#whisper goodbye stage

[minniesfiles]

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

Soonyoung loves his idol life, no matter how exhausting it gets, but the joy of coming back home to you was a different kind of happiness.

❧ PAIRING; soonyoung x reader

❧ GENRE; hurt/comfort, fluff

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, idol soonyoung, hurt/comfort, long distance relationship, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 4.4k

𐚁₊⊹

13 OCTOBER 2022

Soonyoung loved being part of SEVENTEEN. That part never changed, no matter how heavy the days got. The years of blood, sweat, and tears he poured into dancing, singing, rehearsing until his body screamed for rest — he didn’t regret any of it. All the effort shaped him. It forged unbreakable bonds with his members and brought them closer to fans across the world. The love they received was overwhelming at times, but it was real. And Soonyoung loved them back just as much.

Still, there were days when even love wasn’t enough to keep the exhaustion at bay.

Lately, everything felt heavier. The amount of cities, performances, press, and short moments of sleep was starting to wear him down. He hadn’t been home in months. He didn’t see you in just as long.

And that was the part that hurt most.

He sat on the floor of the empty practice room, legs stretched out and back pressed against the cold mirror. The only light in the room came from the glow of his phone which was propped up on a water bottle in front of him. You were on the screen, curled up in bed with your face puffy and eyes red from crying. Soonyoung couldn’t word how much his chest ached at the sight.

“I miss you so much,” you whispered.

Soonyoung pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening as your voice cracked.

“It’s like I haven’t seen you in years,” you said, voice trembling, “and it hurts so fucking bad.”

He closed his eyes for a second, letting your words sink in, and forced himself not to cry. Not in front of you. You were already hurting. He had to stay strong. But God, did it hurt. Your voice sounded like a knife to the ribs.

“I know,” he finally said, voice low. “I miss you too. So much.”

Silence lingered. Not an awkward kind, but one that screamed louder than words. The one that felt like goodbye even when it’s not.

Soonyoung ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Practice ended hours ago, but he didn’t leave. He didn’t want to go back to the hotel room. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. He didn’t want to keep pretending everything was fine.

“I hate this,” you said, your voice smaller now.

“I know what you signed up for, I know how much this means to you. But sometimes I just…I feel so far away from you. Like I’m not even part of your life anymore.”

That broke him.

“You are,” he said quickly, almost desperately.

“You’re the biggest part of it. Every time I walk on stage, every time I smile for a camera, I’m thinking of you baby. I swear.”

You looked away, wiping your cheek with your sleeve.

“I believe you,” you said. “It’s just…hard.”

He nodded, even though you weren’t looking. He knew exactly what you meant. The late-night calls that got dropped because of bad scheduling, the time zone differences, the missed anniversaries, the ‘I love yous’ sent through texts instead of kisses.

It was hard. It was brutal.

“I think about you all the time,” he said.

“When I’m on the plane, when I’m backstage, when I’m in bed and I can’t sleep…I replay our memories in my head just so I can hear your laugh.”

You laughed, but it was soft and tired. “That’s cheesy.”

“I know,” he said with a half-smile. “But it’s true.”

He looked around the practice room. The mirrors reflected a ghostly, drained version of him. Practice rooms had always been a little safe space for Soonyoung, an escape from reality. Now, it just reminded him of how much time he had lost. Time he could’ve spent with you.

“After the next leg of the tour,” he said suddenly, “I’m coming home. Even if it’s just for a few days. I need to see you. I need to feel like myself again.”

“You promise?” you asked.

“I swear.”

There was another long silence, but this one felt different. Softer.

“I don’t need grand gestures,” you whispered.

“I just want you. Sitting on the sofa next to me. Having a movie marathon like we always do. You and Latte falling asleep with your heads in my lap. I want the simple stuff.”

Soonyoung’s eyes stung. He blinked hard.

“I want that too,” he said. “More than anything.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while the phone still glowed in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he added, voice cracking. “I know this isn’t fair to you.”

You shook your head. “It’s not about fair. It’s just about love. And I love you enough to wait. I just need to know you’re coming back.”

“I am,” he said. “I’m always coming back to you.”

Your smile was tired, but real. And for the first time in weeks, it felt like you were both breathing again.

“Okay,” you said.

There was a comfortable silence afterwards. Soonyoung gave you the softest smile you swore that made your heart flutter and break at the same time.

“You know, Latte misses you too” you said, referring to your’s and Soonyoung’s dog.

“He keeps whining in the middle of the night by the front door” you lightly giggle.

There was a comfortable silence afterwards. Soonyoung gave you the gentlest smile that made your heart flutter and ache all at once. You could tell he was trying to be strong — for you, for himself — but his eyes gave everything away.

“You know, Latte misses you just as much as I do,” you said as you shifted on your bed with your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Your boyfriend’s smile widened a little at the mention of your shared dog, really. The little bundle of energy Soonyoung insisted on naming “Latte” after his favorite drink rather than the colour of his fur.

Soonyoung’s eyes softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “He keeps whining in the middle of the night by the front door. Just sits there and waits. Sometimes he scratches at it like he thinks you’ll walk through any second.”

You let out a light giggle, but it came with a lump in your throat. Soonyoung leaned his head back against the mirror and sighed, clearly trying not to cry.

“I miss him too,” he said quietly. “I miss everything. You. Home. The dumb jingles we sing when we feed him.”

Your chest tightened. “He still does that little spin when I say ‘snack time.’ Like you taught him.”

That made Soonyoung laugh, and for a moment, the heaviness between you both lifted.

“I’ll be back home soon,” he whispered. “I promise.” And even though promises didn’t make the distance hurt less, somehow, that one helped.

“Hmm” you hummed, “I can’t wait.”

Soonyoung stayed on the call even after you fell asleep. He watched your chest rise and fall, the faint noise of your breathing being the only sound in the empty room. He didn’t move, nor did he blink much. He just sat there with the phone in front of him and all the things he couldn’t say stuck in his throat.

He wanted to tell you how he replayed your last hug in his head every night. How he had a photo of you tucked inside his phone case, hidden so no one would see. How every love song on stage felt like a lie unless he imagined you in the crowd.

But those words could wait.

For now, just watching you sleep gave him enough peace to get through one more day.

And maybe that was enough. For now.

30 DECEMBER 2022

Soonyoung felt off the moment he stepped back onto Korean soil. Not in a bad way — just…different. Like his body knew where it was, but his mind didn’t catch up yet. It had been nearly eight months since they left for the world tour back in May, and now here he was again, standing in the place he longed for night after night, in hotel rooms and backstage dressing areas and long-haul flights that blurred into each other.

His boots hit the ground with a soft thud as he walked down the private ramp. The cold winter air hit him hard. His mask was up and his cap pulled low. His manager walked a step ahead as he quietly ushered him and the rest of the members through a side exit. No press. No fans. No chaos.

Just quiet.

Exactly what he asked for.

The tour had been good — amazing, even. Performing in cities they hadn’t visited in years, meeting fans from different parts of the world, seeing tears, hearing chants in languages he didn’t even speak. That was the dream. And he was living it.

But dreams still drained him. His muscles ached from dancing nonstop, and his voice was still a little hoarse from the last encore. His soul felt stretched thin.

Soonyoung loved being on stage. But damn, he missed being still.

His mind raced as he walked through the corridors of the private terminal. What was it now — December thirtieth? One day away from the new year. The thought of starting a new year back in his own country, in his own bed, and with you? That was the only thing keeping him upright at this point.

You didn’t know he was coming back. In fact, he didn’t tell you on purpose.

There were too many delays and too many last-minute changes with the schedule. He didn’t want to risk getting your hopes up. Plus, part of him liked the idea of surprising you. He wanted to knock on the door after months apart and see the shock on your face morph into joy.

He could already imagine it. The way your eyes would widen when you saw him, the little breath you’d take before you smiled, the way your hands would fly to your mouth in disbelief before you pulled him in like you never wanted to let go again.

Just the thought of it had his heart pounding harder than any concert adrenaline ever had.

As the vans rolled away from the airport, each member heading off to their own quiet reunions, Soonyoung sat in the backseat of his own vehicle, head leaned against the cold window. The city lights flickered past, a blur of neon and car horns, but he wasn’t really looking at any of it.

He was thinking of you.

What were you doing right now?

Curled up in bed?

Watching some late-night drama, wrapped in a blanket with Latte snuggled beside you?

Were you thinking of him too and counting the days until he’d return — unaware that today was that day?

His anticipation grew with every turn the car made and every block that brought him closer to you. He went over this moment a thousand times in his head during the tour. When homesickness hit hard, when the stage lights dimmed and the silence afterward felt louder than anything.

And now, it was finally happening.

He checked his phone. No new messages from you, which was perfect. You still had no idea.

He glanced at the passenger seat, where a small paper bag sat. Inside was your favorite pastry from Tokyo — a cream bun from that bakery you loved. He remembered you mentioning it during a call. Soonyoung went out of his way to wake up an hour earlier before he flew back to grab it. He wasn’t coming home empty-handed.

When the car finally pulled onto his street, his stomach twisted in the best way. He sat up straighter as his eyes scanned the familiar buildings.

The driver looked at him through the rearview mirror, “this is it?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung said, voice low. “Right here’s good.”

He got out and slung his bag over one shoulder before grabbing the pastry bag. The street was quiet, just past midnight now. There was a thin layer of frost that dusted the sidewalk. He adjusted his hoodie and walked up the steps to the door.

His breath clouded in the cold, and his fingers were stiff as he reached for the keypad, before punching in the code you both shared.

The door clicked open. And the moment he stepped in, his heart eased. It was warm and familiar, just like he remembered

He took his shoes off and walked in more quietly, and the smell of your fabric softener already pulled at his chest. Latte’s small barks echoed from the hallway seconds later, followed by the scrabble of tiny paws against the floor. The little dog bolted around the corner and froze mid-step when he saw Soonyoung.

“Hey buddy,” he whispered, crouching down.

Latte barked again, tail wagging violently as he launched himself at Soonyoung, circling him, whining, jumping — completely losing his mind. Soonyoung couldn’t help the smile that cracked across his face.

“Shhh, you’re gonna wake her—”

Too late.

From down the hall, you emerged with bleary-eyes and confusion. You were wrapped in a blanket, while your hair was messy from sleep.

As soon as your eyes locked onto the figure crouched in the entryway, you froze.

Soonyoung stood up slowly. And just like that, the world stopped.

Your eyes welled instantly, and your lips parted in disbelief. “You’re…”

“I’m home,” he whispered as he stepped forward.

You didn’t say another word. You just ran to him. The blanket fell from your shoulders, and your arms wrapped around his neck like you were afraid he’d vanish if you let go.

He caught you with both arms, holding you so tight it almost hurt. But neither of you cared.

It wasn’t long before Soonyoung heard it. That first muffled sob.

It broke the quiet like a crack in glass. You tried to hold it in. You tried to stay composed, but the second your face buried deeper into his chest, it all came loose.

They weren’t like the soft cries he grew used to hearing during video-calls. This was different. You were crying out loud now, the kind of cry that came from deep in your chest, raw and unstoppable.

You held onto him like gravity had let go, and he was the only thing keeping you at bay. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his hoodie tightly, knuckles white and nails digging in slightly as if you had to remind yourself that he was really there.

The more you cried, the tighter you held on. And the tighter you held on, the louder it got. And those sobs echoed off the walls of your apartment, you weren’t holding back at all. It wasn’t pretty or graceful, but Soonyoung never saw anything more honest.

Latte, completely unaware of what was happening, kept bouncing around your legs. He was barking and jumping, desperately trying to wedge himself into the moment. His small tail wagged furiously while his nails tapped against the floor, whining for attention. He couldn’t understand what was going on, he just knew his favourite humans were finally back in the same room again.

Soonyoung blinked fast, trying to stay composed. But then you let out a broken, gasping sound, and that was it. His own tears pushed through.

He dropped his bag to the floor and wrapped both arms around you firmly, almost protectively, pulling you in until there wasn’t a sliver of space between your bodies. He pressed a kiss to your temple and rested his chin on the crown of your head, breathing you in like you were the only oxygen he had.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he said it.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The tears came with everything you pushed down over the last eight months. Every night you spent alone, every concert photo you scrolled through with a bittersweet smile, every message left on read because he was too exhausted to reply. You didn’t even realise how much you bottled up until he was here, holding you, and suddenly the dam inside you broke.

You were happy.

You were relieved.

You were overwhelmed in a way that words couldn’t quite capture.

It was like every version of yourself that you were during his absence was finally collapsing into the one version of you that mattered — this one, the one who got to feel him breathe again, and got to feel his heartbeat sync with yours in real time.

And Soonyoung? He felt it all.

Every shake of your shoulders, every sob, every desperate inhale — it tore at him, but not in a painful way. It was reassuring. It reminded him just how much he mattered to you, how real this was, and how deep it ran.

He rocked you slowly, side to side, like he was trying to soothe both of you. “I’m here now. I’m home, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, face still buried in his chest. You didn’t have the strength to speak yet.

“I missed you,” he added softly. “I thought about this moment a thousand times. But nothing compares to holding you again.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. Your eyes were red and puffy, your cheeks damp, your lips quivering — but he never saw you more beautiful.

You suddenly laughed, but it was broken — half a sob, half a breath. “You really surprised me.”

He smiled, tear-streaked but full of love. “Good. That was the plan.”

You leaned your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily now, both blinking through tears. “God, I missed you so much” you let out a deep breath.

“Me too baby, me too” Soonyoung replied, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

Latte, still being the persistent little ball of energy that he was, pawed at Soonyoung’s leg and let out a dramatic whine. You both looked down at him, then back at each other. And for the first time that night, you both laughed. A real one.

Soonyoung crouched down and scooped Latte up, holding him in one arm while still keeping the other around you. “Hey, I missed you too little guy,” he said, rubbing the dog’s ears.

Latte immediately licked his cheek as he wagged his tail like crazy. You shook your head, wiping your eyes again as you watched the reunion unfold. The warmth in your chest was spreading now, slowly overtaking the ache that was present for so long.

“Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get out of the hallway.”

Soonyoung followed you inside and set Latte down. You took his bag without a word and placed it near the door. Then you turned back to him and opened your arms again.

“I need to keep hugging you,” you said simply.

He didn’t hesitate.

You stood in the middle of your house tangled in each other once again while the outside world was forgotten. The city could’ve been on fire and neither of you would’ve noticed.

This was your reunion. Messy. Loud. Beautiful. And it was exactly what both of you needed. No perfect script. No cinematic music. Just tears and laughter.

“I love you” Soonyoung whispered.

And for the first time in months, when you said it back, he got to hear it with his own ears. Not through a screen. Not as a message left unread until after rehearsal.

He held you like he would never let go again.

31 DECEMBER 2022 — 9:50 p.m.

“Babe!” you whined, craning your neck from the dining room towards the kitchen.

“Hurry before Latte jumps on the table and eats all the food!”

There was a clatter of something, probably a spoon, followed by the unmistakable sound of Soonyoung letting out an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! He’s not that fast!” he let out.

You heard the shuffle of his slippers as he finally moved, taking his sweet time as usual. Soonyoung spent nearly the whole day preparing a spicy beef stew dish that he swore you’d love compared to the other dishes prepared. And honestly, you couldn’t wait to try it.

Your stomach growled, and you lightly kicked your foot under the table, impatient.

You glanced at the spread of different food in front of you and smiled. It looked fuller than it had in months. Some were recipes you both found online and tried to replicate over video calls. Others were comfort meals that both of you made whenever either of you were sad, sick, or just in need of something warm.

Now, they all sat in front of you again, in person.

Latte let out a soft bark and pawed at the leg of a chair. He already tried twice to get onto the table. You could see the intent in his eyes, he was waiting for the one second you weren’t looking to make his move.

“Latte!” you warned.

The dog dropped into a guilty sit, head tilted as if to say what? I wasn’t doing anything.

You were about to get up and go into the kitchen yourself when Soonyoung finally appeared in the doorway, holding the dish like it was some sort of trophy. He wore a goofy grin and an apron that read ‘Yes, Chef’, which had a faint stain of chili paste on the front.

He looked proud, and so happy.

“I present to you,” he said with mock grandeur, “the best spicy beef stew in all of Korea.”

You raised your brows. “That’s a bold claim.”

He set the dish down in the center of the table, careful not to burn his hands. “Well, let’s see if you still think that after you try it.”

You clapped lightly. “Finally. My stomach was about to give up on me.”

He walked around to you and leaned down to place a kiss on the top of your head. “Sorry, Chef Hoshi was in the zone.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into the kiss. “Well, Chef Hoshi better sit his butt down before the dog eats his masterpiece.”

The two of you finally took your seats. You didn’t need to toast or make a speech, because your eyes did that for you. They said I’m glad we made it. They said I missed this. They said You’re here. You’re safe. You’re mine again.

“So,” Soonyoung said as he picked up his spoon, “last meal of the year. Anything you want to say before we dig in?”

You smirked. “Yes. If this stew sucks, I’m ordering fried chicken.”

He gasped dramatically. “You wound me!”

You both burst into laughter soon after, and finally, the eating began. First bites turned into second servings. He kept watching your expression as you ate, trying to gauge if you genuinely liked it. You kept exaggerating your reactions just to mess with him, dramatically clutching your chest, pretending to faint, moaning like it was the best thing you ever ate.

He played along, pretending to bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’d like to thank the Academy, my sous-chef Latte, and the eighty-seven YouTube tutorials I watched.”

Midway through dinner, the conversation quieted into something softer. You talked about the tour — what he loved, what he hated, which cities he wanted to take you to one day. He told you stories that didn’t make it to the phone calls, like silly things his members did and moments on stage where he thought of you.

You listened, with your chin resting in your hand, smiling as he spoke with his entire face lit up. This was your favourite version of him. Not the performer in front of thousands, nor the man on posters or in interviews.

Just Soonyoung. Just yours.

“And then,” he was saying between bites, “I tripped over a mic cord in front of like, five thousand people. Almost broke my nose.”

You snorted. “Did you recover like a pro?”

“Nope,” he grinned, “I laughed and bowed.”

“Classic.”

After the plates were mostly empty and Latte had finally been given a few small treats to calm down, Soonyoung stood up to take the dishes to the sink. You followed him, and the two of you danced around each other in the kitchen, bumping hips while rinsing plates and sneaking kisses. It was mundane, but to you, it felt like magic. The simplicity of it all. It was exactly what you were craving for.

Once everything was cleaned up and the clock crept closer to midnight, you both made your way to the living room. The lights were dim while the fairy lights twinkled faintly around the windows, and the television played a countdown show in the background.

You curled up on the couch with your legs tangled under a shared blanket, while Latte was fast asleep at your feet.

Soonyoung looked over at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “This is the best New Year’s Eve I’ve had in a long time.”

You smiled. “Better than performing in Times Square?”

“Way better,” he said instantly. “Times Square doesn’t have you.”

You nudged him playfully. “You’re getting cheesy again.”

He laughed. “I’ve earned it.”

As the countdown reached its final minute, you both sat up slightly, watching the numbers tick down. You felt his hand reach for yours, fingers lacing with yours naturally.

10…

9…

8…

You turned to look at him, and he was already looking at you.

7…

6…

5…

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling your eyes well up.

4…

3…

“For what?” he whispered back.

2…

“For coming home to me.”

1…

And as the room erupted in cheers from the television and fireworks burst faintly outside, he leaned in and kissed you. He missed you like he had all the time in the world to remind you he was really here. His hand settled behind your neck while his thumb gently stroked your skin, grounding you in the moment.

You responded without thinking, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Months of longing poured into that single kiss. Every missed moment and every night spent apart, it all lived in that kiss now.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath a little shaky. .

“I love you,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear over the fireworks outside.

You smiled, your eyes damp, your heart steady. “I love you more.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t perfect. There were leftover dishes in the sink that both of you gave up washing, a dog snoring at your feet, and leftover stew on the stove.

But it was real.

And that was enough.

a/n; I was screaming while writing this!!! I want to experience bf hoshi

[itzpookiepooh]

Superstar

You invite the boys to one of your concerts

Buys out the merch stand

Sings your songs louder than everyone else

Definitely gets tickets in the pit (even though you told him he’d be backstage)

Brags that you’re his famous girlfriend (even though he is also famous)

You couldn’t stop smiling as you did your choreography across the stage. Rafayel was the loudest in the crowd making some of your other fans look at him crazy and others sing too. He was supposed to be backstage but he told you that he wanted the full experience which you thought he was crazy for. You felt it would’ve been the same but he didn’t. Everyone was fangirling when he turns to them excitedly pointing to you screaming, “That’s my girlfriend!” Many who follow you on social media believed him some just rolled their eyes thinking he was just another fan.

“Before we end the show I want to thank my wonderful boyfriend for supporting me tonight!” You blow him a kiss making him swoon as the other fans catch him fanning him off. You simply roll your eyes waving goodbye to everyone.

He simply could not stop telling you how good your show was.

Is backstage nodding his head to your songs

His favorite song is the one you wrote about your relationship with him

He helps you get ready before the show (he’s very particular about what accessories go with which outfit)

Gets flustered when you reveal your unreleased song about him (you blew him a kiss before starting)

You didn’t think Zayne was going to basically be your manager when you invited him but with him here your show ran smoother than it ever had before. You occasionally look over to him as you perform making him give you a small wave. It warmed your heart that he could make it and it felt like you performed better too.

“Okay I want to give you guys something special and no I don’t mean my boyfriend.” You laugh along with the crowd.

“I wrote this song just for him. He’s been amazing tonight and has helped me pull this show off so let’s show him some appreciation!” The crowd roars. You look at him with a smile before blowing him a kiss. He turns his gaze elsewhere but you could see how flushed he was even in this dim light. This would soon been on the internet and talked about for years to come.

Is your biggest fan

Basically your security (even though you hired some)

Stays by you as you do V.I.P meet and greets

Fans know him very well due to him always being around (they chant his name when you say he’s here)

“Caleb be nice.” You scold him as he pushed a fan away from the line for trying to offer home baked goods.

“You never know who’s got parasocial tendencies, pipsqueak.” He retorts before throwing away the container.

“You could at least give her the container back.” You narrow your eyes at him as he digs through the trash to get the container back.

Prefers not to be seen by your fans

Could sleep during the concert due to how beautiful your voice sounds

Does a small dance to your upbeat songs

Forgets he’s getting special treatment and tries to make you both leave early (he wants to avoid traffic)

“Xavier I have a signing to do before I leave.” You giggle tugging back.

