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[emmaella139]

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[softstarsabove]

A little bday drabble that's very self-indulgent cause I've had a bad week :)

Not paired with anyone in specific, I wrote it with my comfort characters in mind

"Happy birthday to me.."

You sing quietly to yourself, trying to keep your voice even and the tears at bay. A little cake, made in a mug you use for tea because you didn't have enough to buy a proper cake sat in front of you on the otherwise empty table.

You continued to sing as you light the small pink candle in the dark room, hiccuping as a small cry threatened to escape.. god, of all days. Work was kicking your ass. Your co-workers seemed a bit more harsh in the last few days, but you couldn't think of anything you'd done..

You blow out the candle and pick up your fork, but you don't feel well enough to have a bite of something so sweet..

Knock knock knock

The sound of a key twisting in the lock sounded, and you look over to see the door open, a tall figure standing in the light-filled hall before stepping inside.

"What are you doing in the dark?" His voice was smooth and comforting as always, but tonight, the comfort seemed to make it harder to swallow through the lump in your throat, you're eyes glossing with fresh tears as he walked over, bending to wrap his arms around you from behind the chair, nuzzling his face into your hair.

"What's wrong, baby?" You could only shake your head, because honestly? Nothing was specifically wrong.. everything just seemed like a big deal when it really wasn't.

"I just.. I dunno- everything feels like it's going wrong lately.." your words are hardly above a whisper, holding one of his big hands around you, the warmth giving a sense of calm in the mess that was your mind.

He pressed a kiss to your head, "how much have you eaten today..?"

"..hardly any.." he gave a small sigh but didn't scold you. He simply picked up the fork you left on the table and scooped up a bit of cake to hold up for you to take a reluctant bite.

"..'t's too sweet.."

"Really?" He takes another scoop and takes a bite himself, chuckling when you cringe at the sight of having to share the silverware. A strange dislike of yours, sharing silverware, yet you'd makeout for hours like it was the best taste ever. "Mm, maybe a little. Just take small bites then."

He held another bit of cake up to your lips, smiling softly as you took it into your mouth. He knows you don't see it, but the fondness and love in his gaze has no match. You may think yourself unlovable sometimes, but he couldn't think of anyone who could even come close to how much love he holds for you.

You look up at him when he starts to hum, parting his lips to actually sing the words, "happy birthday to you..~"

You couldn't hold the small giggle while he sang. It was rare to hear, but boy, was it a gift to the ears when he did.

"Ah! There's a smile~!" He poked your cheek, a grin of his own painting his beautiful lips. He suddenly lifted a small gift bag to set on the table, "got you something~"

You give him a small look.. you told him not to, but you pull the bag a little closer anyway. Pulling out the tissue paper, you take out a small picture frame, a small smile tugging your lips when you see your favorite photo together in such a pretty decorated frame.

"Thank you.." he smiles and rests his chin on top of your head. "I had the frame custom made. Y'know how many shops I had to visit to find the perfect material~?"

You chew on your bottom lip, blinking away the tears that stung your eyes again, "there's one more thing."

You reach into the bag one more time and pull out a small ring box.. you try to turn your head to look up at him, but he doesn't let you, "open it."

You pull the box open, and there sat two simple silver rings, "they're promise rings.." he explained while sliding his hands from around you to the box, pulling one of the rings out and taking your hand. "..cause I promise I'll be here for every single birthday. Every year." His voice is smooth in your ears as he slides the ring on, a perfect fit, but he knew that.

Hiccuping with silent tears falling, you can only watch him slip the second ring onto his finger to match.

He hugs you tightly again, suddenly pulling you up from the chair to hold you in his arms, making you giggled through your tight throat.

"God, I love you so much." He sets you on your feet and lets you turn around to face him. Looking into his pretty eyes, you smile as he wipes your tears and pulls you a little closer.

"Love you too.. even more.." he grins, holding your chin between his fingers to tilt your hear a little, drawing you in. "Nah, I don't think so."

You close your eyes and lean in the rest of the way to meet him in a sweet kiss, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck while he holds your hips.

Maybe it isn't such a bad birthday after all..

[blissfulflw]

please i love slightly jealous chaewon :( it be fun to see the other girls get equally protective of reader with other people around please! :(

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝑈𝑛𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑

Pairing- Kim Chaewon x fem reader

Genre- Fluff

Word count- 3558

A/N: Tysm for requesting anon!! This lowk fits in so well

Part 1 - Part 2

Practices - Dorms - Interviews - Prank

The Melon Music Awards were a kaleidoscope of noise and color—blinding lights, endless camera clicks, cheers swelling like ocean waves outside the venue doors. Inside, idols shimmered like ornaments, laughing, bowing, talking over each other in excited hums.

You stood quietly at the edge of it all.

Dressed in custom black velvet with icy silver accents, you looked every bit the chaebol-daughter-turned-idol the media loved to speculate about. Your long earrings brushed against your collarbone when you tilted your head, face unreadable. You didn’t speak unless needed, didn’t smile unless prompted. Some called it aloofness. Others, mystery.

To LE SSERAFIM, you were just you.

Yunjin had once called you “a locked jewelry box with a velvet lining.” Eunchae, more bluntly, said you were like a snow leopard. Beautiful. Rare. Slightly terrifying.

But Kim Chaewon?

She saw through the glass.

Now, backstage at MMA, your group was waiting for the next stage cue. The five members surrounded you—laughing, fixing each other’s hair, reapplying gloss—but you kept your eyes low, hands folded at your stomach, posture perfect. You were used to waiting. You were used to silence.

Then, someone new stepped into your space.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

A tall male idol, maybe a year or two older, from a boy group known for their flirt-heavy image. You recognized him instantly—his name was on too many trending posts not to. He smiled wide and smooth like butter, voice dropping into a tone too practiced to be friendly.

“You were incredible in your last stage,” he added, eyes flicking from your lips to your waist, subtle but calculated. “I didn’t know LE SSERAFIM had someone like you hiding in plain sight.”

You blinked once.

“Thank you,” you said, voice low and even. Non-inviting. Still, he took it as permission.

He stepped closer. “I was thinking—maybe after the show, we could—”

“She doesn’t like sweets,” came a soft voice behind you. “But thank you.”

You turned slightly, already knowing who it was.

Chaewon had appeared beside you, standing a little too close for it to be casual. Her expression was calm, but her tone left no room for confusion. One brow raised ever so slightly.

The boy paused, his smooth act faltering. “I wasn’t offering—”

“She also doesn’t like being cornered,” Yunjin chimed in suddenly, materializing on your other side like a perfectly timed storm. She smiled, all teeth. “But we love that you noticed her. So flattering.”

The male idol lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to offend.” He retreated with a wink, aimed at you. You didn’t return it. You didn’t even blink.

As soon as he was gone, Eunchae flopped against your back like a clingy little sister, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Ugh, I hate him,” she muttered into your hair.

“His cologne has more lines than his acting career,” Kazuha deadpanned, smoothing down the side of your dress.

You weren’t sure what to say. The adrenaline was still caught in your chest, even if your face showed none of it.

Chaewon looked at you again—not asking, not pressing. Just… watching.

“Thank you,” you murmured, not to all of them. Just her.

She nodded, barely, lips twitching at the corner. “Of course.”

Yunjin leaned in close to whisper in your ear with a mock conspiratorial tone, “You know she was about to break that guy’s kneecaps if he didn’t back off.”

“Shut up,” Chaewon muttered, tugging her jacket sleeve lower over her hand.

You felt it then, warmth creeping into your chest. Not loud, not showy.

But there.

A flicker of something.

Like the softest thaw of snow.

_____

The green room buzzed with residual excitement. Screens along the wall replayed performances in an endless loop, and the faint beat of bass from the main stage thudded through the floor like a second heartbeat. Staff members moved in and out like shadows, checking microphones, retouching hair, whispering reminders.

You sat in a corner of the room, away from the noise, fingers grazing the edge of your water bottle. Your heels were off, your posture finally relaxed. No cameras here. No expectations.

Just them.

The group filled the room with their usual energy—Yunjin singing into a hairbrush, Eunchae trying to braid Kazuha’s hair mid-protest, Sakura laughing as she filmed it all on her phone. But Chaewon…

She was watching you again.

Noticing.

She always did.

She approached without a word and settled beside you on the low velvet couch, close enough for your knees to bump. For a moment, you just sat in silence. You didn’t move away. She didn’t speak.

“You’re okay?” she asked finally, voice low. The kind of tone people usually reserved for private hallways or midnight hotel rooms.

You hesitated.

People didn’t usually ask you that. They assumed you were fine—because you looked it. Because you’d been taught to.

You nodded once.

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re lying.”

You blinked, caught. Not used to someone seeing through the walls.

“I didn’t want to cause a scene,” you said eventually, voice so soft it nearly got swallowed by the buzz around you. “This isn’t the place.”

Chaewon smiled faintly. “Doesn’t have to be loud to be honest.”

You looked at her, really looked—bare face glowing under the soft room lighting, short hair tucked behind one ear, posture a little slouched the way only someone who had stopped performing could be.

“I hate when people pretend to know me,” you murmured. “They act like they get it. They don’t.”

She nodded slowly. “No, they don’t.”

“But you didn’t say that,” you added after a pause.

“I didn’t have to.”

That silenced you more than anything else.

Her hand brushed yours—not holding, not grabbing. Just… resting. Warm. Casual. Like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“Next time,” she said gently, “you don’t have to wait until he says too much. Just look at me.”

You turned your hand just slightly, enough that your pinky touched hers.

“I did,” you whispered.

For a moment, her breath caught. You felt it more than heard it.

From across the room, Yunjin howled dramatically, “You two look like a drama scene from a winter romance commercial, I cannot.”

You pulled your hand back fast, cheeks coloring faintly. Chaewon just gave Yunjin a bland look, the tips of her ears red.

Sakura, behind her phone, deadpanned, “The caption’s going to say: ‘Will she melt her frozen heart?’”

“Or,” Kazuha added dryly, “‘He said hi, and then she died.’”

Eunchae was practically on the floor laughing.

You stood up abruptly, grabbing a snack from the table and chucking it lightly at Yunjin’s head. She dodged, shrieking, and tackled you from behind in a hug. The others joined in like wolves sensing weakness.

“You’re BLUSHING,” Yunjin cried gleefully.

“I am not.”

“You’re trying not to smile, that’s even worse!”

“Shut up—”

In the middle of the chaos, you caught Chaewon’s gaze over their heads.

She was smiling.

Soft and proud.

And—for the first time since you debuted—you smiled back.

Not for the cameras.

Not for the crowd.

Just for her.

_____

The backstage hallway was dim and buzzing with low chatter—idols waiting for their call times, staff rushing with clipboards, lighting techs whispering through headsets. You stood near the refreshment table, taking a quiet moment alone. The others had scattered for a second—bathroom breaks, stretching, fixing lipstick. You didn’t mind. Space was rare.

You reached for a bottle of water just as a familiar voice slipped into the air beside you.

“There you are.”

You froze for half a beat.

That same male idol. The flirt. Hair slicked back now, jacket off, shirt unbuttoned one too far. He offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You disappeared before I could finish what I was saying,” he added, stepping too close again—like he thought your silence last time had been shyness, not disinterest.

You stepped back slightly, clutching the bottle tighter. “I think you said enough.”

He chuckled. “You’re cold, huh? I like that. Makes it fun.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

Because in the next second, the air around you shifted.

Like a storm arriving.

“Did we miss something?” Yunjin’s voice came first—sharp and sweet, like a knife hidden in silk.

You turned your head slightly to see her leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, one brow lifted. Chaewon stood just beside her, unreadable. Not angry. Not emotional.

Just watching.

And that was somehow worse.

Sakura appeared next—quiet as a shadow, eyes flicking between the two of you like she was sizing him up. Kazuha joined her, face unreadable, posture calm but ready.

Then Eunchae.

And suddenly, the hallway didn’t feel so open anymore.

It felt full. Protective. Pack-like.

The boy glanced around, his easy grin faltering just slightly.

“I was just talking to her,” he said, trying for casual. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

Yunjin smiled, all teeth. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not her toes you should be worried about.”

Kazuha stepped forward just a fraction, enough to shift the tension. “She said she wasn’t interested.”

“Did she say that?” he asked, looking back to you like you owed him softness.

This time it was Chaewon who stepped in—closer, slow, deliberate. “She didn’t need to,” she said. “We saw her face.”

“I don’t think you get to speak for her,” he said, more defensive now. “She can talk, can’t she?”

The air dropped five degrees.

“I can,” you said, voice low. “I just didn’t think it was worth wasting on you.”

He stared, surprised—not by the words, but the fact you said them at all. Before he could respond, Sakura stepped in with a sugary voice and a blade beneath it:

“You should go. You’re outnumbered. And frankly? Outclassed.”

The boy raised his hands in surrender and gave a tight laugh. “Alright. Message received.”

He walked off without another word.

