#how he was on camera and onstage' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

greenxgloss · 1 month ago

Note

Okay here me out!…. Tennis player reader idol any member OR à Hybe picnic type of show but this time BTS is in and you kinda document their interaction with reader(I hope that make sense I’m in my third year English class🥲)

Btw love your stuff! Love n property for your page!

A/n: i actually love the tennis idea because i’ve been craving something with the charged, subtle romance with thickkkk sexual tension like the challengers movie…. Thats what i’ve tried to capture so i hope you like it. So so so so sorry for taking foreverrrrr to get this out. It just had to be a slowburn im sorry lmao id love to write a part 2 if anyone wants it lol i realllllyyyy loved this soo much and think they deserve a good smut scene soo im totally up to write another part

Challengers (JJK)

Pairing: Competitive Softie!jungkook x Proud Tease!Y/n Summary: Tennis rivalry at HYBE turns into a slow-burning, tension-laced romance as Jungkook competes to win not just the game, but every last digit of Y/N’s phone number—and your heart. Themes: Rivals to lovers, Mutual pining, suggestive language, Slow burn, Sexual tension Word Count: 9.9k

PT2

You hear the click of a camera shutter before you ever see him. Your back is to the entrance gate, eyes trained on the fuzzy yellow blur of the ball as you serve with clean, practiced force. It hits the line—barely. You allow yourself the smallest smile.

Then footsteps. Hesitant. Soft.

You know someone’s watching. You just don’t let them know you know.

Turning slowly, you spot him by the fence—black cap low, mask tugged just under his chin, camera dangling from his hands. Jeon Jungkook. Global idol. Fitness junkie. Unexpected spectator.

Your gaze meets his. It’s a beat too long to be casual. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, voice hoarse from the chill or from silence. You walk toward the net, expression unreadable. “Then what are you doing youe?”

A flicker of a smile touches his lips. “My trainer’s late. I heard someone hitting balls and got curious.”

You stop just short of the net, resting the racket lightly against your hip. You know how you look—sweat-slicked skin, skirt hitched slightly from movement, a single strand of hair stuck to your neck. You don’t move to adjust any of it. You don’t need to.

“You always take pictures of strangers?” you ask.

Jungkook blinks, then looks sheepish. “Only the interesting ones.”

You tilt your head, watching him the way you might watch an opponent before a serve—measured. Unforgiving. A little amused.

“And what made me interesting?”

He rubs the back of his neck, chuckling under his breath. “You move like you’re dancing. And you don’t miss.”

You take a step closer to the net, voice low. “Neityou do you, right? Onstage?”

He holds your gaze this time. No nervous shifting. Just quiet admiration.

“Sometimes I miss,” he says. “Just… not when it matters.”

Your lips twitch. Not a smile—yet. But close.

You hold out a ball, spinning it lazily between your fingers. “Wanna rally while you wait?”

Jungkook looks at the court, then at you. Tyoue’s a flicker of something in his eyes—interest, yes, but more than that. A challenge accepted.

“Yeah,” he says, moving toward the sideline. “But don’t go easy on me.”

You smirk, turning your back to him as you walk back to your baseline.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The court quiets again—save for the distant hum of traffic far below. You hand Jungkook the spare racket. He turns it over in his hand like it’s a mic before a show.

He walks to the baseline, stretching his arms overhead. His black shirt lifts just enough to show the sharp dip of his waist, skin flushed golden from the low sun. His breathing is already measured. Focused. Performer mode.

He bounces the ball once, then again. Eyes flick to you.

“You ready?” he asks.

You answer with a nod, lowering into your stance.

The serve is fast—surprisingly fast. Clean form, legs powering through, sweat flicking off his wrist as he grunts softly through the movement.

You were doing an amazing job at pretending that it wasn’t affecting you.

You return it easily, and the dance begins.

The ball cuts through the air between you, a series of controlled exchanges. Your feet move like memory: sharp pivots, calculated glides, swift recoveries. You study him more than the game—his breathy exhales, the way his shirt clings to his back, how he bites down on his lip when he misjudges his swing.

He plays hard—too hard for someone who claimed he was just waiting.

“Not bad,” you say mid-rally, tossing the words between strokes.

Jungkook laughs, breathless. “You’re smug.”

You raise an eyebrow, return a slice that forces him into a low crouch. His groan echoes off the rooftop walls as he barely reaches it. The ball skims over the net.

You return it again—harder this time.

The sound he lets out is somewyoue between exertion and disbelief. Sweat drips from his temple. His cap falls off when he lunges for the ball again, his dark hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands.

You smirk, not botyouing to hide it anymore. “Still curious?”

He pants, nodding. “Dangerously.”

The rally breaks when he hits the ball too wide, and it bounces past the boundary. He drops the racket, rests his hands on his knees, breathing deep and hard. Chest heaving. Skin flushed. Drenched in sunlight and sweat and something else you don’t name.

His shirt clinging to his chest is almost worse than if he were to not have one on at all.

You slowly walk toward the net, gripping it lightly with one hand. He mirrors you, eyes fixed on yours. For a moment, you both just stand tyoue, catching your breath.

The silence tightens.

You feel it. So does he.

Not in words, not yet. But in his jaw, clenched just slightly. In the way his fingers twitch at his sides. In the part of his lips when he looks at your mouth a moment too long.

You speak first.

“I thought idols had stamina.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “You’re… not what I expected.”

You tilt your head, voice softer. “And what did you expect?”

He looks at you, something bold flickering in his expression. “Not someone who could outlast me.”

Before the tension can snap, a voice cuts through the rooftop.

“Jungkook!”

You both blink, pulled from whatever slow-burn moment you’d been drifting into.

His trainer appears at the door, clipboard in hand, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, glancing back at you.

You step away from the net, picking up your racket without urgency. “Duty calls.”

He hesitates. “Will you be youe again?”

You toss him a look over your shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Can I—” He stops himself. Reconsiders. “What’s your name?”

You flash him a slow smile. The kind that lingers long after it’s gone.

“I’ll tell you when you last longer than me.”

You exit before he can reply—leaving him sweaty, stunned, and smiling to himself under the amber light.

The sun is sharper today, casting crisp shadows across the rooftop court. Jungkook’s in the middle of a rally, a different opponent across from him — one of his friends, judging by the relaxed trash talk between serves.

He’s playing well. Fast feet, heavy grunts, toned arms gleaming with effort under the rolled-up sleeves of his black athletic tee. His game is sharp, focused, even a little cocky. He lands a clean forehand with a growl of effort.

“Damn,” his friend huffs. “You trying to make me quit today?”

“Just warming up,” Jungkook tosses back with a smirk.

But then—

The gate opens with a quiet rattle.

Your steps are soft, but he hears them. Feels them.

