#wc scooter

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 .

         ⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan knows her confession came at a terrible, horrible time. megan knows she had a million chances before now to say something. megan knows it's probably selfish, could ruin the band, and is overall extremely unfair. but megan also knows she needs to set the record straight— it was messy, and it was imperfect, sure, but megan loved you, that much she knows for certain.

            ˎˊ˗  ☀️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  ୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ ➴ pairing: idol!megan skiendiel x f!reader.

          ➴ genre + wc: 7k, childhood friends, unrequited love, heavy pining, angst, megan is so down bad it hurts, also sorry manon for what u are about to go through, reader is oblivious, megan is lowkey a shit-head punk in this but idc i found it fun!!

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: misses - dominic fike. ♫

           ┈─★ a/n: i wanted some megan pining + megan angst so guess what i did <33

the fact that your friendship survived her time on dream academy is a miracle in and of itself. 

megan is sitting criss-crossed on your bed, trying to stack your squishmallows. squishmallows she herself has bought you, she herself insisted you keep, she herself would pretend to cry every time you even considered getting rid of them.

“can i post this?” she asks, holding up a photo on her phone you two had taken that morning at the beach. 

she had flown back home to hawaii for a few days, to spend time with her family before the katseye tour started, but insisted on spending as much of her vacation with you. 

“crop me out please,” you tell her, as if she doesn’t already know your rule. 

but megan is stubborn, and insists on trying anyways. 

“why can’t i tag you?” she groans, throwing herself back on the bed. 

“people would ask about me,” you remind her. 

when she had first gone on dream academy, you knew it was going to change everything for her. of course it would, after all, she’s megan— charming, hardworking, and so, so talented. it was a matter of time before the world discovered her, and you were well prepared, but that didn’t mean you necessarily wanted the same. while megan dreamed of reaching every corner of the world, you wanted to keep your head low, focus on getting through each day, making the most of the life you have in front of you instead of chasing anything too big or too flashy. 

it’s what made you two so good together— megan, the dreamer with her head in the clouds, and you, the earth beneath her feet. 

“so what?” she questions, brows furrowing. “we just don’t hang out any more? you’re my best friend.”

“meiyok, you do this every week,” you laugh, playfully rubbing her forehead to try and smooth out her eyebrows. “i have to hide, since you want to go off and blow up and shit.”

“not my fault i’m so talented,” megan grins.

“it is your fault that you attract attention so easily,” you tease. “miss future superstar.”

megan’s fingers hover over your photos: you laughing in the water, her on an electric scooter, the two of you chasing after seagulls on the beach. 

“are you sure?”

you nod. “i don’t want the world to know about me.”

“how are people supposed to know that i’m your friend?” she asks, and you see her lips curl up into a pout. 

“you know, and i know,” you give her a gentle caress of the arm to try and soothe her. “that’s who matters, right? us.”

“right.” megan nods, blinking. “us. right.”

she deletes the photos that have any trace of you, posting herself instead, deleting the way she tagged you for photo credits, simply captioning it the sunshine feels good. you thank her and go back to hunting through your closet for clothes you don’t wear any more to make room for the new. 

you don’t notice that megan spots an old hoodie she had gifted you in the “giveaway” pile. you don’t see her wince, her face tensing in realization. you don’t see her pick up the hoodie, bring it to her cheek to smell your familiar scent, and fold up politely, before tucking it into her tote bag. she figures if you were getting rid of it, you probably won’t notice. she’s right. you don’t.

—

touring takes off, and every day, you see megan’s follower count on instagram skyrocket further and further. you see her everywhere— on your tik tok, on your socials, you hear their songs on the radio, you even see megan’s face on posters out on buildings. people in your small town are beyond proud of her, posting about how they’ve known her since she was a kid or how she used to come buy shaved ice from their stand on the beach. but you never do, this is about megan, not about you, and you’re happy just knowing what you do about your best friend. your bond is nobody’s business but your own, and you intend to keep it that way.

she’s been insanely busy since the tour started, but when you get a facetime call one morning from your goofy meiyok, knowing they just touched down in hawaii for a performance, you pick up ASAP as to not leave her waiting.

(you already know what she’s going to ask.)

“will you come to our show?” she asks breathlessly, no greeting, no check in if you’re busy, no letting you know when and where. it’s how megan operates: messy, a little recklessly, but so full of good intentions, leading herself through the world heart-first and using her head later.

“wouldn’t miss it,” you smile. “already asked for tonight off from work.

“will you sit backstage?” she asks eagerly, and your stomach twists at the idea. you never wanted to get special treatment, to mooch off megan’s success in any way. you had already bought your own ticket, never wanting megan to feel like she had to give any kind of hand-out to you or like you were using her for the perks. this girl had been your best friend since childhood, and you knew she’d insist on being generous, but that was your job. to shut her down, to tell her no, and to keep living your normal life even when megan wanted to bring you into her lavish lifestyle. your job was to not get caught up in the glamor of it all, and make sure she still feels human at the end of the day.

“i don’t know, mei…” you say hesitantly. 

“let me upgrade you to VIP at least and i’ll find you after. or something.” her voice is eager, and even though the camera is moving around to the point it makes you dizzy, you can still see her pleading puppy dog eyes through the facetime screen. “please please please, y/n!”

“don’t crash out,” you laugh, figuring the compromise is fair enough. “i’ll be there.”

“see you tonight,” she beams, nearly glowing through the screen, and you wave before hanging up. 

the concert is every bit as fun as you anticipated it would be. megan, true to her word, gets your ticket upgraded to VIP, but you’re much more comfortable with seeming like another casual fan than sitting backstage. you can see her better like this anyways, more authentically herself. you think back to every dance competition you had come to cheer her on for, every audition you waited in the car with, even the way you had helped her pick a song for her dream academy audition. 

and now here she is, performing to a sold-out crowd in your hometown, her smile never leaving her face as she sings and effortlessly completes her choreography. she seems so, so happy doing this, and you love seeing her in her element. shining, exactly as you knew she was meant for.

the concert comes to an end, and she calls you nearly as soon as you see her step off stage. she has security guide you through towards the backstage area, as hidden as you can be, and you finally get a chance to meet the girls that you had seen in the background of your facetime calls. 

they had all tried to follow you on instagram after the final katseye lineup had been announced, and you figured megan had done more than her fair share of mentioning you during her dream academy time, but you had made it a point to not follow them back. sure, they were megan’s friends, but they were her coworkers first and foremost, and you knew that being on their following list as international popstars would make you an easy target for internet investigators. the last thing you wanted was any weird fan digging you up, so you kept to yourself.

but now, with them in the flesh, you figure you can warm up to them now that they’re real girls in front of your eyes and not just voices and photos behind a screen.

“y/n, we finally meet!” sophia laughs, reaching out to swoop you into a hug as if you guys already knew each other. she’s first to come out from the green room, followed one by one by the rest of them.

“i’m gonna be so honest,” daniela admits sheepishly, wiping down her face with a towel, “i thought you were made up.”

“no forreal, like imaginary friend status,” lara grins, and the four of you laugh. “or like an ai that meggy was always on the phone with.”

“what’s so funny?” megan asks, finally emerging from the room with yoonchae right behind her, furrowing her eyebrows as she reaches over to give you a crushing hug. 

“nothing,” you reassure her, hugging her back, not minding the sweat. “just teasing you.”

“oh, so the usual bullshit,” she groans, but the smile on her face tells you it’s all in good fun. yoonchae offers you a quick nod, and you all make small talk as the girls refuel with snacks and rehydrate.

you’re caught off guard when the dressing room door opens a final time, their final and missing member stepping out into the hallway with you guys. your eyes meet, and you instantly feel a tingle in your spine with the way her eyes light up.

“oh, who is you?” she says in a mock-surprised voice, causing the rest of the girls to crack up. you can tell manon is the influential one, the way she radiates confidence, and you’ve never been one to get starstruck, but maybe there’s a first for everything. 

the girls all scream and echo it, imitating her: “oh who is you?” over and over again, back and forth, cracking themselves up as it gets funnier and funnier each time they say it, all of them laughing.

well… all of them except for one.

“you know who this is,” megan rolls her eyes, and you’re thrown off by how your usually goofy best friend is for some reason not into the whole bit.

“well where are your manners, megan? introduce me,” manon tells her, crossing her arms over her chest nonchalantly, not letting megan’s disposition throw her off.

that’s the thing about megan that you’ve always known— megan has a big heart, but she’s ruled by her emotions, and whatever she’s feeling right now is written across her face. you want to investigate further, to ask her what her deal is, but before you can get a chance, megan is already complying. you sense that she’s not quite ready to go against manon, and rolls her eyes as she points between the two of you.

“manon, y/n,” she says, gritting her teeth. “y/n, manon.”

“same name on instagram? or…” manon’s eyes flicker up playfully at you as she pulls out her phone.

“y/n doesn’t want us following her on socials,” megan says quickly, her eyes wide, realizing what manon is suggesting.

“this one’s fine,” you grin, waving her off, feeling your cheeks warm up. manon smiles back at you and hands you her phone.

“oh, special treatment much?” lara boos playfully. “quit rizzing up the quiet ones, manon.”

you all laugh, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling. manon won’t stop looking at you, smiling back.

what you don’t catch is megan’s forced smile. she’s smiling, but it doesn’t make it to her eyes.

—

the girls are all supposed to fly to LA later that night, but megan opts to stay in hawaii one day longer, getting a later flight so she can spend more time with her loved ones. you worry that she’ll be sleep deprived from the messed up schedule but she insists she’ll be fine, promising you there’s no need to worry. she stays at her parent’s house that night instead of a hotel, and she barely gets a chance to ask before you’re reassuring her that you’ll spend the night.

she tells you all about the grueling dance practices, the people she’s met on tour, the secret new album they’re working on recording in between tour dates. the two of you lay side by side in her bed, in the same room she’s had since you were first friends, and spend the whole night laughing at tik toks and reminiscing about the mess that was your group junior prom, ending in megan ripping her dress down her ass from dancing too wildly on the dance floor. 

you can hear her breathing even out as she quiets down, clearly drifting off after such a long night. but you have a pressing question, one that makes you a little nervous, and you realize asking megan now is better than waiting for a chance that might never come again. 

“hey,” you tap her on the nose, gently, with your finger. 

she grumbles and turns over in her sleep, her nose wrinkling but she doesn’t open her eyes. “you’re waking me up for what?”

“to ask you a question,” you tell her. 

“it can’t wait?” she asks, letting out a sigh. 

“it’s serious,” you finally admit, biting your lip. “i don’t want to lose you.”

she turns over instantly, her eyes wide as they look up at you. she seems panicked, and you worry that maybe this wasn’t a good idea in the first place. 

“maybe i should say something first,” megan mumbles quietly, and you feel your chest thud. 

“i mean, you can, if you want,” you offer. 

“no actually, you first,” she shakes her head, eyes screwing shut for a brief moment. you can feel her nervous breaths on the tip of your nose, the closeness between the two of you. she opens her eyes once more and nods, blinking. “okay, i’m ready.”

“i know i haven’t exactly wanted to be in the spotlight with you,” you start, your voice quiet. you know it’s unfair— all megan has ever been is kind, and patient, and understanding, and you realize maybe, that kind of patience was all you needed to take a leap like this.

“do you think i could have manon’s number?” you finally blurt, biting down on your bottom lip anxiously as the words leave your mouth. “might be easier than dm’s.”

megan looks at you, blinking back, as if in shock. her body is still for a few moments, but she quickly shakes her head, as if she’s waking back up. her brows furrow across her forehead, and you worry for a second that you’ve offended her by seeking out a way to get closer to her coworker after all you’ve said and done to avoid being involved with all this, but megan is megan, and you realize it was silly to worry. she’s always going to have your back.

“yeah,” she nods slowly, swallowing down. “yeah, um, i don’t think she’ll mind.”

you smile and press your foreheads together, grateful to whatever is out there that gave you the angel that is megan skiendiel. “what were you going to say earlier, mei?”

she closes her eyes as your foreheads touch, her breath gentle against your face. “uh… just if you’re busy tomorrow. if we could surf or something. i’ve missed you.”

“i can fit you in the schedule,” you grin, before feeling your eyelids getting heavy. you leave your head there, comforted by the sound of megan’s breaths so close to you, feeling your heart race still from your question. “my eyes are closing. good night, mei.”

you fall asleep, and don’t notice the way megan’s eyes flutter back open and linger on your lips for much, much longer than needed. 

—

a few weeks later, you have a break in your work schedule, and megan insists on flying you out to LA with her and the kats to spend some time together before their tour picks back up.

you and megan spend the day touring the city, hitting the beach, laughing your heads off. she brings you to a park, unpacking a tote bag to reveal the makings of a picnic as you two sit in the grass and admire the sunset. the watermelon is sticky against your chin, and she laughs taking photos of you against the california sky. 

“would you help me with something?” you ask, watching as she struggles to neatly cut a piece of cheese with her stupid little charcuterie knife, making a mess on the blanket. you laugh, and she grins up at you.

“anything,” she answers easily.

“manon finally asked me on a date,” you admit. the two of you had been texting non-stop since their show in hawaii, and even though she was in new york right now doing publicity for a makeup brand, she had offered to take you out as soon as she’s back in LA as long as you’re still there.

“no yeah, duh,” she blinks, as if she wasn’t expecting it. “of course.”

you grimace. megan hadn’t asked how things were going between the two of you, and you hadn’t made it a point to ask. megan had never been open about dating during your friendship, and you were always too picky to be serious about any crushes, so the two of you had never really gotten to the point of talking about your romantic interests. plus, with megan, your heart was full enough— some days, you wondered why people were so obsessed with the idea of a partner when you had such an incredible best friend to fill your days with.

“she gets back tomorrow. i need help picking an outfit,” you tell her, staring down at the charcuterie platter and fruits in front of you. “and maybe what to say.”

“just be you,” she says simply, looking down again at the cheese and crackers. she doesn’t eat them, just fidgets with them, as she’s always done, a busy body at heart.

“what does she like?” you ask, feeling your throat uncomfortably dry at the thought of your impending date.

megan shakes her head. “don’t worry about that. just be you.”

“i am worrying. i want her to like me,” you admit.

“she will,” megan reassures you, her voice quiet.

“i’m worried if things go poorly i’ll lose you,” you confess, tilting your head at her. “make things weird.”

“it won’t. i’ve got your back,” megan nods, reaching out to pat you gently on the shoulder.

“thanks,” you breathe.

she wrinkles her nose, and you can see she’s debating something inside herself, but within moments, she’s blurting out her question, no filter.

“how come you didn’t want to be seen with me but you’re down to go see manon?”

“it’s not like that,” you shake your head, realizing it may seem unfair in your best friend’s eyes. “it’s easier to hide one date than our whole ass friendship.”

“what if she falls in love with you?” megan presses on, her eyes wide and pleading. “what then?”

“well, that’s not my problem,” you laugh, wondering where this sudden stress is coming on from. “i’m just trying to get through that damn date.”

“you’re right, you’re right,” megan shakes her head. “sorry. you know how i get.”

you reach over to stroke her back reassuringly, before adding a quiet confession, your lips curling into an eager smile.

“i’m excited for the first time in a long time,” you admit. “she seems like a really good one.”

you don’t notice megan’s head fall ever so slightly. she never tells you about how long she had planned this picnic, making sure to choose all your favorite things, the blanket in your favorite color. 

—

a few weeks later, your uber is dropping you off at an unfamiliar door, as you try to knock as quietly as possible to not seem suspicious in this unfamiliar neighborhood.

the door swings open, and you see her— clearly having just woken up, hair a mess, but so, so familiar. you can’t stop yourself from smiling at the sight of her.

“y/n,” megan beams excitedly, her eyes going wide as she realizes you’re in front of her, in the flesh. “you’re here?”

“i flew in this morning,” you grin. “surprise.”

she grabs your bag and pulls you into the house, wrapping you up in a hug so tight, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. she’s smiling so brightly, her teeth on full display, it’s almost like you just told her she’s won the lottery. her words come out a million miles a minute, the girl rambling all on what seems like a single breath as she looks you over.

“how do you feel? are you jet lagged? what are you doing today? if you give me like 5 minutes, i can get ready super duper fast and we can hang out— do you want to go get a coffee?”

you can’t help but smile, even if you are absolutely exhausted from your red-eye. megan just has that cheering effect on people. “i was craving a coffee so bad, actually. where has a good drive-thru?”

“i was thinking i could show you this new place downtown—” megan starts, smiling sheepishly, but you’re both quickly interrupted by a third voice and the sound of steps coming from upstairs.

“no way, is that my woman?” manon beams, coming down the stairs. “you look so fine, what the hell.”

“flew in to surprise you,” you smile, your cheeks burning at the sight of her. 

“you shouldn’t have,” manon grins, reaching over to grab your hand and kiss you. you’ve always been shy about pda, but ever since becoming official last week, you haven’t minded squeezing it in any chance you get.

“coffee date with megan?” you offer, motioning to the tallest of the three of you.

but megan’s smile has turned into a tight line of her lips pressing together, looking down at the way manon has her arm wrapped around your waist. 

“nah, you guys go, i just remembered i have a thing,” megan waves you off, rubbing the back of her neck. “i’ll send you the spot. bring me back something?”

you open your mouth to ask something, but manon is faster.

“i need a driver,” manon grins sheepishly. “still getting that american license, remember?”

“y/n can drive my car. you’ll be careful, right?” she looks over at you, handing you her keys, something in her eyes that makes you want to ask.

but you don’t, instead smiling back at manon and putting the keys in your pocket. “of course, i’ll be careful.”

“see ya,” she waves you two off, watching as manon follows you out the door, the two of you covering your faces with sunglasses and masks.

you don’t see the way megan looks down at her hands. you never realize that you forget to bring her back a drink.

—

the girls only get more busy, and you only have so many hours in a day. manon calls you on routine, every morning before you go to work, but that means you have less time for megan’s calls. but she still makes it a point to send you postcards from every new city, sending you pictures over text even if you take forever to reply, reminding you that she’s there even if you guys aren’t talking as often as you had at one point.

but after a particularly grueling fight over the phone with manon, you find yourself seeking her out. you know they’re in korea right now, and manon was nearly falling asleep halfway through your fight, but your call only rings once before megan is picking up, her groggy voice soothing you instantly.

“y/n,” she breathes, quiet but excited. “it’s been forever.”

“hey mei,” you smile, but you realize your voice is shaky. “sorry, i know you might be sleeping.”

“what’s wrong?” she asks instantly. years together make it easy for her to read you, too easy.

“i just need you to tell me i’m being irrational,” you breathe, feeling mildly guilty that your first real conversation in weeks is for you to complain about her friend. but megan stays quiet, and listens, letting you rant about the fight you just had, getting it all off your chest. she listen, without judgement, without cutting you off, and you feel yourself instantly comforted. megan always manages to know exactly what to do.

you reach the end of your rant, and she’s quiet for a beat longer.

“are you okay?” she asks simply, no judgement, no anger. just concern.

“she’s just too calm sometimes,” you sigh. “like too relaxed.”

“manon’s probably an avoidant attachment,” megan offers, contemplatively. “maybe she thinks you guys are going to hurt each other so she’d rather not talk about the hard stuff.”

you bite your lip, staring up at your ceiling. “has she said anything about me?”

“manon’s super private,” megan sighs. “doesn’t even talk about you to me any more. not since you became official.”

“i know she is,” you mumble back. the thing you had appreciated so much about manon was slowly starting to become an issue in and of itself.

there’s another pause, and you can practically hear the gears turning in megan’s head.

“is she being good to you?” she asks, her voice gentle, tender even. “treating you well?”

“i know we have our ups and downs, but i’m really happy,” you reiterate.

“do you think we would have been happy?” she asks, quickly, as if she’s scared that the line will cut at any given moment. “if we stayed close.”

“maybe,” you smile, though it hurts. all your years, and you never pictured that you and megan could possibly grow apart. but time and distance will do that to you, you figure. “do you ever miss me?”

“maybe,” megan smiles, her voice lighter. “do you miss me?”

“a little,” you admit. being worlds apart with no time to spend together has taken its toll, but your joy in seeing her live out her dreams outweighs it all. “but it’s easier to be proud of you. i feel like i’m distracting you less.”

“no way!” megan nearly shouts, making you smile. “you were never a distraction. honestly i wish you’d live with us at this point.”

“you guys would get sick of me,” you laugh. 

“maybe everyone else would,” she teases. “‘cause you’re annoying or whatever. but i wouldn’t.”

“manon would be sooo tired of me,” you laugh again. megan laughs with you, and it’s enough to comfort you. you guys say goodnight, and you hang up soon after to get ready for a family dinner. 

you don’t hear megan’s chest tighten after you hang up, the way she lets out a quiet breath. you don’t see megan fall back into her hotel room bed, head thudding into the pillow, her chest aching, whispering quietly to herself in the silence of the night.

“i’d never get tired of you.”

—

another few months go by, and katseye is at the peak of their popularity after gnarly drops. people are eager for their new upcoming EP, and the girls are riding the wave, taking every opportunity to generate talk about their music.

you finally get around to watching their weverse live, partially because you love seeing your two favorite people interact, and partially because their busy schedule has made long phone calls impossible and you miss the sound of manon’s voice. 

you and megan have talked even less than before, but you won’t overthink it. you know she’s off living her best life, and the thought makes your heart warm. 

you watch the live from your seat in an airplane— hoping to surprise your girlfriend with a visit for the weekend while she’s back in LA.

manon sits in front of the camera, seated next to megan, with yoonchae floating somewhere behind them, just happy to be included.

“manon, spill love life tea?” yoonchae reads out loud, before smiling and shaking her head. “wrong person to ask, guys.”

“guess what i’m definitely not talking about?” manon laughs, rolling her eyes. 

“pussy,” megan teases under her breath, much to their surprise, and yoonchae throws her head back in laugher. you smile, grateful megan ended up in a group that lets her be her colorful, goofy self.

“me?” manon presses a hand to her own chest in disbelief, but it’s all playful between the trio. “watch it, ‘cause i can throw a math problem your way real quick, kid.”

megan grins and is next to read a comment. “drop some lore.”

manon shakes her head. “yoonchae?”

“i have nothing,” the maknae says plainly, before reading the next comment. “unnie line, rizz us up.” 

“no rizz tonight folks, freshly out,” manon jokes, before squinting into the camera in a goofy pose. you know someone is bound to make a tik tok edit out of the pose by the end of the night. 

“and i’m just a lovergirl, that’s my rizz,” megan shrugs, throwing her hands up. you laugh. this dork.

“someone said how can megan be a lovergirl if she’s never loved a girl, poser af,” yoonchae cracks up laughing, and manon follows suit. 

megan laughs along, but you notice her eyes squinting at something, almost as if she’s thinking. or rather, over-thinking.

she’s quiet for a few moments longer, the other two scrolling through the chat to hunt for more comments to interact with, but then megan pushes manon by the shoulder, getting her attention. she points to the camera, smiling, but there’s something extra in her eyes, a twinkle of determination. you wonder what the hell she’s possibly up to.

“tell them,” she says simply to manon, pointing again to the camera.