Silence lingered for a beat before Eunchae let out a breath. “Creep.”

Kazuha gently touched your elbow. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t expect him to come back.”

“He won’t again,” Chaewon said, quiet but absolute.

“Not unless he wants to be reincarnated as a bench,” Yunjin added, cracking her knuckles.

They all looked at you, waiting—not for thanks. Just to see what you needed.

You blinked, overwhelmed for a moment. Not by fear. But by the fact that… you didn’t have to fight alone.

“You guys are really intense,” you said softly, almost laughing.

Yunjin smirked. “You think this is intense? You haven’t seen what happens when someone messes with our snacks.”

“Or with Chaewon,” Eunchae muttered under her breath. “She was about to eject that man with her eyes.”

“She was,” you said, voice quieter, more thoughtful.

Chaewon didn’t meet your gaze. “He was making you uncomfortable. That’s all I needed to know.”

For once, you didn’t hide your smile. And this time, the group didn’t tease you for it.

They just surrounded you—physically and emotionally. Like it was second nature. Because for them, it was.

And for the first time since you became an idol… you felt safe.

_____

The lights in the arena burned like stars.

Flickering spotlights swept across rows of idols, fans screamed from every tier, and the sound system boomed loud enough to rattle the stage. The Melon Music Awards were in full motion—speeches, performances, the usual polished chaos.

You sat between Chaewon and Yunjin at the group’s designated table. Cameras scanned the crowd often, so you kept your posture flawless, expression calm, the usual elegant distance in your eyes. But under the table, your hands were clasped in your lap tighter than necessary.

He was a few tables away.

Still smiling like nothing had happened.

Your jaw clenched, but before you could spiral too far, you felt a shift beside you.

Chaewon’s hand brushed against your leg—not obvious, just her pinky resting lightly against your thigh. A grounding point. You glanced sideways.

She didn’t look at you, eyes fixed on the screen showing highlights from past performances. But the message was there.

You’re not alone.

Yunjin noticed too, her eyes flicking between the two of you. She gave you the barest nudge with her shoulder and leaned over to whisper, “If you want, I can trip him on the way to the bathroom. I’ve got long legs, they’ll never know.”

You snorted quietly. “Tempting.”

“You say the word.”

Another announcement echoed through the arena. One of the awards you weren’t expecting to win—Best Female Performance Group—was about to be revealed. The camera swept to your table. Everyone in LE SSERAFIM straightened subtly.

“And the award goes to…”

“LE SSERAFIM!”

The arena erupted.

Eunchae grabbed Sakura’s hand, yelling. Yunjin practically launched out of her seat. Kazuha’s mouth fell open before she smiled wide, rising with elegant grace. You blinked, surprised—but your body moved automatically, following Chaewon as she took the lead to the stage.

Onstage, lights blinded you, the cheers of fans like waves crashing against you. You stood slightly behind the others, where you felt most comfortable, your expression composed—but your heart was racing.

Chaewon stepped to the mic first, voice steady but touched with emotion as she thanked the company, staff, fans, and the team. Then Sakura spoke briefly, followed by Yunjin with a typical quip that made the crowd laugh.

Then… Chaewon looked to you.

There was no official plan for you to speak. You never spoke.

But she stepped back, subtly opening the space between her and the mic. The message was clear: If you want to.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The audience watched.

The cameras waited.

The members looked at you—no pressure, only belief.

You took half a step forward.

“…Thank you,” you said, voice soft but surprisingly clear. “For giving people like me a place to belong. And for letting me stay quiet… until I’m ready not to be.”

A hush fell across the venue for a heartbeat.

Then the crowd exploded.

You stepped back again, not smiling—but your eyes flicked to Chaewon. Her expression was unreadable to the audience, but you knew. Her hand reached for yours subtly behind the other members. You didn’t hesitate this time.

You held it.

Firm. Quiet. Sure.

As you all bowed together, the group united like a silhouette cast in gold light, it felt like something final had shifted.

Not just in the public eye.

But between you and them.

And when you glanced at the other table—the one with the idol who had cornered you earlier—you didn’t feel small or nervous anymore.

You felt untouchable.

Because this wasn’t just a group.

It was a shield.

A home.

A family.

Back at the hotel suite, the champagne was swapped for sparkling cider, and heels were flung off like confetti.

LE SSERAFIM was buzzing—with adrenaline, victory, and the electric high of being seen. The award sat on the coffee table between takeout containers and half-empty dessert boxes like a jewel in the middle of organized chaos.

Yunjin had music playing from her phone, some remix of their own track that she insisted sounded better with her “secret DJ bass boost.” Eunchae was twirling in one of the hotel robes like it was couture. Kazuha had stolen one of your snacks. Sakura was already editing a behind-the-scenes video.

You were on the couch, curled into the corner with a drink in hand and Chaewon beside you—close again, always.

“So…” Yunjin plopped down across from you two, leaning back on her hands, smirking. “Speech girl.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“You spoke. With your whole chest.”

Eunchae popped up behind the couch, eyes wide. “I thought you were gonna cry. I almost cried.”

Kazuha nodded, holding up a cookie. “I did cry.”

Sakura didn’t look up from her phone. “Already have six fancams of the exact moment. You’re trending.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Seriously?”

“#DiamondUnspoken,” Yunjin grinned. “Even the press is shook. Apparently, when the cold member speaks, the world listens.”

Chaewon snorted softly beside you but didn’t say anything. Her fingers were tucked near yours again on the couch cushion.

“You okay with that?” Sakura asked, voice gentler now. “People watching more than usual?”

You thought for a moment.

You weren’t used to being the center of a moment. That was Chaewon’s space. Yunjin’s, even Eunchae’s. You preferred the shadows, the quiet strength. But tonight felt different. Like stepping out of the cold into a room already warmed for you.

“I think… I’m okay with it,” you said quietly. Then you added, “Because I wasn’t alone.”

That got you a moment of silence.

Then Yunjin groaned. “Okay, now I’m crying.”

Kazuha passed her a tissue wordlessly.

“Group hug?” Eunchae suggested, already crawling over the back of the couch. You braced for it—too late.

“Wait—”

You were buried in a pile of warm limbs and chaotic affection, Yunjin yelling something about “sisterhood supremacy,” Sakura deadpan whispering “don’t crush the award,” and Chaewon—quietly—laughing beside your ear.

You’d never heard that sound from her before.

It made your chest ache.

Eventually, the weight lifted, and the girls returned to their food and chaotic chatter, promising to let you breathe “for now.” You stayed behind, still tucked in your corner of the couch. Chaewon didn’t move either.

She looked at you once the others were distracted.

“I was proud of you,” she said simply.

“I wasn’t planning to speak.”

“I know.”

You hesitated. Then:

“You made space for me.”

Chaewon looked down, lips curling into a faint smile. “You took it.”

Silence settled between you—but it wasn’t empty. It was full. Of everything unspoken and everything understood.

“…Chaewon?”

She turned slightly toward you.

“If I said I wanted to keep… taking space. Like that. With you—would that be okay?”

For the first time all night, she looked caught off-guard. Not shocked. Just still.

Then her hand reached for yours again—this time, lacing your fingers together fully. Not hidden. Not subtle.

“Only if I get to stay in it.”

You leaned your head on her shoulder.

In the background, someone started a food fight with whipped cream.

But you didn’t move.

Not anymore.

_____

It was almost 2 a.m. when you slipped out of the bedroom.

The celebration had burned itself out into soft laughter, mumbled goodnights, and the sound of someone snoring down the hallway—probably Eunchae. The hotel suite was finally quiet, city lights bleeding faintly through the balcony curtains, silvering the wood floors.

You padded into the kitchenette, still in your stage makeup, robe draped over your pajamas. Your stomach rumbled. Adrenaline had killed your appetite earlier, but now that everything was settling…

You opened the mini fridge, blinking at the leftover fruit tray and a half-eaten slice of cheesecake.

“Midnight cravings?”

You turned.

Chaewon stood in the doorway, hoodie zipped to her chin, socks mismatched, hair mussed from sleep. She looked smaller like this—softer, more human. You relaxed without meaning to.

“Yeah,” you said. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She nodded and crossed the room to join you. “Me neither.”

You both stood there for a moment, staring at the fridge like it held all the answers.

“…Wanna make something?” she asked. “Like… pancakes?”

“There’s no stove.”

“We have a microwave and emotional trauma. We’ll improvise.”

You smiled. A real one.

Ten minutes later, the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder in the kitchenette, using a paper plate, Nutella packets, and sliced strawberries to build what Eunchae would later call a ‘war crime of a dessert crepe.’ But right now, it was perfect.

Chaewon offered you a plastic spoonful of whipped cream. You leaned forward and took it without hesitation.

“You really surprised me tonight,” she said after a beat. “Onstage.”

You wiped the corner of your mouth. “Surprised myself, too.”

“Why then?” she asked. “What changed?”

You set the spoon down, fingers curling slightly against the counter.

“…You,” you admitted.

She turned to face you, eyes soft.

“You made it feel okay. Like… if I stepped out and everyone turned to look at me, it wouldn’t crush me. Because I’d look left and you’d be there.”

Chaewon’s lips parted, just slightly. You watched her take in the words like she was afraid to breathe too hard and ruin the moment.

“I don’t open up easily,” you continued, voice quieter now. “I know I keep people at arm’s length. It’s safer there. But with you… I forget to.”

You looked down at the half-finished dessert, your voice barely a whisper.

“And I don’t want to.”

The silence stretched. It wasn’t awkward. Just heavy, in the way meaningful things often are.

Then Chaewon reached out—gently tilting your chin up with two fingers.

“I was scared to tell you this,” she murmured. “But I think I started falling the first time you said nothing in a room full of people trying too hard to be heard.”

You blinked.

Then breathed out.

“Say that again,” you whispered.

She leaned in just enough that her forehead nearly touched yours.

“I like you,” she said. “Not the image. Not the elegance. You. Even when you’re quiet. Especially then.”

Your hands found her hoodie, soft and warm between your fingers. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

When you kissed her—soft, slow, careful—it tasted like strawberries and whipped cream and something even sweeter.

And when she kissed you back?

It tasted like something you’d never have to hide again.

[ttllynotmyshyt]

The Three-Meeting theory: MEETING ONE

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1,8k

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Y/n, a record store clerk in Toronto, spends a quiet day helping customers, including two YouTubers—one of whom leaves a lasting impression.

2 / 3

It was another long day at the record store — a Tuesday. One of the many that had come before and would come again. Bright sunbeams streamed through the windows, lighting up the sleeves and plastic boxes of records, revealing a thin film of dust on the shelves.

To y/n, a record store was an unusually personal place. Somewhere between the hundreds of clients she’d served, the stories they told, and the memories they shared while choosing their next purchase, she stopped seeing the covers as just artistic representations of a few pleasant-sounding wavelengths. Instead, they became symbols — snapshots of people’s most important moments. The beautiful thing about every record? Each one was someone’s favorite.

She turned to the new arrivals. The delivery, originally scheduled for early morning, had only arrived around midday. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She knew the drill: open the box, check for damage or missing content, enter each disc into the inventory, log the details, confirm pricing with her manager, tag the plastic sleeves, place them in the new arrivals section, update the online store. The most routine, unglamorous part of the job — but it paid the bills, just enough for rent, food, and the occasional treat. Not a dream paycheck, but enough for a twenty-something still finding her footing in Toronto.

The store’s owner, Vincent, was a kind man in his fifties who’d only opened the place after making money off some mysterious investment. No one ever asked what it was, as long as he paid fairly — which he did. One of the things nestled among the records in the delivery box was a thick-cover folder for the CVs that would soon pile up again, especially with summer approaching and teenagers hunting for part-time gigs. Y/n scoffed softly and set the folder aside, returning to the stack of records.

Her mind drifted briefly to the French course she’d taken mostly for fun, after her dad insisted it was essential — a deal-breaker, even — for landing a job in Canada. Surprisingly, he’d been right. Maybe it was her patience or her charisma that made her stand out to Vin, but the French sealed the deal. No one really needed a French speaker to buy vinyl in Toronto, but it sure looked good on paper.

The store was quiet. Typical for a Tuesday afternoon. A soft Miles Davis record drifted through the space, wrapping the regulars in a warm atmosphere that contrasted the cold wind outside, now stirring the falling rain. The soft tapping against the windows grew louder by the minute. Y/n looked up, watched the drops for a moment, then returned to her keyboard, entering details for the new album: a 2LP edition of Pink Floyd at Pompeii – MCMLXXII.

She wondered whose favorite this one was, and why. Maybe it played during a first kiss. Or a final goodbye. A road trip with the kids. A smoke session with a teenage dirtbag lover. Whatever the story, it had to mean something to someone.

While the printer spat out price tags, she took mental note of the doorbell chiming — something she’d check out after confirming there were no errors in the printout. She glanced up: a group of teenage girls entered. Not regulars. Their outfits were dotted with lace trims, pink bows, jean skirts, and leather bags. Laughter floated through the room. One fixed her lip gloss, another adjusted the camera she’d pulled from a tote.