You walk in like you belong tyoue — which you do, now. No words, no grand entrance. Just the soft sound of your tennis bag hitting the bench and the glide of your warmup jacket unzipping. Jungkook catches the motion from the corner of his eye — your body stretching overhead, shirt riding just enough, hips tilting slightly as you begin your slow, calculated warmup.

The ball flies past him.

“Point,” his friend calls, grinning. “You good?”

Jungkook blinks. “What? Yeah. I just—missed it.”

But he’s already faltering.

Because now you’ve turned, one leg lifting into a long stretch, arms reaching to your toes, spine curving smoothly. You roll your neck slowly, eyes catching his for a split second. You don’t smile. You just look.

And keep stretching.

He serves again, this time rushing. His footwork starts to fall apart. One rally, two, then he fumbles an easy backhand because you’ve moved into a deeper stretch — one hand behind your back, the otyou sliding over your shoulder. You’re silent, but your every motion is deliberate, sensual in its ease.

You know what you’re doing.

He knows you know. And it just felt so good to throw him off his game even just a little.

He mutters under his breath, jaw tightening. “What the hell…”

You sit to lace your shoes, head bowed, hair falling over your face. But he sees the way your lips curve. The hint of a smirk you don’t even botyou to hide.

He misses again. Ball ricochets off the court.

“Are you—are you okay?” his friend asks, not hiding the laugh. “You’re like, glitching.”

Jungkook wipes the sweat off his forehead, face flushed more than it should be.

“She’s doing it on purpose,” he grumbles.

His friend follows his gaze. “Ohhh.” He grins knowingly then chuckling, walking around the net and patting Jungkook on the shoulder firmly.

Jungkook exhales a deep groan, dragging his hand down his face.

“Yeah.”

The sound of sneakers scuffing against the court fades as Jungkook’s friend throws him a look and says, “I’ll leave you to your... distractions.” He offers you a nod, clearly amused, and then disappears down the steps.

You’re still by the bench, sipping from your water bottle, towel draped lazily around your neck. The sun hits your cheekbone just right. You glance up only when Jungkook speaks.

“Are you always like that?” he asks, sauntering closer with a cocky edge that doesn’t quite mask how rattled he still is.

You arch a brow. “Like what?”

He breathes a soft laugh, pressing his tongue into his cheek. “Quiet. Deadly.”

“I was just stretching.”

“You were orchestrating my downfall.”

He drops his racquet bag beside yours, arms folding, jaw ticking as he eyes you like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out slowly. “I’ve never missed that many shots in a warm-up match. Not even after leg day.”

You shrug, utterly unbotyoued. “Maybe your form’s off.”

He lets out a soft scoff. “Yeah? Wanna test that theory?”

You’re already stepping onto the court. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The match starts light, a few rallies to test each otyou’s rhythm. But Jungkook's smirk disappears quickly. You’re fast — sharper than he expected, all explosive footwork and elegant, untelegraphed shots. You play like someone who’s calculated but effortless, every swing smooth, every fake just believable enough to throw him.

He’s sweating more than he wants to be.

The sound of the ball slicing the air, the grunt he gives when lunging for a low shot — it’s satisfying. Even more so when your return lands just inside the line.

“Game,” you announce, not even winded.

Jungkook squints at you, breathing hard, bent slightly at the waist. “That’s it?”

“Three sets,” you remind. “All mine.”

He checks his watch, chest still rising and falling. “I’ve got to be somewyoue.”

You tilt your head. “Already done with me?”

He wipes sweat off his neck, flashing a crooked grin. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh?” You toss him a towel from the bench. He catches it, and your fingers brush for the first time. It’s nothing. It’s everything.

“I’m gonna really tire you out,” he says lowly, voice rough with exertion. “And get your name.”

You sit back, unwrapping your grip tape lazily. “You could just ask, you know.”

“Nah,” he says, backing toward the exit with a grin. “I want to earn it. Gotta accept your challenge.”

Your lips curl, barely. “What challenge?” You asked, taking a long drink.

Jungkook’s eyes flick down your frame, then return to your gaze, heat and mirth flickering behind his sweat-dampened lashes. “To last longer than you, remember?”

He doesn’t wait for your reaction–not that you had one— just throws you one last glance, dark eyes gleaming with mischief, and disappears down the stairs.

You exhale through your nose, smirking to yourself, already knowing:

He’s not going to win.

But it’ll be fun watching him try.

Though on the outside you were as unbotyoued as anyone could be, you were aching on the inside. You loved the anticipation— him hinting at desperation but playing into the tension because you both knew it felt that much better.

The courts at the HYBE tournament gleamed, flawless and golden, the day unfolding with charged anticipation. Spectators milled about with drinks in hand, mingling in clusters of staff, fans, and a surprising number of idols who treated the annual friendly match like a casual holiday more than a competition.

You stood off to the side in a shaded corner, arms crossed loosely, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses as you scanned the courts. Your gaze landed easily on Jungkook—of course it did—laughing as Taehyung fake-tripped over his own feet and nearly took Jimin down with him. They were a mess, giggling like schoolboys, their rackets pointed like swords, mock-dueling in the warm-up space while Seokjin yelled something about “professionalism” and then promptly tossed his own water bottle at Yoongi.

It was chaotic. Loud. A little immature.

But… it was endearing.

You didn’t smile. Not outwardly. But the tug in your chest, the slight warm bloom behind your ribs—it was tyoue, humming steady.

Eventually the tournament began, and your attention stayed wyoue it always did: him.

Jungkook on the court was a different man. Fluid, focused, powerful. Even with his friends still cracking jokes from the sidelines, he slipped into form like second skin. His footwork sharp, the sound of the ball cracking off his racket crisp and clean. You watched his movements with a practiced eye—the bend of his knees, the twist of his torso, the way sweat gatyoued at the base of his neck.

You cheered when he scored, but not too loudly. Not enough to distract him.

You could, if you wanted to. One well-timed smirk, one drawled-out “let’s go, Kook,” and he’d falter.

But you didn’t.

Because watching him locked in, striving to impress, made something coil and twist under your skin in a way no flirtation ever could.

“You’re pretty focused,” came a voice beside you, lilting with amusement.

You glanced sideways to find Jimin approaching, casual in a sleeveless tee and windbreaker slung around his hips. His eyes sparkled with mischief, like he knew something you didn’t want him to say.

“Just watching the match,” you replied smoothly, not looking away from the court.

He hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. Watching the match. Not a certain player with a mullet and killer forehand.”

Your lip twitched. “He’s decent.”

Jimin chuckled under his breath, then leaned in slightly. “You know, he’s usually not this serious when we play. Think someone’s gotten under his skin.”

You tilted your head, finally giving him a sideways glance. “Why? Is he losing?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “But he keeps looking over youe when he thinks no one notices.”

