t slowed down since the confetti burst and the air between them shifted.

The worst part?

She didn’t know what she was more frustrated about—him for saying it like that and walking away… or herself for wishing he’d meant it.

She pushed the classroom door open just as Soojin waved her over with a playful grin.

“You’re back! How was your date with Mr. Baseball?”

Lina didn’t answer. She just walked past them, grabbed a clean rag from the supply basket, and busied herself wiping down the fake marble tables again—tables that didn’t need cleaning.

Hana raised an eyebrow. “Whoa, that’s a new reaction.”

“Yeah,” Soojin said, nudging her. “Did something happen?”

Lina didn’t speak. She just scrubbed harder.

And somewhere in the distance, muffled behind the sound of the crowd and the music, the echo of Seungmin’s voice replayed over and over in her head.

“I like you.”

But now, she wasn’t sure which version of the sentence she hated more.

The real one…

Or the one she’d wished it was.

[justkeeponsimming]

Karma secures a doctor’s appointment for a couple of days' time. As she waits to be seen, her symptoms get worse!

Morning nausea makes it a struggle to get out of bed. Her mood changes so quickly, so songwriting can set her off with ease. She suddenly can’t stand the smell of coffee, even though she adores it. She doesn’t feel stressed, which she thinks could be the cause of her illness!

The morning of her appointment, Karma gets her answer. A shower of confetti rains down on her as she cleans herself up from morning nausea. Her hands fly up to cover her mouth. No plumbobin’ way! She can’t be!

Karma rushes through the house to the nearest full length mirror. Sure enough, she has a tiny baby bump! Tears stream down her face in a mixture of shock and excitement. All of her symptoms suddenly make sense!

What should she do? She has a doctor’s appointment later today. The appointment was to work out what might be happening to her, but now she knows!

Karma hurries to get ready. She needs her pregnancy confirmed!

[chaos-chloe]

Devastating Dinner

Summary: On the eve of her third anniversary with her boyfriend, Droid, she prepared a special surprise dinner reserved at their favorite restaurant.

TW: Angst, Breakup, Tears

Dressed in a beautiful blue dress that sparkled like the night sky, she felt a thrill blossom in her heart as she arrived at the restaurant, excitement swirling around her like confetti. Every minute that ticked by, however, chipped away at her anticipation. The table was set, the candles flickered in soft hues, but the only sound was the clinking of glasses and the distant hum of laughter around her. 

After thirty minutes, ___ felt a pang of concern. She pulled out her phone, only to be greeted with a notification that sent her heart plummeting. Droid had gone live on Twitch. Her mind raced back to their earlier conversations, her gentle reminders about the upcoming anniversary. Surely, he couldn’t have forgotten amidst the stream of game notifications and viewer comments swirling around him.

___’s heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. With a heavy sigh, she settled her bill, leaving behind a generous tip for the server whose pitying glance made her heart ache even more. With each step toward the exit, she held her head high, determined to carry the weight of unfulfilled hope like a badge of honor. After all, she was strong—unbreakable.

Once she reached the sanctuary of her home, a fortress where she could finally shed the façade of feminine strength, the floodgates opened. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sank into her couch, feeling the solitude wrap around her like a heavy blanket. At that moment, she reached for her phone and typed out a simple yet profound message to her once closest friend: "Hopefully one day, you'll remember."

___ stared at the screen, the words blinking back at her like a distant star flickering in the night sky. "Hopefully one day, you'll remember." It seemed so simple yet carried the weight of a thousand heartfelt moments all piled into one. Each word resonated with the echo of hopes unfulfilled, and as she pressed send, it felt like a stone dropped into a silent pond, creating ripples that would spread far beyond that moment.

The tears that had flowed like a river now began to dry, replaced by a stirring resolve within her heart. She wiped her cheeks, each stroke reminding herself that she was more than a relationship.

[britt-kageryuu]

Donnie is streaming, his model is dressed in black/purple tech pants, a dark purple tank top, and black/purple boots. The model is in the VR space. Shelldon and River are wandering around the space.

Donnie: Okay, that took a long time to set up, but finally I can show off a new program I made to use with the VR system.

Virtual confetti goes off with some fanfare.

Donnie: It's not been mentioned, but might be hinted that I am a turtle of Fashion as well as tech & science. So this program will probably help with the fashion side of my future plans.

He moves to the side and a dressform appears. The space shifts to a more fashion design studio type set.

Donnie: While I usually don't show my work while it's still in an alpha/beta phase, but this is a good way to test this program. So to begin, I am going to do a couple of basic stuff.