“But what about traffic?” He worries, it was like his doggy ears slouched.

“Xavier…my beloved we leave before everyone else.” He blinks slowly at you before nodding.

“Oh.”

He spoils you and the staff the night of the show

Pulls you in private to shower you with affection (for good luck)

Feels like a proud spouse when you preform

Sings along to your songs (he’s pitchy but you don’t mind)

“Sylus I have to go on stage!” You whisper-shout at him.

“Just one more.” He mumbles before kissing you again…and again…and again.

“I can’t postpone it any longer than this!”

I liked this one a little bit ngl

[captain-huggy-bear]

Baby Shower Surprises

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Quinn organises a baby shower for you with your high schoolers. It might just be the sweetest a bunch of teenagers have ever been.

Notes: Teacher!Reader is back. I've been sat on this request for so long...sorry it's taken me this long to write it :| I hope you enjoy it anyway, I feel soo out of practice with Quinn and Teacher!Reader!

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Quinn supremely underestimates how much red tape there is when he first comes up with the idea. A sweet little plan to get your students involved in a baby shower, a celebration of your pregnancy, turns into a massive fucking headache because of parental permission forms, safety checks and more. He gets why, of course he does, child protection and all that. But, God, does it make his job harder.

It's worth it though. In the end it's so fucking worth it that he'd do it a million times over even knowing all the headaches he'd have from it. Although maybe a more intimate family and friends only baby shower next time...

You don't suspect a thing when he kisses you goodbye that morning in the early hours to go to your job. Your day starts like any other day really. You get to your classroom just after 7am, waddling around your room in the latter stages of your pregnancy now. You change the date on your board, put out resources for your first lesson, wander down the hallway to fight with the photocopier and have enough time to sit and eat your breakfast before the first bell.

You notice a few oddities about your lessons. Your high schoolers more excitable than usual, whispering, gossiping but never loud enough for you to hear. Shifty eyes whenever they're caught talking and an overall buzz in the air and it's not just a buzz from students either, the staff are buzzing too. Fellow teachers gossiping in groups whenever they have a moment, eyes on you. By 5th period you're certain that something is wrong with you, that you've done something to cause a stir and it has you more irritable than anything else.

You're back hurts, your feet are swollen and after a day of people giving you weird looks but not actually talking to you, you simply don't want to teach your last lesson of the day even though you love your 11th graders. But you will because you always do...because being an adult, being a teacher meant putting on a brave face and doing it anyway.

"Surprise!" You're assaulted the moment you step foot into your classroom by streamers, party poppers, balloons and your entire 5th period screaming at the top of their lungs.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Miss, you can't take the Lord's name in vain!"

"Sorry, sorry..." Your hand is still clutched at your chest when you finally take the scene in, the scene that has a surprising guest at the centre. Quinn.

"Hey, Mrs Hughes." The smile he gives you is so soft and sweet, brown waves falling cross his eyes, teeth peeking out from behind his lips. His scruff of a beard hasn't changed since that morning, but he's dressed himself less casually, a little bit more formal for your surprise. He's stood next to a classroom desk littered with presents, most of them poorly wrapped, covered in layers and layers of tape.

"Hello, Mr Hughes, it looks like you've been busy keeping secrets from me." You purse your lips to stop from laughing at him because God, this is so Quinn. The guy that has always gone out of his way to make you smile. The man who always wanted you to feel cherished, who always went out of his way to include your students like they were family...when they were just a bunch of teenagers that had watched you go from a miss to a mrs, a bunch of teenagers you came home and told stories about every day.

"Not secrets, surprises."

"Mmm..." Your hum is sceptical but your smile says it all, that you're teasing him, that you're happy to see him even if your high schoolers nearly gave you a heart attack. You're happy to see the balloons, the presents, but mostly, you're happy to see him and your students, to have an excuse not to teach your final period of the day.

"C'mere, sit for a minute, baby..."

"Oh, please, Mrs Hughes! We've been planning this for years." It's David, still dressed in his usual Canucks merch, that pulls a seat forward for you, your desk chair, the comfy one with the cushion for your lower back. David had become somewhat of a sidekick for Quinn in this whole adventure, naughty at times, immature at others, but David loved Quinn Hughes. He loved the Canucks and...he'd never admit it but you were his favourite teacher and he wanted to do something nice for you before you took off on maternity leave. There was part of David that was worried you might not come back, that he'd have some old irritating man to teach him History, someone who didn't understand David, who didn't bring him a game puck for his birthday or talk to his mom about how to get him into sports management.

"Okay, okay..." You ease yourself into the chair, hand on your belly. Your baby bump had reached the point of being heavy, cumbersome and also always in the way. But, it was worth it, you reminded yourself of that when she kicked you aggressively in the kidneys.

"Open mine first!" There's a scramble that has you laughing as David and Stacey fight over whose present you get first, Stacey wins by a mere margin. David huffing about it until Quinn gives him a look...and oh, that look makes you realise he's already a dad in so many ways. A dad in spirit.

Seeing Quinn act like a dad already? A reassuring pat to David's shoulder, a little look to calm down? The way David listens to him and follows his direction? It makes your heart swell because Quinn...Quinn at some point has grown to care about your students, your 11th graders who cause so much havoc and mischief, and Quinn is so ready to be a dad to your baby girl that it makes your hormones go a little haywire.

"I hope you like it, all of us girls pooled our money together." Stacey's present is well wrapped, carefully so, like she'd taken her time. The wrapping paper is bright hot pink with cowboy boots and hats across it, not exactly baby shower wrapping paper but very Stacey.

You feel the weight of 25 eyes on you as you open the present, each waiting and watching for your reaction. They watch the way you still at the the unveiled little pair of baby skates, the way you raise them up is gentle, careful like they're the most precious thing in the world. It's the way your bottom lip wobbles, the wetness that touches your eyes, the way you look at each of them like they've just given you the world.

"I love it..." Your gaggle of teens look petrified as you look close to sobbing, the tiny skates still held in your hands because the idea of putting them down feels wrong right now. God, you can already imagine it...Quinn taking your baby out on the ice as soon as they can walk, winters on the outdoor rinks and summers skating inside the arena. Your little girl with big dreams and a love for the same sport as her father or simply a love for skating, for the way she can glide across the ice. Quinn catching her every time she stumbles, helping her up when she falls. Quinn coaching her junior hockey team. Quinn watching his baby grow into a skater in her own right.

"Don't cry, Miss! Here open mine!"

"David!" Your teacher glare has less bite with the wetness in your eyes, the unshed tears, but you still turn it on him as he shoves Stacey out of the way. It's enough for him to mumble an apology to her before handing you a messily wrapped box covered in so much tape it's more tape than wrapping paper.

"Thank you, David..."

"Open it! Mr Hughes and I worked on it together."

"Oh, did you?" You look to your husband over your shoulder. He looks quietly confident, a small smile that tells you all you need to know. You're going to love it and probably cry but God, you're so thankful...so thankful for him, for your 11th graders who have one more year before they're done with school, for the baby girl you're so close to meeting, for the life you've somehow managed to fall into.

The box is long and not that wide, not overly heavy either and you open the lid carefully once all the tape and wrapping paper have been pulled off and placed into a pile.

Inside is a little hockey stick, the right size for a toddler, Bauer made because Quinn couldn't possibly get anything else and on the handle? The thing that makes you start to tear up? The name you'd chosen together for your first baby, for the little girl you were carrying right now. Penelope 'Penny' Hughes. A baby not even here yet but oh so loved by Quinn, by you, god by your students.

It's your breaking point really, holding that little stick, it's more of a promise from Quinn than anything else and maybe you could blame it on the hormones or the pain in your back...but in truth? The reason you burst into tears is because of how full of love you feel.

The students around you panic looking to Quinn for guidance and he takes it in his stride, passing the presents off to Lola, one of the more responsible students, to hold. Quinn kneels in front of you on the grotty linoleum floor, doesn't care about the price of his dress pants or the scuffs that'll surely get on his shoes. Instead his focus is on you as he pull you into his arms, belly pressing into him, stopping him getting as close as he'd like these days.

"It's okay, baby..." One of his hands cups the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, while the other rubs up and down your back in soothing circles. You press your face into his neck, feeling the way he kisses the top of your head, hearing the beat of his heart, steady and sure because Quinn knows what he's doing and he's ready to help you through it too.

"I-i'm just so thankful!" Your tears are thick and fast, voice choked out as your students gaze on with wide eyes, looking at each other unsure if they've broken their teacher in a good or a bad way.

"I know, baby...are you happy?"

"V-very happy! T-thank you." It's that which causes a few tense shoulders to relax.

"You're so welcome, baby...C'mon, you're okay..." Quinn pulls you back from his neck, hands cupping your cheeks and thumbs rubbing away the wet tracks that have fallen across them and your chin. You take a few breaths before the tears stop but when you do your smile is radiant and bright, turned on your students with such appreciation that it takes Quinn's breath away as he stays kneeling there for a moment longer.

Your students take the reprieve from the tears to hand a few more presents to you. Little but no less lovely things, a onesie here, a teddy there. Each thoughtful and sweet in a way that you never expected from a bunch of high schoolers, not when you didn't realise just how much they cared for you and just how much effort Quinn would go to so that they could show it.

The rest of the period is filled with sweet treats, music, and messages your students had put together for the little one on the way. Many messages were variations of 'listen to Mrs Hughes', but each meant so much to you and when the school day ended Quinn walked you out to the car, hand on your lower back as you waddled and he carried all your things.

Your pillow, the one you use for your back, already there, your favourite snacks in the glove compartment already stocked because this was easy with Quinn. He made things easy.

"Thank you...I love you." Your voice is soft as you turn to look at him when he finally sits in the driver's seat. His cheeks flush that familiar shade of pink that tells you he doesn't need the praise, that he just wanted to do something nice for you.

"You had fun?" His fingers tap the steering wheel like he's nervous you might not have, even when it's so obvious that you've just had one of the best moments of your life, a core memory.

"So much fun." You reach out and grab his hand, his thumb rubbing across your wedding ring in a rhythmic motion like he's reminding himself that this is real. This is his life. He's married to you. He's having a baby with you.

"Good."

There's a pause, a comfortable silence where you sit and admire him in the car park. The length of his lashes, the growth of his beard, the way his hair flops across his forehead like some sort of prince charming...You're filled with a sense of wonder...bafflement too, because how did you get this lucky?

"Are you sure you're real? Maybe I've imagined you this entire time? Maybe I'm not even married? Maybe I'm not even pregnant? Maybe I'm asleep somewhere..." God, you hope not. You hope this is real, this is your life, forever, because you can't imagine it getting any better than it is right now.

"This is real, baby. I'm real. You're real. Penny is so real." Penny kicks as if she's trying to make her presence known, as if she can understand what you're saying, as if she's saying 'I'm real! I'm sooo real!'.

"Thank you for making my life unbelievably wonderful."

"Thank you for loving me." The kiss Quinn presses to your lips is gentle, but no less full of love and in that moment you feel entirely and completely whole.

[lynnieverse]

you are in love // drew starkey

oneshot

drew stakery x popstar!reader

part two to like real people do

2.3k words

Things were going great, amazing even. Drew was so sweet, and you two had been getting to know each other slowly but surely until he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. It was adorable; he decorated his entire house with dahlias––your favorite flower––and cooked you dinner. Of course you said yes, and you’d been spending as much time together as possible ever since. It’s been six months, and life is bliss; it’s safe to say you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

But now, you’re nervous for a totally different reason. The first concert of a tour is always anxiety inducing. 

Will they like the setlist? 

Did we plan enough choreography? 

Is it flashy enough? 

Does the set look okay? 

Did we rehearse enough? 

What if I mess up?

All sorts of questions fly around your mind, assaulting your nerves and making you nauseous. You pace back and forth in your dressing room, fidgeting with the sequins on the bodice of your first outfit. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the large mirror on the wall; you’re perfectly put together––hair straightened, lips painted a deep red––but you feel anything but on the inside. You can feel the blood rush in your ears, vein on your neck thumping erratically to the rhythm of your heartbeat. Feeling the panic build in your chest, you fumble for your phone, quickly dialing the one person you know can help. 

“Hey baby,” Drew’s voice crackles through the speaker after two rings. You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes in relief. 

“Hi,” you whisper softly. 

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asks. You let the smooth sound of his voice work its way into your psyche, calming you down immediately. 

“Nothing now, I was just nervous, first show and all.” You put him on speaker, setting your phone on the vanity so you can tug on your boots. You’d sent all the stylists, makeup artists, and assistants out of the room a while ago, wanting to have a moment of quiet before the storm. 

“You’re going to do amazing, Y/N. You’ve rehearsed until you bled, and everyone is going to love it.” You nod along to his words, trying to convince yourself.

“You promise?” 

“I swear.”

“I wish you could be here,” you know it’s selfish, but you pout anyway. He had agreed to his filming schedule before you’d even gotten together, and your tour dates have been planned for over a year, so him missing the first show was just how the cards played out. It sucks, but you understand; you’re both very busy, and he already moved things around to come to your show in L.A., even if it is months away. 

“I wish I could too, baby. I’m cheering you on from set, I’m even going to find a livestream to watch.” Your heart flutters, something that always happens when he does anything related to you, apparently. You’re about to reply when a sharp knock at the door interrupts you. 

“Come in!” you call, zipping up your boot. The door cracks open, Amara’s face popping in through the gap. You smile at her; she’s been the best assistant and friend today. 

“Hey, Y/N, they’re ready for you.” 

“Fuck, okay. Thank you, I’ll be right there.” Amara nods and softly closes the door behind her as she leaves. You pick up your phone and prepare your goodbye. 

“Hey sorry, they’re calling me to the stage.”

“Okay, baby. Knock ‘em dead, okay?” You laugh lightly, shaking your head. 

“You know most people say ‘break a leg’?” 

“Well I’m not most people.” You can practically feel his smirk through the screen. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I have to go, but I’ll talk to you after the show?” 

“Of course.” You smile at that.

“Alright. Bye, have fun shooting.”

“Bye, baby, love you.” You freeze as the line goes dead, staring at your screen in shock. He just said ‘love you’. Drew just said he loves you! Holy shit. Do you call him back? That had to have been an accident, right? Neither of you have even broached that topic yet, and you certainly didn’t expect him to say that over the phone. As you’re debating a response, frantic knocks shake you out of your panic. Guess that’s it then.

With no time to demand an explanation, you tuck your phone in your purse and exit the dressing room. As soon as you step into the hallway you’re engulfed by the chaos. People are flying around, doing last minute touches, and everything just seems like a blur around you. Amara appears, and without speaking she grabs your arm and tugs you towards the side stage. 

“Okay, here’s your mic,” she rushes out, handing you the glittery pink microphone. “Ears,” she wraps the wires around the back of your neck, letting you put on the earpiece while clipping the matching microphone pack behind you discretely. “You know the setlist, everything is running perfectly. The only thing you need to do is calm down and sing, okay?” Amara’s eyes are wild, no doubt from the high energy environment they’d fallen victim to today. 

You smile at her brightly, squeezing her shoulders in thanks. “It’s going to be great, just relax.” She nods her head, messing with your hair for a moment before leaning back and admiring the look. 

“Alright, break a leg!” You snort at the irony, thinking of Drew. Amara pushes you into the little elevator under the stage and gives you one more reassuring smile before leaving you to your thoughts. You take in a few deep breaths, running through your pre-show affirmations quickly before the platform starts to rise. With the jerk of the machinery, you plaster a show stopping smile on your face and pose, hand on your hip and microphone by your lips. 

The farther you rise, the louder the screams sound in Nissan Stadium. You feel the joy bubble in your chest, the opening notes to your first hit song playing in your ear piece. The metronome clicking feels like home, guiding you on when to start. 

The screams get significantly louder when you stand, finally on stage, smoke surrounding you. They can only see your silhouette, but it’s enough. You hear the countdown in your ear and as it hits ‘one’, you start singing. 

I don’t mind

Letting you down easy, but just give it time

If it don't hurt now then just wait, just wait a while

You're not the big fish in the pond no more

You are what they're feeding on

The lights illuminate the pit, letting you make eye contact with countless fans, waving enthusiastically as your voice rings throughout the room. You catch a few silly signs, internally laughing at your fans’ creativity. 

So what are you gonna do

When the world don't orbit around you?

So what are you gonna do

When the world don't orbit around you?

Ain't it fun?

Living in the real world

Ain't it good?

Being all alone

Your eyes sweep over the crowd, watching as they eat up every move you make. Your background dancers twirl around you, perfectly in sync and effortlessly hitting every mark. You make your way down the stage, belting Ain’t It Fun as you do. You reminisce on the first time you sang this song live, in a small run down bar in Nashville, when you were only sixteen. Look how far you’d come. 

Don't go crying to your mama

'Cause you're on your own in the real world

Don't go crying to your mama

'Cause you're on your own in the real world

You clap your hands above your head, encouraging the crowd to do the same. They immediately mimic you, the sound penetrating your earplugs. You realize you’re tearing up, completely overcome by the love and support from your fans. 

You finish by striking a pose, the lights cutting off and leaving the entire stadium in almost complete darkness. You step back, standing on your mark as the crew hurriedly brings out a microphone stand and your guitar. You feel the strap being slipped around your shoulders, and grip the neck softly. When you’re alone on stage again, the lights gradually brighten, revealing your smiling face once again. You let the crowd cheer for a minute before stepping up to the microphone. 

“Well hello, Nashville!” You say loudly, placing your hands on your hips. The screams make you laugh, your eyes traveling up to the nosebleeds and all the way back down to the pit. The energy is electric, pride swelling in your chest. 

“I hope you’re ready for the fantastic show we have planned for you!” More screams sound before you continue. You go through your prepared speech, introducing and thanking all the dancers, back up singers, and members of your band that had toured with you since day one. Your eyes flick over to the VIP section briefly, looking for your parents. Your stomach drops as your eyes connect with the familiar blue ones you’ve come to adore. 

Drew is here, and Madelyn is smirking beside him. Your heart swells and you almost want to cry, completely filled with love for this man. You know you look ridiculous, mouth gaped open, but you don’t care. He’s here. Drew smiles at you, arms crossed loosely. You quickly try to recover, turning back to the crowd. 

“I have to be honest with you all,” a hush falls over the crowd. “Someone I care about very deeply is here tonight.” The yelling starts, and you start strumming your guitar while looking at Drew. 

“He surprised me, and so I hope you don’t mind if I change things up a bit.” More cheers, and a confused look from Drew puts a mischievous grin on your face. You glance back at your crew and nod once, hopefully sending the message to hold off on the next song. 

“This is a new song, one I wrote for this person specifically.” Drew stares at you in awe, Madelyn jabbing him in the ribs and laughing maniacally. You can see dozens of fans glancing back at him with their phones up, obviously recording his reaction to your words. You two hadn’t gone public by any official means, but there’d been talk, and this certainly confirmed things. 

“I guess the only thing left to say is…right back at you,” Drew scrunches his eyebrows before realization sets in and he’s right back to smiling. You step back and start playing the chords louder, starting the song. You keep eye contact between you, wanting him to really hear your words. 

One look, dark room

Meant just for you

Time moved too fast

You play it back

Buttons on a coat

Light-hearted joke

No proof, not much

But you saw enough

Small talk, he drives

Coffee at midnight

The light reflects

The chain on your neck

He says, "Look up"

And your shoulders brush

No proof, one touch

But you felt enough

You know he’s remembering every single moment you’ve mentioned, eyes sparkling as he sways to the sound of your voice. 

You can hear it in the silence, silence, you

You can feel it on the way home, way home, you

You can see it with the lights out, lights out

You are in love, true love

You are in love

His lips part, time standing still. Suddenly it’s only the two of you and no one else. The words ring true. You love him. You have for a while. 

Morning, his place

Burnt toast, Sunday

You keep his shirt

He keeps his word

And for once, you let go

Of your fears and your ghosts

One step, not much

But it said enough

You kiss on sidewalks

You fight and you talk

One night he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says

You're my best friend

And you knew what it was

He is in love

Madelyn covers her mouth with her hands, jumping up and down excitedly. Drew is still locked in place, seemingly not able to take his eyes off of you. You wink at him and he laughs, shaking his head at you. 

And so it goes

You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round

And he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown

And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

And why I've spent my whole life tryin' to put it into words

'Cause you can hear in the silence

You let the silence linger, letting the cheers wash over you, feeling all the love you have for Drew simmering beneath the surface. 

You can feel it on the way home

You can see it with the lights out

You are in love, true love

You are in love

You finish out the song, singing happily to the man of your dreams, and everyone knows it now too. You feel unstoppable, completely charged like you always are in his presence. Drew discretely wipes his eyes, causing your own eyes to prickle. ‘I love you too’ you mouth, blowing him a kiss. He beams, nudging Madelyn happily. 

With one last lingering look, you turn your attention back to your adoring fans, smiling cheekily. “Thank you, thank you! How about we get back to the show?” you ask, giggling slightly before immediately going into an acoustic version of gold rush.��You love your fans, but all you can think about for the rest of the concert is throwing your arms around Drew and kissing him senseless. And after the encore and the bows, you do just that…going home with the man you love.

[solxamber]

Take Two || Vil Schoenheit

You and Vil, once lovers, are forced to reunite through work, stirring up old heartbreak and undeniable tension. Slowly, you realize love never truly left, and some stories deserve a second chance.

i promise it's a happy ending

The night air feels sharp against your skin, the chill sinking into your bones as you stand face to face with Vil in the shadow of Pomefiore’s grand staircase. His golden hair catches the faint light, glimmering like spun silk, his expression frozen in a mask of disbelief. But his eyes—his eyes betray him, shining with an ache so raw that it almost makes you collapse under the weight of your decision.

"You’re leaving me," he says, his voice flat, brittle, like glass about to shatter. "After everything."

You try to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. "You deserve someone who can keep up with you, Vil. Someone who doesn’t have to fight just to be noticed, someone who—"

"Stop," he snaps, the word cutting through the night like a knife. "You think this is about keeping up? About deserving?" His voice rises, trembling with a rare fury. "You’re not a burden to me. You never were."

Tears spill over before you can stop them, warm against the chill of the night. "But I’m holding you back. You’re going to be an award-winning actor, a global icon. You’re meant for so much more, Vil. And I—I can’t be the reason you look back someday and wonder what you missed out on."