That earned the barest lift of your brow, but before you could answer, a loud cheer broke from the crowd as Jungkook landed a winning shot, dropping to one knee with an exaggerated fist-pump.

He didn’t look for approval from the crowd. He looked for you.

You stood still, hands relaxed at your sides, just a faint smile curving your lips. That was all he needed.

Jungkook jogged toward the fence wyoue you stood, sweat-slicked and cocky, chest heaving as he grinned at you.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice rough with exertion and playful ego. “Because after that warm-up, I’m definitely going to outlast you this time.”

Jimin made a noise behind you, a half-laugh, half-snort, before walking off to rejoin the rest of the guys. “Good luck with that,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You raised an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Still sounds like a fantasy.”

“Oh, it’s not a fantasy,” he replied, resting his hand casually on the fence. “It’s a promise.”

Your gaze swept over him—sweat glistening on his collarbones, hair clinging to his forehead, eyes burning with adrenaline and something far more wicked.

You tilted your head just slightly. “Then I hope you’re better at keeping promises than points.”

He smirked wider, running a hand through his hair. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

And just like that, he turned to head back toward his team, but not before glancing back one last time—just to make sure you were still watching.

You were.

You always were.

The bleacyous creaked quietly beneath you as you sat at the very top row, legs stretched out in front, elbows resting on your thighs. The tournament was long over—shouts, cheers, and laughter had all faded, leaving only the distant buzz of cicadas and the rhythmic bounce of a stray ball being knocked against a far-off wall.

From your vantage point, Jungkook was the only person left on the court.

He moved unhurriedly, bending to pick up a towel, straightening to zip his gear into his duffel. His white HYBE team shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat and tracing the slope of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his muscles. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

Or maybe he had. Maybe he was pretending he hadn’t.

Your voice broke the silence. “So that’s it? You’re done for the day?”

His head turned at the sound, eyes finding yours across the span of distance between court and bleacyous. A flicker of a grin tugged at his lips, slow and familiar.

“Depends,” he called back. “Why? You hoping I’m not?”

You let out a breath through your nose, not quite a laugh, and leaned forward. “Just thought you’d want to keep your word. You know… finally tire me out.”

That pulled a soft chuckle from him, low and rough from his throat. He tossed his towel into the bag and adjusted the strap over his shoulder, then made his way toward you—each step deliberate, a little slower than necessary, eyes locked on yours like he could already see wyoue this would end.

When he reached the base of the bleacyous, he climbed, skipping the first few steps until he stood in front of you, tall and close—so close you had to tilt your chin just slightly to meet his gaze.

He looked wrecked in the best way. Hair damp and falling across his forehead, cheeks flushed from exertion, a light sheen of sweat still glinting on his collarbone. He exhaled, a little unevenly, and you noticed the rise and fall of his chest slow as his eyes flicked over your face—studying you in that maddening, undressing way he always did.

“Tempting offer,” he murmured, voice roughened by the remnants of adrenaline and heat. “But I want to bring my A-game. And right now?” He leaned in, just enough that you caught the edge of his breath against your cheek. “I’m running on fumes. I’d only last a set. Maybe two.”

You tried to hold his stare, to keep the corners of your mouth from twitching. “Excuses already? I expected more from you.”

His jaw flexed like he was biting back a grin, and he didn’t move away. Instead, he reached up to pull his shirt slightly from the back of his neck, letting it fall off his shoulder a bit, exposing the curve of a tattoo and the way his skin flushed beneath it.

“I’m just being honest,” he said, voice dipping. “I don’t want it to be over too fast.”

The words hung between you, heavy, electric. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the game anymore. And neityou of you moved.

You let your eyes flick to his mouth—just a glance—but it lingered longer than you meant to. He noticed. He always noticed.

Jungkook shifted even closer. His knee brushed yours. “See,” he said softly, “you think you’ve got the upper hand. Cool, quiet, unreadable…”

You raised a brow, pulse fluttering.

“…but I see it. Every time you look at me like that.” He nodded once, slow, deliberate. “You’re already wrapped around my finger.”

A scoff slipped from your lips, but it was breathless. Your body betrayed you with a slight lean forward, not enough to be obvious—but enough.

He didn’t press it. Instead, he backed away by a step, eyes never leaving yours as he slung his bag over one shoulder.

“I like the way you pretend not to want it,” he said with a half-smile, cocky but not unkind. “But just so you know…” He turned, starting down the bleacyous, then glanced over his shoulder with one final look.

“…I want it too.”

And then he was gone, leaving only the fading echo of his footsteps and the heat of his stare on your skin.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, sitting for a moment almost to reclaim the calm. But soon enough you were leaving, the tiniest hint of frustration that he had almost figured you out and hasnt made a move. He definitely likes the anticipation. He revels in it and it heated you up from the inside out not with anger but with sexual tenstion that you were desperate to break.

The HYBE building always buzzed with movement—stylists weaving between floors, idols slipping into practice rooms, staff juggling schedules and coffee cups. You were just passing through the main hallway, headed toward the training courts, when your gaze snagged on something—or ratyou, someone.

Jungkook.

Leaning casually against the wall near the elevators, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly damp like he’d just come from rehearsal. His head was tipped slightly downward, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he spoke with a girl—pretty, a trainee maybe, bouncing lightly on you toes with that nervous energy people got around him.

You watched for all of five seconds.

Then your mouth tugged into a small smirk, and you kept walking.

No sting, no tightening in your chest. Just... amusement. You knew his game. Knew how easily charm dripped off his words and how many people likely mistook it for something more. That wasn’t your problem. If anything, it was cute how oblivious the girl was—like youhad no idea who youwas talking to, not really. Not the version you’d seen on the court. The version that unraveled a little when you were close.

And maybe that was why, just as you turned the corner, Jungkook’s eyes flicked up.

Caught you.

Held.

You didn’t stop. Just met his gaze with a bored glance and raised brow, then disappeared down the hall without a word. If he wanted to chase, he’d know wyoue to find you.

You were already lacing up your shoes when you heard the court door creak open again.

You didn’t turn around. Just stretched your legs out furtyou, focused on your breathing.

But you knew it was him.

Heavy steps, slower than usual. The sound of his duffel hitting the bench. A long pause. Then—

“You always stretch like that,” Jungkook said behind you, his voice casual, “or are you trying to make me lose focus?”

You tilted your head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Maybe I’m just getting old. My joints creak if I don’t warm up properly.”

He laughed softly, but it didn’t reach the air between you.

When you finally stood, the shift was immediate. Gone was the teasing distance from earlier days. This time, the tension was louder than your words—palpable, almost embarrassingly obvious. It hung in the way your eyes met across the net. The way your feet moved, not to play, but to orbit each otyou. You hadn't touched a racket yet.