He moves his arms and a few 'fabric rolls' appear, and a few clothes patterns float just to the side. He takes a few minutes to choose which fabric he will use, has it spread out and the patterns 'cut' the pieces which float close to the dressform.

Donnie: While I myself don't have much experience with clothes making, so I don't know how well this will translate to real life, I figured this would be a good way to figure if my ideas would look good.

Donnie then, with the instructions on how the pieces were supposed to fit, put the the dress together like a puzzle on the dressform. He then repeats this with other 'fabric' and added, and swapped the pieces of this dress.

The chat is very mixed on this, some are interested, some wish to try this themselves, others want to jump into the space, and take over this project.

Shelldon and River are just playing around with the 'props' scattered around the area, at one point they are trying on tiny hats, not doing their jobs what-so-ever. This is what some of the chat decide to focus on.

There are still mixed reactions on Donnies first finished work, but he just moves on to continue testing his new program.

Masterpost

[zazter-den]

Stained Glass Circumstances

Series: Snippet 1, Current, Ch. 1 Foul-Mouthed Frit,

Synopsis- Captain Kirishima tries to focus on duty among the dogwoods of the onsen. Easier said than done.

Warnings- Servant Dynamics, Concubine Dynamics, Suggestive Themes, Hot Spring Setting.

Tags- Less explicit prologue, No Sex, Fantasy AU, Dragon!Kirishima, GuardCapt!Kiri,KingConsort!Reader, Black Haired Reader.

Word Count- 800 Prologue II

As Captain Kirishima traversed the dimly lit hallways, he couldn't help but catch whispers and curious glances from the castle servants and guests. The news of King Bakugou's latest acquisition—the very person he now cradled in his arms—was spreading like wildfire throughout the castle grounds.

The eyes of the castle staff, those less accustomed to the extremes of the king at least, lingered on the pair as they passed. Some glanced with genuine curiosity, while others showed a mix of respect and envy towards the Captain of the Guard. Yet, Kirishima's focus remained solely on the task at hand, one he cherished: ensuring your well-being after your night with the unconventional ruler.

Leaving the confines of the castle, he stepped into the castle courtyard, embraced by the stillness of the night. Above him, the starry sky spread like a sparkling blanket, the moon illuminating his path. The sweet scent of blooming dogwoods filled the air, their delicate petals scattered across the ground like silken confetti.

In the tranquil beauty of the gardens, still groggy from the earlier encounter with King Bakugou, you stirred in Kirishima's arms. The sound of a voice, drowsy and sweet, reached his ears as you expressed your appreciation for his assistance. He chuckled, the sound a pleasant rumble you could feel, and a warm smile graced his lips.

"It's my honor." Captain Kirishima replied, his deep voice laden with a tenderness only reserved for those closest to his heart. "Rest assured, you're in good hands." Barely restrained adoration for you lighting up his scarlet eyes.

Approaching the entrance of the hot spring cavern, you marveled at the sight before them same as every night, the Captain never failed to find your awe endearing. The cave was carved from a giant geode, its walls sparkling with an array of crystals that shimmered in the moonlight. Smooth pools held healing mineral water bubbled up through the tiny cracks and fissures below, warm water surrounded by the gentle embrace of towering dogwoods within the geode walls. Their delicate blooms added a touch of softness to the surroundings, the ombre petals floating upon the water's surface.

The most captivating feature of the structure was the giant hole in the ceiling—nature's own skylight. It allowed the moon's luminous rays to stream in, casting a ethereal glow on the warm pools. The combination of moonlight and crystal created a dreamlike ambiance, enchanting anyone who set foot in the cave.

Every night the sight would take your breath away. And every night Captain Kirishima would lose his in response.

He carefully set you down at the edge of your favored pool, turning away to offer privacy as you unwrapped the crimson Captain's cloak enveloping your tired body. It was a reminder of the boundaries that existed between them—the duty that he held to both his king and his own code. A boundary that Captain Kirishima knew he was beginning to toe.

With the warmth of the onsen air embracing them, you slowly entered the healing water, the delicate dogwood petals floating on the surface shifting as you made your way further in.

Turning back to face the water, to face you, Kirishima's heart ached as much as his sore body. His mind fully aware of the consequences that awaited him if he were discovered lingering.

