#also this IS in preparation for JE week

[adascore]

Fouled Dreams | L. Oberdorf

pairings: lena oberdorf x dutch!reader (+ plays for bayern) / netherlands national team x reader / german national team x dutch!reader

warnings: netherlands losing. crying. swearing. changed some things about the match, but the result is the same. fouls. mentions of bruising and swelling.

author’s: been obsessed with her lately so just had to write something. writing about nations league losses have become my thing I fear :(

masterlist

•••••••

February, 2024

They'd know beforehand that this situation could happen, yet when both their teams lost in the semifinals, it was hard to grasp the reality that one needed to beat the other in order to go to the Olympics in Paris.

Herself and Lena had played plenty of times against each other, with both their respective clubs and national teams.

However, this felt different.

Their previous international meetings had merely been friendlies in preparations for other competitive events like the World Cup a year prior.

This was for a spot at the Olympics.

Y/N had been at the previous edition in Tokyo with the Dutch team, where they had stranded in the quarterfinals against the United States on penalties.

Lena had never played at the Olympic Games, something she greatly wanted to achieve with her German teammates.

Both teams also wanted to redeem themselves after disappointing World Cup exits.

There were many things at stake.

Of course, headlines and articles had been made about how the couple was going to go head-to-head in a very important match for both sides.

Prior to their arrivals at the stadium, they hadn't seen each other for a few weeks. Lena played for Wolfsburg, while Y/N was a striker for Bayern Munich.

Although, Lena's upcoming transfer to Bayern would assure they would only have to miss each other during international breaks.

The young footballers had gotten together about a year prior, all credit to Lynn, Dom and Jill who had played matchmakers.

The distance was difficult at first, but they eventually found a nice balance. It sounded cliche, but communication really is the key to a good relationship.

Y/N was strolling around the pitch with her teammates when the German team appeared in the tunnel.

She didn't notice her girlfriend at first, too occupied in a conversation with Andries and Sherida.

It was Lynn, who so ''sweetly'' screamed for her best friend to ''get her ass over here'' that got her to excuse herself from the discussion with her captain and coach.

''Echte uitslover jij, waar was je nou weer over aan het lullen met hen?'' (''You're a real teacher's pet, what were you bullshitting about this time with them?'') Lynn teased her as she approached her, Lena, Jule and Lea.

Y/N sarcastically smiled at her fellow Dutchwoman. ''Jouw dikke kop!'' (''Your big head!'') She retorted, with Lynn playfully giving her a shove afterwards.

Her eyes lit up once she spotted Lena. Despite the tension of the upcoming match, seeing her face brought a sense of comfort amidst the nerves.

''Hey, everyone.'' Y/N moved to embrace Lea and Jule first, their proximity making them the easiest targets for her initial greetings. She let out an awkward chuckle as she made eye contact with her girlfriend again, but went in for the hug as well.

''Missed you.'' Lena whispered softly, her arms wrapping around her partner's waist in a comforting hold.

''Missed you too.'' Y/N replied, her voice equally gentle.

Their embrace was brief, acutely aware of the prying eyes of the photographers stationed around the field. It wasn't that they were afraid of showing public displays of affection, it was more the discomfort that came with the knowledge that every moment captured on camera would be scrutinized and analyzed by the media and fans alike.

They were far from being a secret- their relationship was an open secret among their teammates and the wider football community. Yet, the constant surveillance felt suffocating at times. So, when they could help it, they kept the PDA to a minimum, opting for subtle gestures and fleeting touches that spoke volumes in their own right.

''My mum and dad are coming tonight.'' Y/N said to Lena, the pair quickly disassociated to their own small bubble.

The German grinned. ''Yeah? That's nice, haven't seen them in a while.'' She replied, her tone warm and genuine.

Y/N nodded, a sense of anticipation building within her at the thought of her parents' arrival. She had a good relationship with her family, they'd been supportive of her love of football from the moment she started and went to almost every game if they could.

''My mum did make a small sign for you, cause she thought you might get upset with her.'' She playfully rolled her eyes at the recalling of her mother sending her a picture of the small poster that said 'Go Lena!'.

Lena chuckled at the mention of her girlfriend's mother's thoughtful gesture, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ''That's very sweet, I can't wait to see it in person.''

''She's probably gonna want to take a picture of you with it, so you're warned beforehand.'' Y/N laughed, knowing her mother wanted photos of everything and everyone.

''I'll be sure to smile extra wide for the camera then, like this.'' Lena pretended to grin very big, showing off her teeth.

Y/N burst into laughter at her exaggerated pose, her eyes crinkling with amusement. ''Perfect, Obi! Exactly what she wants for a heartwarming photo.'' She teased, mimicking Lena's antics.

''Hey, you two,'' Lynn interrupted their moment, the entire group staring at the couple, ''the loser sleeps on the couch or what?'' The Dutch defender laughed.

Her national teammate mockingly rolled her eyes. ''Lynno, we don't even live in the same place. Idioot dat je bent.'' (''Idiot you are.'') Y/N responded.

Lynn chuckled in response, waving off her friend's playful insult with a dismissive gesture. ''Details, details,'' she replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, ''just make sure you've got that couch ready, wherever it may be.''

''I'm sure she has chosen a nice place.'' Lena retorted, chiming in on the banter.

Y/N's mouth gaped dramatically, and her eyes widened, exaggerating her reaction to the playful exchange. ''Actually, since you like breaking ankles, you can just sleep on the floor.''

Lena raised an eyebrow in mock surprise at her girlfriend's response, which drew another round of laughter from the group. ''Oh, I see how it is,'' she teased, ''floor it is, then. I'll bring my sleeping bag.'' She accepted.

She threw her arm around Lena at the feigned sadness over having to bring a sleeping bag, her pout being too cute to not fawn over.

It was a nice moment to have with the group, temporarily forgetting an important match would have to be played a few hours later.

There was a mixed atmosphere in the tunnel as both teams started gathering in a line, familiarizing themselves with their small mascots, who were all looking up at the players with wide-eyed excitement.

The Netherlands' usual captain, Sherida Spitse, had been forced to withdraw from the starting lineup due to a last-minute injury sustained during the warm-up. In her absence, Y/N found herself unexpectedly thrust into the role of captain for the crucial match.

As she entered the tunnel, the weight of the captain's armband felt both familiar and foreign at the same time. While she had stepped into the role of captain before, it had always been in moments of crisis, when Sherida was substituted during a match and Y/N was hastily given the band by one of their teammates.

It was not only a great moment for her, it would be one for her family as well. Though they weren't particularly patriotic, knowing that their daughter had been chosen by the entire Dutch team to lead them out for such an important match filled them with a sense of pride and honor.

Her usual spot in the line would be at the back, next to Lena. It had become almost routine for them to have a small chat before their matches, even when they were with Bayern and Wolfsburg, they were always the last players to enter the stadium.

Y/N held the pennant in her hands tight as she approached her girlfriend, careful to not make a big deal out of it since they were already filming the players as they waited for the officials to walk out.

A small pat on her arm was enough to grab Lena's attention, the German turning her head before a small, but nervous, smile broke out on her face once she noticed who it was.

''Hey, Captain.'' She grinned, her eyes briefly glancing towards where the armband was comfortably wrapped around her partner's bicep.

Y/N smirked once she noticed, but didn't say anything about it. ''Hi,'' she softly said, ''good match, alright? And please, don't break my ankles.'' She teased.

''No promises.'' Lena chuckled, playfully raising her eyebrow.

They shared a final glance before the striker made her way to the front of the line-up, only to be stopped by Dominique. ''Ze gaat sowieso je enkel breken.'' (''No doubt she's going to break your ankle.'') The Dutch defender said, a mischievous look in her eyes.

''Ik weet het.'' (''I know.'') Y/N sighed.

''Dom was right.'' The captain muttered under her breath as she was yet again taking to the ground by one of the German defenders.

It hadn't even been close to half-time yet and the Bayern Munich player had been assaulted from all sides. Funny enough, none of the challenges had been made by Lena- so far at least.

Danielle helped her get up from the ground, quickly checking in. ''I'm fine, Daan.'' Y/N reassured the older player, wiping her knees clean.

The first half proved to be eventful, yet no goals had been made by either side. The goalkeepers were making amazing saves, but both teams had also missed serious chances at scoring the opening goal.

Despite being deployed in Sherida's position as a defensive midfielder, Y/N managed to make an impact in the attacking third. She found herself with two golden opportunities to break the deadlock, however, luck was not on her side as both strikes rattled off the woodwork, denying her the chance to put her team ahead.

The opening minute of the second half was marked by a somewhat surprising moment:

Lena fouled Y/N.

The referee blew the whistle, signaling the late challenge made by the midfielder. Y/N, with a dramatic flair, collapsed to the ground, clutching her leg in feigned agony.

Recognizing the playful nature of the moment, Lena quickly understood that she was only hamming it up for the sake of a breather for her teammates and to ruin the Germans' momentum. However, she still bent down beside her girlfriend.

''You shouldn't go into acting anytime soon.'' Lena chuckled, briefly letting her hand caress over the part that 'allegedly' hurt so bad.

The captain let out a small smile. ''That's mean, you should get a yellow card for descent.''

The midfielder's eyes sparked with amusement as she helped her back up to her feet. ''Maybe later.'' She quipped, playfully nudging her girlfriend's shoulder before they resumed their positions on the field.

It didn't take too long for the fun to be over as Klara put in the first goal of the night, which had been assisted by Lena. About 10 minutes later, another Bayern teammate put one in the back of the net as Lea also got herself on the scoresheet.

As the game wore on, Y/N became increasingly determined to make a difference on the field. However, despite her best efforts, none of her attempts seemed to find the back of the net. Her teammates were not clinical enough, or the shots were deflected by the German defenders.

The more attacks she created, the more aggressive the fouls of the German grew on her.

They seemed determined to shut down Y/N's advances by any means necessary, resorting to increasingly rough challenges to disrupt her rhythm.

She managed to keep the ball from Nüsken, and send a pass to Esmee when a German player made a reckless tackle from behind, catching her off guard. The force of the challenge sent her crashing to the ground, a sharp pain shooting through her ankle.

A wave of concern washed over the stadium and the Dutch team as they watched their most vital player of the evening being abruptly taken out by Giulia.

People close to her rushed to her side, including Giulia who didn't have the intention to actually hurt her Bayern teammate. The referee swiftly intervened, issuing a yellow card.

''Shit, I'm sorry- didn't time it well.'' The midfielder apologized immediately, knowing right away it wasn't a great or necessary challenge.

Y/N made a gesture with her hand, which translated to ''it's okay, just give me space now,'' which Giulia understood, the pair having a great relationship at Bayern.

Lynn was the first of her teammates to reach her, shouting profanities at Giulia and the referee for letting the fouls on her best friend get to the point where she needed the medical team.

''Alles goed, meid?'' (''Everything okay, girlie?'') The Wolfsburg defender asked, concern etched on her face.

''Ik denk dat me enkel er elk moment gaat afvallen.'' (''I think my ankle is going to fall off at any moment.'') She sarcastically replied, rolling her eyes.

Lynn chuckled at her friend's attempt at humor, though the worry still lingered in her eyes. ''Ik hoop van niet, we hebben die nog nodig.'' (''I hope it doesn't, we still need it.'').

Meanwhile, the medical team arrived, quickly assessing Y/N's ankle to determine the extent of the injury. The other players quickly backed off so the staff could work in peace.

Lena noticed her club teammate's concerned expression and approached her quietly. ''How's she doing?'' She asked softly, her eyes flickering toward Y/N, whose ankle was covered in bruises.

Lynn sighed, her hand smoothing down her hair. ''I think she's trying to make it out as if she isn't bothered by it, but it's obvious it hurts- look at it, completely blue.'' The Dutchwoman motioned towards where one of the physios was icing her foot.

The midfielder nodded. ''I hope it's nothing too serious.'' She observed the way her partner was hissing at the way the staff was assessing her ankle, visibly agitated by the pain. She wished she could do more to help, but all she could do for now was offer her support from the sidelines.

The Dutch team held their breath as Y/N gingerly tested her weight on her injured ankle, her expression a mix of determination and discomfort. Every eye on the sideline was fixed on her, silently praying that she would be able to continue.

''As soon as the match is done, you're coming with us to the medical room. I'm surprised you can walk still.'' Their physiotherapist ordered her, glancing down at her iced and taped up ankle.

Andries sent her a thumbs up, asking if she was okay to continue. However, Y/N knew they had used up all their substitutes so there would be no use in forfeiting the game, so she confirmed with a nod that she would carry on.

She could walk on her own to the side of the pitch, though there was a limp in her step. The striker carefully jogged onto the grass as the referee gave her permission to join the match again.

A few tense minutes later, the shrill sound of the referee's whistle pierced the air, signaling the end of the match.

Amidst the disappointment of the Dutch team, the German players erupted into jubilant celebrations. They hugged each other tightly, their faces beaming with joy and relief as they reveled in their hard-earned victory.

The Oranje Leeuwinnen on the pitch dejectedly gave each other hugs and consolations, most with tears in their eyes.

Y/N had lowered herself onto the ice-cold grass, the throbbing pain in her ankle too much to bear. She winced as she cautiously propped herself up against the turf.

She suddenly felt two pairs of arms slip beneath hers, lifting her gently off the ground. Startled, she looked up to see Esmee and Kerstin, their expressions filled with concern as they looked at their captain.

''Kom op, meid,'' (''Come on, girl,') Kerstin gently said, ''je was echt een beest op dat middenveld.'' (''You really were a beast in the midfield.'') The Manchester City player chuckled, trying to lighten up the somber mood.

Esmee nodded in agreement, her grip firm yet gentle as she supported Y/N's weight. The two youngsters guided her towards the waiting medical staff, who had been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines.

Some of their teammates and staff patted their heads and ruffled their hair as they walked across the pitch, offering words of sweet nothingness.

With a reassuring nod from the physiotherapist, Esmee and Kerstin carefully lowered her onto the stretcher, ensuring she was comfortable before the medical team began to carry her inside the stadium for further examination.

The injured player could hear the applause from the bystanders, but it wasn't much solace as the pain and disappointment hit her like a truck. Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, Y/N felt a sob escape her lips, the sound muffled by her hands as she covered her face.

The staff of the Dutch team carrying the stretcher watched with downcast eyes, feeling for the young player who had literally given her body and soul this match.

After what seemed like an eternity of navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the stadium, they finally reached the treatment room. With practiced efficiency, they set to work assessing Y/N's injury, carefully removing her shoe and sock to examine her blue ankle.

As the physiotherapists administered treatment, taping up her ankle and applying ice packs to reduce the swelling, the striker remained silent, lost in her thoughts and emotions.

Once her ankle was securely taped and she was given the green light to proceed, Y/N wasted no time in making her way back to the pitch. The pain was barely noticeable anymore as she walked with quickness in her strides, simply wanting to be with her team.

Surprisingly, the German and Dutch players were still exchanging handshakes with one another, acknowledging each other's efforts or catching up with teammates.

The Dutch captain delicately walked onto the pitch again going for the officials who stood in the center of the big field. On her way there, she shook hands or gave hugs with either her national teammates or club teammates, each of them praising her performance of the night- though the striker didn't feel deserving of it.

With a firm handshake and a nod of acknowledgment, she greeted the officials. One of them had asked about her injury, but the player assured her that she was alright. With a suppressed smile, she turned away from them.

''Y/N…'' She heard a voice next to her, immediately recognizing whose it was.

The Dutch striker tried to beam the best she could, a strained grin plastered on her face. ''Hey.''

Lena hesitantly motioned for a hug, not confident in how to handle the situation. Her girlfriend nodded, opening her arms, and welcoming each other in an embrace in the center of the pitch.

''I know it doesn't look like I am, but I am very happy for you and the girls.'' Y/N mumbled into Lena's neck, her voice thick with emotion as she fought to hold back her tears.

The German midfielder brushed her fingers gently through her hair, a soft sigh escaping her lips. ''Danke,'' (''Thank you,'') she whispered in response, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude. ''I know you're happy for us, you don't need to say it.''

Their embrace lingered for a moment longer, each reluctant to let go. But eventually, they pulled back, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange.

''How's your ankle?'' Lena asked, discreetly peeking at her girlfriend's taped up ankle.

The Dutchwoman shrugged her shoulders. ''It's just very bruised, that's it,'' she dismissed, ''you played really well- nice assist, by the way.'' Y/N changed the subject, not wanting to linger on the topic of her physical well-being.

Lena's cheeks flushed at the compliment. ''Thank you. I meant to score, though.''

The German glanced around the stadium, scanning the crowd. ''Where are your parents sitting?'' She asked.

Y/N pointed towards a section of the stands where her parents were seated, their faces alight with pride and excitement as they waved to them from the crowd. The couple happily waved back at them, Lena lightly chuckling at the poster that her girlfriend's father hastily pulled out of his wife's bag, motioning it around for Lena to see.

''They're so sweet.'' She remarked, her voice filled with affection as she glanced back at Y/N. But as Lena turned her gaze back to her girlfriend, she noticed a sudden shift in her demeanor.

As Y/N watched her family in the stands, a flood of emotions washed over her. She felt a lump form in her throat as she took in the sight of them, their smiles radiating nothing but support for their daughter and her national team. However, it was once she glanced down at the fans around them, downed in orange decorations and clothing, that her true feelings about the outcome of the match came to the surface. The sea of orange seemed to mock her, a painful reminder of the missed opportunities and shattered dreams that had taken place tonight.

The team had fought tooth and nail to simply make it out of the group stages, the late drama at the match against Belgium had filled the squad with newfound confidence and resilience. They'd come so close to their ticket to the Olympics, it was practically in their hands before it had been taken away from them and ripped in millions of pieces.

She couldn't help but feel a sense of profound loss. The weight of the defeat lied heavily on her, feeling somewhat the most responsible for the defeat, as if she had been the only player on her team. Deep down, Y/N knew this was far from the truth- football was a team effort, and their loss was a collective outcome. But the pressure she had felt was immense, spurred on by the absence of key players like Jill, Victoria, and Vivianne.

In the eyes of the Dutch media, Y/N had been hailed as the team's ''saving angel,'' a title that now felt like a heavy burden on her shoulders. She had been the one to step up in critical moments, delivering crucial assists and last-minute goals that had propelled the Netherlands to victory in the past. But tonight, she couldn't replicate that success- something she feared she would be crucified for by the fans and pundits.

Lena's heart ached at the sight of her girlfriend's distress, the lines of worry etched into her brow as she struggled to maintain her composure.

With a gentle touch, she reached out to Y/N, her fingers lightly brushing against her arm as she offered silent support. Lena understood right away what she was thinking as she watched her observe the crowd, it's what she had felt at the World Cup, it's what she had felt when Wolfsburg were knocked out of the Champions League.

Utter and complete disappointment.

''Hey,'' Lena murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she sought to break through the walls of self-doubt that surrounded Y/N, ''it's okay, you did well.'' She comforted as she pulled her into another embrace, her arms caressing the Dutchwoman's back.

Y/N buried her face against Lena's shoulder, her tears soaking into the fabric of her jersey as she clung to her girlfriend's warmth. ''I wanted it so badly,'' she admitted, ''and I played so fucking bad, missed so many sitters.''

It was frustrating for Lena to hear, especially since her partner was easily one of the best players on the field tonight, and was the sole reason the Netherlands were still in the game the entire match. ''Do you know how hard you made it for us? You kept taking the ball from me.'' She tried to convince her, her voice resolute.

Y/N sniffled, her breath hitching as she struggled to hold back her tears. ''But I could have- I should have done so much better.'' She lamented, her voice muffled against Lena's shoulder.

Lena pulled back slightly, cupping Y/N's face in her hands so she could look into her eyes. ''You did everything you could,'' the midfielder reassured her, her gaze unwavering, ''you were playing out of your position the entire time, you were constantly creating chances for yourself and for your teammates, you were my player of the match- and I'm not just saying that,'' she interrupted herself before her girlfriend could, ''you're a phenomenal player, and I was so proud watching you tonight.''

Y/N's eyes widened with surprise and disbelief at Lena's words. She had been so consumed by her own self-criticism that she hadn't realized how much her partner valued and appreciated her efforts on the field.

She wrapped her arms around her, giving a swift peck on the cheek. ''Love you.''

''Love you too.'' Lena reciprocated, landing a kiss on her girlfriend's cheek as well.

The Dutchwoman glanced to her side, seeing the German team starting to form a huddle with one another. ''Obi,'' she caught Lena's attention, signaling towards her teammates, ''go and celebrate, we'll talk tomorrow, alright?''

As Lena hesitated, Y/N gave her an encouraging smile. ''Seriously, go join them, you're going to Olympics, have fun with them. I'm gonna be mad if you don't.''

''Okay, but we face time tomorrow?'' The young midfielder asked, needing the reassurance.

Y/N chuckled softly, touched by her partner's concern. ''We will. Now go, and party- oh my God.''

With a final nod of understanding, Lena gave her girlfriend's hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly turning to join the German team in their huddle.

As Y/N watched her disappear into the celebratory chaos, a bittersweet smile touched her lips. She could see her own team waiting for her, already standing in a circle.

She took the spot next to her best friend, as Lynn made space for her to join.

A slight grimace crossed her face as the entire team listened to Andries, prompting the defender next to her to furrow her eyebrows. ''Je enkel?'' (''Your ankle?'') She asked.

With a wry smile, Y/N shook her head. ''Nee, de rugpijn die ik ga hebben na het slapen op de grond.'' (''No, the back pain I'll be having after sleeping on the floor.'') She responded, a teasing smirk on her face.

lena requests are always welcome!

[queenofspades6]

Greatest Investment | Kaz Brekker x reader

Summary: You eavesdrop on Kaz and Inej, you watched as they get closer, and well, it doesn’t go as planned…

Based on this request I received:

”Hiii! I haven't watched the second season yet, but I saw a Gif of a kiss (or almost kiss) between Kaz and Inej, and I was wondering if you would write about the reader having feelings for Kaz since they met, but she doesn't have the courage to talk, so at some point in the day she goes to check if Kaz needs anything and ends up witnessing the kiss (or almost kiss) between Kaz and Inej, and the reader feels like the silliest person in the world after that.”

Warnings: Angst. (Sorry…)

A/N: Hi! I hope you’ll enjoy what I wrote, I took some liberties since I was so inspired by the request!! I love some good angst! Did I use again in a Kaz Brekker fic title the word ‘investment’? Oops…I think meeting Freddy and Amita made me that way! They are so incredible!

———

Being Ketterdam’s most famous assassin wasn’t an easy life. You were one of Kaz Brekker’s Crows, always here if needed. Since you were part of the Crows, there was something unspoken between Kaz and you. There was some sort of tension from the beginning, even Nina and Jesper had noticed.

”How is the most beautiful woman in Ketterdam doing?“ Jesper asked, taking place to the bar counter next to you.

You rolled your eyes and repressed a grin.

“What do you want, Jesper?“

“Can’t I just compliment you without needing a reason?”

You stared at him meticulously, but Jesper couldn’t look back. Interesting. He needed to ask you something then...

“Fine! Fine! I need your help.“

You sighed but smiled.

”What? It’s not my fault, Y/N, if you give good advice! Don’t blame me!”

”Jesper, what do you need me for?“ You questioned, taking a sip at your drink.

“You see...“

Jesper was trying to avoid your gaze.

”Jesper. My patience has its limits.”

“Alright! Fine! I want to prepare a date for Wylan and I need your help.” He spitted, playing with his gun on his hand.

You nodded.

”I’ll help you. What do you need me for?“

”I don’t know what to plan. Maybe something he’ll like.”

You laughed, thinking about your previous conversation with Wylan about a sweet and wonderful place you both wanted to go to escape for once the cold streets of Ketterdam.

“Jes. You know what? Bring him to Butterfly’s Heaven, you declared, a smile already drawing on your lips at the thought, it’s a greenhouse where all the species of butterfly can fly freely. There’s also an endearing cafe there to drink something while watching the butterflies.” You replied, stars already dancing in your eyes thinking about all the marvelous butterflies.

“Do you think Wylan will love it?”

”Definitely! We talked about it all week, and he was desperate to go. You should bring him. He’ll love it. And buy him a stuffed toy, he’ll marry you right after.”

Jesper was smiling at the thought of Wylan asking his hand in marriage.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“You and Wylan deserve to be happy.“

“What if it’s not enough, Y/N? What if I am not enough?” He opened up, not caring if he was vulnerable in front of you.

“You are enough, Jesper, you always have.”

You looked at him and smiled, hoping one day you’ll find someone that will care for you as much as Jesper wants Wylan.

“Wylan thinks you are enough, he loves you, Jes. And even Kaz knows it, even if he won’t ever admit it.”

You took another sip of the whisky in front of you and heard someone giggling.

”Hi Y/N!”

Wylan was embracing Jesper with his hands around his shoulders.

“Hi you.” Wylan said to Jesper.

Jesper didn’t even reply and kissed him tenderly as if he were the most precious thing in the world. And at that moment, you swore he were. They broke the kiss, and Wylan blinked several times as if to recover from the intensity of the kiss. It warmed your heart, even if you said nothing.

“What were you talking about?” Wylan asked, coming back to his senses.

Jesper almost jumped off his seat.

”We were talking about Y/N’s feelings for Kaz!“ Jesper answered spontaneously, too scared to reveal what he had planned.

”What? We were?” You almost spitted your drink on the counter of the bar. Now you were facing Jesper and Wylan. How dare he expose you like that?

”Oh seems interesting.” Wylan said, waiting for you to say more.

“There’s nothing between me and Kaz.”

Wylan looked at you wide-eyed, and Jesper sighed, before saying:

”Lie, Y/N. Haven’t you noticed how Kaz always checks on you after a heist, how you always have dresses, jewels, food, everything you want given to you for nothing in shops, you think it’s because of your fine looks? No. Even if you’re beautiful, Y/N, no offense! It’s Kaz’s doing. He made me went with him to each shop, each café, each place in Ketterdam you would want to go to pay, or should I say ‘bribe’ them for you to always have what’s best, no matter the cost.”

”That’s not true, that’s-”

”And what about this time you almost died, and he stayed at your bed an entire week, ordering every Dreg not to disturb him, and how you always have your tea and waffles ready for you every morning? Even Nina is jealous!” He confessed.

”I thought it was you or Wylan who was making me breakfast every morning!”

”It’s not.“ He muttered.

”He’s right, Y/N.” Wylan nodded. ”Even Nina told me last time about how his heartbeat jumped when you are in the same place, and how irritating it was for her to feel both of your heartbeats jumping when you’re together.”

“You should tell him how you feel, Y/N. You are the one who encouraged me to be with Wylan, because life is short, and in Ketterdam, death is always near. He cares about you, more than he’ll ever admit.”

”I don’t have feelings for Kaz fucking Brekker!” You almost screamed and avoided Wylan and Jesper’s gazes.

You took your glass of whisky and finished it all. The feeling of alcohol burning your throat almost soothed you.

”You do.” Jesper smiled and teased you.

”No, I don’t!”

Wylan rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’stuborness.

”Y/N! There you are, I thought you were with Kaz!”

You jumped off your seat. Fortunately for you, it was only Nina and not Dirtyhands himself.

”Nina, you scared the hell out of me.”

She grinned as if she had planned it all along.

”What are the three of you up to?“ She questioned, eyebrows raised.

"We are talking about Y/N’s feelings for Kaz.” Wylan answered before you could even speak.

”Not you too, Wylan!”

He smirked, almost shyly, and even if you wanted to blame him, you couldn’t blame his cute silly face.

”Hmmm, you and Waffles are not so discreet with your feelings.”

You sighed and tried to ignore Nina’s voice. You knew that if you listened to them, you would probably end up in Kaz’s office confessing your feelings for him, because on some missions, it became unbearable. The need to protect him, to check on him, how he could make you feel powerful and useless at the same time.

“Y/N. Heartbeats don’t lie.” Nina whispered to you, and you were sure Wylan and Jesper would not hear.

”Stop Nina. I- I- He’s not in love with me. Kaz Brekker can’t be in love. Love is a weakness, and I am only his latest investment.” You repeated, only to convince yourself of it.

“So how do you explain how his heartbeat go faster when you’re here, how I can feel his heart trying to get out of his chest when you’re injured. He cares. He tries to hide it, but the heart doesn’t lie. Never.”

You looked at her blue ocean eyes, and she caressed your shoulder in encouragement.

”Try to tell him, try to tell him you care, if only that. Love is a fragile thing, cherish it while it lasts.”

You swore you saw an ounce of sadness and regret flashing in her eyes as she remembered Matthias.

“I think you can help him with his past.” Nina muttered.

You looked at your empty glass, and noticed how your hands were trembling. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time for you to tell him, that at least you cared for him. More than him being just your Boss.

You stood up, levelled up your chin, and took several steps towards Kaz’s office.

You were Ketterdam’s most notorious assassin, and you would not be afraid.*

You advanced towards the door slowly, you wanted to knock but the door was already ajar.

You could do it, you had done so much worse. You took a deep breath before-

You heard voices in his office. You heard him first, talking with a female voice, a voice you didn’t not recogn-

it was Inej’s.

Kaz and Inej were in his office talking. Your instinct was screaming at you to leave and come back later, but curiosity got the better of you.

You stayed, you tried to understand what they were saying, but you couldn’t. Slowly the most slowly possible you pushed the door and waited. Kaz and Inej were still talking, you took it as a sign they didn’t hear your presence. You weren’t Ketterdam’s best assassin for nothing. You took a silent step and looked at Kaz’s office.

You didn’t expect what you saw.

Kaz and Inej were close, too close for your liking, dangerously close. Too close that any of them could bear. So how was it they were here, almost touching each other. You swore Kaz could feel Inej’s breathing on his chin.

Watching them so close together made your heart beating faster. You wanted to scream but no sound came. No explanation came to your mind. Why was Inej here? You tried to focus on the words you heard, but none of them made sense. You were near but you couldn’t hear them clearly, it was as if your brain didn’t want you to eavesdrop. You heard some words like ‘crows’ and ‘family’.

You pushed the door again, without a sound. You leaned on the door and focused on the voices.

“Inej.”

You heard Kaz’s voice as it broke, and you needed to take a glimpse at what was going on right now. You took a deep breath and looked at them. Kaz’s gloved hand was on Inej’s shoulder. They were staring at each other like nothing else mattered in the entire world. Even if you were not close, you could decipher Inej’s surprise at Kaz’s sudden touch.

”Let me go, Kaz.”

Kaz removed his hand, and an ounce of sadness and rejection passed on his face.

“We need you, here.“

You watched as Inej shooked her head.

“Stay, Inej. Stay. Please.”

Her name sounded as a prayer in Kaz’s lips.

”I can’t, Kaz, and you know why.“ She whispered.

“We need you, Inej, please. We- I... I need you.“

Without noticing, Kaz caught Inej’s arm with his gloved hand, preventing her from leaving.

You couldn’t see them clearly; the door was blocking your path. You tried to lean on a bit further but failed miserably. Why did you push your luck? Your whole body had been trembling the whole time, even with the multiple tries to steady your heartbeat and calm yourself. The door opened slightly, and your face was greeted by the floor.

All you felt was numbness, shock and realization. Kaz and Inej were staring at you in wonder. You could already feel Kaz’s grave gaze at you.

“What? Did you never see someone fall before?“ You questioned, trying to hide your discomfort.

Feeling ashamed, you stood up awkwardly and crossed Kaz’s eyes.

“Y/N.“ Kaz declared.

You nodded.

“It’s not what you think.” Inej replied immediately, trying to maintain her composure.

Kaz was leaning on his cane, and his eyes never left your form.

”Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything. I won’t tell a soul. Keep going. I am leaving right now.” You gestured to the door and fled.

”Y/N, wait.“ Kaz said.

You ran through the Crow Club, not caring what the Dregs thought.

”Y/N!” Jesper screamed, hoping to catch your attention.

Why were you running?

Kaz followed after you, even if his leg hurt. He tried to, but you were too fast for him. After all, you were an assassin. A clumsy one at that...

You didn’t care. You ran until your lungs couldn’t bear the feeling, until your knees broke under the weight of your exhausted body. But where could you go in Ketterdam? A place where no Dreg could ever find you.