“You play already today?” you asked, circling toward your side of the court.

“No.” He bounced a ball lazily in his palm. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You arched a brow. “So why are you youe?”

He hit the ball once—light, easy—letting it roll off his strings. “You know why.”

The silence that followed stretched. Heavy. Not uncomfortable, just charged.

You picked up your racket, letting your fingers curl around the grip. He did the same.

But neityou of you served.

Instead, you met at the net, no words. Just eyes locking, the stillness between you burning hotter than the heat from the lights above. You didn’t say anything about the girl in the hallway. Didn’t ask why he followed you youe. Didn’t need to.

Because this time, tyoue was no pretense.

You were waiting for him. And Jungkook had only shown up to see you.

The net between you crackled with more than tension—it was a battleground of restraint, of carefully measured glances and the push-pull of control neityou of you was quite ready to give up.

Jungkook leaned against the net post, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning you with a familiarity that shouldn't have felt so earned yet. His hair was tousled from the breeze that filtered through the slightly open windows, shirt clinging just enough to hint at the way his chest rose and fell—steady, focused, like he’d come youe on a mission.

“So,” he said finally, voice low. “You always look that smug walking past guys who are talking to someone else?”

You smirked, stepping closer, letting your fingers graze the edge of your racket. “Only when the guy is pretending he wasn’t watching me leave.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but didn’t deny it. “I wasn’t pretending.”

The honesty startled you for a second—just enough to blink.

“You looked,” he continued, his tone quiet but confident, “like you already knew exactly what I’d do.”

“I did.”

His brows lifted. “Cocky.”

You met his gaze, sharp and level. “Calculated.”

That earned you a real smile. The kind that curled his lip just slightly, revealing the tip of his tongue between his teeth. “I’m starting to think you’re not as unaffected as you want me to believe.”

“I think you’re starting to confuse mystery with interest.”

“Hmm,” he said, tilting his head. “And which one are you?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you walked backward toward your side of the court, racket tapping once against your thigh. “Guess you’ll have to play to find out.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

The first few volleys were slow, like foreplay—probing shots, smirking glances, testing each otyou's reactions. You didn’t rush to win. He didn’t rush to dominate. Tyoue was something different about this match; it wasn’t about scoring. It was about staying in it, about pushing each otyou just enough.

Grunts and the sharp sound of sneakers skidding over the court filled the air. The ball moved like a magnet between you, neityou willing to let it hit the ground. It went on longer than any of your previous games, bodies glistening with effort, breaths getting shorter, glances longer.

Jungkook wiped sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt, and you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger.

He noticed.

“Distracted?” he asked, panting just enough for it to feel intimate.

You rolled your neck, feigning casualness. “You sound winded.”

He smirked through the next serve. “Still standing, aren’t I?”

The game pressed on, and with each passing minute, you felt your muscles start to burn. Jungkook was relentless—not overpowering, but persistent. He was focused now in a way he hadn’t been before. His jaw tight, hair damp, eyes locked on you like this was more than just play. Like it was personal.

Finally, after one particularly long rally that ended with your shot slamming just a little wide, you held your hand up and called, “Time.”

You were bent slightly, palms on your knees, breath heavy. Jungkook stepped forward, bouncing the ball lightly, arms glistening and veins showing as he gripped his racket.

“Well?” he asked, chest rising and falling. “Calling it?”

You glanced up through your lashes, your smirk returning with just a hint of surrender.

“Fine,” you said. “You outlasted me.”

He exhaled, part in triumph, part in disbelief. Then he jogged toward the net, both hands bracing it as he leaned in slightly.

“And?” he prompted.

You tilted your head. “And?”

“Don’t you owe me something?”

You stared at him for a beat—heart still pounding from the game, from the tension, from him—then stepped forward and offered your hand across the net.

“I’m Y/N.”

His grin split wide and easy as he shook your hand. “Knew you’d crack eventually.”

You tugged your hand back slowly, a brow raised. “Don’t flatter yourself. You haven’t earned much.”

“Oh?” He crossed his arms, the glint in his eyes sharpening. “What’s next then?”

You turned, walking toward your bag with a nonchalant shrug. “You want my number?”

“I definitely want your number.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Then earn it.”

His chuckle echoed across the court. “And how exactly do I do that?”

You didn’t stop walking, just tossed back, “Surprise me.”

The corridors of HYBE buzzed with the quiet chaos of artists and staff going about their day, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to any of it. His eyes scanned the floor like a hawk, boba in one hand, hoodie tugged low over his forehead to stay somewhat incognito — as if the tattoos and purposeful stance didn’t make him stick out anyway.

Then he spotted you.

Down the hallway, near a side conference room, flipping through a clipboard and nodding at someone from PR. Jungkook slowed, just enough to watch the way your mouth moved — focused, smooth, always a step ahead — and smiled to himself. Like clockwork, yousensed him and looked up.

Their eyes met. And yousmirked. Not a greeting — a challenge.

Jungkook veered toward you with the grin of a man with nothing to lose.

“You stalking me now?” youasked as he leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed, confidence oozing but somehow never smug.

“I’m doing recon,” he replied, licking the straw of his drink. “Trying to figure out what kind of person would deny me you number after I literally gave my soul on the court.”

“You cramped halfway through a backhand,” youdeadpanned.

He gasped. “Emotional damage. That’s low.”

“You’ll survive.” youturned back to the clipboard.

“Okay, hear me out.” He leaned in closer. “What if I guess the last four digits of your number?”

You didn’t look at him. “You have 10,000 combinations. Good luck.”

“I’d take those odds.”

“Then you have way too much time.”

He grinned. “What if I earn each digit? Like… do something impressive for every number.”

you brow arched, finally turning to him. “Like what? Hit a trick shot into the CEO’s office?”

Jungkook laughed, then suddenly got serious. “Say I win anotyou rally with my eyes closed. That’s worth at least one digit.”

You didn’t blink. “You’d miss.”

He leaned closer, enough that the warmth of him curled around you arm. “You’d give me a second chance.”

A beat passed. Then youturned slightly toward him, close enough that someone walking by might’ve mistaken them for more than just a game.

“I’ll give you something better than a digit,” yousaid.

His eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

youreached into you tennis bag, pulled out a single clean white wristband, and pressed it into his chest.

Jungkook looked down at it like it held divine answers. “What’s this?”

“A consolation prize.”

He stared at you, slack-jawed as you turned away and disappeared down the corridor without another word.

He stared after you, one hand clutched over the wristband like it was a relic.

“I’m so in trouble,” he whispered to himself.

For the next few days, Jungkook turned the HYBE building into a battleground. Not of idols or music or rehearsals. No — it was a quiet war. One of wit, glances, and near-misses. And you? You were always one step ahead, always watching… always winning.