But still, his gaze stayed on you, captivated by the sight of you wading closer to the ethereal glow of moonlight, surrounded by the enchanting ambiance of the cave. As you settled into the middle of the healing waters, Kirishima knelt by the pool's edge. Nights like these stirred a tender and treachorous longing within his heart. Despite his position as a loyal servant to the king, his feelings for you undoubtedly went beyond mere duty.

Gently, Kirishima reached down, trailing his bruised hand along the smooth surface of the water, ancient minerals slowly began to knit the laceration from this afternoon, causing ripples to dance across the pool's surface. The reflections of the stars and dark sky above seemed to come alive in the swirling water, mirroring the turbulent emotions within the captain's own heart.

He shouldn't be this close.

Kirishima reluctantly forced himself to stand. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, facing away from the pool, a quiet sigh escaped his lips. He knew he shouldn't have developed these feelings for one of the concubines of Bakugou, the barbaric royal he swore to serve. But the heart, the soul, has a way of weaving its own tapestry, ignoring the boundaries set by duty and loyalties.

The impacts from King Bakugou's winning blow during their sparring match still rattled his body, adding an additional injury to insult this time around. Residual pain etched on his face as he began to walk away from the steamy waters, towards the cavern exit.

"Wait, Captain…!" your voice reached out to him from behind, words soft and filled with a gentle insistence. "You…should join me."

Taglist: @themythicaldisaster

Wishing nonnie and you all the sweetest of dreams ❛ ֊ ❛

Comment/tag for what you might like to see of this series!

[ryuwonieebae]

𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒏

𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎(원우), Imagines, One-shot

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

Pairing : wonwoo x gn!reader

Genre : fluff, romance, humour(?)

Word count : 530

Warning : use of pet names(shorty)(?), mentions of crying, use of curse words, Wonwoo and y/n are besties, confession, mention of Mingyu, reader's shorter than Wonwoo, addrative = attractive+addictive

A/n : This fanfiction is purely based on my imagination only. It's totally fictional. I hope this is good enough to make you guys happy. I'm still learning to write creatively. Thank you for supporting me. It means a lot to me. Thanks to my besties too<3...

Wonwoo and you are bestfriends. Both of you yearn for each other's love in secrecy until that one night, when he confesses to you..

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

You whimpered as you tried to fight your tears which were streaming down your face helplessly. But you're efforts in vain as you recalled what you've accomplished.

"Stop crying y/n!"

"You don't understand Wonwoo!"

The tall guy was absolutely perplexed looking at his bestie as he knew that you're not the person to cry easily. He's cracking his mind maybe because you didn't even tell him what had actually happened.

"Can you at least tell me what happened? Gosh!"

Wonwoo grunted as he settled down on the couch in front of you. You got a glimpse of him stirring the hot chocolate hastily waiting for you to give him an answer. He looked so cushy and addractive. Thanks to the woolen sweater you bought for him last Christmas and the round glasses he was wearing that were covered by his raven hair strands. You didn't know for how long you were staring at him, your long term crush until he looked up at you catching you off guard.

"Tell me what happened before I throw you out of the window shorty"

You were not flabbergasted by his audacity to tell that. You were used to it by now.

"I just ended a four year relationship"

"Shit! What? Well anyways I'm so sorry to hear that"

"It's okay it wasn't my relationship"

Wonwoo's jaw dropped. His monolid eyes broadened as they darted towards you who was keeping on a cool face as if you did nothing.

"It was actually Mingyu's idea. Remember he told us that his so called girlfriend was cheating? I couldn't see him breaking down every single second. So yeah"

"Then why were you crying?"

"Do you know what crocodile tears mean? And to make you convinced I made it a bit more dramatic"

Wonwoo let out a disbelief chuckle as he gulped down the hot chocolate which was still warm despite the frosty temperature outside. You huffed as you made your way towards Wonwoo, gliding your hands around his tiny waist, you embraced him.

"It's not fair. My cardigan is too old and I can't tolerate the coldness. Cover me with yours, please"

Despite his now-flushed cheek, Wonwoo wrapped you with his overlarge cardigan. Your mouth curved into a smile when you felt his warmth surrounding you. You loosened up yourself and closed your eyes, allowing yourself into your dreamland.

Wonwoo admired your face, your features. Little did you know, Wonwoo had laid his eyes on you since the first day you guys met. You were wearing a woolen white fluffy cardigan just like his, with a sweet smile spread across your warm face, playing with the snowballs with the appearance of snow fluttering down like magical confetti. Wonwoo got a rush of butterflies as he recollected all of his memories since the first day. His heart thundered in his chest as he timidly pecked your forehead and nose while delicately tracing your features with his finger.