You knew the perfect place.

Months ago the Crows had gone on an heist with your help. The goal was simple, Kaz had said: ‘we enter, we take the painting, and we leave unnoticed’. He had insisted on the word ‘unnoticed’ looking specifically at Jesper. You had agreed to help them steal the damn painting if it pleases them. Truth be told you couldn’t say no to more Kruge. When you entered the grim manor Kaz had depicted, you noticed how silent and peaceful it was. No soul lived here. Was it the place where the painting was hidden? Maybe Kaz had made a mistake. But he had confirmed it was here. The manor was abandoned long ago by a duke trying to escape his demons. That’s all Kaz had told you, and you hadn’t asked for more at the time. Now you wished you had, because you were headed towards the old manor. A place where just the ghosts could disturb you. Ghosts were better than men, right? Better than some Bastard of the Barrel.

It could be the only place where you could scream and cry without someone noticing Ketterdam’s best assassin being vulnerable. Sometimes being the greatest assassin was a weakness, a weakness you couldn’t afford. It meant never showing too much emotion, never crying in front of your enemies... Wait. Was Kaz your enemy?

You didn’t know anymore. Falling in love was a weakness. Something not allowed in the dangerous streets of Ketterdam, a feeling that would destroy everything if not careful. In fact, love was a weapon, and if not used with parsimony and care, it could kill you.

You broke in the manor, remembering the precise path you used last time and found the closest room, the one you had discovered and found surprisingly pleasing. And strangely peaceful.

You closed the door, and sat on the floor, your body curled up, hands around your knees. You tried to forget the memories with the Crows and Kaz, but it was too much. You remembered your times with Jesper talking about guns, the hours eating waffles and ice cream with Nina, the walks with Wylan, the looks of approval coming from Matthias, and this cane... The cane you would never forget, even if you wanted to. You remembered the day when you had ended up wounded after eliminating a slaver. You were injured, sitting on the cold pavement. You were trying to catch your breath before escaping, but you had felt a soft but firm tap on your thigh. And without looking, you knew who it belonged to.

It was the Bastard of the Barrel.

He wanted you to think he was invisible, and unpredictable, but what he didn’t know was that long before killing the man, you knew Dirtyhands had followed you.

“Enjoyed the show, didn’t you?” You had questioned, showing your white teeth that must have been covered in blood.

That was the day when he had asked you to join the Crows, and since you had nothing more to do, you had accepted, already thinking about the free drinks you would benefit at the Crow Club.

You also remembered the day when you had wanted to leave the Crows because of some decision Kaz had made. You were angry and had prepared everything to leave in the morning. However, Kaz had watched you wrapping your clothes with a spectacular meticulousness, and had whispered:

“Stay. Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me, Y/N.”

And you had stayed. Of course. When Dirtyhands asked you to stay, you stay. The morning he had woken up at dawn in case you wanted to leave without saying goodbye. He had found you in your usual attire, your knives and guns on your waist.

“You did not leave?”

He had asked, almost as a prayer.

”No. Something keeps me in Ketterdam.”

Kaz had said nothing, but you swore you had seen a grin on his lips this day.

You also remembered the day when you had been badly injured to save Nina from a fatal injury. You had been severely hurt; you weren’t even able to stand up. You remember watching the pitiful looks of the Crows at your broken body sprawled on the ground. Deep down you knew you were now a liability for the Crows, and especially for Kaz, so you had told them to leave you here, and escape before the men you had stolen from were back. You knew the risks and costs of each heist, and already accepted your fate.

Kaz had none of it. He had ordered Matthias to carry you, while Nina would tend to your wound as much as she could and control your heartbeat. Jesper would protect your backs, while Inej was sent to scan the path, and look for any danger. You would never forget the look Kaz had given you when he told you to rest for months if needed and had given you a room close to his own in the Crow Club.

Later, you had asked him why he had saved you instead of leaving you to perish. He had said with conviction:

”We are Crows, Y/N, we never leave our own behind.”

That was all of his qualities and flaws that made you love Kaz Brekker. He was broken, but you had always been a sucker for broken things to tend to. You had offered him everything an assassin could possess: your loyalty, your weapons, your ability to kill, and your heart, ready for the taking...

But now you remembered the sentence Dirtyhands had told you a week ago, telling you all you had to know about what you were to him, and what you could be.

”You’re my greatest investment, Y/N. Don’t fail me. “

He had told you once what you were to him, but you hadn’t listened, you had fallen in love, and now you knew. You knew you had always been an expensive investment, but only that, nothing more.

You had been his greatest investment, and that was all...

———-

Tell me what you thought about this one! I am seriously considering writing a part 2! Likes, shares and comments are appreciated, it makes my day, I really need it!

———

If you liked this fanfiction, you’ll love this one, it also has the word ‘investment’ in the title like this one:

⬇️ ⬇️

[dead-dolphins]

Illicit Affairs: 1st Drabble

It’s been a long time coming, but here it is at last—the very first drabble of the cheating AU! Omg omg omg!!! XD Just a heads-up: I wrote this purely for fun, without a solid plot, just capturing the vibes of the AU. Don’t worry, there’s more to come! I hope to catch your attention and, well, enjoy! TW: Eren's fantasies and mentions of potential cheating.

Eren was always the first to arrive at the stables before dawn. As the morning light, indifferent to the season, began to spread over the meadows where the Jaeger and Arlert manors stood, his presence in that shared space came well before anyone else stirred.

It had been this way since he was a child, barely able to hold onto the saddle. He sought these quiet, uninterrupted moments to tend to his horse alone. The stable, the ride—they were his, his sanctuary, his refuge. In the early morning mist, he would steal away, feeling the power beneath him as his mount surged forward, the wind sharp against his face. And afterward, he’d return home, slipping into the warmth of a shower, letting the water wash away the grit and sweat before he made his way to the studio, where his hands sought a different kind of mastery—the mastery of art.

It wasn’t simply a matter of morning exercise—it was a ritual, a quiet preparation for the day ahead. In those moments, alone with his horse, he could feel the tension drain from him, a stillness settling in his bones before the storm of the day. Then the studio waited, with its demanding clients, always expecting more than he could give. And beyond that, the strained silence of home, where his wife’s rage simmered just beneath the surface, flaring up when the cold indifference could no longer be ignored—an indifference that perhaps, just perhaps had always been there. 

Thus, following his routine, Eren arose from the emptiness of his double bed, its crisp linens untouched by another’s warmth.  Dressed in his riding gear and holding his whip, he approached the stable, eager for the thrill of the ride with Pearl, his black shire mare of ten years. The anticipation of the open air, the thrill of the ride, coursed through him as he approached the stall, ready to embrace the untamed spirit of the wind.

However, on that morning, as ostentatious as it was, Eren realised he was not the only one in his sacred place.

Upon crossing the threshold, he noticed an open stall. Though this might have unsettled him, because these things like these never, ever happened in such a methodic place a distant hum drew his attention. It was a soft melody, in a vague, haunting tone, which made him walk toward the source of, as if it were casting a spell over him. Schubert, it was. 

“Hello?” he called out, but the only answer was silence. 

Undeterred, he walked through the stables until he reached the last stall. When he finally entered, he felt as though the gods had smiled upon him.

There, atop a red cashmere blanket spread across the hay bales, a vision of serene grace was curled up with her tiny little nose buried in a book. Oh, he knew her, of course he did. The spell had been cast upon him weeks ago at that opulent, decadent gathering, but now, with her so near and so vulnerably exposed, he was even more entranced. This was Mikasa, the daughter of his closest friend, an enchantress bound by ties of loyalty and propriety that made her sight all the more tormenting.

She seemed blissfully unaware of his presence, and seizing those fleeting moments, he allowed his gaze to linger upon her with a fervent intensity. Her midnight-black hair cascading like a veil, and her skin, pale and flawless, gleamed with an almost otherworldly purity. Eren’s eyes were ensnared by her, unable to avert their gaze.  She was exquisitely beautiful, a beauty that cut to the bone, and also… agonisingly forbidden. 

“Hey,” Eren rasped, his voice rough as he knocked the gate with his fist. He forced himself to keep his gaze from lingering too long on the way her white jeans clung to her curves, especially in her butt.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mikasa replied, her voice breaking from its melodic flow as she looked up from the book she had been engrossed in. From his vantage point, Eren first noticed her lips—her  natural, rosy lips. “I didn’t realise someone had arrived.”

Eren let out a groan, blinking. He thought the noise he had made should have been sufficient to alert her. It felt almost as if she had purposefully overlooked him, drawing him closer with the pretence of ignorance. But it sounded quite stupid to think, wasn’t it? “I was just concerned about the open box,” he said.  “We usually don’t leave them open for safety reasons.”

“I see.” She closed the book and rose from her makeshift seat. For a fleeting moment, Eren feared he had angered her, a thought that unsettled him deeply. The only person he didn’t mind provoking was his wife, but the idea of doing the same to Mikasa was far less agreeable. It seemed she harboured no such desire to be antagonised, and that realisation troubled him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he continued, trying to maintain his composure despite the turbulent feelings roiling within him. “It’s unusual to find the stables like this.”

She shook her head slightly, her dark hair falling around her shoulders like a silken curtain. “It’s no trouble. I came here to find a quiet place to read. I didn’t realise I was encroaching on someone’s routine.” She smiled, as if trying to ease him somehow. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Jaeger.”

The formal address sent a shiver through him. Her tone, innocently sensual, seemed to blur the line between reality and fantasy, leaving him momentarily uncertain if his senses had deceived him. But the small, wicked smile curling at her lips soon dispelled any doubt. It was clear now—she had spoken with intent, deliberately weaving her words to provoke.

Eren swallowed hard, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the effect of her presence. “I appreciate your understanding,” he said, though the words felt hollow against the backdrop of his confusion.

Mikasa nodded, a glint of amusement dancing in her face. “Of course. I’ll be sure to choose a more appropriate place next time.”

As the girl moved to gather her things, Eren’s gaze, despite his efforts to maintain propriety, inevitably fell on the fabric of her jeans, stretching against her round butt. For a brief moment, an intrusive thought crossed his mind—an unsettling curiosity about whether her ass cheeks would be as pale as her face skin, and whether it would redden easily if… if spanked them with his hand. The thought was both inappropriate and unwelcome, stirring a flush of guilt and shame within him.

He forced himself to look away, shaking his head as if to clear his mind of the unwelcome intrusion.  But he could not rid himself of the thought. It was as if it embedded itself into his consciousness with an unshakeable persistence. 

He had always harboured thoughts of restraint and discipline, of the primal urge to dominate. And something in her was calling to let those fantasies fulfil. Yet… she was still forbidden. She was his best friend’s adopted daughter, ten years younger and entirely beyond his reach. The boundary was clear, unbreakable, or so it should have been. He couldn’t betray Armin like that, nor could he do it to her, innocent as she was. Yet, the more he tried to suppress the thought, the more the desire took root.

When Mikasa finally rose, her book tumbled from her grasp, and he seized the chance to divert his gaze. As he picked it up, a surge of surprise swept over him. The so-called “innocent girl” was engrossed in something far from innocent. 

“Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” he read. “An interesting choice of book.”

Instead of reaching for the book as he had anticipated, she merely laughed. “Don’t tell anyone;  I borrowed it from the trunk of forbidden books.”

Eren looked at her once more, and it was then that he reconfirmed what his instincts had whispered all along. She was, in some way, playing a game to allure him, and if this was her strategy, then he was more than willing to engage.

“So,” he began. “The trunk of forbidden books, you say? I never imagined you to be one for such… provocative literature.”

Mikasa tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. “One must explore the forbidden to understand the world fully. Don’t you agree, Mr. Jaeger?”

The question hung in the air. Eren felt a flush of heat rise to his cheeks, both from her insinuation and the brazen challenge in her tone. He forced a casual smile, attempting to mask the growing tension. “Indeed,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “But I think we’re both aware of the boundaries that come with such… explorations.”

Her gaze softened, but the mischief remained. “Boundaries are meant to be tested, aren’t they?.”

“Have you ever explored your boundaries, Mikasa?” he asked, his voice taking on a rough, husky edge as he spoke her name.

“I suppose that depends on what you mean by boundaries. There are many kinds—emotional, physical, societal.” She brushed past him, and stopped just beyond his reach.  “And sexual.”

Her voice, low and sultry, made the word hang heavy in the air between them. Eren could feel the tension crackling, a charged silence punctuated only by the soft rustling of hay and the distant sound of a horse’s whinny.

“And which boundaries are you most interested in exploring, Mikasa?” he asked, his voice rough.

Mikasa turned slightly, her profile illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the stable’s open door. “At my age, I want to explore everything—absolutely everything. There’s still so much to learn, but…” She lowered her voice, ensuring only he could hear. “Lately, the idea of discovering my sexual boundaries has been calling to me, Mr. Jaeger. Quite strongly, I might say.”

Eren’s breath caught in his throat. Her bold response shattered any remnants of propriety he had clung to. 

“That’s why I’ve been pilfering these books,” Mikasa continued, her voice a blend of candour and intrigue. “Though, ah, they haven’t quite lived up to my expectations. They’re exquisitely written, and the portrayal of female pleasure is beautiful, but... I find myself craving something a bit more... intense.”

Her admission stirred a maelstrom of thoughts within him. His mind was consumed by a torrent of sinful fantasies, each more decadent than the last. All he could think about was how he could push the boundaries of her desires and explore the depths of their mutual transgressions.

He took a step closer, the distance between them now minimal. “I also have a chest of forbidden books,” he murmured, his tone dropping to a hushed, secretive note. “In my library at home. Perhaps someday, if you’re interested, I could lend you one. I have a collection of favourites that you might like.”

Her  gaze met his, a flicker of excitement mingling with the challenge in her eyes. “I would like that.” she said softly, “but there’s no need to bring it to me. I can fetch it by myself; one day when your wife isn’t around.” The hint of a smile played on her lips. “Hitch doesn’t seem to like me.”

The way Mikasa spoke Hitch’s name, devoid of any honorifics or any semblance of respect, nearly made Eren laugh. It was undeniable; Hitch, his beloved wife, was widely disliked, and he was no exception to that sentiment—he was among the first to voice it.

“Hitch has never been one to win hearts. Her absence is often a blessing in more ways than one, and, trust me, she blesses me most of the time.”

Mikasa smirked, stepping out of reach. “Then I’ll probably be visiting you very soon, Mr. Jaeger,” she said. “But you know, you shouldn’t mention this to anyone. It could get complicated.”

Eren’s eyes  lingered on her butt as she walked away, his mind filled with vivid, provocative images. He couldn’t help but imagine him not only spanking her with his hand but also with the whip he held so commandingly while her wrists were tied to one of his bedposts. Oh, what a beautiful scenario that was and he wanted to make it a reality.

“No, of course, no,” he said. “Your secret is safe with me.” It was unmistakably clear that Mikasa, that little wretched beast wanted him, and god fuck it, he wanted her just as fiercely. 

Later, as he rode his horse across the vast grasslands and encountered his best friend, who was already heading off to work, a sense of impending chaos settled uneasily in his stomach. Yet, the feeling quickly evaporated as he recalled Mikasa’s lips and her butt—her beautiful round butt.

[onlyonetifosi]

Behind the camera -> chapter 7

<- previous series masterlist my main masterlist next ->

author note1: more yn/joris fluff 🥹🥹 don't worry drama is coming 😈😈 also 1'5 k words chapter :))

The sun hung low in the sky as the Leclerc family prepared for their much-anticipated summer vacation in France. Yn, Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo packed their bags, excitement bubbling within them. The air was filled with a contagious energy, heightened by the prospect of spending quality time together in the picturesque French coast.

"Joris, hurry up! We're going to leave you behind," Yn called out from the doorway of her room, a playful grin on her face.

Joris appeared in the hallway, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Patience, mon amour. I just want to make sure I've got everything," he replied, his words dripping with a hint of French charm.

Charles chuckled, slinging an arm around his sister's shoulders. "At least someone has the right idea. We can't afford to forget anything when we're traveling with this bunch."

Downstairs, the Leclerc family gathered in the foyer, ready to embark on their escapade. Arthur, the youngest of the siblings, was already by the door, sporting a wide grin. "Are we leaving yet?"

Their father, Hervé, laughed. "Almost, Arthur. Just waiting for your mother and Lorenzo."

As if on cue, Lorenzo descended the staircase, his eyes scanning the room. "All set, Lorenzo?" their mother, Pascale, asked.

He nodded, his gaze drifting to Yn. "Ready for a summer to remember?"

Yn rolled her eyes playfully. "Please, as if any summer could top this one."

The Leclercs made their way to the waiting cars, joined by their friends and their families. Joris and his family, Riccardo's family, Martha and her parents—everyone had eagerly agreed to join in on the adventure. The air was filled with chatter as they set off, the promise of an unforgettable vacation lingering in the warm breeze.

In the car, Yn and Joris shared a quiet moment. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. "I can't believe we're finally going on vacation together."

Joris leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. "Je suis ravi d'être ici avec toi (I'm delighted to be here with you)."

Yn giggled, the language of love a sweet melody between them " You are so cheesy."

He winked. "Guilty as charged."

Yn, stealing a glance at Joris, whispered, "Tu sais que je t'aime, n'est-ce pas?" (You know I love you, right?)

Joris smiled warmly, "Oui, et moi aussi, je t'aime." (Yes, and I love you too.)

"Ce sera une aventure incroyable, n'est-ce pas, Charles?" Yn whispered to her brother, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. (It will be an incredible adventure, won't it, Charles?)

"Absolument, Yn. I can't wait to explore Cote d'Azur with everyone," Charles replied, a wide grin on his face.

Once in the car, Charles leaned over to Yn, a mischievous glint in his eye. "This is going to be epic. Just wait until you see the places I've planned for us to visit."

The convoy of cars, filled with laughter and excited chatter, made its way along the winding roads leading to the beautiful picturesque villa that would be their home for the next few weeks. Yn, sitting beside her twin brother Charles, couldn't contain her excitement as they approached their destination.

The villa, nestled amidst rolling hills and surrounded by vineyards, welcomed the group with open arms. The Leclercs, along with their friends, settled into the spacious rooms, each decorated with a touch of elegance.

"Hey, Pierre! Tu es prêt pour des vacances épiques?" Arthur greeted, embracing one of his brother 's best friend Pierre Gasly.

"Absolument, mon pote! These holidays are going to be legendary!" Pierre replied, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

As the sun began its descent, the group gathered on the terrace for a feast prepared by the villa's chef. The aroma of very appetizing food filled the air, making everyone's stomachs rumble in anticipation.

Yn and Joris found themselves seated next to each other, their fingers intertwined under the table as they exchanged affectionate glances. The language of love flowed effortlessly between them, a secret shared amidst the lively conversations.

"Tu es magnifique ce soir, Yn," Joris whispered to Yn, his eyes filled with admiration. (You look beautiful tonight, Yn.)

"Merci, Joris. Tu n'es pas mal non plus," Yn replied, a playful smile gracing her lips. (Thank you, Joris. You're not too shabby yourself)

"Demain, nous devrions tous aller explorer le village voisin. Qu'en pensez-vous?" Lorenzo suggested, the excitement evident in his voice. (Tomorrow, we should all go explore the nearby village. What do you think?)

"Oui, ça semble génial!" Martha exclaimed, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. (Yes, that sounds amazing!)

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

The next day, the group decided to explore the town and go to the beach, the group spread out on the beach, some opting for sunbathing, others building sandcastles, and the Gasly brothers challenging each other to beach volleyball. Yn and Joris decided to take a leisurely stroll along the water's edge.

After their beach escapade, the group ventured into the heart of Cagnes-sur-Mer. They explored the bustling markets, quaint shops, and iconic landmarks, capturing the moments with laughter and photographs.

"Regardez ce magnifique endroit! On dirait un rêve," Martha exclaimed, snapping pictures of the panoramic view. (Look at this magnificent place! It feels like a dream.)

As they strolled through the cobblestone streets, Arthur excitedly pointed at an ice cream shop. "On devrait tous prendre une glace, non?" (We should all get ice cream, right?)

Lorenzo chuckled, ruffling Arthur's hair. "Bonne idée, petit frère"

As they strolled along the picturesque streets, Yn walked hand in hand with Joris, their fingers intertwined. The connection between them was palpable, a testament to the love that had blossomed since they were 12 or 13. Their shared glances spoke a language of their own, a secret understood by everyone around.

The group arrived at a vibrant ice cream shop and créperie, the tantalizing aroma of freshly made crepes and the promise of sweet delights greeted them.

Yn turned to Joris with a mischievous grin. "Qu'est-ce que tu vas prendre, mon amour? (What are you going to have, my love?)"

Joris chuckled, "Je pense que je vais prendre une crêpe au Nutella. (I think I'll have a Nutella crepe)"

After the group had ordered their  ice cream, enjoying the cool treat as they strolled towards the city.  Yn's eyes sparkled as she savored the sweet taste of hazelnut gelato, her favorite. The sound of waves crashing against the shore mingled with the laughter and chatter of the friends and family.

"Tu devrais essayer celui-ci, c'est incroyable," she nudged Joris, offering him a spoonful of her chosen flavor. (You should try this one; it's amazing.)

Joris chuckled, accepting the offer. "C'est vraiment délicieux!" (It's really delicious!)

 Martha, one of Yn's closest friends, elbowed her, teasing, "Vous deux, c'est l'amour fou!" (You two are madly in love!)

Joris grinned, "L'amour rend tout plus beau!" (Love makes everything more beautiful!)

After the creperie, they meandered through souvenir shops, collecting trinkets to commemorate their trip. Yn couldn't resist a soft giggle as Joris playfully picked out a matching keychain. The laughter of the teenagers echoed through the air, blending with the joyous atmosphere of the coastal town.

"Regardez ces deux-là, toujours assortis!" (Look at these two, always matching!) teased Martha, a mischievous grin on her face. The group erupted into laughter, gently poking fun at the inseparable couple.

"Vous êtes vraiment mignons, vous deux!" (You two are really cute!) Lorenzo teased.

The girls, including Yn, took a detour to explore boutiques, finding summery clothes to add to their wardrobes. Yn's infectious joy radiated as she twirled in a vibrant sundress, eliciting approving nods from the group.

As they continued their adventure, they visited iconic tourist spots like the Renoir Museum and the Medieval village Haut-de-Cagnes, snapping photos along the way. The group playfully teased Yn and Joris, capturing candid moments of their affection.

"Les tourtereaux!" (The lovebirds!) Jacques exclaimed, causing Yn to blush.

Yn rolled her eyes playfully, "Arrêtez de vous moquer de nous!" (Stop teasing us!)

"Regardez cette vue magnifique! (Look at this magnificent view!)" exclaimed Charles, gesturing towards the azure waters of the Ligurian Sea.

"Vraiment incroyable!" replied Yn, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As the sun began to set, the teenagers returned to the beach, gathering for a group photo.

As they reached the sun-kissed beach, the group found a spot to relax. Yn and Joris, their fingers entwined, watched the azure waves together. Lorenzo, looking at them with a smirk, teased, "L'amour est dans l'air, n'est-ce pas?" (Love is in the air, isn't it?)

"Vous deux, toujours dans votre petit monde d'amour." (You two, always in your little world of love.) Pierre nudges both the teenagers with a grin on his face.

"Et pourquoi pas? L'amour est magnifique, n'est-ce pas?" (And why not? Love is beautiful, isn't it?) Joris says, pulling Yn closer to him.

The group spent the afternoon soaking up the sun, splashing in the crystal-clear waters, and taking pictures against the breathtaking backdrop. Yn and Joris, with gelato in hand, posed for a photo, the joy evident in their eyes.

The camera clicked, freezing the moment in time—Yn, Joris, the Leclercs, Gaslys, and their friends—bound by the magic of a summer escape on the enchanting Blue Coast of France.

taglist: @love4lando @gcldtom @im-mi @topguncultleader @celesteblack08 @reblog-princess @sunf1ower16

[mochademic]

100 Days of Productivity [Day: 89] || 100 Jours de Productivité [Jour: 89]

expect the unexpected; sometimes, it's going to be just what you needed.

this weekend I said welcome home to this little ragamuffin; a surprise [& early anniversary gift] from my partner. he's been keeping me on my toes, but life's been a little less lonely these days. my 3 month review at this new company went over well, & also came with a crazy promotion. hard work really does pay off, & it's nice to be working somewhere where my work does not go unnoticed.

the reason why I say this promotion is crazy, is because it's completely unrelated to my degree. I had been given various projects over the last few months – predominantly to do with bookkeeping & finances – that have resulted in me being selected to be the new company accountant. this work is not unfamiliar with me since it's something I do for my own small business, but to be doing this on a corporate level is humbling. it reminds me of a conversation I once had with my department head right before graduation. they were the person who I went to with many of my tearful vents and frustrations, & during this particular conversation they told me "do what you need to, but do more of what you're good at. that's how you bring the right things to your table." I held on to that for years. right now, I wish I could tell them thank you.

academic work:

-catch up on all unit reviews -re-write notes/organize

freelance work:

-catch up on all projects -continue signing up for markets -edit digital work -prepare shop listings

office work:

-answer all emails -complete payroll for tomorrow -review funding changes from last meeting -look at problems after system update

currently listening // Attention by Wyatt

Attendez-vous à l'inattendu ; parfois, c'est exactement ce dont vous aviez besoin.

ce week-end, j'ai souhaité la bienvenue à ce petit ragoût, une surprise [et un cadeau d'anniversaire anticipé] de mon partenaire. il me tient en haleine, mais la vie est un peu moins solitaire ces jours-ci. mon évaluation de trois mois dans cette nouvelle entreprise s'est bien passée et s'est accompagnée d'une promotion folle. le travail acharné paie vraiment, et c'est agréable de travailler dans un endroit où mon travail ne passe pas inaperçu.

La raison pour laquelle je dis que cette promotion est folle, c'est qu'elle n'a aucun rapport avec mon diplôme. Au cours des derniers mois, on m'a confié divers projets - principalement liés à la comptabilité et aux finances - qui m'ont valu d'être choisie pour être la nouvelle comptable de l'entreprise. Ce travail ne m'est pas inconnu, puisque je le fais pour ma propre petite entreprise, mais le faire au niveau de l'entreprise me rend humble. Cela me rappelle une conversation que j'ai eue un jour avec mon chef de service juste avant d'obtenir mon diplôme. c'est à lui que je m'adressais pour lui faire part de mes larmes et de mes frustrations, et au cours de cette conversation, il m'a dit : « Fais ce que tu dois faire, mais fais davantage ce pour quoi tu es douée. c'est ainsi que tu apporteras les bonnes choses à ta table ». J'ai gardé cela pendant des années. En ce moment, j'aimerais pouvoir leur dire merci.

travail académique :

-rattraper tous les examens de l'unité -réécrire les notes/organiser

travail en free-lance :

-rattraper tous les projets -continuer à s'inscrire sur les marchés -éditer le travail numérique -préparer les listes de boutiques

travail de bureau :

-répondre à tous les courriels -compléter la liste des salaires pour demain -Examiner les modifications apportées au financement depuis la dernière réunion -Examiner les problèmes après la mise à jour du système

chanson // Attention par WYATT

[ggjunkie]

Showmance

27,318 words

Adam x reader

Musical theatre! AU; College! AU

For anyone who'd rather read it on here:

You straighten out your clothes, fingers brushing off invisible lint as you take a deep breath, the excitement bubbling just beneath your composed exterior. The echoing sounds of chatter and nervous footsteps fill the audition room lobby, where a group of hopefuls wait for their names to be called. It's finally musical season at your university, and you’ve jumped on the train with unrestrained enthusiasm.

This semester’s show is Little Shop of Horrors, a classic choice that feels like putting on a comfortable pair of your favorite pants—familiar and comfortable. Though it's a basic pick, you definitely aren’t complaining; this is your chance to shine. For weeks, you’ve been meticulously preparing, working with your private vocal and acting coaches, honing every note and every intonation for this audition.

As a musical theatre major, a spot in the chorus is practically a given, but you’re not one to settle for just that. No, no, no. You have bigger ambitions. Your eyes are set on Audrey II, the mysterious talking, and singing plant. It's a role that demands charisma, vocal prowess, and a certain je ne sais quoi that you’re confident you possess. Or at least you really, really hope so.

Of course, you also understand you aren’t guaranteed a role! It’s really no biggie, you’re just excited.

Although theatre wasn’t always your passion, taking the class in middle school had spurred something in you. Since then, you’ve worked hard at your craft. And it’s definitely paid off! You managed to make it into multiple audition-based schools. At the memory, you pat yourself on the back.

Middle school was where it all began. You still remember the thrill of your first performance, the way the stage lights felt warm and comforting, and the applause that followed. It ignited a spark in you, a passion that has only grown stronger with time.

In high school, you faced more challenges. The competition was fierce, and the stakes were higher, but you rose to the occasion. You worked tirelessly, attending acting workshops, vocal lessons, and dance classes. You balanced your schoolwork with your theatrical pursuits, often sacrificing sleep and social activities to chase your dreams.

When it came time to apply for colleges, you aimed high, auditioning for some of the best programs in the country. The acceptance letters that followed were proof of your hard work and dedication. You had made it into multiple audition-based schools, each one a testament to your talent and perseverance.

Now, standing here, you can't help but feel a swell of pride. You've come a long way from that middle school elective. You've faced rejections and setbacks, but you've also experienced triumphs and growth. Every step of the journey has been worth it, and you're excited for what lies ahead.

Eventually, you finally hear your name called, pulling you out of your thoughts. You smile at the runner, a freshman eager to get their required hours in, and hand them your resume. They take it gratefully, glancing over the neatly printed sheet as they lead you into the audition room. It’s a black box theater, a square room with black walls and flooring. The stark simplicity of the space serves as a blank canvas, allowing the directors to transform it into whatever they need, just as they have for these auditions.

Their table is set up near the back, papers and coffee cups scattered across its surface, giving them a perfect vantage point to observe and take notes without being overheard. They chat quietly among themselves, their voices a low murmur that blends into the background hum of the building. You can feel their eyes on you as you step into the room, the anticipation almost tangible in the air.

Near the door, a piano sits, and at the bench is what you can guess to be your accompanist—a tall, chubby brunette with a messy sort of look about him. He’s honestly kind of cute, but you can’t afford to focus on that right now. You have an audition to nail.

You greet the directors with a confident smile and a nod, then march over to the piano. Handing the accompanist your binder, you ensure it’s open to the marked sheet music. Like a seasoned performer, you’ve already highlighted the 32-bar cut of your song, clearly indicating where he should start and stop.

As he scans the music, you take a moment to explain your plan. You point out the precise places where you’ll be taking breaths and describe the tempo you have in mind. He listens attentively, nodding along as you speak, his fingers instinctively moving over the keys as if mentally rehearsing the piece.

You glance over at the directors, expecting them to be ready, but they’re still shuffling papers and folders on their desk, likely comparing notes from previous auditions. A flicker of impatience might cross another's face, but not yours. Instead, you smile, savoring the rush of adrenaline that auditions always bring.

The anticipation heightens the moment, and you use the extra time to center yourself even more. You roll your shoulders, subtly release the tension in your hands, and take another calming breath. The hum of quiet activity behind the directors' table, the muted clink of pens and rustle of paper, only amplifies your focus.

"So, got any plans after this?"

You frown, snapping back to the present as you turn to the accompanist. "Excuse me?"

He smirks, leaning in slightly. "I can take you out on the town, show you a real good time. My roommate is even out for the night, if you know what I mean." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You scrunch your nose, not appreciating the distraction from your audition. You need to get in the zone and focus, but he’s throwing you off. You can entertain the idea after the audition, not during. However, at your reaction, he takes it as a no and furrows his brows. He starts to say something, probably something rude, before you walk off.

You head to the tape marking your spot on the floor, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement mingled with nerves. The directors stare at you blankly, their faces giving nothing away, but you know better than to let it get to you. This is your moment.