Y/n smiled, bracing herself to make small talk.

Hi? Do you need any help? Nah, maybe… How may I help you today? Do you girls need anything? They probably don’t. …Are you looking for something?

She debated in her head while making her way over from behind the counter, not before placing the box she’d been working on behind it.

“Hello, do you girls need help finding anything?” she asked, her tone soft and practiced.

“Uhm, hello, actually, is it okay if we take photos here?” one of them asked, a little awkwardly — nothing she couldn’t predict.

“Of course. Just try not to include any shoppers who might not wanna be in the frame,” Y/n said, already used to it. “Looking for any albums in particular for the photo or…?”

“Thank you so much! Actually, yes. Do you guys have Lana Del Rey?”

Could’ve guessed from the outfits, Y/n thought.

“Sure. Just over by that wall,” she said, leading them over. “And if you’re taking full-body shots, stand with your back to the window. Lighting’s better from that angle.”

“Oh of course, thank you!” the girl with the camera beamed, adjusting accordingly.

“If you need anything else, I’ll be at the counter,” Y/n added, returning to her price tags. She glanced up now and then, reminding herself she wasn’t afraid of teenagers anymore.

The girls eventually left — presumably with the material for their next Instagram post stored on the SD card of their friend’s Sony.

Y/n's eyes drifted to the Lana Del Rey section. Norman Fucking Rockwell! stood out in front, pulling her back to a warm 2019 day when it came out. She let the memory linger for a few seconds before shaking it off and getting back to work.

Soon, she was done. Task crossed off the mental list. Right on cue, the doorbell chimed again. This time: two guys, roughly her age, deep in conversation. One carried a camera.

Y/n gave them a soft smile, already anticipating the question about to come.

“Hello, can I help you with anything?” she asked.

“Hi, is it okay if we record in here for a video?” one of them said. He wore a T-shirt with a triangle and the words Find X. His short, dark brown hair and slightly worried expression made him look oddly approachable.

“Yeah, of course. Just avoid filming anyone who might mind being in it,” she replied. Both guys visibly relaxed.

“Thank you so much.”

“Anytime. Let me know if you need help with anything else.”

They stepped away and started recording, laughing occasionally. This time around her mind drifted toward the evening — what she'd make for dinner, the feel of her cat brushing up against her leg, a warm cup of tea in her hands, and some movie she’d inevitably fall asleep watching halfway through. She busied herself with a few misplaced records, double-checked the sleeves on the side, and refreshed her mental map of the store just in case someone asked about a record she didn’t know.

When she heard footsteps nearing again, her gaze flicked toward the guys — already prepared for their return.

“Hi, sorry. Can I ask you something?” the other guy said. It was the first time she really looked at him. Dark eyes, curly hair with frosted tips. He had a posture that was both awkward and somehow relaxed.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” she said, noticing the camera slightly tilted to catch her but not her face. “Oh — and I don’t mind being in the video, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

They relaxed more and adjusted the camera toward her.

“Oh, thank you. What’s your name?” the guy with frosted tips asked.

“Y/n” she replied, a little curious now. “And you are?”

“I’m Hamzah, and this is Martin,” he said, gesturing to his friend.

“Cute. Nice to meet you guys,” she smiled. “You had a question?”

“Yes. Do you know Nettspend?” Hamzah asked, totally serious.

“Nettspend?”

“Yes. The rapper?”

“I think so? I’ve heard the name,” she said, brows furrowed. “Pretty sure we’ve got a… uh, CD? Not vinyl tho.”

“Oh, really?” Hamzah’s face lit up more than she expected.

“You know what that means, bro” Martin grinned, turning the camera on himself

“Can I—wait, can we see it?” Hamzah asked.

“Yeah, of course.” Y/n led them to the aisle, skimmed a few cases, and pulled one out. “Here.”

“That’s fire, boiiii,” Hamzah said, holding it to the camera, clearly pleased.

“How much is it?” Martin asked.

“Uhh… t'says twenty Canadian,” Hamzah read from the label, glancing at Y/n. She nodded.

“I’ll hold onto that. Thank you. We’ll keep looking for now,” he said.

Y/n returned to the register while they browsed. Eventually, they came back with a few items (obviously including the Nettspend cd).

“All set?” she asked, smiling.

“Almost. Thanks,” Martin replied. This time, Hamzah held the camera.

“I was actually hoping you could give us a recommendation,” Martin added. “Just… whatever you like listening to.”

Y/n blanked. Thousands of albums lived in her head, and somehow, the only thing she could think of was that that interaction with the girls earlier.

“Uh… Lana Del Rey? Norman Fucking Rockwell, let’s say.”

She cringed slightly at how unconvincing she sounded, like she couldn’t even persuade herself she liked the album.

“Lanaa! Love that. Do you know this one?” Martin burst into off-key singing: “Tell me I’m your national antheeem!”

Y/n laughed, surprised. “Wow. That just brought a tear to my eye. Ever considered singing professionally?” she said softly.

“Yes, actually. I used to sing when I was younger,” he said deadpan.

“Really?”

“No. But thank you,” he grinned. “We’ll just take these.” he laughed softly.

She rang them up, tucked the discs and receipt into a branded bag, and handed it over.

As they slowly headed for the door, she called out, “Wait — what’s your channel called?”

“Slushy Noobz,” they said in sync.

“Slushy Noobs?”

“Noobz. With a Z,” Hamzah corrected.

“Oh, bet. Thanks again. You guys made my day, Slushy Noobz. Hope you love what you bought.”

“I bet we will,” Hamzah said.

“And no, thank you!” Martin added, dragging the last word with a smirk. “Ay, shout out to the…” — he glanced at the sign — “shout out to Sonic freaking Boom. Sonic Boom, Toronto. Amazing. Guys, go show them some love,” he said to the camera

a/n: this is my first time writing since 2019 and back then i wasn't even writing in English so i hope this is actually any bearable. also parts 2 & 3 will be more interesting dw. Do give feedback.

[prettysatomii]

Treats!

Synopsis : Killua loves to eat, specifically sweets. You work at a small bakery filled with treats. It's convenient for him to come to your bakery and skip the other ones. Not for any other reason…

Killua zoldyck ❦

The bakery would open at 7:30am, and each morning you would be there. Rolling dough, making coffees, taking orders…Not that you minded of course! It was a rewarding job filled with the sweetest customers. The regulars consisted of a variety of old people, little kids, and a close friend of yours, Killua.

Today, you were set up at the register. Clicking away at the numbers and fetching pastries the customers wanted.

“Strawberry shortcake, banana bread, and coffee jelly, correct?“

The lady in front of you nodded along to your words. You smiled at her before moving away from the counter. A hum of words followed after.

“I’ll get that for you right away..!”

After tending to her, you sighed softly before looking back up to the next customer. A smile spread on your face after scanning him.

“Killua, back so soon?”

You slyly laughed as you looked back down at the register.

“Yeah, I just wanted some chocolate” Killua grumbled, turning his gaze away from you and toward the pastries on display. After a moment, his eyes dropped to your apron, lingering on the heart stitched in the center. You brought him back to reality when you spoke, pulling his attention back to your face.

“Hellooo?? What would you like?” You elongated your words with impatience but your smile said the opposite. “I said chocolate, idiot!”

“We have multiple chocolate desserts and a variety of chocolate. How am I supposed to know what you want? You try something new everyday!” You giggled quietly, your hand covering your mouth. Killua got a bit flustered but pushed it aside the best he could. He liked hearing your laugh although he would never admit that to you.

Good thing there wasn't anyone to see your customer service with him. You couldn't be sure that you wouldn't get into trouble for making fun of the boy.

“Did you make anything today?” His words broke the momentarily silence. His tone was different from earlier..perhaps softer? The prior look of frustration was replaced by a calm one. Killua was curious if you had made anything he saw through the glass.

“Most of our pastries are made the same day, Killua,” you replied, brows furrowing. “You know that.” Of course everything in the bakery was freshly made. You could've sworn you told him this before.

“That's not what I asked, did you make any of it?”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking from the pastries back to your face and settling there. You tilted your head in return, a small smile forming before you looked away. With a light pop of your glossed lips, you answered.

“Uhm... yes! Well, I made them last night, but they had to be set overnight, so technically they're finished today. These brownies over here...”

You walked over to the display case, sliding the glass to the side to pull out a large chocolate brownie. He stood on the other side staring at the dessert in your hands. Seriously, you were too good at this. If he had it his way, you’d be his personal baker. His eyes flicked to the white gloves you wore, tiny flowers embroidered at the wrists. Cute.

“I'll take it, how many did you make?”

“I made fifteen, they're all pretty big and very chocolatey. I hope you like it!” You reached below the counter and pulled out a small pink box, quickly folding it into shape.

“That box is pretty small for all of them don't you think?” He raised an eyebrow at you leaning against the counter to watch.

“All fifteen?” You didn't doubt he could eat them all but it was excessive at that. You set the pink box aside and reached for two larger ones, unfolding the cardboard with ease. After laying down a sheet of white paper, you began neatly placing the brownies inside.

Killua rested his chin in his hand, quietly watching. He’d probably inhale them the second he walked out the door. You looked pretty when you were so focused.

—

Gon and Killua went on an adventure for a week. So you didn't see him for a while. However while he was gone an amazing idea popped up into your head. Killua loves chocolate robots right?

The bakery closed early today, 1:30pm. You had asked Killua to hang out after your shift the day prior. The plan was to meet in your usual spot. A quiet, tucked away part of the park where you both liked to spend time together. A large pastry box propped up in your hands as you walked over there.

It was warm outside, the birds were quite active too. Chirping away in the trees. You eventually arrived, slipping through a few trees in the process. Of course, he was already there. His silver hair caught by the sun, a curious smile plastered on his face as soon as he saw the pastry box.

Killua was quick on his feet, suddenly behind you. Looking over your shoulder, “Heyy what's in the box?” He turned his head to look at you. A measly amount away from you. He noticed quickly looking away and back at the box. A faint pink covered his pale skin.

Your grip on the box became a bit firmer when he got closer. Killua noticed the slight change. “I made something for you, just a treat.” You smiled, shrugging your shoulders acting like it was nothing. Although you did feel a bit nervous handing the box off to him.

Killua opened the box with ease, having done so many times before. A surprised laugh came from him, you amazed him more everyday. His eyes sparkled as he looked back at you with something warmer.

“You made me a ginormous chocolate robot?! How long did this even take??” He wasted no time trying to bite into it all at once, only to fail miserably. Still, his mouth was full as he mumbled, “It tastes exactly the same too, you really are the best! No doubt.”

You couldn’t help but smile, watching him devour it over the next eighteen minutes. Yes, you’d timed it on your phone. You watched half amused and half worried. “It's not too much chocolate for you?” His hands weren't even dirty, he didn't give it a chance to melt.

Killua shook his head vigorously, “No way, you should make these more often.” He sat down on the bench patting on the seat next to him for you to follow.

“Thank you,” He said softly. He was like a cat, subtly inching closer but acting like it wasn't on purpose. His hand hovered near yours, barely brushing it as he tapped his foot, trying to act casual.

“You're welcome,” You murmured, then curiosity got the best of you. “You pass like three bakeries to get to mine, why not go to one of those?” You looked at him, the corners of your mouth lifting.

“I don't like them,” He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent, but there was something different in the way he avoided your gaze. You bit your tongue but decided to try to push just a little more. What was there to lose?

“Why not?” His response came rather quickly. Almost like it was instinct, Killua didn't have to think about it. “Cause you're not in them.” His embarrassment followed quickly. His face flushed as he shifted like he wanted to disappear into the bench.

You didn't respond, instead you gently laced your fingers with his. That was just enough to keep him grounded.

Killua didn't speak either, but the way his hand tightening around yours told you everything you needed to know.

[ottpopfic]

“Yeah here,” Jason digs out his phone to show him, but then the device decides he has built up too much electricity and short circuits “Dang it” he pouts as Leo laughs at him

“I swear that always happens when you try and show me things” he teases, reaching up to pull of the tool kit full of tiny screwdrivers and gizmos he keeps tucked into the slats of the floor above them for just this reason

“I blame you”

“How?” Leo smiles, removing the phone case and popping off the back so he can switch out the fuse Jason blew. Having the father of demigod cellular devices as a partner has its perks, and that includes custom phones with its own fuse box after the umpteenth one exploded in his face

“You make me staticy”

Leo snorts a laugh at him “Sap”

“Its true” Jason noses into the crook of his neck, enjoying watching his fingers work “At least five of my phone explosions were because you sent me a selfie”

“No!” Leo gasps at the new information, pausing to look at him over his shoulder “Your lying”

“I like your undershirt” Jason hides his face a little with the confession “and that time Piper did your makeup”

“Which time?”