Vil’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his perfectly manicured nails digging into his palms. "You sound like a coward," he says bitterly. "Someone who doesn’t understand what it means to love. I gave you my heart, and you’re throwing it away like it’s... disposable."

You step closer, your voice trembling. "Vil, I love you. I love you so much it hurts. That’s why I’m doing this. Because I know that if I stay, I’ll be the anchor that holds you back."

He stares at you, stunned into silence, before his face crumples. It’s a sight you never thought you’d see—Vil Schoenheit, so composed, so regal, letting tears spill unchecked. "I regret it," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I regret giving my heart to someone who doesn’t want it."

Your breath hitches. You reach out, wiping his tears away with trembling fingers. "I want it. I’ll always want it."

"Then why—"

"Because I love you enough to let you go," you say, your voice cracking. You lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting the salt of both your tears. It’s desperate and bittersweet, a farewell that neither of you wants but both know is inevitable.

When you pull back, his eyes are filled with an agony that mirrors your own. "I’ll pray to the stars that they align for us in another life," you whisper, stepping away even as every fiber of your being screams to stay.

Vil doesn’t follow. He stands rooted in place, watching as you disappear into the night, his tears sparkling under the starlight like diamonds.

And as you walk away, your heart breaking with every step, you can’t help but wonder if love is truly worth it when it hurts this much.

The spotlight gleams against the polished floors of the gala, chandeliers casting constellations on every surface. You stand at the edge of the room, champagne flute in hand, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Laughter ripples around you, yet your heart pounds louder than any of the polite chatter.

Across the room, he stands, bathed in a soft golden light as if the universe itself couldn’t bear to dim him. Vil Schoenheit, global phenomenon, beloved by millions. And you, just a rising singer whose every success still feels like a shadow of his own.

You force yourself to look away before your gaze lingers too long. It's been years since that night—the night you kissed him goodbye, the night you walked away so he could become everything you knew he was destined to be.

And he did. Oh, he did.

Every magazine cover, every award stage, every grand performance is proof of that. You’re happy for him. Truly. You send flowers every time he wins something new, handpicking each bouquet and handwriting every note. Congratulations, Vil. You deserve this and more. No reply ever comes, but you never stop.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is enough.

He spots you before you spot him. He always does.

You stand by the windows, moonlight catching on the delicate fabric of your clothes. Your laughter mingles faintly with the music, but Vil knows you well enough to hear the cracks in it. To anyone else, you’re poised, radiant—a star in your own right. But to him, you’re the person who kissed him goodbye and took his heart with you.

He straightens his posture, as if that will shield him from the wave of memories crashing over him.

The flowers you send have become a cruel routine. He receives them like clockwork—each arrangement more thoughtful than the last, each card bearing your familiar handwriting. He reads every word, his thumb brushing over the ink, before placing the cards in a drawer he’s too afraid to open.

And yet, he saves them all.

Seeing you now is both agony and relief. He knows his worth; the world adores him, reveres him. But when he sees you, every ounce of that worth feels hollow. He feels young again, vulnerable—a teenager fumbling with emotions too large for his heart to hold.

The inevitable happens: your eyes meet.

You catch Vil’s gaze across the room, and your heart stutters. You force yourself to smile, a small, polite thing, and raise your glass in acknowledgment. He nods back, his face unreadable, and you swear your knees might give out.

You’re supposed to be over this. You’re supposed to be happy.

But every time you see him, the years fall away. It’s as if you’re back at Pomefiore, back on that staircase, wiping away his tears and whispering that you loved him before breaking both your hearts.

You excuse yourself to the balcony, the cool night air biting at your skin. You lean on the railing, taking deep breaths.

"Running away again?"

His voice is smooth, poised, and far too close.

You whirl around, and there he is, the moonlight outlining him like the leading man in some grand romantic drama. He’s holding his own champagne flute, his free hand tucked neatly in his pocket. He looks flawless, as always, but his eyes betray him.

"I wasn’t running," you say, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

"Of course not," he replies, his tone as sharp as ever, but there’s something softer beneath it. He steps closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you. "And yet, here you are. Avoiding me again."

Your throat tightens. "I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me."

He laughs, a quiet, bitter sound. "Do you really think I have nothing to say to you after all this time?"

You blink, taken aback. "I—I didn’t know. You never—"

"Responded?" He raises an eyebrow, his expression a careful mask. "What was I supposed to say, darling? That every card, every flower, every fleeting mention of you feels like a dagger?"

The word darling slips out so naturally that you almost miss it. Almost.

"Vil, I—"

He cuts you off, his voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to be adored by millions and still feel empty because the one person I want won’t even look at me properly?"

You gape at him, words caught in your throat.

"You left me," he says, and his voice breaks just enough for you to hear it. "You left, and I—" He exhales sharply, composing himself. "I told myself I hated you for it. But the truth is, I never stopped—"

You take a step forward, closing the distance. "Stop."

His eyes widen slightly, his perfect mask slipping.

"I never stopped either," you admit, your voice trembling. "I thought I was doing the right thing. For you, for us. But all I did was break us both."

And then you unceremoniously run, like you always do.

The sound of your phone vibrating aggressively on your nightstand jolts you awake. It’s your manager, and he’s barking something about an emergency meeting, now.

Still half-asleep, you throw on the first pair of pants you can find, grab your bag, and sprint like you’re being chased by a swarm of angry bees. By the time you reach your company’s little meeting room, you’re wheezing like an old accordion.

You stumble in, gasping for air. “I’m—here—what’s the—emergency?”

And there he is.

Vil Schoenheit, sitting in your dingy little meeting room, radiating elegance and beauty like he’s some Greek god forced to endure mortal company. His perfect golden hair gleams under the flickering fluorescent lights, and his outfit probably costs more than your annual rent.

For a second, you just stand there, staring at him in disbelief. "What?" you manage to choke out.

“Ah, you’ve arrived!” your manager says, completely ignoring your obvious confusion. He’s fawning over Vil like the man just descended from heaven itself. “Aren’t we so fortunate to have Vil Schoenheit here with us today? What a privilege!”

Vil sits there with the most unimpressed expression you’ve ever seen, his gaze lazily drifting to yours. He raises an eyebrow, and the look on his face very clearly says: The universe hates me as much as it hates you.

“Why…” You gesture wildly at him like that explains anything. “Why is he here?”

Your manager claps his hands together as if this is all the most wonderful news in the world. “You’ve been given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to compose and perform the opening theme for Vil’s new drama!”

“…What?”

“And Vil has graciously come all this way to provide you with inspiration!”

Vil crosses his legs, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I didn’t exactly volunteer,” he says flatly. “I was informed this meeting was non-negotiable.”

“Graciously forced,” you mutter under your breath, earning a sharp glance from him.

Your manager continues, oblivious. “This is huge for us! For you! For the company! A chance to collaborate with Vil Schoenheit!” He’s practically vibrating with excitement.

You? You’re mentally screaming. The room’s ancient air conditioning groans louder than your brain cells, and the smell of stale coffee is threatening to choke you. This is where Vil Schoenheit is supposed to get his inspiration?

“Great,” you say weakly, flopping into a chair. “Love that for us.”

Your manager claps you on the back, way too hard. “I’ll leave you two to get started! Can’t wait to hear what you come up with!” He scurries out of the room like his life depends on it.

The door clicks shut. Silence.

You turn to Vil, who’s looking at you like he’s silently calculating how fast he can escape. “So,” you say, attempting to sound professional. “I guess we’re doing this.”

Vil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It seems we have no choice.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“And risk tarnishing my reputation? Hardly.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wow. Thanks for that vote of confidence in my music.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t misunderstand. I’ve heard your work. It’s… fine.”

“Fine?” You bristle. “Just fine?”

“I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion,” he says smoothly, completely ignoring your indignation. “Or at least, I hope you will.”

This is going to be a long day.

The next hour is spent with Vil giving you vague, lofty descriptions of “atmosphere” and “emotion” while you scribble down ideas that may or may not be entirely out of spite.

“Think regal, but with an edge,” Vil says, leaning back in his chair like a king addressing his court. “Something that captures the drama’s tone—elegance, intrigue, power.”

“Right,” you say, scrawling Fancy Soap Commercial Vibes in your notebook.

“And it must resonate with the audience on an emotional level,” he adds, completely serious.

You nod, underlining Fancy Soap Commercial for good measure.

At one point, Vil gets up to demonstrate a movement he wants the music to evoke, his motions fluid and precise like the world’s most intimidating interpretive dancer. You’re not sure if you’re inspired or just terrified.

Finally, you throw your pen down. “I get it! Regal, edgy, emotional. Big feels. Got it.”

Vil gives you a skeptical look. “Are you certain? Because your notes don’t inspire much confidence.”

You glance down at your notebook, where you’ve doodled a tiny stick figure labeled Vil’s Vibes surrounded by stars. “…Yeah, totally got this.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “If this ends up sounding like a children’s lullaby, I’m holding you personally accountable.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Great. No pressure.”

And yet, as much as you want to throttle him for his impossible standards, there’s a part of you that doesn’t hate this. Because, well… it’s Vil. And whether you want to admit it or not, working with him is kind of incredible.

Even if he’s the most dramatic muse you’ve ever had.

The day starts with your manager shoving a revised directive into your hands: go watch Vil's shoot. Apparently, you needed more "inspiration" to compose a song fit for his upcoming drama.

Great. Because spending more time around Vil Schoenheit, global icon and your ex, is exactly what you needed to totally not lose your mind.

Still, you don’t show up empty-handed. On the way to the set, you grab an aggressively caffeinated iced espresso for yourself—because surviving the day calls for it—and, without much thought, you pick up a caramel macchiato with oat milk.

The barista hands it over, and you’re hit by a pang of nostalgia. This was Vil’s favorite back when you were teenagers, back when you’d watch the sunset with him after his rehearsals. You shake the thought away. It’s just coffee.

When you arrive, Vil’s seated on a folding chair, reading over his script like it’s sacred text. Even in the chaos of the bustling set, he looks poised, his hair perfect despite the heat of the lights.

You approach, clearing your throat. “Hey.”

He glances up. “You’re late.”

“I’m five minutes late.” You hold out the cup. “Peace offering?”

Vil takes the coffee without comment, but the moment he sips it, his movements falter. His eyes widen, ever so slightly, and you catch the flicker of emotion on his face before he masks it.

You don’t linger. “I’m going to talk to the producers.”

As you walk away, Vil stares at the cup, at the faint smiley face you’ve drawn on the lid. His chest tightens. You remembered.

He forces the thought down, folding it neatly into the drawer of unspoken feelings he’s cultivated since the day you left him. Setting the cup aside, he rises, perfectly composed. He has a scene to shoot, and Vil Schoenheit doesn’t falter.

Watching Vil perform is like watching magic. Every movement, every look, every line—he’s utterly captivating.

You sit near the monitors, jotting down notes as inspiration flows. There’s something about him—his intensity, his elegance—that fills your mind with melodies. You’re so engrossed that you barely notice the shoot wrapping up until Vil walks over, a towel slung casually around his neck.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks, his voice smooth and calm, like you hadn’t just been mentally composing an ode to his perfection.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll call an Uber.” You stand, shoving your notebook into your bag.

He frowns, clearly unimpressed. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take you home.”

“Vil, it’s fine—”

“I insist,” he says sharply, already walking towards his car.

You follow, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and dread.

The car ride is quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the engine and the city lights flashing by. Vil’s driver keeps his gaze firmly on the road, giving the two of you privacy, but the atmosphere feels oddly intimate.

As you sit there, your mind drifts back to your first date. You were a nervous wreck back then, fumbling with your words, tripping over your feet. Vil, of course, had been effortlessly composed, amused by your flustered state but kind enough to guide you through it.

A small smile tugs at your lips at the memory.

“What’s so amusing?” Vil asks, his voice breaking the silence.

You glance at him, startled. He’s looking at you, his gaze sharp but curious.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, shaking your head.

He doesn’t press, but his eyes linger on you longer than usual.

When the car pulls up to your apartment, you thank Vil and step out, but as you turn to leave, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist.

“Vil?” you ask, surprised.

He blinks, as if realizing what he’s done, and lets go immediately. “Nothing,” he says, straightening. “Just… be on time tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “I will.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. But he doesn’t. He nods curtly, turning back to the car.

Inside your apartment, you close the door behind you and slide down to the floor, the tears spilling out before you can stop them.

He’s as beautiful as the day you let him go, and it hurts.

You’re so happy for him, so proud of everything he’s achieved. But God, you miss him.

Meanwhile, Vil sits in the back of the car, staring out the window as the city blurs past. His fingers brush against the empty coffee cup in his bag, the one with the faint smiley face you drew.

His heart aches, but he doesn’t let it show. Not even to himself.

The drama is an undeniable success, catapulting Vil’s already dazzling career into further stratospheric heights. But unexpectedly, the opening theme—your song—becomes the anthem of the year, a chart-topping sensation that has every talk show, magazine, and fan forum buzzing about your collaboration.

You, however, aren’t basking in the glow of success as expected. If anything, you’re moping.

Deuce notices first. “You okay? You look… weird.”

“I don’t look weird.”

“You do,” Grim adds, gnawing on his tuna sandwich. “You look like you ate bad tuna but don’t want to admit it.”

“Thank you for the visual,” you deadpan.

You sigh. Everyone else is ecstatic. Your phone is a whirlwind of congratulatory messages, your manager has been pacing like an over-caffeinated rodent, and your inbox is overflowing with offers. Yet all you can think about is the fact that the drama is over—and so are your obligations to Vil.

No more early mornings brainstorming lyrics with him. No more quiet moments sipping coffee during breaks. No more stolen glances when you thought he wasn’t looking (he always was).

It’s ridiculous, really. You’re thriving. Your career is skyrocketing. You should be ecstatic.

Instead, you feel like you’re bracing for an emotional wrecking ball.

Vil, on the other hand, is furious. Not at the drama’s success, of course—he’s a consummate professional, and his performance has been widely praised. No, Vil is furious because he can’t escape you.

He tried. Oh, how he tried. He kept himself busy with interviews, photoshoots, and premieres, meticulously avoiding the thought of you. But then the making-of video was released.

There you were, sitting beside him, coffee cup in hand, throwing out ideas with that little spark in your eyes. The fans lapped it up, the media ran with it, and now every outlet wanted the two of you together for joint interviews.

Vil could not imagine a worse fate.

The first interview is scheduled for 10 a.m., and you arrive early, clutching your notes like a lifeline.

Vil is already there, of course. He sits with perfect posture, his gaze steely as he scrolls through his phone. When he notices you, his lips press into a thin line.

“Good morning,” you venture hesitantly.

“Is it?” he replies coolly, without looking up.

Ouch.

The producer, blissfully unaware of the tension, claps his hands together as he enters the room. “Ah, our power duo! Ready to make magic?”

You exchange a strained glance with Vil. He raises a single brow, clearly unimpressed.

The interview begins, and for the most part, it’s harmless—questions about the creative process, the drama’s success, and future projects.

Then the interviewer smirks, leaning forward. “You two have such wonderful chemistry. Were you always this in sync, or did it take time to build that dynamic?”

Vil’s jaw tightens. You blink, feeling the weight of his stare.

“Well,” you start, “we worked really hard to make the song fit the tone of the drama. It’s all about teamwork.”

“Hmm, teamwork,” Vil echoes, his tone dangerously smooth. “Yes, that’s one way to put it.”

The interviewer beams, oblivious to the storm brewing. “Fans are dying to know—any plans for another collaboration?”

“Who knows?” Vil says, his smile razor-sharp. “Perhaps fate will decide.”

By the time the interview ends, you’re emotionally drained. Vil, of course, looks as pristine as ever.

“Thanks for being civil,” you mutter as you both head to the parking lot.

“Civil?” Vil’s laugh is devoid of humor. “Darling, if that’s your standard for civility, I fear you’ve been spending too much time with amateurs.”

You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “I didn’t ask for this either, you know. You think it’s easy for me to—”

You stop yourself, biting your tongue. You’re not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still affects you.

Vil arches a brow, waiting. When you say nothing, he smirks. “Thought so.”

Later that night, as you scroll through social media, you stumble upon a clip from the interview. It’s nothing scandalous—just a moment where you and Vil exchange a glance and laugh at a question. But the comments are merciless.

> “These two have HISTORY, I can feel it through the screen!” >“Vil looked like he wanted to stab and kiss them at the same time, and honestly, relatable.” >“Petition for them to star in a romantic drama together??”

You groan, throwing your phone onto the couch.

Somewhere across town, Vil is scrolling through the same comments, his expression unreadable. He closes the app with a sigh, but not before saving the clip to his private gallery.

He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s masochism. Maybe it’s hope. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because a part of him isn’t ready to let you go.

The day of the photoshoot arrives, and you’re running on a dangerous combination of nerves, caffeine, and denial. Standing next to Vil for hours under flashing cameras, forced to feign effortless chemistry, feels like a ticking time bomb.

Vil, of course, looks unbothered—poised and perfect as ever, his every movement calculated for maximum elegance. Meanwhile, you’re sweating like a guilty criminal.

“Relax,” Vil murmurs as he adjusts his jacket between shots. “Your unease is practically a stench.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” you grumble.

The shoot goes on without a hitch, until—of course—it doesn’t.

It happens in the middle of a particularly dramatic pose. Vil, perched precariously on a raised platform in heels, steps down just as an intern accidentally knocks over a loose prop. It lands with a sharp crack, and Vil, who’s clearly caught off guard, stumbles and falls.

A collective gasp ripples through the room.

“Are you okay?” someone yelps, rushing toward him.

“Don’t touch me,” Vil snaps, voice sharp as glass. He sits up with a wince, cradling his ankle.

You’ve been keeping your distance the entire shoot, trying to maintain your professional boundary. But the second you see Vil hurt, that self-imposed wall shatters.

“Vil!” you shout, practically tripping over cables as you rush to his side.

He looks up, his expression guarded. For a moment, you hesitate, half-expecting him to snap at you too. But instead, he simply nods, a subtle permission that shocks the entire production team into silence.

With a surprising amount of strength born from sheer adrenaline, you lift Vil into your arms, bridal style.

Someone from production stammers, “We can call for—”

“I’ve got him,” you cut them off, your tone firmer than you expected.

Vil doesn’t protest. He just loops an arm around your neck, tilting his head slightly as though he’s resigned to being carried like royalty. You can feel the weight of everyone’s stares as you carry him out of the studio, whispers trailing behind you like gossip at a high school cafeteria.

The walk to the medic feels like an eternity.

“You’re heavier than you look,” you mutter, trying to distract yourself from the way his perfume is overwhelming your senses.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Vil replies, his voice still sharp but lacking its usual venom.

When you finally reach the medic, you set him down gently, your arms trembling from the effort.

“You can leave,” Vil says as the medic begins their examination.

You nod, turning to go—but your feet refuse to move. Instead, you end up awkwardly sitting on a nearby chair, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

You tell yourself it’s just to make sure he’s okay. That you’ll leave once the medic gives the all-clear.

Vil doesn’t say anything about your lingering presence. He keeps his eyes closed, his usual pristine mask slipping for just a moment as he exhales slowly.

When the medic finishes and declares him fit to leave, you finally stand. “Well, I should—”

“Thank you,” Vil says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze. For a moment, all you can do is nod before hurrying out of the room, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Back in your dressing room, you sink into a chair and bury your face in your hands.

“What is wrong with me?” you groan.

Meanwhile, back in the medic’s office, Vil sits in contemplative silence, the ghost of your touch lingering like a memory he can’t shake.

You’re holding Vil’s phone like it’s made of glass, glaring at Rook’s number on your own screen.

“You sure I can’t just leave it at the studio?” you ask for the third time.

“Non, non, mon ami!” Rook’s dramatic voice practically vibrates through your speaker. “Vil has a most pressing engagement this evening, and the phone is vital to his work. You’re already such a dear for delivering it!”

“Couldn’t you do it?”

“Alas, I have an engagement myself. A critical affair, truly,” Rook sighs, his tone more playful than apologetic. “I’ve sent you his address. Bon courage!”

Before you can protest, the line goes dead, leaving you staring at the apartment address like it’s an execution order.

You’re in the car, grumbling to yourself as you mentally rehearse what you’ll say.

Here’s your phone. Bye.

Short. Simple. No emotional mines to step on.

But then you accidentally touch the screen, and his phone lights up.

And there it is. The lock screen.

It’s a selfie of the two of you from years ago, taken on some lazy afternoon. You’re both laughing, your faces smushed together awkwardly. You remember the moment vividly—Vil had just cracked a rare joke, one so unexpected it had you crying with laughter.

And now here it is, preserved like some cruel reminder of what you had.

Your stomach twists.

“Oh no,” you mutter.

The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror, concerned.

You’re ugly sniffling by the time you pull yourself together, the poor driver tactfully pretending not to notice. “Sorry,” you choke out. “Allergies.”

He nods slowly, clearly not buying it.

When you finally arrive at Vil’s penthouse—a sleek, modern building that screams successful celebrity—you take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.

Vil answers the door himself, wearing a loose, elegant cardigan and lounge pants that still manage to look couture. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you.

“You left this,” you blurt, shoving the phone into his hands.

He takes it, his gaze lingering on your face. “Were you crying?”

“No,” you lie, unable to meet his eyes.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

“I’m fine—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he says, his tone soft but firm.

Despite your better judgment, you step inside.

The interior hits you like a brick wall of memories.

The layout is different, but the details are achingly familiar. The same muted color scheme you’d picked out together. The same arrangement of throw pillows on the couch—even the same colors.

Your eyes dart to the bookshelf, spotting a framed photo of the two of you tucked discreetly among the décor.

It’s too much.

“You did this on purpose,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Vil’s gaze softens. “I didn’t want to forget."

Before you can respond, he goes to the kitchen to get something to drink, leaving you to drown in memories.

You’re sitting on Vil’s pristine couch, sipping tea that you can’t even taste. He’s seated across from you, the distance between you both palpable, like a chasm you’re too afraid to cross.

But Vil doesn’t wait this time. He doesn’t dance around the words.

“Why?” he asks, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence.

“Why what?” you whisper, even though you know exactly what he means.

“Why did you leave?” he snaps, the composure he always clings to starting to crack. “Why did you take my heart—my trust—and then shatter it into a million pieces? Do you have any idea what you did to me?”

You flinch, tears already pooling in your eyes. “I—I thought—”

“No,” Vil interrupts, standing abruptly. His hands tremble as he gestures, his voice rising. “You didn’t think. If you had, you would’ve seen how much I loved you, how much I—” He cuts himself off, his chest heaving.