Taking a deep breath, you slate in, introducing yourself with a clear, confident voice

“I’ll be performing the song ‘Jenny’s Blues’ from ‘It Shoulda Been You,’ and a monologue from ‘Confrontation’ by Kelly Powell.” You smile before dipping your head, breathing in, and starting your piece. Your voice is strong, resonant, effortlessly sliding into the comfortable range of the song. Each note is delivered with precision, every word infused with emotion. You make sure to breathe deeply, expanding your diaphragm to support your powerful vocals.

However, halfway through your audition cut, you hear the piano falter and fumble, the notes coming out jumbled. You pause for a split second, a flicker of concern passing through your mind, but you quickly regain your focus. Mistakes happen, and you're determined not to let it throw you off. You press on, maintaining your composure and delivering a flawless performance despite the hiccup.

As you reach the climax of the song, you hold out your money note, pouring every ounce of emotion into it. The accompanist manages to catch up, albeit a little off rhythm, but you don’t let it deter you. With a final flourish, you finish the song.

You manage a quick glance at the accompanist before looking back– but wait, hold on. You look back again. That fucker has a smug smirk plastered across his face. His eyes twinkle with amusement, and suddenly it all clicks into place: He tried to mess you up on purpose because you ‘rejected’ him. Any chance you had with him suddenly goes straight down the drain, and now you're fuming.

You grit your teeth, trying to tamp down the surge of anger that threatens to consume you. How dare he sabotage your audition like that? But you refuse to let his petty actions derail your performance. Instead, you channel that newfound adrenaline, that simmering rage, into your audition.

With renewed determination, you throw yourself into the monologue, each word dripping with raw emotion. Your voice crackles with intensity as you inhabit the character, every gesture charged with conviction. The room seems to pulse with energy, your presence commanding attention as you deliver a performance that's nothing short of electrifying.

Well, not like you’d think as much.

You perform your piece, and as you finish, you try not to beat yourself up about it. It was… okay. A little frustrating, perhaps, because you ran more on muscle memory and pettiness than actually existing in the moment, but the dedication and hard work you had put into it still shone through. You remind yourself that perfection is an elusive goal, and what truly matters is the passion and effort you poured into your performance.

As for the song, you try not to dwell on it too much. Otherwise, you know you’ll get stuck in your perfectionist head, picking apart every single detail until it drives you mad. Instead, you choose to focus on the positives, reminding yourself of the moments where you truly connected with the material and let your talent shine through.

You take a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you now that the audition is over. Whatever the outcome, you gave it your all, and that’s something to be proud of.

You thank the directors, offering them a quick but polite goodbye, and head over to the piano to retrieve your binder. The pianist smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he hands you the binder. But as you reach out to take it, he doesn’t let go. You tug gently, expecting him to release it, but his grip remains firm.

Your frustration mounts as you give the binder another tug, but still, he refuses to hand it over. With a growing sense of annoyance, you pull harder, and finally, he lets go. But instead of handing it to you properly, he lets it slip from his fingers, and it drops unceremoniously to the floor with a thud.

This bitch.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your cool, you bend down gracefully, feeling his eyes linger on your backside, and pick up the binder. Straightening up with a sense of quiet determination, you shoot him a subtle, sour look, and exit through the door.

–

You needed to be pinched awake.

There it was, plain as day—your name listed next to Audrey II. The role you'd yearned for, sweated for, poured your heart and soul into securing. And now, here it was, yours for the taking. You stare at the cast list, almost disbelieving, as if expecting the letters to rearrange themselves at any moment. But no, there it remains—your name boldly printed beside the coveted role.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the excitement threatening to bubble over, you find yourself remarkably composed. It's as if a serene calm has settled over you, masking the tempest of emotions swirling beneath the surface. You're totally normal about this, you tell yourself, even as your heart races with exhilaration.

But inwardly, you're anything but calm. You're ecstatic, over the moon, practically floating on air. It's a dream come true, a validation of all the hard work, late nights, and sacrifices you've made in pursuit of your passion. And yet, there's a sense of quiet gratitude mingled with the jubilation—a recognition of the privilege bestowed upon you, the opportunity to bring this iconic character to life.

As you continue to scan the rest of the cast list, a few of your friends approach, their faces beaming with genuine happiness and excitement for you. They pat you on the back and offer heartfelt congratulations, their words a chorus of support and admiration. You take it all in stride, offering each of them an easy smile and a gracious thank you. At one point, you even go as far as to herd some of them into a group hug.

As you continue down the cast list, you recognize a few names, but none that you're particularly close with. Still, you can't help but feel a sense of optimism as you imagine the bonds that will form over the course of rehearsals. After all, there's nothing quite like the camaraderie that comes from working together towards a common goal.

One name stands out among the rest—Quinn, the guy playing Seymour. Memories of your collaboration on a project in Theatre History come flooding back, and you can't help but smile at the thought of working with him again. You remember how seamlessly you worked together, bouncing ideas off each other and complementing each other's strengths. With any luck, that chemistry will translate into a dynamic partnership on stage.

You can already envision the two of you bringing Seymour and Audrey II to life, each playing off the other's energy and timing. It's an exciting prospect, and you can't wait to dive into rehearsals and see how your dynamic evolves.

And then there's the puppet—your puppet. God, you were so excited for your puppet.

Still riding high on the euphoria of landing the role, you feel as light as a feather. It's as if you're floating on cloud nine, sipping Shirley Temples and being pampered like royalty. Every step you take feels effortless, every breath filled with a sense of elation. You glide all the way to rehearsal, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin.

But as you step into the rehearsal room, the bubble of bliss threatens to burst. There, standing before you, is the accompanist from before—the same one who tried to sabotage your audition. Instantly, the weight of reality comes crashing down, dragging you back to earth with a resounding thud.

You can feel his gaze boring into you, a silent challenge in his eyes. You roll your eyes in response, refusing to let him see how much his presence rattles you. At least he doesn’t seem too thrilled to see you either, his lip curling into a sneer as if he were growling in disdain.

Redirecting your attention back to the room, you notice that seats have been pulled to create a circle, a common setup for read-throughs. Your eyes scan the space, and you catch Quinn's enthusiastic wave, his smile infectious. You feel a sense of relief flood through you, grateful for the easy decision on where to sit, and you make your way over to join him.

"Hey!" he greets, his excitement palpable. "Congrats on Audrey II!"

You return his smile, the warmth of his congratulations washing over you. "Thanks! And congrats on Seymour! You definitely deserve it," you reply, genuinely happy for him.

The two of you strike up a conversation, the easy rapport between you quickly filling the air with laughter and shared excitement. But as you chat, you can't shake the feeling of someone's eyes on you. You glance around discreetly, your gaze landing on Adam, who's peering at you with a curious expression.

You lean over to Quinn, a puzzled frown creasing your brow. "So, why's the pianist here?"

Quinn follows your gaze before turning back to you, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Adam? I think he's getting extra credit for this. He's a music major, so... It's kinda cool."

You shrug your shoulders, a bemused expression on your face. It makes sense that Adam would be here for extra credit, but what doesn’t make sense is why he's glaring daggers at you. All you did was turn him down, and then get upset because he tried to sabotage your audition. What a dick.

"Are y'all exes or something?"

You shake your head, a perplexed frown forming on your lips. "No, definitely not."

"Then why is he glaring at you like you killed his dog?" Quinn presses, his curiosity piqued.

You roll your eyes, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "He tried asking me out in my audition, and I didn't respond because I was trying to lock in."

Quinn's eyes widen in disbelief. "Oh my god, you should've totally said yes! He's a total hunk!"

You can't help but let out a wry chuckle, acknowledging the truth in Quinn's words. "Yeah, he's definitely hot," you admit. "But he's a dick though. He purposely messed up my backing accompaniment."

At that, Quinn sucks in a sharp breath before nodding solemnly. “So just a one night stand.”

At Quinn's suggestion, you cringe, feeling a surge of indignation rising within you. "What?" you squawk incredulously. "No! I'm not sleeping with him!"

“Sleeping with who?”

As the new voice breaks through the conversation, you and Quinn turn to see a girl– probably playing Audrey, your brain retorts. She's thin and gorgeous, her presence commanding attention. It’s probably best to keep her away from Adam.

However, when you glance over to see Adam's reaction, you're surprised to find that he hasn't even spared the girl a passing glance. Instead, his focus remains fixed on you, his glare as intense as ever. Annoyance prickles at the back of your mind, and you return his glare with equal intensity.

Adam seems to realize that you're looking at him, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something cross his features. But in a swift attempt to maintain his cool guy facade—or perhaps because he enjoys the attention—he smirks and throws up his hands in a playful gesture, as if suggesting a game of rock, paper, scissors.

You surprise him by joining in.

Rock… Paper… Scissors… Shoot!

But instead of throwing one of the three conventional options, you catch Adam off guard by flipping him off, a gesture that leaves no room for misinterpretation. With a satisfied smirk, you turn your attention back to Quinn and the girl, refusing to give Adam the satisfaction of any further reaction.

“Hi!” The girl’s voice is perky and energetic. “Sorry, I hope I wasn't intruding with my earlier question. I’m Sadai! You’re playing Audrey II, huh? That’s pretty cool! I’m excited about your puppets.”

At that, you perk up. “Yeah, me too!”

She glances away before leaning in, just as you had done before. “I don’t mean to overstep but… I can't help but notice a certain someone’s eyes on you. Did you break up or something?”

You frown, sinking into your seat. “No, why do y’all keep asking me that…”

“Well, that’s the more logical explanation.” Quinn pipes up.

“There’s an explanation?” Sadai grins. “Spill!”

As your director calls for everyone's attention, the lively chatter in the room gradually subsides, replaced by an air of anticipation. Rehearsal is about to begin, and you can feel the energy buzzing in the air.

When it comes time for Adam’s introduction, it's surprisingly more formal than what you would’ve thought. But that's probably because your director is right next to him.

“I’m Adam,” he says, his tone serious and professional, “and I’ll be the accompanist for rehearsals. I’m also a part of the actual band you’ll be performing with.”

You can't help but roll your eyes at him. It's a stark contrast to his earlier antics, and you can't shake off the feeling of disbelief at his behavior. You stick your tongue out at him.

As Adam clacks his teeth in response to your gesture, a strange sensation washes over you. It's a fleeting moment of amusement mixed with something else—something you can't quite put your finger on. You quickly dismiss the thought, shaking your head to clear it.

As the read-through gets underway, you find yourself slipping into the mindset of Audrey II, the iconic character you're tasked with bringing to life. It's a role unlike any you've played before, and you can't help but feel a surge of excitement mingled with apprehension. With each line you deliver, you try to embody the essence of the character, exploring different nuances and inflections.

But despite your best efforts, you can't shake the feeling that your choices aren't quite hitting the mark. They're not big enough, not bold enough—at least not by your own standards. Still, you refuse to beat yourself up about it. It's only a read-through, after all, a chance to explore the character and experiment with different interpretations.

However, the distraction of Adam's antics doesn't help matters. Every time you say a line, you can feel his eyes on you, making faces and mocking you. It's infuriating, to say the least, but you try to push past the distraction and focus on the task at hand.

Adam can get fucked.

–

As the ballet class draws closer, the familiar excitement begins to bubble up inside of you. You eagerly anticipate the opportunity to immerse yourself in the world of dance once again. Dressed in your favorite leotard and tights, you feel a sense of comfort and familiarity wash over you. The snug fit of the leotard and the sleek lines of the tights serve as a second skin, allowing you to move freely and gracefully without any hindrance.

As you enter the studio, you take a moment to soak in the atmosphere—the polished wood floors, the mirrored walls, the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the space. You’ve always made a habit to arrive early to class, giving yourself ample time to prepare both mentally and physically. Taking your place at the barre, you begin with a series of gentle pliés, allowing your muscles to awaken and loosen with each movement. From there, you move through a sequence of tendus, jetés, and dégagés, each step flowing seamlessly into the next.

As the warm-up progresses, you feel your body gradually opening up, the tightness in your muscles giving way to a sense of suppleness and strength. You revel in the sensation of your limbs stretching and extending, reaching for the ceiling with each grand battement and arabesque.

But it's during the stretch routine that you truly lose yourself in the moment. Finding a spot on the floor, you lower yourself into your middle splits, your muscles protesting slightly as you sink deeper into the stretch. With each breath, you feel yourself melting into the floor, your body becoming one with the music that fills the room.

But as you're bent over, laying your chest on the floor, you're suddenly aware of a presence behind you. Startled, you lift your gaze to meet the reflection in the dance mirrors, and your heart skips a beat as you see Adam standing there, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Adam.”

“That’s my name, baby. Go ahead and practice screaming it for tonight.”

You ignore that. “This isn’t an open class. You should leave.”

“Aw you’re looking out for me, how sweet. Good news though. I’ve been invited, bitch.”

You finally turn and look him in the eye. “Don’t call me that.”

Adam raises his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, but his smirk remains firmly in place. "Woof. Rough subject, huh?" he quips, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Alright, what would you prefer for me to call you? Sugartits? Sweet thing? Mine?”

Your patience wearing thin, you shoot Adam a withering glare. "I'd rather you leave.”

Adam's grin only widens at your request. "Again, I can't," he replies, his tone smug. "I need this extra credit."

Confusion furrows your brows as you try to make sense of his words. "What do you mean?"

His smile widens even further, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'm playing piano for your class," he reveals.

"Oh god.”

Feeling the ache in your muscles, you mindlessly begin to pull yourself out of your middle splits, sensing that you're warmed up enough for the time being. But before you can fully relax, Adam's voice cuts through the air, drawing your attention back to him.

"You know what stretch might be good for you?" he asks.

Your eyebrows knit together in suspicion, wary of whatever suggestion he might have up his sleeve.

“Baby pose or whatever it’s called.” he licks his teeth.

“...Do you mean child’s pose?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you show me and we’ll find out. If you’re correct, you get a reward.”

The retort slips out before you can stop it, your frustration boiling over. "Go to hell.”

Adam's expression shifts into something more serious. "Hey, that's not funny,"

You're taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor, surprised by the hint of offense in his voice. "You're... religious?"

Adam's lips quirk into a wry smile, always ready to talk about himself. "Minoring in religious studies, babes.”

“And you act like this?”

Adam looks genuinely offended. “Hey! God loves all His creations.”

You decide to test the waters, aware that this isn't just a question about religion, but more about understanding Adam. “So, you’re okay with gay people?”

“What kind of porn do you think I watch?”

“You watch gay porn?” What the fuck.

“Only the girls– it’s hot as fuck. Besides, look at you– I’ve disrespected everything about you except your pronouns.”

Well you’ve got to give him that.

As your instructor walks into the room, effectively diverting your attention from the unsettling exchange with Adam, you're grateful for the interruption. She calls Adam over, and you watch as he trails obediently toward her, unable to shake off the lingering annoyance from the wink he sends in your direction. The gesture sends a wave of bile rising in your throat, leaving you feeling unsettled and off-kilter.

Thankfully, the start of class offers a welcome distraction as you begin with barre exercises. The familiar structure of the routine allows you to slip into autopilot, your muscles responding to the familiar movements with practiced precision. Despite the discomfort of the exercises, you push through, knowing that each repetition brings you one step closer to improvement.

When the instructor calls for places to run the combination, your heart skips a beat as you realize it's finally your turn. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself to showcase the combination you've been practicing diligently.

But before you can fully focus on the task at hand, you notice Adam's persistent attempts to catch your eye in the mirror. His gaze feels like a weight on your shoulders, but you steel yourself, determined not to let his presence distract you.

As the instructor calls for Adam to take his place at the piano, you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. With him occupied at the keys, you're free to focus solely on your own performance without the added pressure of his scrutiny.

As you wait for your turn to perform the combination, you can't help but find yourself drawn to Adam's piano playing. Despite the tension between you, there's no denying the skill and finesse with which he handles the keys. Each note flows seamlessly from his fingertips, filling the room with a melodic richness that captivates your senses.

You watch in quiet admiration as he navigates the piano with ease, his fingers dancing across the keys with precision and grace. There's a gentle quality to his playing, a delicate touch that belies his earlier brashness. It's clear why he's been enlisted to help with productions like Little Shop of Horrors and ballet classes—he possesses a rare talent that really elevates the performances he accompanies.

As you square your shoulders and turn out from your hips, preparing to execute the combination you've practiced tirelessly, you can feel Adam's eyes boring into you from across the room. Despite the tension that lingers between you, you refuse to let his presence throw you off course.

With a deep breath, you begin to move, allowing the music to guide your every step. Despite the lingering doubt that Adam's presence instills in you, the music never falters, reaffirming your belief that his attempts to sabotage you during the audition were indeed intentional.

But you refuse to dwell on the past, pushing aside the nagging thoughts and focusing solely on the dance. As you move through the combination, something feels different. It's as if you've suddenly become one with the music, feeling its rhythm pulsating through your veins and guiding your movements with an effortless grace.

A quick glance in Adam's direction reveals that he too is caught up in the magic of the moment, his expression mirroring your own sense of connection to the music. Despite the tension that exists between you, there's a shared understanding in that fleeting glance—a recognition of the power and beauty of the music that transcends any animosity or resentment. In other words, you can forgive him in this moment.

In that moment, as you dance to the haunting melody of the piano, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you. All the worries and doubts that had plagued you before melt away.

As you're swept up in the exhilaration of the dance, an unexpected twist of fate brings you crashing to the floor as your ankle buckles beneath you. Embarrassment floods your senses as you find yourself sprawled on the ground, the sudden halt to your movement jarring and disorienting.

But before you can fully process what's happened, a kind-hearted classmate rushes to your aid, offering you a supportive hand and helping you to your feet. Despite your attempts to brush off the incident with a forced smile, the humiliation of the fall lingers, casting a shadow over your confidence.

With your ankle throbbing painfully, you're guided out of the room by your compassionate classmate, grateful for their support and understanding. As you limp away from the dance studio, you can feel Adam's eyes following your every move, his gaze burning into your back like a weighty presence.

–

Thankfully, you hadn’t torn or broken anything. All that came out of that incident was a rolled ankle. The recovery was straightforward—alternating between icing and heating it. Before you knew it, your ankle was back to normal. You were able to rotate it without any stinging or pain.

The relief was immense. You had been worried that the injury might keep you from participating fully in rehearsals. Right before you walked into ballet class, you tested your ankle carefully, rotating it and putting a little weight on it. No pain. Perfect.

When you push open the doors to the space, Adam is already seated at the piano, idly messing with the keys. You know Adam never made a habit of being early to this class—especially since he didn’t need to be. During warm-ups, your instructor usually played music from her speakers. So why would he be here early?

Curious, you linger near the door for a moment, observing him. His fingers dance over the keys with a casual grace, producing a soft, almost melancholic melody. It's unlike the boisterous, cocky persona he usually projects. For a moment, he seems lost in the music, unaware of his surroundings.

You clear your throat softly as you walk further into the room. Adam’s head snaps up, and for a split second, you see a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—before he masks it with his usual smirk.

“Good morning,” you say, keeping your tone neutral.

“Morning,” he replies, his fingers pausing on the keys. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be here this early”

“Same goes for you,” you counter, setting your bag down and beginning your stretches.

Adam shrugs, looking back at the piano. “Just felt like playing a bit before everyone else got here.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical but not wanting to pry. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

He resumes playing, the notes filling the room with a soft, intricate tune. You settle into your stretch routine, focusing on your warm-up but unable to ignore the beautiful music emanating from the piano.

However, it seems as though Adam can’t go more than a minute without being a certified dick. He leans over the piano, watching you stretch, before speaking up.

“Seems like you healed up well.”

Your cheeks ignite, embarrassed by the reminder of your tumble. That shame shortly turns into anger, and you’re quick to throw it in his face.

“Yeah, and it seems like you finally know how to play piano, huh? No messing up?”

“Oh baby, daddy never messes up by accident.”

Indignation rises in your chest at Adam's casual confession that he's been deliberately messing with your music. The realization blooms on your face, and Adam smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Just as you're about to take off one of your ballet slippers and give him a well-deserved bitch slap, Miss Nicole, your instructor, signals for class to begin. With a final glare at Adam, you take your place at the barre, forcing yourself to focus on the exercises ahead.

You spend the entire class wishing you were in tap, imagining the satisfying clatter of metal taps scuffing up the floor. Instead, you're stuck in ballet, with Adam just a few feet away, his presence a constant reminder of your frustration. You do your best to channel your rage into your dance, pushing yourself harder with each movement. The burn of exercise helps somewhat, providing a physical outlet for your anger. Your muscles ache as you stretch deeper into each plié and extend further in every arabesque.

By the time it’s your turn to work the combination, the anger has faded to a dull background hum. You step up, squaring your shoulders and prepping your feet before beginning.

Your chasse leads you into a middle leap. As you ascend, it feels good, almost as if nothing can touch you while you’re in the air.

Adam is a rude reminder that you are not.

But then, mid-leap, the music jarringly falters. You miss a beat, your landing is shaky, and the momentary lapse causes you to stumble. He had done it again, intentionally disrupting the music. It takes every ounce of your self-control not to let it throw you off further. You manage to avoid a full-on trip and finish your combination, but the disruption leaves you seething. As you head over to grab your water bottle, you glare daggers at Adam, who, despite appearing focused on the keys, is clearly smiling to himself.

One of these days, you think, you’re going to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

Class wraps up, and you see the clock signaling the end of the session. Why not today? The thought plants itself firmly in your mind. You decide it’s time to confront him directly.

As the other students start to filter out, you march over to the piano, your anger giving you a surge of confidence. Adam looks up, still smirking.

“What is up with you trying to sabotage me?” you demand, your voice edged with frustration.

He has the nerve to act confused. “Whaaaat? Lil’ ol’ me? I’d never! When have I even tried?”

“Just now. And my fucking audition.”

“Okay but is it really sabotage if you got the part? Think about it— maybe they were impressed with the way you continued on. Maybe I helped you,” he retorts, his tone flippant and infuriatingly smug.

Your jaw tightens, struggling to contain your anger. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. “Impressed or not, you had no right to mess with my audition. It was unprofessional and disrespectful.”

Adam shrugs nonchalantly, not appearing at all remorseful. “Hey, it’s a tough world out there. Gotta learn to roll with the punches, sweetheart.”

“There’s a special place in hell for you.” It’s a low blow and you know it. But you get the reaction you’ve been waiting for, his nostrils flaring with offense.

“Bitch, you care way too much about college-level theatre.”

“At least I care about something other than myself,” you snap back.

“Aw, baby,” he drawls, leaning back and crossing his arms, “I can put some extra care towards you. Lay you out all nice for me, make you see heaven. Prove to you I can take care of you. Might make you beg a bit.”

“Eat a dick.”

“I know what you are, but what am I?” he retorts, a childish grin spreading across his face.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” you exclaim, exasperated.

Before the argument can escalate further, your ballet instructor, Miss Nicole, approaches. “Is there a problem here?” she asks, concern etched on her face. You stumble over your words, caught off guard by her sudden appearance and the need to explain the confrontation.

“No ma’am! Just some classic friendly bickering. You know how it is! We were just about to head out and grab some lunch, weren’t we?” Adam interjects smoothly, throwing you a glance that suggests you go along with his narrative.

You grit your teeth, seething at his audacity, but reluctantly nod in agreement, knowing you can’t contradict him in front of your instructor. The last thing you need is to cause a scene and get thrown out from the class.

“Yep. Just….bickering,” you reply through gritted teeth, your frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Ah. It’s nice to see you getting along with our accompanist. I was a bit worried how everyone would treat him. Where are you going to get lunch?” your ballet instructor asks, oblivious to the tension between you and Adam.

“The campus cafe,” Adam responds smoothly, suddenly looking smug as if he’s won some sort of victory.

“Oh! I was walking that way. Mind if I join you on the walk? I’d like to talk to you about our future classes, Adam,” she says cheerfully, turning to you both.

You go to interject, to protest adamantly that this is NOT okay. But before you can speak up, Adam beats you to it. “Of course! We don’t mind, do we, babes?” he says, flashing a faux-charming smile in your direction.

You clench your fists at your sides, seething with anger at being maneuvered into this situation. With a forced smile, you nod curtly, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Great!" Your instructor claps her hands together in excitement, seemingly pleased with the arrangement.

The three of you walk. Adam seems effortlessly engaged, occasionally nodding and adding insightful comments. Meanwhile, you follow along half-heartedly, tuning out most of the conversation as your frustration with Adam continues to simmer.

You try to focus on the scenery passing by, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps, anything to distract yourself from the situation at hand. However, snippets of their conversation still reach you, reminders that Adam's presence is more entrenched in your academic life now than ever.

“So Adam, are you also the accompanist for the voice recital?” Miss Nicole asks, navigating the three of you past a group of what you assume to be freshmen.

“Oh, no ma’am. One of my classmates beat me to the punch,” Adam responds.

"Really?" Miss Nicole raises an eyebrow. "I thought for sure you'd be the first in line for that."

Adam shrugs, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention back to Miss Nicole. "I guess they were just quicker this time."

“Well I’m sure they’ll be good. Just maybe not as good as you,” Miss Nicole says, her tone warm.

You internally roll your eyes. Barf.

Adam seems pleased to hear that, and not just because his ego is getting fed. “Absolutely,” he replies, his smirk widening.

“You’re not a fan of them?” she asks.

Adam cringes. “You could definitely say that.”

“Is it that skinny blond kid? I know we were warned not to pair you two together,” Miss Nicole inquires, her curiosity piqued.

“Worse,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s his girlfriend.”

Confusion clouds your expression as this new piece of drama unfolds unexpectedly. “His girlfriend?”

Your voice cuts through the conversation, drawing the attention of both Adam and Miss Nicole. They seem momentarily surprised, as if they had forgotten you were there amidst their discussion.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard about it, considering you two are friends!" Miss Nicole responded, her tone tinged with surprise and a hint of curiosity, her eyebrows arched expectantly.

"I don't think friends is the right word to describe us," you muttered under your breath, though Miss Nicole's sharp ears caught your words. Immediately, she began to backtrack, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I hadn't realized you two were... Well, you know what? That makes much more sense," she stammered, her words rushing out in an attempt to smooth over the awkwardness.

"What makes sense?" Adam asked, his brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced between you and Miss Nicole. Finally, it seemed, both of you were on the same page, even if it was only because you were confused.

"Well, would you look at that!" Miss Nicole diverted suddenly, pointing upwards. Following her finger, you spotted the familiar sign of the campus coffee shop. Finally, your destination had arrived.

"Here's your stop! I'll see you in class! Bye!" Miss Nicole blurted out, her cheeks now a deep shade of red as she hastily retreated. It was almost comical, and a snort of amusement escaped your lips. Even Adam chuckled softly before his expression turned mischievous.

"She totally thinks we're boning," Adam remarked with a smirk, his tone teasing.

Your smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of disdain as you curled your lip in disgust. "As if. You can only wish," you retorted sharply, the implication of Miss Nicole's assumption leaving a weird taste in your mouth. Not unpleasant, but you wish it was.

"Oh?" He challenged, striding ahead to hold the door open for you. "I'm the dick master over here. One of these days, you're gonna be begging and drooling for my dick, and I'm gonna say no, bitch."

You walked past him, rolling your eyes as he followed you into the store. "You've already been drooling for me."

"I drool for everyone," he retorts nonchalantly.

"That—" you pause, scrunching your nose, "that's not something to be proud of."

"So what're you getting?" he asked casually, not-so-subtly cutting in front of you in line. You sighed inwardly, not having the energy to react, so you let him take the lead. It was hard to gauge whether that pleased him or annoyed him.

"Probably just a chai with oat milk," you replied, your voice neutral.

"No food?" he inquired further.

"Eh, I don't know," you shrugged, feeling indifferent. "I don't feel like getting anything."

"Do you think their blueberry scones would be any good?" he asked, his voice contemplative as he eyed the display case of pastries.

You followed his gaze, your mouth watering involuntarily at the sight of the tempting treats. If only your bank account had a bit more padding, you might indulge yourself. A faint rumble from your stomach emphasized the point. "Yeah, they look really good," you admitted wistfully.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Cool, cool," he replied, his tone casual as he continued to scan the assortment of baked goods.

It didn't take long before it was Adam's turn to order. He stepped up to the counter, clearing his throat nervously. Glancing briefly in your direction, he then turned back to the barista.

"Could I get one large frozen hot chocolate, one large iced chai with oat milk, and two blueberry scones? Actually, make it three," he requested.

The barista nodded, punching in the order as Adam glanced back at you briefly, a subtle smile playing on his lips before he focused on completing the transaction. "Man, you must be hungry, huh? Your piano teacher starving you?" you teased lightly, trying to inject some levity into the moment.

"Piano isn’t my only hobby. I only learned because I have to if I want a music major," he replied with a hint of a pout, sinking into a chair. You took the seat across from him, the uncertainty of how to navigate this conversation lingering between you. Bickering was your comfort zone, but this felt like uncharted territory.

"So," you ventured cautiously, hoping to keep the conversation flowing. "Why did you become a music major?"

"I want to be in a band. Well, I am in a band. But I want to write our own music," he answered earnestly, his eyes lighting up with passion.

"Why the minor in religious studies?" you asked, genuinely curious as you leaned forward slightly.

He smirked, pleased that you remembered something about him. "My dad wanted that. It's my backup, I guess. Makes him feel better about paying all this money."

Nodding in understanding, you replied, "Yeah, sometimes I wish I took a minor—Musical Theatre isn’t exactly the most stable major."

"So then why'd you take it?" he probed gently.

You shrugged, a smile playing on your lips. "There isn’t a world in which I don’t do musical theatre."

Adam looked at you for a long second, his gaze almost penetrating, as if he could see right through you. That same unsettling feeling from before crept in, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat. However, before the moment could linger, you were saved by the barista calling out Adam’s order. He stood up and headed over to collect the snacks and drinks.

Meanwhile, you tried to steady yourself, willing your thoughts to stop spinning. He was so... infuriating. Yes, that’s it. You were still annoyed from earlier.

But then Adam returned, deftly balancing the tray of food and drinks. The sight of him bringing back lunch for you softened your irritation. Of course, you were grateful. That’s all it was.

The two of you ate in silence. Adam seemed content, devouring his two scones and his drink without a care. On the other hand, you found it difficult to swallow, the food sitting heavy in your stomach. It felt like you were on the brink of a realization, a sensation that made your stomach churn with uncertainty. Still, you weren't about to waste free food.

Once you managed to finish your lunch, you found yourself unexpectedly thanking Adam. Gathering your things, you prepared to leave. However, to your surprise, Adam stood up too.

“So where’s your dorm?” Adam asks, following you out the cafe door.

"We're not having sex," you retort firmly, making your boundaries clear.

"For once, not my intention," Adam replies with a grin, his charm still evident despite your skepticism. "It's getting late, and I'm offering to walk you back."

"It's like 1:30 in the afternoon," you point out, slightly amused by his insistence.

"Exactly," he counters smoothly, his tone making it clear he’s not backing down. "It’s going to get dark soon. Let me walk you home."

You exhale a dramatic sigh, reaching for your dance bag and slinging it over your shoulder with a practiced motion. “Fine. But I expect payment.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Payment?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, giving him a pointed look as you start heading towards the exit of the café.

“But–” he sputters, his voice trailing off as he rushes to catch up with you. “I’m walking you! What more do you want?”

“That was your own choice!” you call back.

“Okay, fine!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he falls into step behind you. “How much do you want?!”

You pause mid-stride, causing Adam to almost bump into you. “How much– Adam, I don’t mean actual money. I just meant filling me in on your drama.”

His eyes widen in surprise as he forms a soundless ‘o’ with his mouth. “What, you mean with my ex?”

The two of you begin walking side by side. “The blond guy?” you ask, trying to piece together the details.

Adam scratches his beard scruff, his expression thoughtful. “No, well—no, I mean his girlfriend.”

You cringe slightly, trying to wrap your head around his words. “His girlfriend is your ex?”

Adam nods, looking somewhat resigned. “Uh huh.”

You frown.

When you arrive at your residence hall, you invite Adam to walk you to your room. His smile widens into a sharp grin as he agrees, and you both head up to your floor.