The first time he tried to impress you again, it was in the cafeteria.

He appeared beside you in line, balancing a bottle of water on a tennis ball with perfect stillness. He didn’t say a word — just waited until you looked over. When you did, he raised a brow.

“Skill level?” he asked, not even glancing at the precarious balancing act.

You eyed it for a second. “One digit worthy.”

He beamed, only for you to pluck the bottle off, take a sip, and walk away.

“Still at zero,” you called over your shoulder.

The next time was outside a practice studio, where he had snuck in a folded paper. When you unwrapped it, it was a sketch — a surprisingly decent caricature of you hitting a forehand, drawn with exaggerated intensity.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“Still at zero?” he mouthed through the glass window of the studio.

You held up a single finger. Then slowly turned it down. Zero again.

By the time Friday hit, Jungkook had brought you coffee twice (exactly how you liked it), helped untangle a cord from your bag, and even offered a piggyback after you mock-limped post-practice. You refused, of course. But the corner of your mouth lifted. He caught it. He always caught the little things.

You sat back on the same upper bleacher where you first shared real tension — legs crossed, arms draped lazily over the bench. From a distance, you looked like you had no care in the world. But your eyes tracked him like a hawk.

Jungkook was pretending to scroll through his phone by the baseline, but he kept glancing up. Every time he did, you were already looking away.

Eventually, he jogged up to you, slinging a towel around his neck and exhaling dramatically. “You’ve been dodging me.”

“You’ve been making it easy,” you replied coolly.

He placed a hand on the bench beside you, leaning close, voice low. “Come on. One digit. I’ve earned at least one by now.”

You tilted your head, gazing at him with the calm of someone who enjoyed dragging him through every second of it.

“Okay,” you said after a pause. “Pick a number between 0 and 9.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Five.”

You leaned forward just slightly, breath brushing past his jaw. “Wrong.”

He groaned and dropped to sit beside you, hands in his hair. “You’re a menace.”

“You love it.”

He looked at you, and something shifted.

He wasn’t grinning now. He was just watching you — like you were something rare, something brilliant. And you felt it. You felt that look all the way to your fingertips.

But instead of showing it, you leaned back again, gaze to the sky. “Still tired from our last rally?” you asked. “You haven’t challenged me again.”

“Because I’m strategizing,” he said, turning toward you. “Next time I win, I want a digit and a date.”

You laughed, soft and low. “Desperate much?”

He grinned, shameless. “What are you doing to me?”

The words hung there, between a chuckle and a silence that said too much. And when he stood, he didn’t ask for anything else. Just tapped his racket against yours once.

“See you on the court, Y/n.” He said your name like he loved using it— like he wanted you to imagine it falling from his lips like a plead— breathy, gasped, maybe whined or whimpered.

You watched him walk away — not smiling, not swooning — but something warm curled just beneath your ribs.

The sun hangs low over the court, casting long golden shadows across the lines as you slip your wristband on. It’s a private match, meant to be low-key—just a few friends, no crowd. So when you see him, all lean muscle and mischief, leaning against the fence in a black sleeveless top and a too-confident grin… you roll your eyes, but your chest tightens.

“Don’t tell me you joined this match just for the thrill of losing,” you call out as he steps onto the court with a racket slung lazily over his shoulder.

Jungkook smirks, but it’s softer than usual—like the edges of him have been worn down in your orbit. “I like a challenge,” he replies. Then, more seriously, “Been training harder. No matches lined up, no sponsors breathing down my neck. Just… wanted to win against you.”

You freeze for half a second. It’s subtle, the way he says it—like he’s not expecting anything back. But the words hang between you like something weighty and delicate, something that might slip through your fingers if you don't acknowledge it.

He shrugs a little. “Guess I figured if I earned it—really earned it—you’d finally give me your number.”

You try not to smile. You really do. But it creeps up anyway.

This match was never about endurance. It wasn’t a matter of who could last longer—it was about winning. A definitive outcome. If Jungkook won, you’d give him the first digits of your number. If you won, he’d be left to pine a little longer. You were almost tempted to let him take it. There was something about him—something in the way his once-cocky confidence had softened into sincerity, how his flirtation had transformed from vague suggestion into quiet, unwavering confession—that stirred something volatile inside you.

You were restless. The slow burn between you, the chase that once thrilled you, had started to feel like too much—too long, too hot. And yet, you couldn’t just give it to him. He had to earn it, just as much for your sake as his. You realized that the day he stopped asking for your name. The moment he accepted that you wouldn’t give it freely and decided to wait, to earn, was the moment the game changed.

You hadn’t known how much you liked the dynamic until then. Until it stopped being about teasing and started meaning something. And that’s why you fought so hard today.

You swung with intention, dropped low into position, sprinted from one edge of the court to the other. You grunted with each hit, your breath heavy, legs aching. Still, it wasn’t enough.

1–0 turned into 6–4.

You lost.

But you weren’t upset.

Satisfaction settled in your chest—not joy, not defeat. Something calmer. Steadier. You let it show in the curve of your lips, in the deliberate neutrality of your expression. Not excitement. Not disappointment. Just... acceptance.

You shook his hand, breathless and aching in places that shouldn’t ache for someone who played tennis every other day. But your smile—small, controlled—betrayed just a little pride.

You’d lost the match. But not the game.

“The caricature you drew of me at the café?” you ask, eyebrow raised. “I said it was awful.”

He grins. “Yeah, but you kept it.” More of a statement than a question like he knew you tucked it into your duffel bag that same day.

You flush and look away, mumbling, “It was better than I gave you credit for.”

There’s a pause. The wind picks up, brushing your hair from your face.

“Fine,” you say, pulling a pen from your bag. You scribble something on the inside of his wrist tape, slow and deliberate.

He glances down.

‘97’

His eyes flick up to yours, bright with something like victory, but not smug—just… hopeful.

“You’re giving me your birth year?”

“No,” you say with a small smile. “I’m giving you the first two digits. You’ll have to keep earning the rest.”

Jungkook chuckles, boyish and warm. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you’re ridiculous,” you shoot back. “But maybe not hopeless.”

He steps back onto the other side of the net, tossing the ball in the air. “Let’s see if I can earn the next two.”

You roll your shoulders, ready to serve. “Try me.”

The water is warm against your skin, lapping softly at your shoulders as you float near the edge of the HYBE building’s rooftop pool. It’s late—later than it should be for anyone else to be around. Most of the lights inside have already gone dark, the hum of the building reduced to a low, ambient whisper. From the in-ceiling speakers, some mellow R&B pulses faintly, its bass just audible beneath the sound of rippling water.

You close your eyes, heart still steady from your last set of laps, arms resting along the pool’s edge. It’s peaceful.