“tell them what?” manon asks, genuinely lost, looking between the younger girl and the camera where they’re livestreaming.

“i am a certified lovergirl,” megan reaffirms, nodding confidently, before dropping a bombshell on the live.

“tell them about how i helped you bag your chick.”

you feel the world pause. yoonchae freezes, manon’s eyes go wide, and your heart drops into your stomach. 

“megan,” manon says quickly, like a warning. 

your chest tightens. maybe they could have played it off, but your girlfriend’s impulse reaction is obvious enough to show that she’s unnerved by megan’s reveal, and they are definitely not doing a bit any more. you look at the comments, which are now blowing up a mile a minute. 

CHICK?!?!? manon has a gf? 😔❤️ MANON WLW CONFIRMED 🏳️‍🌈 did megan wingman for manon?? how did megan know manon’s gf wtfff 👀

“the all-rounder is just being silly, don’t listen to her dumb ass,” manon teases, but the warning glare she shoots the girl doesn’t go missed by you.

“no, tell them. that was my best friend, in the whole world,” megan doubles down. she’s still smiling, a self-satisfied grin, and you feel sick at the way she’s not letting up. “and now she’s your boo.”

manon simply stares at megan in disbelief. 

“what?” megan asks back, challengingly.

was? WAS? 🌝🌝 is there beef omfg so grateful to have a weverse subscription on this fine day 🧎🏻‍♀️

“next topic,” yoonchae smiles diplomatically, realizing the two are in a stand-off.

“anyways,” manon says quickly, but the damage is done. you know your girlfriend. you can see her jaw hardening.

and you know megan, unfortunately. the way she stares challengingly at manon, like a dare. they try to switch to a new topic, yoonchae’s most recent viral dance, but the damage is done. the comments are racing, and you can see the three mentally preparing for their managers to call them up, as you’re sure they will as soon as they catch wind of this. the chat is relentless.

manon looks pissed lmao pr training is chasing megan but megan is faster 😭 imma give reddit 12 hrs before we know who this QUEEN is that homie hopped 2/6 katseye members omg

you hear the pilot announce takeoff, and realize you’ll have to put your phone away. you swear under your breath and mentally prepare yourself for the flight, and everything that waits for you once you land.

you don’t see the screaming match that manon and megan get into immediately after the live. you miss the three phone calls that megan sends your way, and you don’t see the message that she sends, only to unsend an hour later, never to be read by your eyes:

sorry, y/n. i couldn’t keep lying. i think we should talk.

—

you land, and instead of seeing megan’s message, you see only her phone calls. manon has called you too, sending texts of screenshots of their furious PR team and their manager blowing up her phone. it’s late by the time you land in LA, and you know she’s probably asleep, so you send a quick text of reassurance to your girlfriend, and focus now on chewing out your best friend at the center of this mess.

what the fuck did you do

megan's reply comes back immediately. what is she doing up this late?

sorry sorry??? megan are you fucking joking sorry no not fucking sorry, be so fucking serious what was the point of that do you know the shitstorm you just stirred? just saw your location are you in LA? i was supposed to surprise manon but she may need a lot of support right now let me get you from the airport ? fine

she picks you up in her car and the two of you drive in silence, neither of you ready to confront the mess she’s put you in. you see your first instagram notification, a random katseye account requesting to follow you, and you suck in a deep breath as you realize the internet detectives are probably about to start digging you up.

you swear under your breath and put your instagram app on silent. megan hears you and exhales shakily.

“y/n,” she breathes, as if the world didn’t exist in turmoil around you.

“megan, what were you thinking?” you ask in disbelief, unable to even face her. what could her endgame possibly have been? what could she possibly have gotten out of that?

“i just think it’s stupid that she pretends you don’t exist,” she shrugs, slumping back into the driver’s seat.

“that’s our agreement,” you remind her, feeling your skin get increasingly hot the more frustrated you grow. “it’s better like that.”

“she doesn’t even act like she wants you sometimes.” megan shakes her head, eyes fixed on the road as she pulls in front of the katseye house. neither of you move to get out of the car, instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean to push closer into megan’s bubble, trying to emphasize your frustration with her as it doesn’t seem to be getting through to her.

“megan, you have no idea what our relationship looks like from the inside,” you point out angrily.

you and megan, in all your years of friendship, had never had a single fight. a disagreement here and there, sure, but you always were in sync enough to land on the same page for most of your opinions. what was the point of ever bickering if one of you was always willing to compromise? it was the foundation of your friendship, being able to keep the peace, and part of what made you guys so close. having your first real fight feels like a punch to the gut, but you had a feeling it was inevitable. your paths are so different now. your first fight feels something like the beginning of the end.

“does she even love you?” megan presses on, her face tensing, her grip on the steering wheel tightening even though the car has been off for a few minutes at this point. “she’s always hiding you.”

“she does love me, and she hides me because i’m the one who fucking wants to be hidden,” you tell her, angry to be defending yourself against her at this point when she’s too stubborn to hear anything you’re saying.

you two are equally amped up at this point, both of you leaning over the center console to get in the other’s face. your voices are both raising, and you see the way megan’s neck vein tenses as she scowls at your words. your faces are only a foot or so apart, and you can feel the breath from each of her words, punctuating her frustration.

“i loved you, and i didn’t want to hide you,” she argues, but you shake your head and scoff.

“that’s different, and you know it is, megan.”

“not for me, it wasn’t.” megan says, her voice dropping, and it clicks for you. you realize what she means, your eyes meeting, something heavy in her gaze. you feel your chest tighten at the implication, but it’s too much to open that box right now.

“stop it, i don’t want to hear that,” you shake your head, feeling your face get even redder. you’re angry, you’re confused, and your heart is aching— why is she doing this to you, now of all times? “you’ve made a mess out of everything, megan. do you know how stressed out manon is?”

“no, i did love you,” she insists, if she didn’t hear anything else you just said. she leans in closer, and you pull back, nearly wincing. 

“megan,” you breathe in disbelief, feeling it all come over you like a nightmare. “not fucking funny.”

“i would have been proud to be yours,” megan musters up the courage to admit, her face hard but determined, her eyes watery, her voice shaking. “i’m sorry i wasn’t good enough.”

you feel the back of your throat burn, your mouth going dry. not once did you possibly dream of a day where megan would confess something like this, would ever cross this line with you. she had always just been megan, your best friend, always there, as she had been from the start. you never let yourself consider anything more. 

“megan,” you warn her, your voice low, clenching your jaw so tightly, your bones hurt. “what the hell am i supposed to do with that?”

“that’s not my problem,” megan echoes, her voice cold and harsh, and you realize she’s referring to her question all those months ago, on your picnic, when she had first expressed fear about manon falling in love with you and it ruining everything. not once in a million years did you think it could be megan that fell in love with you, and even less, not once did you ever think it could be megan to ruin your friendship.

“this is why we didn’t end up together,” you blurt, feeling your eyes prick with hot tears that you try desperately to fight back. your stomach is in knots and at this point, you’ll say anything to escape this discomfort— even if it means hurting megan in the process. “you’re immature, selfish, you don’t think. impulsive.”

“i loved you,” megan says back firmly, grimacing at your words, but steady in her resolve to get it out. she repeats it like she’s trying to scrape the last of it out of her lungs, like she’s coughing up water and trying to clear it out. 

“there’s no world where you and i end up together,” you bite back, “get that through your head.”

“there doesn’t have to be,” megan pushes back, her lip quivering. “but i’m not gonna let you lie about everything. i tried.”

“this was selfish,” you hiss, but your heart thuds at the sight of her. you try to keep your rage at the forefront to protect your own tender heart from the confusion of feelings swirling up in your chest. “that’s why we stopped being friends.”

“i loved you,” she repeats, even if it’s only to say it out loud, for the sky, for the moon to bear witness, sounding defeated and triumphant all at once. “and i’m sorry for ruining everything.”

“you did ruin everything,” you blink, realizing there’s no reality where you guys can recover from this. there’s no reality where manon forgives megan entirely, there’s no reality where you can just forget megan’s confession, there’s no reality where you can take back all the cruel things escaping from your lips.

megan’s eyes meet yours, and it’s as if she’s realizing it at the exact same time. things will never be the same.

“can i kiss you?” she blurts out, reaching out a hand towards your face.

“megan,” you say sharply in complete disbelief, swatting her hand away.

“you know why you and manon are even dating?” she snaps, without missing a beat, as if she were prepared for the rejection. “because the night before your first date, i stayed up all night telling manon every single thing you like, exactly how you are, exactly how you get, exactly what she should do.”

you stare at her in complete and utter shock. that first date had been one of your most cherished memories, and you felt like you were walking on clouds the whole time. dates afterwards had never quite compared to that first one, but you figured it was just how relationships go. you could have never considered the fact that someone had put that much effort into making sure it went that perfectly, intentionally, and it makes your throat burn to think that it was actually megan behind it all, not manon. not the girl you’re currently dating.

“no way,” you shake your head, your tears making your vision blurry. “she—”

“did everything right that night because i coached her every step of the way,” megan cuts you off, her voice low and sharp. “you only love her now, ‘cause i loved you first.”

your jaw drops in disbelief, but megan isn’t done. the words spill out of her.

“and maybe i’m a little angry, ‘cause you could have loved me,” she says, her voice shaky, but something in her seems lighter, like each time she says it, she can breathe easier. “but i loved you, y/n, and that was real, even if i’m grieving you now. i loved you, y/n.”

you’ve heard enough, more than enough. you grab your bag and hurriedly race out of the car. you’re not sure you can handle much more. “get out of my face, megan.”

and she lets you. you race to the door and pray manon is awake to let you in. megan drives off, disappearing into the night. you feel yourself hold in what’s left of your tears, bidding goodbye to the friendship that had once meant the world to you.

what you don’t see is the deep breath she lets out. the weight is finally off her shoulders.

[bubbleggum444]

—❝AᗪORED Bㄚ HIᘻ❞

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡���𝑛𝑡𝑠 damian wayne x fem!reader, youtuber!reader au, fluff, 2k+ wc.

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 damian finally sent you the package (PLEASE NOTICE HIM), pt 3 of "unexpected crush?!" pt 4.

Beep beep beep be—

Damian’s fist collided with his clock. He was still exhausted from yesterday’s wrapping paper fiasco.

Stumbling out of bed, he made his way to the washroom, freshening up for the day ahead.

'Strange… I feel like I’m forgetting something,' he thought, brushing his teeth thoroughly before rinsing his mouth with cold water.

Which was indeed strange. Damian rarely—if ever—forgot anything.

As he mentally checked off the tasks from the previous day and planned for today, it suddenly hit him—the package.

In a blur, he bolted out of the bathroom, leaping over his bed to grab his clothes for the day.

He dashed out of the house so quickly that Alfred had to peek out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about so early in the morning.

The butler let out a light scoff as he watched his young master clumsily lock the front door, a package tucked under one arm.

'Post office. Got to get to the post office. Post office—' Damian chanted in his mind, swiftly (but very carefully) placing the package into the compartment of his scooter before hopping on and securing his helmet.

After the seemingly daunting task of mailing it (he had spent way too long choosing the cutest stamp for you— "Just pick one already, kid!" "In a minute!"), Damian made his way home.

Stupid, impatient worker. Tch.

The moment he stepped inside, he headed straight for the fridge, desperate to quench his thirst. He hadn’t even realized how parched he was from doing such a simple task. Well, seemingly simple.

Truthfully, Damian probably would’ve felt less nervous fighting a villain than sending that package to his newfound crush—his first ever actual crush.

“Where were you off to so early, son?”

His father greeted him as he joined the rest of the family for breakfast.

Great. Damian really didn’t want to answer that. Not because he was ashamed of going to the post office, but because he had no intention of revealing to whom he sent something—or what that something was.

“Out. Sending a package,” Damian answered curtly.

Before his father could press further, he pulled out his phone and earbuds, watching something as he began to eat.

That caught Bruce off guard. He wasn’t planning to interrogate his son, seeing how unwilling he was to talk about it. But the fact that Damian—who never bothered with distracting devices this early in the morning—was doing exactly that? Strange.

“Uh, demon brat? You know there’s a ‘no phones at the table’ rule, right?” Jason spoke up.

Damian didn’t respond. In fact, they weren’t even sure if he heard him.

And truthfully? He didn’t.

He was too focused on his food—and the video of yours he was watching.

Oh, right. That was the other thing he forgot. After yesterday’s wrapping paper disaster, he had been so drained that he missed your latest upload.

He’d probably be irritated about it for the next three days. Not being your first like? Unacceptable.

Oh well. At least he could admire your cute face while eating breakfast.

His eyes sparkled slightly, his irises expanding with quiet happiness as your sweet intro played through his earbuds.

It was calming. Simple. Just like you, really. Though you had many interests, you always kept them modest.

Damian’s heart skipped a beat. He liked that. A lot. Amidst the chaos of his life, a peaceful soul like yours was something he craved. Something he needed. Something he adored.

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he quickly set a screenshot from the video—a Robin-inspired makeup look—as his lock screen.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough.

Cassandra noticed.

She shot him a knowing smile.

Damian cringed, like a pianist hitting the wrong note, before hastily pushing back from the table and carrying his empty plate to the sink.

What. A. Nuisance.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑏𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑚444©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

╭────────────────────.★..─╮

🏷️;

@liabiamiakiawia

@jason-todd-fangirl-14

@shirp-collector-of-fixations

★

author's note 1: someone requested an adorable ff idea, and it's a jason x reader, RAHHH, so excited to make it <333

author's note 2: just to be clear reader's first interaction with damian in this fic is happening either in pt 4 or 5, so stay tuned for that :>

╰─..★.────────────────────╯

[sweetfwr]

(TEASER!) IN THE HEAT OF THE SUMMER ˒˒ psh

the hot, humid summers of your youth usually meant practicing at the ice rink ‘till you dropped or manning your parent’s video shop. park sunghoon, who lived next door’s summers usually meant delivering newspapers and taking every odd job possible. in the heat of the summer of 1998, your paths finally crossed for the first time.

pairing) news anchor!sunghoon x figure skater! reader

tags) fluff, angst, comedy, slice of life, SLOW BURN, set in 1998-onwards, growing up together, sunghoon is an angsty teenager before he's absolutely down bad, inspired by 2521, happy ending!

wc) SOON

now playing) SUMMER - BROCKHAMPTON

1998

your youth was simple, your naive, 16-year-old days so worry-free of the responsibilities of bills, a career, children, and the nosy press that they blurred together in pure, uncaring bliss, even if you didn’t know it at the time.

on days you weren’t slaving away for hours at the ice rink under the scrutiny of your vicious coach, jumping, spinning, and gliding through the ice like your body weighed nothing then you were manning the counter at your parent’s humble video shop, greeting customers when the chimes on your door sounded and offering promos to those who rented more than two movies at once.

and naturally, manning the counter meant looking out for him, the only son of the park family who lived next door, and the neighborhood’s resident newspaper boy.

not that you’d tried to notice, but he’d leave the house at 6:30 a.m. on his scooter every morning, right when you opened up the video shop before heading off to practice. in the quiet tranquility that came with summer mornings, you exchanged no words, the only thing hanging in the air being the sounds of your keys jangling and park sunghoon’s scooter being set off before he would speed off without a word.

on the days you left for practice and came back later to man the shop when your brother couldn’t in the later hours, you’d find the daily newspaper neatly placed on the doormat or tucked in the doorknob before you picked it up and brought it with you inside the store to go about your work day.

the days when you manned the store in the mornings and your brother in the afternoon, however, were a different story altogether. newspapers were flung—almost violently—onto the glass walls of the store, potted plants out front, or sometimes just the dead center of your feet as you stood sweeping the sidewalk. no smile, no wave, no greeting, just the smack of the folded newspaper as it landed wherever sunghoon pleased and the sharp screech of his scooter’s wheels on asphalt as he sped off like you had wronged him somehow.

slowly but surely, the throws began to feel personal, and you could never seem to figure out why. he’d never given you any solid reason to think he hated you other than the unlucky newspaper placement, and you had never given him any real reason to hate you. but the more he sped by the store in the morning, a bitterness in his posture and a tightness in the way he pressed his lips into a line, you were beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t just bad luck that was causing wads of newspaper to assault your family’s store every morning.

one morning, you decided that you had had enough.

“NOONA!!” your then 14-year-old little brother wailed, bursting into the quiet fog that settled in the video store, a hand to his throbbing head and another wrapping around a newspaper.

“what, wonnie?” you groaned from the counter, initially busy typing something down onto the blocky old computer until jungwon said something that made your blood run cold.

“the newspaper hit me!”

potted plants and the glass right beside your head most mornings were one thing, but park sunghoon chucking a freshly rolled newspaper at your idiotic (precious) baby brother was another thing entirely. you only looked up at him with a fire in your eyes before snatching the newspaper from his hands, wordlessly rushing out of the store and into the morning air.

“nice aim, jerk.” you deadpanned, waving sunghoon’s weapon of choice in his face before he could adjust his bag and scoot away. “my brother’s head? seriously?”

“It was an accident, i was aiming for your face,” he muttered, and you could’ve sworn the tips of his ears turned red as he tried to walk off.

“you do this to everyone in the neighborhood?” “no, just you.”

“then what the hell is your problem with me?” you seethed, shoving the daily paper into his toned chest, to which he took back from you with a rolled eye.

“you wouldn’t understand,” he spit back, a finality in his words that told you he didn’t wish to speak with you any further. and then, without another glare or crude comment, he was off on his scooter once again, his wheels screeching on the concrete as they always did.

you stood there, fists clenched at your sides and heart pounding in your chest from the adrenaline of a confrontation. you didn’t understand, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to explain his unexpected anger towards you.

as much as you hated it, for that day, and that day only, you accepted defeat and wordlessly retreated back into the video shop.

like for tag once released!

© SWEETFWR

[rosachae]

risky business | giselle x reader

⁍ song: pink + white - frank ocean ⁍ requested: yes-- thank you anon! ⁍ genre: high school rivals AU! fluffy ⁍ a/n: i hope this is what you were looking for, anon. i definitely went the more fluffy route rather than angsty. idk why i was craving slowburn aeri fluff. sorry for delay in getting this out! ⁍ wc: 9.3k ⁍ warnings: no warnings. ⁍ synopsis:

aeri uchinaga and y/n attend rival schools, but neither of them pay much mind to the rivalry that defines their social worlds. in truth, they couldn't care less. sometimes, emotions hit harder than the fear of judgment. some connections are just too hard to ignore.

it’s winter in seoul, and the city wears its silence like a second skin, snow muffling the usual clamor of traffic and voices until everything feels distant, like a memory you can’t quite place. powder dusts the rooftops and creeps up the glass bones of tall buildings like ivy frozen in time, while narrow alleyways dissolve into breathy mist and frost that clings to every surface. cars sit idle beneath thick, white quilts, and the streets, though not empty, move with the sluggish rhythm of something half-asleep. the cold doesn’t just sting—it seeps into coat seams, settles beneath scarves, reddens cheeks and numbs fingers before you even realize you’ve stopped feeling anything at all. frost blooms along storefront windows, softening the view beyond into smudged watercolor scenes.

for aeri, it felt like hell had iced over and decided to set up shop on earth.

“when are you getting your car fixed?” she asked, voice already edged with irritation, though she hadn’t meant to say anything at all. she trudged alongside minjeong, hands buried deep in her coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind.

minjeong let out a long-suffering sigh, her breath curling into the air like smoke. her teeth chattered once, then again for emphasis. “i don’t know. but if the snow’s gonna be like this all week, we should just kill ourselves. not to be dramatic, obviously. it’s just… we’ve reached the end.”

before aeri could respond, a sudden voice cut through the cold, and aeri practically jumped out of her skin as someone wedged themselves neatly between the two of them.

“it’s not that bad!” came ningning’s voice, cheerful and entirely too loud for seven in the morning.

“jesus christ, ningning,” aeri said, pressing a hand to her chest like she’d just survived a heart attack. her other hand reached out to smack ningning lightly on the shoulder. “you need a warning system or something. a bell. or one of those bright red flags they put on scooters.”

ningning just grinned, unbothered as always. “not my fault you have no survival instincts. besides, let’s focus on what really matters, yeah?” she inhaled deeply, immediately regretted it when the air stabbed into her nose like needles, and recovered with a crooked grimace. “snow’s not that bad. who knows, maybe we’ll get snowed in tonight. no school for two weeks. maybe three. depends on how fast the apocalypse sets in. honestly, i could use the break.”

minjeong groaned, half her face buried in the oversized scarf she’d wrapped around herself like armor. her nose was already pink. “i’m going to get pneumonia. i can feel it. but yeah, honestly, anything’s better than dealing with those smug bastards from daehan on thursday.”

aeri didn’t need clarification.

daehan science academy. the school that had somehow turned being smart into a full-blown personality disorder. their rival in everything except joy.

hamlin arts high school sat tucked into the heart of the city. chaotic, passionate, and impossibly loud in all the ways that mattered. it wasn’t the kind of school that cared about grades scrawled neatly in red ink or neat rows of students reciting formulas in perfect sync. instead, it thrived in late night rehearsals and coffee fueled deadlines, canvases that bled color down the halls, music echoing through stairwells, and students who moved like they were half in love with every idea they’d ever had. it wasn’t polished. but it was lived in, worn at the edges like a favorite hoodie.

aeri, minjeong, and ningning had all grown up inside that beautiful mess. aeri, with her sharp tongue and a voice that turned heads in every showcase. minjeong, ever the perfectionist, who could dance like she was rearranging gravity. and ningning, their resident chaos incarnate, whose voice could fill a room even when she was whispering. between the three of them, they had survived four years of critiques, meltdowns, showcases, and near death experiences via caffeine. they knew every crack in the hallway tiles, every shortcut between the practice rooms and the vending machines. hamlin wasn’t just a school—it was a second skin.

daehan, on the other hand, was something else entirely.

officially, it was daehan science and preparatory academy. unofficially, it was the cold, looming specter that haunted every group project or public competition they were forced to attend. the school stood like a fortress on a hill, modern and gray, with floor to ceiling windows and a uniform policy stricter than most military branches. it was the kind of place where students spoke in citations and competed over physics olympiads for fun. they wore their top university acceptance rates like badges of honor, and most of them wouldn’t be caught dead with a paintbrush unless it was to calculate its density for a lab.

“they’re not even mean,” ningning said once, after one particularly painful collaboration event the year before. “they’re just so… tired all the time. like their dreams wear suits and drink black coffee for breakfast.”

aeri had laughed until she couldn’t breathe, but she hadn’t disagreed.

the rivalry between hamlin and daehan wasn’t just academic. it was existential. where daehan measured success in numbers and awards, hamlin measured it in impact, in resonance, in the ability to make someone feel something they couldn’t explain. and maybe that’s why it stung more than they wanted to admit whenever daehan students looked at them like they were silly, like their passion was just noise with no purpose.

but still, every year the schools were forced into shared spaces. debates, student leadership retreats, city wide art-tech initiatives that always felt one part collaboration and three parts competition. and every year, the lines were drawn all over again.

this year, those lines were starting to blur.

but none of them knew that yet. not aeri. not minjeong. not ningning, who was already distracted by the way her boot kept sinking into a particularly unforgiving patch of snow.