As you reach your door, Adam pulls out his phone, and you hear the distinct sound of a camera shutter. You glance at him, puzzled, but he doesn’t explain. Before you can ask, he starts to say his goodbyes, but you quickly shut the door in his face. The click of the latch echoes in the hallway,

–

You were backstage, flipping through the program selection, counting down how many performers were left until it was your turn to go onstage and sing. Voice recitals always made you nervous, despite knowing this was what you hoped to do for a living. The pressure for your notes to be pitch-perfect, the intense focus on your singing—it all weighed heavily on you.

Months of preparation with your vocal coach had gone into this moment. Together, you had meticulously chosen and honed your repertoire, though you only got to perform your favorite piece tonight. The culmination of all those hours spent practicing, tweaking, and perfecting was now just minutes away.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. The murmur of the audience beyond the curtain was a constant reminder of the scrutiny you were about to face. You glanced around, taking in the familiar backstage chaos—the hurried whispers, the rustling of sheet music, the occasional burst of nervous laughter from other performers.

So far, only two people were left before it was your turn. If you really paid attention, you could strain your ears and hear the beginning notes of "Some Enchanted Evening" from South Pacific. Your shoulders bounced in a silent laugh—what a classic choice.

The girl after him sang "Memory" from Cats, another timeless and powerful piece. As she exited the stage and entered the wings, she patted your back and gave you a thumbs up for encouragement. You grinned and whispered back, "Great job," before puffing out your chest and walking on stage.

The lights were bright, the audience a dim blur beyond their glow. You took your position at the center, feeling the familiar thrill of anticipation mixed with nerves.

Your vocal coach was busy introducing you and your piece—I Don’t Need a Roof from Big Fish—so you looked at the pianist.

Otherwise known as Adam’s ex.

Something about the thought pissed you off, but you refused to delve deeper into it. Her name was Lilith, and she was, without better words, hot. Which pissed you off even more. You dreamed about grabbing her by her waist-length hair and demanding to know how someone like her managed to date someone like Adam.

…Because she was totally out of his league, that’s all. You were just curious, yep. It’s not like the thought of her dating him filled you with this indescribable rage, something that felt so incredibly close to jealousy. She was hot, Adam was hot, and you... were not.

Lilith glanced up from where she was hunched over the piano, scanning your sheet music and cracking her knuckles. Seemingly unaware of your torturous thoughts, she offered you a small wave. The gesture made you feel incredibly guilty, and you forced yourself to smile back.

At that moment, your vocal coach seemed to have finished with the introductions, stepping off to the side of the stage to watch you. She gave you a wink of encouragement, and you took a deep breath, centering yourself.

Those past months of technique training come to mind, and you breathe out. You relax any tension in your shoulders before expanding your diaphragm, and start singing. Of course, you’re still a musical theatre major, so you act alongside the song. As you began to sing, you immersed yourself fully in the piece. The familiar lyrics and melody took over, carrying you along in a blur of emotion and intensity. You lost yourself in the character and story of the song, each word infused with meaning and purpose.

It goes by in a blur, too caught up in the song to really be conscious of what’s happening, but something feels wrong.

The piano.

It’s not as if Lilith is bad. Quite the opposite, actually. She’s practically perfect, understanding each breath mark and each shift in dynamics. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the two of y’all work extremely well together.

Except… something is missing.

You don’t feel the music in your soul, like you did that one time in class. When Adam was playing. And even if Lilith is objectively better at piano than he is, it’s missing his spark. The final notes hung in the air, leaving you with a sense of dissatisfaction. In your own critical assessment, it felt like the worst performance you had ever given at a voice recital.

Someone seems to disagree though.

Hidden a few rows back in the audience, Adam suddenly leapt to his feet in raucous applause. His gesture, though likely intended to embarrass you, had an unexpected effect. Instead of feeling self-conscious, a smile spreads across your face. You were delightedly surprised to see him here, especially since Lilith, his ex, was seated right behind you.

As you listened to Lilith mumble something under her breath, your attention was drawn back to Adam in the audience. He was enthusiastically encouraging others to stand and applaud, and though most remained seated, a few near him joined in. When he called out your name, you waved your hand down at your side, a mix of amusement and exasperation at his antics.

His gesture, though somewhat obnoxious, strangely warmed your heart. Despite his teasing and occasional insensitivity, there was something endearing about Adam's unabashed support. He had come all this way just to see you sing—or at least that's what you hoped. Sure, he might be here for other performers or academic reasons, but the idea that he might have shown up primarily for you filled you with unexpected warmth.

As you processed these conflicting emotions, a sigh escaped your lips. Adam was, in many ways, a complicated presence in your life. His unpredictability, his charm, and yes, his 24/7 dickish behavior kept you on your toes. But underneath it all, there was a connection that you couldn’t deny, something past just irritation.

…

Fuck.

–

It's finally a rehearsal where you're called to the stage. The moment you've been waiting for, to step into the character's shoes and bring the scene to life. But for now, you're off to the side, nestled in a comfortable chair, flipping through your script and silently rehearsing your lines. The stage is a hive of activity, filled with the sounds of crew members adjusting lights, actors practicing their entrances and exits, and the director calling out instructions.

Right now, you’re using a facial steamer to help your lungs recover after a night of smoking weed with friends—which, in your opinion, is a good summary of theatre kids. The steamer emits a gentle mist, soothing your throat and helping you clear your lungs for the rigorous rehearsal ahead.

As you look over the steamer, eyeing the lines in your script, you quietly mumble the lines to yourself. Each word feels foreign at first, rolling off your tongue with an unfamiliar cadence. You're determined not to lock in one specific delivery, knowing that variability will keep your performance fresh and dynamic for the show.

You glance up from your script, noting how they’re almost up to your first line. The realization sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, a delightful excitement curling in your stomach. You’re totally gonna blow the socks off of everyone here.

Speaking of people being here, Adam is in the audience. You aren’t really sure why, considering it’s just a blocking rehearsal. All you know is you'd prefer for him to be literally anywhere else. Ever since you found out you don't hate him as much as you thought you did, you’ve been avoiding the hell out of him.

This strategy has definitely worked against you. Adam probably thinks you're playing mind games with him, ignoring him just to get under his skin. He’s been working hard to try and catch your attention—apparently going as far as to show up to rehearsals. During breaks, you hear him call out to you, likely saying something provocative to get a reaction, but you always turn the other way.

Yes, you feel bad. No, you won’t stop.

The director calls for you, snapping you out of your thoughts. As you flip to the right page in your script, you feel Adam’s eyes boring holes into you from his seat in the audience. You awkwardly clear your throat, doing your best to ignore the sensation of his gaze, and instead focus on preparing for your section of the scene.

The director walks Quinn through Seymour’s blocking for this scene, giving detailed instructions and adjusting positions to ensure everything flows smoothly. You try to stay present, listening closely, but the awareness of Adam’s presence is a persistent distraction.

Finally, the director finishes with Quinn and calls for the two of you to begin. So… you do.

“Oh boy,” Quinn starts, reading the lines off his slightly crumpled page. “Here we go again. Look, I haven't got much left. Just give me a few more days to heal, okay? Then we'll start again on the left hand and—”

“Feed me!” you whine, your voice taking on a pleading, almost desperate tone. It feels good, acting. Not just good, but right. Like stepping into a pair of pajama pants fresh out of the dryer. The warmth of the role envelops you, and the words flow naturally, embodying the character’s urgency and need.

As you continue the scene, there’s a spark of energy between you and Quinn. The two of you effortlessly bounce off each other, each line building on the last, creating a dynamic and engaging interaction. You internally fist pump in victory.

However, you make the mistake of glancing out into the audience and meeting the eye of none other than Adam. Lately, since you’ve been ignoring him, he’s been wearing this resting pouty face that sort of looks like he sucked on a lemon. But not now. Watching the two of you, his eyebrows are raised as if he’s impressed.

You watch as he realizes you're looking back at him, and his expression shifts into something upset. The sudden change throws you off balance, and you stumble over your line. Embarrassed, you quickly avert your eyes to your script, desperately trying to find your place.

Quinn, sensing your struggle, tries his best to help by repeating his line. Your finger traces the lines on the page until you find where you left off. Taking a deep breath, you catch up, delivering your line as if nothing had happened. The brief disruption had felt like an eternity, but you manage to slip back into character, focusing on the scene and Quinn’s supportive presence.

The director, who had been watching closely, gives a small nod of approval as you recover. The scene continues, the rhythm gradually restoring itself.

You’re beating yourself up, disappointed in yourself for getting flustered. You need to get your head in the game–you’re paying a pretty penny to learn how to be the best performer, not whatever that was back there. You need to get it together, unless you want your director to replace you. That thought fills you with fear.

But then your blame shifts to Adam, and that fear transforms into anger, even though it shouldn’t. It’s easier to be angry with Adam than it is to feel the embarrassment and self-doubt that were creeping in.

You clench your fists, letting the anger simmer. It’s a distraction, but one you can channel. You mentally replay the scene, pinpointing where you stumbled and how Adam’s presence threw you off. The frustration fuels a determination to not let it happen again.

So when your director calls for a water break, you gracefully exit from the side stage and make your way towards the audience area. The theater is a hive of activity during the break, with cast and crew members scattered around, discussing scenes in hushed tones. You find your water bottle among the clutter of chairs

Chugging down over half of it in one go, you feel the cool liquid refresh your parched throat. As you lower your bottle and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you suddenly come face to face with Adam. He’s standing there, leaning nonchalantly against a nearby chair, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the air thick with unspoken tension. You resist the urge to say something biting, reminding yourself to stay composed in the professional setting of rehearsal. Instead, you give a curt nod, acknowledging his presence without inviting further conversation.

Adam’s smirk widens slightly, as if he’s enjoying the discomfort he’s causing.

“So, gonna blame me for sabotage with that one, too?” Adam quips, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans closer.

You roll your eyes and turn away, not in the mood for his teasing.

“Hey,” he whines, reaching out to grab your arm, but you pull away, annoyed. “Don’t be like that. I was only joking.”

“Piss off, Adam,” you retort, frustration bubbling up. “I’m trying to memorize my lines.”

“What, are your lines written in your water bottle?”

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you are definitely crazy enough to do that. How about we grab dinner after this and I can help you run lines.” He walks his fingers up your arm slowly. “And then maybe after dinner… we can have dessert…”

You flick his hand away, irritation simmering beneath your glare. His attempt at humor falls flat, and you feel a pang of hurt at how he’s toying with you, even if he doesn’t realize it. “Haha, very funny,” you retort dryly, crossing your arms defensively.

He frowns, but before you can respond, the director calls for places at the top of what you’ve blocked today. You peel yourself away from Adam and head to your seat on the side stage.

With Adam, it feels like one step forward and thirteen steps back.

–

You were still avoiding Adam, but he finally seemed to take the hint and left you alone. Occasionally, you’d catch him glancing at you from the corner of your eye, but whenever you turned to look, he’d quickly avert his gaze.

Rehearsals had been... okay. No matter how hard you tried and how much effort you put into it, it felt like none of it mattered. You weren't getting Audrey II down, and it was plain frustrating. The other cast members seemed to be finding their grooves, their characters coming to life in ways that left you feeling envious and disheartened. The role you had worked so hard for, the one you were so excited about, seemed to be slipping through your fingers.

You’d run through your lines over and over, trying different inflections, different approaches, but nothing seemed to click. It felt like you were hitting a wall, and every attempt to break through only left you more battered and bruised. The director's notes, meant to be constructive, started to feel like a litany of your failures.

The only thing you could fault was yourself. There were points where you would leave rehearsal in frustrated tears, feeling utterly defeated.

At one point, you had made the mistake of walking past Adam during one of those tearful nights. He stepped in front of you and blocked your path, his presence a sudden and unwelcome barrier. You could feel the heat of your frustration and sadness rising, threatening to boil over. The urge to scream at him, to lay into him and unload all your pent-up emotions, was almost overwhelming. Especially when he was looking at you with eyes full of pity, a look that made your skin crawl.

Instead, you swallowed it down, forcing the words to stay trapped in your throat. The effort it took to hold back was physically painful, like swallowing shards of glass. You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms, and shoved past him with a force that surprised even you. He let you go, not saying a word, just watching you with that same pitying look that made you want to scream.

Today, though, was going to be a good day. The cast was scheduled to meet the band that would be playing for the show, and you were determined to make the most of it. You had been looking forward to this day, hoping that the energy and enthusiasm of the musicians might reignite your own excitement for the production.

As you arrived at the rehearsal space, you could already hear the faint sounds of instruments being tuned and tested. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and it gave you a much-needed boost. You spotted Sam, one of your acquaintances, setting up their drum kit with a focused expression. When you found out they had volunteered to help out, you had immediately warned them of Adam.

"Where's Adam?" you ask Quinn urgently, scanning the room for any sign of him. The last thing you want is to have driven him away from the show with your own behavior– you’d never forgive yourself.

"Aw, I knew you cared about me."

Startled, you spin around to find Adam standing right behind you. His smirk is evident, and you realize with relief that he hasn't left after all. On his back is an instrument case, not the familiar piano you've grown accustomed to seeing him with.

You purse your lips, still mulling over Adam's earlier comment. This conversation is the most you've engaged with him since that rehearsal.

"I thought you were our pianist," you finally manage to say, trying to sound casual despite the lingering tension between you.

Adam tilts his head, his expression shifting from playful to more serious. "For the extra credit. But piano isn't really my first choice. I learned it for music theory purposes."

Quinn chimes in, always eager to fill the silence. "So if you're not on piano duty for the band..."

Adam readjusts the strap of his instrument case, his grin widening mischievously. "I'm on guitar, obviously," he declares, a hint of pride in his voice.

That… actually makes a lot of sense. He doesn't fit the typical image of a pianist; his personality is more intense and unpredictable. You mentally correct yourself, aware of not stereotyping, but Adam's demeanor aligns more with someone wielding a guitar, ready to bring an edgier vibe to the performances. The image of him strumming away fills your mind, and you find yourself fighting the urge to bite your lip at the thought, because, well, yoohoo! Adam is right there.

Sadai bounds up to the three of you, playfully knocking Quinn on the upside of his head as she enters. Quinn, caught off guard, lets out an unattractive squawk that makes her giggle. Honestly, there’s something there that even you can see. And looking across at Adam, he sees it too.

He opens his mouth to say something, you assume to make a teasing remark on their romantic life, but you instead smack him on his head. Instead of a squawk, he lets out a huff of a laugh. He looks less pissed that you hit him, and more pleased to have your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Quinn and Sadai share a knowing look. Are you that obvious? Embarrassed, you grab Adam by the sleeve and tug him away. Adam, still preening under the attention no matter how harsh, obediently follows you. Once you’re a reasonable distance away, you remove your grasp and it makes Adam frown.

“Listen. I know you have a big, trashy mouth—”

“You love it,” he interrupts with a grin.

“—And maybe no one has smacked actual sense into you—”

“You have,” he quips again.

“—Stop interrupting,” you glare, cutting him off. “But if you intervene in whatever the two of them have going on, I’ll personally murder you myself. Let them figure it out themselves, without any side comments from you.”

He raises an eyebrow, but mimes zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key.

Your glare is still flat. “Do I make myself clear?”

He points to his still zipped mouth and makes muffled noises. Annoyed, you roll your eyes before digging into your pocket for the key. You pantomime unlocking and unzipping his mouth. “You’re hot when you take charge.”

Exasperated, you lock and zip his mouth again, this time tossing the imaginary key as far as you can. Adam pretends to look shocked, making exaggerated muffled noises between his closed lips. You raise an eyebrow, silently repeating your earlier question. He sighs dramatically, as if accepting defeat, before slowly nodding his head in agreement.

In appreciation, you gently pat his cheek and he leans into it. You quickly redraw your hand, feeling your face burning up, before you march off back to your friends. You see the question on their faces, but they never get the chance to ask because your director is calling for everyone’s attention.

As she talks, you see a clump of music students behind her– Adam and Sam included. Using the basic common sense you sometimes have, you’re able to deduce that this is y’alls band. Despite most likely volunteering for extra credit, they seem excitable. Well, minus Adam, but he doesn’t count.

After introductions, your director has the brilliant idea to let the musicians show off. They set up in the pit, adjusting and tuning their instruments. Although they don’t have their conductor with them, they feel confident enough to perform the title song.

Adam and Sam take their positions, with Adam adjusting his guitar strap with practiced ease while Sam eagerly checks the tuning of their drums. The other musicians, a mix of eager students, also seem ready, their faces showing a combination of nerves and excitement.

As they begin to play the title song of the musical, the auditorium fills with the lively melody. Despite the absence of their conductor, the musicians manage to synchronize well, each instrument blending harmoniously with the others. Adam’s fingers move deftly over the strings of his guitar, adding a distinct flair to the music, while Sam’s drumming provides a steady backbone to the ensemble.

The image of Adam with his guitar has absolutely nothing on the actual sight of it. He looks, for lack of better words, sick as fuck. Incredibly hot. You feel yourself getting hot under the collar the longer you watch him.

His concentration is palpable as he strums the strings, his fingers moving with a practiced grace that speaks of hours spent honing his skill. The way his hair falls across his forehead, the slight furrow of his brow in concentration, and the way he leans into each note—all of it adds to his allure.

You’re really fucked.

–

Fortunately for you, the band wasn’t called back until the sitzprobe in a week, so Adam was back to playing the role of accompanist. Although you couldn’t wipe the image of him shredding the guitar, at least you weren’t getting distracted at rehearsals.

Considering how close you all were to tech week, rehearsals had been extended an extra few hours. The long hours were grueling, but you pushed through, knowing it was all for the final performance. Today’s run-through was particularly intense, leaving everyone exhausted and hungry.

After rehearsal, someone suggested grabbing dinner together, and the idea was quickly embraced by the group. It seemed like a good way to unwind and bond after a tough day of work. As you gathered your things, you noticed Adam packing up his sheet music, glancing at you every now and then with that familiar smirk.

“Ready to grab some food?” Quinn asked, nudging you gently.

“Yeah, I could eat a horse,” you replied, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

The cast and crew gradually made their way out of the rehearsal space, chatting and laughing about the day’s mishaps and triumphs. You tried to avoid Adam’s gaze, but you could feel him watching you. He was always watching. You wondered what the dinner would be like with him there, knowing his penchant for stirring the pot. But maybe, just maybe, you’d all have a nice, drama-free meal.

For whatever reason, Chili’s had been chosen as the restaurant for the evening, and the thought of their triple dipper had your mouth watering. Quinn had kindly offered to drive, and you gratefully accepted, settling into the passenger seat and buckling up. As Quinn gripped the steering wheel, he paused, not making a move to start the car. Concerned, you turn to him.

“Quinn? You okay there?”

“I have something to admit.” his voice was serious, the most serious you’ve ever heard him. He was avoiding your gaze, and alarms were sounding in your head.

“...Okaaaaay?” you encouraged him to continue.

“I… hm.. I..” he took a deep breath before blurting it out. “I have feelings for Sadai!”

You stared at him… Did he not think you could tell? You had to stop yourself from laughing, as he was obviously distressed. Instead, you placed your hand on his shoulder. “Quinn, dude, I know.”

Quinn's eyes widened in surprise, and his grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly. “You know?”

You nodded, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious. The way you look at her, the way you act around her—it’s clear as day.”

He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. “I thought I was hiding it well.”

You chuckled softly. “You’re not. And you know what? I think she might feel the same way about you. You should talk to her.”

Quinn finally started the car, a small smile forming on his lips. “Thank god.”

“I’m rootin’ for ya.”

As you drove to Chili’s, you felt a sense of hope for Quinn. Maybe things were finally falling into place for him.

When you arrived at the restaurant, the rest of the cast was already there, chatting and laughing. You spotted Adam at the end of the table, waving you over. At first, you ignored him, glancing around for other open seats. However, it seemed fate was against you, as those were the only two seats open. You sighed, making your way over to him. His smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes that you were starting to recognize all too well.

Sadai, who was seated next to him, perked up at the sight of you and Quinn. Or, you know what, maybe just Quinn. He froze up in response, so you pushed him down to sit across from her. You plopped yourself in the seat next to him… which was, of course, across from Adam.

Great.

You took a seat next to Quinn, who was looking more relaxed than you’d seen him in a while. “Feeling better?” you asked.

He nodded, glancing at Sadai who got dragged into a conversation with the group next to her. “Yeah. I think I will talk to her.”

Adam leaned over, grinning. “What’s the gossip?”

“None of your business,” you replied, shoving him away.

“Aw,” he whined. “I was nice enough to save you seats, and this is how you treat me?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “You saved a seat for me?”

“Yep.” he popped the p. “Had to make sure I had eye candy while I ate.”

Adam’s attempt at humor fell flat, and you found yourself frowning, feeling the familiar urge to shut down again. "Gross," you muttered under your breath, not appreciating his comment.

Despite his usual dense demeanor, Adam seemed to sense he had said the wrong thing, even if he didn’t fully grasp why. His expression shifted, suddenly looking bashful. “Besides, you three are the only people who talk to me here. Theatre kids are very...”

He trailed off, searching for the right word while you waited, arms crossed.

“Clique-y?” you finished for him, understanding all too well the feeling of being an outsider. His admission struck a pang of guilt within you. You realized you had been ignoring him, afraid to confront your own romantic feelings. It hadn’t occurred to you how this might have made Adam feel, especially since apparently you were his only "friends" in the theatre department.

He smiled lightheartedly, clearly not deterred by the topic. “Yeah, that’s the word.”

Quinn awkwardly cleared his throat, and you jumped, realizing you had forgotten he was there. You had gotten a little too wrapped up in your vulnerable conversation with Adam.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Quinn said with a hint of amusement, “but can we get back to the menu? I’m starving.”

You blinked, feeling slightly embarrassed by the abrupt shift in focus. “Right, sorry. Food. Yes.”

Adam chuckled softly. “Food sounds good. What’re y’all getting?”

Quinn is the first to respond. “I wanna try their quesadillas.”

You nod. “I want to get the triple dipper, but I’m stuck between getting the mozzarella sticks, or the eggrolls.”

Adam paused, gluing his eyes to his menu as he talked. “Get the eggrolls.”

You sigh, nodding your head in agreement. It did feel strange to be getting along with Adam like friends after all the tension between you. You weren’t sure how to navigate a conversation with him without being rude or defensive. Well, guess you’ll have to learn.

Eventually the waiter makes his way to the end of the table where y’all are sat. Adam is the last to order. As the waiter writes down his food, Adam clears his throat.

“Um,” he glances at you before looking back at the waiter. “Can you also add an order of mozzarella sticks? We’re gonna share,” he gestures to you. “Put it on my tab though.”

Your jaw slightly drops as the waiter scampers off. Apparently Quinn is just as shocked, as he nudges you under the table, out of Adam’s view. At your reaction, Adam becomes defensive. “What?”

His remark catches you off guard, but you resist the urge to retort with something sharp, something that would escalate into banter. Instead, you find yourself smiling genuinely at him, a gesture of gratitude you hadn't anticipated making. It feels different, acknowledging his gesture without a layer of sarcasm or defensiveness.

"Thank you," you say, the words soft but sincere. There's a flicker of surprise in Adam's eyes, quickly replaced by a faint smirk that hints at his usual playful demeanor.

"You're welcome," he replies casually, though his tone holds a hint of something softer beneath the surface.

Quinn, sensing the shift in dynamics, nudges you lightly again under the table, his silent approval evident. You keep your gaze on Adam, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before looking away, the weight of unspoken words lingering between you.

Sadai, unaware of the weird tension, turns to the three of you. “Okay guys, help me out. Is Hamilton technically an opera.”

Quinn guffaws, caught off guard by the question. Or maybe he’s just flustered, you can’t ever be too sure. Adam just narrows his brows.

You, on the other hand, nod your head. “It’s a rap opera– it’s completely sung through. Just like how Rent is a rock opera. Duh.”

“Thank you!” Sadai exclaims, clearly relieved to have you on her side. “They’re trying to tell me I’m wrong!”

She turns back to her group, her expression a mix of concentration and amusement as she engages in the lively debate. You and Quinn exchange a glance, silently observing the group.

Suddenly, a light tap on your head breaks your focus. You instinctively turn, catching sight of Adam across the table. He sits with a mischievous grin, busily rolling up straw wrappers into small projectiles. With practiced precision, he flicks them in your direction, each one landing with a gentle thud against your shoulder or bouncing off your arm.

You deftly dodge one of the trash balls, your reflexes kicking in as you narrowly avoid being hit again. "How did you even get those?" you ask incredulously, amusement dancing in your eyes despite the slight annoyance.

"I asked for a bunch before you got here," he replies nonchalantly, launching another wrapper ball in your direction. This time, it catches you off guard and smacks you square in the nose, prompting an involuntary grumble and a playful pout.

Before you can retaliate, another wrapper ball grazes your arm. Determined not to be outdone, you swiftly grab one from the table and send it sailing back towards Adam with a flick of your wrist. The small projectile arcs through the air, landing neatly in his lap with a satisfying thud.

Adam chuckles "Nice shot,"

You smile, finding yourself surprisingly enjoying the playful banter with Adam. Despite his occasional crudeness, his sense of fun is infectious. As you glance over at Sadai and Quinn engrossed in their conversation, a smirk tugs at your lips. It seems Adam has noticed too, his sly expression indicating he's been watching your reactions closely.

With a casual flick of his fingers, Adam pulls out his phone and swiftly types a message before sliding it across the table to you. You pick it up and read the screen.

‘Are they together now or what?’

You slide his phone back, shaking your head. "You're such a gossip, Adam."

He pretends to look offended. "Hey, curiosity killed the cat– but satisfaction brought it back."

As the waiter sets down the plate of mozzarella sticks between you, you and Adam both reach for one almost simultaneously. He's quick to grab one, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied crunch. Following suit, you dip yours into the marinara sauce before taking a bite, savoring the gooey cheese and crispy coating.

Mid-chew, you notice Adam staring at you with a peculiar expression. You tilt your head in silent question, wondering what has caught his attention. Without warning, he leans forward, and you freeze, unsure of his intentions. His hand gently cups your chin, and with a surprising tenderness, he uses his finger to swipe at the corner of your mouth, where a smear of marinara sauce has escaped your notice.

The brief touch feels oddly intimate.

All too soon, he leans back to his seat, bringing his hand with him.

"You had sauce there," Adam says with a smirk.

Is…

Is he flirting…?

The realization sends a thrill through you.

The rest of dinner goes on without a hitch. You and Adam keep flirting– at least you think so. But based on how Quinn keeps sending you looks, you’d say you weren’t wrong. However, with all the water you’ve chugged, you get up to use the restroom. Quinn, probably determined to talk to you about Adam, practically leaps up from his chair, offering to join you.

You accept.

As you make your way to the restroom with Quinn trailing behind, you notice him shooting furtive glances back at the table where Adam sits. The restaurant's ambiance wraps around you, filled with muted conversations and the clinking of cutlery. Quinn waits until you're both out of earshot from the table before he speaks up.

"So, what's going on with you and Adam?" Quinn asks, his voice low but filled with curiosity.

You pause, considering how much you want to share. Quinn has been your friend for a while now, always there with a supportive shoulder or a witty remark when needed. "I don't know," you finally admit, trying to sort through your own thoughts. "It's... complicated."

Quinn raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. "Complicated how?"

"I used to really dislike him," you begin, your words slow and thoughtful. "But lately, things have been different. He's been... different. I guess I've been different too."

Quinn nods, understanding dawning on his face. "So, are you saying there's something between you two now?"

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. "I honestly don't know, Quinn. Sometimes it feels like we're on the same wavelength, and other times..." You trail off, not wanting to voice your uncertainty aloud.

He nods again, his gaze thoughtful. "Well, just be careful," Quinn advises gently. "You know Adam can be unpredictable."

You sigh, feeling the weight of his words. "I know. That's what makes this all so confusing."

Quinn gives you a reassuring smile. "Just take it slow, okay? Figure out what you really want and go from there."

"Thanks, Quinn," you say sincerely, grateful for his support.

You step into the restroom, taking a moment to freshen up before heading back out to join Quinn. There's a smile on your face, anticipation building as you look forward to rejoining Adam and continuing the lively atmosphere at the table. As you walk back towards your group, you feel a rush of excitement.

However, as you approach the table where everyone is seated, you suddenly come to a halt.

You freeze in your tracks, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach as you watch Adam leaning in close to Sadai, his fingers toying with her braids. The sight hits you like a punch to the gut, shattering the good mood you had moments ago. For a split second, you feel a surge of anger and betrayal, mixed with a pang of hurt that catches you off guard.

Quinn notices your sudden change in demeanor and follows your gaze to Adam and Sadai. He frowns, sensing the tension in the air. "Hey," he murmurs softly, touching your arm gently. "Are you okay?"

You swallow hard, trying to push down the swirling emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I... I don't know," you manage to reply, your voice wavering slightly. “Are you?”

Adam and Sadai seem engrossed in their conversation, oblivious to your presence. The image of Adam flirting with Sadai stings, igniting a mixture of jealousy and frustration within you. You had started to feel a connection with Adam, and now it feels like a slap in the face to see him cozying up to someone else so effortlessly.

“Not really.”

You stand there, frozen in place, as Adam and Sadai continue their animated conversation, completely absorbed in each other's company. Quinn's quiet admission hangs in the air, echoing in your mind as you watch Sadai laugh at something Adam says, playfully smacking his arm. The joy on Adam's face is unmistakable, and in that moment, it feels like a dagger to your heart.

A rush of emotions floods through you—embarrassment, disappointment, and a profound sense of being utterly foolish. You had allowed yourself to get swept up in the playful flirtation with Adam, only to realize now that his attention has shifted elsewhere, toward Sadai. The bile rises in your throat, a bitter taste of rejection and self-doubt washing over you.

You glance at Quinn, who meets your gaze with a sympathetic look, understanding the turmoil churning within you. The urge to turn and walk away tugs at you, to escape this painfully awkward moment. But you stand rooted to the spot, grappling with your emotions and trying to compose yourself.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you reach into your wallet, determined to handle the situation with dignity. Beside you, Quinn does the same, silently acknowledging the need to gracefully exit from what has become an uncomfortable scenario. Together, you count out enough money to cover your meals and leave a generous tip—a gesture of gratitude for feeding the group of loud theatre kids.

With a sense of numb resolve, you make your way back to the table, each step feeling heavier than the last. You avoid making eye contact with Adam and Sadai, focusing instead on the task at hand—settling the bill and preparing to leave. The once vibrant atmosphere around the table now feels tinged with an awkward tension, and you silently curse yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.

As you approach, you set the money down on the table without a word, your movements deliberate yet distant. Quinn follows suit, his expression mirroring your own subdued demeanor.

As Sadai and Adam remain engrossed in their… position, seemingly oblivious to your departure looming nearby, Adam's intermittent glances in your direction don't go unnoticed.

You instinctively turn away, shielding your face from view, determined to conceal the raw emotion threatening to spill over. You muster a smile as you bid goodbye to the rest of the group.

As you and Quinn make your way out of the restaurant, you're caught in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to maintain your composure despite the disappointment weighing heavily on your heart. As you exit, you catch a glimpse of Adam's face, and for a fleeting moment, you swear you see a frown etched across his features. It's a look of disappointment, unmistakable in its fleeting intensity. Despite your efforts to avoid his gaze, his reaction doesn't escape your notice.

–

The next day brings rehearsal, a welcome distraction from the previous evening's emotional upheaval. You find it easy to avoid Adam; he's at the piano, absorbed in his music, while you remain backstage, clutching your microphone. The distance between you feels like a necessary buffer, allowing you to focus on your part without the complication of seeing him.

You can't help but feel for Quinn, though. He has the unfortunate task of performing a scene that requires him to make out violently with Sadai. This scene had always been your go-to for teasing him, but now the dynamics have shifted. Quinn is doing his best to avoid her backstage, and you choose to keep your observations to yourself, respecting his discomfort.

As you sit there, the quiet moments between cues offer too much space for your thoughts to wander. Each time you think of Sadai, your mind inevitably drifts to her interaction with Adam from the previous night. The memory stirs a sickening emotion within you, a queasy sensation that threatens to unsettle your stomach. The vivid recollection of their interaction gnaws at you, bringing back the bile that rose in your throat.

Your director calls for a water break, and you can't help but watch as Adam immediately stands up. He scans the room, his eyes moving through the various clumps of people, clearly searching for someone—likely you. When he doesn't find what he's looking for, he bangs a fist on the piano in frustration, a gesture that sends a jolt of mixed emotions through you.