You’re crying now, hands gripping your knees so tightly they hurt. “I didn’t want to hold you back, Vil. You had so much ahead of you, so much to achieve—”

“And you thought you were the thing holding me back?” he yells, his voice breaking. “You thought I would’ve been better off without you?!”

You nod miserably, choking on a sob. “I wanted you to thrive! I didn’t want to be the thing that kept you from reaching your dreams!”

Vil laughs bitterly, the sound hollow and laced with pain. “And you did just that. You leaving—you leaving—was the only thing that’s held me back. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. You haunt my dreams, my every waking moment. And I hate it. I hate you for it. So tell me—”

He drops to his knees in front of you, his face inches from yours as his voice cracks. “Tell me you hate me. Tell me you don’t love me anymore, so I can move on. Please, I’m begging you.”

You’re sobbing now, shaking your head frantically. “I can’t. I—I don’t hate you. I never stopped loving you. I left because I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I was so, so stupid—”

“Yes, you were,” Vil cuts in, tears streaming down his face. “So stupid. And so cruel.”

His sobs are raw, unrestrained, and they tear at your heart. You cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away his tears even as more fall. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave again. I’ll stay. Forever, if you’ll let me.”

Vil closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. When he opens them again, his voice is barely audible. “Don’t promise me that unless you mean it.”

“I mean it,” you say, your voice steady despite your tears. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

Vil exhales shakily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buries his face in your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers, and for the first time in years, the weight between you begins to lift.

You’ve barely put the mop down when Vil calls from the living room.

“Hurry up with the tea,” he says without even looking up from his script. “And don’t forget to fold the laundry after this. Properly, please—last time you folded one of my scarves into an actual triangle. Who does that?”

You mutter a half-hearted "Yes, your majesty," and shuffle toward the kitchen. You’re halfway there when Rook bursts in through the front door, a bouquet in hand and stars practically bursting from his eyes.

“Ah, l’amour! C’est magnifique!” Rook declares, startling you so badly you almost drop the tea tray.

Vil raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the dramatics. “Rook, must you barge in unannounced?”

“Mais oui!” Rook exclaims, twirling dramatically. “How could I not visit when my dear friends have rekindled their eternal flame of passion? Look at you two! You, bossing them around, and them—obediently obeying every word like a loyal partner. True love has won!”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the grin spreading across your face. Vil, however, looks less charmed. “They’re making up for years of terrible life decisions, Rook,” he says, deadpan.

“Oh, of course,” Rook says, his grin never faltering. “But love is in the air, and I, your humble admirer, could not be happier. Do not deny it—my heart soars!”

You and Vil exchange a look, both exasperated and oddly amused.

“Fine,” Vil says with a sigh. “If it makes you happy, Rook, then yes. True love has won. Now, will you let me enjoy my tea in peace?”

Rook gasps as though he’s been given the greatest gift of all time and promptly sits down, refusing to leave.

When you and Vil finally announce your relationship, the internet goes into an immediate frenzy.

The official post is simple: a photo of the two of you holding hands, captioned, "It’s official."

But the comments?

>"Wow, groundbreaking news. I couldn’t tell from the way Vil stared at them like they invented oxygen." >"You’re telling me they weren’t already dating? I thought this was public knowledge." >"The tension between these two could’ve powered the whole continent. About time." >"Wasn’t their last interview basically a rom-com in disguise?" >"Not even surprised. I’m more shocked it took this long."

Vil reads through the comments with a scoff. “Captain Obvious seems to be having their moment in the spotlight.”

You laugh, peeking at his phone. “I mean, they’re not wrong. We weren’t exactly subtle.”

Vil hums, a small smile tugging at his lips. “At least they approve. For now."

It’s late by the time you both get home, the quiet hum of the city fading behind you as Vil unlocks the door. The soft glow of the apartment feels comforting, like the kind of peace you didn’t know you needed until now.

You both kick off your shoes, and Vil immediately starts fussing with his scarf. You grab it before he can hang it up, putting it neatly on the rack.

As you settle on the couch, Vil joins you, resting his head lightly on your shoulder. For a moment, neither of you speaks, just enjoying the stillness.

“Do you ever wonder why we made it so complicated?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence.

Vil chuckles softly. “Often. But then again…” He tilts his head to look up at you, his violet eyes warm and full of something you can only describe as home. “Perhaps we wouldn’t have appreciated it as much if it had been easy.”

You hum in agreement, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re probably right. But still…”

Vil smirks, pulling you closer. “No more unnecessary complications. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you whisper, letting yourself finally, fully relax.

Masterlist

[gloomglimmer]

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂  𝐑𝐏  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒  .  .  .  (  pt  2.  the  sound  of  your  name  )   Set  the  stage  for  whispered  confessions,  stolen  glances,  and  the  way  a  name  can  linger  on  someone’s  lips  like  a  secret.     ✧  ˚₊  Themes:  yearning,  tension  &  the  weight  of  unspoken  words

✧     ›     𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓    &     𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄

My  muse  murmurs  your  muse’s  name  in  their  sleep,  unaware  they’re  listening.

My  muse  hesitates  before  saying  your  muse’s  name,  like  they’re  afraid  of  what  it  means.

My  muse  asks  your  muse  to  say  their  name  again,  just  to  hear  how  it  sounds.

My  muse  lets  your  muse’s  name  slip  out  in  a  moment  of  exhaustion,  vulnerability,  or  drunken  honesty.

✧      ›      𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆    &     𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

My  muse  leans  in,  their  breath  warm  against  your  muse’s  ear  as  they  say  their  name—slowly.

My  muse  says  your  muse’s  name  like  a  warning,  but  there’s  something  softer  beneath  it.

My  muse  lingers  on  your  muse’s  name,  their  voice  catching  before  they  can  say  anything  else.

My  muse  clenches  their  jaw  when  someone  else  says  your  muse’s  name—too  fondly.

My  muse  dares  your  muse  to  say  their  name  the  way  they  really  mean  it.

✧      ›      𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓    &    𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓

My  muse  spits  your  muse’s  name  like  it  hurts  to  say.

My  muse  almost  says  your  muse’s  name—before  stopping  themselves.

My  muse  chokes  on  your  muse’s  name  in  an  argument,  suddenly  unable  to  be  angry.

My  muse  whispers  your  muse’s  name  in  a  dark,  empty  room,  knowing  they  won’t  answer.

My  muse  says  your  muse’s  name  with  finality,  like  a  goodbye  they  never  wanted  to  say.

My  muse  grips  your  muse’s  face,  desperate.  “Say  my  name.  Just  once.”

✧      ›      𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒      &      𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

My  muse  drags  out  your  muse’s  name,  like  they’re  savoring  it.

My  muse  laughs  when  your  muse  says  their  name—because  they  weren’t  expecting  it  to  sound  so  sweet.

My  muse  smirks  as  they  whisper  your  muse’s  name,  testing  their  reaction.

My  muse  playfully  refuses  to  call  your  muse  by  their  name,  just  to  see  them  pout.

My  muse  presses  their  lips  to  your  muse’s  ear  and  murmurs,  “Say  my  name  first.”

[sweettu1ips]

PAIGE BUECKERS x SINGER!FEM READER

SYNOPSIS: "The push and pull had always been intoxicating, a slow burn of control and surrender. But tonight, the rules shift—an unspoken goodbye lingering in the space where lips almost met."

WARNING(S): (18+) toxic relationship ⋮ situationship ⋮ hook-up buddies ⋮ fuck buddies ⋮ kissing ⋮ not exactly a happy ending, but if you like that reader got her lick back, then yes consider this a happy ending... ⋮ flashbacks to intimacy ⋮ not really sure what else I'm missing soo...

WORD COUNT: 6.7K

| MAIN MASTER LIST ⋮ VELVET TRACES [P2] |

THE THING ABOUT PAIGE BUECKERS is that she doesn’t do attachment. Not in the way that matters. Not in the way I wanted.

She’s like a storm that never settles, all presence and pressure, rolling in heavy and hot before vanishing like she was never there at all. A name whispered in locker rooms, an echo in arenas, a breath against my neck in the dead of night. She loves like a shadow—only seen when the lights are dim, only felt in fleeting touches that never sink past the surface.

I should’ve known better.

But how could I, when Paige is all adrenaline and honeyed words, wrapped up in a body that moves like poetry, lips that turn even the most fleeting moments into something that sears? She’s a habit, a high, a hands-on-my-hips, teeth-against-my-skin kind of addiction that I can’t shake, no matter how many times I swear I will.

We started as nothing. Just a few run-ins at events, a reckless decision after too much tequila and neon lights bleeding into the early morning.

 Me, fresh off a sold-out tour, my name looping through radio stations like an anthem, still buzzing from the stage, from the energy, from the world’s obsession with me. 

Paige, the golden girl of the court, drowning in expectations but never once missing a shot. Our first time was impulsive, a collision of egos and sweat, hands grasping, mouths hungry, neither of us looking for anything more than the rush of it all.

And then it happened again. And again. Until suddenly, I had the code to Paige’s apartment, and she had a habit of pulling me into dark corners whenever our paths crossed.

It was easy. Until it wasn’t.

Because while Paige only ever wanted hands tangled in sheets and a body pressed to hers, I wanted something deeper. Something beyond the four walls of a dimly lit bedroom, beyond the stolen kisses and murmured goodbyes before dawn broke.

I wanted late-night conversations that didn’t end in tangled limbs. I wanted mornings where Paige didn’t slip away before the sun rose. I wanted to be something more than just a fleeting thrill, more than just a name she moaned into the dark before locking the door behind her.

But Paige?

She wanted nothing more than the sensation, the moment, the rush.

And I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that’s enough.

That’s how I found myself in the studio late at night, the soft hum of the city’s distant chatter filtering through the windows.

 The overhead lights cast a warm glow, the dim shadows stretching like the quiet ache in my chest. The walls around me, lined with instruments and sound equipment, felt both comforting and isolating at the same time, as though they had absorbed every secret I had whispered into the microphone over the years.

Two days had passed since I had last sent a message to Paige, the blue text bubble sitting unanswered on my phone. 

My thumb hovered over the screen, pausing just before tapping it to send another message—my emotions like a tangled wire, too complicated to be untangled with a few simple words. 

Every minute that passed without a reply felt like a bruise on my heart, a dull throb that seemed to sink deeper with each second.

The night was mine now, a time to drown out the ache, to lose myself in music. I sat at the keyboard, fingers brushing lightly against the keys, a note breaking the silence in the room. 

My mind wandered as the melody spilled from the ivory, filling the space between the notes. My thoughts slipped into the lyrics that had been playing on repeat in my mind— Would you hear me more if I whispered in your ear?

A small sigh escaped my lips, and I exhaled slowly, almost like I was trying to let go of the tension held within my lungs. My hands hovered above the piano once more, the next note suspended in the air, waiting for something, anything to push it into reality. 

I could feel the weight of the question—a question that had stayed in my mind since the moment Paige and I had begun drifting, a question I didn’t have the courage to ask aloud. 

Would Paige hear me? Would she understand me more if I approached things differently? Would the vulnerability, the quiet intimacy of whispering, make her more present in our connection? Would it make her feel wanted, or would it push her further away?

I bit down on my lip, the sudden wave of emotion flooding my chest. The lyrics replayed in my mind, Would you hear me more if I touch you right here? 

I didn’t mean to think about it like this, didn’t mean to feel the heat of the words burning in my veins, but the song had a way of weaving itself into my very skin, sinking under my bones.

 The “right here” was never a place—it was an act, an invitation, a vulnerable plea for attention, for connection. I could picture it: my fingertips barely grazing Paige’s skin, the tremor in my touch betraying the uncertainty in my heart. 

The thought of making that kind of contact—so close, so intimate—was both electrifying and terrifying.

I slowly stood, the music still playing in my mind, as my hand reached for the microphone stand. The cool metal against my palm felt oddly grounding. The intensity of my emotions surged, threatening to spill over like an ocean crashing against the shore. 

I couldn’t stop it. I leaned into the microphone, my breath steadying, and whispered softly, “Ah, ah.” It was just a sound, a simple exhale into the space around me, but in that moment, it felt like I had said everything I needed to.

 The vulnerability of the sound echoed, filling the room. A sensation of wanting, of longing, crept up my spine.

I moved to the center of the room, the dim light casting shadows across the floor, and closed my eyes, my body swaying with the rhythm in my chest. My hands floated just above my skin, as if reaching for something that was just out of reach. 

Would it be enough if I reached out and touched someone, poured my desires into every delicate movement? Would it be enough if I brushed my lips against their skin, against their thoughts, the weight of every unspoken word shared in the air between us? The question lingered, as heavy as the silence that hung in the room.

I exhaled slowly again, this time with more certainty, as if releasing the tension that had built up between Paige and me, between myself and the world around me. 

I wasn’t sure if this would be enough—if this small act of touching, of whispering, would ever be enough to bridge the gap of distance that had formed between us.

But there was something about the act of letting go, of offering myself in the quietest way, that made it feel like I could be heard. Even if it was only by myself.

My fingers brushed the strings of the guitar by my side, the soft strum of the chord filling the space with its melancholic sound.

It was almost as if the act of playing the song was a silent plea—a desire to be understood, to be touched not just physically, but emotionally, in ways that words couldn’t express. 

My heart raced, the lyrics flowing through me as if they were written just for me. Would you hear me more?

I paused, letting the silence settle in. I wasn't sure if I was ready to hear the answer. But in this moment, in the stillness of the room, I let myself be vulnerable, letting the music carry my thoughts into the night.

I snapped out of the haze, the weight of the emotions that had overwhelmed me suddenly lifting, replaced by a sharp, determined clarity.

My heart, still thudding in my chest, quieted as I reached for my phone on the corner of the desk, the cold screen feeling almost foreign against my palm.

 My fingers fumbled for a moment, as if they were still tangled in the last few lingering chords of the song that had played over and over in my mind, but soon found their place.

The familiar touch of the phone felt grounding, like a lifeline pulling me back to reality.

I pressed the call button, the sound of it ringing filling the silence, each ring seeming to echo my anticipation, my nervousness, my need for something—anything— to move forward.

It was as if I was trying to shake off the last remnants of the vulnerability I had just laid bare. I couldn’t stay here, lost in my head any longer.

When the line finally clicked, the voice on the other end greeted me with that familiar, steady calm, “Hey, it’s me.”

I exhaled sharply, as if releasing all the tension I hadn’t known I was holding in. “How fast can you get to the studio?” The words came out faster than I had intended, but they carried an edge—urgent, a little desperate. My voice shook, just barely, the slight crack betraying the layers beneath the surface.

I could hear the slight rustle of movement through the phone, as if my producer was shifting his position, maybe setting his coffee cup down, or running a hand through his hair.

It didn’t matter. I could feel the moment stretching between us, filling the space with an electric charge. I wasn’t even sure if I was asking for help, for direction, or for something else entirely, but the need was undeniable.

My hand, still gripping the phone, tightened around it as I gazed out the studio window, my eyes scanning the night outside. The city’s lights twinkled in the distance, just a blur of movement that felt so far away, so detached from the chaos inside me. 

I was still on edge, still haunted by the unresolved feeling that had settled in my chest like a heavy weight. Paige. The distance between us. The things left unsaid. The longing that pressed against my ribs, urging me to do something, to make a choice.

But in this moment, I needed to focus. I had to focus. I wasn’t ready to dive back into my thoughts about her, about us. Not now.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I need to get this out,” I admitted, my voice a little softer now. The honesty slipped through, unintended but there all the same.

 My eyes shifted over the studio, taking in the dim lights, the instruments scattered around like pieces of a puzzle I wasn’t sure how to solve. The walls that had once felt so comforting now seemed like they were closing in on me, the air thicker with the weight of my feelings.

The producer’s voice came through again, low and calm, but with an undercurrent of reassurance. “I’ll be there in 20.”

I nodded instinctively, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. A sigh of relief escaped me, and I finally let my shoulders drop, feeling the tension melt away, bit by bit. It wasn’t over, I knew that. 

The song I was trying to create, the emotions I was trying to channel, the unresolved ache that lingered—it was all still there, pressing at the edges of my mind. But I had made the decision. I was going to push forward, try to create something, anything, to move past the confusion and the frustration.

As I hung up, the weight of the room felt just a little lighter. I wasn’t completely sure where I was heading with the song, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. The only thing I knew for certain was that I had to keep moving, keep creating. Maybe in the music, I would find the answers. Or maybe, just maybe, the answers would find me.

𖥔 A WEEK LATER 𖥔

The air was thick with anticipation, the bass from the speakers humming through my body like a second heartbeat. Backstage, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of my top—minimal, yet enough. 

The dim glow of the vanity lights flickered against my skin, casting shadows that felt almost poetic. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, but not in a suffocating way. It was exhilarating. Electric. Like standing at the edge of a storm, just waiting for the thunder to crash.

For the last week, I had poured myself into two songs. Every lyric, every melody had come faster than ever, flowing through me like something inevitable. Like I was supposed to write them.

 Like they had been waiting for me to put them into words. I hadn’t released them yet, holding onto them for this moment—this night—when I could perform them live for the first time. A choice that was far from accidental.

I ran a hand through my hair, inhaling deeply, trying to shake the gnawing feeling in my chest. It had been almost a week since I had last spoken to Paige. Since she walked away. Since I stood there, silent, replaying every word, every sharp edge of our argument, over and over.

"You act like this is more than what it is," she had said, her voice edged with something I couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe. Or indifference. "But it’s not. We’re not. You know that."

I remembered the way she had looked at me, the way something flickered across her face just before she turned and walked away. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she knew her words would stick to me, get under my skin, wrap around my ribs and refuse to let go.

I clenched my jaw, blinking away the memory as I exhaled sharply.

The arena was dark, thick with anticipation. A low, pulsing hum vibrated through the air, rattling through the floor beneath my feet. The crowd was already screaming, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of excitement, but they hadn’t seen me yet. 

Not yet.

A single spotlight flickered on, illuminating nothing but the stage floor. The massive LED screen behind it came alive with static, glitching shapes and distorted visuals flashing in time with the deep bass that rumbled through the venue like a heartbeat. The sound of distant sirens echoed—warped, haunting, looping. A breathy, distorted voice whispered my name, stretched and layered over itself until it sounded surreal, hypnotic.

This—this performance—was my way of getting the last word in.

Maybe Paige would see it as an eye-opener. Maybe she’d see it as an attempt to get under her skin. Truthfully? I couldn’t give a single fuck.

What mattered was the music. The stage. The way the lights would hit just right, the way the crowd would scream the lyrics back to me, their voices colliding with mine in a way that felt almost sacred. 

And the fact that I looked good. No—better than good. The deep purple lace hugged my frame just right, the dark fabric catching the glow of the stage lights in flashes as I moved.

A crew member signaled that it was time, and my pulse quickened, the air around me shifting. The venue was packed—thousands of bodies pressed together, waiting, the energy buzzing like static in the air. And right at the heart of it all—Madison Square Garden. The place where it all started. Where we started.

The music built slowly, a heartbeat turning into a racing pulse, synths creeping in like something alive. The fog machines hissed, rolling thick waves of smoke across the stage, swallowing the floor in shadows. And then—just for a second—total silence.

The arena went pitch black.

Suddenly..

The bass dropped. A blinding flash of white light strobed through the venue in sync with the first beat, illuminating me for the first time, standing center stage. Head down. Eyes closed. The breath of the moment curling in my lungs.

The screen behind me glitched again—flashes of old, grainy footage, a mix of blurred city lights, broken reflections in puddles, flashes of hands, lips, fleeting touches. Her silhouette. The past bleeding into the present.

A deep, sultry voice—mine, but distorted—spoke over the mic, just two words:

"You watching?"

And then—violins.

Soft at first, delicate, but haunting. They floated through the venue like a slow drip of honey, smooth, entrancing, weaving their way through the charged air. The LED screens behind me shifted—deep purple and black, slow-motion imagery of silk slipping off bare skin, fingers ghosting over lace.

The first beat crept in underneath, a subtle pulse beneath the strings.

Then the drums hit, and the violins swelled, twisting into something richer, more dangerous.

The lights flickered, shifting to deep reds and violets as the beat intensified, climbing into something sultry, hypnotic. The bass curled through the melody like smoke, smooth but intoxicating, pulling the entire track into the kind of rhythm that demanded to be felt.

I let the moment stretch just long enough—let the tension coil, let the crowd feel the buildup in their chests, waiting, craving.

And then, just as the beat fully dropped, I moved.

Hips swaying, chin lifted, gaze locked forward.

The mic brushed my lips, and I let the first words spill out.

“I been singin’, I been screamin’...

“...I been goin’ all night till my throat’s bleeding” 

If she was watching, good.

Because this time, I was saying everything I never got the chance to.

The LED screens flicker to life behind me—glitching city lights, reflections rippling in puddles, fleeting hands skimming over skin. A fragmented memory playing for thousands to see.

And then—my voice.

"Did my purple lace bra catch your attention?

Uh Yeah, the look in your eye made me question."

The words drip from my lips like honey, smooth, effortless, but laced with something deeper. Something raw. Something meant for only one person.

And somewhere above—watching, devouring—Paige.

She's here. Actually here, in New York. In the VIP section, perched above the stage with the best view in the house. I don’t see her at first, too lost in the rhythm, in the way my body moves in sync with the dancers around me. 

The choreography is sultry, deliberate, every step calculated. When I drag my fingers down my torso, lingering just slightly against the purple lace that clings to me, the crowd screams—but only one gaze matters.

Paige.

And the second I finally lock eyes with her—piercing blue, locked onto me with a fire that burns even through the darkness—I feel it.

The shift.

Her gaze settles on me like she owns me, like every movement is hers to consume. And then the realization hits—I see it in the way her lips part slightly, in the way her fingers tighten around the glass in her hand—this is a new song. 

She hasn’t heard these words before. Hadn’t known until now just how deep this ran.

A memory flashes, one neither of us could ever forget.

Me, sprawled against silk sheets, bathed in moonlight, wearing this same shade of purple. The lace barely covering me, teasing just enough to make Paige lose her mind. 

The way she had whispered against my skin that night—God, you’re wearing this just to kill me, aren’t you?

I had laughed then. But tonight? Tonight, I’m performing.

And Paige is watching.

"Would you hear me more if I whispered in your ear?

Made all my inner thoughts sound like, ‘Ah, ah’

Would you hear me more if I touch you right here? Made everythin' I want sound like, ‘Ah, ah.’"