“With the lip gloss” Jason feels a little jolt go up his spine at the memory, his hair probably sparking with how the static in the air snaps to him from the excitement. It had been one of the more subtle looks she's put on him, but it enhanced all of the parts of Leo’s face that kept Jason up at night, he barely got to look at the picture before the phone exploded in his hand “I never told you cause of it, you looked really good”

“Noted” Leo tries to laugh off, but Jason can tell he’s flustered. Its delightful

[kenthoescore]

💮 Blush Ice – Geto Suguru.

synopsis. Geto Suguru never thought that the smell of mentholated lychee vapes would get his cock hard and throbbing that is until the soft chime of his vape shop doors opened. part 2 here.

tags. geto as a vape shop owner, fem!reader, age gap (suguru is 28, reader is 21), mutual pinning, pervert!suguru, substance abuse, heavy mentions of smoking, vapes, and nicotine, explicit content. word count: 1.8k

note. not proofread, for the life of mine I cannot edit right now. part 2 will be posted soon. credits to: cafekitsune for the mdni banner.

You were going crazy.

It has been a full week since you promised to yourself to quit vaping. You were getting out of your mind, full bags of lollipops were sprawled across the table as you stared at them in hopes of fighting back your nicotine withdrawals.

Fuck my life.

The events of your life were not helping either, your grades getting below the average, the amount of stress the last year of college was slowly getting to you just as you decided to quit, and more importantly the fucking rent was due and you were not paid yet from your part-time job.

Your hands desperately inches to a cola flavored lollipop, and popping them into your gloss covered lips. Licking the sweetness and sucking it in hopes that it will satisfy you.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

You’ve reached your breaking point. The dull thud of the lollipop hitting the end of the bin as it was rendered useless as you threw it out. Fast steps echoed in the empty apartment as you rushed to your room, feeling the soft fabric of the carpet as you knelt down and pulled at the small hidden box under your wardrobe.

Your eyes twinkle as you finally spot the magenta colored pod, bringing it to your mouth as you take your first hit of the week, breaking the one-week long streak. Mentholated sweetness dragging down your throat as you inhaled, you closed your eyes and fell back into the floor.

“That’s the shit.”

You muttered to yourself, exhaling the white smoke out of your lungs and mouth. The room slowly being filled by fumes and lychee scented nicotine. You took another hit, then another, and another.

Until you notice the bitterness slowly creeping into your taste buds. With your head mildly spinning and your body growing heavier under unseen weight being pushed to you, you exhale.

“This is not the shit.”

Out of all the fucking time it could’ve burned. It chose this day. You threw the pod to the side, clutching your head as the world began to spin rapidly and your body heavier than a thousand rocks. You had to make a trip to the vape shop. Unfortunately for you, the shop which was just a few blocks down your street closed almost a week ago.

Which was, to be honest, the reason you swore to quit. But you had no extra money left to buy a new one.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Suguru exhaled, smirking to himself as he placed multiple new boxes on the glass cabinet. Restocking the supplies of nicotine to his shop. Thick smoke flying freely in the air as he took a hit of his own, intoxicating sweetness from the multiple nicotine products seeping outside the box of freshly purchased vapes.

Eccentric and detailed tattoos decorated his hands up to his forearm, his hair neatly pulled back into a bun, and a few strands spilling out in front. He continued to refill his store, pulling boxes and boxes of vapes out of one large container, muscles flexing and veins popping through his tank top.

His eyes peeked up as he bent down, the soft chime of the door grabbing his attention. A small gentle smile creeping its way up to his lips.

“How may I help you, sweetheart?”

Suguru hums, his words like satin, smooth and gentle as he stands up straight. Meeting the eyes of the new customer, which was you. He tilts his head ever so slightly taking in your appearance, memorizing your eyes and the way your eyes searched and looked around his shop. His observant eyes grazed curiously at you.

“You looking for somethin’?”

He added. Walking towards the counter where it separates you and him, leaning over the glass. The black piercing in his ear shining under the light. There was one thing that rang through your mind, he was fucking gorgeous.

Maybe the trip half way through town was worth it.

“Just a new disposable, please.”

Suguru nods, and smiles softly at you. Your breath catches up in your throat at how seemingly gentle this man was despite the littered tattoos on his arms. God, he was like a breath of fresh air.

“Any flavors in mind?”

Your eyes wander around the glass containers, black boxes with disposables as its cover. Blue, red, pink, yellow colored ones, almost every flavor you could imagine. You smile back at him, your eyes boring into his. His eyes were like an endless deep dark chasm.

“You have recommendations? Don’t say lychee ice or watermelon, please.”

He raised an eyebrow at you as he walked across the counter, pulling out a laminated card with all the flavors he had. Amusement carved into his pretty features, a smile crawled up to his lips. His curiosity about you intensified.

“You seem like the type to pick blush ice over and over again.” He joked, a smirk playing in his lips as he gave you the card. “You smell like lychee.” He added, shooting you a playful smile.

Your fingers brushed lightly against his as you accepted it. Suguru could not keep his eyes off of you. You gave him a smile, heart beginning to pound in your chest.

“Do I?” Suguru laughs at your reply, deep and raspy. He put one of his hands in his pockets, standing taller than you as he straightened up.

“Just a little bit, sweetheart.” He mused, averting his eyes to the card.

“D’you like fruity ones or pastry?” His fingers reached over the card, silver rings adorned his slender fingers as they slid from left to right.

“Fruity ones.” He nods, fingers pausing against the column of fruit flavored ones.

“Try mixed berries.” Pointing at a purple pod fading into white at the top. “Or grape soda.” he continues, his fingers dragging further down into the card, stopping at a purple pod darkening up at the bottom. His fingers merely a few inches away from your tits.

His fingers were distractingly pretty, your eyes following his every move.

“What do you think?” He asks, his fingers dropping to the counter, he leans back down. His dark hair astray from the clean bun brushing against the side of his temple.

Your eyes settled on the grape soda, a new flavor you haven’t tried.

Lowering the card on the counter, it landed with a soft thwack of the glass. Your mind swirled with thoughts. Was it really smart to spend your last money on some nic? Could it really be that bad to wait for a few days? You sighed. It was extremely careless to spend the last bucks for a disposable when you can get the roof on your head ripped away.

“Nevermind.” You gave him a polite smile, “I’ll have to wait a few days to get a new one.”

Suguru’s head tilted, he was all too familiar with situations like this. Normally, he would smile, nod and let the customer be on their way but he couldn’t do that. Not when he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It was inappropriate for him to fantasize about a customer, even worse, with someone he didn’t even know the name of.

But, God, you were fucking hot.

He cannot walk let you walk out of the store, no. He needed to make sure you would walk back in his shop.

“Say what, sweetheart. I’ll give you this one and you can just give me your old one. Safer for the environment than to just throw it out.”

Suguru was spitting things out now, despite the screams in his thoughts. He could potentially lose money, not that he didn’t have plenty. You could run away with it and never show your face again but he was willing to take a gamble. He was positive he was beginning to look like a creep in your eyes.

You were not. It was like the heavens gave you a fucking blessing as he offered it.

“Are you serious?” Your voice is laced with excitement and disbelief.

He nods, his hands opening the glass counter and pulling out a black box. It was the disposable he suggested. He had noticed the way your eyes landed on the grape soda a while ago, his eyes never missing a detail.

“As serious as you want me to.” He played it cool, taking a step back at his advances. The gentle smile showed up again in his features.

“I can’t possibly, what if I don’t show up again?”

Suguru chuckles, pushing the box to you, stopping a few inches to your hands.

“Then too bad, I can’t see your pretty face ‘round here no more.”

You grabbed the box, it had a little weight to it. Your eyes shifted from his then back to the box. Guilt settling in your stomach as the man offered it. Suguru leans it closer, you could smell the menthol coming out of his breaths, a pleasant scent you could get intoxicated in.

“Trust me, baby. You can take it.” He whispered.

His hands slithering to hold yours. Eyes piercing into you as his eyes dropped to your lips.

You could feel the tension, the building heat in your core as he inches closer. The thick nicotine in the air makes you feel dizzy as you look into his eyes, he lets out a short deep chuckle as if he was taunting you. His eyes snap back into yours hazed with lust.

“T-thanks.”

Your voice shakes, sucking in a deep inhale. You had to fight every urge in your body to not smash your lips against his and sink to your knees to give the man a blowjob as thanks, lips closing around on his cock as your hands pump the parts you can’t fit in your tiny mouth.

He backs up, the smile still on his lips. He cleared his throat and took a hit of his vape.

If he would dare, he would kiss your lips right now and wrap a hand around your pretty throat decorating it with his own marks. Fuck you right there in the shop where the tinted windows would do a decent job of hiding the both of you, bend you over the counter while his hands would take a hold of your hips and keep you in your place.

Maybe he would slip a finger or two in your mouth as he whispers filthy words into your ears.

But not today.

“No problem, sweetheart.” His voice was sweet.

He then turns around quickly, hiding the print of his dick through his pants as it gets tighter and tighter the more you stand near his presence. He clears his throat, his face doing a good job of covering the dirty thoughts he had of you.

“See you ‘round.”

With a shuddering breath, you step out of the shop. The newly purchased, or should you say given? Vape in your hand. You were certainly going back in there.

Maybe get in cashless, and offer your pussy that was making a mess in your underwear for a smoke.

[esimsterlookbook]

Young Professionals CC Look book (With Links!)

Sul sul simmers! Welcome to my first post, here is my young professionals look book. Including 10 outfits - 8 for feminine frame sims and 2 for masculine frame sims. I tried to keep in mind the office dress code for each sim, but took some liberties with the sims world.  

The base sims will each be posted soon about their genetics

Thank you so much to custom content creators for all their work, special thanks to @rimings @gorillax3-cc @christopher067 and @pralinesims because I used A LOT of their work in this look book. I highly suggest checking out all the creators linked, above and below, as I adore their work. I love being able to create such interesting sims or all within one theme and CC creators make that possible.

If a link isn’t up to date or not working please let me know and I will try to fix it!

Nia Base Sim Info

Nia Outfit 1:

Hair / Top / Bottoms / Shoes-V6 / Lashes / Makeup 1 / Eyeshadow - 90 frappe / quinn earrings / Rings - both / Box chain necklace

Nia Outfit 2:

Hair / Dress - mock neck dress / Shoes - Donatella Pumps / Lashes / Kendall Blush / Makeup / Princess beam eyeshadow / Lips 230 / Marija Bracelet / Daryna watch / Monet rings -both / Basic Coin Necklace

Carlene Base Sim Info

Carlene Outfit 1:

Cherry Hair / Blazer Vest Dress & Turtleneck II / AndreaBoots / Lashes N04 / Lips N40 / Kiss me eyeshadow / Eyeliner 121 / Basic Coin Necklace / AxA Tights / Thunder Earrings / Malice Nose Piercing / Dainty triple ring 

Carlene Outfit 2:

Hair N30 / Belted Jacket Dress / Platforms 06 / AxA Necklace V2 

Kennedy Base Sim Info

Kennedy Outfit 1:

Tansy Hair / Casual suit blazer with waist bag / Pants 001 / Mary Jane Shoes / Eyelash v4 / Petals Makeup / Creamy Shadows / Quinn Rings / Perla Rings 

Kennedy Outfit 2:

Marie 365 Hair / Short Jacket Style Formal Twopiece / Platform 06 v2 / Eyelashes / Petal Makeup / Queen Elegance Gloss / Frappe 90 Eyeshadow / Blush N32 / Olivia Rings 

Sophie Base Sim Info

Sophie Outfit 1:

Sharon Hair / Minimalist Turtleneck / Leather belt and tight skirt / Platform leather pumps 01 / Short Coffin Nails V2 / Lashes / Petals Makeup / Blush 78 Mocha / Eyeliner 116 Cocoa / Lips 225 Dalgona / Spiral Hoop Earrings / Ida Necklace / Glimmer rings - both 

Sophie Outfit 2:

Jiny Hair / Shirt and belted dress / Classic Pump / Lashes / Almond Nails Matte / Eyeliner cc23 / Glossy Babe eyeshadow / Satin summer glosses / Etta Thick Hoop Earrings / Chain right wrist / Aylet Watch 

Eli Base Sim Info

Eli Outfit 1:

Mini Twists V1 / Oversized Shirt II AM / Casual Trouser / Waterproofboot01 / Lashes / Bangle right / Darren watch / Nose piercing Malice 

Eli Outfit 2:

Leather Blazer / Casual Trouser / Derby Shoes 01 / Coin Necklace 

[pepsiboyy]

starboy part 4 (final <3)

P1 P2 P3 P4

pairing: y/n x chris sturniolo

summary: y/n, born and raised in los angeles, moves across the country to boston. when she feels like she has nobody, she makes some new friends at her new job. she grows particularly close with the sturniolo triplets, where she finds a lot in common with one of them.

warnings: some fluff, angst, LOTS of cursing, and bullying :p

lowercase intentional!!!

author's note: HIII sorry i took a few days to myself to like. play video games idk that's my excuse my bad yall but FINAL PARTTT yayyy

i took a deep breath as my arms were practically wrapped around myself. i stared at the star market sign and bit my lip, slowly stepping through the automatic doors.

i quickly made my way to the customer service counter, where i saw matt clocking out. he turned to me and his eyes immediately softened. "hey, y/n," he breathed, stepping towards me.

i smiled quickly and half-heartedly before taking his spot and clocking in.