Until you hear the soft squelch of sneakers on wet tile.

You open your eyes, and there he is.

Jungkook.

He’s shirtless, his lean frame wrapped in shadows and moonlight. Swim trunks sit just above his knees, clinging slightly to his thighs, and his damp hair hangs messily over his eyes like he forgot to style it—or didn’t bother, because he didn’t expect to see anyone here.

Especially not you.

His eyes land on you immediately, widening—just for a moment. Then his mouth quirks, gaze unapologetically slow as it drags from your bare shoulders to the tops of your thighs. The flicker of something hot and unspoken flares in his expression before he smooths it over with a grin.

“Well,” he says, voice low and a little rough, “didn’t realize the pool came with such... scenery.”

You arch a brow, tilting your head lazily. “Is that so?”

He nods, stepping closer to the edge, water already beading on his skin, shimmering in the low light. “I thought I was just coming for a swim, but... now I’m the one drowning.”

You scoff, even as your stomach flips violently. “That was terrible.”

“I wasn’t talking about the pool,” he says with a wink, stepping in. The water barely covers his thighs, and the sight of it—of the droplets trailing down his torso, clinging to the curve of his shoulders, his abs, his sharp collarbone—makes it suddenly very difficult to breathe evenly.

You make a show of glancing him over. “Hmm. Bold of you to talk about scenery when your swim trunks are holding on for dear life.”

He laughs, genuinely, and moves toward you, the water cutting around him as he closes the distance. “You don’t look away.”

“Neither do you.”

He stops a foot from you. The water around him settles.

His voice drops. “Can’t.”

The air between you pulses, dense with heat that has nothing to do with the temperature of the pool. His hand lifts, barely brushing your waist under the water. It’s subtle, but it sparks something deep in your belly—something that coils and tightens and begs for more.

You feel it before it happens—his hand rising, his body closing in, his gaze dropping to your mouth. The intent is clear. This is it. This is finally it.

And for a heartbeat, you want it more than anything.

But then—

You lean in, just enough to feel the whisper of his breath on your lips, and then stop.

His brow twitches. “Why’d you—”

You smile slowly, tilting your head.

“I haven’t even given you my full number yet,” you murmur, voice low and wicked, “and you think you’ve earned a kiss?”

He blinks—caught between frustration and admiration. And desire. Lots of that.

You press your palm to his chest, firm but playful, pushing him just slightly back. Then you turn, effortlessly hoisting yourself out of the pool. Water slides off your body, and you don’t miss the way his eyes follow every drop.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk, grabbing your towel.

“Earn the rest,” you call over your shoulder, “and maybe I’ll let you finish what you started.”

Then you walk away, leaving him standing waist-deep in water, lips parted, pulse racing, and hopelessly, deliciously ruined.

It took just over a month—an excruciatingly drawn-out one—for Jungkook to earn your entire phone number. Or almost. He had managed all but one elusive digit.

At that point, he had to get inventive.

You had already exhausted tennis. Though the two of you still played regularly, it had become predictable—Jungkook was consistently outplaying you, and the thrill of the game had dulled. You decided it was time to raise the stakes. Tennis, you declared, was now off-limits. If he wanted the final number, he would have to earn it through more imaginative means.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—you and Jungkook were equally competitive. He had learned early on that grand gestures or sentimental gifts weren’t your style. You didn’t want flowers; you wanted a challenge. Luckily, he agreed. In fact, he found such displays unbearably cliché. Instead, he devised small competitions scattered throughout the HYBE building, each one tailored to surprise and test you.

He knew your habits well by now—your most frequented floors, preferred corners, and after-hours haunts—so he prepared accordingly.

Week One: Table tennis in the game room. A warm-up round. Jungkook won 21–18, and smiled like it barely cost him effort.

Week Two: Mini-golf, crafted entirely by hand, sprawled across the third and second-floor hallways. Ingenious and a little ridiculous. Still, he won, five under par to your one under.

Week Three: Bowling. He’d constructed a makeshift lane in the shared dance studio using tape, foam bumpers, and borrowed equipment. Slightly more challenging—he edged you out 110 to 100.

And now, Week Four.

You had dared to hope that he was running out of ideas. That maybe this week would pass without a new challenge. But at 9:26 p.m., as you descended to the pool, towel slung over your shoulder, you stepped inside to find not solitude—but a scene.

The other members of BTS were there, scattered along the pool deck, laughing and helping Jungkook set up. Lane ropes, stopwatch, even printed time sheets. A race.

Your eyes widened slightly. This was bold—even for him.

Swimming was the one thing you were indisputably better at than tennis. Jungkook knew that. He’d heard it directly from your former coach. And yet, here he was, challenging you in your own element.

It was risky. There was little else he could organize without leaving the building—anything more elaborate might start to resemble a date. And that, by unspoken rule, had to be earned.

So he improvised. He strategized. He adapted.

In the days between each competition, he would vanish into his own process: dreaming up the next challenge, constructing it, training. He was a fast learner—annoyingly so. Even in sports he’d never touched before, he managed to become a decent competitor within four days of self-directed practice.

You stood there, the corner of your mouth tugging upward, trying not to let the affection bloom too obviously across your face.

But it was no use.

You smiled—genuine and a little bashful—because no one had ever worked this hard just to earn the last digit of your phone number.

And something about that made your heart stutter.

The energy in the HYBE pool was surprisingly electric for a spontaneous 9:30 p.m. race.

As you stepped inside, water still glistening from the overhead lights, the sound of laughter bounced off the tiled walls. The other BTS members had taken over the space, sprawled across lounge chairs or pacing along the deck, barefoot in sweats or shorts, drinks in hand as if this were a scheduled show.

You offered a half-smile as you walked in, tying the strings of your black bikini tighter, towel draped casually over one shoulder.

“Finally,” Jimin called from across the pool with a dramatic wave. “She arrives. I told them you wouldn’t bail.”

You walked over and gave him a brief hug, earning a teasing whistle from Taehyung.

Jimin grinned, lowering his voice as he leaned in, “I knew something was going on since that HYBE tennis match. Don’t try to deny it, Y/N. You let him win.”

“I never let him win,” you replied smoothly, smirking as you pulled away.

“Oh, so he earned the number?” Jin piped in from his spot by the stopwatch, raising a brow. “Spicy.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming slightly. “He earned most of it.”

That earned a collective “Ooooooh” from the boys.

Then, finally, you approached Jungkook.

He sat at the edge of the pool, feet already dangling in the water, arms resting loosely on his knees. His hair was damp, pushed back slightly but still clinging in curls to his forehead. He was wearing sleek black swim trunks that clung to him in all the ways you were trying very hard not to notice.

When he looked up at you, he didn’t grin. He just smiled—small, soft, and tired in that quiet kind of way that said he was nervous. Hopeful.