The choreography intensifies, fluid, seductive. I roll my hips, arch into the movement, dragging my hands down my curves before flipping my hair back, locking eyes with Paige again. There are thousands of people here, screaming my name, but I only care about one.

Paige’s grip tightens around her drink.

I smirk.

I feel the effect I have on her, see it in the way her chest rises and falls just a bit quicker, in the way her jaw tenses.

She’s unraveling.

And me? I’m going to make her feel every second of it.

"I could take it off for you and tell you what I'm goin' through, hm

'Cause my body positioning determines if you're listenin', ah-ah."

I turn, my dancers moving in sync with me as I twist my body, sinking into the rhythm. The choreography is intimate, teasing—slow rolls of the hips, fingers grazing down arms, lingering touches that set the stage ablaze. And the entire time, my eyes never leave Paige’s.

The flashbacks bleed into every lyric. Paige’s hands gripping my hips that first night, pulling me closer, our bodies pressed together in the dim glow of city lights. The way she had looked at me—like I was something to be worshiped.

And now?

Now, I’m untouchable.

"Did my dance on your lap pique your interest? Yeah

Now I got you like that, let me finish."

The words are a challenge. A reminder.

I run my fingers over my chest, pressing into the lace just enough to tease, enough to dare Paige to remember.

The chorus hits again, and I let myself sink into the song, into the power of it. Paige feels it—the way I own this moment, how every movement is meant to be felt, witnessed.

"I'm losin' my mind, I'm losin' my head

You only listen when I'm undressed

Hear what you like and none of the rest, 'est."

And Paige feels that lyric.

It’s the truth she never wanted to admit.

The way she ignored the things I actually needed to say, the words that got lost somewhere between tangled limbs and gasping breaths.

"I'm-I'm losin' my mind 'cause giving you head's

The only time you think I got depth."

Her stomach drops.

I see it—the way her fingers dig into her thigh, her jaw clenching so tightly I swear she might crack a tooth.

Because fuck.

This isn’t just a song. It’s us.

I know exactly what I’m doing, the way I sway my hips, run my fingers along my thighs. I let myself sink into the music, into the feeling of being desired.

And Paige?

Paige is trapped. Watching. Needing.

But this time, she doesn’t get to have me.

But this time, she didn’t get to have her.

The final notes linger in the air, and I let the moment hang. I let her sit with it, drowning in the weight of the lyrics, the weight of me.

Then, slowly, I tilted my head, eyes flickering up to Paige’s seat.

 I smirked.

And it was as if I knew— felt the way Paige was losing her mind, unraveling at the seams.

And then, just before the lights went dark, I mouthed one final thing.

“Still listening?”

Paige had actually sat through the whole concert—watching, studying, caught somewhere between lust, anger, and something heavier that neither of us had ever put a name to.

 Her eyes had been fixated on me the entire time, tracing every movement, every note I sang, her expression an unreadable mask of longing and frustration, the kind that simmered beneath the surface, never quite reaching the surface.

By the time I was done with my last set, she was already out of her seat, her body taut with tension as she stood.

 I thought, maybe, that this was it. Maybe this was the moment she would finally walk away, truly done with me for good.

But the second I hit backstage, pushing open the door to my dressing room, I realized how wrong I was.

There she was.

Paige was sprawled across the leather couch like she owned the place—legs casually spread, arms draped lazily over the backrest, her fingers barely curled as if she had all the time in the world. Her body was relaxed, but there was something predatory about her stillness, something that told me she had been waiting for this exact moment. 

Her head tilted slightly, eyes never leaving me, watching as the door swung open, revealing me in all my post-show glow. The rush of the performance still lingered in the air around me.

 My skin was flushed from the lights, damp strands of hair clung to my neck, and though my body ached from the show, I could feel the hum of my confidence still thrumming beneath the surface, energizing me, keeping me upright. But in an instant, that energy started to flicker, replaced by something I hadn’t prepared myself for.

My breath caught in my throat as our eyes met.

Everything stilled.

The cool, collected air that had surrounded me the entire night faltered for a second—just long enough for her to catch it. That self-assured smile I had walked in with faltered, just barely, enough to let her know she had the power to break me, to make me doubt every inch of the poise I had so carefully constructed.

The weight of the silence in the room pressed against me, the distance between us shrinking with each heartbeat.

I stood there for a moment longer than I meant to, the tension between us so thick that it felt like it could snap at any second. My final outfit of the night clung to me like it was made just for this moment—soft fabric molded to my form in a way that demanded attention. 

The mini skirt skimming the tops of my thighs, the hem dancing with each subtle movement, while the fitted top traced the curves of my torso, leaving just enough skin bare to tease, just enough to make her notice. 

The dark brown chunky platform boots I wore added an edge to my look, the weight of each step grounding me but also making me feel powerful in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

And all the while, Paige’s gaze was on me—slow and deliberate, her blue eyes tracing me from head to toe, each movement of her eyes sending heat pooling in my chest. Her expression remained unreadable—calm, controlled, like she was watching a masterpiece come to life, but there was something else there too. 

Something simmering just beneath the surface—an intensity I couldn’t look away from. It was like she was waiting for something to break. Waiting for me to break.

I could feel the pull of her gaze like gravity, dragging me toward her without a single word exchanged. It wasn’t just her eyes that had the power over me. It was the tension, the rawness, the fact that I had never really escaped her orbit, no matter how many times I thought I had.

And I knew then, just as I always had, that she was never really done with me.

She wasn’t just watching. She was studying. She was waiting. And I was no longer sure if I could fight it.

I broke eye contact with her, a scoff slipping from my lips before I even realized I was doing it. I rolled my eyes, not bothering to hide the annoyance that flickered beneath my skin. 

If she thought I was going to stand there, locked in some silent power struggle with her, she had another thing coming.

I turned my back to her and walked deeper into the room, letting the door swing shut with a sharp click behind me. The sound reverberated in the otherwise still air, cutting through the tension that had settled between us like a thick fog. 

My hips swayed with the rhythm of my steps, the heavy click of my platform boots echoing off the cement floor. The sensation of each boot hitting the ground felt grounding, like I could still control this situation, even if my heart was already betraying me.

I moved toward the vanity, not daring to look back at her. Not yet. I reached for the small mirror on the edge, adjusting it slightly, watching my own reflection instead of facing Paige’s unwavering gaze.

 I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much she affected me, not tonight. Not when I was so close to losing myself to whatever this was between us.

I could feel her eyes burning into my back, unblinking, like a predator watching its prey. It wasn’t just the weight of her stare; it was the certainty that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many walls I built around myself, she always knew how to break through them. 

She always knew where to strike. Her jaw was clenched tight, her body unmoving, but I could feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

 She didn’t say anything, but the amused smirk that danced on her lips told me everything I needed to know. She was watching, waiting for me to crack, to give in, to say something. Anything.

I wasn’t going to give her that. Not tonight.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, like it was daring me to do something. I stayed focused on my reflection, pretending that the quiet wasn’t eating away at my insides. But deep down, my mind was a storm. 

Thoughts swirled like a cyclone, each one more confusing than the last. Paige—her presence, her control, the way she always seemed to hold every card—was never easy to ignore. It wasn’t just her ego, the way she carried herself with an unshakable confidence, or how she always had a smirk on her lips like she was always one step ahead. It was the pull of her. The constant tug she had on me, whether I wanted it or not. The way she made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

I wasn’t some naive girl who couldn’t see the truth. I knew exactly what this was. Paige and I, we were never going to be anything more than what we were—hook-up buddies, tangled in this chaotic mess of lust, anger, and everything in between. Her ego was too big.

 Her confidence too loud. It was a game, one she always won. Always kept me at arm’s length, just enough to keep me wanting more, but never enough to let me close.

And yet, I found myself caught in it, every single time.

The weight of her presence grew more suffocating, and I could feel my patience wearing thin. But I refused to show it. I refused to let her see the way my heart raced when she was around, the way my body seemed to lean toward her without my permission. I couldn’t give her that satisfaction. I wasn’t going to let her win tonight.

She broke the silence, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"You really think that outfit's going to distract me, huh?" Her eyes flickered over my form, her smirk widening as she took in the tight mini skirt I’d chosen for tonight, the way the soft fabric clung to my skin. "You think that’s gonna make up for what you did on stage?"

I didn’t look up, kept my gaze focused on my reflection. I wanted to give her nothing. I wanted to return to the calm, collected version of myself—the one that could walk into a room and own it without breaking a sweat. But the truth was, I was already unraveling, piece by piece. And Paige? Paige was the one who had the scissors.

Her voice was a poison, calculated and precise. "So tell me, Y/N, is this your way of proving something? With that little performance of yours? You really think you can just walk out there, do your thing, and not expect me to notice?"

But I refused to give in.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t get a kick out of this,” she continued, her tone dripping with challenge. “You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.”

I let out a slow breath, letting the tension roll off my shoulders like it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let her get to me. Not tonight.

“You really think I care?” I finally said, my voice steady, but I could hear the lie in it. The cracks in my calm. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I didn’t move.

Paige let out a low chuckle, a sound that made my pulse quicken. She stood from the couch, the smooth, calculated movement of her body almost predatory as she took a step toward me.

“I think you care more than you’re willing to admit.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because somewhere deep down, she was right.

I was in too deep.

The silence between us stretched, suffocating yet electric, and I refused to meet her eyes, even as I felt the weight of her gaze searing into me. 

The reflection in the mirror, though, was another story. I could see the smirk spreading across her lips like a slow burn—satisfied, triumphant. I hated that damn smirk. It was her weapon, a reminder that no matter how much I tried to hold my ground, she always had the upper hand.

I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much it grated on my nerves. Not once did I meet her eyes. Not once did I let her see how badly she was getting under my skin. 

Instead, I focused on the mirror, watching my own reflection, trying to cling to the remnants of composure. I could almost pretend that I wasn’t trapped in this web of tension, but I wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all, Paige.

She didn’t let it go. Her presence shifted, darker, closer. I felt the heat of her body pressing against mine, her chest just barely touching my back, and I bristled at the contact. But I didn't move, didn't flinch. I wouldn’t let her have that.

Her hands slid around my waist, just above the hemline of my mini skirt. The warmth of her touch made my skin prickle, my breath hitching slightly as she pressed her body further against me.

 Every movement was calculated, deliberate. Her hands were claiming me, possessive in the way they moved, gripping the soft curve of my waist with just the right pressure. My heart raced, but I didn't show it. I wouldn't show it.

I let her. I let Paige think she was winning, let her believe she had me right where she wanted me. Her kisses, slow and feather-light, trailed along my skin, familiar, almost too familiar. I knew what this was. I knew the drill.

 She wanted control, wanted to be the one in charge, and I was giving her that—just for a moment. But deep down, I was already ahead. I always was.

I kept my silence, my body still, my expression neutral, and I could practically hear her self-satisfied smirk. She took my lack of response as confirmation. 

"Did I hurt your feelings, baby?" Her voice, dripping with honeyed mockery, made my pulse spike as she pressed a kiss to where my neck met my shoulder.

The way her lips felt against my skin should have been comforting, but instead, it ignited something darker, something more dangerous. She was playing a game, and I was letting her think she was winning, letting her think she had the upper hand. But all I had to do was wait.

Paige didn’t give me any time to breathe. In one swift motion, she turned me in her arms, so I was facing her now, my back pressing up against the edge of the vanity table with a jolt that made my breath catch. 

The shift was urgent, messy, the kind of passion that made the air between us thick with anticipation. I didn’t flinch, though. Instead, I stayed still as she pressed her hips against mine, the pressure making me bite my lip to hold back a reaction.

 Her hands began to roam, tugging, gripping, finding familiar places that made my body betray me.

I could feel the way she took pleasure in it—the way I let her touch me, let her feel me respond to her. My hands gripped the edge of the vanity behind me, fingers curling against the cold wood.

 Paige’s lips found their way back to my neck, and I let her—let her think that she had me, that I was melting into her touch, that I was submitting so easily to whatever game she wanted to play.

I tilted my head back, giving her more access, playing into the illusion, letting her think she was in control. But it was all a lie. I knew exactly what I was doing.

Her kisses were relentless, tracing sweet spots along my neck that made my breath hitch and my body tremble. 

Her hands slid around to grip my ass through the fabric of my skirt, and I couldn't suppress the soft noise that slipped past my lips—one she loved, one she craved. 

Paige was a menace, always knowing exactly where to touch, how to make me fall into this web of tangled emotions, of lust and anger and everything in between.

Her lips trailed up my neck, slow, deliberate, marking their territory, moving toward my jaw. The warmth of her breath on my skin made my chest tighten, but I could feel the moment approaching, the moment when I would stop this game. 

Just when her lips were about to claim mine, I opened my eyes, my gaze slicing through the thick haze of desire like a blade through silk.

I tilted my head to the side, deliberately slow, a teasing pout curling at my lips—a cruel mimicry of surrender. Our mouths were barely a breath apart, the ghost of contact lingering in the air between us.

If it had been any other night, I would have caved, let her take what she wanted, let myself get lost in her touch. But tonight wasn’t any other night. Tonight, I was the one pulling the strings.

Paige froze, her breath hitched, her eyes flickering with confusion, frustration—searching for confirmation, for any sign that she still had me wrapped around her finger. But I refused to give her that satisfaction.

“I’m not your toy, baby,” I murmured, my voice a quiet storm, steady and unwavering. The weight of my words settled between us like a final warning.

For a moment, nothing existed but the shallow, ragged cadence of our breathing. I watched the disbelief flicker in her eyes, the realization creeping in like a slow-moving tide, threatening to pull her under. 

She didn’t move at first. But then, the smirk she always wore like armor cracked, faltering, and I pushed her back—gently, yet firm enough to carve a space between us, a boundary she had never encountered before.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her lips parted slightly in stunned silence. My gaze stayed locked onto hers, heavy with something she wasn’t used to seeing in me—control. And worse—rejection.

A slow smirk ghosted across my lips as I turned away, pivoting toward the vanity behind me. Paige wasn’t far enough for there to be real distance, so when I leaned forward, fixing my reflection with careful precision, the curve of my ass hovered dangerously close to her front—just barely not touching. 

A whisper of temptation. A reminder of what she wouldn’t have tonight.

I adjusted my hair, smoothed my lipstick, acting as if her presence didn’t unnerve me in the slightest. The silence behind me was deafening, thick with unsaid words, unfinished games.

Satisfied, I straightened, meeting her eyes in the mirror, the corner of my mouth twitching with something smug and unforgiving. I turned, stepping past her, my fingers barely grazing the fabric of her sleeve as I moved toward the door.

Pausing in the doorway, I glanced back just once, my voice laced with something light, but sharp enough to leave a mark.

“You know where the exit is.”

And with that, I was gone.

The air outside the dressing room was thick, suffocating, despite the hum of excitement still pulsing beneath my skin. The second the door clicked shut behind me, sealing her inside,

I exhaled—a slow, deliberate release of breath that did little to steady the riot inside me. The hallway stretched ahead, a blur of dim, flickering lights and the distant hum of voices, but I moved through it like I was weightless, like my body hadn’t fully caught up to the gravity of what I’d just done.

I left her there—just like she had left me a thousand times before.

The symmetry of it should have satisfied me, should have made the ache in my chest shrink, but it didn’t. Instead, it spread—slow and creeping, like ink seeping into paper.

A stagehand passed by, tossing me a wide grin. “Insane show, Y/N. You killed it.”

I nodded, murmuring a thanks that barely scratched the surface of my lips. Their words felt distant, muted by the steady pounding of my heartbeat. My hands, wrapped in rings that glinted under the fluorescent lighting, flexed at my sides, still buzzing from the way she had looked at me.

Paige, sitting there like she had all the time in the world, like she had been expecting me to cave—to melt under her gaze the way I always had before.

But tonight, I hadn’t melted.

Tonight, I had watched the cracks form in her armor, had seen the exact moment realization settled in—that she no longer held the leash she thought she did. That I wasn’t hers to summon at will.

I made my way through the labyrinth of the backstage corridors, my heels clicking against the polished floors.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and something electric—an aftershock of the show still clinging to the walls. But none of it compared to the static lingering on my skin, the ghost of her gaze burning into me long after I had walked away.

The night unraveled in a blur after that. The dressing room, the press, the distant hum of a celebration I couldn’t bring myself to care about. People talked, laughed, congratulated me, but I wasn’t there. Not really.

Because in the back of my mind, Paige was still sitting on that leather couch, still staring at the door I had walked out of, still replaying my words like a cruel, looping melody.

I’m not your toy, baby.

I wondered if she had stayed there for long, if she had run her hands through her hair in frustration, if she had exhaled sharply the way she always did when things didn’t go her way. If she had sat in the silence, replaying every moment between us with that same restless, hungry energy I had spent years suffering under.

And then the days stretched into weeks.

Paige didn’t call.

Didn’t text.

But she didn’t need to. Because I knew she had seen it.

The internet had erupted like an uncontained wildfire, speculation running rampant in the wake of my performance. Every move, every lyric dissected, pulled apart, devoured by fans and gossip columns alike.

The video of me on stage went viral within hours—the way I sang with fire in my voice, like the words had been ripped from my ribs, like I needed this to be heard.

The analysis was relentless.

"Did you see the way she looked toward the VIP section? SHE WAS SINGING TO SOMEONE." "The way Y/N sang that line… she meant that. You could feel it." "Purple lace bra. PAIGE’S FAVORITE COLOR. The way she moved during that part? She knew exactly what she was doing." "Paige was in the crowd. You think she didn’t feel that?? That wasn’t just a song; that was a message."

The evidence stacked, theory after theory, fans pulling together every little thread like detectives unraveling a scandal.

Then came the videos of Paige at my concert—sitting in the shadows of the VIP section, her eyes locked on me like a predator watching its prey.

She hadn’t moved much, hadn’t reacted outwardly, but the cameras had caught enough. The sharp set of her jaw. The tight grip on her knee. The way her chest had risen just a little too sharply when I had turned in her direction.

I should have ignored it. Should have turned my phone off, drowned out the noise, let the world do what it did best—talk.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I let myself scroll. Let myself watch the videos, read the tweets, trace over every blurry, stolen moment that confirmed what I already knew.

She had felt it.

I pictured her in some dimly lit room, scrolling through the same chaos, lips pressed into a thin line, fists clenching as she watched the world speculate about us.

Wondering if she was regretting every moment that led up to this—the push and pull, the endless games, the times she had left me in bed, tangled in sheets and longing, only to disappear without a word.

Well, now she knew what it felt like.

And yet…

I missed her.

Not in the soft, romanticized way people spoke about heartbreak. Not in a way that felt poetic or tragic.

I missed her like a craving, sharp and unrelenting. Like something I had been forcibly weaned off, left to suffer the withdrawal.

I missed the way she would’ve laughed at all this—at the internet’s obsession, at the way people were tearing their hair out trying to figure out what we both already knew.

I missed the way she would have leaned in, breath hot against my ear, whispering, "Look what you did, baby."

But I wouldn’t break first.

She had spent years teaching me patience, teaching me the pain of waiting, of wanting. Now, it was her turn.

I stood in front of my mirror, makeup wiped clean, skin bare, exhaustion weighing heavy in my bones. My reflection stared back at me, lips curling at the edges with something dark, something smug.

You know where the exit is.

I wondered how long it would take before she found herself standing at my door.

𖥔 J'S JOURNAL 𖥔

Dear sweets,

this was a quick write--- well more of a get done to test the waters fic. But, here's my first Paige Buecker's fic <3

Not sure if I should leave it as it is or write a second part and make y'all happy...

Anyway's please let me know :)

P.S my main account is: @angelshxt. Thought the wifey deserved a separate blog, so here it is :p

xoxo,

J.

© sweettu1ips.tumblr 2025 do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[i-dared-myself]

Surprise

Stray Kids x reader

In which your period starts unexpectedly and SKZ begins their mission to comfort you

One thing that was difficult about the job was always going. You love your job, but it was too much sometimes.

Especially on days like these. Days where you’re up on stage, focusing hard on rhythms and moments when that dull tug on your stomach flares up.

You brush it off as muscle strain and continue. The choreography is hard and took you weeks to perfect, but your fans love it. You won’t show weakness or flaws.

And then the dull tug shifts to a constant ache. 

You stumble over a move that you usually ace, and Felix shoots you a look. You smile at him until he returns it before returning your attention back to the dance.

The song comes to an end and Jisung tells a joke, leaning on Minho. Seungmin pulls a face at the cringy play on words before raising the microphone to his lips to poke fun at it.

You lower yourself to the ground casually, knowing this intermission between songs would last at least ten minutes. The sketches were planned out as a bit of a break and something to keep Stay entertained.

“You good?” Jeongin asks as he crouches next to you. You hum in response.

“Yeah, all good.” You give him a thumbs-up to really drive the point home. 

You don’t know what this pain could be.

Your period ended four days ago, so probably not that. Internal bleeding was also not that much of a concern because-

That’s where your train of thought cut off. Just like that. Then all you knew was the excruciating pain in your abdomen. It took up every bit of your focus.

“-did Changbin say after he crossed the road?” Distantly you register it as Jisung’s voice, although it’s hard to concentrate. You’re just trying not to writhe in pain on the floor, as your idol image would be ruined.

Then it clicks that you’re supposed to say the next part of the joke. It’s your line. This is what you had rehearsed.

You raise your microphone to your mouth. “What did Changbin say?”

Jisung delivers the punchline with a giggle. Hyunjin tampers down a smile that fights to make its grand entrance, hiding behind Chan slightly.

Then the others are gathering in a like for the final bow, and you rush to join them. Your knees wobble beneath you and you force a smile as the camera flicks to you. Your head is light and your limbs feel like Jello.

“Are you okay?” Minho whispers to you. He’s not one to show his concern often, but it’s there.

“I-“ You blink forcefully before your legs collapse beneath you. Your head hits the floor and you let out a quiet cry as spots dance in front of your eyes.

Chan hurries the goodbyes into the microphone before shooing the others off the stage. Changbin scoops you up and brings you backstage while the crowd roars in a mix of confusion and distress.

“What happened?” Joengin murmurs to Seungmin as Felix runs ahead, clearing people out of the way.

“She just… fell,” Seungmin struggles to say, unsure of what occurred. Changbin puts you down on your feet, but you still lean heavily against him.