"are you okay? you left real fast yesterday, and.. i don't know, chris said he tried to reach out and-"

"yeah, i fell asleep. i didn't feel good," i mumbled, biting my lip as i tried not to let any sadness show in my expression. i turned to matt and smiled softly. "sorry for leaving so sudden. i just felt.. unwell," i mumbled.

matt slowly nodded and smiled softly. "okay, if you insist... i just want to be able to be a friend to you, nick does too, and especially chris." he chuckled. all i could do was look at him, but it looked more like i was looking through him and spacing out. matt's smile fell as he sighed. "chris also mentioned that when you guys were sitting, he got a notification from-"

"damn, y/n is here again today?" maeve's voice rang as she set her bag down and practically shoved me to the side to clock in. "guess i gotta do everything around here today." she mumbled as she side-eyed me, and i bit my lip. i couldn't do this today.

"maeve, you can't talk to her like that, she's still learning." matt told her, softly but very clearly as he sighed and gathered his things. "y/n, if you need anything, or just somebody to talk to, please reach out, okay?" he asked, and looked at me for any form of response.

"right, yeah. thanks, matt." i breathed, and he smiled at my response before stepping towards the exit.

i turned to maeve and bit my lip as she scrolled through her phone and applied pink lip gloss against her lips. she was stunning, and i was a bit envious of her long, blonde hair. i closed my eyes and let out a sigh, looking at my phone. i was a bit surprised to see some messages from who i had been dreading to see all day, and who i had hoped would have left with matt.

from: chris⭐ hey y/n, hope your shift goes well

i shuttered as i looked up at maeve. what if she was actively texting him? i turned to look around the store the best i can, and i saw chris pushing some carts inside.

damn, he was really still here.

i let out a breath as i began to straighten up around my department, seeing as it was a slow day and maeve was no help.

-

i sat in the breakroom as i stared at the wall. no music played in my ears, and nobody else sat in the room with me. i simply stared at the wall for my break. i sat and thought about all of the glances i had passed to chris, and how many times i caught him looking back. i also watched him and maeve talk quite often, which would cause my heart to clench each and every time. it didn't make sense to me. why did he pretend to care so much about me when he clearly had maeve?

"hi chris!" maeve smiled brightly and leaned against the counter to be closer to him, who was just trying to walk by and pick up a box of items.

"hey, maeve," he breathed, and she practically squealed at him, causing me to turn my head the other day and practically wince.

"whatcha got planned tonight? did you wanna go out?" maeve asked, which resulted in some silence and a deep breath.

"i'm busy tonight." he mumbled.

my back was still turned as i went through another box.

"i'm taking my fifteen, maeve. i'll be back." i breathed before swinging around on my heel and shoving past them both.

and that was why i was sitting against this worn down couch, staring at the wall. it made no sense to me. none of it.

after about thirteen minutes passed, i sighed and stood up to begin collecting my things and getting ready to head back out.

the door swung open.

"y/n, hey can we talk?" chris breathed, and i turned to the sudden sound of the door opening. since it was silent in the room, it scared me a bit more than i would have liked to admit.

"my fifteen is up, sorry." i breathed and attempted to walk past him.

i felt a hand against my own, before i turned to chris and bit my lip. facing him was really hard. my eyes welled up almost immediately, and chris picked up on it very quickly. worry rushed through his expression.

"after we close. please?" chris asked, carefully letting my arm go. i slowly nodded before i pulled away. i stood for a few moments, looking at him, biting my lip and then walking back towards the exit.

"thank fuck. about time. what were you even doing in there anyway?" maeve spat, and i turned to her. this really was not the time for her to speak to me that way, and in fact, it never was the time. "i had to deal with literally four people when you were gone. all by myself. can you do something for once and clean the place up?"

i bit my lip as i stared at her. part of me wanted to confront her, call her out and tell her that she was no help and incredibly lazy. another part of me wanted to beat her ass right then and there, but the other part of me knew that if i started any work drama, i could potentially get fired and i should keep my mouth shut.

i took in a deep breath.

"i'll get on it," i replied, moving to grab a broom.

-

11:30pm. only thirty more minutes before i had to talk with chris in the parking lot. and only thirty more minutes that i had to deal with maeve any longer.

"y/n, these don't go here. god, do you do anything right?" she muttered as she pulled out a roll of receipt paper, and i stopped what i was doing. i carefully stood up and let out a soft sigh.

"sorry, maeve. nobody told me where those go." i responded under my breath.

maeve was sitting against the counter now, looking at herself in her phone camera and once again applying lip gloss to her lips.

i watched her for a few moments before going to grab a box. it ripped, and collapsed directly into my foot and caused a loud bang.

"ow, fuck," i breathed, biting my lip as i looked down at my foot, and then at the mess i had created. stupid box.

"y/n, are you kidding me? this just adds to the list of things we have to clean up. why are you so clumsy?" she asked.

i had enough.

"can you shut the fuck up?" i spat, causing her to cover her mouth in shock. i scoffed. "all you fucking do is sit there on your goddamn phone. i have done everything today, and you left me the other day. you haven't trained me yet you expect me to know everything around here. why are you such a fucking bitch?" i raised my voice, now visibly shaking with anger. my face was red, and i felt tears brimming my eyes. "i've worked like three shifts here and you treat me like this? name one thing you've done today." i questioned, and she visibly stuttered.

"absolutely nothing," a voice rang as i looked over and saw chris standing there. "she's done nothing but text me all day."

i cringed slightly. nice way to top it off.

"but chrissy-" maeve started, to which chris immediately stopped her.

"i told you to stop calling me that, it's annoying." he muttered before he stepped towards me and began picking some of the things up that i had dropped. my face scrunched a bit in confusion as i tried to piece together what he had said.

maeve seemed to hurt, but she put on a stupid face and quickly yet sloppily grabbed her things before she stomped away to clock out.

i took in a deep breath and sighed, looking over at chris who had now finished picking everything up. "thanks.. for doing that. you didn't have to." i mumbled, looking to the side.

chris didn't respond. he stood up and looked at me, smiling like a little kid. "that was fucking awesome, didn't know you had it in you to talk like that to someone, especially on the clock?"

i smiled shyly and looked down before rubbing my eyes and chuckling slightly. "she was just getting on my nerves..."

"she does for everyone, y/n. i promise. it's okay." he breathed, and i looked at him with a soft nod. "is your foot okay?" he asked, and i shrugged.

"it's fine, i guess. hurts, but i'll live."

"i'll walk you home." chris responded, very quickly, as i looked at him and smiled softly.

"whatever you say."

-

the air was kind of heavy, if i were being honest. it was hard to even think about everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

"y/n?"

i turned to chris as he called my name, and bit my lip. it was time to finally talk about everything.

"can you tell me what's up? why you left so suddenly last night, why you haven't answered my texts, what's wrong?" he questioned, as i simply walked beside him and let out a deep sigh.

"i just..." i took in a deep breath. i stopped walking and turned to chris. "when i moved here, i thought i had nobody. some people would be excited for a fresh start, but i dreaded every moment here. i met you, matt and nick, and realized that things may not be so bad here. especially when i'm with you," i whispered the last part, looking down at my feet.

chris had stopped walking as well, looking at me and nodding softly as he listened closely.

"after we had hung out, i truly thought that maybe i saw you as something more, and when we sat together at your place, i kind of knew from there that i for sure had something more than just the friendly thought of you." i smiled softly, and he nodded, knowing where i was going. "i like you a lot chris, i did from the moment we walked together to mcdonalds and the feelings i had for you, i thought were mutual. but then you got that text on your phone from maeve, and-"

"y/n," he breathed, stepping towards me.

i bit my lip and looked up at him, and he immediately shook his head.

"no." he almost laughed out, and i tilted my head. nothing was funny to me right now. "i don't know how she got me number. genuinely. that's reason one as to why i don't like her. reason two, she's an asshole. and reason three," he smiled softly at me as he gently brushed a few loose strands of my hair behind my ear.

with a soft lean forward and a slight tilt of the head, chris had pressed his lips to mine. i closed my eyes and leaned into the kiss, smiling softly against him. he smiled as well before carefully pulling away and moving his hands to carefully grasp mine.

"i like you."

i smiled softly and looked up at him. as we stood on the sidewalk and stared at each other, i bit my lip and shyly looked down before wrapping my arms tightly around him. "i'm sorry.." i whispered, and chris chuckled.

he wrapped his arms around me and gently rubbed my back, carefully swaying us both. he rested his head on top of mine.

"don't be sorry. you had every right to be confused and frustrated." he gently pulled away and looked at me before he carefully took my hand in his.

our fingers intertwined, as we began walking again.

"let's get you home."

HIIII HELLO THIS WAS A SHORT FANFIC BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS LIEKD ITTTTT IT'S MY FIRST THING ON TUMBLR !!!!

i am working on a matt fanfic rnnnn it'll be so awesome sauce, go read the teaser if you haven't already!!

taglist;;

@sweetbabydoe @orangeypepsi @sturniolosreads

[nahisummerhold]

City of Dusk, Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A couple of days had passed, one more box appeared, this one growing hot when she tried to open it, whoever was sending these was about to get on her list, it was near torture to see them there every time she came to the club or left it and she wanted to open them so badly. Detailing and magic running through them, beautiful and could only imagine what treasures they held. 

Her new Shal’dorei flirtation from had brought a friend to the club and during each break she sat with them, there was none of the playfully sexy banter, just people enjoying a relaxed night together. The man he came with was named Beyan Adrinore and he owned a club that held private galas, by the end of the night he booked her for a party in three weeks time. 

Nahi appreciated Mr. Presence bringing Beyan to meet her, especially as they got along famously and she felt she would be getting more than this one booking with him, but as with his leaving the night before it confused her. What kind of man that wants to get into a woman’s pants brings a third wheel to grind the process to a halt? They had been in each other’s orbits for days and other than one racy conversation they were no closer to finding where the flirtation could take them by the time he and Beyan had left at the end of the night.

Dressing with extra care whether he showed up or not she was out to make herself known for more than just her voice. A dress in metallic gold as bright as the sun itself showed her dark skin to perfection, it hung all the way to her knees with a slit in the back so she could walk at least and it clung to her in all the right places. Ombre curls were piled high on her head, held in place by pins that disappeared except small sparkling jewels left exposed to catch the stage lights. Her makeup was artfully minimal, a small gold shimmer over the lids of her eyes, mascara, a touch of kohl liner, her lips a saturated fuscia with a hint of gold gloss over top. People in Suramar were used to their cool colors, she was suited to warmer tones and was ready to illuminate night, tonight she would be unapologetically her.  Mid-way through her first set, her intriguing flirtation partner arrived, as usual he made his way into the club with the hosting staff hovering a couple of steps behind him but his gaze was locked on Nahi like a beacon. One small glance in his direction was all she graced him with, then she focused on the other patrons at the tables by the stage, liquid gold moved with her every step catching the light and enchanting her mahogany skin. Each song she performed she connected deeply with those watching, eye contact drew them in, a special type of energy poured out over the audience. 

This wasn’t the kind of club where people met her after each set and asked for autographs, but tonight a couple of the club members shook her hand as she walked off stage delaying her trip to the bar. Nahi had lost sight of Mr. P when she turned her attention away so she could not go to him, or if he was even still in the club. Finally through the audience she stood at the servers station at the bar, Philenete, the bartender waved to let her know that he had seen her, but he was waiting on customers at the bar so she turned and cocked one hip looking out over the club guests, not seeking him out though she wanted to, just letting him come to her if he was that interested.

“That dress stops just short of indecent,” The voice of her new mysteriously sexy man came from her side his approach gone unnoticed. It was a comment she agreed with, it had been the point of wearing it but she wasn’t going to admit that. 

Turning to face him, she smiles politely just as she had to his friend Beyan the previous night, acknowledging him without any other emotion involved. He was in a suit that was tailored as immaculately as she imagined it would be, dark hair looking slightly wet and when she met his eyes, the normal humor was banked for a look of hunger. “I think a knee length cocktail dress is considered decent in most civilized places, is Suramar so uncivilized?”

He ignored her retort completely, “Did you wear it for me?”

Yes. “No.” Luckily the bar area was dark, there was a faint hope he would not see the lie on her face. 

“Here you go Nahi, sorry about the wait. You are like fire tonight.” The words drew her attention back to the bar, Philenete pushed a mug across the bar to her with a wink and a smile before he moved away.

Picking up the hot water, she gave the bartender a brilliant smile, “Thank you!” Her voice carried to him and he waved from where he was already engaged with someone else. The full presence of the Shal’dorei behind her was invisibly resting on her shoulders, even if he remained a few steps away, turning she looked up into his eyes over the steam rising off her water. “It is nice to see you again.”