“can we at least stop for hot chocolate?” she whined, tugging at aeri’s sleeve. “if i’m going to suffer through frostbite and academic warfare, i’d like to do it with marshmallows.”

aeri rolled her eyes, but her lips tugged into a teasing grin anyway. “only if minjeong agrees to stop making snow martyr speeches.”

“no promises,” minjeong said, deadpan, but already veering toward the convenience store at the corner, fog curling up from its doorway like the promise of something almost warm.

__

it took every ounce of y/n’s willpower to peel herself away from the comfort of jimin’s car. the black sedan was a cocoon of warmth, the heater humming steadily as sabrina claudio’s voice drifted through the speakers, low and languid, wrapping itself around them like silk. the world outside was pale and freezing, the windows fogged at the edges, and the only interruptions came from jimin’s occasional grumbles about the snow swallowing the roads whole.

they’d ended up in some unfamiliar pocket of the city, their usual route to daehan blocked by a pileup of slush and bad luck. the detour brought them down a street neither of them recognized, narrow and lined with shuttered storefronts and crooked lampposts. nestled between a laundromat and a rundown bookstore was a cafe neither of them had seen before. small, out of the way, with a handwritten menu scrawled on a chalkboard behind fogged-up windows and a glowing sign that promised warmth.

jimin didn’t even hesitate. the moment she saw the words hot chocolate painted in bold white lettering, she was flicking on the indicator and pulling up at the curb like fate had hand-delivered this spot just for her.

“ten minutes,” she said, already unbuckling her seatbelt. “you can park your pretty little ass back in my passenger seat right after. think of it as a reward for suffering through my driving.”

y/n blinked at her, unmoving, reluctant to leave the heated seat. jimin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, and rubbed her gloved hands together as she huddled deeper into her coat.

“what do you want?” she added, voice warm despite the cold. “my shout.”

and with that, she was out the door, boots crunching against the snow, the cold slipping into the car for just a second before y/n sighed and followed.

y/n stepped out reluctantly, bracing herself against the cold as it bit at her skin through the thick wool of her coat. the sudden exposure felt like punishment, sharp and immediate, her breath forming clouds in the air as she shut the car door with more force than necessary. jimin was already halfway to the café, her steps light despite the ice, the hem of her long coat flaring out behind her like something off a fashion editorial. she looked over her shoulder, flashing a grin that made it impossible for y/n to stay annoyed.

the café was warmer than it looked. small and dimly lit, the kind of place that seemed built for whispered conversations and quiet mornings. fairy lights hung lazily from the ceiling, giving off a soft golden glow, and the scent of cinnamon and roasted espresso clung to the air. there were mismatched chairs, faded books stacked along the windowsills, and a sleepy indie track playing from a speaker somewhere behind the counter.

y/n paused just inside the doorway, her eyes scanning the room. it was nothing like the sleek, minimalist cafés near daehan. this place felt lived in, like it belonged to someone who had once tried to turn comfort into a business. she had to admit, begrudgingly, that it was charming.

jimin was already at the counter, chatting easily with the barista, her hands gesturing animatedly as she ordered. she glanced back at y/n once more, this time with a mockingly innocent expression.

“i got you the fancy hot chocolate,” she said. “the one with, like, the marshmallow foam or whatever. you’re welcome.”

y/n rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement as she joined her. her fingers were still stiff from the cold, and she rubbed them together absently, glancing around again before leaning in slightly, her voice low.

“you do realize this place is practically in hamlin territory, right?”

jimin didn’t look fazed. she handed y/n a steaming paper cup, the lid already fogging at the edges. “and? it’s not like we’re gonna get jumped by interpretive dancers.”

y/n snorted, taking a tentative sip of the drink. it was absurdly good. rich, a little too sweet, and exactly what she needed.

“hm,” she murmured. “dangerously good.”

“you’re welcome,” jimin said again, smug now, and leaned back against the counter like she owned the place.

they took their drinks to a table near the window, one of those low wooden ones with too many old sticker marks on the surface and a wobble in the left leg. y/n sat gingerly, her scarf still wrapped tight around her neck like armor, while jimin flopped into the chair opposite with the ease of someone who had long ago made peace with public humiliation.

“you always sit like you're afraid the furniture’s going to file a complaint,” jimin said, blowing on her drink before taking a sip. she immediately winced. “jesus—that’s molten.”

“maybe because you drink like a reckless toddler,” y/n muttered, tugging her sleeves down over her hands. she took another sip, this time slower, eyes darting toward the window where snow continued to fall in soft, uneven sheets. “and for the record, i’m not scared of the chair. i just have respect for my knees.”

“you’re eighteen, not eighty.” jimin raised an eyebrow. “you make it sound like you have war injuries.”

“daehan is a war,” y/n deadpanned, and jimin snorted, nearly choking on her drink.

“you act like you weren’t born for that place. god, you’re the poster girl for academic burnout. your entire personality is, like, spiral-bound.”

y/n let out a soft laugh despite herself. “and yours is vitamin d deficiency and delusional optimism.”

“accurate,” jimin nodded, completely unoffended. “but at least i’m hot. that balances everything out.”

“barely,” y/n muttered, but there was no heat to it.

it had always been like this with them. easy, biting in the way only people who loved each other a little too much could be. jimin had been her best friend since they were both awkward kids in oversized uniforms, bonding over shared snacks and mutual disdain for math class. where y/n had grown sharp and reserved over the years, jimin had only become more radiant. loud in the best way, always speaking like she was headlining a show no one else had been invited to.

“you okay though?” jimin asked suddenly, her tone softer now, the teasing momentarily put aside. she curled her hands around her cup and looked at y/n with that strange kind of sincerity that always managed to catch her off guard. “you seemed kinda off this morning. like, more existential dread than usual.”

y/n blinked at her, surprised. she didn’t think she’d been that obvious.

“i’m fine,” she said eventually, a little too quickly. “just tired. assignments, you know.”

“assignments,” jimin repeated, unimpressed. “assignments don’t make you stare at the wall for ten minutes like you’re in a netflix drama about a girl who’s lost her will to live.”

y/n looked down at her drink. “okay. maybe i’m spiraling. a little.”

“well, let’s not do that,” jimin said, cheerful again. “you’re far too cute to spiral in a cafe this cozy. let’s save the breakdowns for somewhere dramatic. like a rooftop.”

“thanks,” y/n muttered, rolling her eyes again. “so comforting.”

“i do my best,” jimin grinned. “and you’re welcome again, by the way. for the life saving hot chocolate. i accept thank-you notes and limited edition skincare.”

“i’ll get you a sticker,” y/n replied, monotone, and jimin clutched her chest like she’d been wounded.

“i’m writing you out of my will.”

“you don’t have a will.”

“exactly. when i make one, i’ll exclusively run a big red cross over your name.”

“so dramatic.”

jjimin took a slow sip of her drink, her lip gloss smudging slightly on the edge of the lid, and let out a sigh so theatrical that y/n didn’t even bother hiding her eye roll.

“honestly,” jimin said, leaning backwards in her chair like it owed her something, “if every back road detour comes with hot chocolate this good, i’m never using the main road again. let snow block it for life. pave it over. build a mall.”

“you say that now, but wait until you get bored and decide you want to terrorize the barista at the place near campus again.”

“rude,” jimin said, clutching her chest with mock offense. “i don’t terrorize. i flirt respectfully. if people can’t handle the duality of that, it’s not my fault.”

“you made a barista drop a whole tray of matcha lattes just by winking.”

“okay, but that says more about them, doesn’t it?”

y/n snorted, the warmth of the drink starting to seep into her fingers at last. 

“so,” jimin eventually drawled. “what’s the plan for thursday? are you still doing the debate thing with daehan’s arch-nemesis crew?”

“unfortunately,” y/n muttered into her drink.

“god. it’s so dramatic,” jimin said, clearly delighted. “rival schools. secret grudges. forbidden meetings in abandoned music rooms. do you think we’ll end up in a school-themed soap opera? will you get slapped?”

“only if i lose,” y/n said dryly.

“ugh. if someone slaps you and i’m not there to witness it, i’m going to be furious.”

“you’re incredibly supportive.”

“i know. it’s one of my greatest flaws.”

y/n shook her head, a smile curling despite herself. “we’re not even rivals in the real sense. we just have two completely different approaches to life and education and the universe in general.”

“and yet somehow,” jimin said thoughtfully, “both schools are full of hot, stressed-out students with way too much talent and not enough sleep. the real tragedy is that we’re not allowed to mingle.”

“‘not allowed to mingle’ makes it sound like we’re part of some underground secret society with rules about fraternizing with the enemy.”

jimin raised a brow. “we kind of are.”

“you’re being dramatic.”

“i’m right.”

and as much as y/n hated to admit it—maybe she was. because for all of daehan’s clean halls and top grades and relentless competition, there was something magnetic about hamlin. the whispered stories about their performances, their students’ flair for spectacle and scandal. they weren’t just rivals. they were everything daehan wasn’t allowed to be. wild. emotional. unpredictable. and whether she liked it or not, y/n was just a little bit curious.

they were still bickering softly when the bell above the café door let out a soft jingle, barely audible over the hum of the espresso machine. but it was the sudden rush of cold that made y/n look up. the warmth of the cafe recoiled slightly as three figures entered, stamping snow off their boots and exhaling steam into the soft air. they looked like they’d been walking for a while. cheeks red, hair damp with melted flakes, their coats dusted with frost.

the first thing y/n noticed was the girl in the middle.

short, sharp featured, and wrapped in a navy coat that looked far too chic for how bitter the weather had been, she carried herself with the kind of quiet presence that didn’t ask for attention but received it anyway. her long hair, a little mussed from the wind, fell across her shoulders in soft waves. her scarf hung loose, revealing a jawline that could cut glass and a slightly wind-chapped mouth pressed into a line of annoyance.

aeri uchinaga.

y/n knew who she was. of course she did.

not personally, not really, but in the way everyone who went to daehan knew who went to hamlin. especially if they were loud enough, pretty enough, or insufferably talented. and aeri was all three.

behind her trailed minjeong, bundled into her usual oversized parka, a scarf wrapped so high around her face it looked like it was trying to eat her alive. she was rubbing her gloved hands together and mumbling something unintelligible, probably a complaint, as she tried to squeeze warmth back into her fingers. ningning was last, her cheeks pink and her smile impossibly bright for someone who had clearly just trekked through a wind tunnel. she looked way too cheerful for this weather, waving off the cold like it was a minor inconvenience, practically bouncing as she scanned the café.

“i told you this place was real,” ningning said triumphantly, heading straight to the counter. “see? not a mirage. and no hypothermia yet.”

“yeah, congrats,” minjeong muttered. “we survived a ten minute walk through the frozen void for overpriced tea and artistic suffering. you should get a plaque.”

“if we die from frostbite, i’m blaming your terrible sense of direction,” aeri added, shrugging her coat off in one sharp motion and draping it over her arm with more elegance than someone half-frozen should be able to manage. “my ears stopped working halfway here.”

“i said we should’ve just gone to the convenience store,” minjeong huffed, eyes scanning the room. “instant ramen, heated seats, no risk of running into—”

and then her voice trailed off. she’d spotted the daehan uniforms.

aeri followed her gaze. just like that, their eyes met and y/n froze.

it was subtle, the shift in aeri’s expression. nothing dramatic, just the slightest raise of one brow, the faintest tilt of her head, but it landed with the force of a slap. her gaze was steady, appraising, like she was flipping through a book she hadn’t realized she owned, deciding whether to keep reading.

y/n blinked, lips parting before she remembered how to speak. beside her, jimin had gone quiet too, one hand curled around her drink, the other tugging her scarf looser as she registered the newcomers.

“is that—” she started.

“yup,” y/n replied tightly.

“hamlin girls?”

“mmhmm.”

“and they’re here?”

“apparently.”

a beat.

“...did we actually cross into enemy territory? like, do we need to make a blood sacrifice or something?”

y/n didn’t answer. her eyes were still on aeri and she, unnervingly, was still looking right back.

“maybe this is hell,” y/n murmured. “snow, hamlin girls, and no exits.”

jimin leaned in slightly, voice low, teasing. “you sure you don’t want to go say hi? maybe ask her if she wants to compare exam scores or trauma?”

“shut up.”

“just saying. she’s hot.”

y/n glared at her. “so are you, and i hate you half the time.”

“but not all the time.” jimin smirked.

aeri finally looked away, turning to say something to ningning. but there was something careful about the motion, something deliberate, like she wasn’t really done with the moment—just pausing it.

y/n took a deep breath, suddenly aware of how loud her heart was beating. she looked down at her drink. the marshmallow foam had started to collapse into the hot chocolate.

“this was supposed to be a ten minute detour,” she muttered.

jimin grinned. “yeah, well. welcome to the scenic route.”

__

thursday crept in quietly. there was something subdued in the air as y/n walked beside jimin through the school gates, their boots scuffing lightly against patches of melting snow. the conversation they’d had back at the cafe earlier that week still echoed faintly between them, dulled now by time and the steady rhythm of routine. school buzzed forward as it always did, indifferent and mechanical, but y/n felt something had shifted. something subtle, slow, but persistent. no matter how many classes she sat through or how many conversations she half absorbed, her thoughts kept folding in on themselves. they kept drifting always, inevitably, back to aeri.

there had been no defining moment, no sudden closeness or cinematic spark. just proximity. just a single shared space. but it had been enough. aeri in that cafe had left something behind, some soft residue of presence that y/n couldn’t scrub away, no matter how many times she told herself it was nothing.

she remembered the way the warm light had caught the ends of aeri’s hair, that soft reddish-peach hue. it glowed against her skin, made her look almost unreal. like a watercolor figure painted in the golden hour, delicate and warm but somehow untouchable. y/n hadn’t meant to stare, hadn’t meant to notice the way the color curled around her collarbone or how it made the gentle slope of her shoulders seem sharper, more intentional.

and then there were her eyes. dark brown, but not dull. there was something in them, something still and watchful. when their gazes had briefly met, something in y/n had pulled taut. not panic. not fear. just this aching sort of awareness. aeri had looked at her—truly looked—and y/n wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. but it had felt like being seen through and through. like being studied without judgment but with absolute clarity.

y/n wasn’t used to being thrown off like that. she wasn’t used to being the one so easily captivated. she had spent the ride to school in jimin’s sedan half listening to the music, the windows fogged and the heater humming, and yet none of it had reached her. not really. because the thought of aeri– of her face, of that moment– lingered like warmth from a fire no longer burning. aeri had occupied such a small slice of that day, and yet it was her presence y/n carried with her still, embedded in the fabric of her memory like perfume on an old sweater.

it didn’t make sense. but it didn’t have to. all y/n knew was that she couldn’t stop thinking about her. and that unsettled her more than anything.

and jimin, ever the attentive best friend, could practically read her mind.

“you’re so obvious it’s embarrassing,” jimin deadpanned as they stepped into the main corridor, her voice low but laced with amusement.

y/n blinked, pulled from the depths of her thoughts just in time to dodge a bouquet of carnations someone shoved in jimin’s direction. the petals brushed y/n’s arm instead, a flash of red and white in the corner of her vision.

“what?”

“don’t play dumb,” jimin said, swatting away a second bouquet without even looking. a nervous underclassman scurried off, clutching a small paper-wrapped box meant for her, defeated. “you’ve been off in la-la land since we got here. actually, since the cafe. and don’t even pretend it’s not about her.”

y/n sighed, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “it’s not that deep.”

“oh, it’s deep,” jimin said, finally turning her head to look at her with a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “like, mariana trench deep. you’ve got it so bad and you don’t even realize it.”

a group of students hanging around the lockers did a double take as jimin walked past. one of them attempted to hand her a chocolate bar shaped like a bear. without missing a beat, jimin waved them off with a quick, “thanks, but no thanks,” and linked her arm with y/n’s instead.

“anyway,” she said breezily, like they weren’t walking through a gauntlet of admirers, “i think it’s kind of cute. you, getting all flustered and dreamy. who would’ve thought?”

“i’m not flustered,” y/n mumbled, eyes trained on the tiled floor.

“right. and i’m not the most desired girl on campus,” jimin said dryly, ignoring yet another would-be confessor holding out a neatly folded letter. “seriously, you should’ve seen your face when she looked at you in the cafe. it was like someone hit you with a truck made of blush.”

y/n groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “god. kill me.”

“no can do,” jimin chirped, swinging their linked arms. “you’ve got a debate to win today. and—if the universe loves me the way it should—you’ll be facing off against miss dreamy herself.”

y/n froze mid step, glancing at jimin. “wait, what?”

“don’t act like you didn’t know,” jimin said with a smirk. “inter-school debate. today. and guess who’s on the opposing team?”

a slow, nervous heat crept into y/n’s chest. aeri.

jimin grinned wider. “bet you’re suddenly wide awake now, huh?”

y/n didn’t answer right away. she was too busy trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, the way her mind conjured aeri’s face with startling clarity. the slight tilt of her head, the way her eyes sharpened when she was thinking, the softness in her lips that contrasted too cruelly with the precision of her voice.

“you’re insufferable,” y/n muttered finally, though her voice lacked any real bite.

“and you’re in denial,” jimin shot back, her tone sing-song, annoyingly pleased with herself. “you should really thank me, by the way. i’ve basically delivered you straight into your fate. today is your origin story. main character moment. sapphic rivals to—well, we’ll see.”

y/n rolled her eyes, but her face was already warm. she hated how easy it was for jimin to read her. hated it more that she wasn’t entirely wrong.

the rest of the morning passed in a blur, classes feeling more like filler than anything of substance. the debate was scheduled for the afternoon block in the auditorium, which meant y/n had all of lunch to stew in her own anxiety while pretending to eat. jimin, naturally, took the opportunity to hype her up.

“you’ve got this,” she said confidently as they sat beneath the courtyard’s canopy of bare-branched trees. “you’re sharp. your rebuttals are brutal when you want them to be. just pretend you’re not making heart eyes at your opponent the entire time.”

“i’m not—” y/n began, but jimin cut her off with a raised brow. she fell silent again.

when the bell rang signaling the transition to the auditorium, y/n could feel her pulse in her fingertips. she gathered her notes, not that she needed them, and followed the crowd filtering into the rows of seats. the debate stage had already been set. two long tables facing each other, flanked by microphones and modest school banners. the overhead lights were dimmed except for the stage, giving the room a theatrical hush.

and there she was. aeri sat at the far end of the opposing team’s table, dressed in her school’s blazer and tie, the reddish tint of her hair catching the light in a way that made it almost glow. she was flipping through a legal pad, a pen caught between her fingers, her expression focused but calm. she hadn’t noticed y/n yet.

y/n stared. it was stupid how pretty she looked, how effortless it all seemed. and then, as if summoned by the weight of her gaze, aeri glanced up. their eyes met.

it lasted no more than a second, maybe two. but it was enough. something passed between them. uncertain, unreadable, but charged. a flicker of surprise in aeri’s eyes. or recognition. or something else entirely.

y/n forced herself to look away first, settling into her seat as the announcer tapped the mic and began to welcome the panel of judges. but her heart was already racing.

this was going to be a disaster.

the debate began with the usual ceremony. names called out over the mic, rules recited with practiced clarity, the audience offering polite, restrained applause. the stage lights bleached the floor in pale gold, sharpening every shadow and making the auditorium feel colder than it was. y/n sat still, hands folded over her notes, eyes scanning the opposing team like a chess player reading the board.

it was aeri who stood first.

her blazer sat perfectly on her shoulders, sleeves crisp, collar straight. a single silver pin glinted from her lapel. her hair was tucked behind one ear, her expression unreadable and calm. when she spoke, her voice had the polished rhythm of someone who had spoken often and been listened to even more. there was no hesitation in her cadence, no wasted breath. every sentence landed with clean, deliberate force.

"the proposition argues for the retroactive nullification of disciplinary records under reformed school policies," she began, addressing the judges without glancing at her opponents. "and while that sentiment may appear forward-thinking, it overlooks the core function of precedent. policy, by design, protects consistency. fairness. it ensures that standards apply equally, even across time. to ignore that is to threaten the structure that keeps institutions accountable."

nothing in her delivery begged the audience to agree. it simply assumed they would. she stepped back from the podium with measured finality.

"as we’ve outlined, this is not about denying change. it's about protecting balance. and change without structure is not reform. it’s erosion."

polite applause followed. not loud, but sure.

then y/n stood.

she didn’t hesitate, didn’t rearrange her notes or stall for rhythm. her voice entered the space without warning but settled with ease.

"the thing about precedent is that it only holds value when it still serves the people it was built for."

the quiet that followed was not passive. it leaned forward.

"we’re not asking to rewrite history. we’re asking to stop weaponizing it," she continued. "when policy evolves, it’s an acknowledgment that something was flawed. to keep punishing students under that flawed system, even after it's been corrected, isn’t about fairness. it’s about saving face."

she let the words breathe.

"you spoke about structure," she said, turning slightly toward aeri. "but structure without reflection becomes tradition for tradition’s sake. and there’s no equity in that. there’s only comfort for the people who built it."

the room didn’t move. one of the judges scribbled quickly.

aeri stepped up for her rebuttal, fingers laced lightly behind the podium.

"if we make every rule retroactive, we eliminate accountability," she said. "students knew the policies when they broke them. to nullify that because the rule has since changed is to tell the entire student body that consequences are conditional. and conditional discipline is not discipline. it’s convenience."

y/n didn’t wait to be called. she stepped forward again.

"if the rule changes, then the condition has changed. and accountability without context is just punishment."

she didn’t raise her voice. she didn’t need to.