“I’m sorry.” Tears bubble out of the corners of your eyes. Your vision blurs as you look to Chan. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“

“Hey,” he soothes gently. “It’s okay. We’ll just-“

“What?” Your stomach sinks as he freezes, eyes widening. “Chan?”

“Oh.” Chan swallows and slips his jacket off, tying it around your waist. “It’s uh, y’know.”

“What?” Jisung frowns and scratches his head. “Is her butt cold?”

“It’s her period, you idiot,” Hyunjin scolds as smacks Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung springs away with a shriek. “He’s hiding the blood.”

You cover your face with your hands. “I’m so sorry, guys. This is- I-“

“Come with me, please,” the first aid worker interrupts. They offer a kind smile and gesture to a changing room. “I’ll see you in there.”

Changbin transfers you to them, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Scream if you need us.”

You frown. “Um. Okay. I probably won’t, but thanks.”

“What’s the plan?” Jeongin asks once you’re gone. 

“What?” Felix crosses his arms with a small scowl. “Like PR control or…”

“How we’re helping her,” Jeongin clarifies. “Our hotel isn’t that far away from a convenience store. We could buy chips and stuff.”

“Good idea.” Chan stretches his arms out and rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Seungmin, Jisung, and Hyunjin go to the store and get supplies. Don’t forget pads and tampons.”

Jisung laughs nervously. “Both? Do we get every size of both?”

“Just go with your gut,” Chan dismissively says. “Felix, Changbin, Minho, and Jeongin make a blanket fort in one of the hotel rooms. I’ll take her back to the hotel.”

“Got it.” Changbin grabs his extra set of clothes and the others follow his lead. “Meet in the room in an hour.”

So they split up to complete their missions.

Chan is the one to stay behind with you. When you come out of the private room, you look deflated and upset. Chan clears his throat to draw your attention to him.

“Everything okay?” Chan holds out his extra hoodie. You take it and pull it over your head.

“Yeah.” You force a smile. “Too much stress can make it irregular, apparently.”

Chan’s stomach sinks and he feels guilty. Was it his fault you were stressed? Has he been pushing you past your limits?”

“Ah.” Chan returns the strained expression. “Ready to go back?”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and blow out a heavy breath. “I just want to shower and sleep. I’m really not in the mood for anything else tonight.”

Oh no.

“Nothing else tonight?” Chan casually asks, whipping out his phone to tell the others to cancel. He nearly panics when he sees it’s dead.

“Absolutely nothing.” You wrap your hands around your stomach and wince. “Chan, can we go please?”

“Of course.” He pulls the hood up to cover more of you. “There’s a van waiting.”

The two of you climb into the vehicle, as Chan hopes the others somehow get his telepathic messages to abort the mission.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tampons, pads, period underwear, cups…” Hyunjin lists, reading off his phone. “There’s a lot of options. Will we be able to find them all here?”

“You think a convenience store sells period underwear?” Seungmin lifts an eyebrow. “I think we’ll be lucky if we find more than one size of pads.”

“We should get at least three types of ice cream,” Jisung decidedly says. He wiggles three fingers out for the other two to see. “Because there’s eight of us and we can eat a bunch of ice cream.”

“I’m in the mood for ice cream,” Hyunjin agrees. He elbows Seungmin lightly. “What about you?”

“Yeah, but don’t forget candy and chocolates.” Seungmin adjusts his mask before stepping into the shop. Hyunjin and Jisung follow closely behind. “Now where are those pads…”

“They’re down the aisle and to the right,” the worker says, not bothering to hide her boredom. She pops bubblegum with her mouth and flips through a magazine. “Don’t buy tampons for a stranger. Not everyone uses them.”

Jisung murmurs his thanks before trailing down the aisle. He finds the desired section and stands in front of it with a determined set of his jaw. “Does she have heavy flow?”

Seungmin wrinkles his nose from beneath his mask. “How are we supposed to know that?”

“It’s heavy if she bled through her pants, right? Or is it just because her pants were white?” Hyunjin takes a box of the shelf and examines it carefully. “Go with medium flow. Is that an option? What’s the default?”

“What do the wings do?” Seungmin questions as he peers over Hyunjin’s shoulder. 

“No idea.” Jisung stares wide-eyed at all of the colourful boxes. He picks one out and holds it up. “I saw this one in her suitcase when she moved into the dorm.”

“That’s a lot of happy women,” Hyunjin observes, running his finger over the design of the packaging. “Maybe the pads make them feel better, because there’s no way I’d be exercising if I was bleeding out.”

“Yeah, why are they all running?” Jisung giggles to himself. He tucks the box under his arm. “Snacks next.”

Hyunjin takes about three ice cream containers out of the freezer in the back. “Got them. Now hurry up before it melts.”

Seungmin chooses about five chocolate bars, six candy packets, and one pack of gum for good measure. They all walk up to the counter together and dump their supplies for the worker to scan.

“Is this everything?” She seems amused as Hyunjin pays. “You don’t need ramen or a lighter?”

“Why would we need a lighter?” Seungmin glances back at Jisung. “Are the pads heat-activated?”

“No,” she immediately says. “Don’t try setting them on fire.”

They all shrug before filing out of the store.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Grab the blankets and pillows from your rooms,” Minho orders as he pushes the two beds in his room together. He shares the room with Hyunjin, Chan, and Seungmin. “Hurry!”

The other three dash out of the room and return in about two minutes. Blankets and pillows are overflowing from their grasp.

“What are we doing?” Felix wonders as he dunps everything onto the two beds. “What are we making?”

“I dunno.” Changbin shrugs as Jeongin begins to sort everything. “It just looks like a mess to me.”

Minho rolls his eyes at them. “Shut up and help before I kill you both.”

Felix and Changbin instantly start working. Felix arranges the pillows while Changbin deals with the blankets.

“Wait.” Jeongin spreads his arms, halting the others. “The sheets are white.”

“You’re right.” Felix gasps dramatically. “What if she accidentally stains it and then gets embarrassed?”

“What if we cover it with blood first?” Minho suggests. “Where’s my knife?”

Changbin flinches back. “Yeah, no. If it happens we’ll just cover it before she sees it.”

“Good idea,” Felix praises. He side-eyes Minho. “And why did you bring a knife?”

“I had to borrow one from housekeeping to open a snack from the vending machine,” Minho explains. He faces Jeongin. “Figure out the TV remote before they get back. I’m sure we can all put our heads together.”

Changbin frowns uneasily. “Hotel remotes are unbeatable. There’s no way we can figure it out.”

“What if we all put on a video on our phones and then like zoom in on different parts,” Felix suggests. “Then we glue all our phones together to make one big screen.”

Minho squints at him. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

There’s a gentle knock at the door. They all straighten before Jeongin announces that the door is unlocked. Hyunjin, Jisung, and Seungmin all enter, supplies in hand.

“Is that everything?” Changbin asks. “Did you get good pads?”

“We think so,” Hyunjin remarks. “Do we… test it?”

Felix wrinkles his nose. “Obviously not. We need to just treat her normally, but also really nice at the same time. Don’t be too obvious that it’s her period, but also treat her like she’s a goddess.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Jisung hisses under his breath.

The door is pushed open again. Chan walks inside, you following dully behind him.

“Surprise!” Jeongin shouts. When the others shoot him filthy looks he tugs at his hair. “I panicked, okay?”

“What’s this?” You perk up a little bit. The corner of your lips quirk up slightly.

“We got you some stuff.” Seungmin points at the convenience store things before climbing on the beds and sprawling out. “What do the wings do?”

“Pretty much nothing.” You snort in amusement. “Thanks guys. I got a pad from the first aid attendant, but I appreciate it. I will, however, enjoy that ice cream.”

“There were some spoons in the drawer.” Minho displays the silverware for you.

You take on. “I only need one, but thanks.”

They watch in both horror and interest as you consume all three ice cream containers in about ten minutes. Then you throw yourself back on the beds and they take it as their signal for snuggles.

“Cuddle time?” Jisung hopefully asks from the edge of the beds. When you nod and scoot over to make room, the entire group all clambers on into a giant cuddle pile.

Chan ends up near you, with Changbin squishing him. He murmurs to you, “I’m sorry. I stressed you out and this whole thing was all my fault and-“

You shush him softly from below Jeongin, who is acting like your personal heating pad. “It’s okay, Chan. Life is just like this sometimes. It’s nice that you guys are all great with this, though. It’s… Thanks.”

Chan swallows. “Anytime.”

“I was really looking forward to some ice cream,” Hyunjin whispers to Jisung in disappointment.

Your eyes well up in tears. “That was for everyone? I’m so sorry!” 

They all groan and smack Hyunjin as you start wailing. Then they turn to comforting you, assuring you that it was all for you.

[starryhyuck]

pairing: challengers!johnjae x afab!reader

words: 3.5k+

summary: johnny suh and jeong jaehyun are determined to prove their worth to you in this year’s tennis competition. you all end up receiving more than you expected.

genre: smut

warnings: there is some mlm johnjae so please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with that, double penetration, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, talks of creampies, three way make out

thank you for 9.5k followers!!

“Your serve is fucking insane.”

You hum noncommittally, fingers tightening around your bottle to spray more water into your mouth. You wipe the sweat from your brow as Donghyuck continues to eye you with amazement.

“You do know that ball boys don’t usually get to talk to the players, right?” You comment, a little perturbed by how easy it is for the younger man to approach you.

His eyes continue to sparkle despite your demeaning remark. Unbeknownst to you, Donghyuck signed up to become the tennis team’s lackey just to be able to see you in action.

You were the crown jewel of the university’s tennis program, having been recruited from the early stages of your high school career. Much speculation occurred at your decision to go to college first instead of turning to a professional career. You insisted to your parents that your education was still important despite your only shining skill being the ability to hit a ball with a racket. You slaved away most of your hours on this court, practicing to become the next best tennis player South Korea has ever seen.

“I’m looking forward to your match on Saturday,” Donghyuck says, eagerly handing you another tennis ball when you outstretch your palm to him.

Your eyebrow quirks up at the mention. The Korea Open kicked off this weekend and the press was convinced you would gain another title under your belt. You normally don’t enjoy goading them on, but you have a good feeling about the tournament this year.

“Scatter, pea brain,” Suyeon hisses when she approaches you two, flicking Donghyuck’s ear. The boy grumbles before returning to his place near the wall. Once he’s out of earshot, Suyeon turns her attention back to you. She’s dressed in one of her tightest skirts, indicating she has plans set in motion for tonight. “Are you ready to go yet?”

You shake your head at her inquiry. “I’m not done. Go ahead without me.”

She whines pitifully, clutching your arm tightly. “I can’t! You know I get much more attention when I walk in with you.”

You sigh. Suyeon has been chattering nonstop to you about all of the players who have flown in for the games this week. Tonight was the first party hosted by your university to welcome them, and your roommate took that as a green light to snag one of the tennis players for herself.

“I still need to practice my backhand-“

“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg? Because I’ll do it.”

To prevent Suyeon from embarrassing herself even further, you hoist her arm and tug her away. She rejoices when you zip up your racket and bid your goodbyes to the remaining staff on the court. You do your best to ignore Donghyuck’s cheerful holler after you.

When you ask Suyeon if you can simply wear your practice gear, she throws you a disgusted look and quickly tugs you back to your shared dorm to change. You allow her to play dress up as she wants, wrapping your figure into a body hugging dress from the back of your closet. As soon as she deems you decent enough for the party, she hauls you over to the university’s lounge, where tonight’s events will be taking place.

Your first thought when you enter the party is that you would much rather be on the court. Just as Suyeon predicted, every eye turns to you when you step inside.

Whispers of tennis prodigy echo around the room and you try your best not to roll your eyes. Suyeon, on the other hand, basks in your popularity and bats her eyes towards the players that begin to approach the both of you. You decide to dodge the awkward conversation, excusing yourself to grab a refreshment.

It’s in the midst of downing a lemonade when you feel a presence linger behind you.

You turn to see none other than Johnny Suh and Jeong Jaehyun, the winners of last year’s doubles title. You heard that Jaehyun had enrolled into the same university as you while Johnny opted to go professional.

Despite the distance, the two seem closer than ever. And tonight, they stare at you like you’re their last meal.

“Hi,” you greet with an eyebrow raised.

Johnny speaks first, saying your name with a devilish grin. “We were wondering if we would see you here.”

He starts to introduce himself and Jaehyun, but you hold out a hand to stop him.

“I know who you are. I watched you two crush it at last year’s match,” you say, humming while you refill your glass. Jaehyun’s eyebrow ticks up at the revelation while Johnny’s smirk widens. “I’m guessing you’re both back to defend your title?”

“That, and to prove we’re just as good in the singles,” Johnny answers. You swallow a laugh at his unwavering confidence.

“I see you practice on the court sometimes,” Jaehyun says, diverting the topic of conversation back to you. “You’re incredible — I’ve never seen a backhand like yours.”

You smile at him, thanking him for the compliment. Jaehyun was definitely the more timid one of the pair, while you could tell Johnny led most of their conversations.

You feel like you’re in the lion’s den, with Johnny ready to pounce and Jaehyun waiting for permission to do the same.

Luckily, Suyeon rushes over and becomes your unknowing savior. Her hand wraps around your upper arm and she whines pitifully in your ear.

“SOS! SOS!”

“What is it?” You ask, eyes still remaining on the two men in front of you. Johnny’s fingers are slowly tightening around his glass and you wonder if he has the strength to break it. Jaehyun holds his a little more delicately, but you can see him clenching his fist behind his back.

You imagine one of them tangling their hands through your hair while the other wraps his around your neck.

“I don’t know anything about tennis,” Suyeon sighs, bringing you out from your lewd fantasy. “Come and help me, please?”

You smile at the two players, setting your glass down on a nearby table.

“Apologies, boys. Duty calls.”

You feel the weight of their stare follow you as you walk over to help Suyeon battle tennis talk.

You ponder if they’re desperate enough to stay behind for you.

—

You receive your answer later in the night.

As soon as Suyeon is all set for a lovely evening with a pretty player named Yuju, you start to make your way to the exit. You’ve had enough social interaction for one event, but two figures lingering by the door makes you second guess that decision.

Jaehyun adjusts his posture when he catches sight of you while Johnny leans casually against the wall, trying to make it seem as if he’s not affected by your appearance.

“You’re still here,” you hum, folding your arms across your chest. Both pairs of eyes quickly dart down to the swell of your breasts before moving upwards, acting like they weren’t just checking you out.

“Party’s too fun,” Johnny bites, sarcasm flooding his tone.

“I’m sure,” you chuckle dryly.

“Is your friend all good to go?” Jaehyun asks, and you can tell from the tone of his voice that he genuinely wants to know the answer.

You smile at him. “Yes, I was able to rescue her from the awful tennis small talk.”

Johnny kicks off from his position against the wall, approaching you with determination. Jaehyun eyes him carefully, and you realize from their body language that they have done this dance before. You think about how many other girls have fallen into their open trap.

“Well, maybe tennis talk isn’t all that bad. Especially in a quieter setting.”

Johnny reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his spare key set to one of the dorms the university is housing them in. He dangles them in front of your face, and you drink in his smug expression and Jaehyun’s anxious anticipation at your answer.

You tilt your head teasingly. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

Johnny shrugs. “Nothing wrong with a few tennis players strategizing before the match, right?”

Against your better judgment, you follow the two back to their dorm. You ignore the way Johnny’s fingers brush against the back of your thigh as he walks behind you and how Jaehyun’s hand continuously knocks into yours, pinky fingers brushing by each other. They clearly have set motives for the night and you would be lying if you said your mouth isn’t foaming at the idea of taking them both at once.

Jaehyun unlocks the door for you both, and Johnny keeps a steady hand on your lower back as he guides you in. As you expected, the university set them up in a double room, with separate twin beds pressed against each wall.

Before you can comment on the size of the room, a hand snakes around your middle, pulling you against Johnny’s backside. His fingers brush your hair to the side, pressing kisses against your exposed neck. Jaehyun has fallen to his knees in front of you, pushing up the fabric of your dress so he can catch a glimpse of your panties.

You make no moves to stop either of them, hands intertwining with Johnny’s as he continues his assault on your throat. You faintly register that you’ll have to cover up his marks before your match tomorrow, but Jaehyun nipping you at your thighs brings you out of your thoughts.

“So you’ve done this before?” You confirm while Johnny’s hands harshly squeeze your hips.

“Maybe,” Johnny hums teasingly, drawing out the last syllable. “But no one as pretty as you.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at his cheesy retort. You look down to see Jaehyun staring up at you, eyes filled with unbridled lust. You stroke his cheek gently and giggle.

“Are you waiting for permission?”

Johnny chuckles from behind you. “He’s waiting for you to sit on his face, sweet girl.”

Your eyebrow quirks up in surprise. Multiple exclamation marks pop up in your head but you’re not one to hesitate if someone is willingly offering to provide you an orgasm, so you bunch up your dress to your waist and hover over Jaehyun’s mouth. Johnny helps you in the process, pulling your underwear to the side and guiding your hips until Jaehyun’s tongue brushes against your folds. You gasp at the feeling and Jaehyun wastes no time diving into you, eagerly eating your cunt like his life depends on it.

Johnny’s hands have wandered to the straps of your dress, pulling it down and fondling your breasts. His fingers roll over your nipples, hardened and peaked from the intense foreplay.

He whispers in your ear, playing the devil on your shoulder. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Jae loves it when it’s sloppy like this, loves to feel his mouth being used.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, catching the implication in his tone that Johnny has been in your spot before. “He likes it better when you tug on his hair like this,” Johnny says as he guides your hand to Jaehyun’s head, allowing you to pull the strands. “It lets him know he’s doing a good job.”

Jaehyun’s lips swallow every drop of essence your pussy grants him. He seems to be thoroughly enjoying the experience, hands grabbing your ass and pulling you deeper onto him.

It’s not long before you’re completely riding Jaehyun’s face, desperately pushing yourself back and forth on his mouth in pursuit of your orgasm. You whimper when his tongue flicks over your clit, teasing the nub until you’re begging for him to make you cum.

“Please, please,” you whine, fingers tugging on his hair harshly. “Wanna cum, Jae, please.”

“Let the princess get what she wants,” Johnny says to Jaehyun. “Can’t have the tennis prodigy all wound up before her big match.”

Jaehyun follows Johnny’s orders, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking until your orgasm hits you. You cry and ride out your high until your thighs start shaking. Johnny’s arms hoist you up and before you know it, he’s throwing you onto one of the beds in your post-orgasm haze. You hear the clinking of belts and a hand wraps around your throat, squeezing gently.

“Sit up, pretty girl. Want to see my cock slide down your throat,” Jaehyun whispers to you. His mouth is still covered in the remnants of your orgasm, and he casually licks his lips to capture some of the taste.

Johnny slides in to your left as you sit up, feet dangling over the side of the twin bed. You pull your dress off, flinging it across the room. With Jaehyun on your right, you give him your attention first. Your hand trails down his stomach until you’re gently grasping his cock, pulling him from the confines of his briefs. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, long and pink with pre-cum gushing from the tip. You can’t believe he was this hard the entire time he ate you out.

Your head turns to Johnny, who is smirking down at you. His fingers are already wrapped around his base, pumping slowly while he watches you. He’s thicker than Jaehyun but equally as aroused. You replace his hand with yours, mimicking his previous motions.

You find a rhythm between the two, alternating between sucking one cock and stroking the other, and switching before one of them can complain about the lack of attention. Johnny’s hand possessively grips your hair while Jaehyun keeps a solid pinch at the nape of your neck, keeping you steady.

“What a nice picture this would make,” Johnny laughs sinisterly, observing as you lick him from his base to his tip. “Maybe we should commemorate this moment, Jae. They could put it up in the Hall of Fame.”

“What? Right over a plaque that says best cocksucker?” Jaehyun chuckles. “Add best pussy too while you’re at it. Never tasted a cunt so sweet.”

You ignore their degrading comments, too enraptured in taking their cocks down your throat as best as you can. Just the thought of having them both inside you is enough to make you clench your thighs, chasing friction as slick drips from your cunt.

“Hm, wonder what the little princess is thinking about,” Johnny murmurs. “Maybe what it would be like to take two cocks at once?”

You whimper around Jaehyun’s length, his tip hitting the back of your throat. Jaehyun clicks his tongue, giving two experimental thrusts that has you gagging.

“Selfish of her,” Jaehyun comments to Johnny. “Wants all the attention for herself, on and off the court.”

“Let’s not make her wait any longer then.”

You cough a little when Jaehyun pulls himself out of your mouth. Johnny tugs on your hair harshly until you’re facing him. He leans down to press his lips to yours, tongues fighting for dominance as he pushes you back down on the bed. You clutch the back of his neck, hungrily kissing him until you’re gasping for breath.

They adjust your body so Jaehyun lies underneath you, cock prodding at your waiting hole. Johnny hovers above you, spitting at your pussy and pushing two fingers into your waiting heat.

You mewl at the intrusion and Johnny grins. “Just as I predicted, Jae, still wet and ready for us.”

When he pulls his digits out, you release a croaky laugh.

“So which one of you plans on taking home the singles trophy tomorrow?”

You feel them eye each other at your question, both lining themselves up to sink into you.

“The best man will win,” Jaehyun mumbles in your ear, not sounding so confident in his answer.

You smile, sensing an open opportunity to encourage some harmless fun. You can already picture the two of them tomorrow — sweaty and desperate to prove themselves as the best. The thought of them being so competitive for the title causes more slick to gush from your pussy.

“How about this then — tonight, you both have to pull out. But tomorrow, whoever wins the title gets to cum deep inside me,” you drawl, watching as Johnny’s eyes cloud over and feeling Jaehyun’s hands tighten around your waist. “And I’ll wear your cum in my panties all day to show everyone who I belong to.”

The idea of them staking a claim on you drives them into a frenzy. You whine when they both push into your cunt, fighting for the tight space between their ridiculously large cocks. You collapse onto Jaehyun’s front, head falling against his shoulder.

“Slut,” Johnny growls at you. “That’s how it’s going to be, hm? Pretty princess wants cum dripping down her legs as she practices her backhand?”

Jaehyun groans in your ear. “Fuck, I want to see that so badly.”

Your mind is drawing a blank, heat filling your stomach as the both of them continue to press into you.

Jaehyun chuckles. “Maybe we didn’t think this through, John. Looks like her pussy can’t even fit the both of us.”

“Maybe you’re right, Jae.”

When they start to pull out, your head whips up with an unmatched fury.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“There she is,” Johnny smirks. “Princess wants us to break her pretty pussy, is that it?”