“Nice?” He asked after a rough chuckle, “Nice to see me? Not a little more than nice?” The man knew what she was very obviously doing.

“Mmm hmmm,” Nahi said, allowing humor to show in her gaze, they both recognized the ridiculous nature of her downplaying his being there.

The weight of the desire in his eyes yielded some of its intensity as amusement joined it, “You could get in trouble trying to dismiss me like that.”

Nahi had played this part of their game more than once with others. In her mind she wanted to say, ‘Like you did to me the night before?’ but she knew the outcome if she did, he would gloat over having affected her, giving him that more power over her. “Is that so? Well I will have to try to remember that. I have to get back on stage. See you later?”

A low growl sounded from him as she turned, dismissing him again. Her reasoning was valid, her break was over and she couldn’t take more time just to fence with him in the power game they were playing. Walking through the tables to the stage instead of along the arranged walkway, she purposely made it so he would have to pursue her in front of people to continue the conversation. By the time she stepped onto the stage, placed her drink on a small side table  and talked to the piano player, he had taken a table just off the side of the stage, game point to her this volley. 

The rest of the night, even through her breaks, he remained at the table and Nahi had decided to become stubborn about ceding control of the interaction between them, unlike the night before where she joined him and his friend, she avoided going even near his table. Each time she began the next set would glance at him and his eyes would meet hers, humor was there at first, but with each time she avoided him, the humor bled away leaving annoyance behind. Nahi wouldn’t cede the power back to him, she wanted to figure out what they had between them because she hadn’t been this drawn to a person since Tempest Keep. Nahi had dealt this hand, and wasn’t going to be the one that folded, instead she turned up her power a little each set. 

Near the end of the night she was choosing moments in her performance to meet his eyes, connecting more intimately within songs that were emotionally  charged. It was the opposite of how she usually approached moments like those, normally looking out over the audience, building that anticipation before closing her eyes and filling her voice with emotion over offering it up visually. As he had watched her for the last few nights she was sure he would recognize the change, and when she met his eyes she saw a new depth there, more intense than their playful moments.

When she ended the night, she came down off the stage looking around but he was nowhere to be seen, it was a something that took her breath away thinking that he had just left. Putting on her best smile, refusing to show her disappointment, she moved through to the bar, talking to anyone that reached out to her. Getting her warm drink, she headed back to her dressing room, stepping in, she paused just inside the door, he was resting against the vanity, legs crossed in front of him and arms across his chest. “Did you wear it for me?”

It was like no time passed at all between them, there was no way she could hide the truth in this light so she turned from him, placing her mug on a table only to feel his arm encircling her waist, “Did you wear it for me?” His voice whispered darkly, the little diamond hoop in her ear, pressing between her cartilage and his cheek, the heat of his breath caressing the length of her long ear and her temple.

Nahi didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, he had stolen the songstress’s voice away, her eyes closed and her lips parted. One hand braced on the table, the other still holding her mug, pinned in place by his arm and the desire that rushed through her. With no answer, he wrapped his hands around her waist and picked her up, turning, he walked her to the counter with the boxes, sitting her in front of them and lifting a hand to tilt her chin up so he was looking into her eyes, “Answer me, my Banshee, did you wear it for me?”

“Yes,” she said softly, her gaze locked with his, none of the challenging defiance of earlier remaining, melted away by the scorching connection between them. Dark hands rested on the charcoal sleeves of his suit, champagne colored nails tipped into the fabric, not clinging but fighting a desire to push away from the vulnerability that was racing through her. 

Leaning in, his lips brushing from the side of her mouth along her cheek to rest at the base of her ear, a small place that caused a heat to pool in her belly, it was like he had known her body for hundreds of years already. “Get your things, whoever it is you go home to each night will just have to do without you, because my bed has been waiting for you to be in it.” 

[wedielike]

If u have time, I would love to request a fic about jealous Cher. Because he’s been selling his bf to the customers without hesitation :))) thank u

Sorry this took forever. But you can Read on AO3 or...

---

Ever since Yak won his world championship, the gym has been inundated with requests for personal training, which is a very good thing in Cher’s opinion. He doesn’t have to sell as much and Oyei can’t turn down legitimate work that helps the gym. Not that it’s hard to sell training sessions with both a current and former world champion on staff, especially since Yak kissed Dee on live television in front of thousands of fans. The amount of men who would normally never get near a boxing ring has tripled since then.

Cher knows it mostly comes down to how handsome the Phadetseuk brothers are—he gets a ridiculous amount of requests for Yak as a trainer. Fewer for Oyei but that doesn’t mean he’s any less desired. Cher has seen the way those older women flock to Oyei, fawning over him as he politely brushes them off.

It’s amusing to see, and sometimes Cher likes to perch in the doorway during sessions and watch Oyei fend off their advances. He does it so well, so easily most days, even with the most aggressive women.

Before they’d gotten together, Oyei had been known as something of a manwhore, going through women like tissues. It was obvious what he really needed wasn’t a woman, and Cher had proved that. Cher knows he has nothing to worry about when it comes to the women Oyei coaches.

The men on the other hand…

The gym is busy today, with multiple sessions going on, and Cher moves through the rooms, taking pictures for social media. He’s got a few good shots of Yak and the other boys. Oyei has a new client today—maybe he should get some video of training for reels.

He hears the conversation before he rounds the corner to the weight room.

“P’Yei, you look so strong. How much can you bench?”

“It’s been a while since I checked,” Oyei says, and it makes Cher smile. So many guys know the exact number so they can throw it out and impress people. “Maybe a couple hundred pounds.”

“Does that mean you could lift me?”

Stepping around the corner, Cher fixes his gaze on Oyei and the new guy. Oyei is fiddling with the equipment, adjusting the weights while the guy hangs on the bar, the waistband of his designer label tank top inching up.

Rolling his eyes, Cher isn’t surprised by the scene. After all, hadn’t he used the exact same tactics with Oyei the first time around?

“Probably,” Oyei answers simply, as if completely missing the innuendo. “But it’s more about strength training than being able to lift heavy things. You need to build up the muscles if you really want to pack a punch.”

The guy, a pretty little thing if Cher is forced to admit it with his slim hips, big wet eyes, and lips shiny with gloss, takes a step over to Oyei and reaches for his bare arm. “I bet you leave your opponents breathless.”

It’s ridiculous, how obvious this guy is, with his fingers grazing over Oyei’s arm.

Cher has seen it a thousand times—usually with women who compliment Oyei’s biceps, but Oyei always dismisses them so easily.

Oyei doesn’t this time, glancing at the fingers on his arm, as though he’s confused by the action. He shouldn’t be. He should know exactly what’s happening.

“I’ve knocked out a few,” Oyei says with a laugh, and the guy returns the smile.

Crossing his arms, Cher doesn’t interrupt, and neither of them have noticed him at the door. Is Oyei really that dense? Or is he actually flirting back?

“You could knock me down,” the guy says, eyes intent on Oyei, licking his lips.

Cher expects Oyei to laugh it off, like he does with the women, as if it’s a joke. But he smiles instead and maneuvers the guy around to the weight bench with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Not once we build you up a little.”

Something unfamiliar and hot drops into Cher’s stomach as he watches the guy grab a few weights that are obviously too heavy for him and Oyei has to gently pry them from his fingers and move behind him to support his elbows as he shows him the proper form.

As Cher watches Oyei’s fingers brushing over the guy’s skin, he can’t help frowning. He knows that exact move because he did it first. He did every thing this guy is doing—from the shorts that are way too short to pretending to need help with easy tasks. And Oyei had helped him because that is the kind of coach he is. It had taken Oyei so long to understand what Cher was trying to do, even with the obvious hints, but once he had figured it out, there’d been no stopping him.

Cher had enjoyed that part of their relationship, but he wonders as he watches Oyei with the new guy if it could happen again with someone else. What would happen if Oyei figured it out?

Cher doesn’t like the coiling in his chest, jealousy and anger fighting for dominance as the guy laughs brightly at something Oyei says and Oyei smiles.

He can’t stay there and watch this happen, Cher decides, turning sharply from the door. He needs to not think about Oyei spending all his time with some shameless client who is practically in his lap for a simple weight session. He can’t think about it or he’ll lose that calm demeanor that everyone expects from him.

Instead, he leaves Oyei with his fanboy and heads for the office where he can tell anyone who asks that he’s working on the books and try not to let this feeling take him over every time he pictures the guy’s hand on Oyei’s chest.

*

Cher can’t get it out of his head—not just the guy’s hands on Oyei, but the way he smiled at him, the body language that begged for Oyei to fuck him.

Even as he lays in bed, wrapped up in one of Oyei’s coaching tanks, he can’t stop.

Cher has felt like this before, with other partners, and he’s let it get out of hand before too. For some reason, he’d thought it would be different with Oyei—everything else has been over the years—but that doesn’t stop the annoying clench of jealousy when he thinks of that guy.

“You’re in bed early.”

Cher barely glances up at Oyei entering the room. He’s freshly-showered—Cher can smell the body wash as Oyei slides onto the bed behind him. Normally, he would roll over into Oyei’s beckoning arms and curl into his chest, but tonight, he stays with his back to Oyei, breathing in the scent of his shirt to calm himself.

The mattress jostles as Oyei pulls up the covers, seemingly oblivious to what’s going through Cher’s head. He isn’t surprised when Oyei’s hand snakes around his waist and he scoots in behind him. It feels like every other night except that Cher can’t enjoy it because he’s thinking of Oyei in bed with someone else. Someone else who wears tiny shorts and uses all the same tricks Cher has to get a guy.

Oyei’s breath is warm on the back of his neck, soft and slow, but Cher doesn’t relax. Instead, he reaches for Oyei’s hand heavy on his waist and pushes it away.

“Cher?” Oyei asks the second it happens, and it’s to his credit that he’s become much more adept at noticing when things are off (not that Cher appreciates it at this particular moment). “Is it too hot? I can turn up the AC.”

“No,” Cher just says, which isn’t really an answer, and he feels Oyei pause.

“Are you okay? You didn’t say much during dinner.”

Cher didn’t have much to say. And he doesn’t now either even with Oyei pushing himself up on his elbow so he can gaze down at him on the bed.

“I’m fine,” he lies, but they’ve been together long enough that Oyei has to see right through it.

Early on in their relationship, Oyei might have let him get away with it. After all, Oyei’s family had always been the fight it out type instead of the talk it out type. But Oyei can’t beat a confession out of Cher, so he usually opts for holding him hostage until he spills.

“Cher,” Oyei says again, and his tone is the one that makes Cher’s chest tighten and reminds him that Oyei is the older one in this relationship, and as mature as Cher tries to be, he can still fall into the petty traps of youth.

Rolling over onto his back, Cher gazes up at Oyei. It reminds him of the first time he saw Oyei. He’d been lying on the ground just like this, bruised and beaten, clutching his stomach, when a pair of strong hands rolled him over and he’d caught sight of the concerned furrow in Oyei’s brow, those big soft eyes rounded with worry, much like they are right now.

“Do you remember our first training session?” he asks after a minute, and Oyei seems confused by the question.

“Of course,” Oyei says, reaching up and stroking Cher’s hair. “You wore those pink striped shorts and those adorable little sweat bands on your wrists.”

“I only wore them so you could take them off,” Cher admits and Oyei smiles in return. “And I only signed up for lessons because I wanted to spend time with you.”

Oyei’s eyes are soft as he gazes down at Cher, and it makes Cher feel bad for being jealous, but he keeps thinking about the guy and his stupid come-ons and how Oyei had taken the compliments so easily.

“I know,” Oyei says, brushing his hair from his forehead, a gentle touch that should calm Cher, but his heart is beating fast in his chest as he pauses.

“How long did it take you? To figure out I was hitting on you?”

Oyei paused, biting his lip. “I’d say the day you not-so-accidentally dropped your towel in the locker room was a pretty big hint.”

That had been months into their acquaintanceship, after Cher had tried all his other tricks, even tried blatantly asking Oyei out on dates which he had happily participated in but continued to call “lunch with a friend.”

“You didn’t know before then?”

For a second, Oyei doesn’t say anything, and Cher hopes against hope that Oyei had figured it out. There had been so many ‘accidental’ touches, so many times Cher had dropped a compliment or innuendo, so many times Cher had caught his gaze and thought maybe he knew already and was just holding back.

At length, Oyei sighs, dropping back onto the bed and positioning Cher’s head on his bicep. “I didn’t know I could feel that way about a guy,” he says. “And I’d never really felt that way about a woman either. I just kept telling myself that it was just how you were.”

Cher sighs, looking away from Oyei. He couldn’t really blame Oyei then. He’d been confused and had to figure things out when Cher had come along. But he shouldn’t have to now. Now, he knows he likes guys. He knows what flirting is. So why had he let his new student hang all over him?