As you're absorbed in observing Adam, a sudden presence at your side startles you. You spin around quickly, a small squeal escaping your lips as you come face-to-face with your director. The surprise causes your heart to race, and you notice out of the corner of your eye that Adam's attention has snapped in your direction. Thankfully your director is straight to business… well, once she’s done laughing.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, wiping away a stray tear from laughing too hard. “I just came to tell you that your puppet is finished. Want to come look at it?”

You nod eagerly, feeling a spark of excitement light up within you. The emotional turmoil from moments before takes a backseat as anticipation takes over. You follow her backstage and into the workshop, your steps quickening with each stride.

As you enter the workshop, your eyes widen in amazement. The puppet, which had only been a concept in your mind and a sketch on paper, now stands before you in all its detailed glory. It's even more impressive than you imagined. Every joint, every feature, every piece of fabric and paint has been meticulously crafted.

"Woah," you breathe, stepping closer to inspect it.

The puppet was a mesmerizing blend of alien grotesquery and organic menace. Standing as the largest iteration of Audrey II, its slender frame defied your expectations, draped in sickly pink with accents of puke yellow that sent a shiver down your spine. The puppet's design looked like it was inspired by a Venus flytrap, with a face that opens like the petal-like maw of a demogorgon.

In other words, it’s sick as fuck.

“Go on ahead, you can touch it.” Your director gives you permission.

Giggling eagerly, you carefully lift one of the plant's roots. To your surprise, it's heavier than expected, its weight adding to the puppet's realistic feel.

You playfully make the root squirm in your hands, marveling at how lifelike the puppet is even in its stationary state. The texture is smooth yet strangely slippery, reminiscent of a reptile's scales. As you manipulate the root, you can’t help but continue to laugh in awe.

“Be careful though,” your director warns. “It’s not completely finished, so it’s easy to tear.”

You nod obediently at your director's warning, fully aware of the delicate craftsmanship that went into creating Audrey II. With careful hands, you gently place the root back onto the workshop's table, ensuring it rests securely.

As you do so, a sense of fondness washes over you. You pat the root gently once, twice. "Goodbye, Audrey II," you murmur softly, your voice filled with a weird mix of affection.

Your director smiles warmly at your gesture, appreciating your connection with the puppet. "You're going to bring it to life on stage," she says encouragingly, her confidence in you evident.

As the rest of rehearsal proceeds smoothly, you notice Quinn standing by the piano, deep in discussion with Adam, probably about the timing in the music. From the subtle shifts in Quinn's demeanor and the tension in Adam's posture, it's clear that the atmosphere between them is strained.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to suck it up like a big boy and offer Quinn some support. Swallowing any residual discomfort, you make your way over to where they're standing, determined to ease the awkwardness if only for a moment.

"Hey, Quinn," you greet him warmly as you approach, flashing a genuine smile that belies the effort it takes to maintain composure. You deliberately avoid making eye contact with Adam, focusing your attention solely on Quinn.

Quinn's relief is palpable as he meets your gaze, a faint smile of gratitude tugging at his lips. "Hey," he responds, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

"Have you seen my Audrey II puppet yet?"

Quinn glances at you, a flicker of interest crossing his face. "Oh, did they finally finish it?"

"Yeah, sorta! I was just heading to go look at it again now. Wanna come with?" you offer, hoping to include him in something that might lift his spirits.

He grimaces slightly, apologetically meeting your gaze. "I would, but I HAVE to run through my lines. Sorry, dude.”

"No big!" you reply with a casual shrug, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“I want to.” Both you and Quinn swivel your heads to Adam. His tone carries a hint of annoyance, likely catching on to the fact that you've been pointedly avoiding him.

“You want to…?” you ask cautiously, unsure of his sudden interest.

“Look. I want to look at the puppet.” Adam interrupts, standing from the piano stool and closing his binder of sheet music. His abruptness catches you off guard, and you awkwardly laugh, glancing over at Quinn for his reaction.

"Are you sure you don’t want to join us?" you hastily interject, silently pleading with Quinn not to leave you alone with Adam.

“Oh uhhhhh yeah sure! Why not! In fact, let’s get the whole cast to come and look!” Quinn exclaims enthusiastically, seizing the opportunity to divert attention away from any potential awkwardness. His declaration gathers the attention of the entire cast, who readily agree to join in.

Grateful for the distraction, you lead the way to the workshop, guiding everyone towards Audrey II. As the group gathers around the puppet, curiosity and excitement fill the air. Conversations bubble up among the cast members, sharing their thoughts and impressions of the intricate design.

When one of your castmates reaches out to touch the puppet, you instinctively slap their hand away. “Don’t touch it— it’s still fragile,” you caution, a hint of protectiveness in your voice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Adam raising a brow as your castmate apologizes and joins the rest of the crowd to ogle at Audrey II.

After a few minutes of everyone marveling at Audrey II, they begin to file out of the workshop one by one. You watch the group gradually disperse, feeling a mix of relief and lingering excitement from the shared experience.

Turning back for one last look at Audrey II, you take a moment to soak in the puppet's eerie beauty and the significance it holds for the upcoming production. As you start to turn away, ready to join the others, your heart skips a beat and you clutch your shirt, a startled shriek escaping your lips.

Adam is still there.

His presence catches you completely off guard, the sudden realization causing a jolt of embarrassment to course through you. You hadn't noticed him lingering behind, and now he stands alone in the workshop, observing Audrey II with a thoughtful expression.

You could've sworn Adam had exited with the rest of the group, but there he stands, still in the workshop. Your attempt at a polite smile falters as you realize he’s holding one of the puppet’s roots.

"Adam, put that down," you warn firmly.

"Why should I?" Adam retorts, a playful glint in his eyes as he continues to hold onto Audrey II's root.

"It's not yours," you state matter-of-factly, trying to maintain your composure despite the frustration creeping in.

"Technically not yours either," Adam teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

You bristle at his response, the playful banter hitting a nerve. "It's my character.”

"And yet you don't move the puppets even once.”

"Adam," you warn, your patience wearing thin.

"Baby,"

You huff in frustration. "I'm not going to be nice about it."

"You never are.”

"Put. It. Down," you grit through your teeth. "Adam!"

He moves it again, and this time, you hear a faint tearing sound. Your heart sinks as you see the seam start to pull taut.

"Adam!!" you practically shout, urgency in your voice now.

Finally, Adam looks up, his expression shifting from casual amusement to concern as he realizes what he's done. The tear in the puppet's root is evident, a small but significant damage that threatens its fragile structure.

"Oh, shit," Adam mutters under his breath, his eyes widening in realization.

You stand there, a mix of anger and disappointment washing over you. "Adam, please put it down—" you start to say again, but it's too late.

Rrrrrrrip! The tear worsens, the fabric giving way under the strain. You wince at the sound, knowing the damage is done. You both stare in shock as the root rips from the body of Audrey II. Adam jumps, his hands instinctively letting go of the root, which drops to the floor with a soft thud. Your heart sinks as you quickly bend down to retrieve it, hugging the damaged puppet piece protectively against your chest.

The workshop falls silent, the weight of the moment hanging heavily in the air. You shoot Adam an angry glare, your eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and disappointment. His usual nonchalant attitude falters under your gaze, and for once, he seems genuinely remorseful.

"I didn’t know it was gonna do that!" Adam exclaims, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation as he tries to justify his actions.

Still, you say nothing, your focus solely on assessing the damage to the puppet. The torn fabric and strained seam speak louder than Adam's words.

"Seriously, I didn’t know!" Adam insists, his tone pleading now, seeking validation or perhaps forgiveness.

Silence greets him once more, your expression unreadable as you continue to inspect Audrey II's damaged root.

Adam's nervousness grows palpable. "Really, if it was going to be that fragile, then it totally would’ve ripped on stage!!" he continues, his voice rising slightly in frustration.

But still, you offer no response.

"Why won’t you respond? Say something!" Adam finally demands, his patience wearing thin.

“Why do you have to be such a dick?!”

Adam flinches visibly at your outburst. His expression shifts from defensiveness to a mix of surprise and guilt

“Seriously, you complain and whine about how no one wants to be your friend here, but then you go around and act like this!” Your throat hurts. “Do you have no common sense? No respect for other people? This isn’t some show, Adam, this is my future!”

Adam's tense and nervous laughter only serves to fuel your frustration, his dismissive response hitting a nerve as you confront him with the seriousness of the situation.

"I'm not joking," you assert firmly, your voice edged with determination. "This is my first chance at a lead. If I don't do well now, my director won't consider me for other roles. And without that experience, I'll have nothing to show for when I enter the real world. It's my dream, Adam, and it means everything to me."

"Baby," Adam begins, attempting to placate you, but you cut him off sharply. “I think you’re being a bit overdramatic–”

"Don't tell me how to react!" you snap, your anger bubbling to the surface. "You're such an asshole!!"

"Why? All I did was fuck with a puppet!" Adam retorts defensively, his frustration mirroring yours.

"And then you went behind Quinn's back and flirted with Sadai," you say, your voice cracking slightly with emotion. The reminder of his betrayal overwhelms any lingering anger.

Adam cringes visibly. "I wasn't flirting—" he starts to defend himself, but you’re quick to cut him off.

"Adam," you interject.

"Okay, fine!" Adam admits, his voice tinged with remorse. "I was, but not for the reason you think!"

You meet his gaze, your eyes searching his for an explanation. "Then why?" you ask quietly,

"Jealousy is a very powerful emotion—" Adam starts, but you cut him off, unable to contain your incredulity.

"—you flirted with Sadai to make Quinn jealous?"

Adam hesitates for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Well, I mean, something like that."

"What the fuck," you exclaim, your frustration boiling over. "You manipulative asshole."

Adam winces at your words, his usual bravado crumbling under your righteous anger. "Sadai was in on it!!!" he blurts out defensively. "We were just hoping that... he'd… make a move on her."

"Because he was jealous," you conclude bitterly, the pieces falling into place.

"Yes," Adam confirms, his voice quieter now, his gaze shifting uncomfortably.

"Well, good luck with that now! Now he thinks he has no chance, so he’s not interested anymore. And I can’t say I blame him," you say, your voice tinged with resignation.

Adam's gaze remains steady on you, his expression unreadable as he waits for your response.

"Are you?" he asks gently, much softer than before.

What?

"Am I..." you repeat softly, the question lingering in the air.

"Not interested anymore?"

You feel a lump form in your throat as Adam's gaze lingers on you, his silence echoing loudly in the workshop. The vulnerability of the moment washes over you, leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain.

"In Quinn?" you ask again, your voice barely above a whisper, hoping for clarity amidst the swirling emotions.

Adam's expression remains unreadable, his eyes searching your face as if weighing his words carefully. He doesn't respond immediately, the tension between you palpable.

"No," he finally answers softly, his voice steady but devoid of further explanation.

Your heart sinks slightly at his cryptic response, the lack of elaboration leaving you with more questions than answers. You struggle to maintain composure, your mouth dry as you attempt to process his words and the unspoken implications behind them.

You're very careful with your words. "If I were in Quinn’s shoes, I wouldn’t be.”

Adam sniffs softly, his eyes momentarily flickering away before locking onto yours again. He seems to choose his next words carefully, his demeanor serious yet contemplative.

"Okay. So you’re in Quinn’s shoes and you’re mad at Sadai. What now?" Adam asks.

"I wait for an apology," you reply firmly, your voice gaining strength as you articulate your stance.

"An apology? That’s it?" Adam questions, his brow furrowing slightly in apparent skepticism.

"No, that’s not it," you clarify, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. "But it’s the first step."

Adam purses his lips. "Okay, she apologizes to you. Now what?"

You shrug. "I don’t know.”

"The fuck you mean you don’t know?" Adam exclaims, his frustration escalating.

"Adam.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Whatever. So what, should Sadai just go up to Quinn and apologize? What if she’s not sorry?”

"Then she better not talk to him until she is," you assert firmly.

Adam frowns, his expression troubled as he considers your response. "What if Quinn doesn’t forgive her?" he asks, his voice tinged with concern.

"Then Sadai better respect that.”

"And what if it kills Sadai that she won’t have Quinn in her life anymore, if he doesn’t forgive her. What if that’s too big a risk to take— to apologize and find out."

You can't decipher if Adam is speaking from a hypothetical standpoint or if there's a deeper personal resonance behind his questions. Nonetheless, you stand firm in your belief, doubling down on your stance with resolve.

“At least then she’d know.”

Adam nods slowly in agreement, his expression thoughtful as he processes your words. "Right," he acknowledges, his voice subdued.

You stare at him, waiting for an apology that never comes. The silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken expectations and unaddressed emotions. When it becomes apparent that Adam isn’t going to apologize, you sigh deeply, the disappointment evident in your voice.

"Alright Adam, time for you to get out of here," you say with resignation, firmness creeping into your tone.

"But—" Adam starts to protest, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Just go, Adam," you interrupt, cutting him off before he can say more. "I’ll see you in class."

"C'mon baby—" Adam tries again, a hint of pleading in his voice.

"Goodbye.”

As Adam begins to muster a response, he catches sight of tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. The defiance in him wavers, replaced by a sudden deflation. Adam nods silently, his resolve faltering. Without further words, he turns and exits the room, leaving you to grapple with the aftermath of your exchange.

You’re left still hugging that damn puppet’s root to your chest. Holding it tight makes your heart hurt a little bit less.

–

After ballet class, you find yourself lingering with a mix of emotions. Adam's absence didn't go unnoticed, and while a part of you is concerned, you're also determined to convince yourself not to care. Getting over a crush is never easy, and you're trying your best to stay focused.

Class was fine. The familiar routines and movements provided a welcome distraction, allowing you to immerse yourself in the physicality of dance. Your muscles ache in that satisfying way that signals a good workout, and your mind feels clearer, if only for a little while.

The sight of Adam waiting outside the dance class catches you off guard. He's sitting on one of the benches, his head buried in one of his hands. At the sound of the door opening, he jumps up, his posture stiff with tension. You watch, puzzled, as he nervously gulps and reveals a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. The confusion must be evident on your face because Adam's expression shifts from nervousness to something resembling desperation.

"Um, you're late to class," you say dumbly. Of course he knows that.

He glances at the clock. "Yeah, I was waiting for it to be over."

"Why weren’t you here?" you ask, still trying to wrap your head around the situation.

"I wanted to talk to you.”

You glance behind you to see more of your classmates piling out. Contemplating, you bite your lip. “Can it wait?”

“Oh, oh yeah, no, totally, that’s fine,” he stammers, his nervousness evident in the way he shifts on his feet. He passes you the flowers and you take them, cradling them to your chest.

“Okay,” you say, feeling the weight of the bouquet in your hands.

You awkwardly snap your mouth closed and wait for everyone to leave. Ms. Nicole is the last one out. She notices you, Adam, and the bouquet in your hands. She coos, her eyes twinkling with a knowing smile.

“Aww, you two look adorable. Have a good evening, okay?” she says, waving as she exits.

You offer a tight-lipped smile, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “Thanks, Ms. Nicole. See you tomorrow.”

As the door closes behind her, you and Adam are left alone in the now-quiet hallway. The silence is thick with unspoken words, and you shift uncomfortably.

“So…”

You click your tongue. "So..."

"Uh, listen." He finally looks at you. "I'm not good at apologizing—"

"Yeah, I can tell."

His eyes narrow at your interruption, but you remain firm. He hurt you, whether he meant to or not, and you're willing to hear him out, but you won't make it easy for him. "I'm trying here."

“Yeah?” you ask. “Well, try harder.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated but determined. “I’m sorry for messing with your puppet.”

“And?” you prompt, raising an eyebrow.

He grumbles, his voice dropping. “I’m sorry for flirting with Sadai.”

You nod your head slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay. So we’re good?” he asks, hope in his eyes.

You laugh, but it’s a bitter sound. “Fuck no. You were a dick.”

He winces. “I know, I know. But I apologized—”

“You tore my puppet after I told you to put it down. Who do you think got in trouble for that? Not you. And then you go behind our friend’s back and try to make him jealous. You didn’t even get anything out of it!”

“He wasn’t the only one we were trying to make jealous!” Adam blurts out, eyes widening as if he didn’t mean to announce that.

You don’t stop to think of the implications, your anger flaring again. “Right, because that makes it much, much better.”

“Well, I already apologized!”

“I know.”

“So, I’m forgiven?” he asks, hopeful.

“No,” you reply firmly.

“Cut me some slack here!” he begs.

“I have been. For a long time,” you respond, your patience wearing thin.

“I even got you flowers! I never get any bitch flowers!”

Your eye twitches. “Try again.”

He takes a deep breath, realizing his mistake. “I never get anyone flowers. I promise, I’m really trying here.”

“Trying what? Because you’re certainly not trying to apologize. You’re just saying the words.”

He groans, exasperated. “I’m trying to confess to you, alright! I’d like to take you out, but I can’t do that if you’re mad at me!”

You stare at him, the anger quickly being replaced by a deep sense of disappointment. “…so you’re only apologizing so I’ll go out with you.” It’s not a question.

Adam is silent, the guilt evident in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He realizes how hollow his apology now sounds.

You sigh, continuing. “Listen, Adam, you’re a dick. But you can be real sweet when you try. Being around you can be a whole lot of fun, when you’re not being a little shit. I like you a lot too, Adam.”

He perks up, hope lighting up his eyes.

“—but I can’t go out with you.”

His face falls, the hope extinguished as quickly as it appeared. “Why not?”

“You’re not boyfriend material. You’re real rough around the edges.”

He looks desperate, pleading almost. “You can help with that!”

"Adam, I'm not going to fix you. You need to fix yourself before we even consider going out. And that starts with a proper apology. A meaningful one, not just because you want me to forgive you."

For once, he shuts up and nods. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"Nice try. I'll give you some time," you reply firmly, holding your ground.

Adam looks at you, seeming to understand the gravity of what you're asking for. He nods again, more earnestly this time. "I'll do better. I promise."

You give him a small, cautious smile. "I hope so, Adam."

With that, you turn and walk away, leaving him to contemplate his actions and words. It's a step forward, albeit a small one, and you're hopeful that he'll take the time to reflect and make the changes necessary. For now, you're content to wait and see what happens next.

–

The next day at rehearsal, when you walk in, Adam waves at you from a distance. You appreciate the space he's giving you; being around him still leaves your head spinning. The rehearsal proceeds smoothly, with everyone focused on their roles and scenes.

As you go through the routines and lines, you find yourself immersed in the production, trying to put the recent events with Adam aside. Your performance is your focus now, and you're determined to give it your best despite the distractions.

During breaks, you catch glimpses of Adam occasionally glancing your way, but he doesn't approach you. Part of you wonders if he's taking your words to heart and giving you the space you need. It's a relief in some ways, but also leaves you with a lingering sense of uncertainty about where things stand between you.

–

It’s finally sitzprobe time, which means it’s the first time the cast gets to sing along with the band, and not just Adam’s accompaniment. Usually, you’d be a bit nervous about rehearsing with Adam, but he’s been surprisingly respectful with your distance.

That, you’re incredibly grateful for, as opening night looming closer and closer, you haven’t had time to think about romance or drama or whatever. Your free time has been spent going over lines, rehearsing your music, and stressing over this show. Basically, your life is now revolving around your production of Little Shop.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You were all herded into the music room, music stands holding binders– or for the less prepared, loose papers. The actors were pushed to the back of the area to make room for the band’s equipment.

You flip through your binder, mentally going over your music in your head. The sitzprobe was to start in a few minutes, so you were making sure to have everything down. Since you were just singing along with the band, you didn’t need to worry about lines or blocking– just your music.

As the band fine-tunes their equipment, the room is filled with a low hum of anticipation. Adam, with his guitar perched on his thigh, looks focused as he adjusts his amp chord. The heat and the crowded space have left a sheen of sweat on his forehead, causing his messy hair to stick to his skin. You catch yourself biting your lip at the sight, your mind momentarily drifting despite your best efforts to stay focused on the rehearsal.

When he meets your eye– because of course he would– you almost look away. But you don’t. Instead, you hold his gaze, feeling bold. He stares back. From your side, you hear Quinn call your name.

“Do you have a spare pencil?”

You look over to see Quinn’s backpack completely turned inside out in search of a pencil. You laugh before handing him one of your extras. You nod at his quick and embarrassed “thanks” before looking back to adam–

–Who is still watching you.

You feel yourself blushing under his warm gaze, your cheeks tinged with a faint pink hue. Despite your shyness, you manage to muster a timid smile. His response is a surprisingly sweet smile that melts your nerves and sends a flutter through your heart.

This time, it's he who breaks the gaze, turning away to start tuning his guitar. Each testing strum reverberates loudly through his amp, filling the room with its vibrant sound. With every chord he adjusts, you feel yourself grow more and more hot under the collar.

So he looks sexy playing guitar– go fuck yourself!

When it’s time for the sitzprobe to actually start, you almost miss your cue, too distracted watching Adam. He’s completely focused on his guitar, and you’re completely focused on him. Can you blame yourself, though?

Eventually, it's your turn to sing, and you hear the familiar notes creeping in. Taking a deep breath, you belt out the song with all your heart. A smile spreads across your face as you feel the electric guitar blending beautifully with your voice.

–

Before you knew it, tech week had sneaked up on you. With opening night just around the corner, the days leading up to it were a whirlwind of adding the finishing touches—adjusting lights, fine-tuning sound levels, and perfecting costumes down to every last detail.

Today's agenda had been slated for running through lighting cues and honing the synchronization between your voice and the Audrey II puppet; You were eager to finally meet the puppeteer who would bring your character to life. However, upon meeting her, despite her incredible talents, it didn’t seem like she wanted to be there very much. Or maybe that was just her serious RBF. So instead, you spent your breaks avoiding her.

Since today was focused solely on lights, the band wasn't called in. Despite your best efforts to downplay it, you couldn't shake the disappointment that settled in. After the last sitzprobe, you had been eagerly anticipating another chance to watch Adam shred his guitar. The thought of his skilled fingers dancing over the strings made your mouth water.

Not that you’d admit it, though.

After checking in with the stage manager to confirm your attendance, you heaved your monster-sized duffel bag towards the dressing room. The door protested with a loud squeal as you pushed it open, prompting a wince from you. However, your expression quickly turned into a wide grin when you realized you had the dressing room all to yourself for now. It was a rare moment of tranquility before the whirlwind of preparations began—a brief calm before the storm of tech week.

As you approach your designated spot at the mirrors, you're taken aback by what you find. Sitting neatly on your seat is a fresh bottle of water and a thermos. Intrigued and slightly skeptical, you twist open the thermos lid and bring it close to your nose, taking a cautious sniff. A smile spreads across your face when you recognize the familiar scent of throat coat tea. Score!

You hesitate, momentarily questioning if you should be tampering with these items, worried they might have been placed at your station by mistake. Yet, your curiosity gets the better of you when you notice a card tucked behind the water bottle. With cautious fingers, you pick it up, finding your name neatly written on the back. Perplexed, you carefully tear open the envelope and pull out the card.

"Break a leg. Or whatever the fuck you say. This isn't an apology. Not yet. You deserve something better than a card."

You notice a few lines that have been crossed out, suggesting some hesitation or revision. But at the end, it's signed with a heart—

"Adam"

Giddy butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and this time, instead of brushing them aside, you allowed yourself to revel in the sensation of hope and happiness. It felt absolutely wonderful.

You opened the thermos once more, letting the comforting scent of throat coat tea waft out, and took your first sip. The warm, soothing liquid eased your nerves as you continued to prepare for rehearsal. You carried the thermos with you out onto the stage, still taking generous sips. .

Mid-sip, you choke slightly as your eyes meet Adam's in the audience. There's a moment of surprise, followed by a rush of warmth when you see the pleased—no, relieved—expression on his face as he notices you enjoying his gift. With the hopeful butterflies still fluttering in your stomach, you can't help but smile and wave in his direction, a silent acknowledgment of gratitude.

He blinks in surprise before a warm smile spreads across his face, and he waves back. It becomes clear that seeing you enjoy his gesture was his sole purpose for being here today. With a practiced casualness, he slips his hands into his pockets and begins to make his way towards the exit. For once, you’re the one watching him go.

You totally look at his butt while he walks.

–

The past two days of tech week had been long and grueling, each hour stretching into what felt like an eternity. Yet, somehow, you managed to push through, thanks in large part to an alarming abundance of energy drinks. Who could blame you, though? The relentless schedule demanded it.

You'd developed a strategic habit of stashing energy drinks in every conceivable spot—your bag, your dorm room, and especially your dressing room. This way, no matter where you were, a quick jolt of caffeine was always within arm's reach.

Today, as you arrived at rehearsal, you polished off yet another can and felt the familiar pang of needing a refill. Without a second thought, you made a beeline for the dressing room, determined to grab another energy drink before diving back into the demanding pace of tech week.

Now that the lights and sounds had been meticulously carved out, the band was invited back today to perform with everyone. You had already run through the show once, which meant it was now time for a break before notes and then another run-through.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you at the thought of a second run-through. The first one hadn't been your best, and you couldn’t help but replay every minor mistake in your mind. Although you knew you were your own harshest critic, you couldn't shake the desire for perfection. This show was important to you, and you desperately needed it to go well.

You finally reached the dressing room door, grateful for a moment of solitude. Everyone else was taking their water break and snacking in the lobby, leaving you the dressing room all to yourself, which you always appreciated. The quiet space provided a welcome respite from the chaos outside.

Plopping yourself down in your seat, you rummaged through your belongings in search of another energy drink. When your fingers finally closed around the familiar can (thank god), you quickly pushed on the tab to open it, savoring the crisp sound of the release. Without hesitation, you took a big gulp, feeling the rush of caffeine invigorate your senses.

Suddenly, as you were wiping your mouth on your shirt sleeve, a knock echoed through the dressing room door. Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was someone from the neighboring dressing room, probably looking for more hairspray or some other last-minute item.

However, what greeted you when you swung open the door was entirely unexpected. Instead of a fellow cast member, you found yourself face-to-face with a gigantic piece of poster paper. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust and process the sight in front of you.

"Pretend it's your director," the poster read in bold, messy letters.

"Um," you muttered, looking around in confusion. "I'm the only one in here..."

Before you could make sense of it, Adam's head popped up from behind the poster board. Of course—it had to be him. He looked absolutely giddy, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he took in your bewildered expression.

“At least pretend,” he playfully pouts, his eyes twinkling. It's surprising to see him in such a good mood.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, laughing. You can’t help but join in on his contagious amusement.

He flips the poster.

“With any luck, by next year,” it reads.

He flips it again.

“I’ll be going out with one of these people.”

The next flip reveals a collage of different models and celebrities. Despite yourself, you can't help but burst into laughter.

“Are you stealing this from Love, Actually?” you ask, grinning.

“Shhh, don’t spoil the surprise,” he replies, putting a finger to his lips dramatically.

“But for now, let me say,”

“Without hope or agenda”

“Just because its tech week—”

“(And at tech week you tell the truth)”

“…I’m sorry”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, setting aside the signs to focus fully on him. His playful demeanor has shifted subtly, revealing a softer, more vulnerable side. His gaze meets yours, and you notice a hint of bashfulness in his expression. His Adam’s apple bobs noticeably as he swallows, the tension palpable in the quiet moment between you.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, taking a deep breath before the words tumble out in a rush. “I’m sorry I messed with your puppet, and I’m also sorry I flirted with Sadai. You made this whole point about how it upset Quinn. You didn’t say it, but I knew it upset you, too.”

He pauses, searching your face for your reaction. When you nod encouragingly, he continues, his voice earnest.

“It’s… why I did it. I hoped you would have confessed to me. But instead it hurt you. And so then I messed with your puppet because I’d rather you be mad than sad, but you still were and I was a dick. I’m really, really sorry. I’ll even get on my knees. I—”

"Adam," you interrupt softly.

He flinches, expecting a different reaction—perhaps yelling, tears, or a freak-out. What he doesn’t expect is for you to lean in and give him a gentle peck on the cheek.

Adam blinks in surprise, his eyes widening as he processes the unexpected gesture. His cheeks flush slightly, and for a moment, he's at a loss for words.

“I forgive you,” you say softly, leaning back into your own space.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, before a dopey smile spreads across his face, lighting up his features.

“I still feel like I need to make it up to you,” he admits, his voice tinged with relief and happiness, as if he's floating on cloud nine.

“You will,” you reply with a knowing smile.

“I will,” he agrees, a look of determination settling in his eyes as he finally comes back down to earth. He smiles at you, then places his hands on your shoulders with a resolute expression.“This doesn’t mean we’re going out yet, though. I need to sweep you off your feet.”

You can’t help but laugh at his declaration. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with a mix of seriousness and playfulness. “You deserve the best, and I’m going to prove that I can give it to you.”

Touched by his sincerity, you nod. “Alright, Adam. I’m looking forward to it.”

He nods, then raps his fist on the door frame. “Welp, looks like we better get back to rehearsal…”

You hum in agreement. “Yep…”

A moment of stillness hangs between you before you grab him by his shirt collar and tug him forward. He grins the whole way, eyes sparkling with anticipation. You plant a kiss on his mouth, and he smiles through it, pressing his lips firmly against yours. The kiss is brief but charged, lasting only a second before you both pull away.

“Well!” you bring your hands together in a loud clap, bashfully embarrassing his eyes. “Gotta go!”

–

The next day, after a long rehearsal, you start packing up to head to dinner. As you're in the middle of a conversation with one of your castmates, your phone buzzes with a notification. You pick it up from the dressing room table, pausing mid-sentence to glance at the screen.

You tilt your head in confusion as you see that the notification is from a random number.

UNKNOWN

You hesitantly click on the attachment, and a video begins to play on your phone screen.

The video is of your song "Feed Me." You watch in awe as the puppet comes to life, synchronized perfectly with your voice. This is the first time you've seen yourself perform as Audrey II, and you find yourself captivated by the seamless blend of your vocals and the puppeteer's movements.

Surprisingly, you’re impressed with your own performance. Your voice sounds powerful and emotive, carrying the song with confidence and flair. Watching the puppet and hearing your own vocals, you realize just how much you've accomplished. A sense of pride washes over you, mixed with a touch of disbelief.

The video is taken from the pit of the stage, where the band is located. You notice the phone recording is propped up on what you assume is a music stand, angled perfectly to capture the stage. A hint of suspicion about who took the video begins to form in your mind.

Your suspicions are confirmed when, after the song ends, you hear an enthusiastic whoop and holler from behind the phone. A drumstick suddenly appears, swinging into view, and you hear Adam curse loudly, likely having been smacked with the stick. The unexpected moment makes you giggle; the scene is endearing and somewhat cute.

When you click out of the video, your phone buzzes again.

UNKNOWN You were super good. -your secret admirer

You can't help but smile as you type back.

YOU Adam

A moment later, your phone buzzes again with a quick response.

UNKNOWN Dammit.

You quickly add his number to your contacts, labeling it with a fond smile. As you finish, you glance up and catch sight of yourself in the dressing room mirror. The realization that you're grinning from ear to ear makes you blush. Your cheeks warm, and you can’t help but laugh softly at yourself.

ADAM Wanna sit next to each other at dinner I won’t bite And I know you won’t either ;]

YOU Are you gonna flirt with Sadai again

ADAM Okay so apparently you /will/ bite. And no I will not.

YOU Then yes

ADAM Ok I’m boutta leave I’ll save you a seat

Just as you're about to put your phone away, another notification pops up. You open it to find a selfie of Adam, flashing a peace sign with a goofy grin. The only caption reads, “Am I kawaii?”

You laugh but decide not to respond, clicking your phone off with a shake of your head.

Determined to get to the restaurant, you gather all your belongings and throw them into your duffel bag. Slinging it over your shoulder, you take one last glance around the dressing room, feeling a mix of excitement and satisfaction.

As you step out into the bustling hallway, you feel lighter, a spring in your step as you head towards the exit.

With your head down, still thinking about Adam’s ridiculous text, you almost run face-first into Quinn. He steps back just in time, and based on his expectant expression, you already know what he's going to ask.

“Yes, I can give you a ride.”