"For years I have yearned for you, for your warmth and your love. And I finally got it. I'll never let you go, my shorty"

"Okay, my half-blinded black cat. I love you too" you murmured under your breath, still feigning to be asleep.

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

[darlingrevenge]

(MICHAEL CIMINO, CISMALE, HE/HIM) They say the city never forgets a name and MIGUEL RIVERA is no testament to that. The TWENTY-FIVE-year-old has carved out their place in NYC’s underbelly. On the surface, they’re all QUIRKY, smooth moves and sharp eyes. But dig a little deeper and you’ll find something far more dangerous , STUBBORN, with no hesitation and even less remorse. They move through the streets like they own them, wearing the colors of the THE ASSEMBLY and running the game as a HACKER. Some say they’ve always been here. Others swear something’s changed. Either way, they’re not just part of the story.

“I can hack a city grid blindfolded, but sure, let’s pretend your six-digit password is impressive.”

Affiliation: The Assembly Occupation: Hacker | Surveillance Tech | Digital Mischief Coordinator™ Face Claim: Michael Cimino Age: 25 Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Vibe: Golden retriever energy + keyboard gremlin Alignment: Chaotic good with a morally gray badge

OVERVIEW

Miguel Rivera is the reason the darkest ops team in New York hasn't murdered each other yet. While the rest of The Assembly moves in silence and shadows, Miguel moves in memes, caffeine, and absurd commentary. He’s the sunshine in a room full of storm clouds—cracking jokes while cracking encrypted files.

Yes, he can break into government servers like it's a game of Sudoku. Yes, he knows everyone's dirty secrets. But somehow, Miguel manages to hold it all with a light touch. He’s funny, warm, loud when he shouldn't be—and too smart for his own good. While others push agendas, Miguel keeps the heart of The Assembly somewhat human.

Don’t mistake the sunshine for softness though—he’ll fry your hard drive mid-sentence and eat your lunch while he does it.

SKILLS

Elite Hacker Energy: Breaks into encrypted systems while dancing to '90s playlists.

Surveillance Expert: Runs the screens, drones, wiretaps—sometimes with glitter stickers on the gear.

Distraction Master: Talks his way out of almost anything, including getting caught in places he shouldn’t be.

Creative Sabotage: Think: replacing a corrupt politician’s files with cat videos and crashing a mobster's crypto wallet with confetti code.

People Person™: The one Assembly agent who can talk to a barista and a senator and make them both laugh.

BACKSTORY

Miguel Rivera believes in light. Even when it’s dim, even when it flickers, even when no one else can see it—he does. Because when you lose everything and still wake up smiling, what else can you be but hope in a hoodie?

Raised in the Bronx by his grandmother after his parents were killed in a crossfire, Miguel learned early that grief doesn’t ask for permission. He also learned that grief doesn’t win—not if you don’t let it. His abuela filled their tiny apartment with prayer candles and laughter, cooking lessons and telenovelas, and a constant refrain: “Find joy, even in the ruins.” So Miguel did. First in machines. Then in people.

He was a self-taught prodigy—building computers before he hit puberty, hacking school firewalls for fun, setting up VPNs for his neighborhood to stream movies for free. He had the mind of a genius and the heart of a class clown. Teachers adored him, classmates gravitated to him, but behind all that light was a quiet knowledge of loss. He didn’t let it define him—but he never forgot it, either.

When his grandmother passed during his sophomore year of college, something in him cracked—but it didn’t break. Instead, he turned pain into purpose. He got louder. Brighter. Smarter. He started exposing corruption in quiet, clever ways. And when he hacked a NYPD database as a prank, turning their annual gala slideshow into SpongeBob GIFs, The Assembly came calling.

They expected a jaded, sharp-tongued hacker. What they got was someone who talks too fast, wears headphones like a crown, and calls his surveillance drones “my babies.” He doesn’t just track targets—he watches over people. The team calls him "the kid" but listens when he speaks, because his heart? It’s as dangerous as his code.

Miguel jokes so he doesn’t fall apart. He smiles so others don’t have to fake it. And when it really counts—when things are falling apart and no one knows what comes next—he’s the one still holding onto the idea that maybe, just maybe, there’s still something worth saving.

TRAITS

Sunshine with Bite: Always smiling, always joking—but fiercely loyal and deeply protective.

Empathic Tech Nerd: Understands people as much as he understands code.

Morally Awake in a Corrupt World: He jokes to cope, but he’s here to make a difference—even if it’s behind the curtain.