“Why are we talking about this?” Oyei asks finally, nuzzling into Cher’s cheek as if there’s no point in bringing up the past when the present is so good.

Opening his mouth, Cher stops himself. Oyei will just think he’s being stupid if he admits he’s jealous over a client. But it’s not just any client. It’s a client that reminds Cher so much of himself that he wonders if Oyei would even notice the not-so-subtle flirting that might eventually lead to more like it did with them.

He pauses too long, though, and Oyei isn’t as oblivious as he once was, especially when it comes to Cher.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Oyei asks, tightening his grip over Cher’s shoulders as if he’s not going to let go until Cher admits whatever he’s thinking.

Annoyed, Cher tries to shrug out of his grip but he can’t. He can’t go anywhere and escape this conversation.

“How was your training session with the new guy?” he asks instead, and Oyei frowns.

“Sun? He needs a lot of work, but he seems enthusiastic.”

Enthusiastic. Cher scoffs quietly. That’s one word for it.

“You needed a lot of training too, remember?” Oyei says when Cher huffs. “But look at you now.”

Cher purses his lips together, staring at Oyei’s bare chest before him. “So he reminds you of me?”

Oyei shrugs. “A little. Why?”

“Because he’s obviously flirting with you,” Cher says, unable to stop himself, and he catches the surprise on Oyei’s face as he begins to work it out.

“Most of my clients try to flirt,” Oyei reminds him, as if Cher isn’t aware. “Aren’t you the one who sells me to them?”

Of course Oyei would throw that back in his face, Cher thinks, annoyed when Oyei just stares at him innocently. How can he be so obtuse?

“Most of your clients aren’t sexy little twinks that you let put their hands all over you.”

Cher doesn’t like how Oyei’s face changes when he says it, as though he realizes exactly what this is about, as though there is no need for Cher to feel this way. There may not be a need but he still feels it.

Oyei lets out a breath, drawing a hand up to Cher’s cheek and holding his gaze steady. “You’ve never been jealous before. What’s different about this guy?”

The hot hungry pit in Cher’s stomach seems to melt away, leaving it empty instead as he tries to come up with the words to explain it. He knows jealousy isn’t rational and that he has no reason to suspect Oyei would cheat. But he could fall for a careful seduction, a slow burn the way they’d started out. Subtle and careful and in the middle before they’d begun. He doesn’t want that to happen.

“He’s like me,” Cher admits finally, knowing Oyei won’t understand. “He does everything I did, and you fell for that.”

He doesn’t expect Oyei to exhale, to smile slightly in the face of Cher’s crisis, tilting his chin up.

“I fell for you,” Oyei says simply. “The sweet, persistent, sassy guy who’s always supported me and this gym, who lets me take care of him even though he can take care of himself, who tells me when I’m being stupid, and who I could not live without.”

Oyei’s thumb grazes over Cher’s cheek as he says it, and Cher feels tears welling behind his eyes. Not because he’s upset but because he loves Oyei so much. He pretends he doesn’t need the reassurance, acts annoyed when Oyei gets handsy in front of the guys, but he wants it now as he scoots closer to Oyei and curls into his chest. He feels Oyei’s lips against his cheek, strong fingers on the back of his neck, and his heart crumples.

“I can switch him with another trainer,” Oyei offers, the words murmured into Cher’s shoulder as Cher clings to his back.

“No, you can’t,” Cher says, reluctant, but he sighs into Oyei’s chest. “Just don’t flirt back.”

He hears Oyei’s gentle laugh, feels how he hugs him tighter and presses a kiss to his neck. “I won’t.”

Breathing out, Cher relaxes finally, safe in Oyei’s arms. He knows Oyei will keep his word, and if Sun tries anything, Cher was trained at this very same gym, so he’d better watch out.

*

FIN.

[dilf-rights-activist]

Another Life: part 1

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gender neutral reader

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the founder and CEO of one of the largest tech companies in the world. All the money in the world can’t buy love, something that Miguel so desperately needs, and the one thing that he could never afford. Or, the one where Miguel gets dumped by his freeloader partner and can only find solace in you, a down on your luck student with sweet drinks and an even sweeter smile.

Word count: 2k

Content: eventual sugar daddy AU, slow burn, coffee shop/bars, no use of (y/n), descriptions of financial hardship, Miguel is tired and is going through a break up (aw)

AO3 part 2 part 3 part 4

Miguel sighed as he watched the car of yet another failed relationship leave his property. He took a moment to wish his former lover well before closing the door, mechanical lock whirring quietly as it slid into place. The large man scrubbed a hand over his face before looking at the large boxes that littered his home, there was still a lot of unpacking to be done. He recently moved to a lavish penthouse in the Upper East Side to be closer to his office. He decided to indulge himself by going on a couple of dates with a number of (whom he formerly thought were) nice people. He thought it would have been different after his move, but every relationship he entered ended the exact same way. Being the CEO of a prolific tech company came with a number of risks, but it also came with a lot of money.

He sighed. A lot of money.

It was the same thing time after time, Miguel would meet an amazing person and spoil them rotten with anything they wanted; clothes, jewels, food, you name it. One week turned into two, into three, into months, enraptured in an unrequited embrace, only for him to find out that they were only using him for his wealth. He allowed himself to be manipulated by the charming smiles and whispers of his lovers, wanting so badly to believe that they deserved everything in the world. Desperate for anything to assuage the dark void that was slowly burrowing its way into his chest.

He needed a drink.

---

A sigh escaped your lips as you approached the end of your shift. It had been busy today at the bar; between running around serving tables and making drinks at the bar you barely had time to think. You were bussing one of the last remaining tables, figuring you’d get an early start on cleaning for the night. You picked up an empty glass, smiling to yourself; there were only 30 minutes left until closing, no customers left, and you could already hear your bed calling your name. You hummed softly, nothing could spoil your mood now.

“Hello. Table for one, please.” a quiet man said as he walked into the bar.

The glass in your hand almost shattered with the sheer force of your frustration alone.

A tall brunette man shuffled through the door of your workplace, ducking slightly as he did so. His broad frame filled out the entryway in its entirety, waiting politely. He glanced around the dim space, just now starting to notice the sheer lack of patrons and music.

“Shit, are you closed? I can go somewhere else,”

You checked your watch, 29 minutes to go.

Goddamnit.

“No, please. Come in,” You said in your best customer service voice, hoping you didn’t sound as tired as you felt. You were half hoping that the man would reject your invitation and walk out the door, never to be seen again.

He did not.

The man nodded and slowly made his way to sit at the bar,the poor stool squeaked dangerously under his weight.

“What can I get started for you, sir?” you wore an easy smile, looking to get this guy out as soon as possible.

He nodded as he settled into his seat. “What would you recommend?”

“That depends, how much are you hurting?” You took a brief moment to look at the brunette before glossing over the wide array of bottles you kept behind the bar.

“I’m not-“

“You walked in to drink at a random bar at 11:30 pm on a Tuesday. Men like you don’t do that unless they’re hurting.” You set down a bottle of whiskey onto the bar and threw him a crooked smile.

Large shoulders slumped as the man grimaced. “That obvious?”

“Just a little,” You held a glass up to the light to inspect it for spots before putting it on a napkin in front of the brunette before you. You uncapped the whiskey with ease and poured the amber liquid into the crystal glass, making sure to give the man a little extra for his troubles. “Wanna talk about it?” you asked, still working on his drink.

He chuckled softly, “What’s to tell? I just got dumped.”

You winced as you dropped a couple of ice cubes into his glass. “Ouch. I’m sorry.”

He held up a large hand. “Don’t be. It would have never worked out anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” you raised an eyebrow while peeling an orange “Why’s that?”

“That’s just how it is with me.” he said softly. You stopped working to look at him properly. His eyes were obscured by the shadows cast by the harsh contours of his face, but even in the dim light of the bar you could tell that they were a deep shade of crimson. His eyes held so much sadness in them, seeming to be permanently downcast.

Miguel was never one to talk about his issues, much less to a stranger, but tonight was different. He would allow himself to wallow just this once, to indulge in the cliché that is the sweet pity of a kind bartender.

“Y’know how it is. Get someone, and they’re really great. Until they aren’t.” he gave a half hearted laugh. “People just use me for...entertainment.”

You looked up at him, in awe at just how small the man managed to look at that moment. You garnished his drink with a curled orange peel and set it down on the bar. “Well, mister…”

“O’Hara.” he said. “Miguel O’Hara.”

“Well, Mister O’Hara, if I may be so bold. Every person who’s ever used you is an absolute shit bag and they don’t deserve your kindness. You’re on your way to bigger and better things and they’ll be sorry.” you smiled as you pushed his drink forward. “Old Fashioned.”

Miguel’s eyes fell from your smiling face to the golden drink in front of him. He didn’t typically drink an Old Fashioned, always thought they were too sweet.

“Thanks.” he smiled at you, the glass looked comically small in his large hands as he gingerly took a sip. Thick brows raised and he hummed softly, pleasantly surprised by the complexity of the complimenting flavors.

“Not bad.” He murmured into his glass before gently rolling it in between his palms. “What’s your name?”

“You’re gonna have to take me out if you wanna find that out, big guy.” You winked at him and he abruptly stopped fiddling with his glass, eyes widening comically.

“I-”

“I’m kidding!” you laughed at his reaction and told him your name. He went silent at the sound of it and repeated it to himself.

“What a nice name.” Miguel smiled while working on his drink.

“Thanks, it’s the only one I got.” you flashed him a grin and leaned on the bar. You were actually starting to enjoy his company, it’s a shame that he’d have to leave in a couple of minutes.

Before long Miguel finished his drink and thanked you for your service. He left a generous tip before saying one last goodbye over his shoulder. You waved him off before locking the door behind him, paying little mind to the strange feeling in your chest.

---

You flinched as your alarm clock rang on your bedside table. You turned your stiff neck to squint at the time; 5:45 am, you couldn't afford to press snooze again. You sighed heavily before turning the alarm off, turning to stare up at your cracking ceiling. Did you really need this job? Really and truly? What if you could just get 5 more minutes of sleep…

You glance at the clock again. 5:47. Now you really couldn't afford to stay in bed. You swung your legs over the side of the mattress, bristling slightly when your socked feet touched the cold ground. You went to the bathroom and took a brief moment to observe your reflection in the mirror, noting how the dark circles under your eyes made you look like a deranged racoon. Good. You thought, squeezing out some toothpaste. Maybe customers will be too scared to bother me today. After getting dressed you jogged down the stairs to get to your second job, a quaint cafe nestled in New York City’s East Village. You braced yourself during your commute, you would be facing the morning rush of caffeine starved corporate zombies that came in every weekday. You sighed, blowing air into your cold hands to warm them up a little.

“Hopefully they'll tip a little more this time” you thought wistfully as you walked into the subway station.

---

You let yourself in through the alleyway entrance of the cafe, sighing as you smelled baking bread.

“You’re late!” your boss half yelled from behind the counter. You shot him a wry smile and shrugged as you clocked in.

“Only by-” you glanced at your phone, “ten minutes!” you winced, maybe you should have jogged those last couple of blocks.

Peter B. Parker pouted at you and leaned against the clear dessert display case. “Whatever! Just help me prep, I have a feeling the rush is gonna be real bad.” You hanged your coat in the back hallway and winced, you really did feel bad about being late. Peter ran the cafe with his Aunt May, a fierce, kind woman who never hesitated to give you free desserts whenever you saw her.

You tore open a bag of coffee beans and grimaced, it was midterm season at the local universities, which meant that sleep deprived student after sleep deprived student would come in to get their hourly dose of caffeine. You bit your lip nervously as you thought about that huge essay you had yet to start for your own classes. You poured the beans into the espresso machine, half mindedly listening to the sounds as they filled up the small container.

You couldn’t go to school if you didn’t work, and you couldn’t work if you had to study! You were pulled out of your thoughts as you realized that you were now spilling coffee beans all over the bar. You swore quietly, working frantically to fix your mistake.

“You okay?” Peter asked from where he was stuffing napkins into a dispenser. You carefully scooped the remaining coffee beans into your hand and threw them away in a nearby compost bin.

“Yeah, I���m good.”

“Nice! Look alive, sunshine! We’re opening in 10.”

---

Miguel’s large hand rubbed at his tired eyes on his morning commute to the temporary office he’d be inhabiting until the construction on his new building was finished. He swallowed and looked at his phone, blinking at the time.

“6:30?” he muttered to himself, slowing his brisk walk to a slow stride. He didn't have to be at the office for another thirty minutes. Miguel adjusted the scarf on his neck as a movement caught his eye, he turned his head to see a tired looking man flip over a sign in the window of a nearby building to read “OPEN” in cute cursive letters. They made brief eye contact and the man in the window smiled and waved at him.

Miguel smiled and raised a hand in greeting, dark eyes looking up to read Cafe May above the window. Coffee, huh? He smiled lightly to himself, he supposed he could grab a couple of drinks for him and his employees, he did have the time to spare after all.