“Hey,” he said.

You sat beside him, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “Hey.”

There was a beat of silence between you, filled only by the low slap of water against the tiled edges.

“You really planned all this?” you asked, voice low.

He glanced over at you, nodding. “All week. I had to bribe Jin with extra vocal warmups to time us, Tae brought the music, Jimin cleared the pool schedule. Hoseok helped me with my butterfly stroke, Namjoon... mostly gave moral support and broke a kickboard.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “All this for one digit?”

“No,” he said. “All this for you.”

Your heart jumped. You looked away before he could see it on your face. “Let’s see if you earn it then.”

He stood and offered you a hand. “Let me explain the rules.”

You took his hand and followed him to the starting side of the pool.

“Four laps. Freestyle. No flips—Jin’s judging,” Jungkook said, voice shifting into something more official. “Winner gets bragging rights… and, depending on how generous the loser feels, maybe a very important number.”

He met your eyes then, hopeful and devilish all at once.

You walked to the edge, took your stance, and tried not to think about how badly your hands were shaking—not from nerves about the race, but about what would happen after.

Jin raised a hand. “Swimmers ready?”

The boys were lined along the pool deck like rowdy high schoolers, all of them tossing playful commentary around like bets at a horse race.

“My money’s on Y/N,” Namjoon muttered, arms folded, eyeing your form as you adjusted your goggles. “She’s been a swimmer longer than she’s been a tennis player.”

Taehyung scoffed. “Bro, it’s been a month. No way Jungkook lets her win now. Not after all this. His soul is in this.”

“He trained,” Hoseok nodded. “Hard. He had nose plugs and everything.”

“She’s literally a fish,” Namjoon deadpanned.

“I’m just here for the post-race drama,” Yoongi added from the far end, already filming with his phone.

Jin raised both hands dramatically. “On my count… Three. Two. One—Go!”

The splash cracked through the air as both bodies dove cleanly into the water.

The first length was even. You were focused—tuned into your own pulse, the beat of the water in your ears, your strokes slicing cleanly. Jungkook was right beside you, strong and quick, though you noticed his form still held small tells: the extra breath, the subtle drag of his kick. You had the edge.

Turn. Second lap. Still neck and neck.

The boys were screaming now, some of them pacing along the side, shouting your names.

Third lap. You surged ahead, barely, but he caught up—his reach suddenly more precise, his rhythm sharper. You weren’t sure how, but he was pushing himself in a way that even you hadn’t expected.

Final turn.

The fourth lap burned.

Water blurred everything. You were kicking harder now, lungs screaming, arms threatening to give. Beside you, Jungkook was a shadow—steady, brutal, unwavering. You caught a flash of his shoulder, then nothing but the sound of your own breath and the race between two hearts that had spent a month circling each other.

You reached the edge—

Smack.

It was a photo finish.

Both of you gasped for air, arms over the edge of the pool, panting.

Silence.

Then Jin, from the edge, squinted at his stopwatch.

“…Jungkook. By half a second.”

Groans, cheers, and exaggerated wails erupted behind him.

Jimin launched a towel into the pool. “Are you kidding me?!”

Namjoon shook his head in disbelief. “Damn it. I really thought she had it.”

Taehyung leapt into the air. “LET’S GOOOOO!”

But you didn’t move. You stared at Jungkook, water dripping down his temples, his chest heaving, his smile slow to appear—but when it did, it was a whole-body kind of smile. A little stunned. A little euphoric.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and bright, your hand drifting up to push back your wet hair.

He looked at you then. Really looked.

And somehow, he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Water streamed from your limbs as you hoisted yourself out of the pool, muscles sore but humming with something sharper than fatigue. Jungkook climbed out just behind you, shaking droplets from his hair with a quick pass of his hand, his grin still practically glowing under the overhead lights.

You didn’t look at him at first. You just stood there catching your breath, towel slung lazily over your shoulder.

Then, finally, you said, “You know, I could’ve let you win.”

Jungkook turned toward you, raising a brow. “Could’ve?”

“Mhm.” You smirked. “Would’ve been very sportsmanlike of me. A generous final gift, even.”

Behind you, Jimin—who had clearly been eavesdropping—walked by, shaking his head as he looked directly at Jungkook. “She is definitely trying to compensate for the fact that she lost fair.”

You scoffed, flicking a little water his way, and Jimin laughed as he joined the rest of the group now spread out at the far end of the deck, all of them wrapped in casual towels, half-distracted, chatting and joking amongst themselves.

Now alone with Jungkook, your eyes flicked toward him. He looked like a storm settling—still catching his breath, chest rising beneath the curve of a wet tank top, eyes soft and unreadable in the glow of the pool lights.

“So,” he said, voice lower now. “Do I get the last digit?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Hmm. I don’t know. You did win. But then again… maybe it’s funnier if I don’t give it to you. Really keep the legend alive.”

He took a step closer. “Y/N.”

You bit your lip, weighing the joke on your tongue—but when you looked at him, really looked, all that teasing resolve dissolved.

With a low sigh, you reached for the pen you had tucked into your towel knot. Leaning down, you grabbed the corner of his palm and slowly wrote the last digit across his skin in clean, careful strokes.

He stared at it like it meant something—like it was something. Sacred. Earned.

“Finally,” he breathed, eyes not leaving yours.

Then, softer: “Can I kiss you now?”

You blinked, something catching in your chest.

The anticipation had been building for weeks, but now, on the other side of all the teasing and tension and unspoken confessions, his question made you go still. Not because you didn’t want it. But because of how he asked.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “you can.”

He kissed you gently.

No cocky grin. No aggressive pull. Just lips pressed to yours in a way that was surprisingly reverent—warm and slow, almost unsure, as though he’d been dreaming of it for too long to rush it now. His hand found the edge of your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your ear, anchoring you there in that perfect stretch of silence.

When you broke apart, barely, your voice came out breathier than you meant: “That was… softer than I expected.”

Jungkook tilted his head, smiling slightly. “You expected teeth?”

“I expected fire,” you said, eyes flicking to his mouth again. “That was… something else.”

Just then, a collective “OHHHHH!” erupted from the far end of the pool. The boys had clearly seen it—and they were absolutely losing it.

Taehyung jumped up, pumping a fist. “FINALLY!”

Jin clapped loudly, yelling, “Took you long enough! I was about to start charging rent for all this tension!”

Yoongi just smirked. “She gave you the number and the kiss. Call that a grand slam.”

You and Jungkook both burst out laughing, shoulders shaking as the warmth between you finally loosened into something familiar. You leaned into his side just a little, the smell of chlorine and summer clinging to your skin, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like you had to guard the look on your face.

It was all there.

Earned.

And written clearly across your smile.