He cheekily smiles, his eyes lighting up. “Sick.”

You both walk to your car in silence. Once inside, you unlock it and slide into the driver’s seat. As you click your seatbelt in place and adjust the rearview mirror, Quinn awkwardly coughs, breaking the quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice a bit uneven, as if he’s unsure. “You and Adam.”

“Me and Adam?” you prompt, glancing over at him.

“Are y’all… a thing now?” he asks, his curiosity evident.

You awkwardly shrug as you turn on the car ignition and begin to back out of your parking spot. Technically, you aren't lying. Adam hasn’t asked you out yet, but you did kiss—it's like some sort of limbo.

“Are you just going to look past his dick actions?” Quinn asks, his tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

“He apologized. Like, actually. It was this whole thing,” you explain, trying to convey the sincerity of Adam’s apology.

“Oh,” Quinn replies, looking down, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

You get on the road and steal a quick glance at Quinn. He’s anxiously bouncing his knees, his shoulders as taut as a rubber band.

“So, you and Sadai.”

“Me and Sadai,” he echoes, his voice carrying a hint of tension.

You roll to a stop at a red light, keeping your eyes forward as you attempt to carefully breach the topic. He hasn’t stopped bouncing his legs.

“Have y’all talked after that night?” you ask gently.

“No,” he replies, his tone clipped and filled with frustration.

You click your tongue thoughtfully. “Maybe you should.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

You can’t take it anymore. The words burst out of you before you can stop them. “Sadai and Adam only flirted to make us jealous!”

Quinn’s legs stop bouncing, and he perks up, suddenly full of energy. “I knew it!” he exclaims, a triumphant look on his face.

You laugh, relieved to have finally admitted that information. But then you pause, realizing something. “What do you mean you knew it? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me!” Quinn laughs.

“Touché…”

“But yeah, no!” He sits back in his chair, a smug look on his face. “I totally knew it! They kept looking at us!”

You frown, trying to remember. “They did?”

“Yes! And when we left, Jared said they just... stopped talking to each other entirely!”

You groan, facepalming. “Oh my god.”

Eventually, you both pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. You park your car and step out, Quinn following suit.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You turn to see Sadai perched on the sidewalk, standing up and brushing off any dirt as she sees you. Her expression is tentative, eyes flicking nervously between you and Quinn.

You glance between Sadai and Quinn, noticing the tension in the air. Quinn’s eyes are locked on Sadai, a mix of emotions playing across his face. Just as he moves to open your car door, clearly trying to escape the situation, you quickly press the lock button.

He tugs at the car door handle, but the door remains firmly shut. His frustration becomes apparent as he glares at you, a mixture of betrayal and disbelief on his face. His eyes dart between you and Sadai, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

You stand firm, meeting his gaze with a resolute expression. “Adam’s waiting for me. Don’t take too long,” you say, your tone carrying a hint of finality.

With that, you turn on your heel and walk towards the restaurant entrance, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You can feel Quinn’s eyes boring into your back as you move away, his disapproval palpable even from behind. You almost falter, a pang of guilt hitting you for leaving him to face this conversation alone. But you remind yourself that sometimes, facing uncomfortable truths is necessary for growth and resolution.

You push open the restaurant door and step inside, the lively hum of conversation and clinking cutlery greeting you warmly. Your eyes scan the room, quickly locating your table. A wave of relief washes over you as you spot Adam among your friends, seated comfortably towards the middle of the group.

You wave hi to everyone, your smile widening when you see the empty seat next to Adam. You make your way over, feeling a mix of excitement and relief.

“Hey, dickwad!” you call out playfully.

Adam’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. His face lights up instantly, his smile spreading from ear to ear. The sight makes your heart flutter, just a little, as you approach him.

“Hey, bitch!” he responds with equal enthusiasm, waving you over. “I saved you a seat!”

He pats the seat next to him, and you slide in with a smile. As soon as you’re settled, Adam wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a playful half-hug. The gesture feels warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the awkwardness you left behind outside.

“How’d you like the video?” he asks, his voice light and full of enthusiasm. “Aren’t you just the best?”

You feel your cheeks warm under his praise, and you duck your head slightly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “My favorite part was when you got hit with the drumstick,” you admit, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Adam dramatically groans, pulling his arm away and releasing you. “I really thought I cut that part out…” he says, pretending to be exasperated.

You laugh, the sound genuine and joyful, and it feels good to let go of the day’s stress. Reaching for the menu, you start browsing through the options, feeling the familiar sense of comfort and relaxation settle over you as the conversation flows around the table.

As time passes, you find yourself genuinely enjoying dinner. The food is delicious, and the atmosphere is lively and warm. Adam is surprisingly attentive throughout the meal, making a point to include you in all his conversations. He listens intently to your stories and takes an active interest in the topics you bring up. His easygoing nature and the way he makes you feel heard only add to the evening’s enjoyment.

Despite the pleasant distraction, your mind occasionally drifts to the Quinn-and-Sadai-shaped hole in the group dynamic. They’ve been outside talking for what feels like forever, even after your food arrived. The minutes tick by, and you start to wonder what’s going on.

Just as you’re nearing the end of your meal, you catch sight of them finally making their way inside. Your gaze naturally shifts towards the entrance, and your eyes widen in surprise when you see them walking hand in hand.

Your jaw drops in surprise as you watch Quinn and Sadai approach the table, their hands intertwined. You glance over at Adam, who is mid-bite into a juicy rib, his mouth full and his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

You nudge his attention towards Quinn and Sadai. Adam’s eyes follow your gesture, and as he takes in the sight of them holding hands, his face lights up with genuine excitement and happiness.

“They’re holding hands!” you exclaim, unable to keep the delight out of your voice.

Quinn and Sadai settle into the only available spots— a table a few feet away from you. Without a second thought, you peel yourself off your seat, nearly bumping into other diners as you practically race to Quinn.

As you approach, you come up behind him and place your hands firmly on his shoulders. The sudden contact startles him, and he turns his head slightly, looking up at you with a mix of surprise and confusion.

You lean in slightly, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. “Hey,” you say softly. “I need to use the restroom. Care to accompany me?” You tighten your grip on Quinn’s shoulders just enough to make it clear that this is not up for debate.

Quinn chokes, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y-yeah. That’s all good. Let me just…”

He stumbles slightly as he stands up, clearly flustered. Your hands fall away from his shoulders, and he avoids making eye contact as you start walking toward the bathroom. You let him be, content to lead the way

You’re seriously getting deja vu from the last cast dinner.

Quinn, trying to maintain a nonchalant demeanor, shrugs casually. However, a telltale smile tugs at the corners of his lips, betraying his genuine happiness. “We talked,” he says simply, though the glimmer in his eyes suggests there’s more to the story.

You place your hands on your hips, trying to hide your impatience. “You have to give me the details! Now!”

Quinn chuckles, shaking his head. “There’s too many details to go over right now. I’ll just call you tonight and fill you in.”

You sigh dramatically but can’t help but smile at the thought of hearing all the juicy details later. “Okay, okay fine,” you concede. “I wasn’t kidding about needing to pee, though. Wait here for me, okay?”

After you finish up in the restroom, you and Quinn walk back towards your respective tables. As you reach his table, you pause for a moment and give him a quick, affectionate ruffle of his hair. The gesture is filled with genuine excitement and happiness for him.

“You really deserve good things,” you say warmly, your voice brimming with sincerity. “I’m so glad you and Sadai worked things out.”

Quinn's face lights up with a grateful smile, and he nods appreciatively. “Thanks for everything. I’ll fill you in on all the details tonight.”

You give him a final encouraging nod before turning back towards your table.

You slide back into your seat next to Adam, and immediately notice his subtle attempts to inch closer to you. His movements are slow and deliberate, as though he’s trying to discreetly close the gap between you without drawing too much attention.

For the fun of it—and maybe because you actually enjoy the closeness—you let him continue his subtle advances. You shift just a bit, allowing him to inch closer. His arm brushes against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his body next to yours.

Adam seems to sense your willingness and takes the opportunity to move a bit closer. His shoulder lightly brushes against yours, and he offers a soft, satisfied smile, clearly pleased with the closeness.

As you settle back into your seat, you feel Adam’s mouth come close to your ear. His breath tickles your skin as he murmurs, “Wanna get out of here?”

You turn your head slightly, catching the playful glint in his eyes, and nudge him away with a light shove. “I need to pay, dipshit,” you reply with a teasing edge to your voice.

Adam’s face lights up with a smirk, clearly pleased with his little revelation. “Oh, I already took care of it,” he says, his tone almost smug. He reaches over and gently brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch tender and reassuring.

You blink in surprise, your eyes widening. “What??”

He chuckles softly, his smile widening at your reaction. “Yep. I’ve got it covered, baby. It was getting late, and you need to rest up for tech week.”

You let Adam guide you out of the restaurant, feeling a mix of excitement and contentment. As you walk towards the exit, you turn back to give a cheerful wave to the rest of your castmates, your smile wide and genuine. “Goodbye, everyone!” you call out, your voice full of warmth.

Your thoughts briefly drift to Quinn, who are likely only now getting their food. You’re confident that he’ll be just fine to ride home with Sadai.

As you approach your car, Adam walks beside you, his hand still gently holding yours. When you reach the driver’s side, he steps back to let you unlock the door. You’re pleasantly surprised by his gentlemanly gesture as he opens it for you with a wide grin.

You look up at him, your eyebrows raised in playful suspicion. “Did you make me leave early just so you could have a kiss?” you ask, your tone light but teasing.

Adam’s grin widens, and he gives a mock sheepish shrug. “Ya caught me,”

You roll your eyes with a playful sigh, feeling the warmth of the moment. Gently, you cup Adam’s face in your hands, and he melts into your touch, his expression softening into a dopey smile. His eyes flutter closed, and he purses his lips expectantly. You meet him halfway, leaning in for a kiss.

The kiss is sweet and brief, lasting only a second, but it’s filled with an undeniable connection. You’re pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t try to sneak in any tongue action; instead, he keeps it tender and simple. When you pull away, he surprises you again by planting a quick kiss on your forehead, his touch light and affectionate.

Before you can react, Adam’s hand gives your backside a playful smack, and he bursts into laughter. “Adam!” you gasp, your face flushing with a mix of shock and amusement.

He chuckles heartily, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and begins to sprint away towards his car. You watch him run, laughing at the impish grin on his face as he disappears into the distance

What a guy.

–

You’re sprawled out on your stomach, idly kicking your legs in the air, when you hear a knock on your dorm room door. Assuming it’s your roommate who’s forgotten their card key yet again, you roll off your bed with a sigh and pad over to the door, swinging it open without a second thought.

“Heeeeyyyyyy bitch,” a familiar voice greets you.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in the sight of Adam leaning casually against the door frame. In one hand, he’s holding a loaf of bread, and in the other, a steaming cup of what you assume is coffee.

“Why are you here?” you ask, the surprise evident in your voice. “How are you here?”

“Remember that one time I walked you home? Yep. Took a picture of your room number so I’d never forget.”

You feel a mix of emotions—both a little creeped out by the fact that he remembered your room number like that, and oddly flattered by his dedication.

“So,” you say, tapping on the doorframe. “what’re you doing here?”

Adam’s grin broadens. “I was thinking about taking a walk around campus. Care to join me?”

You glance down at the loaf of bread in his hand, then back up at him. “Do you need to put that down or...?”

“Nah.” Adam slaps the loaf lightly, careful not to crush it. “This big guy will be joining us.”

“Um, okay.” You smile, amused and curious. “Why?”

Adam tugs at his collar, a bit sheepishly. “I was hoping to take you to the lake down by the library. Maybe feed the baby ducks.”

You can’t help but melt a little. “Aww, cute!” you say, and Adam ducks his head, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Let me go change out of my nasty pajamas,” you add, stepping back into your room.

“Aw, but I like the bed head,” he teases, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You push him off, swatting him playfully until he steps out into the hall.

“Give me a minute,” you call out as you close the door. You quickly change into something more suitable for a walk around campus, then open the door to find Adam engrossed in his phone. When he notices you, he clicks it off and smiles, eyes lighting up.

“Here.” He shoves the hot drink towards you. Confused, you glance up at him through your lashes. He quickly explains, “I bought you an herbal tea. Figured it’d help for tech week.”

Your eyebrows quirk up in surprise, and a slight blush fills your cheeks at the thoughtfulness of it all. “Aw, Adam, you didn’t have to.”

“I know. Just wanted to.” He shrugs, but there’s a genuine warmth in his eyes.

You two had walked the expanse of the campus, mindlessly chatting. It was surprisingly pleasant, and you found yourself enjoying the conversation as you sipped on your tea. It was a bit bitter, but you appreciated the gesture, knowing it would help during tech week. When you finished, you quickly tossed the empty cup in the nearest trash.

Adam was just as bold and brash as ever, but as you looked past his jokes and playful banter, you noticed the subtle signs of his nervousness. The way he kept squeezing the loaf of bread, squishing the slices between his fingers, was almost too endearing. For someone who usually plays it so cool, seeing him so anxious about something as simple as feeding ducks made him seem more genuine.

You couldn't help but smile, appreciating this different side of him. It was clear he was trying hard to make the day special for you, and his nervousness only made the gesture more touching.

You eventually find yourself at the library’s lake, the peaceful setting a perfect backdrop for your outing. The ducks are a welcome distraction, and you both sit shoulder-to-shoulder, enjoying the serene atmosphere. The sun casts a warm glow over the water, and you can’t help but feel content.

You’re deep in conversation about the oddest things when you spot the baby ducks. Your excitement bubbles up, and you grab Adam’s arm, pointing towards the tiny, fluffy creatures. He turns to look and immediately lights up, a soft smile spreading across his face. He places his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze before reaching into the loaf of bread he brought.

You both begin tearing off small pieces of bread and tossing them into the water. The ducks quickly flock to the crumbs, their tiny beaks pecking eagerly. You take turns feeding them, each small piece met with a flurry of happy quacks and paddling.

As one particularly brave baby duck waddles up almost to your feet, you struggle to contain a squeal of delight. The sheer cuteness of the moment makes your heart flutter. Adam chuckles beside you, clearly amused by your reaction.

That doesnt last long, however.

You hear a dramatic gasp of offense before some short, blond twink comes angrily waddling towards you both. Adam, upon spotting him, immediately glowers.

“Um, hey..?” You greet, unsure of the appropriate response.

The blond ignores you in favor of pointing a sharp finger towards the loaf in your hands.

“Is that bread?” He asks, incredulous.

“Yes?”

He furrows his brows and puffs out his chest. “And you’re feeding it to the ducks?”

You look to Adam for reassurance, however he’s too busy glaring daggers at the short man. “…yes?”

The man lets out an ignified squawk. “You can’t do that! You’ll fill them up with nutrition-less food, and then they won’t have an appetite for their actual diet! Are you insane?”

You sheepishly tug the loaf of bread behind your back, hiding it from the man. “Sorry.”

He goes to say something else, before finally noticing Adam next to you. His eyes dart between you both before coming to some sort of conclusion. His once offended face splits into a smug grin. You don’t like how he’s looking at you.

And apparently neither does Adam, because he’s maneuvering you to stand up. Before he gets a chance to turn you around, the man grabs your hand and starts shaking it.

“How rude of Adam to not introduce us! The name’s Lucius, but you can call me Lulu.” The man, Lucius, purrs.

You wrinkle your nose. “You want me to call you lulu?”

Adam forces his way between you both, managing to make Lucius let go of you. You’re thankful for him not to be touching you anymore. “Alright, cunt, leave them alone. You’ve already taken two, that should be enough.”

You’re somewhat offended to be reduced to some number, but your confusion stops you. Whatever dick measuring contest the two of them are holding right now, you want no part of it. “Adam, relax. He’s just upset about the bread.”

“Like hell he is! That’s how he gets you!

“Gets me to do what?”

You look between Lucius, who’s smirking and whistling like he’s in a cartoon, and Adam, who’s staring at the ground with a deep scowl. You feel like you’re missing something big, like there’s an inside joke you’re not a part of. The situation is honestly frustrating.

“Gets me to do what?!” You repeat.

Lucius ignores your question. “You know, you’re rather pretty, aren’t you?”

. “Don’t.” Adam says.

Lucius goes for a more personal approach, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. You instinctively dodge his hand, but he doesn’t seem deterred. Instead, he rakes his fingers down past your head, his touch lingering as he toys with your shirt collar. His eyes glint with mischief as he leans in closer. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing slumping around a tool like Adam?”

“Lucius…”. Adam warns.

“Better to run while you still can.” Lucius laughs. You don’t think it’s very funny. “No one ever stays with him for too long, and it’s better to not find out why. “

Adam’s shoulders slump as his anger melts into hurt. He grumbles something under his breath before turning on his heel and marching off, leaving you standing there with Lucius. You watch him walk away, feeling a pang of disappointment at his sudden departure.

Lucius catches your gaze, his eyes filled with what seems like pity, and it makes you bristle. How dare he assume he knows more about your relationship with Adam than you do? The audacity of this man, who’s clearly intruding on your time together, is infuriating.

Before you have a chance to voice your frustration, Lucius’s lips curl into a reassuring smile. But something about it is far from comforting. The smile exposes unnaturally sharp teeth, making you feel even more uneasy.

You nervously flash him an almost-smile before scurrying off to join Adam. He seems honest-to-god surprised you chose him over that other guy, which is sort of rude, but you try to look past it. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” He grunts.

“Okayyy…? Then where are we going? I thought we were getting lunch.”

It looks like it hurts him to say whatever’s next. “No. I’m taking you home.”

“Why? I thought we were going on a date?”

“Because.” He swallowed hard. “The date was ruined.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking a second. You know not to take it to heart— poor dude’s ego was just watered down right in front of him. So you choose a different approach. “Ruined?”

Adam, still sulking, nods his head. “Ruined.”

“Do you think it was ruined?”

“No, but you do.”

You scrunch your face up. “I do? Since when?”

Adam finally looks up from the floor and into your eyes. He’s a bit more energetic than before. “Since Lulu came in and ruined it?”

“First off, don’t call him that. Second off, he was just some crazy twink! What, did you think I was gonna run off with him into the night just because he gave me a compliment?”

“The others did.”

Okay, now you really are confused. “The others?”

Adam rolls his eyes, but not at you. He huffs and sits down on the nearest bench, encouraging you to follow. When you do, he grabs the bread from you, opens it, and starts absentmindedly chewing on a slice.

“I used to have two girlfriends. Not at the same time, though. That’d be way too much drama to deal with.”

Nice to know that that’s where he draws the line…

“But Lucifer—“

“Lucifer?” You balk.

He rolls his eyes and corrects himself. “Lucius set sights on both of them. When I wasn’t looking, he went behind my back and swept them off their feet. Both of them!!! Both of them chose him over me! So excuse me for getting upset when I thought you would too!”

A pang of sympathy plays at your heart, and it takes everything in you to not pull him into a tight hug and never let go. Sure, Adam’s a jerk. A cocky, jerky, dickhole. But he’s been sweet to you. And funny. And thoughtful.

“Well I’m not like your other two girlfriends, am I?” You carefully say.

Adam looks at you with a confused expression, not exactly sure on where you’re going with this. “…no.”

“Then Adam,” you reach for him and feel awful when he flinches away. However, you keep going and manage to pet his hair. “Why would I run away? I want you, plain and simple. I’m still waiting for you to ask me out, ya know.”

Despite everything, he bashfully smiles and looks away. “Yeah, alright. I get it.”

“Do you?”

He looks to you, really looks. And finally— “I do.”

You both stare at each other for a second. You’ve never seen this side of Adam before— vulnerable and open. It’s addicting, and you want more of it. You want to know him inside and out. Before you can think of the overwhelming ache in your bones, you’re standing again and brushing off your clothes.

“Alright, Adam, baby.” Your voice is still soft with emotion. You reach towards him and smile when he grabs ahold of your hand with no hesitation. “Let’s keep walking.”

You pull Adam up, and he follows your lead with ease. As he stands, he doesn’t let go of your hand, holding on tightly. His face is a mixture of emotions—pinched tight with tension and his eyes a bit glossy, but he’s still smiling. It’s a vulnerable sight, and your heart aches for him.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, concerned.

Adam brings his free hand up, roughly wiping at his face as if trying to clear away the emotions that are threatening to spill over. “Yeah. Yeah, I just… I don’t know. I kind of expected you to run away after all that. I’m just relieved.”

Seeing his struggle, you squeeze his hand reassuringly. The touch is gentle but firm, a silent promise that you’re here for him. He squeezes back, and you both stand there for a moment, connected by this simple but meaningful gesture.

The air between you feels lighter, filled with an unspoken understanding. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day’s emotions start to lift. With a comforting smile, you nod toward the path. “…wanna go get food?”

He laughs. “Fuuuuck yes.”

–

Rehearsal later that day was so incredibly hectic, you didn’t get a chance to utter even a word to adam. Your time was spent polishing the show, as you opened tomorrow. The thought alone filled your stomach with dread and excitement.

However, after your songs and scenes, Adam did let out a few cheers. Of course, that led to him getting reprimanded while the director sat you down and gave you notes. You tried to get a peek at him, but he was too far and you were too busy jotting down your notes. Once he was done getting scolded from the conductor, he walked back down to the pit near where you were sat. He caught your eye and, despite having been dug into moments prior, brightly smiled at you. Your heart ached.

Eventually, rehearsal was called to an end. You were grateful that class had gotten canceled tomorrow, as you are quite literally dead on your feet. When you feel a pair of hands land on your shoulders, you jump a few feet in the air. You spin to see Adam, who had grabbed your bag before you could. He slung it over his shoulder, juggling his own guitar case, and held out his hand.

You took it, pressing yourself into his side. Normally you most likely wouldn't have done this, but you’re so exhausted so you lean your weight into him. He laughs and removes his hand from yours, instead wrapping it around your shoulders to pull you in. Together, he silently walks you to your dorm.

–

The velvet curtains closed with a final, satisfying thud, and the applause roared through the theater like a crashing wave. After rushing onstage for your bow, you stood center stage, chest heaving with exhilaration and relief. You had done it. The months of rehearsals, the late nights, and the countless hours of self-doubt had all led to this moment.

You could see the faces of the audience, all beaming with appreciation and admiration. But there was only one face you sought out among the crowd. You felt a rush of warmth, knowing Adam had seen you at your best.

As the house lights came up, you made her way backstage, your fellow cast members congratulating each other with hugs and high-fives. You accepted their praise graciously, but your mind was elsewhere.

You knew you had one more performance to deliver tonight.

Finally, the stage manager gave you a nod. It was time to greet the audience in the lobby. You took a deep breath and stepped out, your heart racing in anticipation. The crowd gathered, forming a semi-circle around the cast. Autographs were signed, selfies were taken, and congratulations were exchanged.

And then, there he was. Adam stood at the edge of the crowd, waiting patiently. As their eyes met, your heart skipped a beat. You excused herself from a conversation with an enthusiastic parent and made your way over to him.

"Hey, superstar," Adam greeted with that charming grin that always made your knees feel a little wobbly.

"Hey yourself," you replied, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "What did you think?"

He grabbed both your hands, bringing them up to his mouth to press a gentle kiss. “You were awesome, really. I loved having you sing along with my guitar.”

You giggled, eyes sparkling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smile was genuine, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You batted your hands away from him, relishing in his sickly sweet corniness.

“Oh?”

“I know people typically get flowers, but they die really quickly, so I thought, ‘Hey! Why not make something!’ So I did, but it honestly didn’t turn out very well, so—”

“Adam. Just show me, baby,” you interrupted gently.

He bashfully smiled and dug into his pockets, pulling out a pair of car keys. You balked, eyes wide.

“You got me a fucking car?”

“No!” he laughed, shaking his head. “It’s in my car.”

With that, you both head outside, Adam's hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you gently through the cool evening air. The sky is painted with the soft hues of twilight, casting a romantic glow over everything. When you reach his car, he glances at you with a mix of excitement and nervousness before popping the trunk. He steps in front of you, effectively blocking your view, heightening the anticipation.

You hear the rustling of items being moved around, and your curiosity piques. Finally, Adam turns around, cradling a large, beautifully arranged gift basket. The basket is wrapped in shimmering cellophane and tied with a big, bright bow. Inside, it’s filled to the brim with your favorite candies and your go-to drinks, each item thoughtfully chosen. Nestled among the treats are several gift cards to your favorite stores and cafes.

Your mouth drops open in surprise, and you quickly cover it with your hand, eyes widening in delight and disbelief. Adam, nervously waiting for your response, shifts from foot to foot

You lurch forward, grabbing the basket from him and carefully placing it back into his trunk. With a burst of impulsive energy, you grab him by his collar and pull him down into a passionate kiss. His lips are warm and soft against yours, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment.

When you finally pull away, breathless and with your heart racing, you can’t help but blurt out–

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Adam’s eyes widen in surprise before his mouth curls into a dopey, joyous smile. “For real??” he asks, his voice full of hopeful excitement.

“For real,” you affirm, your own smile spreading wider.

He pumps his fist in a triumphant gesture.

[hockeyandhrsepwr]

Abu Dhabi moments

Jack Hughes x Ferrari driver reader

Je T’aime Masterlist

** Vegas is the last race before Abu Dhabi & series takes place in 2024 with Danny, Seb & Mick still on the grid **

A handful of moments as the season come to an end because I didn’t want to write a full fic. Also how are y’all? I’ve haven’t been on here in a while because ya girl had finals and grad 🫶

Post Practice, Friday

Welcome back to sunny Abu Dhabi, as we prepare for the final race of the season!! This weekend brings us the most heated battle for the Drivers Championship we’ve ever seen!! Yes that includes Lewis versus Max 2021, the Mercedes battle of 2016 & Sebastian Vettels maiden win in 2010. Ferrari have the Consrtuctors trophy, will they clinch the Drivers too? Lets have a look at the possibilities

Y/n L/n currently sits first in the points, with Max trailing by only one. Charles Leclerc only sits only 5 points behind him. It will come down to whoever takes the win for this race. Three potential champions, one race. Will it be a third championship for Verstappen, a second for Leclerc or a first for L/n?

Are you excited? Because we sure are. They all had great practices today. Who will come out on top? Tune in all weekend to see what happens!

Lets send it over to Naomi, who’s with y/n now

Media Pen

Hi y/n, how are we feeling today?

I’m doing great, how about you?

You know, I’m pretty good but were not here to talk about me. What’re you feeling coming into this weekend, knowing that the championship could be yours?

Honestly, I’m trying not to think about that. It’s just a normal race. I dont want to psych myself out since anything can happen once we get on that track. Of course I’d love to win, but who knows. Charles & I have been able to bring that constrictors back to Ferrari which was incredible, and whoever wins will have absolutely deserved it.

Thats a great way to look at it! I’m rooting for you but we’ll see what happens. Now, onto something more important. You had an interesting weekend in Las Vegas, didn’t you?

Yeah, you know the race was a lot of fun and it was great to win, especially given the issues we had the week before

Girl you know thats not what I’m talking about!!! I mean your after race shenanigans
Haha, yeah, so I got married which was a special experience.

Can I ask if you’d planned that going into the weekend?

Oh not at all! It was more a timing thing. So Saturday night Jack, my husband which is still weird to say, asked if I’d want to get married while we were there. He played a game in Vegas which is why he was there at all. Of course I wanted to marry him, but I didnt want to do it without some of our closest friends there. Luckily, most of them who play hockey were either in Vegas because they’re on his team or they were within a 2 hour flight range so we could get them there for Sunday night. And of course I was able to get the guys from the grid there no problem. So we just decided to go for it!

So no parents?

No, unfortunately not. Both of our parents live on the east coast and it was too quick to get them there, but we’re going to do a big party over the summer so they can celebrate with us.

At least they’ll have that!! Can I ask what the planning was like?

Jack took on all of the decisions which was really great of him since I had the race that evening, but Sunday morning we texted everyone with flight info & told them to get there asap. Then my best friend Thomas went & picked a dress for me, since Jack wasn’t allowed. I sent a message to our groupchat after the race with the chapel address once jack found somewhere & told the drivers to be there and look decent. It was a really great night though & I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Well congratulations!! Is he here this weekend?

Unfortunately not, hockey season is well underway, but I’m on the first flight to New York that I can get & we’ll have the winter break together.

Well, all the best to you and your new husband, and we’ll talk to you later this weekend I’m sure. Good Luck tomorrow!!

Thanks Naomi!

RACE DAY

Commentators

Oh my god, we’ve come down to the final lap to decide the championship. Who’s going to cross the line first?? Right now L/n is leading, but Verstappen is right behind her. Will he be able to get past?? The other Ferrari of Leclerc is a fraction of a second behind Verstappen.

There goes Leclerc!!! He’s trying to pass Verstappen, my word! OHHH he does it!! Charles Leclerc puts his Ferrari between the Ferrari of L/n and the red bull of Verstappen

Radio: “Tell y/n I’ve got verstappen, go & win it!!”

That was Leclerc, it looks like he’s going to defend against Verstappen so L/n can win. We have half a lap, can he hold off the Red Bull? Fantastic driving by Leclerc, and what a teammate!!

Here it it!!! Rounding the final corner in that iconic red car, its L/n!! The chequered flag is waving, SHES DONE IT!!!!

Radio: C’est toi y/n!!! Tu es la championne du monde!!!!!

In her 4th season in Formula one, your 2023 World Champion Y/n L/n everyone!! What a finish from the young driver. History is made here tonight as she becomes the first female driver ever to win the championship!! She’s also the second youngest driver to take it after former ferrari teammate Sebastian Vettel.

What a race, what a finish as Leclerc crosses in second, less than half a second behind.

You

Over the radio you hear the team celebrating but you have no words. It doesn’t feel real. There’s tears streaming down your face. All the shit you put up with, all the years of hard work, missing your friends and family, it’s all lead up to this.

“Y/n?” You can hear your engineer ask since you haven’t responded, but nothing comes out. Driving towards the end, you do your donuts and pull in to your designated spot. You just sit there for a second before “HOLY FUCK” and someone on the other end laughs.

You’re still crying but its all happy tears as you pull yourself up & step onto the front of the car. You sit down on the Halo & put your head in your hands, trying to collect yourself as the crowd goes mad around you. Pulling off your helmet you look over to your team at the barriers & smile. You want to run over & celebrate with them, but you can’t bring yourself to move, afraid its all a dream. Then you get tackled. You’ve completely missed the other guys pulling up, too in your own head and you jump when Charles grabs you and pulls you off your car. He pulls you into a hug & whispers congratulations in your ear before someone else grabs you & you see Mick.

“You fucking did it!” He yells and you laugh. It was the kick in the ass you needed and you release Mick to go over to your team, hugging your engineer first. After that it’s a blur, until someone passes you a phone.

“McQueen!!!” Thomas is on the one end of the FaceTime, jack also popping up on the screen. You laugh at the nickname, glad to see their faces.

“I’m so proud of you!” Jack says “Me too!!” Thomas yells, wanting to be part of the conversation. “Thanks Thom!” “I love you so much babe! I can’t really hear you so I’ll call you later?” “Go celebrate, I’ll see you soon. Je t’aime mon amour” You blow a kiss before handing back the phone. There’s one more person you need to see. You spot Susie and you rush over to her. She’s been a mentor and inspiration to you since you were a kid and without her who knows where you’d be right now.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. You’re pulled into interview after interview, congratulations coming from all around and your phone buzzing like its possessed. You call your parents & Jack but thats it, grateful for all the love but too overwhelmed to deal with responding to all your messages. That night you and the boys go full send. You know its a good night since you can’t remember anything. Monday is filled with media, and then you hop on a flight straight to Newark.

Fourteen hours later, Jack & Luke are waiting from you when you finally make it through customs.

You’d think you’re racing or an Olympic gold to win the 100m with how fast you fly over to Jack & jump into his arms, tears streaming down your face as you hug him like a koala.

“Tu l’as fait” he whispers in your ear as you squeeze each other, your face buried in his neck. You can hear the emotion in his voice

“Je l’ai fais”

“Ma championne”

“Je t’aime tellment”

“Mon champion” you say back, smiling at the fact that both of you won this year

“Cough cough, Hi, hello, where’s my hug?” Luke says from somewhere behind you, causing you to giggle and pull your head up to look at him

“I’ll get to you in a sec”

Jack puts you down & you give Luke his hug. “Congrats y/n/n. You deserved it”

“ Thanks Moose. Now we match with our trophies.”