Miguel was just about to make a detour into the cute coffee shop he had discovered before his phone rang obnoxiously in his hand. Furrowing his brows, he looked down at the caller ID: Jessica Drew.

Shit.

Jessica wouldn’t call him if she didn’t have a reason for it. Miguel closed his eyes and sighed, he just wanted a quiet morning with coffee! Clearing his throat, he braced himself as he accepted the call.

“Hi, Jess.”

“Good morning, Miguel. Where are you?”

The brunette grimaced, right to the point. “East Village. Was there something you needed?” He heard the ruffling of papers and a small hum on the other line.

“Yeah. Tony Stark wants to hop on a video call within the hour to update you on the research he’s been running for the Arc Reactor.”

Large shoulders slumped as Miguel let out a small sigh. “Within the hour, huh?” He glanced at the warm cafe forlornly before making his way down the street towards the office.

“I’m on my way.”

Notes: Please do not talk to me about NYC geography, i looked at a map and nothing is consistent in my story lmao. I know Miguel is pretty OOC in this. He (at least in atsv) is not this kind, patient, or gentle. But he is sad! And that’s what they both have in common :) I think he was a geneticist in the comics, so he’d more than likely be running a lab or a bio tech company but…hey. I’ve released the second chapter to this story, but am unsure if I will continue, I guess it depends on how these first two parts are received. Thank you for reading, please lemme know what you think (if you want)

[mjonthetrack]

Chapter 39 — “Don’t Play With Mine”

The boxing event was already jumpin’ by the time Jimmy pulled up.

Blacked-out Escalade. Designer fit. Custom Heat varsity jacket draped over broad shoulders. Chain glinting. Grillz sitting pretty in his smirk. Skin glowing like he’d been in love or in some trouble. Or both.

The cameras caught him instantly—Jimmy Fatu, one half of the baddest twins in the league, MVP contender, certified problem on and off the court. And tonight? He wasn’t here for no main event. Nah.

He was here for her.

He spotted her damn near immediately—legs crossed, face beat to perfection, heels looking like they cost rent and some more. That silk dress hugged her like she owed it money. Kami. Front row. Laughing at something Sefa said beside her, sipping casually like she wasn’t making every man in the building adjust themselves.

Jimmy took his time walking past the crowd, dapped up a few players, gave a head nod to the cameras, and let his eyes slide slow—real slow—to her. Their eyes locked.

And she smirked.

She knew.

He didn’t even try to hide the once-over. From the red bottoms to the gloss on her lips, she had him. His tongue pressed to the front of his grill and he damn near smiled when he saw her shift in her seat, legs uncrossing like she felt him watching.

He slid into the row behind her, leaned in low enough for his lips to graze her shoulder, and said, “You gone look at me like that and expect me to watch the fight?”

Kami barely turned, lips curved with that cocky-ass smile. “You supposed to be here for the sport, Jonathan.”

“Girl,” he murmured, his voice low, possessive, “you the only sport I’m tryna play.”

That was before some random dude—a boxer’s cousin, or maybe just some bold-ass fan—stepped over, clearly not reading the room. “Yo, ain’t you that influencer girl? I been tryna find your page—”

Jimmy didn’t even stand. Just turned slow, jaw clenched, grill shining. “She busy.”

The man blinked. “I ain’t even—”

Jimmy’s laugh wasn’t warm. “You did. But now you un-did.”

Sefa laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “You wildin’, bruh.”

Kami turned slightly in her seat, brows raised, eyes teasing. “You mine now?”

He leaned in, fingertips brushing her bare back like he was making a point. “You tell me.”

And when her laugh slipped out—soft, surprised, a little bit breathless—he knew he had her. But she had him, too. Because this wasn’t just game.

This was him laying claim in every way that mattered.

———-

Chapter 40 – “Don’t Get Fucked Up Twice”

The rooftop was lit—string lights above, smoke in the air, music low and sexy, drinks flowing heavy. Industry people, athletes, influencers, and enough tension in the air to cut with a knife. The boxing event had spilled over into a who's-who vibe, and of course, the Fatus pulled up like royalty.

Kami was glowing under the city sky. Real effortless. A velvet mini-dress clung to her thighs like a secret, and her ankle bracelet peeked every time she moved. Hair done, nails gripped around a glass of reposado on ice, she didn’t even have to speak to be the center of gravity.

Jimmy had posted up on the couch, legs stretched, gold chain glinting, his Heat jacket draped over the backrest, watching his girl circulate. He wasn’t pressed—until he saw who slid in beside her.

A rival baller from the Nets. Same position. Similar stats. Not the same league.

Jimmy’s jaw flexed as the dude leaned in close to Kami, whispering something that made her raise her brow but not smile. She was too sharp to fall for it—but still, homeboy was getting too comfortable.

And then Jimmy caught it.

The look. The smirk. That bold-ass whisper when the guy walked past his seat, brushing his shoulder just enough to be disrespectful.

“I’m takin’ your bitch and the W next week.”

That was it.

Jimmy stood slow. The kind of slow that makes a whole room pause.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.

He stepped right up behind Kami, hand sliding low around her waist, pulling her back into him like she belonged there. Her drink tilted slightly, and she let out a breathless laugh, looking up at him, surprised—but not mad.

“Hey,” she said, low and amused.

Jimmy leaned down, lips brushing her cheek like a warning and a claim all in one.

“Tell your lil’ admirer he better pray I don’t cook him on that court and in the parking lot.”

Kami blinked, lips parted, heat rushing to her cheeks—and not from the tequila.

The rival scoffed. “She not cuffed.”

Jimmy’s laugh came slow, mean. “Then why she in my bed damn near every night?”

The air got thick. A couple heads turned. Sefa nearby just muttered “Damn,” under his breath, sipping like this was exactly the drama he liked.

Kami tilted her head with a smirk, playing innocent. “I am?”

Jimmy turned her to face him, hand still on her hip. “You wanna test it?”

She stared up at him for a beat too long—then sipped her drink, leaned up on tiptoe, and kissed the corner of his mouth like he wasn’t still tensed up, ready to swing on somebody.

That was her answer.

And just like that, it was clear to everybody in the room:

Kami wasn’t just messing around.

And Jimmy?

Jimmy was letting the whole city know—don’t play with his.

—————

Chapter 41 – “You Must Want Yo Jaw Broke”

The bathroom was dim, luxury as hell—marble counters, sleek fixtures, soft R&B playing low from the ceiling speakers. Jimmy stepped in, running some water over his hands, trying to cool the fire simmering in his chest. Kami was still outside, back to laughing, unbothered, but that disrespect? That disrespect didn’t sit right.

And just as he reached for a towel, in walked the rival baller.

Same smug ass energy. Same corny chain, trying too hard cologne, same slick-ass grin like he ain’t just play himself in front of the whole party.

Jimmy didn’t even look his way. Didn’t have to.

But of course—dude wanted smoke.

“Appreciate you keepin’ the seat warm, playboy,” he started, pulling a toothpick from behind his ear like this was hismoment. “Shit, she got taste, but she clearly confused. Bet she finally realized she tired of babysittin’ a broke ass baller with a cute face.”

Jimmy turned slow, drying his hands, expression flat.

Dude stepped in front of the mirror, fixing his collar. “A woman like that? She ain’t built for the long game. She built for pressure. Raw. No breaks. I give it how she need it, feel me?”

Jimmy stared.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Then he stepped close, too close, that 6’4” frame suddenly eating up all the space in that bathroom. Voice low. Calm.

“You must want yo jaw broke.”

The rival laughed like he didn’t feel his stomach drop. “I’m just sayin’—”

“No,” Jimmy cut in, eyes dark. “You talkin’ outta pocket about somebody I care about. Somebody who got nothing to do with your insecure-ass need to be me.”

The dude rolled his eyes. “She not your girl though, right? She out here like she for—”

He ain’t finish the sentence.

BOOM.

Jimmy had him by the collar, slammed against the stall door before he could blink. Not a punch yet. Just a warning. A threat with weight behind it.

“One more time,” Jimmy said through his teeth. “One more word about her, and I swear to God, you gon’ be sipping meals through a straw before next week’s game.”

The rival’s mouth parted—but nothing came out this time.

Jimmy let him go, smoothed out his own jacket like nothing happened.

“You might be able to score on court,” he said, turning to leave, “but you’ll never be me. And you damn sure will never be enough for her.”

Then he walked out.

Back into the party, back into the soft lights and low bass and beautiful chaos—but this time, when he found Kami again? He didn’t hesitate.

He walked right over, hand back on her waist, kissed her bare shoulder in front of everybody and didn’t give a fuck who was watching.

Because she was his.

And the city would know it by morning.

———

Chapter 42 – “Touch Her Name, Catch a Fade”

Nobody saw it coming. No TMZ leak. No teaser tweets. Just a grainy ass iPhone clip that dropped at 2AM the night before the Heat’s biggest game of the season—and that shit spread like wildfire.

Viral. Everywhere.

Jimmy Fatu. Top prospect. Starter. Fine-ass baller with a 3-point stroke and a body like sin. On video? Swinging on a rival like he owed him money.

The clip was dark, shot through the crack of a bathroom door, but clear enough. Jimmy’s voice, low and cold: “Say her name again.”

Then boom. A fist to the face. Sounded like thunder hit marble.

Dude dropped like a sack of dirty laundry. His body slumped against the sink. Security? Nowhere in sight. And Jimmy? Calm. Like he ain’t just knock out an NBA vet with one hit.

The comments went nuclear.

“WHO TF IS KAMI AND WHY JIMMY FIGHTING FOR HIS LIFE IN THE BATHROOM??”

“He swung like that man touched his mama and his girl.”

“This the same Kami that walked the Fenty show??? Oh she got this man in hell.”

“He really said fuck a suspension—my woman’s name ring bells.”

By morning, ESPN was whispering about “disciplinary reviews.” The league was trying to get ahead of it. But the Heat? They weren’t benching him. Not today. Not for this game.

Because tonight wasn’t just a game.

It was the game.

The rival’s team was in town. Jimmy was already laced up, tattoos glistening, jaw tight as hell. That same rival? Hiding behind his teammates, black eye faint under his warmup hoodie, trying to act like the world ain’t see him folded like a napkin in the bathroom stall.

Courtside.

Kami sat pretty next to Sefa, legs crossed in distressed designer jeans and a cropped Heat jersey that said “Fatu” on the back in rhinestones. Real casual. Real fine.

She sipped her drink. Said nothing.

But Jimmy? The second he stepped on that court and caught her eye, he locked in.

And when the whistle blew?

Oh, it was curtains.

First quarter: He was on go. Playing fast, loud, disrespectful. Jey hit a quick three and barked “Too little!” in their direction. Jimmy snatched a rebound with one hand, dropped a no-look assist, and winked dead at Kami before running back on defense.

The rival? Tried to keep up. But he wasn’t built like that.

Jimmy was moving with vengeance.

Second quarter: Jimmy got the ball, iso’d him at the top of the key. Crowd roaring. Kami leaned forward in her seat, tongue poking her cheek.

Crossover. Behind the back. Stepback three.

WET.

Crowd exploded.

He didn’t even look at the basket.

He looked straight at her.

Then mouthed:

“This what you started.”

Sefa snorted and leaned to Kami. “You better start claiming him before he burns this man’s whole career to the ground.”

Kami just smirked, sipping slow. “He not mine.”

But she ain’t say it like she meant it.

[hoursofreading]

Who did the Glossier girl want to be? Herself, of course. Or rather, she wanted to appear to be herself; to seem authentic and effortless. She didn’t want to examine her attachment to production and consumption to do so, and she didn’t want to give up the cultural benefits of beauty, either. She wanted to purchase herself, please — but, like, a prettier version. “Who are we? We are you,” Weiss wrote in a now-haunting (to me!) post introducing Glossier. “You, but better,” the product copy clarified. The line skewed heavily toward skincare, and positioned slathering one’s face in see-through cosmetics as more true-to-self than slathering one’s face color cosmetics. “Skin first. Makeup second,” the graphic design preached from inside a millennial pink box (before the shade was known as “millennial” pink, natch). The accompanying Instagram images featured gorgeous, glowing, no-makeup makeup models who were aspirational enough to move units, yet “imperfect” enough (freckles, gapped teeth) to make customers feel seen. If this all sounds run-of-the-mill now, it is a testament to the revolutionary vision of Glossier. The startup reshaped the face of beauty branding. Because the marketing was generation-defining, Glossier products — Smoothing Face Mist, Priming Moisturizer — got away with generic formulations. “Frankly, there’s not a great deal of difference on a chemical or ingredient level between many products, and many supposedly key or active ingredients have little scientific basis for their efficacy,” Meltzer writes. “We were selling Vaseline for $12 for half an ounce,” one former employee told her of the brand’s Balm Dotcom lip gloss. It didn’t matter. Glossier was a hit. It drew five million global customers, $265 million in venture capital, and a $1.2 billion valuation by July 2023.