"you’re right that students knew the rules. but institutions knew the flaws. and they enforced them anyway. which side is really avoiding accountability?"

the room felt sharper, the silence fuller. in the third row, jimin sat with one leg crossed over the other, chin propped on her hand, watching with an amused kind of satisfaction. the line of her mouth twitched upward, just slightly.

aeri hadn’t looked away from y/n the entire time.

she was listening, but it went deeper than that. she was studying her. not just the arguments, but the command beneath them. it wasn’t what she had expected. it wasn’t what she was prepared for.

and when y/n’s eyes met hers, it hit with quiet precision, a sliver of stillness between two sides that hadn’t even realized they were circling each other.

aeri looked away first.

the rest of the debate passed quickly. rebuttals, closing statements, obligatory thank yous. aeri recovered with elegance, her final points clear and technically flawless, but something had shifted in the room. and in her.

y/n ended simply. "progress doesn’t threaten integrity. it defines it."

applause came more freely then, followed by the collective scrape of chairs as teams rose to bow. students began to file out, already whispering their takes, some impressed, some skeptical. but between y/n and aeri, something remained.

not rivalry. not yet admiration. something quieter, more charged. like the moment after lightning, when the air hasn’t yet remembered how to settle.

aeri hated that it caught her off guard. and when y/n’s gaze brushed hers again, something in her chest tightened. no one else noticed. but she did. and she looked away. again.

after the judges left and the rest of the crowd began to spill out into the cold light of late afternoon, the energy in the room shifted. students buzzed around their teammates, offering praise or complaints, checking scores, stretching out tension from the long sit. but y/n lingered near the stage, fingers still curled loosely around her notes, eyes darting only briefly toward the crowd gathering near the exits.

aeri stood off to the side, her team flanking her at a respectful distance. she said little. nodded once when someone handed her a folder, offered a brief smile to a compliment. but she wasn’t listening. not really. her focus kept drifting back to the corner of the room where y/n stood, looking half in the moment and half outside of it.

they noticed each other almost at the same time. and like a quiet agreement passed between them, they stepped away. out of the noise, past the folding chairs, and into the hallway just outside the auditorium. the doors swung shut behind them, cutting off the echo of post-event chatter. the air between them was thin and still. no crowd. no teammates. no performance. just them.

for a few seconds, silence hung heavy between them, thick and suffocating. y/n wasn’t sure what pushed her to quietly follow aeri out of the gymnasium, but here they were. she glanced around nervously, making sure they were truly alone. the act itself made her stomach twist; it felt wrong, almost forbidden, even though she knew it wasn’t. the bitter rivalry between their schools wasn’t just a story– it was a deeply rooted war, where even the smallest crossing felt like betrayal.

the thought of someone spotting her talking to a hamlin girl and spreading rumors made her want to run. but she didn’t move. aeri stood just a few feet away, arms crossed, her face thoughtful and unreadable. the tension between them was electric, a mix of challenge and curiosity.

suddenly, the debate topic they’d just covered hit differently. the need for institutional change in how students are punished wasn’t just theory anymore. right now, they were breaking a rule not written in any handbook, but in the rivalry that kept them locked at a distance.

in that moment, the invisible line between them felt thinner than ever.

aeri broke the silence first, her voice even but not unfriendly. 

“you like poking holes in people’s arguments, huh?”

y/n leaned back against the wall behind her, shrugging slightly.  “only when they fall apart that easily.”

aeri gave the smallest smile, almost reluctant.  “you were sharper than i expected.”

“you weren’t bad either,” y/n said, tilting her head. “very put together. very by the book.”

aeri raised an eyebrow. “that supposed to be a compliment or a dig?”

“guess it depends on how much you like the book.”

the corner of aeri’s mouth twitched again, but it faded just as fast. the air between them shifted. less guarded now, less about the debate. it wasn’t tense, but it held weight. like something unspoken was trying to find a way out.

after a pause, aeri spoke again, her voice quieter. “did you mean what you said? about change? or was that just you trying to embarrass me in front of a crowd of people who had no clue what we were even saying.”

y/n didn’t hesitate. “i meant it. holding onto old rules just because they’ve always been there keeps things stuck. it makes people smaller.”

aeri nodded slowly, her eyes drifting past y/n for a moment before locking back onto hers. “i said that change is risky. i still think it is. but... maybe some risks are worth taking.”

for a moment, neither of them spoke.

 y/n studied aeri’s face, searching for what lay beneath her words. she knew, loud and clear, that they weren’t just talking about the debate anymore. they were talking circles, getting a read on eachother. it wasn’t just about rules or risks—it was something deeper. something unspoken. something like an offer, quiet but clear. aeri wanted more than just rivalry. she wanted connection. a chance to be real, to be friends.

y/n liked to think she understood. there was something about aeri that felt honest, like a fresh chance. easy to talk to, easy to trust.

then y/n tilted her head slightly.  “so what do you propose? we just walk past each other next time like this conversation didn’t happen? maybe pelt eggs at eachother like everyone else does?”

“probably what everyone expects.”

“but do you want to?”

aeri looked at her for a long moment, all that cool composure slipping just enough to let something honest show through.  “no. i don’t.”

y/n let out a breath, something easing in her shoulders. 

aeri unfolded her arms, standing straighter now.  “our schools wouldn’t love it. a hamlin and daehan student being friends behind the scenes.”

“i don’t really care.”

“me neither,” aeri said, a little more certain this time.

y/n smiled, and it wasn’t small or forced. it was real.  “so maybe we don’t do what we’re supposed to.”

“we just... talk?” aeri asked, half amused by the simplicity of it. “hang out, even if it’s weird?”

“why not?” y/n said. “we’re on the same side more than they want us to think.”

a beat passed, and this time, it felt lighter. still charged, still unfamiliar, but no longer weighed down by the roles they were meant to play.

as y/n turned to head down the hall, she brushed past aeri just slightly. not on accident. “see you around.”

aeri didn’t move at first. she just watched her go, something settling in her chest that hadn’t quite been there before. then she spoke. soft, certain.  

“you will.”

when she smiled, this time it stayed.

__

sure enough, they did.

since that first real exchange backstage after the thursday debate– the one where the air had been heavy with stage lights and too much pride– they hadn’t gone more than a week without running into each other. it was almost laughable, how often their schools’ events now overlapped. student forums, interschool campaigns, volunteer projects, even a youth climate conference held in a cold municipal building with flickering fluorescent lights and barely-working heaters. somehow, they always ended up on the same planning committees, seated on the same panels, or stuck in the same group chats.

and every time, without fail, aeri would find her first.

the first real instance came a week later. the auditorium at hamlin high was too warm for winter, filled with the rustle of coats and the low hum of forced civility. rows of students sat in clusters by school, plastic name tags clipped to uniforms, the air laced with the smell of instant coffee from the makeshift refreshment table. y/n leaned against the far wall, arms folded, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. across the room, aeri perched on the edge of a folding chair, one knee pulled up casually, chin in hand. her eyes flicked up once, caught y/n’s, and for a split second neither of them looked away.

a voice crackled through the mic at the front, calling for representatives from the top ten councils to move backstage.

y/n stepped forward. so did aeri.

they brushed past each other near the side entrance, and aeri murmured without looking.

“so you only show up when there’s free coffee?”

y/n let out a soft breath of a laugh. “you think i’d put on this tie for anything less?”

aeri glanced over her shoulder, something amused tugging at the corner of her mouth. “remind me to bribe you with snacks next time. might get you to show up early.”

“dangerous game. i’m very food motivated.”

“you give off stray cat energy,” aeri said, lips twitching. “all aloof until someone opens a bag of chips.”

y/n turned, walking backward now, eyebrows raised. “wow. calling me feral this early in the morning?”

aeri just grinned, all teeth this time. “i was gonna say mysterious and picky, but sure. feral has flair.”

they didn’t sit together, naturally. it would’ve drawn too much attention. but when one of them spoke, the other listened. and when the room clapped, neither joined in too eagerly. just enough to blend in.

later, after the main event had fizzled into idle chatter and half-hearted networking, when students hovered around the refreshment table in search of leftover danishes or loitered near the exit waiting for their rides, y/n found herself next to aeri again.

“you’re not as annoying when you’re not talking about winning,” aeri said, sipping from a paper cup that smelled faintly of burnt coffee.

“you’re not as smug when you’re tired,” y/n shot back, leaning casually against the table’s edge.

aeri shrugged. “i’ve been told i’m charming when sleep-deprived.”

y/n let out a quiet snort. “you’ve been lied to.”

‎ 

the next time it happened, they were both roped into a volunteer event held in the basement of an aging civic center downtown. the room smelled faintly of bleach and something older beneath it, like dust that had soaked into the concrete years ago and never left. the walls were painted a washed-out mint green, chipped at the corners, and the overhead lights flickered with a faint buzz.

someone– probably a very bored adult with a sense of humor– had assigned them to sort donation boxes together. y/n was already regretting not checking the clipboard first.

“you know there’s a system for this,” y/n said, pausing as she glanced at the way aeri was haphazardly stacking boxes by category in the far corner.

aeri raised an eyebrow without looking over. “oh, does daehan specialize in shelf organization now?”

“no, we specialize in not letting canned peas fall on our heads.”

“sounds fake,” aeri replied, shifting a heavy box up onto the top shelf with one firm push.

it wobbled immediately. y/n caught the movement from the corner of her eye and didn’t think. she stepped forward, grabbed the bottom of the box just as it tipped, and steadied it with a dull thud back into place. one can still rolled out and hit the floor beside their feet with a metallic clink.

aeri blinked. “okay. maybe you get half a point.”

“half a point?” y/n looked at her, deadpan. “i just prevented a head injury. you’re welcome, by the way.”

aeri grinned, not even trying to hide it. “bold of you to assume i didn’t do that for dramatic effect.”

“uh huh. next time, i let it hit you.”

“noted,” aeri said, stepping around her with another box in hand, still smiling. y/n didn’t say anything else, but she was smiling too as they moved to the next pile.

‎ 

after that, it settled into a kind of rhythm neither of them acknowledged. they just kept showing up at the same events. maybe it was coincidence. maybe not. the city seemed smaller lately.

there was the student leadership mixer hosted at the old art museum, where half the exhibits were roped off for renovation. in one of the quieter wings, they ended up near the same installation, tucked behind dusty curtains and fading signage. the piece was titled light and memory, projected film reels looping against bare concrete walls in a flickering silence.

y/n stood near the back, arms loosely crossed. “this feels like the part in a horror movie where someone disappears,” she murmured.

aeri glanced over, then back at the film. “it’s supposed to be about nostalgia.”

“that sounds made up,” y/n said, tilting her head. “like something you say when you don’t know what it’s about.”

“maybe,” aeri replied, unreadable. “or maybe you just don’t like thinking too hard.”

y/n raised a brow. “you seem very sure about something you barely looked at.”

aeri smiled, a small one that didn’t reach her eyes. “some things don’t need studying to be understood.”

they stood there for another minute, the film flickering silently beside them. when the projector clicked off and the lights buzzed back to life, neither moved first. without really deciding, they left together, stepping out side by side until the halls forced them apart.

somewhere along the way, their numbers found their way into each other’s phones. it wasn’t a moment marked by anything special. y/n was juggling a scheduling mix up and passed her phone to aeri with a tired sigh. aeri typed quickly, handed the phone back, and that was it.

later, y/n scrolled through her contacts and paused at the name aeri had saved her name under. hamlin headache, followed by a small purple heart emoji. she smiled quietly to herself, surprised at how much that little note had settled into her thoughts.

the texts started out practical. reminders about meetings, updates on shared projects, and snarky comments about the other school’s latest social media drama. before long, the tone shifted. a blurry photo showed aeri’s chipped nail polish with the caption, your school’s colors just wrecked my manicure. a voice memo from y/n followed, her laughter muffled and barely holding together, explain why your student president spent ten minutes lecturing about hallway traffic patterns.

one night, at 10:13 pm, y/n’s phone buzzed with a message. you up? need to complain about something dumb.

she paused, then typed back. always. what’s the latest crime?

their conversation stretched on until nearly midnight, full of jokes, venting, and a kind of honesty neither usually offered. neither of them pulled away.

‎ 

the next time they met was at the cafe, and this time it was planned. aeri was already sitting in the back corner with two mugs steaming gently between her hands when y/n walked in, brushing snow off the sleeve of her coat.

y/n slid into the seat across from her without asking. “you ordered for me?”

“i took a risk,” aeri said, a hint of a challenge in her voice.

y/n lifted the mug, took a careful sip, and tried not to let it show that aeri was right.

“you’re good,” she muttered, eyes flicking up with a quiet smile.

aeri leaned back, a slow smile spreading across her face, like she’d been waiting for this moment.

outside, the sky was dark and the sidewalks shone with frozen puddles, but inside, the cafe was warm and quiet, filled with the soft hum of a low song drifting through the speakers. they talked for what felt like an hour, maybe two. the time slipped by unnoticed, neither of them checking their phones once.

‎ 

their friends had begun noticing the changes. jimin kept glancing at y/n more often, noticing the way her smiles came easier these days, how she seemed lighter, less guarded. minjeong and ningning whispered between themselves about aeri, how she seemed more distracted, her usual sharp focus softened by something new. they all suspected, even if no one said it out loud yet.

that was, at least, until one morning on the way to school when jimin finally found the courage to ask. the sedan was stopped at a red light, the music over the aux paused as the next song queued up, and jimin figured there was no better moment than this. she glanced at y/n from the corner of her eye, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as she lifted one brow.

“so?”

y/n blinked, caught off guard. “...yes?”

jimin shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. “don’t play dumb. what’s going on with you lately? you’re different. smiling more, distracted all the time—spill it.”

y/n hesitated, feeling the weight of the question settle over her. she looked out the window, watching the gray morning blur past before turning back to jimin with a small, reluctant smile.

“maybe i’m just tired of pretending everything’s a competition.”

jimin’s grin widened.

“when did you get so damn cryptic?”

y/n looked out the window for a second, then back at jimin. “it’s aeri. from hamlin.”

jimin’s eyes lit up. “i knew it! you tried playing all coy and shit, but i can read you like the back of my palm. you've been so different after you guys met at the cafe.”

“yeah,” y/n said quietly, “it’s weird. everyone expects us to be at each other’s throats just because of the schools, but with her, it’s not like that.”

jimin nodded slowly. “it’s a weird tension, yeah. school rivalry doesn’t just disappear, but people don’t always fit into the boxes we put them in.”

“exactly,” y/n said. “i don’t want it to be just about competition anymore.”

jimin smiled softly. “good. just remember, it’s okay to be on your own side, even if everyone else is playing by the old rules.”

y/n couldn’t help but frown, skeptical. “now it’s your turn to answer my questions. when the hell did you get so wise and supportive?”

jimin raised a hand to her chest in faux offense as the light turned green, and the car lurched forward. she shook her head. “i’m still me. maybe you just never noticed the wise and supportive side buried under all the sass.”

and then her expression shifted. she glanced over again, her expression softening. “so… tell me, how do you feel about her?”

y/n hesitated, eyes flicking back to the street. some part of her was surprised jimin was taking such an interest. nonetheless, she hummed. she tapped her fingers against her thigh as she weighed her words. then, she settled on a sigh.

“i guess… i like her. more than i thought i would. things feel different when she’s around.”

jimin smiled, the kind that reached her eyes. “then maybe you should see where it goes. you’re good at reading vibes, and if this one’s telling you something, don’t ignore it.”

y/n looked at her, surprised at how steady jimin sounded. “what if it just ends up messy?”

“messy’s part of any good story,” jimin said with a shrug. “but it’s better than pretending it’s not there and missing out. you deserve that chance.”

the car pulled up to school. jimin glanced at y/n one last time. “whatever you decide, just don’t embarrass me, okay? the last thing i need is for you to leave my car wearing hamlin colors singing their fight song. talk about asking for a whooping.”

y/n rolled her eyes, but she found herself grinning anyway. perhaps confiding in jimin was exactly what she needed.

‎‎ 

y/n wasn’t exactly sure what pushed her to ask aeri out that afternoon. it wasn’t meant to be anything monumental. just another meeting at the same quiet cafe where they’d been shedding their usual guard. the place where the weight of their schools felt distant, and conversations grew softer, more honest. aeri had started sharing pieces of herself, the frustration of never quite fitting into hamlin’s strict expectations even though everyone told her she was the “perfect student.” 

but as aeri slid into the chair across from her, y/n could stop herself. the words tumbled out.

“i like you.”

aeri paused, tilting her head like she was weighing the truth in those words. then, a slow smile spread across her face, equal parts amused and genuinely happy. “well, i’d hope so. i mean, if i’m dropping nine bucks every time we come here just to drink coffee i could make at home, i better be worth it. otherwise, that’d really hurt my wallet.”

y/n shook her head, a warm flush spreading across her cheeks.

 “no, no. i mean… i like you. like, like you.”

aeri’s expression shifted through a storm of feelings. surprise, disbelief, and then something softer, like a slow burning joy. y/n’s mouth opened and closed, searching for words that wouldn’t come, desperate to fix the sudden vulnerability hanging between them. before she could say another thing, aeri leaned forward, her hand sliding gently but firmly to grasp y/n’s tie. with a teasing tug, she pulled y/n closer until their faces were inches apart.

then, without hesitation, aeri closed the small gap. aeri’s lips brushed against y/n’s at first, tender and slow, like a question waiting for an answer. when y/n didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened, becoming more deliberate. it was soft but full of meaning, every movement careful yet charged with a sudden, electric energy that made y/n’s heart race. the world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet press of lips and the steady rhythm of their breathing. the kiss held a promise, something delicate and new, full of hope and the possibility of something neither of them had expected but both suddenly wanted to explore.

when they finally pulled apart, y/n stayed still, her eyes wide and unfocused, cheeks flushed with heat. disbelief and something tender flickered across her face like a fragile secret. aeri watched her with a slow, satisfied grin, fingers moving with practiced ease to smooth out the tie she’d tugged crooked. the soft motion was almost casual, but the warmth in her eyes said otherwise. then she hummed, playful.

 “i like you, too.”

in that quiet moment, y/n felt nothing but relief wash over her. all the petty school rivalries and whispered warnings melted away into insignificance. when aeri’s soft brown eyes met hers again, everything fell into sharp focus. the answer was clear, bright, and undeniable.

 sometimes, taking the risk was the only choice worth making.

[bradleysass]

gaze - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 878

It wasn’t unusual for James to call. It wasn’t unusual for James to call too much. But tonight—tonight was something else.

Regulus stepped out of the shower, toweling his hair dry, and stared at his phone screen. 20 missed calls.

19 from James.

1 from Sirius.

A message from Sirius waiting at the bottom:

"Reggie look at this puppy dog gaze at his phone waiting for you to answer."

Attached: a photo of James, sprawled on Sirius’s couch, cheeks flushed, holding his phone with both hands and staring at the screen like it held the answers to the universe.

Regulus sighed. And pressed play.

Voicemail 1: "Reg? REGULUS. Oh, it’s the beep already. Okay. So. Pick up."

Voicemail 2: "You’re not picking up. Okay. But. I just wanna say… I saw a cat that looked like you? Not, like, in a bad way. It was regal. And pretty. And aloof. Anyway. Call me."

Voicemail 3: "REGULUS. Regulus. Reggie. Black. Mister Black. You remember when you used to make me tea after Quidditch practice? You made it too strong on purpose. I know you did. I forgave you. Call me back."

Voicemail 4: "Okay, but, like. Seriously. Why didn’t we work? I mean, we did work. We worked so well! Like, so well. Everyone said so. Except maybe Sirius. But he doesn’t count. Or he does. I dunno. Call me."

Voicemail 5: "I’m not calling to get back together. Promise. PROMISE. Just… like. I need to hear your voice? Is that bad? That’s bad. I’m sorry. Ignore this. Unless you wanna call me back."

Voicemail 6: "Reggie. Sirius said I’m cut off but I snuck another Firewhisky. Don’t be mad. Are you mad? I miss your mad face. It was cute. Like when your nose does the thing. You know the thing. Ugh. Call me."

Voicemail 7: "You ever think about that holiday? That one in Greece? With the scooter? And you screamed the whole time because I couldn’t drive? I still have the helmet. It smells like your shampoo. I’m not weird, I swear."

Voicemail 8: "Regulus. REGULUS. I had a dream last week. You were in it. But you were a swan. And you bit me. What does that mean? Please respond."

Voicemail 9: "Did you know Lily still asks about you? She’s like, ‘How’s Reggie?’ and I’m like, ‘He’s fine, probably.’ But are you fine? Are you really fine? Because if you’re not I can be there in like, five minutes. Maybe ten. Definitely less than fifteen."

Voicemail 10: "I just wanna say… I’m proud of you. You’re doing so good. Even if you think you’re not. I see it. You’re so strong. And smart. And pretty. Like, stupid pretty. Sorry. Okay. Next voicemail will be more normal."

Voicemail 11: "...okay this one isn’t normal. I lied. BUT. Do you remember when you first let me sleep over at your flat? And you were all nervous but pretended you weren’t? And you gave me that pillow? I still have it. It’s the comfiest pillow. Like. Ever."

Voicemail 12: "I know we said we wouldn’t call each other when we’re drinking. But technically I didn’t promise. So I think it doesn’t count? Right? Right? Anyway. Hi."

Voicemail 13: "If you could be any fruit what would you be? Sirius says you’d be a pomegranate because you’re mysterious and hard to open. I think you’re more like a peach. Soft. Sweet. Little fuzzy. Heh. Okay. Call me back."

Voicemail 14: "Regulus Black. You beautiful, brilliant disaster. I hope you’re happy. You deserve happy. Even if it’s not with me. But also like. Maybe it could still be with me? Someday? Don’t answer that. Actually answer it. Or don’t. Fuck. I dunno."

Voicemail 15: "Sirius is yelling at me to stop calling you. I told him no. He threw a pillow at me. It missed. He’s bad at aiming. Haha. I won. Call me back."

Voicemail 16: "You know what? I’m glad we’re friends. I really am. You’re my best friend. You always will be. I just… sometimes I forget we’re not more. And then it hits me like a bludger to the face. But I’m okay. Just wanted you to know."

Voicemail 17: "Do you remember that song we used to dance to? It came on tonight. I almost called you right then but Sirius stole my phone. Rude. But now I got it back. And I’m calling you. Obviously. Call me back, Reggie."

Voicemail 18: "Reggie I think I’m gonna regret these voicemails tomorrow. But also not. Because they’re honest. And I mean every word. You’re amazing. And I love you. Not like… like. But also like. You know? Yeah. You know."

Voicemail 19: "Last one. I promise. Unless it’s not. But it is. I’m gonna stop now. I’m gonna go to sleep. Sirius says he’ll throw water on me if I don’t. Goodnight, Regulus. Sweet dreams. Love you."

Regulus stared at his phone. He didn’t hit call right away. But he smiled.

Then he opened the message thread, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

"Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow. And that I’m glad he still has the pillow."

And with that, Regulus set the phone down. And for the first time in weeks, slept soundly.

[kunareads]

mamma mia | dancing queen episode two: strangers and small braveries

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 1.2k a/n: decided that i will not be overthinking these chapters so here we go content: nanami (hot), flirting :D, alcohol use 18+ please <3

the door to the hostel room doesn’t quite close right. you have to yank it hard for the latch to click. even then, you’re not sure it would hold if someone really wanted to get in.

it doesn’t bother you.

your bags land in a corner with a dull little thud. the room is barely bigger than a closet—just a bed, a chipped nightstand, a window that faces a brick wall—but it’s yours for the next few days. no one here knows your name. no one expects anything from you.

you feel like you can breathe.

you slept on the plane just enough that you don’t feel exhausted, just a little disoriented. a little too aware of your own heartbeat. there’s no point unpacking. you grab your purse, lock the door behind you, and step back out into the street.

paris smells like butter and rain. the sidewalks gleam from an earlier drizzle, gutters bright with neon reflections.

you turn a corner and nearly get clipped by a scooter, the driver shouting something you can’t quite catch. you call out an apology even though you’re not sure it’s the right word, then you giggle to yourself—because it feels good to be here, even if you’ve already made an idiot of yourself.

everywhere you look, there’s something to take in: a bakery window fogged with warmth, golden pastries lined up in neat rows. a man in a suit smoking beneath a blue awning, watching you with mild curiosity. a little kiosk crowded with cheap souvenirs.

you buy an enamel pin shaped like the eiffel tower. the vendor says something in careful english, you reply in even more careful french, and you both laugh softly before she hands you your change.

you feel small here, in the best possible way. like the world is too big to ever run out of things to want.

your feet carry you until they start to ache. by the time the sky bruises into twilight and all the shop signs flicker on, you’re approaching a narrow bar with warm light spilling from the windows, the soft tangle of music drifting out into the dark.

the air is cool inside. it’s quieter than you expected—just the low murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the soft undercurrent of some old jazz record. the walls are dark, lined with shelves and little framed photographs.

you choose a stool at the far end, where you can watch everything without feeling watched yourself.

that’s when you notice him.

alone at a corner table, a half-full glass of something amber in front of him and a book held open in one hand. he looks serious, thoughtful in a way that feels almost private. strong, too.

it takes you a while to decide whether he’s the kind of man who’d welcome interruption. maybe he’d be annoyed, maybe he’d pretend not to hear you.

you order a glass of a wine you don’t recognize. it’s red and dry, warming your chest in a way that makes you brave. what’s the worst that could happen?

so you pick up your glass and cross the room.