“We do!!” He passes you the big bouquet of flowers he’s holding, “from mom & dad”

“I love them. Let’s go home boys”

[copperbadge]

[ID: A narrow white "privacy panel" from Target stands in front of an orange chair covered in a quilt; attached to the screen with binder clips, and taped together, are nine sheets of paper with calendars printed on them, the numbering and words not legible. Various parts of the calendars are color-coded.]

The Shivadh Romances began as a single romance novel in which I explicitly would not have to determine when or precisely where it was happening, and the only timeline was "eight weeks" (it was initially written as a Hallmark movie script which are by design somewhat evergreen). Yesterday during some downtime I had to sit down and make myself a whole-ass three-year paper calendar because I kept losing track of dates and I don't do well "switching screens" so I wanted to see the whole thing all at once. I also wanted to use up the very last of the ink before I replaced my printer toner. This is the result. I both hate and love it in equal measure.

The left sheets (to the left of the central binder clip) are 2021; the right sheets (to the right of the central clip) are 2022, and 2023 is attached at the bottom. The tan in the upper left is Fete; the blue below it is Infinite Jes, and the purple on the top right is Lady And The Tiger (there are also one-off squares which represent short stories or events -- the purple square below Fete represents Jerry's ADHD diagnosis date, and a few blue squares represent important events in Noah's school career, because I keep forgetting when he graduates). The light grey near the purple is Twelve Points, and there's some dark grey in various places that is various holidays.

The second set of tan blocks in 2022, plus random squares in 2022 and 2023, mark events in Royals/Ramblers, which spans almost a full year and is really what required the calendar (there are super date-dependent events, mainly the weddings and Monday's pregnancy, but also I have to pace out Ioanna's storyline and some continuity from Twelve Points) and then you can see the mint green down in 2023 marking where The Chicken Salad War will take place, because it culminates on Reclamation Day, which is always the 29th of Av in the Jewish calendar (August 16th this year, prepare your crockery).

Those last three darker-orange squares at the end of 2023 mark the tentative start dates for the Football novel (already written as starting in the fall of 2023), the Roman Ruin novel (not yet dated) and Pride and Presidents, Ofelia's novel, which can really start anytime but slots in well in late 2023; Noah's gap year novel would also take place starting summer of 2023, but I've just marked that with his graduation day, for now. Where The Oleander Grows, about legalizing Davzda, which I might bump up in the writing timeline, would start in 2024.

Phew. Ambitious, but then why not be, I suppose. And now that I've got dates hammered out, the rest of Royals/Ramblers should go easier. The completed work at this point is sitting right at 50K with another 35K in pieces, though some of those probably won't get used. This might be the novel I try out a different printer from Lulu, since the "price minimums" are getting a bit out of control especially for books above 50K words.

[lolabangtan]

04 | itching

President Kim comes down with a cold, and since it’s kind of your fault, you feel responsible for him. While you make sure he’s resting properly at home, Jimin leaves you in charge of the office.

index • previous • next

Word count: 6k

Warnings: be prepared to fucking MELT.

# fluff, awkward parent meeting, hurt/comfort, sick chapter, nursing sick!Tae, kinda rough nursing tho, feverish dreams, he endures the worst chicken soup ever, you can feel a certain je ne sais quoi in the air 😏, it’s like they’re being driven by some mystery force but still cringe at their own vulnerability, Jimin is very mysterious and kind of a dick.

Another shrieking, dry, mind-wrecking cough echoes across the office.

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you take the last sip of your coffee. When you put it back on the desk, perhaps a bit too harshly, it sounds as if you almost broke it into pieces. Luckily, the mug remains in one.

Then some loud sniffling.

With a groan, you get up and quickly walk down to the nearest break room just to get some warm water and come back.

You knock on the door. “Mr Kim? May I come in?”

“Yeah…”

Goodness, he looks miserable: puffy nose, swollen face, droopy eyelids, and a toilet paper roll that only could look unsuspicious in this specific situation.

Yes, your boss has come down with a cold, and he’s making it everybody’s problem.

But it’s your fault, or so you think – maybe Kim Taehyung would be all right If you had not forced him to walk you down to your bus stop and share an umbrella. It’s been a week since then, but who knows? He could have some sort of, uh, delayed constitution. And, as an additional benefit, you would’ve never started to feel so awkward around him. Which is way worse than a fucking, unimportant cold. You have to go to work on your period! Why are men such weak creatures?

“You’ve been coughing and sniffling all morning,” you say, crossing your arms. “Hadn’t you better go home?”

But Taehyung shakes his head, adamant and so fucking cute— “No, I… I can work. It’ll go aw—”

The loudest, most vociferous sneeze makes the windows tremble, cutting him off as he rushes to grab some toilet paper. You’ll pretend you didn’t see the shiny string of snot before he wipes his nose with an embarrassed blush.

“Just go home, sir.”

“I gotta finish reading these reports,” he murmurs. “It’d be unfair to waste someone’s time by ignoring their hard work… right?”

You look at him with a grimace of half-pity, half-disgust, pondering the idea of just kicking him out of the building and sending him home; he can’t work like this. What he needs is to rest, heal his cold, and come back even stronger. It’s a waste of time and energy for everyone else to drag a day of work just because he feels guilty for leaving.

“Okay, I’ll come back later to get the reports,” you say with an annoyed tone.

“Thank you…”

Even the way he speaks, weakly, dragging the words and losing focus, shows how tired and sick Kim Taehyung is. His pale skin, usually a healthy bronze, and reddened nose only confirm this.

But you get to the door and leave; there might be another way to do this. Obviously, you get what the president means, as you also hate to leave when there are loads of work left, but you’re also rational enough to understand that it usually backfires.

After that, the first part of the morning flies by; you make coffees – for yourself mostly – review documents, prepare meetings, discuss with some of your colleagues about your favourite series, and answer the phone. You can’t deny that you don’t really dislike the job, although you miss being in charge, especially when one of your bosses demonstrates their clear ineffectiveness in management. But nobody’s perfect, unfortunately.

Also, you are concerned about way too many things right now, starting with Kim Namjoon’s visit the other day.

Who’s to say you’ll have the same luck next time and won’t come back along with Seokjin? Then you will have completely screwed up – because maybe Namjoon is wise enough not to comment on the fact that the one sitting in your chair is not Jeon Miyeon, but Seokjin would never hide his surprise at seeing you here.

Understandable, of course, since you are ‘on the other side of the ocean’.

But why didn’t Kim Namjoon say anything? Did he do it, perhaps, to protect Miyeon? Maybe he figured out that your role here is to cover for her while she’s away and he kept it to himself.

Obviously, if you ever dropped by a dear one’s office expecting to see someone and found a completely different person— you don’t know how you would have reacted. By calling the police, most probably. This time you got the right end of the stick.

Although, again, aren’t you doing all of this actually to help her? It would be bad enough if, in addition to having to pretend to go on holiday and being forced away from your business, you now had to deal with a latent danger of imprisonment. Not unlikely, for now. You have to remain vigilant.

At the first opportunity, you escape to the bathroom and take out your phone to call Miyeon. It takes her a while to pick up, but you finally hear her voice.

“Yes?”

“Hi, darling,” you greet her.

“Hello! How’s my little criminal doing? Too much paperwork—? Oh, I forgot; you actually like that.”

“Very funny,” you say, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see you. “Uh, everything’s good, uh, but I was wondering… Has your father called recently?”

“Hm, he hasn’t— why? Is he okay?”

“Yeah! Just wanted to check…” You go silent for a second, and that’s all Miyeon needs to know to figure out something is off. “Well, I’m just a bit concerned about Kim Namjoon’s visit. My bet is that he’s covering for you, but you never know… I guess it’s just this whole thing making me anxious—”

Miyeon cuts you off. “Why would he be covering for me? Isn’t he Kim’s cousin?”

“I think he just doesn’t want to get your father in trouble.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed by your lie, and you fight a silly grin. “Yeah, that makes sense. Namjoon looks up to him a lot… So, Kim Taehyung isn’t acting weird since then, is he?”

“Nope. Totally normal. Just being his cute self.”

Damn it, it slipped off your tongue.

“Cute, huh?”

“Well, I mean, not—”

“Last time we talked he was a jerk and a dick.”

“Don’t you have a mud bath session to go to or something?” you bark. “Leave me alone.” Miyeon chirps a goodbye, and you hang up, regretting the call instantly. At least now you can be anxious about something else.

Maybe Miyeon thinks you have feelings for your boss? That would be totally wrong, but she is capable of believing something like that.

Well, whatever, you have other things in mind at the moment— like finding a way to send Kim Taehyung home, you think as another sneeze makes the walls tremble.

You could tell Park Jimin and try to persuade him to get off work.

Convinced, you get up from your desk, making sure there is not too much commotion in the office, and head for the lobby. From there it’s not long before you reach the wing where Park Jimin’s office is located; you greet his secretary and knock on the door.

“Come in.”

You walk in and close it behind you.

The room is dark, barely lit through the drawn blinds. There is a lamp lit in the corner, and the computer screen glows in the gloom, illuminating Mr Park’s face. His dark eyes are fixed on you, expressionless, eerie.

“Can I help you, Ms Shin?” he asks, and his voice takes you by surprise.

“Uh, yes…” At his gesture, you enter the room, leaving the door behind you. “I came to tell you that President Kim has got sick, and to ask if there is a way to get him to go home.”

“Have you tried… asking him if he wants to go home?”

For a moment, you forget your faux position in this room, the fact that you’re technically just a secretary, and frown; cheeky and snobby because of course, you’ve already contemplated that idea. Does he think you’re an idiot? He must do. Otherwise, he’s a fool and wants to come to blows with you, you know, pick up a fight.

You arch an eyebrow and let out a scoff. “Of course? But he refuses.”

“I see…” Jimin says, looking away. “Well, Ms Shin, then there’s nothing you can do about it. Bear with the sneezes as best as you can—”

“He’s just going to get worse.”

“Uh?”

“If Mr Kim stays and overworks himself, not only will the quality of his work deteriorate, but his health will worsen as well. It’s counterproductive,” you continue.

Park Jimin stares at you for a solid five seconds, completely silent and eery-looking.

“Are you always this… logical?” he suddenly asks.

His body is completely turned towards you now, giving you all his attention. You feel like until now, Park Jimin was just messing with you like a twisted sort of Cheshire cat, a mere amusement, but finally, he’s willing to mind your words.

“When there’s a need for it.”

A silence settles between the two of you, so you decide to thank him, albeit reluctantly, for his time and leave. His secretary bids you farewell with a sympathetic look, promising to buy you a coffee later. The rest of the walk back to your desk feels absurd, humiliating, and tedious, and you have this feeling that you’ve got nothing from it.

You have a missed call on your landline to Taehyung’s office. You look at the number and head for the door to let him know.

“Mr Kim—”

He’s already walking out when you stop before bumping into him. “Yes?”

“Where are you going?” you blurt out, stepping back so that the man can get out. He looks as sick as he did this morning. “Is everything all right? I don’t recall any meetings scheduled for—”

“My brother just called me and told me off for coming to work sick,” Taehyung explains with a stuffy nose.

You watch him put on his elegant coat; there was no need for him to explain why he was going home, actually. You’re just his secretary, you only need to know whether he’s going to need his car or write a memo to remember to get some medicines for him.

It’s peculiar, and kind of funny, how he can be the coldest and warmest person at the same time. Always so sharp and dashing, looking at everyone with a harsh eye, keeping quiet, maybe even not bothering to waste his breath. A thick shell protecting him from the outer world. But then he sometimes looks at you, and he speaks so softly, almost like a murmur, and his round cheeks frame his smile in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, and it feels like you’re looking at the most delicate creature the world has ever made.

“Ms Shin?”

You snap out of your thoughts. “Uh— yes, sir?”

“Thank you for worrying about me,” Taehyung says then, and you swear, he looks candid. “I mean— I know it’s kind of your job… Uh, just forget about it. I’ll be going now, I already sent for the car.”

“Don’t mention it,” you decide to reply with a smile just as tender and fix the shoulder of his coat.

The blush on his cheeks is most likely due to his cold, you think – there’s no reason why Kim Taehyung should be timid and demure in front of you. In fact, you don’t think he’s the kind of man to act like that, even if sometimes it feels like he is. He’s aloof, not coy, you think— he’s indifferent, not shy.

“Oh, I don’t want to keep you.” You step away to let him walk past you, and you say on his way out: “Get plenty of rest… and get well soon.”

You then watch him leave and head to the hall. There he meets Park Jimin. They push the button to get the lift when Jimin suddenly beckons you to come, and so you do, frowning in confusion.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be taking President Kim home, so… can I leave you in charge of the office while I get back?”

Oh, easy-peasy.

“Yes, of course,” you accept.

“Good, that’s a weight off my shoulders,” he thanks you. “Well, we better get going – Mrs Kim is going to force-feed you chicken soup when she gets back, and I don’t wanna be there when it happens.” You chuckle at his words, amused by the mental image of a burrito-wrapped Taehyung being fed against his will, and he sneers at his brother. “Have a good day.”

“See you on Monday!”

In charge of the office, huh? What could they possibly mean by that? Do you get to sit on the Big Girl chair and boss everyone around? Do you get to stick your nose into every single project and improve it with your outstanding mind? Oh, you have so many ideas—

Turns out that being in charge of the office just meant having to solve everyone’s problems.

Luckily, you love a good problem.

Your phone has been ringing non-stop from lunch to the very second the last person got up to go home; it’s nice to have your input so respected and valued. It’s good to be useful.

As always, you’re one of the last to leave the office. You say goodbye to the janitor and the secretaries at the entrance, swipe your badge and leave to head to the bus stop. It doesn’t take you longer than twenty minutes to get home, during which you also answer messages and work calls.

“Well, I do think President Kim should be the first to know,” you reply, closing the fridge door with your butt and opening a soda can. “Yeah, yeah, I totally get it— I know, I’m in— Jesus, just listen! I am in charge, but I do not have at all the authority to change from one project manager to another. You must get to Mr Kim, or your department chief— uh, yeah, I can call him, and so can you—”

After the beep, you look at the locked phone screen, totally shocked that she dared hang up on you.

“Bitch.”

You throw your phone on the bed and slump into the mattress right afterwards, eyes glued to the ceiling; that’s a problem – a problem that needs to be solved. Why are you feeling so wary of calling Kim Taehyung?

In a jiffy, you’re back on your feet and messing with the kitchenware, taking this and that, turning on the electric hob, pouring some water into a pot, and calling it a day.

You look at your soup with the eyes of a proud cook.

Yes, this will totally cover it. If you drop by his place with a bowl of bone broth, the perfect remedy for colds, it won’t look like you’re just coming to make him work. Besides, Taehyung was really ill, and you’re a bit worried; he won’t die, of course, but there’s a heavyweight in your chest that fills you with silly concern, making your belly flutter whenever you think about him.

Once you’re done, you grab your coat and go to your car, holding the warm plastic container in your hands, eyeing it with care. You’re not much of a cook yourself, so you wouldn’t want to trip and drop it, and have to make it all over again.

You hail a taxi once you stand on the street and tell the driver what the address is.

After about fifteen minutes, the taxi drives into the heart of the Hannam district and drops you at the door of a huge complex of luxury flats.

You pay under his curious gaze and thank him for the ride before heading inside; a friend of yours used to live here, but then she married and moved to her husband’s apartment. Maybe you could drop by and say hello, but Rose Apple wouldn’t like that, knowing how skittish she is about her privacy. At least the guard remembers your face, or so you find out when he nods at your ID as he lets you in.

After a few minutes, you manage to locate the Kim residence, wondering if Kim Taehyung actually lives with his family.

The loud ringing of the intercom makes you cringe.

“Hello?”

The camera turns around as it focuses on your face, and it fucking creeps you out.

“Uh, hello, this is—”

“O Y/N, isn’t it?” What? Who is this woman and how did she recognise you? “Don’t, I know this young lady— sorry, that was our housekeeper. I’ll open the gates, do come in!”

Without even telling what for? Jesus.

“Hm, thank you, madam.”

You walk into the pristine entrance hall and get on the lift, and soon enough, you’re stepping out into the living room; it’s modern and elegant, magazine-like, like your childhood home used to be. Clinical, lifeless, spotless, dignified.

An old woman, whom you quickly recognise as the housekeeper, greets you by the lift.

“Good evening, Miss O—”

“Please, just Y/N,” you rush to request with a shy gesture.

She nods. “Of course, Y/N-ssi— Mrs Kim would like to thank you for your visit and invite you to tea in the garden.”

“I’m, uh…” You take a look around as you follow her down the ample, radiant corridor. “I’m actually here to see Kim Taehyung? I brought him bone broth, a family recipe—” you murmur but quieten down as you notice the housekeeper’s confused look. “But, of course, I’d love to have some tea first.”

You’re led to a peaceful, traditional garden with a pond and a stone path. There’s a woman sitting quietly with a cup of tea in her hand, and she looks up at you as soon as you walk out into the garden.

“Oh, such a lovely surprise!” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you to visit, Ms O.”

“Actually—”

“How is your grandmother? Chairman O said you’d be out on holiday, for rest and relaxation and all that… How was Busan? It was Busan you went to, wasn’t it? – oh, please, take a seat— you see, I have a few relatives there, but it never is quite the right moment to pay them a visit.” Your phone suddenly rings in your purse, and you excuse yourself to take a look. “Is it work? Should I leave you alone?”

You shake your head with a polite smile. “Oh, it’s just—” The text is from your co-worker insisting that you make a choice. “Nothing important,” you say then, putting it back in. “I actually came to see—”

“Moooooom!”

A burrito-wrapped Kim Taehyung suddenly walks out into the garden, instantly shivering when the cold air sneaks into his pyjamas. His face is puffy, as well as his eyes and nose, and there’s a soft blush on his cheeks as he sniffles.

Then his eyes fall on you, and his entire demeanour changes.

Taehyung immediately looks away from you with one last sniff as he takes off the cover and folds it. “Mother, my health has improved significantly. I will be returning to the office shortly.”

“Aren’t you going to say hello? We have a visitor.”

“Ah, yes,” he murmurs. His hopes that you were a hallucination are broken. “Y/N-ssi, what are you… doing here?”

Mrs Kim merely rolls her eyes and beckons the housekeeper. The tea party soon is dismantled, and they both leave the two of you alone in the cold. You look away, suddenly taken over by an odd sense of embarrassment; you feel silly all of a sudden. You could have just sent him an email, there was no need for you to come all the way to his house.

“I brought you soup.”

He looks at you with a confused face, so you hand out the warm plastic bag to him; the plastic bowl is still hot on his palms, but Taehyung is still processing.

“I…” There it is, his customary blank face, but this time— the blush intensifies. “Thank you.”

You tilt your head. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Uh, yes, I think I’ll be back tomorrow,” Taehyung replies softly.

Silence takes over the two of you, and you take a look around, hugging your arms to fight the cold. He notices and yelps, “Sorry, I— should we go inside? You must be freezing out here. Uh— I’ll give this to Mrs Go.”

Shouldn’t he be concerned about his health first, though…? Rather than worrying about whether you feel cold, you think as you follow him into the house.

It makes you chuckle, somehow.

Taehyung leaves the bag on the kitchen counter and meets you in the ample living room; he catches you taking a look at some pictures, some even dating back to when he was a child. In one, he appears with another boy you think is Jimin, playing in the snow with folded arms and a grim face. Some with his parents, his younger siblings or friends, and some others where he does not appear. Decades of family history. And suddenly, you come across the image of Mr and Mrs Kim posing with your parents, and it makes your heart shrink.

“Y/N-ssi?”

You move away from the row of pictures and stand up. “Sorry, I was just looking.”

There are no comments from him, though; Taehyung is too busy staring at you in silence. You look away and suddenly remember why you’re actually here, so you shove your hand into your purse and take out the papers.

“Sir—? Actually, I came to see you about something else… I’m really sorry to bother you when you’re sick, but Mr Park left me in charge—”

“What?”

You shrug. “Uh, Park Jimin said I was in charge until you recovered, so Mr Lee called me and asked if it was possible—”

“I can’t believe it!” he grunts and takes out his phone. “He should’ve stayed since he was the one who insisted that I go home,” Taehyung continues, typing aggressively.

“I asked him to,” you cut him off with a guilty feeling in your chest. He stops typing and looks down at your hand on top of his. “You wouldn’t listen to me, so I asked Mr Park to persuade you to go home and rest. I don’t mind being in charge – I like it.”

Taehyung stifles a grin at the sound of you saying that you like being in charge, almost forgetting that his brother is a smartass and took advantage of the situation. Then you realise you’re still grasping his hand, and you jerk it away from him, mumbling an apology. You don’t know if his blush is due to the cold or something else.

“Tell him to email me, that’s not something—”

“Taetae! I’m leaving!”

The door opens, and Mrs Kim walks into the room as she puts on a pair of gloves.

“I see my son is in good hands,” the woman says. “Honestly, Taetae pretends to be carefree and easy, but he’s hardworking – sometimes even too much.”

“Mom, she’s not here to take care of me, don’t—”

“You better do everything Y/N-ssi does, huh?” his mother continues. “Since she was kind enough to drop by and bring her family broth. That’s a privilege, Taehyungie.”

You nod with a soft smile and bid her goodbye in the entrance hall as the housekeeper helps her into her sturdy winter coat. Taehyung murmurs a ‘goodbye’ next to you and turns around as soon as the door is shut closed.

“Taetae, huh?”

He gasps. “It’s a— it’s my nickname from when I was a child. Nobody calls me that anymore.”

“Really? That’s a shame,” you retort. “I think it’s cute.”

The silence in the room feels heavy on your shoulders as you look at each other. Taehyung is actually mortified at the mere idea that you might feel forced not only to stay but also to take care of your useless boss. The last thing he wants is to be a nuisance to you, he thinks as a coughing fit takes over him.

“You’re still too weak, Taehyung-ssi,” you say, putting your hand on his shoulder. “You’d better get back into bed.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, you can go home—”

But you take him by the shoulders with a big smile and exclaim, “It’s the least I could do for my boss. Now, go to bed! I’ll figure out how to heat up the broth, all right?”

Honestly, it’s not like you have anything else to do – you don’t really have a life outside your jobs, neither of them. They’ve taken away the good one, the one that makes you rich and privileged, so what else are you supposed to do? Go home and binge-watch a series just to get depressed on your uncomfy little bed while you devour a musty bag of crisps—? Not today.

As you watch Taehyung head back to his bedroom with the blanket folded around his arm and an unsure step, you finally relax; you would have never imagined that Mrs Kim would recognise you, but then again, it’s quite normal for any mother with a child of marriageable age to have complete control over the opposite gender population of his shared demographic. Your own grandmother knows the face of every single bachelor on the continent.

The microwave beeps, and you take the steaming bowl from inside.

You were lucky that things didn’t go wrong. Mrs Kim could very well have mentioned your real identity, or Kim Taehyung could have talked about work. That’s a weight off your chest, you guess.

“Fuck—!”

In a hurry, you leave the burning bowl on the worktop before it burns your fingers. You blow on them and turn on the cold water until the burning subsides, and then take the bowl away with a cloth. Now, where could be Kim Taehyung’s room? You didn’t think about that.

You’re too embarrassed to ask any of the staff, so you just wander around the house while the broth cools down.

After three restrooms, a pantry, and a cloakroom, you finally knock on a door and hear a weak ‘come in’. “It’s me,” you say, pressed against the door. “I— I can’t open by myself, could you—?”

Finally, the door opens.

“Sorry.”

Seeing you smile with the steamy bowl in your hands, Taehyung steps aside and lets you in. While you settle on a neat desk near his bed, he follows you closely and stands awkwardly by your side, waiting for you to say anything. He feels guilty enough that you’re wasting your free time taking care of him for some odd sense of responsibility of yours, and now he’s starting to feel guilty for enjoying your martyr-like company.

“Are you sure you don’t mind staying with me?”

You look up at him while setting the tray on the bedside table. “Uh, do you want me to leave?”

“No!” he rushes to say, and your stomach flutters. “No, I mean— I just don’t want you to feel forced to stay and look after your silly boss.”

You let out a chuckle.

“Believe me, sir, I wouldn’t be here if I—”

“Taehyung.” His voice makes you stop, almost making you drop the spoon as well. “Please, call me Taehyung, just Taehyung. If you don’t mind, of course,” he rushes to add at the sight of your wide-eyed bashfulness.

As soon as you’ve come around again, you nod slowly, murmuring that of course, you don’t mind calling him by his name. He can call you by yours as well, with a bit less formality if he wants. That’s all you say as you finish fixing the not-so-delicious-looking broth on the tray for him to put on his lap.

“Isn’t this awkward? For you, I mean,” Taehyung mumbles out of the blue.

You watch him get into bed. “What is?”

“I don’t know, seeing your boss in his pyjamas, seeing him stuffy, snotty. Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about you being forced to just because my mother thought—”

“If you don’t feel comfortable with me here, just tell me,” you say. “But I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, and—” Maybe you’re just insisting too much on skirting the shore with indifferent formalities. Maybe that’s what’s making Kim Taehyung think he’s forcing you. So, you take a sit on the chair next to him and lean into him. “I’m very happy to look after you… Taehyung.”

He just stares at you, and you feel like an idiot for even speaking.

The thing is, you don’t notice the way Taehyung grips the edge of the blanket while his stomach flutters like crazy. You don’t notice him, but he feels the same kind of embarrassment towards himself for getting excited about such a silly thing.

But, then again, you’re very happy to take care of him, aren’t you? Didn’t you just say that?

“Smells good,” he blurts out, desperate to change the subject. “T-the broth, I mean— did you make it yourself?”

“It’s a family recipe,” you say.

Taehyung chuckles softly, almost tenderly, and then watches you raise the spoon on your way to feed him. His brain freezes immediately, arms fidgeting without a clue what to do – until you crack up a laugh.

“Come on, be a good boy and suck it up,” you insist.

He obediently sticks out his tongue and opens his mouth, and you have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together. As a result, you shove the spoon into his mouth.

“Fuck, sorry!” Taehyung keeps coughing with a grimace. “I’m sorry, Taehyung, really! Are you—”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he murmurs, still frowning in disgust.

You let out a relieved sigh and put the bowl aside to inspect the spilt broth on his pyjama shirt; the greasy liquid has stained its neck, advancing through the fabric. You click your tongue and grab the cloth to wipe it, but this only spreads the stain. You’re starting to panic when you feel him shake, and when you look up, you realise he’s laughing.

“I thought I’d hurt you,” you groan as you throw the cloth on the table. “Since you were making faces…”

“I’m okay.”

“Is it hot?”

His eyes soften. “A bit.”

You get up, but only to move the armchair closer to his bed. You blow on the next spoonful before feeding him the spoon this time. There is no need to comment on the fact that his arms work perfectly and that you’ve been spoon-feeding him by instinct.

“Thank you,” he murmurs before taking it into his mouth and swallowing.

Taehyung grimaces again when the strong, bitter flavour kicks his tastebuds but rushes to soften his face.

“Don’t pretend it’s good,” you tell him off with a genuinely amused chuckle, drawing away the spoon, “I know it’s disgusting. It’s supposed to be bad.”

With this new info, he finds it easier to finish the broth.

You chat about trifles for a while longer, telling him what’s been going on in the office while he’s been away, and discussing the big project that’s been on everyone’s mind lately. The launch is barely a week away and there is still a lot to do; especially now that everyone is coming to you for answers and guidance. Luckily, that is your major asset.

“You look sleepy,” you whisper. Taehyung is barely able to keep his eyes half-open. “Get some sleep, I’ll clear this up.”

You get up and start stacking the bowl with the chopsticks and the herd of empty glasses he has accumulated on the bedside table throughout the day. With it in your arms, you quietly leave his bedroom, meeting the housekeeper, who kindly takes it to the kitchen. Now, bored and with nothing to do – because watching Taehyung sleep seems to cross a line – you wander around the house.

The entrance door closes suddenly.

“Y/N-ssi?”

Park Jimin is standing in the middle of the living room as he walks in, dusting the hoarfrost off the sleeves of his thick coat. He’s just as surprised to see you there.

“You really are a stickler.” Jimin is the first to speak. “Did you come to talk about the project? I’ve already discussed it with—”

“I came to see how President Kim was doing.”

“Oh, I see…” he murmurs, still grinning. “How did you find him?”

“Better than this morning. He’s eaten and taken some medicine, and now he’s asleep. I was just stretching my legs,” you say, looking down at your feet. It does feel like you’ve run a marathon.

“Are you after his money?”

You turn around, quiet, as he takes off his scarf and crosses the room, giving you a side-eyed glance.

But the idea is so far-fetched that it doesn’t even offend you. “I actually prefer to make my own money, sir,” you reply.

“I know you’re not,” Jimin suddenly says as he stops right in front of you. For some reason, you don’t feel the need to fight him on this – since you’re pretty positive you don’t need any man’s cash. “Sorry if I upset you, I was just pulling your leg.”

“You care about him,” you say with a soft smile.

“He’s my brother.”

Jimin then looks at you in silence, and he tries to say something else, you can tell he does before the housekeeper bursts into the living room, wanting to know who has just arrived. Surprisingly, her body goes stiff as soon as Park Jimin enters her visual field, and the woman bows her head with little enthusiasm or even respect.

“Miss—”

“I’d better go now that Mr Park has arrived to look after Taehyung, I guess,” you blurt out, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I’m not here to stay,” Jimin says, glancing at the housekeeper. “Don’t worry, madam. I just popped in to drop off some snacks for Tae. I know Mrs Kim doesn’t like him to—”

“Mrs Kim knows how to take care of her son, sir.”

Jimin sighs and lowers his voice, “You don’t mind staying a bit longer, do you? I don’t like leaving Taehyung alone with her.” You nod at his words and take the plastic bag he hands you before wrapping his scarf back around his neck. “Thank you, Y/N-ssi.”

You watch Mrs Go carefully on Park Jimin’s way out; you notice her contracted, almost contemptuous face, and how she does not relax until the man disappears through the door.

By the time Taehyung is back in the waking world, his bedroom is awash in the amber light of dusk. Everything is utterly silent, even the city seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Then he notices a pressure on his left arm, and he finds you asleep over him, your body rising and falling quietly.

You’re a hard worker, he can totally give you that. Maybe he allowed you to overwork yourself.

You are a very peculiar woman, he is sure of that; diligent and intelligent, but also secretly sweet. Although he is somewhat embarrassed to talk about himself like this, his surroundings have always taught him that most people, especially attractive women, would approach him to take advantage of him, his money, or his position. But you, on the contrary— you’re too straightforward, too abrasive to be one of those people, aren’t you?

Maybe he went out of his mind thinking that you like him.

Ah, silly, silly Taehyung, soft-hearted Kim Taehyung, like his aunt used to say. Some things never change, no matter how hard he tries to become colder. He was a silly boy, and now he’s a silly man.

His hand moves on its own when a strand of your hair slides down your cheek, brushing it behind your ear with his thumb. Your skin feels warm.

You’re his secretary, for God’s sake. He can’t be that stupid – he can’t stoop that low.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

“LOVE: undercover” is copyright ²⁰²³ Lola Bangtan, all rights reserved.

[rockofeye]

Ogou, a project finally finished, and upcoming possibilities!

The calendar has gotten ahead of me, and here we are again on a jou fet/feast day for Ogou. It's been quiet around these parts for a minute (more on that below..), and it feels like that kind of timing that puts you in exactly the right place at the right moment. Funny how divine providence works.

If you've hung around for a minute, you know the story I'm going to tell. Maybe I sound like an old person who walked barefoot up a hill in three feet of snow to go to school, but it's something that stuck with me and it's something that really did change my life.

Today is St. George's feast day, which is a day given to at least one Ogou for most if not all vodouizan; it's probably one of few overarching pieces of sameness that you can find country-wide in Haiti. Ogou is central to Vodou; it was Ogou Feray and Ogou Je Wouj who sprang up during Bwa Kayiman and who stoked the revolutionary spark that made the first free Black republic a reality. He is probably more central than he is given credit for; he is certainly overlooked at times in favor of others.