Your competitive nature flares up. “Trust me, I can take it.”

Johnny and Jaehyun exchange another round of looks and eyebrow raises. You feel utterly unprepared when Jaehyun plants his feet on the bed and Johnny situates his knees, his hands grabbing your thighs. They begin a furious pace, with Jaehyun roughly thrusting upwards and Johnny railing you until your head hits the wall.

You nearly scream, convinced that the neighboring dorms are going to file noise complaints by the end of the night.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hiss at the feeling of two cocks driving into you.

You feel completely full as they stretch you out. Johnny’s hand comes down to your clit to try and ease some of the pain. You crumble when the pain ebbs into waves of pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“There you go,” Jaehyun coos in your ear. “Just let us take care of you, baby.”

Two fingers slide into your mouth and you clutch Jaehyun’s wrist, gagging on his digits.

“Can’t wait to cum inside this tight cunt tomorrow,” Johnny grunts.

You hear Jaehyun scoff and give another harsh thrust, almost knocking you against the wall again. You blubber on his fingers but he doesn’t seem to mind the drool slipping down his wrist.

“What makes you think you’ll be the sure winner?” Jaehyun asks between throaty groans.

Johnny chuckles at the question. “Come on, Jae. You can’t be serious.”

“And if I was?”

Your orgasm hits you without warning and you cry, back arching and thighs shaking from the intense pleasure. You have to blink a few times before regaining your senses, and you’re surprised by what you find when you can finally see clearly.

Johnny’s lips are locked with Jaehyun’s, their tongues fighting for dominance in a messy kiss. They’re both still pounding into you albeit at a slower pace, suddenly enraptured by one another as Johnny’s hand moves from your clit to tangle into Jaehyun’s hair. The latter moans underneath you, removing his fingers from your mouth to lazily grab a handful of your breast as you remain sandwiched between them.

You didn’t think it was possible, but you grow more aroused at the sight. Filthy squelching sounds fill the room and your body starts to overheat from the constant stimulation.

Johnny’s eyes drift over to lock with yours, and he smirks into Jaehyun’s mouth at the sight of you. He pulls away from Jaehyun, who eagerly chases after him. Johnny cups your cheek and attaches his lips to yours, tugging Jaehyun along in the process. The three of you engage in one of the sloppiest make out sessions you’ve ever experienced, combined with a mixture of tongues and breathy gasps.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Jaehyun suddenly mumbles.

Johnny nods. “Me too. Let’s paint her body, shall we?”

You whine when they pull out of you, furiously stroking their cocks until they find release. You’re mesmerized at the sight of them climaxing, grunting harshly and coloring your stomach with ropes and ropes of their cum.

You collapse into a pile of bones and you feel them start to lick your neck, earnestly tasting the sweat dripping down from your face. You giggle at their unique form of aftercare.

“It seems like-“ you hiss when Johnny squeezes your breast again before continuing. “It seems like you two used up all of your energy. Do you think either one of you still has a chance tomorrow?”

Jaehyun laughs. “Don’t worry about us, baby.”

“Because we’re planning on cumming inside of this sweet cunt for the whole world to see, whether you like it or not,” Johnny finishes.

You swallow at their predatory gazes, shock traveling up your spine when you realize their cocks are already half-hard again.

You’re in big trouble.

[sailorluna15]

what about pitfighter vi who wants nothing to do with virgins because she thinks they get too attached, and then reader is a virgin but vi really wants to fuck her anyway

"Come on, you're telling me you like used goods?"

Vi rolls her eyes and takes a swig of her beer.

"It's not used goods. I like a woman who knows what she likes and doesn't get too attached. Virgins get one taste of you and fall in love. I'm looking to fuck, not get married."

"You're thinking about it too much! It's kinda fun when they get attached. They're like little puppies."

"Nah, I'd rather stay away from that shit. I don't got time for the puppy attachment bullshit. I'm good.

That's how Vi felt until she met you.

Vi walks into the club and scans around for a nice piece of ass. She walks further into the club and sits at the bar. Waving the bartender down, he slides her a drink that she knocks back in a second.

She looks around again and spots you. Immediately, she knows who she wants to fuck tonight.

When she sees you, you're spinning upside down, naked, with your legs split in the air. Your bikini top, G-string, and dollar bills lay thrown across the stage as you dance. You look mesmerizing and delectable.

Vi walks over to the host and requests a lap dance from you.

After you finish your set, the host tells you Vi wants you. She points to the room Vi's waiting for you in and wishes you good luck.

You stalk towards the room and open the door with a smile.

"Hello, Vi?"

She nods and stares at you like a predator checking out its prey.

"Thank you for booking a dance with me. Do you want anything to drink before we get started? I wanna make sure you're comfortable." You say flirtatiously.

She shakes her head no and allows you to begin the dance. It feels like the entire world has disappeared as your bend over and shake your ass in her face.

When you turn back around to grind against her again, your faces come so close that your noses touch. The energy between you two is magnetic. As you two continue to breathe each other in, a knock comes to the door, signaling the end of the dance.

"I guess times up, huh?" Vi whispers.

"Yeah."

Silence passes by before you speak.

"My shift is over in 10 minutes if you wanna take this to my place.

Vi contemplates your offer, before agreeing.

"I'll be at the bar waiting."

A small smile graces your face as you both leave the room.

The host approaches you with a knowing look.

"Did little Ms. Emo Girl enjoy her lap dance?"

"Very much so. We're about to take it to my apartment." You say sweetly.

With a loud laugh, the host says, "Okay, girl, get you some! I want to hear all about it tomorrow."

"Oh, trust me, you will!"

You both wave your goodbyes as you walk to Vi and leave the club with her.

The air is filled with anticipation as you both make your way to your apartment.

Finally, enter your apartment and immediately jump on each other's bones.

Vi kisses and sucks on your neck as moans flow out of your mouth.

She quickly drops to her knees, removes your panties, and immediately starts to devour your pussy.

Loud groans fill the air as she sucks on your clit and sticks her tongue in your pussy. She sticks two fingers into your pussy and fingers you as she continues to eat you out. Vi stands up and leads you to the bedroom. She manhandles you onto the bed and starts to unbuckle her pants.

"Wait...wait." You plead as you put your hands on her belt buckle.

"I've...I've never done this before."

Vi laughs in disbelief and says, "You joking, right?"

You avoid her eyes and shrug your shoulders.

"Oh my God, you're serious. You're a fucking virgin."

"It's not my fault! I've...I don't get out much."

"You're literally a fucking stripper! How are you still a virgin?!" Vi exclaims.

"Me being a dancer has nothing to do with having sex or my virginity! It's a job just like any other and has nothing to do with my personal life." You say defiantly as you lean back on your hands.

"You know what? I don't even fucking care. I just wanna fuck. You take strap or what?" Vi asks with a raised brow.

"I mean, I...I guess. I've always wanted to try it." You whisper out shyly.

With a hum, Vi drops her pants and underwear simultaneously, revealing a thick 8-inch purple dildo attached to the strap.

"Is that gonna fit?" You question nervously.

"We'll find out in a few seconds, won't we? You got lube?" Vi responds

"It's in the first drawer."

Vi leans over, opens the drawer, and grabs the lube. She squirts it on the dildo and lines herself up with your pussy.

"You ready?"

You nod and relax as Vi slides inside you.

"Fuck." You breathe out.

Vi slowly fucks you until she feels you get comfortable.

"Go faster."

Vi smiles and quickens her pace. She lifts your legs, presses them to your chest, and fucking you deep into the mattress.

Moans, groans, and curses fill the air as Vi takes your virginity.

"Damn, your pussy's so tight. You wanted this bad, huh. Fucking whore."

"I'm a whore." You whine out as you clutch Vi's arms.

You feel a sting on both of your asscheeks as Vi delivers a slap to them.

"I love a girl who knows what she is."

Vi begins to rub little circles on your clit as she drives her hips faster into you.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm gonna cum!"

"Go ahead and cum. Cum on my dick." Vi grunts out.

One, two, three thrusts, and you unravel. Your body shakes as ecstasy overcomes you.

"Oh my God, I've never come like that in my life." You say with a heavy breath.

Vi chuckles as she removes the strap from you and helps you clean up.

After she helps you clean up, she heads towards the door. You quickly chase after her.

"Wait!"

Vi turns around with a raised eyebrow and an expectant face.

"What's your number? I wanna do this again sometime."

"555-876-0982. Don't expect a relationship, though. I'm strictly here to fuck."

You quickly write the number down and nod your head in agreement.

"Yeah, no, no, no. I want the same strictly fucking. No strings attached."

With a low 'mhmm,' Vi walks out of your apartment and heads home.

"What a fucking woman."

[rinnstars]

time capsule!

in which you hesitate on calling him on his 19th

itoshi sae x reader: angst w comfort, happy ending, long distance rs, birthday fic ish, not proof read + likes n reblogs are appreciated

its cowardly - its been 30 minutes and you’ve still yet to dare to press his contact. you turn to the other side of the bed, facing the walls - ironically maybe you are truly talking to a wall. you could scroll through the chats between you and itoshi sae and half of it would be one-sided conversations - whether that be you chatting about your day with no replies, good morning and good nights that are left unreciprocated, i love yous that are left with blue ticks.

time. time is cruel to you and sae you think - compared to the youthful and heart-pumping love you once shared of secret love whispers and letters in the classroom you were once familiar with just down the street of your house. you’ve changed a lot since the last time you saw him when he was just seventeen, coming back for the first time from overseas - you’ve cut your hair shorter than what he’s used to yet just enough for him to still comb through it as he’s always done in your memories, you’ve changed your fashion style, ironically more similar to his with his stylish sweaters, sunglasses you’ve bought with him at the thrift shop, shoes that reminds you of him, you’ve changed your room from the youthful polaroid filled room to a simple room walls clean of any identity or evidence of you. and youre sure time has been even more cruel - he’s changed since the last time you’ve met him - he’s grown a lot taller than the fourteen year old he was when he waved goodbye to you in the airport yet that eye full of affection still remained back then, he’s much more determined you think, no longer giving up after once or twice failures at. the claw machines you used to take him to during the weekends, and he’s much quieter than he used to be, even more stoic and colder than you’ve remembered the quiet lover that sits beside you during class. and you wonder how much more has he changed during these two years - you could guess though: even colder with lesser texts from him gradually day by day week by week until it’ll soon be too late, even quieter than you can get used to with little to no words to tell you anymore to fix this torn apart house of cards, and maybe this will be the year where he finally leaves.

grief is a natural process of life - death, lost passions, and torn-apart friendships. and you’re pretty sure youre at the acceptance stage of grieving over this fallen apart romance story. it was denial - making excuses for him when he stopped the daily greetings through texts and photos of new places he’s been, making excuses for him to your skeptical friends that has always been right to see without the tinted-rose glasses, making excuses for him so that just maybe he’ll come back. then it was anger: the one week you refused to text him or answer his calls although there wasn’t any to interact with in the first place - how could he abandon you like that? why can’t he care about this relationship just as much as i do? why is he being so selfish? why.. doesn’t he love me anymore - sadness. you’ve practically sobbed the next week or two away - has he fallen out of love? distance makes the heart grow fonder they say, but you think it has made itoshi sae forgot all about you, all about the memories you’ve shared, all about japan and the person he’s left behind. you hate the physical heartache you face as you look at photos of you and him from the past, hearing at the voice calls and voicemail he’s sent to you with that same familiar voice that seem to still make your heart flutter. you hate the physical memories of him that reminds you of him everywhere that makes your stomach churn - from the bus stop that you seem to always see the phantom of you and him sitting there just like before in that school uniform that hangs in your closet, from the sweater on your bed that still somehow smells like him that you’ve grown way too attached to, from the candy that’s sugary-sweet taste that burst in your mouth reminds you of eating the candy pack with him during lunch break on days too tired to walk down long stairs to get to the canteen. you hate the dreams of you and him - wearing the white cloth that covers your face walking down the aisle, wearing stupid matching christmas sweaters going down to eat dinner together just you and him, wearing that stupid paper rings that matches with his that youre sure is long gone in his pile of abandoned mess and trash in his life. yet youre persistent - you don’t think you’ve ever given up before, not for anything you wanted so desperately to stay - you work hard and get sort of good results so that you have something to share with him only to be met with a thumbs up reaction, you force yourself to desperately like just a little bit of his favourite drinks that burns under your tongue, even worse you’ve considered and calculated the amount of money and everything just to run over to spain to find him, to fix this torn-apart love story that youre so desperate to fulfill, to build back this house of cards that has long crumbled without you even noticing.

and now its 11:59. you know logically, you should at least give him a call, tell him happy birthday even if it goes to voice mail - because at the end of the day you love him, you can’t leave him the way he left you, and truly to the deepest part of your broken heart, you want his life to go right, you want him to achieve his dreams out there even if it’s without him, you want him to smile even if from a memory far too long for him to recount these days. and so you do, pressing that call button - but its selfish, deep. down perhaps you just want to hear his voice even if its prerecorded and laced with the same annoyance that pricks your heart slightly you try to says, perhaps you want it to hurt so you can stop lingering on this ghost of his and stop loving him when the ceiling of this house of cards have fallen and practically ripping apart at your heart and stomach, and perhaps you want to say one last farewell before you run away from this mess that you know deep down you’ve contributed to.

“hello?”

and yet its that stupidly sweet voice that replies back, one that makes your heart flutter, makes your ear turn pinkish red, makes your stomach burst with butterflies. oh youre sure its love, the same love that you’ve felt the first time you’ve held hands with him and felt electric coursed through your veins and verve’s, the same love you’ve felt when your lips melted perfectly into his like you were made for each other by the universe, the same love you’ve felt when he’s first made you that paper ring in the middle of science class before that match that changed the entirety of yours and sae’s life. and you think, if it means feeling this pumping of your heart as though youre on a rollercoaster, feeling this warmth that rises through your entire face, feeling the love from your legs through your head - you think its all worth it.

“happy birthday sae. i love you”

“… thanks. i love you too. i’m coming back tomorrow by the way, i’ll come over..?”

and just maybe, you can fix this house of cards with him. with him - not alone, but with him. and just maybe those phantoms of you and sae at that bus stop, on your bed in your bedroom, at yours and his favourite cafe wont be ghosts anymore.

[rafeskiss]

imgonnagetyouback ! ᥫ᭡

pairing: matt sturniolo x popstar! reader

word count: 2.1k (holy shit)

summary: you are a world renowned popstar, and after a very public breakup with youtuber matt sturniolo, he can’t bare to watch you look hot on stage and know you’re no longer his. he’s determined to get you back.

warnings: smut obvi, p in v, fingering, swearing, use of ‘y/n’, nicknames (baby), overstimulation, unprotected sex (don’t be fucking stupid), matt calling reader ‘slutty’, probably more i can’t think of

authors note: I HAVE RETURNED!! i have come back from like a two month long hiatus (HIATUS??? DONT USE BIG WORDS MATTTT) to bring you guys the much requested imgonnagetyouback inspired fic featuring popstar! reader! in my mind i see popstar! reader as sabrina carpenter/madison beer type, not necessarily looks wise just their presence. anyways i love ya and thank u for all the kind words on pretty voice :(((

you walked around stage with more confidence then ever. you questioned if fake confidence still counts as confidence, but nobody seemed to know that you’re faking it. it had been 2 weeks since your breakup with matt, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t wreck you. but you don’t want to ruin the fans experience while you’re on tour, so you maintained your confident-happy-seductive-popstar act.

you were considered the new it girl of pop music. even though you were at your worst, you were getting a lot of attention. most questions fans asked you were about the breakup, but you were trending on twitter for a week straight. fans were making sad breakup edits and update accounts were notifying everyone about the latest stuff regarding the breakup.

because of those update accounts, you knew that matt and his brothers were at your show tonight. you didn’t know why, and even though it made you sick, you got up on the stage and shook your ass and sang your little heart out.

you wore a short lilac skirt, the one that fits you like skin. it drive matt crazy; the way it matched your skin tone so perfectly and accentuated your curves. you were a humble girl, but there were times you knew just how hot you were.

you felt bittersweet about this being the last stop of your tour. you were excited you could rest and grieve and mourn your ended relationship. but you were sad because of the happiness you did feel at one point performing to your fans and the family you created with your band.

with it being the last stop of tour, your team is throwing a little party at some club nearby the venue in seattle. it was planned for weeks now, and at the time you planned it, you added matt and his brothers name to the guest list. and you didn’t have the guts to remove it after the breakup, you didn’t even think you needed to because why would he show up? you regret it as you look at him from your spot on stage. he’s standing on the balcony with his brothers, and he looks guilty and mad at the same time. you quickly look away before you became sick, like how you normally feel seeing his face anywhere.

you say your goodbyes to the crowd and walk off stage as confetti shoots from the ceiling. you make your way backstage where your team awaits you, showering you with compliments and praises. the usual ‘you did so great tonight’ shit. matt used to be the first one to compliment you after a show, whispering sweet things in your ear; odd compliments that nobody else would tell you but that’s why they meant so much. you shake the thought of him from your mind as you pray that he won’t attend the party later tonight.

standing at the bar like somethings funny, bubbly.

God didn’t answer your prayers, unfortunately. you stood talking to one of your best friends, madison beer, but instead of keeping eye contact with her as she talks to you, your eyes are on matt. he’s on the other corner of the room by the bar, with his brothers. chris is sipping on a pepsi, nick with a dr. pepper, and matt has nothing in his hands. he glances over to you and goes back to his conversation with chris. he laughs and you wonder what he’s laughing at, you brush it off and engage in your conversation with madison.

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. an endless stream of curse words run through your mind because knowing he’s in the same room as you, at your party, is driving you insane. you wander through the crowds, making small talk but never staying with the same people for long. you sneak a quick look at matt who seems oddly bubbly while he’s talking to some blonde girl. as if he can feel your stare, he looks at you and makes a face. not a disgusted face, but one that reads ‘i see you too.’

an hour or two passes and i see some blonde girl approach him, and i know he wouldn’t *dare*. while we technically can see other people, we were never *not* each others. the blonde girl, who had to have been someone’s plus one cause i know damn well i didn’t invite her, is so obviously flirting with him. how bold of her! he seems uninterested but he’s still talking to her, which makes me feel sick. i hate he still has that effect on me.

say you got somebody, i’ll say i got someone too.

i know it’s petty, but i just want him to know that i can have someone too. i walk up to the first boy that i see, making small talk and his eyes almost pop out of his head when he realizes who i am. i can feel matt’s stare from across the room. i have zero interest in this guy i’m talking to, i just want to piss matt off. i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing. i tell all of my friends that i hate him, but i go fucking crazy when i see him or hear anything about him.

part of me wants to yell at him and curse him out, and the other half wants to take him back to my hotel. your phone is tucked into the neckline of your dress, feeling it vibrate. you smile at the stranger and pull your phone out, matt’s name on your lockscreen. you look over and see him staring at you. it definitely worked, this man is furious.

ten minutes later, you wait in the gender neutral bathroom. you apply more lipgloss in the mirror when matt walks in, quickly locking the door behind him.

“you hate parties,” you mutter as you layer on more mauve lipgloss, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

he shrugs, “yeah, but i don’t hate you.”

you roll your eyes, “well, i hate you.”

he laughs dryly, “yeah? how come you’re here then? in this bathroom with me, with the door locked?” he says, walking up behind you. you can feel his bulge against your ass.

you sigh and turn around, less than an inch of distance between you. “i hate you.”

he nods, “for sure.” he brings his thumb to your glossed lips, smirking. “so pretty.”

before you could even think twice, you’re sitting on the sink, wrapping your legs around matt’s waist, making out. maybe if you were sober you wouldn’t be in this situation, but if you were sober you probably would have wanted it more.

“hate you so much,” you mumble in between sloppy kisses.

“i know,” he mutters. he taps your thighs, signaling for you to spread them more. and of course, you do. he reaches his hand under your dress, pulling your panties to the side. he does all of this without breaking your kiss, too. and to no one’s surprise, you’re soaked.

he looks up at you, “you hate me so much but you’re soaking wet? doesn’t make sense.” he says.

“stop talking,” you whine.

he plunges two fingers into your cunt, and your hand immediately flies to your mouth. while it isn’t out of the ordinary to have sex in a bathroom at a club, you don’t want people to know it’s you.

he uses his other hand and pulls your hand away from your mouth. “let ‘em hear you.”

he continues fingering you until he feels your walls clench down on his fingers, and he pulls them out.

“matt!” you whine.

he nods, “i know, baby.” matt loves to edge you, and it pisses you off.

you roll your eyes and push him away, hopping off the sink. “no, i really do hate you.”

matt rolls his eyes, “oh, here we go again with that bullshit.”

you’re about to unlock the door and walk out of it before matt stops you. he swats your hand away from the door knob and walks closer to you until you’re up against the door.

“off,” he says, tugging at the fabric of your dress. and even though you said you hated him 5 seconds ago, you obey him.

he helps you wiggle out of your dress, you step out of it and slide it across the bathroom.

matt takes his belt off and unbuttons his jeans, you slide his boxers down to his ankles along with his jeans.

you’re still against the door when matt says, “jump.” you quickly obey, wrapping your legs around his hips. he uses the door to help not drop you, and you’re sure your back will hurt and have some bruises after this.

his dick is firmly pressing against your clit, and matt uses one arm to support you and the other to slide his dick inside your entrance. you hadn’t had his cock in a couple months, and it’s like it’s the first time again.

“oh fuck,” he groans. “still so tight. none of the other guys can stretch you like i do, huh?” he whispers into your ear.

“shut up and fuck me already, matt.” you reply bitterly.

“if you say so,” he whispers before bucking his hips into you so hard you think you might have a bruise.

“oh!” you gasp.

matt maintains eye contact with you, “you miss this dick?”

you nod as he continues to fuck into you, the door rattling against you.

“i don’t believe that, use your words, y/n.” he teases.

“i missed— oh fuck, missed your dick,” you whimper.

he pushed you harder against the door behind you so he could use his other hand to rub circles on your clit.

“well, i missed this pussy too. know it missed me back.”

your hole fluttered at his words which made him let out a soft groan. you felt his dick everywhere, in your soul.

he moved his hand away from your clit, leaving you trembling.