“is it a good one?” you ask, tilting your chin toward the book.

he looks up, caught off guard. “it’s… dense,” he says after a beat. his voice is warm but a little reserved, like he’s not sure if you’re teasing him.

you pretend to consider that. “dense,” you echo. “sounds perfect for a saturday night alone in paris.”

that gets you the smallest smile. a crack in all that composure.

he closes the book slowly and sets it aside. “i could ask you the same question.”

“what question?”

“why someone like you would be spending their saturday night alone in paris.”

the words catch you a little off balance. your own smile starts to spread. “i’m not alone,” you say, gesturing between you. “i’m talking to you.”

he actually laughs at that. it’s just a soft huff of air, but it feels like something important. you want to hear it again.

when you sit, you catch the faintest hint of pink in his cheeks. he’s flustered, you think, but not enough to send you away. up close, he looks a little younger than you first guessed—late twenties, maybe. clean-shaven. there’s something about his eyes: thoughtful, a little tired, but kind.

introductions come easily. kento, he says, in that clear, careful way that makes you think he’s used to repeating it for strangers.

the conversation starts polite. where you’re from, how long he’s here, what you both think of the city so far. you learn he’s here on business, he learns you graduated yesterday.

he listens to you intently, holding your gaze without flinching, tracing the rim of his glass when he’s thinking.

when you admit you came here alone, that you haven’t planned more than a few days ahead, he doesn’t look surprised. just intrigued.

“you’re braver than most,” he says quietly.

you shrug, your pulse flickering under your skin. “some would say reckless.”

he considers that, then nods once. “maybe both.”

he glances at your glass before you can think of something clever to say, and lifts a hand to get the bartender’s attention.

“can we have the bottle?” he asks.

and by the time you’ve finished it—taking turns pouring, trading thoughts and stories in hushed voices—you feel like you’ve stumbled into a pocket of the night that doesn’t belong to anyone else.

you like his composure, and how he seems a little charmed. you like that he looks a little more undone now—blond hair rumpled, sleeves pushed to his elbows, eyes crinkling when he smiles. you like that he thinks before he speaks, and that he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave.

when you finally stand, the room tilts pleasantly around you. he rises too, collecting his book and tucking it under one arm.

he asks if you’d like him to walk you back.

you almost say yes, because it feels easy to trust him. because it feels like the night doesn’t need to end yet.

but you shake your head instead, feeling reckless in the best way.

“i’m fine,” you tell him, smiling. “but… maybe we could meet again tomorrow?”

there’s a beat where you’re afraid he’ll turn you down.

but he just nods with a soft grin. “i’d like that.”

you step forward and press a kiss to his cheek. his skin is warm, and you feel his relieved exhale.

you leave before you can overthink it, the door swinging closed behind you.

outside, the city feels different, like it’s shifted an inch to make room for whatever this is. the air tastes sweeter. your hands feel too empty.

you make the short walk back to the hostel with your heart humming under your ribs, already counting down the hours until tomorrow.

[bennyboyfics]

idk if u have seen it but doing the "current boyfriend" prank on ben and him getting sassy

https://www.tiktok.com/@ashleyhermanrealestate/video/7501513967060159774?lang=en (this is the trend btw <3)

Current boyfriend || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: yess I’ve seen this trend!!!! Hope you like this :)

Wc: 1,148

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

-

You’d seen it blowing up all over TikTok—the current boyfriend prank. Simple, harmless, and almost always funny. Every couple who tried it seemed to catch their boyfriend totally off guard, and the reactions were gold.

You’d watched enough of them to know exactly what kind of button it pressed—just enough jealousy to get them riled up. Which is exactly why you decided to try it on Ben. You were both in Rome for the Masters tournament, holed up in a sun-drenched hotel suite with a view of terracotta rooftops and the soft hum of scooters down below.

The air in the room was warm, lazy, and sweet—the kind of afternoon that made you forget the world outside even existed. Ben lay beside you on the bed, shirtless, his skin golden and sun-kissed from the day’s practice. He was propped up on one elbow, scrolling absently through his phone, the muscles in his back and arm flexing slightly every time he adjusted his weight.

His curls were still damp from his shower, a little tousled, and he smelled faintly of his cologne and your conditioner. Comfortable. Unbothered. Completely relaxed. Perfect. You propped your phone up against a pillow, angling the camera so both of you were in the frame.

Your heart ticked up just a little, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin as you hit record. “Babe,” you said casually, adjusting your hair as you checked the camera. “I’m filming a TikTok, okay?” “Mhm,” Ben murmured, eyes still fixed on his screen, one hand lazily scrolling. “Go for it.”

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Hey guys,” you began, voice overly cheerful. “I’m here with my current boyfriend and—” Ben’s head snapped toward you so fast you almost broke. “Current boyfriend?” he repeated, his voice slow, brows pulling together as his phone dropped slightly.

You tried to keep your face neutral, even as your eyes flicked toward the screen to see his reaction. “Yeah,” you said smoothly, barely suppressing a grin. “And he’s going to be answering a few questions to see how well he knows me.”

Ben didn’t blink. “You just said current boyfriend,” he stated, tone flatter this time — a little sharper, like he was trying to figure out if you were joking or not. “Mhm,” you nodded, still playing it cool. He leaned in slightly, phone completely forgotten now.

“Babe. What do you mean current? Like you got someone lined up or somethin’?” You bit your lip and tilted your head, as if considering it. “I mean, technically you are my current boyfriend. Like, at this exact moment in time.” Ben scoffed. A real, breathy, almost offended kind of sound. “Oh that’s what we’re doing?”

“What?” you asked innocently, eyes wide. He was sitting up now, arm still braced on the bed behind him, curls falling slightly forward as he stared at you with narrow eyes. “I’ve been flying all over the world with you, sharing my bed, sharing my room service pancakes, and now I’m just your current boyfriend?”

You shrugged. “Gotta keep my options open, right?” His jaw dropped—not in shock, but in that mock-offended way that meant he was two seconds from tossing your phone off the bed and pulling you under him just to prove a point. “Okay, nah. Give me this,” he said, reaching across and snatching the phone out of its little pillow stand.

“Ben!” you shrieked, laughing as you tried to wrestle it back. But he held it easily out of reach, looking down at you with a raised brow. “You think this is funny?” he said, that familiar Southern drawl coming out stronger now, like it always did when he was flustered. “Calling me your current boyfriend like I’m on some trial run?” You grinned up at him. “A very thorough trial run.”

He gave you a look—one of those deep, amused stares that made your stomach flip—and then tossed your phone gently to the side, out of reach. “You think you’re so clever, huh?” he muttered, crawling toward you, slow and deliberate, until he was hovering above you with one arm braced on either side of your head.

“I know I am,” you teased, your hands resting lightly on his bare chest. “But I also know you’re lowkey freaking out right now.” “I’m not lowkey anything,” he said, voice husky as he dipped his head a little closer. “I’m just confused how the girl who sleeps in my t-shirts and cries when I leave for five days suddenly has a current boyfriend.”

You laughed, but your heart was racing now, your breath catching a little as he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Say it again,” he whispered. You swallowed. “Say what?” Ben smiled against your skin. “Say only boyfriend.” You tilted your head toward him, your voice soft. “Only boyfriend.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips parted. “Good girl.” And then he kissed you—firm and slow, like he was sealing something in place. Like you’d never call him temporary again.

[matchawoozii]

tiger kisses - kwon soonyoung

pairing: bf!soonyoung x f!reader || wc: 917 || warnings: bodily fluid (blood) || an: out of my writing slump! i think!!

human sized tiger: wanna go around town? - 7:43pm

sure! - 7:44pm

human sized tiger: be there in 10 :) - 7:45pm

————

You should’ve known exactly what Soonyoung meant when he wanted to go around town. You didn’t think it involved scooters.

He rang the doorbell, and as you opened the door, he stood there holding two scooters and a second helmet, clearly out of breath. “Hi!” he exhaled breathlessly. 

“Soonyoung, are you sure we can't just drive around?” you asked softly. “Where’s the fun in that? Plus we can hit the skatepark afterwards!”

You couldn’t resist his idea of an adventure, and could practically hear the smile on his face when you agreed to go. You put on your good walking shoes and grabbed the extra helmet that he had for you.

It was the perfect afternoon–the sun was shining brightly, the wind blowing through your hair slightly, and your boyfriend’s giggling as he rode alongside you.

 The trail was relatively serene, squirrels were chasing each other in the distance as the trees swayed gently from side to side.

“I have an idea!” he turned his head to look at you for a split second, causing you both to stop. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” You playfully sighed, letting him go on.  

“Why don’t we race to the end of the street? Winner pays for dinner later!” he excitedly giggled. You couldn’t help but wince at the word race, but you were never one to turn down a challenge.

“I’ll count us off–three, two, go!” you start off unfairly, riding fairly fast alongside the sidewalk. You could hear Soonyoung going on about how you didn’t count all the way to one, but you just wanted to win. 

“Wait. Y/N, come back! You didn’t count down to one!” he complained, trying his hardest to catch up behind you. 

You were already halfway to the end of the street, as you turned your head back to laugh at him, but you didn’t see the dip in the sidewalk, causing you to flail forward violently.

“Oh fuck!” Soonyoung gasped, ditching his scooter and running to get to you since he was faster that way. 

You landed face first, thankfully your helmet kept your face from any scrapes or cuts. But your knee on the other hand, skin wrongfully exchanged with the concrete, and a trail of blood dripping down your kneecap.

“Ow, ow, ow,” you winced, trying your hardest not to cry. He helped you sit up properly as the wound seemed to sting a little harder. 

“Don't worry, I got you sweetheart.” he reassured, pulling out a small black case filled with bandages and alcohol pads. “You carry those around?” you let out a shaky exhale. “I fall pretty often myself! I wish it was me who fell instead of you though.” 

You lifted your head up at the pungent smell of isopropyl alcohol as it quickly filled the air.

“I have to disinfect it first before I put the bandaid on okay?” he stated softly. 

“OW! Fuck, give me a warning Soonyoung!” you yelped, letting out a sharp hiss at the end.

“That was your warning! Sorry about that…” he giggled, but quickly focused as he wiped blood off your knee and put the bandaid on you. 

You looked down at your knee, then back at Soonyoung.

“Tiger bandaids? Are you kidding me?” you grunted, slightly smiling. 

“It looks cute on you!” he giggled again. “One last thing though,” he paused, repositioning himself to get closer to your knee.

“What are you–” you were cut off by Soonyoung's soft lips making contact and leaving open mouthed kisses around the roughed up area. They weren't your regular kisses, they were softer and gentler, and he sealed one final kiss right in the middle of your bandaid.

“It heals faster with love!” he smiled, pressing one more soft kiss to your cheek and settling beside you.

You could tell he was still filled with worry–the way his eyes were focused on your knee. 

“Soonyoung, I'm fine now! It's not like I dislocated it or anything.” you laughed, reaching out for his hand to squeeze it.

He finally looked up to meet your eyes, “I still feel terrible I couldn't catch you or anything, and you were right–we should've just drove around town like you said.”

"Next time," he said eventually, "we'll do a walking date."

You snorted. "You'd still find a way to trip."

He grinned. "Only if you catch me."

"I'm not carrying you!” you retorted, playfully pushing into his side. 

Minutes passed as he finally helped you stand up and pick the scooters back up to give one back to you. “Are you even real? I'm not riding home on that death trap!” you complained. 

“We'll go slowly! If you stumble even one bit I'll carry you all the way home.” Your eyes lit up. “Sounds like a deal to me!”

“Hey! You just want to be carried!” he smirked. He eventually caved and leaned down for you to get on his back.

“Can't believe you almost cried…” Soonyoung teased. “Okay, put me down.” you groaned, lightly smacking his back

“Wait, I'm sorry!” he pleaded. 

The walk back home was filled with laughter, as the sun slowly started to go down and you rested your head against your boyfriend's shoulder.

You thought to yourself how grateful you were to have someone to take care of you.

You were grateful for Soonyoung. 

[seobrangii]

| shitty 808s - kim jongseob x gn! reader - 1.2k wc✔︎

my notes⎯ sorry for not writing in a bit- I got hit by a scooter and lost hearing in my left eye. anyway- enjoy! (ilovejongseobsm). also the reader is younger than jongseob- so they're the maknae! warnings⎯ lowercase intended, cursing, not really proofread, I don't know jackshit about making music- I do make it just for fun but I don't know it on a professional level. songs⎯ "take you there x no bs" | dj short and "trillions" | alicia keys

“dude this sounds like shit.”

“it’s literally only 808s. it’s not going to sound good.”

“tell that to carti.”

jongseob groans and relaxes his body into the creaky studio chair. from where he's at; body slouches and neck bent, he feebly grabs for the mouse, each time he reaches he just barely misses it- giving a pitiful grunt every time.

you slap his hand away playfully, scooting your chair over in his place to play with the track. in the 30 minutes you've been in the studio you only managed the 808s. ass, in your opinion but something to start the song off as a base.

"what are you doing?" he mutters, looking towards the desktop screen. the black background of the software lights up every time you move around tracks. the purple and blue sections reflect off his glasses, "stop pressing stuff, you're gonna mess it up."

a scoff leaves your lips absentmindedly, choosing to replace the pre-made 808s with a original. you play it back for a spilt second- nodding to yourself feeling content in your work.

"you should be thankful I'm helping you," you start, adding a few high hats some measures into the song, "today is my off day and youngji just came out with a new episode."

he rolls his eyes and reaches over to grab his water bottle, he uncaps it and throws the lid on your lap. you make no effort to move it, "you would've had to come in eventually. jiung needed you today to record your verse."

you reach over to twitch your hand infront of his bottle, as if faking him out. he jerks his body away from you quickly, the water shakes in his hand- some even coming from the top and onto his sweater.

"bro." it comes out weak and quiet, a frown forming on his lips but you're quick to talk over him;

"for him, I wouldn't have complained. it's different when I have to do it because it's scheduled then come in to help someone work on his song." you spilt the back ground voices you added from files and slip in theo's guitar solo along with a 4 bar bass drum.

at this point you haven't listened to what has been added, jongseob still hogging the headphones. though you have enough confidence in yourself, and as one of the main producers, to know that the song will be somewhat decent- and way better than whatever he had before.

"what even is your inspo?"

"'bambi', baekhyun."

he makes a face, "sexy, no?"

you shrug, clicking around on the application to add some reverb, "piece will love it, fnc will tolerate it, intak will be happy. what more is there?"

he doesn't respond.

the difference between the software when jongseob had it compared to it in your hands is insane. infront of you the screen decorated with rainbows of colors, the static lines tracking the sound range from lengths and size. it's beautiful.

you feel a heavy weight on your left arm and look down to see jongseob leaning on you, he lets out a tired breath, and reaches up to fiddle with the loose string on your sleeve.

"are you almost done yet? you're hogging my equipment and I have other stuff I need to do."

"is all you do is complain?" you ask, titling the song with a random phrase and saving it, "because if that's the case I'll just get keeho."

his grip on your sleeve tightens as he tenses. for some reason jongseob is afraid of keeho- the latter always picking on him and fighting him. you would ask why and how it started but in all honesty, you couldn't really care.

"no no no, it's okay. you can keep working."

a proud smirk graces your lips as you reach over to slip the headphones off his head. he lets you, reaching forward to give you better access, smiling when he feels your hands pat down the mess they left.

you bend down slightly, apologizing when his head falls from your shoulder, and blindly reach for the tower to unplug the cord from its socket. "alright," you mess with the setting once more, turning the volume up enough so it can be heard. "you ready?"

jongseob yawns, "about time." you smack him upside the head.

the song is only about 3 minutes long, but in that three minutes it sounded wonderful. even though you were on playing around with it, something to keep jongseob satisfied until he could figure out what he really wanted to do with it, you think it could actually be the final product.

as the song plays you would take a look at his face to gauge his opinion. he seemed to like it; bobbing his head with the melody, a soft smile on his lips. it made you feel somewhat better about missing youngjis' show.

"okay, what do you think?" you ask as the beat fades out, you pause it so it doesn't play again and turn your body towards him, knees knocking each other.

he doesn't say anything for a minute, staring at the poster on the wall behind your head. his face is back to neutral. you think about snapping your fingers infront of his face to wake him up.

after a while he takes in a breath and says, “buns, actual buns.”

“you’re only saying that because it’s not jiung working on the song.”

he doesn't say anything but nods in agreement. there's a cheeky smirk on his face. "if that's the case, I'll just delete the song." you move the mouse to press erase before a hand catches you before you do.

"don't." he says, a mild glint in his eye as he pries your fingers from the mouse. he gently places your hand back in your lap while maintaining eye contact, moving the device to his side of the table.

"so it's not 'buns'?" you ask, the smirk back on your face.

he hesitates and then says, "no it's still ass, but why would I delete it just to start over, waste of time."

you laugh and go to answer but your phone vibrating catches you off guard. you use your face to open it to read the message;

멘토르 (mentor) come to floor 4 pls, we're ready for you :)

"uh oh," the chair beneath you slides backward as you stand up to collect your belonging. the bottle cap falls from your lap as you hand jongseob his headphones, "duty calls, i'll be gone for about an hour or two, if you need me, don't. I'll be busy."

he laughs, watching as you put on your shoes. you places a kiss on his head as you retreat for the door. you hear the clicking of a mouse and muffled music from behind you.

as soon as you reach for the door knob a voice calls out. "yeah?"

jongseob, hood pulled back so that you can see the bangs of his brown hair, his glasses that reflect the sparkle in his eyes, and the big smile on his face says, "I know I give you shit but thank you. you saved me a lot of trouble."

you smile back at your elder, a content look matching his own, "hey, anytime."

you close the door and head towards the elevator.

⎯if you want to be apart of my taglist let me know!

→ thank you for reading!

[inlovewithfionaapple]

with love, from rome

warnings: fluff

wc: 1.7k

the scent of espresso and blooming jasmine hit them the moment they stepped out of the cab. the hum of scooters zipped by, blending with the melodic rise and fall of italian chatter drifting from open windows. Somewhere nearby, the sharp clang of church bells cut through the quiet, echoing across cobblestone streets that shimmered gold under the afternoon sun.

y/n squinted up at the roman skyline—terracotta rooftops, ancient domes, the golden sun casting a honey glow over it all. “this feels like a movie.”

kelsey grinned, pulling her suitcase behind her as they approached the little boutique hotel nestled on a quiet street just minutes from the spanish steps. “then you’re definitely the star.”

“you’re the basketball superstar here.”

“okay, but you’re my leading lady.” kelsey reached for her hand and laced their fingers together, lifting them up to press a kiss to y/n’s knuckles.

their hotel was tucked just off a quiet cobblestone street, a quaint boutique spot framed by ivy-draped balconies and flickering lanterns. It looked like something out of a postcard—faded green shutters, stone archways, and window boxes overflowing with red geraniums. Inside, the elevator groaned like it had stories to tell, and their room smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish.

the room was small but perfect. a tiny wrought-iron balcony opened up to a sun-dappled piazza below, where a violinist played slow, aching music that made y/n pause mid-unpacking just to listen.

y/n walked out onto the balcony and leaned over the edge. “promise me we’ll eat pasta every single day.”

kelsey wrapped her arms around her from behind. “that’s the plan.”

their morning began the way y/n always dreamed mornings in rome would—seated at a tiny café table under a striped awning, the metal chairs warm from the early sun, the street alive with the scent of fresh bread and orange zest. the waiter brought their cappuccinos with practiced flair, setting down two delicate white cups with saucers that clinked lightly against the marble tabletop.

“grazie,” kelsey said, though her pronunciation made y/n giggle behind her hand.

the barista winked at them, then slid a plate of warm cornetti between them—flaky pastries dusted with powdered sugar and filled with lemon cream. He gestured toward y/n’s cup before walking off, and when she glanced down, a perfect foam heart floated in her coffee.

“look at you, already breaking italian hearts,” kelsey teased, nudging y/n gently under the table with her foot.

y/n smirked, sipping her cappuccino slowly. “i can’t help it if my coffee art is better than yours.”

kelsey looked at her own cup, which had a lopsided blob that might’ve once aspired to be a tulip. “this is a hate crime against latte art.”

“you’re just jealous.”

they shared bites of pastry between sips, y/n brushing a dusting of sugar off kelsey’s lip with her thumb, and kelsey leaning forward to steal a bite straight from y/n’s fingers.

they wandered the cobbled streets hand-in-hand, following signs to the colosseum. as the iconic structure came into view, y/n stopped walking.

“it’s so...massive,” she whispered. “i’ve seen it in pictures my whole life, but it doesn’t feel real until you’re here.”

kelsey pulled out her phone to snap a candid of y/n staring in awe, sunlight haloing her hair. “you look like you belong in a painting.”

“flatter me more,” y/n said, slipping her arm around kelsey’s waist.

“eternal muse. heartbreaker of baristas. champion of my heart.”

y/n laughed, slipping her arm around kelsey’s waist. “okay, now it’s getting cheesy.”

“fitting, since we’re in the land of parmigiano.”

they toured the ruins, giggling as they made up ancient love stories and reenacted gladiator battles (y/n won, dramatically collapsing in kelsey’s arms).

they took a high-speed train north to florence, the kind that whispered along the tracks like it had secrets to keep. the countryside blurred outside their window—vineyards and olive groves rushing past in shades of green and gold. Lena leaned into Kelsey’s side, headphones shared between them, the low hum of music blending with the rhythm of the rails.

kelsey absentmindedly played with y/n’s fingers, tracing the edge of her promise ring. “how do you think it’ll feel?” she asked.

“what?”

“seeing florence for the first time.”

y/n smiled, eyes still on the rolling hills. “like falling into a dream.”

and it was.

they arrived just in time for golden hour. the city wrapped around them like a painting come to life—florence in full bloom beneath the sunset, warm and weightless. From piazzale michelangelo, they stood hand-in-hand, looking out over the skyline. terracotta rooftops stretched in waves, the arno river slicing through like a ribbon of light, and at the very heart of it all, the great dome of the duomo glowed like it was lit from within.

the breeze tugged at y/n’s hair as she leaned into kelsey’s shoulder, her breath catching in her chest with the kind of quiet joy that felt both light and heavy—like holding something too beautiful for words. she didn’t speak, didn’t need to. kelsey squeezed her hand, her own eyes wide and soft with wonder.