Talks Fast, Thinks Faster: Words spill out like a stream of consciousness. Often ridiculous. Always on brand.

Unintentional Charmer: Doesn’t know how hot or smart he is. It’s infuriating.

CONNECTION

The Grumpy to His Sunshine: Someone in The Assembly who finds him very annoying… until they don’t.

The One He Accidentally Hacked: Oops. That virus was meant for someone else. Now they’re in his DMs.

The Crush He Can’t Shut Up About: A rival? A cop? A morally-questionable crush he keeps gushing about while the team rolls their eyes.

The Bestie with Matching Chaos: Another upbeat character who causes joint mischief with Miguel. Trouble, but make it adorable.

The One He Secretly Protects: Maybe a civilian or someone who he wants to protect. He monitors them like a silent guardian.

[oldwebmlp]

From: http://web.archive.org/web/20021124094512/http://www.geocities.com/wicket_ash/Confetti.html

Text from page below the cut:

Confetti liked to sit by the waterfall and design beautiful toys from colored paper and streamers.  One sunny afternoon, while cutting out paper dolls, a gentle breeze blew one of the dolls into the trickling stream of the waterfall.  Confetti chased after it, but couldn't find it anywhere in the crystal waters.  Suddenly, the rainbow appeared above the waterfall.  The paper doll peeked through the colorful arch, laughing as she came to life.  Gliding down the rainbow like a slide, the paper doll landed right onto Confetti's back.  "Let's ride through the clouds!"  the doll exclaimed.  Confetti clapped her hoofs together and off they went, with the rainbow leading the way.  Confetti took her friend for a magical ride through Ponyland.  During the ride, the paper doll combed Confetti's mane and tail into hundreds of tiny braids that looked like rows of pastel ribbons waving in the clouds.

[thatgirlissopeculiar]

Dream’s dnf fanart likes

November 2nd

the Dream Team celebrating George's birthday. Sapnap holding a balloon with 'wow you're old' on it, George holding a Minions themed cake, Dream wearing a Minions themed cat beanie with one arm around George's shoulders

George with tiny Sapnap and Dream on either side of him, various coloured shapes around them

the Dream Team sitting on a kitchen counter, a Minions themed cake in George's lap. Dream with one arm around George's shoulders, their lips stained blue from the icing, blue kiss marks on both of their faces. Sapnap reaching out to scoop some icing from the cake.

George in his birthday stream outfit

a polaroid style picture of George wearing a shirt with 'I'm feeling 22 27' on it, a party hat on his head and a party whistle in his mouth

George in his birthday stream outfit, doubled over laughing, multicoloured confetti around him

George slouched in his computer chair, holding his passport, the Earth as seen from space behind him

George holding a cake with candles reading '27', a Minion on his shoulder

George, wearing a Minions themed party hat, kneeling and holding his hands out to tiny Minions and Dream blobs (plus a Sapling who is more interested in eating cake)

a close up of George in his birthday stream outfit, blue stars in his hair

cat!George playing with a pumpkin

George holding a Minions themed cake, candles reading '72' on the top

George, wearing yellow and blue, hugging a large Minion

George wearing a yellow and blue party hat and holding a yellow and blue cake

a video edit of various clips from George's birthday stream

a pencil drawing of a close up of George in his Name Your Price TwitchCon Las Vegas outfit

sorcerer!George standing in front of dragon!Dream, the burning remains of a city around them (art for this fanfic)

George, wearing a party hat, waving, balloons behind him

George, holding a knife and a shield, fighting a chicken

George, wearing a party hat and sash, cake smushed on his face

George holding a Minions themed cake, someone off screen taking his picture

a video edit of George clips and pictures (many Minion themed)

George floating, holding a Minion balloon, Dream holding onto his hand, Sapnap holding onto Dream's foot

George, holding a banner with his name on it, surrounded by Minions

the Dream Team in their Halloween outfits, Dream and George crouched, Dream's arm around George's waist, Sapnap laying on the ground in front of them

a video edit of various clips of irl dnf

Dream, in his mask and green hoodie, running with Chimkin on his head, George chasing them, sword and shield in hand

various doodles of Dream and Chimkin, including one of George chasing them down

George, in his birthday stream outfit, holding a plate of cake. Sapnap is sitting on the cake reaching up for Dream, who is hanging from the fork George is holding

George, in a Minions tshirt, surrounded by Minions, Dream and Sapnap standing behind them, dressed in Minions themed outfits

George chasing Dream, who has jumped off a cliff and is gliding away with the help of Chimkin