“m’back hurts,” you whined as he slid his dick in and out of you.

matt looked at you with sympathy, “i know baby… but we’re in a bathroom cause you’re jus’ so needy, so there’s not much room for me to fuck you like i want.”

this was true.

he rammed into you harder and faster, causing you to let out an almost pornographic shriek.

matt dryly laughed, “sound so pretty. such a pretty voice.”

you knew how much matt loved your career. the most famous pop girl at the moment wrapped around his finger. he loved watching your shows and seeing how all your female fans would bring their boyfriends to a concert and he’d watch their intense stares as you pranced around on stage in nothing but a tiny dress and heels. everyone wanted to fuck you or be you, and he loved that you were his in every way. but after the breakup, he’s gotten angry so of course he has to make up for lost time with a very intense fuck.

he slammed into you and pulled out just as quick, repeating this until he can feel your walls tightening against his lengthy cock.

“c’mon, baby. know your close, give it to me.” he whispered in your ear.

“oh god,” you moaned.

matt stopped fucking you, “s’not my name, baby.”

you whined, “fuck me, matt.” you said, putting emphasis on his name.

he smiled and started pounding into you again. “good job, baby. love when you use that pretty lil voice of yours.”

your nails scratched artwork onto his back, maybe breaking skin but matt didn’t mind at all.

“you gonna cum?” he taunted.

you nodded, “matt!”

“cum for me baby,” he demanded.

“oh god! oh, oh matt!” you said it correctly this time as your orgasm ripped through you. the first genuinely good one in two weeks.

matt didn’t slow down, he stayed fucking you through your orgasm.

“can’t!” you yelled.

matt shook his head, “you can. jus’ gimme one more. one more.”

you shut your eyes tightly gripping onto his back as tight as you can. you start squirming as your next orgasm approaches.

“m’cumming! oh! matt, i’m cumming!”

he nods, “i know baby.”

after you come down from your orgasm high, matt helps you adjust yourself so you look presentable to go back out into your party.

you reapply your lip gloss and run your fingers through your hair, combing them out. you fix your dress while matt hands you your panties.

“well, it was nice seeing you.” you say sweetly, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“very nice.” he says with a smirk on his face. he adjusts his hair too before unlocking the door and holding it open for you. you’re greeted by a long line of upset faces waiting to use the bathroom.

you and matt make side eye each other as you walk away from the crowd, giggling.

you and matt both know you were never not each others.

[lovemepartly]

night one ✩ kwon jiyong

warnings: none!

a/n: in honor of night one of the ubermensch tour!! gd looked and sounded so good. the setlist was amazing and his performance with cl was to die for. the king of kpop has returned :) 

 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

the days leading up to the tour are incredibly stressful. jiyong spends a lot of time out of the house and working on every detail to make sure his comeback tour is perfect and just the way he imagined it. when jiyong comes home late at night, exhausted, he’ll crawl into bed with you and into your arms, gently stroking your hair. he’ll tell you everything he did in the day and kiss you softly, telling you how grateful he is that you’re there for him. 

the day of the first night of tour, jiyong wakes up early. he makes breakfast for the two of you and wakes you up with a kiss on the cheek - “jagiya, wake up," he'll say, shaking you softly. "i made you breakfast,” he says as he drags you out of bed. as you sit at the table eating breakfast, you reach out to grab jiyong’s hand. “today’s the day.” you say, smiling at him. 

“i know,” he replies, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “i’m nervous.”

“everyone’s going to love you,” you reply. “i promise.”

jiyong eases up at your words. the rest of the morning is quiet as you and jiyong clean up the kitchen. in an hour or so, a car is outside your home, ready to take the two of you to the arena. jiyong opens the door for you and helps you into the car, sliding into the seat next to yours. he rests his head on your shoulder and intertwines your fingers with his. you wrap your arm around him, your hand tangling into his freshly dyed silver hair. jiyong looks up at you, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, before whispering, “i’m actually really excited.” 

as soon as you arrive to the arena, jiyong goes straight to work. he spends time with the crew to make sure the stage and all the effects were in order for the night. not wanting to be in his way and add any more stress, you decide to wait in his dressing room until the show starts. after a few hours of alone time in his dressing room, the door flies open and jiyong is at the entrance. he takes a seat next to you, collapsing on the couch. you smile at his outfit - a red ubermensch bathrobe and, of course, a headscarf. he sits down next to you on the couch and wraps an arm around you. 

“don’t you have to be at soundcheck?” you ask, turning to face him. 

“soon,” he murmurs, cupping your face and connecting his lips with yours. “i’m nervous.”

you reach up to fix his headscarf, gently stroking his cheek. “you’re going to do amazing. you know everyone can’t wait to see you.”

“come watch me?” he asks. you nod and he stands up, offering his hand to help you up. you stay backstage, watching jiyong as a group of excited fans instantly cheer when he emerges. you watch endearingly as jiyong entertains the fans with stories and songs. 

soon, soundcheck is over and it's time to start preparing for the actual show. jiyong insists that you stick to his side the whole time - whether he's in his makeup chair or getting his hair done. when jiyong finally appears in his first outfit for the night, your jaw drops slightly. he looks amazing. perfectly fitted black pants with a red shirt, covered with an oversized rose jacket. 

“you look really good.” you murmur, walking over to him.

jiyong smirks, savoring your reaction. “look what else i have,” he says, and reaches over for a crown that was sitting on a nearby table. “a crown.”

you giggle as you watch him take the crown and gently place it onto his perfectly styled hair. “because you're the king of kpop,” you tease, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips as his cheeks flush at your compliment. 

soon, jiyong was called off to take his place and said goodbye to you, kissing you once more. you notice that he doesn't seem as nervous as he was before, the soundcheck probably easing some of his nerves. you make your way backstage, positioned so you could perfectly see him once he would come out. the arena was packed and you began to feel a nervous anticipation. within moments, the lights dimmed and the music began to play. jiyong emerged from the stage, crown perched perfectly on his head, a confident glow radiating off of him. this was no longer jiyong, it was g-dragon. 

the rest of the night is amazing. the crowd loves jiyong and his confidence only grows throughout the night. in between outfit changes, he’ll come find you backstage and press a quick kiss to your lips. if you’re in his eye line while performing, he’ll sneak glances and smiles to you throughout the show. 

as soon as the show is over, jiyong is rushing into your arms. he’s placing sweaty kisses all over your face and holding you tight. 

“you were amazing.” you whisper.

jiyong becomes shy at your words and reaches to cup your face. “i love you, jagiya. thank you for supporting me.”

you smile. “i love you too.”

[coco-loco-nut]

Iconic

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: you make it your life goal to embarrass Oscar and annoy him, keeping things fun in his life

masterlist

———————————

“He’s so cute,” a girl sighs in the McLaren fan zone.

“He really is,” you smile, leaning against the barrier.

“Oh my god, hi!” the girl gasps, recognizing you from your boyfriend’s Instagram. You haven’t had social media since you were cyber bullied in middle school, so you were a mystery to his fans. It also let you go to fan zone and have fun with them. You also run a fan page for Oscar on Instagram.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind that I am standing here?” you say, holding a folded poster in one of your hand and an arm full of friendship bracelets that Oscar helped you make.

“Not at all, oh my god. Sorry, it’s just that you are so iconic,” the girl says and you quirk your eyebrow.

“How so?”

“You don’t have social media which is iconic, but all the fans know how nice you are, and you are always hanging out with us here,” one of her friends say, you nod along.

“Of course I would be here, I gotta support Papaya boys,” you smile. “Wanna help me embarrass Osc?” you ask the group around you.

“It would legit be our honor,” the one laughs, you laugh with her.

“Here,” you take off some friendship bracelets and exchange them with the girls.

“You are the best WAG,” another girl says and you blush a little, dutifully putting on each bracelet.

“I really do try. I even run a fan account for Osc,” you laugh, not revealing more than that.

“No way, that’s actually icon behavior,” the first girl says and you grin.

“Want to see the sign?” you ask, excited to show your latest sign off. Oscar tried to look but you refused to even work on it until he left the hotel.

“Yes!” you are quick to unfold the sign. Your neat handwriting carefully placed each letter just large enough so Oscar could read it.

“Omg, I can’t wait to see his reaction,” one of the fans say, the area is brimming full now, ready for the drivers to come out in a couple minutes.

“Make sure you get pictures of his reaction, he’s so cute when he’s embarrassed,” you giggle, getting ready to hold the sign in front of you as Lando walk onto the stage, excited to see what you wrote this time. He reads it and laughs, turning towards where Oscar is entering. You watch his brows furrow as he reads it. Oscar- I want to eat you up like a pastry :). The Australian’s face turns bright red as he laughs and winks at you, trying to hide his awkward embarrassment at the pickup line. It wasn’t your best, but it was the perfect amount of cringe. Lando gives you a thumbs up from the stage.

“You were right, his face was priceless,” the fan says as you watch Oscar push back his mousy brown hair before putting the hat back on. You swear you might be drooling while watching him, but you catch his gaze falling on you too.

“I LOVE YOU OSCAR!” you yell as he waves goodbye to the fans, giving you a wink. You make sure all of your friendship bracelets are given away before thanking the fans for being cool about you chilling with them. You head back to the paddock, scanning your pass, and beelining to the McLaren motorhome.

“Y/n, can I have that sign?” Lando asks and you happily hand it over.

“As long as you don’t use it to steal my man, have at it,” you chuckle as the Brit hugs you in thanks before walking away.

“Eat me like a pastry?” Oscar gives you an amused smile. “You do know my parents watch that, right?” His favorite thing about you his your playfulness, you can be serious when needed, but your teasing and jests keep his life fun.

“Oh, I know, your mom helped me with that one, the fans loved it too,” you laugh. “You did look so hot up there,” you slightly exaggerate checking him out.

“Why don’t we go back to my drivers room and you show me how you’d like to eat me?” Oscar whispers in your ear, trying to seduce you, but you resist.

“Oh, I’d probably start with the thighs, best muscle to fat ratio in my opinion. Hm, now I’m kinda hungry, what is in hospitality?” you ask, moving towards the food area. Oscar wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you back towards him as he picks you up to carry you to his room.

“Nope, don’t start things you can’t finish,” he says, clearly a little hot and bothered.

“Osc, I’m not a cannibal, I don’t actually eat humans,” you tease, not giving up on what you started. Oscar clearly had a different interpretation, maybe the right one, maybe not.

“Shut up before I make you shut up,” Oscar growls in your ear, quickly turning you on and making you drop the joke.

“Yes, Mister Piastri,” you say, knowing it’s affect on him as he drags you into his room, locking the door behind him. Oscar was a couple minutes late to his meeting, Lando holding back giggles as Oscar walks into the room.

“I see the fans aren’t the only ones who love Y/n,” Lando whispers to Oscar, who shoots him a glare. Meanwhile, you scroll Instagram using your fan page, laughing as some of them post the pic of you and the sign, the comments calling on your to reveal yourself via the fan page. You make a post about it as well just to blend in, thirsting over Oscar as well. You can’t imagine if he ever finds out about the account.

“Good luck, Osc. Drive safe,” you kiss him before he puts his helmet on.

“I am always safe,” he gives you his usual awkward smile, you smile back as he puts his helmet on. He squeezes your hand before walking over to the car. You take a seat in the garage, the headphones unflattering as always.

Your stomach drops as there is a crash late in the race, but you are instantly relieved when you realize that Oscar made in through and no one was hurt. He ends up in P2 for the race and you join the team in celebrating at the podium.

“Thank you for being my number one fan, even when you run a secret fan account,” Oscar hugs you in his drivers room.

“How? What?” you play if off but he just laughs, pulling out his phone.

“My private account follows you,” oscar laughs, and you just stare at him.

“That’s actually you? I thought it was a fan,” you quickly pull out your phone and request to follow his account, which he immediately accepts so that you can see all the cute posts he makes about you.

“Stop, Osc, you’re basically running a fan account for me,” you say, admiring his posts, including one from today of you holding the sign. You quickly type a comment that has the other drivers replying like crazy claiming that they found your secret account.

“You two decent?” Mark Weber’s voice says through the door, after a confirmation from Oscar, he lets himself in.

“Why wouldn’t we be decent, Mark?” you ask from the couch.

“I used to be a driver too, and after your fan zone sign nothing is off the table,” Mark shrugs causing you and Oscar to blush. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you great race, I will see you in a few days,” Mark tells Oscar before leaving the room again. You still aren’t sure how Oscar was able to bag the former F1 driver as his manager. Oscar yawns and you notice how tired he is, sleepy Oscar is your favorite version of Oscar.

“Alright, let’s get you back to the hotel, first loser,” you tease, helping him gather his things to leave.

“Hey,” he groans at the jab.

“You could be Lando NoWins, my love,” turning your jests onto his teammate.

“That is true,” Oscar yawns, holding your hand as he leads you to his chauffeured car.

“Osc, would you marry me if I was a worm?”

“Who said I’d marry you at all?”

“Alright, that’s it, I’m deleting your fan page,” you pull out your phone. Oscar basically tackles you in the back seat as he lunges for the phone.

“I take it back, I’ll marry you right now if you want,” Oscar pleads.

“Who said I wanted to marry you? Do I look like a worm?” you retort, putting your phone away. Oscar just sighs in defeat.

“God gives is strongest people his greatest challenges, I’m not strong enough for this,” he groans a few seconds later, the tiredness setting in.

“Sorry, baby, I promise you will get unlimited cuddles when we get back to the room,” you smile softly, holding his hand tight.

“I love you,” he whispers, his beautiful brown eyes gazing into your eyes.

“I love you too.”

[puckinghischier]

What do I have to do to get some filthy Nico thoughts this morning? Xoxo

not much, honestly

was thinking about how absolutely rabid he’d be after that canes game, all high on winning. but unfortunately for him, you’d be out of service for a few more days, mother nature having paid you a visit a couple of days ago. of course you’d help him out, giving him a nice, long, treat on your knees to reward him for the victory, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he could have all of you.

he’d be such a little menace about it too. snaking his arms around you while you’re in front of the mirror, doing your hair, letting them rest dangerously low on your waist. little smacks to your ass anytime you pass by him. waking you up in the morning by rutting his morning semi against your ass.

and when the two of you are out in public? god, he’s almost worse than when you’re at home. drinks with the guys turned into you being trapped in the booth, nico’s hand resting high on your thigh, fingers brushing you over your underwear. you knew wearing this dress was risky, especially with how he’s been the last couple days, but you figured since you would be out with the guys he’d be on his best behavior. but of course you were wrong. his long pinky makes long, drawn out circles on your barely covered clit, working you up continuously just to casually slide his hand away. only to do it all over again every ten minutes.

then, when you came to visit him at the rink for lunch, he was dragging you into a random corner, kissing you like he was trying to take all of the oxygen from your body. his heavy frame pinning you against the smooth wall of whatever deserted hallway you were in. he knew you were close to being his again, having his own tracker app on his phone for your cycle. which also means he knew you were in the stage where you were becoming increasingly more desperate and horny as the hours ticked by.

“nico…not here. please. you know we can’t. just another day or so,” you’d pant out, so close to just letting him have his way with you anyways. his response would be a hand coming up to cup over your sex, digging the palm of his hand into your clothed clit. “just think of everything you could’ve had already. all the fun you’ve missed out on, caused me to miss out on” he whispers gruffly in your ear, biting the sensitive skin there. “don’t you think i finally deserve my reward for having such a good game the other night?”

you let out a harsh gasp, the sight of your open mouth and perfect tongue poking out combined with your wild eyes nearly enough to make him start ripping clothes off right here, not a care in the world if anyone would see the two of you or not. he brings a hand up to pinch your bottom lip between his fingers, pulling the skin out. he has the urge to do something he never has before, which is letting a dribble of spit drop directly from his mouth into the small pocket created by your outstretched bottom lip.

he watches your pupils dilate in surprise, releasing your skin so it snaps back into place. he looks down at your throat, watching you swallow the saliva he just transferred to you. he smirks, knowing by the look on your face, and clench of your thighs, he’s almost got you.

you hear footsteps approaching the two of you, straightening up and pushing nico away from you only slightly, not wanting to get caught in a compromising position in his workplace. an equipment manager rounds the corner, looking up when he notices the two of you and waves.

“hey cap! got that new stick in you were wanting! on my way to go pick it up now, actually. meet me out on the ice?” he waves in greeting, cheery attitude showing he’s excited about the delivery.

“sure thing! see you out there in a few!” nico responds just as enthusiastically, a stark contrast from his demeanor mere seconds ago. you both watch the man retreat down the hallway, having given you a small wave of goodbye, which you returned.

“okay well…i’ll…uh…see you at home, yeah?” you clear your throat, hardly able to concentrate on the words you’re speaking.

“mhmm. see you in a bit,” he places a kiss to your forehead, backing away from your still stunned figure. “oh! and stop by the kitchen on your way out. grab a water, you seem a little…thirsty,” he smirks at you as he walks backwards, teasing you for just how quick you were to accept and swallow his spittle moments ago.

that night when he returned home, he couldn’t find you anywhere. you weren’t in the living room on the couch, in the small kitchen, in the bedroom. when he called out your name you emerged from the shared walk in closet, clad in his favorite lingerie set of yours.

“good news, neeks,” is all you managed to get out before he was stomping towards you, backing you against the floor-to-ceiling shelving of the closet. a few shoes dropped off the shelf at the force of his actions, but that was the least of your worries right now. you could fix them in the morning, considering the two of you never managed to leave the space the whole night, waking up on the carpeted floor to his soft snores, one of his suit jackets draped over your naked body as a makeshift blanket.

[jlheon]

𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐆𝐎 ୨୧ 𝐋𝐇𝐒

(𝓹airing) ── lhs x fmr ꣑୧ 𝓮xes to lovers ? ; idol au, angst, & fluff (𝔀ordcount) one thousand 𝓹eng's note. abrupt ending & not proofread oops 𝓫ookshelf

𝓼ynopsis. the idol life was what tore you and heeseung a part, but now you reside under the same label

lee heeseung is everywhere you go.

both of you are idols under companies under hybe. it’s not a rare occurrence to see your ex-boyfriend walking down the same halls, music shows award shows, flights, and every place imaginable.

it’s not unbeatable of course.

you are used to it, while it seems lee heeseung has erased you out of his memory.

acting normal, cordial, when you bump each each other in the elevator.

it’s like you never existed, like you never were a chapter in his life, but it’s not like you can do anything about it now.

THAT’S JUST THE WAY THINGS GO.

you dated heeseung for most of your teenage years.

as corny as it was, you thought he was the one and spend your whole lives together.

that you would end up marrying your first boyfriend.

you both shared the same dream, to become an idol. thus leading to the two of you auditioning for the same companies and picking one since you both got in.

heeseung and you practiced together in secret.

though he got ahead first, from nearly making it into txt and being picked for iland, heeseung was ready to debut.

on the other hand, you still had to wait a couple of years before hybe would consider debuting a girl group.

so you both agreed to break up in the midst of heeseung leaving to film the survival show.

it hurt, it did, but you spent all the remaining weeks together. a sort of final goodbye dragged out as the both of you didn’t want to let go of your relationship just yet.

it was a weird limbo stage.

the handful of friends who knew of your relationship were informed you two had parted ways while you two stayed glued to the hip in secret.

the morning of your last day with heeseung, you cried in his bathroom while he was still asleep.

you tried not to wake him and let him see you in such a state but he heard you. sliding down on his floor to take you into his arms as you cried.

neither of you talked during your last day together. some whispers of one-word replies every couple of hours but most of the time was solely about being close to the other. basking in each other's touch and presence for one final time.

you knew everything would be different after this survival show.

lee heeseung had everything, he was perfect, he was debut-ready. there was not a single doubt that he wouldn’t win the show and become a beloved idol.

even if there was a sliver of a chance he’d lose, his public debut even as a trainee would garner a fanbase waiting for his debut at another time.

when heeseung inevitably placed fifth overall you were watching in your room. a bittersweet feeling washing over you when you remember this means that it was the official end of you and heeseung. your chapter in his life coming to a close.

the last time heeseung contacts you was two days after the finale of iland aired.

a simple, text wishing you debut soon, that he is going to cut contact due to his dating ban, and needing to focus on his career.

you want to hate heeseung.

to yell at him over the phone and scream in his face about how he can’t just leave you behind like that. say that he can’t just forget about you after everything you’ve been through together.

but the other part of you wants to hope. to beg for him back. whether it meant in the future when you hopefully make your debut and he’s in the clear to date or secretly dating now. 

alas, you congratulate him and say only time will tell.

THERE’S SO MUCH LEFT TO SAY, I GUESS I’M JUST THE BIGGER GUY.

now three years past you’ve debuted and are thriving as one of hybe’s newest girl groups.

gaining in popularity with the latest release of your group's first full-length studio album.

which comes with the hectic schedules of filming music shows, variety shows, collaborations tiktoks, and more.

unfortunately or fortunately, enhypen just so happened to have a comeback at the same time. even promoting at the same music show on the same day. 

when your manager told you that you were set to make a video with an enhypen member you felt sick. there was a one in seven chance it would be heeseung.

though you had no say whether or not you did it.

nobody knew of you and heeseung’s past and it was planned to stay that way.

as you walked up to the shooting spot the air in your lungs slowly disappeared. nearly choking when you saw heeseung standing there watching your group's dance as he went over it in his head.

“hey,” heeseung whispered shyly when you quietly stood next to him.

you offer him a bow, as he was now your senior, not the boy you spent years loving.

it’s too quiet when you finish filming the tiktok challenge. rewatching it with heeseung after taking one final shot and bowing goodbye.

though after you notice the camera for both of your groups' behinds stop rolling and your manager doesn’t whisk you away just yet.

the amount of staff slowly disappears and you are about to follow after when you feel a grip on your wrist.

tugging you back towards himself, heeseung wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close.

“heeseung?” you question, words coming out airy.

“____,” he whispers, nuzzling his head into your hair, “i missed you.”

“you’re going to get us in trouble,” you mutter, though truthfully you just want to melt into his embrace.

“it’s okay,” heeseung’s grip loosens, only to spin you around in his hold. he looks down at your confused face, “i asked for some privacy with you.”

“why?” you whisper, his mere touch after years of yearning making goosebumps arise on your skin.

“i miss you a lot,” his arm rests around your waist. the other cradles your head and pushes it to rest on his chest, “please, i’m finally able to try us again.”

“i’m still on dating ban,” you frown, finally surrendering and hugging your ex-boyfriend back.

“i talked to your manager,” heeseung holds you tightly, “i took care of everything. please give me a chance again.”

it might be three years later, but for you, lee heeseung can wait thousands of years.

AND I DON’T MIND THAT THAT’S THE WAY THINGS GO.