“i don’t think i ever want to leave,” Lena whispered.

“then we won’t,” kelsey said. “we’ll become those weird expat women who own a bakery and only wear linen.”

“deal.”

the sun dipped lower as they wandered through the narrow streets of florence, the golden light spilling over everything like honey. bells tolled somewhere in the distance as they ducked into tiny artisan shops nestled between trattorias and gelaterias. in one, they tried on buttery-soft leather jackets that smelled like cedar and oil. in another, they sniffed soaps shaped like peonies and roses, giggling when y/n accidentally got a smudge of lavender on her nose.

“this one smells like a garden kissed by angels,” y/n said dramatically, holding up a pale pink bar.

kelsey leaned in. “You smell like that when you wake up.”

“you’re lying,” y/n laughed.

“a little,” kelsey admitted, “but I like the imagery.”

near the end of the street, sunlight catching in the window of a tiny goldsmith’s shop drew them in. It was a narrow space with a case full of delicate rings, earrings, and pendants, all gleaming under soft lights. y/n admired a tiny gold band with stars etched all the way around.

kelsey stood behind her, chin resting on her shoulder. “do you like it?”

“i love it,” y/n murmured, her voice reverent, like she was afraid the ring might disappear if she said it too loud.

kelsey flagged the shopkeeper with a grin. a few minutes later, she slipped the ring onto y/n’s finger with care, just beside the silver promise ring from their last trip.

y/n blinked down at her hand, her throat tightening with emotion. “i’m running out of fingers.”

“we’ll move to toes next.”

“gross,” y/n laughed, pushing her playfully. “you’re ruining the moment.”

“never,” kelsey said, catching her hand again, this time lacing their fingers together so the rings clicked softly.

they walked on, still holding hands, the sky deepening to violet above them. streetlamps blinked on like stars, and from a terrace above the arno, someone began to play a slow, dreamy tune on an acoustic guitar. the city didn’t buzz like rome—it breathed. it pulsed gently with the rhythm of old poetry, art, and hearts that beat a little slower to take it all in.

florence, they realized, didn’t just welcome you. it wrapped around you. it kept a part of you.

and in return, you left a part of yourself there too.

in a sun-drenched farmhouse on the outskirts of florence, they took a cooking class led by a sweet italian grandma named maria who spoke little english but smiled at them and pinched their cheeks.

y/n accidentally spilled flour on kelsey’s black tee.

kelsey flicked water at her.

maria clapped her hands and shouted in italian as a full-blown pasta-making-pillow-flour war broke out.

by the end, they were crying laughing, covered in flour, and eating handmade tagliatelle with wine-stained lips.

“i think maria wants us to get married in her garden,” y/n said as they walked back to the train.

kelsey pulled her into a hug. “i mean…wouldn’t be the worst place.”

y/n blinked. “you serious?”

kelsey kissed her forehead. “not proposing yet. but just…bookmarking the idea.”

y/n didn’t stop smiling the whole ride back.

the winding drive to the amalfi coast made y/n slightly carsick, but once they stepped out of the cab in positano, all she could do was gasp.

colorful houses tumbled down cliffs toward the sea, and the water glittered like a thousand sapphires. bougainvillea spilled from every balcony.

they checked into a cliffside suite with a balcony straight out of a dream. the bed had crisp white linens and lemon-printed pillows, and the air smelled like salt and citrus.

“this,” y/n said, flopping onto the bed. “this is the love letter to life.”

they swam in the ocean, sharing floaties and kisses between waves. kelsey made y/n laugh so hard she snorted when a fish brushed her leg.

dinner was under fairy lights at a candlelit terrace, with live guitar and the best seafood they’d ever had. y/n stole shrimp off kelsey’s plate.

they rented a red vespa and zipped down the coast, y/n clinging to kelsey’s back, laughing into the wind.

they stopped at scenic overlooks to take pictures, kelsey pretending to model and y/n narrating like a dramatic italian documentary.

“here we see the majestic basketball goddess in her natural habitat…”

kelsey struck a pose. “bellissima.”

they found a stand selling fresh lemon gelato and sat on a stone wall to eat it, legs dangling over the cliff edge.

“this is our movie montage moment,” y/n said, licking her spoon.

“you know,” kelsey replied thoughtfully, “when i was a kid, i never dreamed about weddings or white picket fences. but i think i dreamed about this.”

“me too,” y/n said. “even before i knew it.”

their final day was spent wandering rome’s quieter corners—orange trees in hidden courtyards, little bookstores with sun-faded covers, espresso sipped in silence.

“you’ve ruined me for everyone else,” she whispered, leaning into kelsey’s shoulder.

“good,” kelsey said with a grin, pressing a kiss to her temple. “that’s the plan.”

they threw coins in the trevi fountain together, backs turned, fingers crossed.

“what’d you wish for?” y/n asked.

kelsey smirked. “you.”

[kinbedo]

Mercy on Me

A Kinich x reader modern au written series

series masterlist _ main masterlist

Introductions

wc: 1.1k

Elementary School, Summer Vacations

Ajaw is annoying.

Always has been, and the whole neighbourhood believed that he always will be.

You and your friends could recognise that grating laughter from a mile away. Before you have the chance to turn around and see where he is, his yellow hair would pop up, him proudly riding his little 3-wheeled kid’s scooter yelling for everyone to get out of his way.

Which is also why you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him with another guy.

You rub your eyes, once, twice, but the slightly shorter, black-haired boy is still there. Never taking your eyes off the sight, you fling your right arm, trying to catch your friend’s attention. The blue-haired girl is just as awestruck as you are, and so is the older blonde on your left. 

Mualani pulls the baby in her arms closer to her chest, the 4-year-old sleeping peacefully in her arms. “Should we follow them?”

“Yeah I’d uh like to know what’s going on too. Because there is no way that obnoxious brat actually made a friend.” Xilonen says, hands on her hips as she shakes her head.

You simply nod before you start moving, Xilonen in tow and Mualani stepping a lot more carefully due to Kachina sleeping in her arms.

The boy with Ajaw is a little shorter, but seems to be around the same age as you all. You don’t recall ever seeing him around the neighbourhood before. There’s a solemn expression on his face, as he quietly follows the blond. You notice the bandages around his forearm and your breath hitches. Ajaw is walking ahead, a stick in his hand and his chest puffed out. “That’s right, lowly servant! Keep marching with me! Ahaha!”

You crouch behind a nearby bush, while Xilonen takes the tree beside you. Mualani was just about to crouch down beside you when she stumbled, jerking Kachina awake, who started crying at the sudden movement.

The black-haired boy flinches, taking two unsteady steps back as Ajaw growls in annoyance. “WHO’S THERE? Oh it’s you three… plus one tch.” Ajaw snickers at the last part, annoyance evident in his tone. “Why even carry a baby around when you’re trying to stalk someone?? You’re bound to fail you dimwits!” 

“Hey at least we’re being nice and helping Kachina’s parents out! Unlike you, we’re not causing more problems for the adults!” Mualani snaps back, putting Kachina down. The little girl quickly shuffles to your side, clinging to the side of your shirt as you wrap a protective arm around her. Xilonen sighs. “Here they go again.”

“Oh so you DO admit to stalking! What business do you have with me this time, peasant?”

“Well… we were curious,” Mualani admits. “You never get along with anyone. How’d you end up making a friend?”

“Friend? Hah. I wouldn’t be hanging out with this kid if he weren’t my stupid cousin!”

“I’m older than you Ajaw…” the boy says meekly, his words barely above a whisper. 

“Introduce us.” Mualani states plainly. It's not a request, it's a demand.

“Hahh??? Ugh! You know what, fine. This is Kinich. Kinich, these are children.”

“YOU’RE THE SAME AGE AS US YOU YELLOW-HEADED BRAT.”

Kinich shifts uncomfortably, only nodding his head at being thrown into the limelight. 

“I’m uh Xilonen. Nice to meet you, Kinich. And this is Mualani, [name], and Kachina. I hope Ajaw’s been nice enough to you. And that uh, that Mualani hasn’t startled you.” You mirror Kinich’s actions on being mentioned, shuffling a bit and lightly kicking at the dirt beneath your feet.  

Kachina’s eyes shift between each one of you there, slowly letting go of you and standing on her own, the initial shock now worn off. After eyeing Kinich for a little while, she excitedly exclaims, “Want to be friends?”

.

.

.

You could often see the blond running around his house from your window. Sometimes, you’d step out to the balcony just to catch Ajaw basking in the sun in his own balcony, laughing loudly while making weird noises as he played with the dragon figurines in his hand. You could have been staring into the distance, when a golden brown arm would make its way into your peripheral vision, a smirk on Ajaw’s face as he pointed downwards before laughing maniacally. You’d always roll your eyes and just head back inside.

But lately, you started to notice a certain jet-haired boy around him. Kinich would often wave at you and cut his brother off when he tried to make a nasty comment.

“So you really are cousins.”

“Why would I bother with him otherwise??”

You were curious about the bandages, ready to reprimand Ajaw for hurting him.

But you didn’t even have to ask.

It wasn’t long after you met Kinich that your parents decided to take you over to Ajaw’s place. It was there that you found out more about Kinich.

...And his abusive parents.

You found out that Kinich had recently moved in with Ajaw’s family, and that he would be joining the same school as you post vacation.

Your legs dangled off the edge of the couch, as you sipped on the juice Ajaw’s mom gave you. She had always been such a sweetheart, having your favourites ready for whenever she saw you. You’d sometimes question how Ajaw was even related to this woman. But even her sweet smile looked a little dull today.

“Kinich is a brave lad,” Ajaw’s father began. “He called me one night and I went over to realise that… the atmosphere at his home wasn’t the best. So I offered to take him in. His mother, my wife’s sister, agreed.”

You looked over to Ajaw’s mom, and then to Ajaw and acknowledged their yellow hair as their most prominent feature. You then turn your gaze to Kinich, who had been staring at the floor the whole time, and notice the blond streaks in his own hair.

Kinich feels you staring at him and tilts his head towards you, his neck still inclined downward. You flinch and turn away, red dusting your cheeks at being caught. Kinich’s lips tilt upwards, a huff leaving him at your behaviour, causing you to look at him again, smiling nervously. 

“We were hoping that Kinich could be friends with your child. Even we’re aware that Ajaw can get a bit too rough at times.” His dad laughed, taking another sip of his wine. Ajaw groaned, but didn’t say anything back.

“If there’s anything you need, please, do call us. As neighbours, it’s our duty to help one-another.” Your mom says, holding her hand forward which Ajaw’s mom takes very graciously, mumbling a “thank you” in response.

Well, that felt like an official notice for you to add Kinich to your little group of friends.

And Ajaw. 

Just the thought itself makes you grumble.

Breaking this news to Mualani would definitely not go well.

[helvegen-s]

crossing lines | two

index

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC

Summary: In the dizzying world of Formula 1, where speed and competition dominate every second, Carlos Sainz Jr., a young Spanish driver with undeniable talent, struggles to find his place amidst the pressure and expectations. Livia Visconti, heiress to an Italian fashion empire, moves with the same determination in a universe of elegance and power. Two opposing worlds, two strong personalities, an inevitable clash that will ignite a spark between them. But in a world where image and success are everything, can they risk it all for a love that defies the rules of the game?

WC: 3.5k

Warnings: terminal illness/declining health, mentions of death, surgery, emotional distress

A/N: here is the next paaaart. this one is a little serious buuut it is what it is. hope you enjoy it :)))

The Saudi Arabian sun reflected off the jewels adorning Livia Visconti’s neck—a diamond necklace that had belonged to her great-grandmother, the first Visconti to turn a passion for fashion into an empire. She observed the frenzy of the Jeddah paddock with a mixture of fascination and—she had to admit—a certain disdain. The roar of the engines, the mechanics rushing back and forth, the drivers in their fireproof suits... it all seemed like an extravagant circus to her, a noisy and superficial spectacle. But still, it was a spectacle—undeniably fascinating.

She was there for a reason. Casa Visconti needed Ferrari, and Ferrari needed Casa Visconti. It was a strategic alliance, a marriage of convenience between two of Italy's greatest and most famous dynasties, built on passion, excellence, and—why not say it—unbridled ambition.

Beside her, her father beamed with childlike enthusiasm. He had always been a passionate Formula 1 fan, a devoted follower of Scuderia Ferrari since the days of Lauda and Villeneuve. Seeing his company’s logo on those red machines, witnesses to speed and glory, was a dream come true for him. A dream Livia had made happen.

"Look, Livia," her father said, pointing with his cane toward the entrance of the Mercedes motorhome. Coming down the ramp was none other than Hamilton on a scooter. Livia couldn’t help but smile at her father’s excitement. "I need to get a photo with him!"

"Maybe another time, Dad. He seems to be in a hurry."

Livia continued surveying the scene, surrounded by her father’s PR representatives and a few employees who worked directly for them. Light conversation flowed between them, but then she saw Carlos.

She watched as he moved through the paddock, greeting team members, chatting with other drivers, signing autographs for fans. He moved effortlessly through the crowd with a mix of charisma and humility that surprised her. He didn’t seem like the same arrogant and distant man she had met in Monaco.

A pang struck her chest as she saw him smile at a young fan. There was something about that smile—a genuine warmth that contrasted with the coldness he had shown her. What had she done to deserve the way Carlos treated her? Something inside her, despite herself, always made her put her guard up when he was near.

Maybe because seeing him felt like looking into a mirror: the resilience, the raw honesty, the determination, the ambition... She knew how dangerous she could be herself, and perhaps that’s why she avoided getting closer to Carlos.

She forced herself to look away from the driver and turned her attention back to her group. Her father was engaged in an animated conversation with his PR representative, but amidst the excitement on his face, Livia noticed a fleeting grimace of pain.

“Dad, are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Yes, darling, I’m fine,” he replied, forcing a smile.

In truth, she knew he wasn’t fine. Recently, her father had seemed more tired, more fragile. His forgetfulness was becoming more frequent, and his health had declined over the past months. The doctor had spoken of “fatigue,” of “stress,” but Livia knew there was more to it than that facade of reassurance. The latest medical tests had confirmed her suspicions: her father was suffering from a degenerative disease, and while he was still in the early stages, the future was uncertain.

That’s why she had taken control of Casa Visconti, why she had become the public face of the company, why she had negotiated the deal with Ferrari. She needed to protect her family’s legacy, secure the company’s future, and, above all, take care of her father. The deal with Ferrari had been a personal challenge, a gift to lift her father’s spirits, who, after the diagnosis, had become a shadow of the great businessman he once was.

“Let’s sit down for a while, Dad,” she said, taking his arm. “You look tired.”

“You’re right, Livia,” he said with a grateful smile. “I think I’m getting too old for all this.”

They sat on a terrace overlooking the circuit, where they could watch the flow of the cars without the deafening roar of the engines. Her father seemed to relax, enjoying the spectacle and his daughter’s company.

“I’m so proud of you, Livia,” he said suddenly, taking her hand.

“You’ve become an extraordinary woman.”

“Thank you, Dad,” Livia replied, moved by his words.

“You’re strong, intelligent, ambitious...” he continued. “You have everything it takes to take Casa Visconti to the top.”

“I will, Dad,” she said firmly. “I promise.”

At that moment, she saw Carlos pass nearby. What was it about that man that, wherever Livia went, he always seemed to appear like magic? He glanced at them briefly, his expression unreadable, then continued on his way.

Livia felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Had her father noticed the intensity of his gaze? Did he suspect anything about whatever it was that was happening between them?

“That young man has something special,” her father commented, a spark of admiration in his eyes. “Did you know that, despite being the son of a two-time world champion, he had to fight hard to make it to Formula 1? He hasn’t always had a competitive car, but he’s never given up.”

Livia looked at him curiously. She didn’t know much about Carlos’s background, only that he was a talented driver who—according to her sources—had lost his seat at Ferrari.

“He seems to have a strong character,” she said with some reluctance.

“He’s strong, yes,” her father agreed. “But he’s also humble. He never complains, always works hard, and treats everyone with respect. He’s a true role model.”

Livia recalled Carlos’s kindness with the studio staff, his patience with the photographer, his genuine smile. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she had judged Carlos too quickly.

“I’m glad he’s the one representing our brand,” her father said with a smile. “He’s a true Visconti on the track.”

Livia felt a chill run through her. A true Visconti? That statement unsettled her. Was her father comparing Carlos Sainz to their family members? Did he see in him the same qualities that had made the Visconti name legendary?

“I’m not sure, Dad,” she replied uncertainly. “I don’t know him well enough yet.”

“Give it time, Livia,” her father said with a wink. “Time reveals everything.”

The first day of the Abu Dhabi GP had vanished in the blink of an eye. Livia had spent the hours lost in a monotonous routine: watching free practice sessions from a VIP terrace, exchanging forced greetings with paddock acquaintances, posing for selfies with fans who recognized her. For the first time in weeks, she had found something resembling calm, though the incessant roar of engines and the bustle of the circuit conspired to remind her of where she was.

Yet she couldn’t get Carlos out of her head. His magnetic presence, the way his gaze seemed to pierce through her, that effortless blend of defiance and charisma… It was frustrating. Irritating. And, to her dismay, increasingly intriguing. She knew getting involved with someone like him was a disaster waiting to happen, but there was an undeniable connection she couldn’t ignore. For the first time, she wondered if the spark she felt was one-sided or if Carlos sensed it too.

Determined to clear her head, on the second day, Livia headed to the Ferrari motorhome. She needed a strong coffee to face the rest of the day. Entering the café, her thoughts about Carlos took physical form: there he was, leaning against the counter with a cup in his hand and that lopsided smile that seemed reserved just for her.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the paddock,” he remarked in a tone that was both mocking and amused. “Decided to stoop to common coffee, or did the champagne run out on your private jet?”

Livia raised an eyebrow, unfazed, though his comment brought a smile to her lips.

“Don’t underestimate my taste, Sainz. A good Italian coffee can be just as exquisite as Dom Pérignon—especially with… good company.”

Carlos responded with a brief laugh, but in that moment, his body seemed to give away. Livia noticed the color draining from his face as the driver swayed, steadying himself against the counter.

“Carlos?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course… just a bit dizzy,” he replied, though his voice sounded weak.

Before he could finish his sentence, his balance gave out entirely. Livia reacted quickly, dropping her belongings and placing Carlos’s arm over her shoulders to stop him from collapsing.

“Carlos!”

He tried to say something, but his lips barely moved before his full weight fell on her. The café filled with murmurs, and almost immediately, a couple of mechanics rushed to help.

“We need a medic here!” one of them shouted, while the other supported Carlos from the opposite side.

Within seconds, Ferrari’s medical team stormed into the café with a stretcher. The paramedics quickly checked his vitals.

“His pulse is weak. We’re taking him to the hospital right away,” one said, placing an oxygen mask over Carlos’s face.

Livia, still processing what had just happened, watched as the medics wheeled the driver out of the motorhome. In the distance, she heard the sound of an ambulance starting, leaving behind a trail of flashing lights and unanswered questions.

Then, her phone vibrated in her pocket. Pulling it out with trembling hands, she saw her father’s public representative’s name flashing on the screen.

“Isabella?” she answered, trying to sound calm, though the weight of the incident with Carlos still lingered.

“Livia…” The voice on the other end was filled with anguish. “It’s your father.”

A knot formed in Livia’s stomach.

“What happened?”

“He’s had a crisis. He could barely breathe, and his body… it just gave out. They’re loading him onto a helicopter to take him to the nearest hospital. It’s serious, Livia.”

The words hit like a cold, hard blow. Her father’s diagnosis had always been a looming threat, but this… this was real.

“I’m on my way,” she said without hesitation. “Send me the hospital’s address.”

“Hurry, Livia.”

She ended the call, and for a moment, the chaos around her faded. All that existed was the urgency to reach her father. Moving with determination, she left the paddock while searching for her driver. Everything else, even Carlos, vanished from her mind. Her priority was clear: to be with her father before it was too late.

Carlos had spent two days confined to his hospital room, recovering from an appendectomy that had unexpectedly taken him out of the Grand Prix. Though the physical pain had subsided, the emotional weight of not being able to compete lingered. He had spent hours talking with his father, who had stayed by his side at the hospital, trying his best to lift his spirits. But even the most optimistic words couldn’t fully dispel that lingering sense of failure. Just when things were going well, when he was proving that Ferrari had made a mistake in letting him go, everything suddenly fell apart.

It was three in the morning when hunger—or more precisely, a craving—pushed him to leave his bed. The hospital dinner had been forgettable, and now his mind was fixated on one idea: cookies from the vending machine. After making sure no one would stop him with a lecture about resting, he slipped out of the room. Dressed in a hospital gown over his pajamas, he carefully made his way down the hall, feeling the stitches in his abdomen protest with every step. Determined, he set off to claim his late-night prize.

The hospital was quiet, the stillness broken only by the low hum of the lights and the occasional footsteps of a night nurse. Following the signs to the nearest waiting area, Carlos finally spotted the vending machine. However, just as he turned the corner and approached his destination, something caught his attention before he could even decide on a snack.

There, on one of the chairs in the hallway, Livia was asleep. He recognized her silhouette instantly, even under the dim lighting. She was curled up with her arms crossed, as if trying to shield herself from the hospital’s cold air, her slightly tousled hair falling across her face. In front of her, the door to a patient’s room was slightly ajar.

Carlos didn’t need to look inside the room to know that Livia’s father, Damiano Visconti, was there. He had read the news about the health crisis Damiano had suffered at the hotel in Jeddah and assumed he’d been transferred to the hospital closest to the circuit—the same hospital where Carlos was staying. What he certainly hadn’t expected was to find Livia asleep in one of the chairs in the hallway, curled up like a child, looking entirely out of place among stretchers and nurses.

For a moment, Carlos stood still, just watching her. There was something unexpectedly vulnerable about seeing her like this, so far from the glamour and confidence she always seemed to exude wherever she went. The queen of fashion suddenly looked just as human as he did.

Without thinking too much, he walked toward her. Something compelled him—a need to check if she was okay, even though he knew she probably wasn’t.

He chose not to say anything and sank into the chair next to her, ignoring the sharp pang in his side that reminded him he wasn’t in top form. Shrugging off his hospital gown, he gently draped it over her, tucking it around her as best as he could.

This time, she stirred, her eyes fluttering open slowly, blinking in confusion before focusing on him. For a moment, she seemed unable to register who was in front of her. Then, surprise flickered across her face.

“Carlos… What are you doing here?” she murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep.

He smiled, trying to lighten the moment.

“I think I should be the one asking that. But since you insist, I was looking for cookies.”

Livia blinked, as if still processing his words, then let out a small, tired but genuine laugh.

“Of course. What else would you do in a hospital?”

“Well, sleeping in hallways isn’t really my thing.” Carlos motioned to the uncomfortable chair she was curled up in. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know… Ever since they admitted my father. Maybe 48 hours?” Livia shrugged, trying to sound casual, but Carlos could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

“And how’s your father?”

She seemed to tense up at first but then exhaled.