I've had the grace to not be able to overlook Ogou. He made sure of that when he (among others) brought me to my spiritual mother and the lineage named after nasyon Nago, the family of Ogou.

He also made sure of that when I was careening down a very bumpy road towards kanzo. It was 8 years ago now (!!) that I was sitting in an apartment that I would end up abandoning not knowing how in the hell I was going to get everything in order for kanzo just a few months later. I didn't have the money, I didn't have the stuff I needed, I don't even think I had my passport at that point. I was in serious trouble, and I knew it.

So, I did what I could and sat and made a small service for Ogou. I bought what little I could put together, made it pretty, and presented it to him. In retrospect, it's kind of cute what I thought I knew and must have been like a small child presenting you with the product of their toils: the spiritual equivalent of a mud pie with dandelions stuck in it and a macaroni necklace.

But, I did it and I told Ogou that I knew I had made a promise, I knew that I was in trouble, and that I would do whatever he told me if it got me into the djevo. I lit the match and gave it to him, he set the fire and burned my life down.

Within two weeks, I abandoned the apartment I had and packed my car to make a couple of trips into Boston to live in a teeny tiny rented room that was close to my job that Ogou would direct me to quit. I sold my car, any possessions I had that were worth money, and took my stacked vacation time money from the job I quit, all while working up until a few days before I needed to fly to Haiti and hustling at night with whatever side gigs I could find. I bought my flights to/from Haiti before I prepared anything else or even had the money I needed in my hands because I figured that it would be pretty awkward if I had to fly to Haiti and just...hang out when I had been planning to kanzo all along.

It looked like things were going to work out. I was barely sleeping, but the money was coming in and I had the things I needed to go to Haiti with....but what would things be without a last minute twist?

Two days before I left for Haiti, I found out that the way my rent was going to be paid while I was in Haiti fell through. So, I spent two days moving what I could into a friend's basement and abandoned the rest of my belongings, again. I had some boxes, a couple bags of clothes, my suitcase to go to Haiti with...and that's it. Everything else was gone, and I found myself in an airport unsure of where I was going when I got back.

I made it to Haiti after delayed and canceled flights and some crying in a corner, and the rest is history. Ogou (and all my lwa) held me up during the process, and held me up afterwards while he helped me rebuild the life I gave him to burn down. Literally everything I have now descends from the hands of Ogou and my lwa. Career and professional success, home, relationship, spiritual opportunities...all of it down to the last little piece. Nothing is without his/their influence, and my life has become worth living because of it. He saved me, and it all really started on this day 8 years ago. It's been a wild ride the last 12 years with the lwa, and I genuinely couldn't ask for anything better.

'Gratitude' is not a sufficient word because it cannot encompass how I hold all these things inside of me. It is beyond language and verbalization, and when I find myself in front of Ogou and wanting to thank him yet again for all that he has done for me, words are insufficient. I look at him kind of despairing to explain, and he just nods. He knows.

And here I am. Like I said, a wild ride. I looked at a calendar the other day and it really has been 12 years since I got dropkicked into Vodou. So much has happened and so much is to happen and to become. I am not yet the reflection of what I believe the lwa want for me, but I do believe I am climbing closer each day.

I've been pretty occupied in the last year with big stuff; I wrote previously about the completion of my husband's immigration process FINALLY which has him in the US with me permanently (and back and forth to Haiti as life allows). After that, a rather large project occupied most of my time/energy.

Details about that and upcoming stuff behind the cut.

I keep a lot of things close to my heart and am careful about what I write about here, both for practical and esoteric reasons. I strive to be transparent and vulnerable in healthy ways, and yet maintain some semblance of privacy, especially for those closest to me, like my husband.

But we did a thing and it's such a big thing that it deserves a mention in the place where I have detailed some of the most important bits of my life. Presenting our first collaborative effort:

Bondye, all the lwa, and the power of our collective ancestors gave us the opportunity to bring this soul and newest ancestor into being. We are happy to have our little potato with us. This is what has kept me so quiet here; pregnancy is not for the weak and it was a ride I, your friendly neighborhood gender non-conforming houngan, never thought I would take....and yet life with the lwa brings new twists and turns and beautiful gifts. I was deadset on never having children of my own, and here I am with a little potato.

This has opened a wide new world for me and boy have the lwa had a lot to say before and after the potato arrived. They are a tiny pitit Ginen and the lwa have been clear that we can never forget that.

So...there's that. It's funny, but being the caretaker of a potato that the lwa are deeply invested in brings me back to why this blog was started in the first place: I was having experiences that I did not see reflected anywhere, so I decided to write it all down.

I am not the first parent in the world, of course, and absolutely not the first vodouizan to bring forth a child...but again I don't find anyone else with my particular constellation of experiences having a similar experience. This time, at least, I have plenty of people to call and chat with when I have questions about the intersection of Vodou and the potato.

I expect some of it will make it here and some won't. My rule about writing about people that are close to me is that they get to consent about what details I share. When I write about my (human) husband, I share it with him before it posts. As the potato has not yet developed the capacity for consent, what is presented about them will be limited. Their face won't make it onto Tumblr or any other platform or social media I write on, and personal details will remain as neutral as I can make them. If you are one of the folks who knows me in an offline kind of way, I'd ask you to respect that as well.

Other things:

Tomorrow, I will have a post about an upcoming opportunity to celebrate Kouzen. I had hoped to have something put together for his actual fet day on the 1st, but like November is given over to Gede, all of May is Kouzen's month. Look for details tomorrow.

By next week, I will be live on Medium. This will allow folks to get my long-form posts directly in their email or via the feeds they use elsewhere. My long-form posts will continue to be posted here, and I will continue to answer questions and interact with posts here.

Website is coming!

I am toying with launching some online educational opportunities and have some specific plans, but would also like to hear what folks are interested in having live educational opportunities on. I'll post separately about that as well.

My husband is launching his atelier, expect posts about what he has available as well!

So...how are you?

[pagan-stitches]

June — Josef Lada

🍒 JUNE or ČERVEN in Czech is a month of beautiful weather, high temperatures and, above all, end of the school year, if you're a kid! 🍒

🔥 Some years, June is the month of the Czech Pentecost called Letnice to which we connect some interesting folkloric rituals: https://www.czechology.com/letnice/

✝️ June 13 is the day of St. Anthony of Padua (sv. Antonín Paduánský) and the name day of every man and boy called Antonín.

✨ The night before June 24 is believed to be magical, so prepare your herb basket: https://www.czechology.com/st-johns-eve/

🌽 It is the beginning of the crop yield season (žně in Czech), although it will be in full swing a little later. Our forefathers had special rituals and especially songs that helped them pass the day raking the straw and arranging it into piles.

🚜 Children helped with small tasks like bringing food and drinks and their reward was a barn full of fresh straw that they could play and even sleep in.

🌱 There is a lot of field work going on. Cold-sensitive plants have been in the earth since mid May and now it's time to take care of them - fertilize, get rid of the weed and protect from all the pests. Some plants have already given their fruit, such as strawberries or spinach.

🥗 Children used to help their parents with everything when it came to laboring the field. This was the time families invested all their effort into filling their pantries for winter. And let's not forget that during feudalism, people had to spend up to several days a week laboring the field of their landlord.

🍽️ Acquiring at least a small field was an aspiration of everyone in the countryside.

Having a field meant being able to feed the family. Some people made extra income by collecting forest fruit and selling it on the markets.

🦞 Children also used to catch crayfish in the river. This animal is now protected by law.

- - - - -

🌈 June weather sayings:

- Chladný květen, červen vlažný – je pro sýpky, sudy blažný. (If May is cold and june tibid, barns and barrels will be full.)

- Červen stálý – prosinec dokonalý. (Constant June - perfect December)

- Hřímá-li v červnu, zvede se obilí. (If there are thunders in June, the wheat will be good.)

- Jestli červen mokrý bývá, obilí pak málo rodívá. (Wet June makes the wheat crops small.)

- Červen mokrý a studený – bývají žně vždy zkaženy. (If June is wet and cold, the harvest is always ruined.)

- Jaká parna se v červnu dostaví, tak se i prosincové mraky postaví. (There will be as many clouds in December as there is heat in June.)

- Medardova kápě, čtyřicet dní kape. (If it rains on Medard's Day - June 8 - it will rain for 40 more days).

From: https://www.czechology.com

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Running from the Flames {28}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, fluff

F1 Masterlist || Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

April came and went faster than Addie’s growth spurts and our little girl suddenly wasn’t so little anymore. Our three year old couldn’t wait to meet her brother or sister and she had taken her role as a big sister very seriously, preparing herself by carrying around a newborn baby doll wherever she went. It was also how she ‘helped’ me pack for the trip to Baku by shoving all of the doll’s clothes into her suitcase too.

“Sweetheart, you can only pick a few outfits for the doll,” I reminded her as I took the majority out.

“But I want to take them all.” She huffed and crossed her arms defiantly. “Daddy would let me.”

I crossed my arms too. “Daddy is a big softy.”

I knew the moment he stepped into the room behind me as Addie’s face lit up with a beaming smile and she dropped the doll to race towards him. 

Pierre caught her as she jumped into his arms before picking up the doll next. “We have to be gentle with babies, mon fille. It would hurt to drop them.”

Addie took her doll back and kissed its forehead. “Besos make it better.”

She was busy catching Pierre up on how we spent our morning while he was at Alpine’s headquarters so she didn’t notice I finished packing her bag alone and prepared to carry it downstairs to the rest of our luggage. “What do you think you’re doing?” Pierre asked as he blocked the door and took the suitcase from my hand. “No heavy lifting.”

“It’s lighter than Addie is, are you going to stop me from carrying her?” I dared. 

He chewed his lip as he debated arguing it but the look in my eye stopped him short. “No?”

I rose on my tiptoes and brushed my lips over his softly. “Good answer.”

May meant Monaco, and with Monaco came our first anniversary. 

It was hard to believe that it had only been a year since I met Pierre, but there I was, standing in the very same garage I first saw those eyes I had instantly fallen in love with. He had changed my life so significantly that I couldn’t seem to remember the time without him in it. 

People told us we moved too fast, even now they still said we wouldn’t last. But it was easy to ignore their comments when I was surrounded by the people I loved and who love me. That list had grown a lot since Pierre entered our lives.

In just one year, Addie had a father, I had a husband and we had a new blessing on the way. One. Year. And we still had a lifetime to go.

 “What are you thinking so hard about, mon amour?” Pierre asked as he joined me on the balcony overlooking Massenet corner of the track. 

“The first time we sat here.” I took the mug of ginger tea that he had made to settle my stomach, the morning sickness yet to fade completely, and took a seat on the outdoor settee.

“I didn’t think Otmar was going to give me your number that day,” he admitted as he sat beside me and draped one arm along the back of the chair while the other hand came to rest on my abdomen that had popped out a little in the last few weeks. “I may have lied to him about why I wanted it, kind of, I mean I did want to thank you for the gel, but that wasn’t all.”

My lips opened to tease him for lying but a gasp came out instead, my hand coming to my belly. 

“What‘s wrong, Bri?” Pierre straightened in alarm as he took the hot drink from my shaking hand.

“Did you feel that?” I asked as I grabbed his hand back and placed it on the swell of my belly, falling silent as I waited to feel it again. “Talk about something, anything.”

Pierre shifted on the lounge as he pulled my shirt up, laying down on his stomach so his lips brushed gently over my skin while his feet kicked happily in the air behind him. “Je suis impatient de te rencontrer, ma petite. I count the days until I get to hold you in my arms. Woah!”

Pierre’s wide eyes snapped to mine, awe and wonder filling them as he felt the strong kick beneath his palms. 

“I think she likes your voice.”

“Or he,” he corrected as he spread his fingers wider to cover as much space as he could, hoping to catch another kick.

“We’ll see who’s right next week,” I said with a grin at the thought of all the bets that had been placed around the paddock. Most of the drivers had bet on another girl, though some of them, namely Charles, only did it so they could keep calling Pierre a girl dad. 

The baby had other ideas when it came to the ultrasound, refusing to move into a position that revealed the gender. All of Barcelona surely heard the mass groan the crews in the paddock gave when Pierre announced we still didn’t know who was in the running to win the bet. It was lucky I had extra copies of the scans printed out because all of the drivers were suddenly expert radiographers and certain they would be able to tell the gender if they squinted hard enough. 

“That’s definitely a boy!” Danny exclaimed as he pointed to the anatomy. “Look at it!”

“That’s the umbilical cord,” I said with a shake of my head and a giggle. 

“You know, that makes sense,” he said as he elbowed Pierre. “Thought we were getting Tripod 2.0.”

“That was a joke,” Pierre groaned. “I didn’t think they would use it.”

“Sure, mate, I totally, 110%, absolutely believe you.” Danny tried to keep his composure but one look at Yuki had him bending over in a fit of laughter. All eyes turned to Yuki but he looked everywhere except at us and gave an innocent shrug before lying that he was late for a briefing.

“What’s a tripod?” Addie asked, making another round of laughter roll through the drivers who looked expectantly at Pierre, just as I was.

“Yes, darling, explain that one, will you?” I asked with an arched brow as amusement filled me.

“Thanks Daniel, now I’m in trouble,” Pierre muttered before waving the drivers away until only Charles remained.

“I think you got yourself in trouble the moment you opened your mouth in that interview,” Charles teased as we watched Pierre try to explain that a tripod held cameras in place.

“But that’s not funny,” she grumbled in confusion.

“No, but those guys are very silly.” Satisfied he had put out that fire, he turned to Charles as his arm snaked around my shoulders. “Still betting on a girl?”

“Even if I’m wrong, you’ll still be a girl dad,” Charles said with a smile as he handed the ultrasound image back to me. “Is baby healthy?”

I ran my hand over my bump that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a baby by now and smiled at the question only he would think to ask. “Growing exactly as expected, with ten little fingers and ten little toes.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear,” he said as he knelt beside Addie who was still carrying her doll with her. “Taking good care of your baby too, I see. Can I hold her?” Addie handed the baby over and Charles cocked an eyebrow at the mess atop her head. “Looks like your daddy has been practising on her hair.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad. And it was your mum who taught me to plait so if you’re criticising me, it's really on her teaching skills.”

“My mother is a great teacher,” Charles pointed out with a grin and handed the doll back with the addition of one of his bracelets as a necklace. 

Addie jumped happily around seeing the silver and onyx chain sparkling in the sun. “Thank you, Uncle Charles!”

“You’re welcome, chérie.”

“Can I have mochi?” Addie asked as a delicious looking plate of the treats were carried past.

“Where are you manners?”

“S’il vous plaît, maman,” Addie answered as she pushed the destroyed pieces of food around her plate oblivious to the shock on my face.

“Eat your dinner first, then we will talk about dessert,” Pierre negotiated.

“Elle parle française?” I asked him when I saw he didn’t seem surprised at her casual use of French. 

“Avec moi, oui. Eat up, mon fille.” He winked at Addie before stealing a takoyaki ball so she would have less to eat to get her dessert. “You too,” he said to me as he saw the ramen bowl hardly touched.

“This little one is taking up too much space,” I admitted as I rubbed the tight skin stretching across my belly and earned a kick in response. “Plus, it is kind of mean that I’m not allowed sushi in Japan.”

“Two months and you can eat all the sushi you want,” Pierre said with a chuckle. “I’ll even bring you back here for it.”

“Six weeks and five days,” you corrected. “And not an hour more.”

The caesarean had already been scheduled for a few days before my due date to avoid going into labour and possibly damaging my restructured hip. It wasn’t as daunting the second time around now that I knew what to expect but I wasn’t looking forward to the recovery and bed rest that came with the surgery. But, it was what was safest for both me and the baby since the doctors weren’t sure if my pelvis would even widen as it should during labour with all the pins holding it together. 

The last thing we wanted to do was risk something happening just because I would have preferred a natural birth. It didn’t bother Pierre either since the pre-booked date guaranteed he was going to be there for the birth, or had he referred to it - coming out the sunroof. 

“You still need to eat more than that, amore,” Pierre said as he grabbed an edamame bean with his chopsticks and waited for my lips to part. “Please?”

I could hardly say no when he used his puppy eyes so I let him feed me and was rewarded with a proud smile despite feeling like my stomach was going to burst. 

“Did you want to take a walk?” Pierre asked after paying for dinner and a separate bag of mochi to take away too. 

It was a lovely evening in Suzuka and it wasn’t far to the waterfront but my feet ached along with my back, not to mention I needed to pee for the umpteenth time, so I shook my head ruefully. “Not tonight, but you two can go. Addie could probably do with running off some energy.”

Pierre kissed my temple as he saw my discomfort, his arm curling around my waist before we started the short journey back to the hotel. “I’ll take her out after you are settled in,” he promised.

“Oh yes, that’s the spot,” I moaned as Pierre massaged my swollen ankles that were propped up on his thigh. His strong hands were the best relief and their magic was almost putting me to sleep as another yawn escaped.

“Daddy, can we go now?” Addie begged as she stood by the door waiting with her jacket ready and her shoes on. 

He looked like he was going to ask for one more minute but she had already been waiting for five and that was about the most patience we could get out of her before a tantrum began so I lifted my feet off his lap. “Have fun, my loves.”

Addie ran over and kissed my cheek before taking Pierre’s hand and dragging him to his feet. “Call me if you want me to get you anything.”

“Sushi?”

“Except sushi,” he chuckled as he placed some cushions under my feet and gave me a quick kiss before Addie succeeded in getting him to take a step towards the door. “Get some rest, mon amour.”

Click here for chapter twenty nine.

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @prrttysposts @alwaysclassyeagle @dr3lover @adalynneva

[autumnsup]

2024: A Perfume Odyssey

For anyone who might possibly be reading this, it's not entirely accurate of me to say that my fragrance journey began in 2024. It really began the previous year through a combination of curiosity and boredom, and had its origins in my last trip to France, which was in 2017.

I went with 2024 because in March I took my first trip abroad since France, this time to Italy, and I was positively inundated with fragrance during the two weeks I spent there. Milan was the city of oud and other opulent odors, while Venice, Florence and Rome strayed more into floral and fruity territory, but all throughout I was delighted by the world of scents (and flavors) I had so newly (re)discovered.

After returning home, I flipped through my "library" of fragrances and found something lacking. For me, trying out a scent is like selecting an accessory to go with an outfit, or being briefly transported to a different dimension accessed by sense memory. I'd acquired a few of each over the years--notably Frédéric Malle Outrageous in travel size and Tokyomilk Everything & Nothing in full size--but most of the samples I'd ordered through the mail fell short of what I wanted them to be.

Full disclosure: my initial buying choices last year may have been influenced by an ASMRtist on YouTube and a movie star with a mission to create "clean" unisex fragrances. The results were entertaining if not as satisfying as I'd hoped. English-born Penhaligon's yielded some fun origin stories like Hammam Bouquet (Oscar Wilde's fragrance of choice apparently) and Blenheim Bouquet (Winston Churchill's), but few felt like something I would actually want to wear more than once or twice. I'm not drawn to most stronger scents like vanilla or patchouli, and I tend to be selective with florals or anything that smells like it came out of a magazine ad.

In Italy I smelled many things, including Véronique Gabai and Goutal Paris and Diptyche and Santa Maria Novella (referenced in the latest Ripley series on Netflix), but the only fragrance I brought home was VG Sexy Garrigue, which to me smells like being gently submerged in a honey bath on a sunlit afternoon. It carries just a whisper of oud, reminding me of the city where I found it, Milan, without feeling drowned by it. A transportive scent par excellence that also serves perfectly well as an accessory.

In contrast, there's D.S. & Durga. I'd become aware of this niche New York-based boutique fragrance power couple after being gifted a Spirit Lamp-scented candle a few years ago, but it wasn't until I'd returned from Italy that I finally took the plunge and ordered some samples from them.

I started with a four-pack comprised of I Don't Know What, Cowboy Grass, Sweet Do Nothing, and Amber Kiso. Based on the many reviews I'd read, these were some of the OGs mixed with more recent additions, but nothing prepared me for what I would experience upon spraying each for the first time.

(On second thought, I wouldn't say I was entirely unprepared. I'd been inhaling Spirit Lamp for a while after all--a delicious milky-sweet delicacy with underlying hints of metal and musk--and it has been designated the "sex candle" in our household 🤭).

I Don't Know What (a literal English translation of je ne sais quoi) is more or less as described: a woodsy framework meant to be layered and built upon, or otherwise lending a subtle glow to one's natural body scent. I found that it layered well with one of the fragrances I'd sampled last year, and I will likely add them both to my wishlist.

Cowboy Grass was a surprise. Not as transportive as I'd been led to believe (whoever is behind the marketing team at DS&D is a genius), but it grew on me as it revealed notes both leathery and sweet, like a warm breeze wafting through an open-air market in the desert. OK, so maybe that last sentence reveals it to be more transportive than my initial impression made it out to be. It doesn't evoke either cowboys or grass in my mind, but I could picture someone like Curt Wild wearing it, which makes it even more appealing to me.

Amber Kiso, on the other hand, was deeply transportive. I tried it for the first time right before settling into a long meditation session and felt like I'd been whisked away to a holy forest, or possibly a monastery in the Himalayas. A bit too strong in the amber department to wear regularly, but I will be bringing it out whenever I want to experience it just for myself and be transported again.

Sweet Do Nothing was as advertised, heavy on the orange blossom and evoking a casual summery spirit. There are certain true floral scents that I will tolerate, orange blossom and rose among them, and I will likely continue to spritz this one on through the summer without feeling a need to buy more.

In summary, D.S. & Durga is the most varied adventure in fragrancy I've had yet, and it's going to be a struggle to prevent myself from ordering yet more samples from them this year. 😩 Which brings me to my final confession: I caved in to a promotional deal with FragranceNet.com this week.

It wasn't entirely out of the blue because I'd been longing after a couple of Goutal Paris fragrances sampled in Italy, and I was thrilled to find a travel-sized Eau d'Hadrien for a very affordable price. I justified the rest of my purchases as either birthday gifts (Tea Rose for the mom and Burberry for the fiancé) or low-stakes forays into other realms of scent I hadn't experienced before.

I think I've amassed enough of a collection at this point to satisfy this particular itch for the rest of the season at least--Eau d'Hadrien especially was made for the heat of summer, with its ginger-sharp edges and sweet heart that could fit the likes of Arthur Stuart--but I don't believe it's the last time I will be waxing lyrical about olfactory matters, nor do I want it to be. 💋

[le-panda-chocovore]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "le-panda-chocovore "?

Oh I think I can actually answer that without rambling too much !! (<- took an entire week to answer the ask and select the fics, and I commented on each one of them lol) It won't be a Top in order of preference tho, there's no actual classment, it's just the ones I loved the most.

The Way I Behaved - EraserMic (MHA)

This fanfic gave me the inspiration to write my greatest work (still unfinished to this day) and literally changed so many things about me. It also made me discover a whole genre of music that I've never listened to before and with which I am entirely in love now. Prepare to cry tho, because this is deeply heartbreaking. It's a Villain Mic AU where Aizawa was never a teacher. And it is good.

What if Percy did become a God - Percy Jackson and the Olympians (based on the books !!! do not read if you just watched the show !!!)

The title says everything. This is not a happy story, you will cry, I promise. It's short, like a 1k word OS, it's really poetic, it's deep, it's beautiful, and also, it's painful. Humans were never meant to be gods, not even Percy. It's written like a poem, I read it so many times and it hurt me every time.

Demon and Angel Professors - Ineffable Spouses (Good Omens)

Not a fanfiction but a serie of short works about Crowley and Aziraphale and the people around them. A teachers AU very nice to read with many Original Characters (the students) who are all captivating and appreciable. The story is extremely queer-positive and neurodivergent inclusive and physical handicap representative, honestly, you want to read it. There's everything inside it. If you have chronic pain or if you're a closeted queer or even a curious ally who wants to understand their peers, this is what you need. The love is so pure it's overwhelming.

Honor and Vengeance on the High Sea - Zuko (ATLA)

Tbh this deserves to be published, it's a novel itself (I haven't finished it yet). The author reappropriated the Avatar universe to write something completely new. It's an AU where Zuko becomes a Pirate after his banishment and fights against the Fire Nation Navy, and eventually joins the Avatar's team. There's a whole work around internalized homophobia, the discovery of the self, acceptance, injustice, family trauma and everything. Original Characters are cool too. Chapters are long and very, very complete, you can see the author has historical and cultural knowledge.

Strength, the meaning of - Asano Gakuhou (Assassination Classroom)

I can't believe a fanfic about this total asshole made it to my top 10, but it is beautifully written. The progressive mental breakdown of a man who used to stand proud above everyone, the slow fall down to hell without even realizing it. There's also his son's POV here, which is equally beautifully written. I really hate the man and I don't like the fact that the end of AssClass completely disregard the consequences of what happened on the character's mental state, and reading how even him wasn't okay at all is very pleasant to read. That's karma my bitch.

Je suis assis - BokuAka (Haikyuu)

Yeah it's in french and on wattpad. It has been a while since I read it but I still remember the principal. It's a OS anyway so it's not very long (we didn't do that 20k words OS on Wattpad, this madness is only popular on AO3 lol). Since I'm sensitive to everything that is around handicap, it touched me. It ended up being cute and warm. Honestly I was more thinking of another BokuAka fanfiction but I couldn't remember the name nor found it online so I put this one.

25 - Riren (SnK)

Yeah yeah I know, pedo ship etc, but I was 14 and this is a High School AU where they're both 16 so, it's okay I guess. Yes the name of the fanfic is twenty-five. It's in french, it's on wattpad, and there's Eren's POV too. I don't know how I'm supposed to describe it... I think you have to read it, it's not actually strange or weird but, it's a whole experience.

Here there be dragons - Centennial Husbands (the Sandman)

This is the exact definition of love. What is love to me ? This fanfiction. Engagement, devotion, caring, this is it, this fanfic has the meaning of all these words. I had a hard time reading it because I hate ultra-long OS (I need CHAPTERS, give me a BREAK) but it was soooo enjoyable, and I was crying the whole time 'cause it's so pure and beautiful.

Palm to Palm - KaRen (Assassination Classroom)

Yes I am a part of the extremely tiny fandom that ships Karma and Ren (I do ship Karma with multiple people throughout the manga lmao) but only in THIS specific context. And this is beautifully written, I can't stop re-reading it. Also, the name of the ship makes me laugh. Karma and Ren relationship after losing Gakushuu -the boy they both love above everything else- is peak romance.

Le goût du chocolat - L x Light (Death Note)

I honestly don't remember a thing about this fanfiction except a single sentence, but I do know that I totally fell in love with it. It was one of my fave fanfic when I was full active on Wattpad, and I even archived it because I didn't want to lose it. I should read it again now that I found it again.

Alright that's 10 !!! Finally !!

Oh it was so fun to fall back into all the things I read before ! But it was harder than I expected because, well, I only have AO3 for 3 years and I've been on Wattpad for 7 years, but I started reading fanfiction even before that, I just didn't have any account back then. So, I kinda forgot about some of the things I read more than 4 years ago, and I couldn't find the gems I discovered when I was 12. Most of the books that made out to this list are my recent lectures, it's a bit biased I guess.

Anyway, thank you for the ask ! It was fun to analyze all my bookmarks and everything !

[mochademic]

100 Days of Productivity [Day: 70] || 100 Jours de Productivitè [Jour: 70]

the warmth of the daylight, like the embrace of an old friend, is enough to bring me back home.

the beginning of this week is also the beginning of many new things. I feel both prepared, & not at the same time.

language proficiency tests scheduled & booked

critiques reviewed

bills managed

plants watered & fed

exam study notes started

currently listening // Be Afraid by DXXDLY

La chaleur de la lumière du jour, comme l'étreinte d'un vieil ami, suffit à me ramener à la maison.

Le début de cette semaine est aussi le début de beaucoup de choses nouvelles. Je me sens à la fois préparée et pas préparée du tout.

tests de compétence linguistique programmés et réservés

critiques examinées

factures gérées

plantes arrosées et nourries

notes d'étude pour l'examen commencées

chanson // Be Afraid par DXXDLY

[butterflyeffectiooon]

This is not the thought I had when I started writing this post but I think, in retrospect, last twilight was never as magical as I once thought, and furthermore I think that the magic was actually jimmy and sea the whole time. I would maintain that the story started off strong and the blossoming romance was extremely well executed, but there were always flaws in the writing and it was always shown that day had a lot of work to do and. well. wasn’t doing it. I don’t think I was picking up on it because sea made day so unbelievably endearing even as a supposed asshole that I either didn’t notice the red flags or ignored them. You have to understand, I was not a jimmy nor sea nor jimmysea fan before I started watching last twilight. I had not already seen vice versa and wai was so long ago that I don’t even remember having an opinion of him. I had never heard of the first show sea was in. I had not been anticipating this show since the pilot trailer and wasn’t even planning to watch it. I didn’t watch it when it came out. I think I waited like two weeks before I started it. I went into it with no feelings about jimmysea, I had seen criticism of jimmy’s previous performances and I didn’t know anything about sea other than him being jimmy’s branded partner so if anything I was… prepared for them to not do all that well. I wasn’t expecting much I guess. This is the first time I put on my clown makeup. Like I said, sea as day was so endearing to me from pretty early on, maybe not ep 1 but by ep 3 I was like that’s my baby!!! I don’t know why or how but he made me fall in love with day so bad, and nothing day did (until… u know….) ever made me love him less. I really can’t describe what about him I found so lovable especially when he was definitely an asshole and wouldn’t stop with the “u have zero tenderness in your body” nonsense lmao. I think sea just has some je ne sais quoi about him or something that’s like captivating. I did watch vice versa at some point while last twilight was airing and I found talay endearing too. Even though he was more mature or like. didn’t have such a spoiled baby quality to him, so I think it’s just something about sea idk. Hell I’m already endeared to his character in the trainee from bts footage and promo pics alone 😭 ok hopefully point made bc this post is already really long and I have a lot more to say lmao.

*I promise I know how to write proper paragraphs I just am trying to type what I wanna say before my brain moves on to a new thought lmao but let me give a line break for readability*

Let me try to talk about jimmy without waxing poetic. I had pretty low expectations for him bc I had seen ppl criticize his work before so how did I end up loving him so bad!!! The answer is he’s just good at what he does!!! Was he always this good? I didn’t have any qualms about his performance as puen and I can’t remember wai. I think he was also a minor character in enchante but I didn’t watch that. Anyway, if he used to suck he doesn’t anymore!! His growth is especially impressive bc acting isn’t even his main profession!!! I don’t want to harp a lot on why last twilight disappointed me bc I want this to be a jimmysea appreciation post first and foremost but the problem with mhok that jimmy obfuscated was he really didn’t have much to him. He had a tragic backstory that was never fully explored but aside from that it was just day on the brain all day every day how can I serve day how can I help day how can I care for day how can I make day smile like girl stand up 😭 jimmy somehow managed to make mhok (to me but I’m biased) the most compelling character in the show with just his eyes!!! His eyes held SO MUCH EMOTION that it made mhok feel like a much more substantial character than he ended up being. Trying to be short and to the point now bc this is getting out of hand but I want jimmy on my screen forever, he is so special to me!!!

Last point: mhok and day did not have en equal or super healthy relationship so why did it hurt sooo bad when they broke up? Again, it was jimmysea magic masking the flaws. The chemistry was undeniable and they seemed so in love! They were always so happy to be together that you almost didn’t notice how one sided their relationship was becoming. Their comfort in each other was so real and believable bc evidently that’s not acting! It’s clear that jimmy and sea enjoy their paired roles and enjoy working together in general. I’m not thinking of anyone in particular but I don’t think all pairs could sell this natural comfort as effortlessly bc they are not…. this naturally comfortable together lmao. Jimmysea’s innate charms are exponentially amplified when they are together. I firmly believe that if jimmy wasn’t mhok and sea wasn’t day then last twilight would not have been this loved (until it got to where not even jimmysea magic could salvage it 😭)

TLDR it was jimmysea magic that masked last twilight’s flaws so well that we were dumbfounded by that ending