“Stable, for now. The doctors say he was lucky to get here in time. But… I still don’t know how long he’ll need to stay.”

Carlos nodded, understanding the weight behind her words.

“It’s good that he’s stable. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

Silence fell between them—not awkward, but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Livia looked at him more closely, as if only now processing his presence.

“What are you doing here?”

“Let’s just say I had my own dramatic episode this weekend.” Carlos gestured toward his abdomen with a lopsided smile.

“Appendicitis. Sorry, I skimmed a couple of articles about it, but I didn’t really process it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Not as glamorous as a mid-race crisis, but it’s what I’ve got.” Carlos sighed and made an exaggerated grimace. “Sorry for passing out on you the other day. Embarrassing.”

Livia let out a soft snort, brushing it off. Honestly, Carlos fainting on her in front of all the Ferrari staff wasn’t even the worst part of her day. She glanced at the gown he’d draped over her, catching the faint scent of cedar and lemons, and the way Carlos was awkwardly hunched to avoid straining his stitches.

“Thanks for checking on me.”

Carlos shook his head.

“It wasn’t planned, but I’m glad I did.”

For the first time in days, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.

The silence between them stretched out, and Carlos noticed something in Livia he hadn’t seen before. There was a vulnerability in her expression, a tension barely held in check in the line of her jaw, in the way her fingers started fidgeting nervously.

Suddenly, her shoulders began to shake, and she dropped her gaze, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. Carlos leaned slightly toward her, alarmed.

“Livia?”

At first, there was no response, just a muffled sob that broke the stillness of the hallway. Before he could react, tears started streaming down her face—silent at first, then more intense, as if everything she’d been holding in had finally found a way out.

Carlos froze, unsure of what to do. Livia wasn’t the kind of person to allow herself this kind of vulnerability, at least not in front of others. His instincts told him he should do something, but at the same time, he was afraid of crossing a line she wasn’t ready to share.

“Uh…” he began awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s okay. You can let it out. It’s fine…”

But it wasn’t enough. Livia barely reacted, and Carlos’s discomfort grew. Should he hug her? Say something? What if she got upset? He didn’t want to push too far.

Finally, he sighed and set his hesitation aside. He leaned forward and, with a slightly hesitant hand, gave her shoulder a light touch. When she didn’t pull away, he took a chance and slid his arm around her shoulders.

“Come on, you can’t keep all that bottled up. Trust me, I’ve tried—it doesn’t work.”

Livia didn’t move at first, but eventually, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as the tears kept falling. Carlos felt the dampness of her crying against the thin material of his pajama top as she buried her face against him.

“It’s too much,” she whispered between sobs. “My dad… this weekend… and now you’re here too. God, it’s embarrassing. I can’t handle everything—my company, my dad in the hospital, the board demanding answers…”

Carlos let out a relieved sigh that she’d allowed him to stay close. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, searching for the right words.

“You’re handling it. You know how I know? Because you’re still here, even with all of that on your plate. That’s more than a lot of people would manage.”

Livia lifted her head, looking at him with tear-reddened eyes.

“I don’t feel strong. I feel… like a kid. I’ve got too much going on, and I have no idea how to deal with it. I’m completely lost.”

Carlos leaned in slightly, offering a reassuring half-smile.

“Being lost is just a lie we tell ourselves. I’ve spent two days feeling like a failure because appendicitis knocked me out of a race, and here I am, chasing cookies like that’s going to fix anything.”

Livia blinked, caught off guard by his admission. Her lips twitched upward slightly, trembling from her earlier tears.

“Are you seriously comparing your cookie craving to my family issues?” she asked, attempting indignation but failing to suppress a soft laugh.

Carlos raised his hands in mock innocence.

“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of vending machine cookies. They could change lives—you never know.”

The absurdity of the comment drew a more genuine laugh from Livia this time. It was as if the tension she’d been carrying dissolved in an instant. She raised a hand to her face, wiping away the lingering tears with her fingers.

“You’re hopeless, Sainz,” she murmured with a small laugh, shaking her head.

“Maybe. But look, I got you to laugh. That’s a win for me.”

Livia leaned back in the chair, exhaling deeply, her head resting against the backrest. She glanced at Carlos out of the corner of her eye, her lips still curving into a faint smile.

“Thanks. Really. For staying, for… this.” Her voice softened, sincerity shining through. “I didn’t realize how much I needed a moment like this.”

Carlos propped an elbow on the armrest, leaning slightly toward her with his trademark lopsided grin.

“That’s what I’m here for. Although, to be fair, I came here for cookies, if we’re being honest.”

Livia laughed again, this time more freely, shaking her head.

“You’re impossible.”

“So they say. But hey, since you’re here, want to help me choose?” Carlos nodded toward the vending machine at the end of the hallway.

She looked at him, still draped in his hospital gown, and let out one last sigh—tired but lighter.

“Fine. But you’d better not faint again over a craving.”

“Promise. If I do, I’ll make it dramatic and give you a heads-up.”

They both stood, and although Carlos moved carefully to avoid straining his stitches, the air between them felt different. There was lightness where there had been weight, and though neither of them said it aloud, both knew that in the quiet stillness of the hospital, they’d found a small refuge in each other.

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[ephemeralp1eces]

Beyond the Checkered Flag - Part III

Summary: Lunch at the McLaren hospitality tent and both Lando and Max are there. But what will the addition of the teams, of the press, of each other, cause?

What to know: Nothing of note - fluff

wc; ~2,500

The next afternoon, the paddock had a different energy, less electric, more settled. Most of the chaos had burned off with the champagne and the post-race interviews. Now, it was recovery mode. Logistics, debriefs, and low-stakes media moments. A small, quiet exhale between race day and the next wave of chaos.

I’d been invited to lunch at the McLaren hospitality tent, not unusual, considering how long I’d been tied to the Norris family. My dad had gone to school with Lando’s, and we’d spent enough summers in Mallorca as kids that the PR staff treated me more like a harmless fixture than a guest. Not press, not a girlfriend, but someone who floated on the edges of the sport.

But that line was beginning to blur, and I could feel it before I even stepped into the paddock gates.

It had started the night before, with Max.

It had twisted again in the quiet moment with Lando, where too many things went unsaid.

And now, as I walked through the soft hum of overlapping conversations, I felt both of them; two completely different gravitational pulls, hovering somewhere close.

The McLaren hospitality tent was open-air and casual. Buffet-style catering, tables scattered in semi-organized groups, team members perched on folding chairs or leaning against tables, phones in hand, half in conversation. Sunlight filtered through the canvas roof, the clinking of silverware and laughter punctuated by occasional radio chatter and walkie-talkie crackles.

Zak Brown gave me a cheerful wave as I arrived. “She returns,” he said, grinning.

I laughed. “Tried to stay away.”

He motioned toward the food. “Grab a plate. You’ve earned it after sitting through our media circus yesterday.”

“Consider me emotionally exhausted,” I replied, but with a smile.

I filled a plate with a little bit of everything. Pasta salad, grilled vegetables, a small chicken skewer, trying not to overthink where Max or Lando were. Trying not to care who might sit next to me, or who would pretend not to notice.

Lando arrived five minutes later, in his papaya team shirt, hair fluffed from his scooter ride over. He spotted me instantly and made his way through the tables with a practiced ease, his smile softening when he reached mine.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” he said, sitting across from me, his tray already stacked with assorted meats and a criminal amount of couscous.

“You invited me,” I reminded him, biting into a bit of chicken.

He shrugged. “You were quiet this morning. Thought maybe you'd ghost.”

“I was tired. Long night.”

He glanced at me, eyebrows raising just slightly. “With anyone in particular?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

Lando leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, his gaze flicking briefly to something, or someone, over my shoulder.

Max.

I didn’t need to look to know he was there. I could feel the shift in the air.

Lando dropped his fork and rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, he usually avoids team hospitality stuff. Doesn't love the politics.”

I looked at him. “Maybe he’s trying to play the game.”

“Or watch someone else’s.”

That earned him a look.

He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t need to. We both knew Max didn’t crash other teams’ lunches without a reason. And the fact that he was here now, just visible through the tent flap, standing beside a few Red Bull engineers, it wasn’t a coincidence.

Lando and I continued eating, but our rhythm was off. We weren’t bickering playfully like we usually did. There were no inside jokes about Zak’s obsession with track bikes or the performance coach’s kale smoothie addiction. We were too aware of the space around us. And who was watching.

Then, as if fate wanted to twist the knife, shockingly, Max strolled over. Cool, relaxed, Red Bull tee freshly ironed, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He didn’t hesitate. Just stopped at our table and nodded casually.

“Didn’t know McLaren was serving better food than us,” he said, looking pointedly at my plate.

I smiled, restrained, playing along. “You just didn’t get the secret invite.”

Max’s gaze lingered on mine a second too long.

Lando didn’t miss it.

“You here for the couscous or just sniffing around?” Lando asked, voice light but edged.

Max smirked in the arrogant way that he does. “Just passing through.”

He didn’t sit. Didn’t make a scene. He just gave me one last unreadable look and walked away, a quiet storm wrapped in a Red Bull shirt. When I turned back to Lando, he was staring at the table, jaw tight.

“He’s not subtle, is he?”

“No,” I said quietly. “He never has been.”

Lando shook his head. “I just don’t get what you want with him.”

The words felt heavier than they should have. More personal.

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what I feel,” I said. “And I’m still figuring that out.”

He didn’t answer, but his fingers tapped against his water bottle like a tell.

Around us, the lunch crowd shifted, drivers came and went. I saw Oscar Piastri slip in with his engineer. Carlos Sainz stopped by briefly to fist-bump Lando and complain about the pasta. A few team members from Aston Martin hovered near the coffee machine. It was all light conversation and casual glances. But, because of the weird events of the last 24 hours, to me it felt like everyone knew something was off.

I got up to refill my drink. When I returned, Lando was talking to George Russell and Charles Leclerc, who’d wandered in from the Mercedes side of the paddock.

Charles smiled when he saw me. “You’re with McLaren again today?”

“Just freeloading,” I said, raising my can of sparkling water in a toast.

George gave me a curious glance, then subtly looked between Lando and me. “You always show up on Norris’ good days.”

“Funny how that works,” I replied.

Lando didn't say anything. But when George and Charles moved on, I sat back down beside him, closer this time.

“You okay?” I asked.

He let out a breath. “I’m trying to be.”

I wasn’t sure what to do, so I placed a hand on his arm.

“Lando, this, whatever’s going on, isn’t about choosing between you and Max. It’s not a competition.”

He turned to face me, his voice lower now. “Maybe not for you.”

The words hung there, heavy with implication.

Then, quieter, “You know, people talk. They see a woman in the paddock with one driver too often, and she becomes ‘his girl.’ A distraction. A groupie. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Didn’t want it to look like…”

“Like you’d claimed me?” I finished.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“But Max doesn’t care what people say.”

Lando looked away. “That’s the difference.”

That was when I realized it. Not just how differently they acted toward me in public, but why.

Max kept things private out of strategy. He liked secrets. Possession without declaration. If anyone knew we had history, it would be a weakness. Something to press against.

But Lando’s caution wasn’t about secrecy. It was about protection. The moment it became public, I’d be judged as his girl, not myself. He didn’t want that for me, and maybe, he didn’t want that for himself either, not until he was ready.

And yet, both of them wanted something from me.

Max wanted the full tilt. The dive. The unfiltered, consequences-be-damned version of me that matched his own edges.

Lando wanted the truth. The safe version. The real one. The one that would come out of hard work, patience, and commitment .

The moment that tipped everything came unexpectedly, and it was so small I almost missed it.

I’d gone to grab napkins. As I did, someone, probably a junior mechanic, tried to flirt with me. It wasn’t aggressive, just annoying. Lando clocked it instantly. And for the first time in our entire life, he didn’t ignore it.

He stood. Walked over. Not possessive. Not dramatic.

Just placed a hand on my lower back as he joined me, leaned in like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “Hey, I was wondering where you went.”

It was the tone that did it. Soft. Familiar. Like I belonged next to him.

The mechanic backed off immediately.

And when I looked up at Lando, heart hammering in my chest, I saw it in his eyes; he’d made a decision. He was tired of dancing around it. I followed him back to the table, my skin buzzing.

From across the tent, I caught Max watching.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t make a scene.

But when his gaze met mine, there was no smirk. No sarcasm.

Just that quiet storm again.

And this time, it looked like it might pass right through me.

[starconchs]

☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐕𝐒. 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒

summary: would jjk characters win in a fight against the teletubbies? featuring: fushiguro megumi, itadori yuuji, kugisaki nobara, & gojo satoru genre: humor, hcs wc: ~750 notes: this is a repost

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 ੈ♡˳·˖✶

↬ fuck. no. when have you ever seen this mf win a fight? he gets his shit wrecked every episode. selene, if you’re reading this, i’m sorry but no. not even his shikigami can save him from the terror that is a teletubby. he’s strong, no doubt about that, but he doesn’t stand a chance. you thought todo fucked his shit up? the state he left him in is nothing compared to what the teletubby did. nobara will not let him live it down, and neither will gojo. but can you blame him? teletubbies are tall and low key scarier than the curses he’s faced. he definitely underestimated his opponent, and that was his downfall. the fight was over before it began, and the teletubby had no mercy whatsoever. he cannot look any of the teletubbies in the eyes afterwards. he can't look you in the eye either bc you keep teasing him.

the teletubby he fought: dipsy. he made sure megumi’s losing streak continued. definitely smacked the sorcerer with his hat.

𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈 *·˚ ༘♡

↬ he wins. it’s a pretty steady fight without yuuji using his cursed energy. the teletubby is impressed with his speed and strength and even though the battle drags on, he graciously admits defeat (and no, it’s not bc he’s scared of what the pink-haired boy can really do). they become friends afterwards, because yuuji just has that talent, and they even go out for sushi together and bring you along. megumi is kind of jealous that yuuji was able to win so easily, and he hates the fact that the teletubby giggles every time it sees him bc it knows he lost his fight. yuuji somehow becomes friends with the rest of the teletubbies and honestly, they’re a pretty solid friend group. they don’t think he’s all that strong because he looks so sweet and innocent, but the original teletubby he fought shudders and tells them not to try their luck. he knows yuuji wasn’t at full strength and he fears his true power.

the teletubby he fought: laa-laa. they hit it off pretty well and sometimes sing together.

𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐈 𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀 ࿐ ˚ . ✦

↬ yes! and it’s probably the funniest fight out of the four. she trash talks her opponent, and she has the ability to understand the teletubby language so she gets offended when it responds in kind. she’s so close to using her hammer and nails to attack, but gojo and megumi hold her back and confiscate her weapons. the teletubby knows just what to say to rile her up. it’s a dirty fight. the teletubby pulls her hair but she’s a bad bitch so she doesn’t flinch. in return, she goes feral, pulls the teletubby’s antenna, and kicks it in the legs. she wins, no doubt. she feels kind of bad afterwards but it’s honestly the teletubby’s fault for starting the fight. whenever they bump into each other (bc remember yuuji is friends with them) a fight always breaks out and you have the teletubby and nobara trash talking as they’re dragged away from each other. not gonna lie, even you and gojo were a little unsettled by her raw anger in the fight. 

the teletubby she fought: po. she tried to defend herself with her scooter but nobara broke it :/

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ༊*·˚

↬ yes. he shows absolutely no mercy. gojo may be a cocky, arrogant bastard, but he has proven that he is indeed the most powerful sorcerer to exist. he’s giggling the entire fight, thinking about you and all the sweets that he can buy when he finishes his opponent off. this is the first time the teletubby feels fear, and he finds that he doesn’t stand a chance against the blindfolded man. remember how easily gojo defeated jogo? yeah the teletubby is a bit harder to deal with but it’s a piece of cake. he’s beaten up and exhausted by the end of the fight and gojo? he’s in pristine condition. in fact, he might even look better than he did at the beginning of it. there’s something wrong about beating up a well known children’s show character though, so gojo makes the effort to bring it along on his sweet-shopping adventure. the teletubby is wary of anything gojo gives him and wonders how this now-smiling dumbass is the same sorcerer that beat its ass. 

the teletubby he fought: tinky-winky. the oldest and tallest of the teletubbies got utterly wrecked by our smug little shit of a sorcerer.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

[asapjens]

NEW JEANS WITH A SWIFTIE S/O + NEW JEANS AS SWIFTIES I

WARNINGS; PART 1 new jeans x swiftie!reader, minji x fem! reader, hanni x fem reader, mentions of Taylor Swift, pet names, the girls having a crush on you, fluff, cringe, english is not my first language, i love you taylor

KIM MINJI WC: 295

Before you, Minji used to only listen to some of Taylor’s songs- the big hits and a few here and there between albums.

But the moment she found out that you were a Swiftie, she started learning some facts about Taylor and her music and listened to Taylor's discography, asking you for some song recommendations.

She would give you flirty compliments, mentioning how she thinks of you when she hears songs like "Lover," "Gorgeous," and "Sparks Fly" – you know, the whole playlist.

Minji showed up unexpectedly at your house with your favorite snacks and a teddy bear wearing a blouse that said "I LOVE TS." She asked if you would like to watch "Miss Americana."

This became a thing for the two of you. After watching Taylor's documentary, you decided to surprise Minji at her dorm with some flowers that you bought for her at the market.

When you knocked on the dorm door, a very sleepy Minji opened it. She was in her pajamas, her hair a little bit messy, and she was holding her phone. She looked incredibly cute.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you laughed at the pretty girl in front of you. When Minji yawned, she gasped upon seeing her crush at her door. Minji blushed and just smiled at you. "What... what are you doing here?" she asked, trying to fix her hair.

"Do you want me to leave?" you said, faking sadness in your voice and pretending to turn around. "No!" Minji quickly said as she grabbed your arm. "I'm just surprised you're here, surprised but happy," she smiled.

You laughed at her. "Well, I came here so we could watch the Reputation Stadium Tour. Since you surprised me last time with Miss Americana, I thought it was only fair for me to come here."

Minji blushed. She had already watched the Reputation Stadium Tour and the Folklore sessions so that she could learn more about Taylor for you.

"I would love to," she said. "Why don't you wait for me on the sofa while I make us some popcorn?" Minji offered.

You have liked Minji for some time now. You loved her smile, her hugs, and how she never made you feel silly about the things you liked. You loved how she would encourage you to keep talking about the things you enjoy.

"So that's why Taylor is re-recording her first six albums," Minji asked you what was your favorite song on ‘Fearless’ but somehow, the conversation ended up with you giving her a full biography of Taylor.

You looked down at Minji, and she was looking at you with full attention, her puppy eyes wide, and her mouth slightly open.

"I'm sorry," you said, turning away in embarrassment. "Why?" Minji said, sounding worried. "I... I know that I talk a lot, and you don't have to listen. I just thought you would want to know since you ask so many things about Taylor. But I understand if you're tired of listening to me-"

"What? No! I love it when you talk about things you like! You look so cute when you're focused on something," your friend Minji said.

You blushed at her words. "Really? You don't mind?" you asked shyly. Minji nodded with a big smile.

"Positive," she said, kissing your cheek. "And let me tell you this, Scooter Braun is such a bitch!" You laughed at Minji's curse.

Minji would ask you to be her girlfriend in a romantic Swiftie way. She would search for inspiration online and ask her friends for help decorating the place.

The moment you entered Minji's dorm, pink and golden confetti fell to the ground. You could hear Minji's bandmates screaming and giggling, and when you looked up, you found Minji holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers while "Mine" by Taylor Swift started playing in the background.

You guys song: Mine and How you get the girl.

HANNI PHAM WC: 343

BIG SWIFTIE

You knew Hanni, but you guys weren't close. She took a few of your classes, but you never really talked.

Sometimes she said hi to you, and sometimes you said hi to her. You guys smiled when you saw each other and those things.

Until one day, Hanni was running late to class and she bumped into you. "I'm sorry!" Hanni said, kneeling to help you pick up the things she accidentally made you drop.

There were some drawings, your notes, a pencil case, and some notebooks. While she was helping you, she saw a drawing.

She would recognize those blue orbit eyes and that blonde hair anywhere! It was a detailed and awesome Taylor Swift drawing!

"It's not your fault. I wasn't looking either," you said shyly to the black-haired girl kneeling to help you.

"Mhm, here," said Hanni, passing you the pretty drawing. You blushed at the picture. You never showed your drawings to anyone, so you were kind of embarrassed.

"Really pretty, lovely drawing," Hanni said with a smile. You took the drawing softly and got up in a swift movement, murmuring a "Bye" and walking in the opposite direction.

Hanni couldn't help but notice the friendship bracelet you were wearing.

It was a pretty pink one that said "The Archer." The bracelet had some details of Taylor's songs, and Hanni thought it was the cutest thing ever.

Now that she knew that there was another Swiftie among us, she started to pay more attention to you.

She noticed the pins on your backpack that were all Taylor's albums. She also noticed how your phone case was full of Taylor-related stickers, and she once saw you with the folklore cardigan!

Hanni was excited but didn't know how to get close to you.

So one day, she made a plan. It all started when she heard that a local park was projecting The Reputation Stadium Tour! The odds were in her favor.

She was going to invite you! She would buy some snacks and she would bring her Lover-themed towel so you guys could sit on the floor. She was going to tell you to wear the Cardigan since she had the red one! That way you guys could match.

Hanni took a few breaths before walking towards your table. It was lunchtime, so she thought it was the perfect time.

"Hi! Yn, I'm Hanni. I take French and history with you," she introduced herself first, but she knew you knew who she was. It was for politeness.

You looked up from your phone, and Hanni could see Taylor as your wallpaper. She almost giggled about it since she had the same picture as her lock screen.

"Oh, Hi Hanni" you knew who she was. Hanni laughed and prepared to say the words.

"I was thinking if you wanted to go and see a movie with me," she said, her big smile widening even more when the words left her mouth.

You blushed and opened your eyes even wider if that was possible. Hanni, your halfway crush, was inviting you to hang out with her! "I-I'd love to," Hanni felt a weight off her shoulders at your answer.

"They're playing one of my favorites in this park," she gave you the directions to the park, and you wrote them down.

"It's next Friday at 6 pm. I can come and get you, and we'll walk together if you like," Hanni said. You nodded shyly.

"What movie are they playing?" you said, making eye contact with the short girl.

"Reputation Stadium Tour," you almost fell from your seat.

"Really?!" you asked excitedly. Hanni smiled at you. "Yes! I thought you would like it!"

"I love it. Thank you for inviting me, Hanni," you said, wanting to hug Hanni out of excitement.

“I should be the one who's thanking you since accepted to go on a date with me”

You blushed at Hanni’s words. A date? You couldn't believe your ears, Hanni Pham just invited you on a date!

“Is going to be the best date ever” you said smiling at her. “Mhm, I’ll text you my address, give me your number,” You said handing your phone to Hanni.

Your hands touched Hanni’s and you felt a sparkle through the action. “I love your bracelet,” said Hanni while adding her number to your contact list.

“Do you want to exchange it?” you ask as you notice her wrist decorated with a blue friendship bracelet.

Hanni wanted to scream with excitement.

You guys song: King of My Heart and Holy ground

[cher-rei]

afterglow pt- 13 [ T.A.A ]

pairings: trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

summary: young and aspiring marketing and business major jamie carter (you) is privileged with working alongside the liverpool marketing and public relations team while also getting entangled with their star player and right back, trent alexander arnold.

genre(s): friends to lovers, fluff, slowish?? burn and just a good time

[wc: 5.3k] afterglow masterlist

notes: rahhhhhh!!!

spamjam._.

liked by liverpoolfc and 3 244 225 others

spamjam._. may 24th anyone? [tagged: taylorhinds]

view all comments below

taylorhinds 👀💜 [liked by spamjam._.]

liverpoolfc collab of the century I fear

→ spamjam._. if you know, you know 🤞🏻

user collab?? are they doing a photoshoot together or something?

→ user probably, you know how jamie is and her random promo photoshoots for brands 😭

→ user take back to the adidas shoot last year omw

→ user life was so much easier back then

virgilvandijk oh, so you were serious? 😂

→ spamjam._. I had a 10 hour board meeting yesterday for this. don't test my commitment 🙄

trentarnold66 she's a baller 🥵 [liked by spamjam._.]

harvelliot LET'S GO!! COUNT YOUR DAYS ON THAT PITCH

fía.messi bro has me flying over for this 😭 [liked by spamjam._.]

→ spamjam._. I couldn't get your dad so I had to settle for the next best thing (and mateo is only 10 so I had to choose you 😔)

"what's the date today?"

"the 23rd," laura answered promptly and went back to typing something on her laptop while the rest of your media team carried on with their personal tasks in the meeting room.

you stood at the whiteboard in front— a black marker in one hand and your ipad in the other as you wrote out and marked certain dates down and finalised a few things.

"okay." you tapped the marker on your chin and took a step back from the board, gaining everyone's attention. "those pictures are up for the efl final, but I'm going to need a date for next week for my meeting with the set designers and stylists because I have a few ideas for the launch."

sienna, another member of your media team was quick to check her calender, her email set up on her desktop. "you're good for march 4th if we're set to release the shoot may 7th."

you bit the inside of your cheek as you thought for a moment. "put it down. I'd also like an update on the news for the boss' special collection and," you wrote down something under the title national duty. "I need the flags ordered asap."

the room fell silent after that, everyone in their own headspace while the sound of keyboards clicking sounded through the room. you wanted to make next season's kit release a big one, the board giving you three words to ride off of and the mock design for the kit a few months ago.

you quite liked the tribute to the design and after consulting a few close professionals (sophia and alexandra) there was an idea of what you were going for. the idea of a more sophisticated look and aesthetic ran through your mind, the question of how would you style the jersey yourself playing a role.

"moped," you blurted which got you a few strange looks. "I want a moped for the shoot."

logan, who was silent for most the of the meeting eyed you for a second. "like the scooter?"

"the bike from that one disney movie?" laura followed and pulled up her pinterest page, moving her laptop to show you and you nodded, writing it down under the kit launch column on the board.

"I want it in red and maroon and see if they can get the jersey design on it," you said while tieing up your hair because this was oh so obviously only the beginning of the meeting.

you had been so busy the past few hours, confined between four walls that the only sunlight you were getting was the light emitting from the passage through the simgular glass wall of your meeting room that overlooked the second floor. your phone was probably buzzing with messages from clara asking you when you were free for your lunch break but that was the last of your worries.

but eventually something caught your attention from the corner of your eye as you stood in front of your team, going over some extra details. "the videographers are working on it currently so all we nee--"

you paused mid-sentence, the glimpse of a figure strolling past the room catching your attention for a moment. "uhm, all we need is to check if..."

they walked past again, only this time at a pace that was definitely noticeable. normally you would've disregarded trent's childish behaviour in the middle of work but everyone was growing agitated and needed a break.

you flicked your attention from your team to trent who was strolling along with his hands in his pockets, only to come back a second time, then a third until your team gradually noticed him. your lips drew into a thin line as he sent them a small wave, pretending to be busy.

"okay, everyone we can take a break." you set the markers down, their thankful sighs of relied making you laugh. "I'll see you in 45, okay?"

the seven of your team members flooded out the door in no time, leaving you alone while trent waited until they were out of sight to finally enter the room. he walked up you the whiteboard beside you, trying to act as if he knew what any of the writing meant while you continued to joy a few things down.

"don't try anything, the walls are literally made of glass," you said unbothered without taking your attention off of the work in front of you.

from beside you trent mocked an expression of hurt, offended that you'd accuse him of coming here just to do something. "I wasn't going to. I came here because I just happened to be walking by after our gym session," he answered, the lie dripping off his tongue effortlessly and you gave him a look.

you didn't respond, instead becoming immersed in your work once again. the marker in your hand moved between the spaces of your fingers, a pout forming on your lips as you concentrated.

don't get him wrong, trent found it extremely attractive that you were in your element— your hair messily tied up, the marker in your hand spinning between your fingers and the look of determination on your face made him crazy. but he was just a man after all and wanted to spend some time with his... free trial user.

with a sigh he sat down at the desk, spinning aimlessly on the chair to try and cure his boredom. he hated this— referring to the lack of privacy in the room because the blinds were open. suddenly, he perked up at the sound of your voice, but to his dismay, you weren't talking to him and were on the phone with someone he didn't care about.

"yes, I'd like to keep them neutral but you can have a selection and we can test them out on the day of the shoot," you said and hurried back to the whiteboard to write something down.

the sound of the marker squeaking on the board made trent cringe, that and he wished that you'd just sit down for one second. when the call ended, you felt the his eyes on you, a look of judgement perhaps? but what did he expect? you were at work and had to get things done.

"someone's cranky," you joked while flipping through a binder.

he threw his head back with a scoff. "well yeah, you're not even looking at me. you probably don't even care that I'm here right now."

really now? you rolled your eyes at his exaggeration, a smile dancing on your lips. "a lot needs to be done before the end of the month unfortunately and I'm kind of in charge of that." you scrunched your nose at the last part, the feeling of admitting that you were in charge sending a weird surge through your body.

tent pursed his lips, his look softening at the way you continued to flip through the binder, mumbling to yourself about not finding something. "I know but--"

"--there aren't any 'buts'." you put your hands on your hips, sending him a stern look to showcase your point. "you're supposed to be focusing on recovering. it's already an issue that you won't be playing sunday, we need you fit for the last few games of the season at least."

the room fell silent again, slight tension building up but you didn't care because it was the truth. it wasn't just him— it was curtis, darwin, mo and dominik as well. a few of their most crucial players were injured and unfortunately that make their chances of winning slimmer. and as excited as everyone was to play on sunday— the kids included even if they only got about five minutes of playtime, but this was still a final.

the coaching staff was agitated, virgil didn't know how if the chelsea squad were going to put up a fight and the injured players were beating themselves up. it wasn't an easy time for anyone right now, but they needed to focus. and right now, it seemed that trent wasn't getting the message.

it was unlike him, and you could see from the way that his leg anxiously bounced up and down that he knew that. so as much as you needed to reprimand him and remind him of what needed to be done, you could also tell that he wasn't okay.

with a sigh, you put down your things and went to lock the office door and close the blinds. the room was encapsulated in slight darkness again, prompting you to switch on the overhead lights that weren't needed earlier on.

trent remained quiet though, even when you came to sit down on the table in front of him. you looked down at him, the footballer leaning back in the chair.

"talk to me, what's bothering you?" your voice was laced with genuine worry and it made him ease into his seat further.

"nothing's wrong. I just wanted to see you but I guess it's a bad time." he plainly shrugged his shoulders, a look of mock dismissal on his face.

you quirked an eyebrow at his answer. "that's the worst lie you could've come up with right now." despite your targeted response you gently took his hand into yours and prompted him to speak. "is it because you're benched for the rest of the month?"

"yes and no," he said, looking up at you. "yes because I let the team down when they need all the help they can get. this is important to all of us and ever since my stupid knee happened I've been acting up."

he didn't need to mention it, but he was referring to the match against burnley where he was subbed off at halftime. you knew that it took a toll on his confidence, both on and off the pitch. there wasn't much you could do unfortunately besides comfort him.

"don't look at me like that," he groaned and leant forward to rest his head on your thigh, the embarrassment sinking in. "I sound so emotional, my ego is buried six feet under right now."

you stifled a laugh at his retort and let your hands run gently up and down his back. "it's okay. I'll ask harvey to pick it up for you, it's not a problem for him."

trent couldn't help but laugh, the feeling of his fingers trialing your thigh sent a shiver through your body. the two of you held that position for a bit longer, the feeling of being near each other enough to ease your respective anxiety.

"you're going to get better okay?" you said softly and he hummed in response. "whatever happens, happens but you need to do what you can. that's all that matters, so for now you're going to be the best bench warmer ever and support your team."

it was the day of the efl final and the team was ready— standing ready with their mascots at their sides in the tunnel that you were running through to make some last minute checks.

maya messaged earlier on in the day to say that they'd be at the match today and you couldn't wait to see them again after such a long time, especially alex who was apparently extremely excited to be here.

today more than ever you wore your liverpool jersey proudly only to be called out for wearing it by a familiar face. you just finished wishing the team goodluck when a chelsea player caught your attention in the line beside you.

you eyes rolled at the sound of the voice but you turned to look at him nonetheless, the smile on your lips slightly forced. "colwill."

levi put out his hand for you to take into a friendly handshake, a cheeky smile on his face as he looked you up and down. "It's always weird to see you in anything other than blue. you switching sides for the day?"

the backhanded comment was obviously a joke, it was natural for the two of you to have banter like this despite the fact that it had been years since you last talked to each other. from the line beside you, harvey was shamelessly watching the back and forth.

it made no sense to him that you always knew someone. in every situation and match of theirs, there was always someone that you knew.

you scrunched your nose at levi, not liking the idea of wearing a chelsea jersey. "we'll leave those blue days of mine at the academy thanks. good luck for today though, you're going to need it."

levi stifled a laugh at your goodbye and watched as you left the tunnel, old memories flooding back but never staying.

"academy?" harvey asked out loud, not meaning for levi to hear but he did and nodded. when he told harvey that you played for the chelsea academy before you left london it raised some intrigue amongst the reds on his side.

judging by their facial expressions he could tell that it wasn't something you liked to talk about. "she got called up a bunch of times for the first team but never took the offer. first time around she was 15."

there was no other reaction from harvey other than an irritated groan, his head shaking to the side as they started to make their way out of the tunnel. "she's lived 100 lives I'm telling you."

from behind him, andy hurriedly shushed him, the laugh barely staying inside because of the strange encounter. but harvey was right— it felt like you've lived 100 lives because there was a piece of you everywhere, a piece of you imprinted within the memory of so many people.

"the carter effect," harvey mumbled to himself with slight distaste as he stood in his position on the pitch waiting for the whistle to blow.

agonising. that's how you'd describe the first of the match. it was like a game of tennis— back and forth but the team was showing resilience against chelsea and their 10 man defence strategy. the man to man marking made you want to scream, because this was not the strategy of a team that knew that they were going to win.

"fucking cowards," you muttered under your breath and jayden danns— one of the kids who were newer to the first team bench, gave you a look.

feeling his judgemental gaze on your side you looked at him with widened eyes, gesturing to the pitch. "it's the truth. you can't play football like this, it's disgraceful."

from the seat beside you, bobby clark, another one of the children (as you liked to call them) spoke up and asked you about how long the chelsea squad could play defence. there wasn't a definite answer on your side as you sat with your hand on your chin in thought.

eventually, it had all the kids in thought, all five of the boys that you were looking after watching with determined eyes to see if there was a break in chelsea's defence.

"the only forward who they're expecting to score is palmer," james said and you scoffed, the rest of the bench chiming in to talk about cole palmer's recent performance and how it's been saving chelsea a ton.

spamjam._. added to their story!

amongst the chatter, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. the name that popped up on your notification center made you smile— trent who was sitting in the stands with the rest of the injured players.

the last few minutes of the first half played out in a way that had your blood boiling. conor who was starting in trent's position today was playing exceptionally well for his first official start for the team, but someone else saw that as a threat apparently.

one shove from ben chilwell on conor had you out of your seat in an instant. the two players managed to fall on top of each other because of conor's honest tackle, and ben chilwell saw it as a challenge for something more.

seconds away from half time and a fight was about to break out and naturally the liverpool players tried to stop it, with a few players feeling provoked (cody and harvey). luckily it was broken up before anyone got seriously hurt, but by then you were already on the touchline alongside jurgen waiting to jump in.

the half-time whistle blew and you watched with distaste as they walked into the tunnel. instead of going up to the press room like you normally would, you decided to take a quick trip into the stands where the injured players were. you were alone today, and for another 4 months because clara was officially on maternity leave.

she was nearly 5 months into her pregnancy, but you still couldn't get behind your stupidity and not noticing any sooner. the signs were blatantly obvious but you thought it was normal— the loose clothing, strange cravings and her mood swings were nothing out of the ordinary.

she was doing well though, and was staying with her parents for the time being or at least until the season was over so that she could go back home with mason. at least she had stability, that's what mattered most.

"nice of you to visit us," curtis sarcastically greeted as you stood on the outside of the barricade. "I see the boys are treating you well."

it was clear that he was mocking you so you flashed him a tight lip smile. what the kids were doing was asking you questions about anything that came to mind— why you decided to work in marketing? was it true that you and trent were dating? (which you denied obviously)? who would win in a fight, a shark or a tiger? and funny enough you recalled jobe asking you the same question a while ago.

"a shark or a tiger?" he asked with a challenging smile.

your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at jude next to you, who shared the same expression of confusion. "well where's the fight happening?" you asked jobe who made it clear that he didn't like the follow up question.

he pulled a face at you, "what do you mean where's the fight?"

his question left you and jude speechless, his older brother trying to prompt his understanding of the situation further but jobe was stubborn and didn't care about the logistics of the scenario.

"it depends on where the fight is," jude said and you nodded. "they live in different environments entirely so it matters."

jobe rolled his eyes at the question, almost as of it were ridiculous. his shoulders tensed up and he leant forward on the chair he was sitting on. "yeah, but who would win the fight, this isn't about the environment."

you stifled a laugh, in further disbelief. "jobe where is the fight? where is it happening?"

"that's not the point!"

you couldn't stay to chat long to trent's dismay. he couldn't even hold your hand and the look of despair on his face said it all. but you agreed on keeping it on the low, no physical contact in public because there were always cameras around.

you flashed him a smile and waved before heading back to the bench just in time. a sigh of exhaustion leaving your lips at the thought of another 45 minutes of back and forth.

it was around the 60' minute when something built up, having you on the edge of your seat and holding your hands together in prayer and desperation until the ball finally hit the back of the net. however your rejoice didn't last long because once again, the referee was checking for offside.

you stood with your hands in the air in shock, utter hatred for the decision alone. "that wasn't offside at all! what the fuck kind of decision is this?"

the rage and irritation in your tone only grew when the referee called it, your scream drowning out in the sea of groans from the supporters. if it wasn't for james then you probably would have gone up to the stewards yourself to complain.

this was nothing new for the team though, and it was evident in their unimpressed expressions as they got back into position again. you carried on complaining for quite a bit after that— if there was one thing that you hated, then it was cheaters and liars. there was no reason to call the goal offside.

not too far away in the stands trent had his attention on you, an amused smile dancing on his lips as you complained to the other players on the bench— exaggerating your movements and explaining further, your blood boiling.

curris noticed him watching and teasingly nudged his arm. "talk about passionate."

he was right, your passion for the sport was never something you tried to minimise or hold back and that was something that trent found extremely attractive. you were always standing along the touchline with your hands on your head in distraught or leaping from your seat when they scored.

this was a first for trent— his past girlfriends who attended his games usually sat in the family booth and watched from afar, possibility not knowing what was actually happening on the pitch. but the idea of having you so close to him on the once place that he felt the most at home made his heart race.

close, both literally and figuratively— you'd be on the touchline, at most of his games because it was your job but also because you shared the passion for the sport and that meant more than anything to him. the fact that he could share what made him whole, with his partner.

"saffie's at home watching peacefully," curtis then shook his head as he watched you talk to conor who was subbed off, probably complaining again. "and this beast is picking a fight with the stewards."

trent stifled a laugh at his retort, stopping himself to try and listen in on what you were telling conor who was nodding along.

"exactly! I would have thrown him to the floor, conor. you're weak my boy." you pat him on the shoulder reassuringly, causing curtis to throw his head back in laughter.

20 minutes and two yellow cards later, the score was still tied at 0-0. the thought of the match falling into added time made you nauseous, because at the rate anything could happen. with a hand on your forehead you sunk further into your seat, all hope lost as the kids put on their jerseys.

"save us. please." your voice was meek and desperate causing the three of them to laugh, watching as the sub board went up. "I believe in you!"

when the final whistle blew for a short break before the added extra time you got up from your seat and paced up and down to loosen the tension in your legs. jurgen was huddled with the team, strategizing but you weren't too sure what he could possible be telling them.

personally you would have told them to break the chelsea players' legs. or at least try and play a bit rougher but there was nothing you could do except sit and watch. the kids were doing well luckily, and you did a headcount oh how many of them were on the pitch.

4. there were 4 first team players on that pitch and the rest were the club's academy kids going up against a full cheslea squad in a cup final. it was jaw dropping to witness this in person.

when jurgen came over for some water you asked him what the strategy was, to which he just shrugged with a smile. "I told them to have fun. just kick the ball until it hits the back of the net."

you blinked up at him for a moment, the answer a surprise to you but it made sense. there was nothing better that could have been done, so instead you started to pray and manifest, begging the universe for a goal or at least an opportunity.

with your lips pursed you looked up to the timer above the pitch, the big 116 mocking the players on the pitch. there was 4 minutes left and chelsea's management decided that it was a good time to make a substitution. obviously it was to waste time, but even then it was a stupid idea.

the players on the pitch were out of breath, virgil had swear dripping down his forehead and a look of complete exhaustion hiding behind his blank stare. what a way to make people suffer.

it wad the last corner of the match probably and tsimikas was up to take it. naturally you got up again seeing as this was probably going to penalties which you were confident enough in.

with hopeless eyes your eyes followed the ball as it crossed into the penalty area where the players were showing each other, trying to make way for a header. the stadium held it's breath, everyone's hope deep in the dirt until virgil managed to get a touch on the ball just enough that it successfully hit the back of the net.

it happened so quickly but the adrenaline eventually kicked in and you were being pulled into a hug from jurgen. on the other end of the pitch, virgil was sprawled on the floor, the boys surrounding him and laying beside him. it was all over once the final whistle blew seconds later and you heard the bustling noise from behind you.

darwin came running down the steps, pushing curtis to the side as he leapt over the barricade and onto the pitch in excitement with the staff. it was all too much, the overwhelming feelings of anxiety and excitement whirling inside of you.

you were left speechless, nothing more to say than. "how the fuck?"

the celebration was nothing short of heartwarming, but the feeling of watching the chelsea players leaving the stadium without saying a word was a better feeling.

"maybe you should actually try and score next time," you said with a teasing smile directed at levi who was heading towards you up the stairs with the rest of his team. "instead of standing as if you were the great wall of china."

all he did was shake his head and gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder as be walked past, before quickly turning back. "I still think you look better in blue though."

you stifled a laugh, not bothering to answer and instead made your way to the pitch where the banner was set up to take a few pictures before they came down to sing the anthem with their proudly adorned medals and trophy.

while they did all that you made a quick run up to stands, eagerly minding your way until maya, noah and alex were in the clear. the excitement on alex's face was enough for you, a proud feeling of warmth spreading through your chest.

"how was it buddy? did you have fun?" you asked and pulled him into a tight hug.

the younger boy nodded happily, going on about how scared he was and how he really wanted ice cream during the match because it was "super intense". when the time came you bid them goodbye and headed back down to take some pictures.

a fond smile formed on your face at the sight of the academy players, the group immediately making their way over to you with their medals and bombarding you with excited comments.

"I can't believe I nearly scored twice," jayden said with widened eyes, still in disbelief as he held up two fingers. "that's more than once and I just got here."

"which means that you better score soon, the season is nearly over." you lightly punched his arm, the group of academy players following you through the crowd of staff on the pitch.

once again james forced a sarcastic laugh, looking to jayden with his eyes narrowed. "well I just got here too and got booked 3 minutes in. I literally breathed."

not long after that, the photographers called all the academy players together for a group photograph and you took a step back and watched. but your attention was promptly caught by trent leisurely strolling beside dominik and mo.

with a smile you waved him over and suggested that he joined the picture since he was an academy graduate as well. he wasn't too sure at first but he eventually cut in.

after a few pictures your eyes squinted. "what's he doing here?" your question was directed at harvey who was seated on the floor, his face melted in irration as you spoke to him.

"I could ask you the same thing," he shot back and you nearly responded but the group dispersed, everyone going their own way as the celebration wrapped up.

naturally, you joined trent in his little stroll but made sure there was enough space between the two of you so no suspicion would be raised.

even though you were talking normally for the most part, it physically pained him that he couldn't even hold your hand. he gap between your bodies made him cringe, and what made it worse was that this was the first time that he's ever felt this needy or desperate to be close to someone.

but as you were talking to him now, the stadium still full of supporters while you stood in the middle of it all, he felt the desperation panging at his chest.

"bro are you seriously zoning out again?" you asked with a sigh. "this is the fourth time today-- and yes I'm counting."

"well sorry." he lifted his hands into the air in defence. "It's not my fault that my heart is in actual pain because I have to treat you like a normal friend in public."

your eyes rolled at his exaggeration, his dramatics being nothing new especially about this topic. "we aren't officially together yet so we can't do anything about it. calm down, loverboy."

normally this would be the part where he'd kiss you so that you'd shut up but trent had to bite his tongue today, and instead just nodded. it was the harsh truth unfortunately and as much as he loved private relationships, he wanted to show you off. he wanted the world to know that you were his.

but for the first time in a while he'd have to be patient.

spamjam._.

liked by judebellingham and 3 223 122 others

spamjam._. my kids dawg!! 🏆❤️ (and those other grandpa's too)

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liverpoolfc red suites you so much more 🫶 [liked by spamjam._.]

→ spamjam._. say it louder for the people in the back 👏 @levicolwill

user ??? oh the dramaaaa

user 120 minutes of torture that I refuse to relive

bobbyclark can't believe that I made it onto the profile 😫

→ spamjam._. watch me crop you out.

→ jayden.danns @bobbyclark I'm the one who got the photocreds on her story 🥱 lower your tone in my presence

→ jamesmconnel and I got booked for breathing 😒

→ spamjam._. james that was a clear tackle?? you got booked for a reason 😭

→ jamesmcconnell yeah for breathing!!

virgilvandijk you should've gotten a medal for being the best cheerleader today 🥇[liked by spamjam._.]

→ spamjam._. aahhh!! I'm so glad my efforts were noticed

→ curtisjr you were screaming at the refs and nearly barged into the stewards room 🤨

→ spamjam._. which is more than you did today benchboy

mosalah grandpas? 😔

→ spamjam._. your leg is broken, so yes. grandpa's 😔

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