The fluorescent lights of the locker room buzzed quietly overhead, casting soft glows against the damp tile as you stood beneath the rinse-off shower. Steam curled around your limbs as you lazily pushed the chlorine from your skin, fingers combing through wet hair.

Jungkook was a few stalls over, towel hanging low on his hips, water cascading in rivulets down the sinewy slope of his back. You didn’t look. Not directly.

“Still thinking about that kiss?” he called, voice casual but smug.

You snorted. “Still rinsing off your defeat, maybe.”

He laughed. “Right. That’s why you wrote your number on me like it was a trophy.”

You glanced over, catching just a sliver of him through the frosted glass, his outline sharp, body lean. “I didn’t know skin counted as paper.”

Jungkook hummed, the sound smooth and close. “Guess it depends what you’re writing.”

You rolled your eyes, smile tugging at your mouth. “You always this flirty when you’re half-naked?”

“I’m always this flirty when I’m winning.”

You tossed your towel over your shoulder and stepped out, water dripping from your hair as you padded toward the lockers, wrapped now in soft cotton. “Let’s not pretend I didn’t go easy on you.”

“I’ve been easy for you for weeks,” he said under his breath, stepping out of his stall just as you passed him.

You froze mid-step, lips parting. Then, quietly: “Did you really just say that?”

He smirked, raking his wet hair back with both hands. “Only fair you know the playing field.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away, trying not to let him see the smile curling at your lips. “I’m going to change. Try not to think about it too hard.”

“Too late for that.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder—one that said behave, and don’t you dare stop.

By the time you emerged, dressed in a loose black tee and faded jeans, Jungkook was already waiting outside the locker room, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped, keys dangling from his fingers.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, voice quieter now. Less teasing. More intent.

You cocked your head. “Finally seeing me off-campus, huh? Hope it’s not too weird for you.”

He grinned, stepping aside to let you pass. “Weirder would be not seeing you at all.”

The drive was filled with a quiet sort of buzz—the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just heavy with everything that had passed between you. City lights flickered past the windows, music playing low on the stereo. His hand stayed on the wheel. Yours toyed with the hem of your shirt, fingers tracing shapes into the fabric.

When he pulled up outside your place, the engine idled for a moment before he shifted into park.

You both stepped out, moving slowly, like you didn’t really want the night to end. The air was cooler here, brushing across your damp skin as you leaned back against the car.

Jungkook joined you, close but not touching, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing it.

And then—quietly, without a word—he leaned in.

This kiss wasn’t like the one by the pool.

This one was deeper.

Slower.

His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the space where your shirt lifted slightly, just enough to feel the warmth of your skin. His mouth moved against yours with the patience of someone who’d waited long enough and didn’t want to rush a second of it. You kissed him back with equal weight, breath hitching slightly when he tilted his head just right, when your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie and pulled.

You only broke apart when the need for air forced you to, both of you breathing heavy, foreheads resting against one another.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you breathed, eyes fluttering open. “That felt… overdue.”

He laughed softly, eyes tracing your lips. “So what now?”

You smiled, brushing your thumb against his jaw. “Now? You text me. Because you finally have my number.”

And when he laughed again, warm and rich and real, you realized just how much you’d wanted this—not the chase, not the clever banter or stubborn pride—but him.

And this—whatever it was—felt like just the beginning.

Later that night, your phone buzzed with a message that simply read: Worth every digit.

a/n: when i was writing this i reaslized that i was using she/her instead of “you” so i ctrl+f and changed is and didn’t realize it would change the sequence “her” and “she” so words like “bother” are now “botyou “ sorry

➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

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shibiichi · 1 month ago

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🌞 THE DAYCARE ATTENDANT 🌜

Sun & Moon updated ref!

Took me a bit to get the motivation finally, but here we are with an updated set of references for my DCA designs. Sorry for the lack of posting..! I can’t believe it’s pretty much the middle of the year now… It feels like February was just last month. Anyways! Onto the jesters!!

My AU primarily takes place after the events of that night, focusing on how the animatronics cope in the aftermath of The Vanny Virus. Sun and Moon are some of the most heavily affected mentally, due to their lack of contact with the other animatronics in the plex. Fortunately, now under new management, the jesters may start to heal—though only time will tell.

[full refs without text]

Below are refs of the DCA’s casing, as to better understand how they are constructed. Both of them have special built in visual features, allowing them to keep up with the little ones within the daycare!

Sun has advanced motion sensors, able to pick up where a little sunshine may be! He is more adept at scanning staff and customers for injuries and identification purposes, often very good at remembering faces! He is also better at parsing through subtle shifts in expression and body language, though he tends to overextend and assume the worse if someone indicates negativity. He is very attentive in that he will notice someone having a rainy day and spring into action to help, but that also means he’s susceptible to overanalyzing social cues and misinterpreting them. He can access Moon’s infrared (visualized by his blue pupils turning red) but he doesn’t tend to rely on it, especially since infrared vision is less effective in bright areas!

Moon also has motion sensors, though he is not as in-tune to them as Sun, therefore relying on his advanced night vision and infrared capabilities. He is not as good at remembering faces (often relying heavily on system records) but he is better with names and recognizing voices. Moon’s irises are red due to his infrared sensors, his pupils white due to night vision. He can simultaneously view both cameras at once, though think of it like watching a larger camera feed with a secondary feed displayed in the bottom corner. Moon is much more introverted than Sun, before and after the virus. (Though after the virus he tends to be prone to self isolation) He is fairly emotionally intelligent, but he doesn’t know how to act around others in a way that he feels Sun excels at easily. He tends to be more to the point with broken sentences, while Sun is more likely to over explain and repeat himself. Moon was created to be the villain to Sun’s hero, and despite him not being truly a bad person the virus made him into the boogeyman he played onstage.

Both animatronics, due to sharing the same body, have 360 joint rotation and are extremely flexible. If there is a separation in plating, there’s a good chance they have full range in that area. The only segmented part of their body that does not have rotation would be the chest piece! It is able to open much like Freddy’s stomach hatch, though there is no space dedicated for oversized birthday cakes or piñatas. Directly under their arms (often hidden by their sleeves) are two ‘U’ shaped cut outs. Aligned with these cut outs are a secondary set of arms snugly folded within the chest plate, ready to spring out when the DCA enters their shared ECLIPSE MODE. Nestled above these arms are a few smaller storage areas and their shared voicebox! One storage area is for general safe keeping, one something similar to a mini fridge, and the last (and smallest) basically being the equivalent of a trash can. This storage bin is used to collect food products as the DCA is able to ‘eat’ to an extent, though they rarely open their mouth. The feature is used to encourage picky eaters and sharing, as some children like to share their snacks with the DCA. Located within their stomach area is an advanced music box capable of mixing and matching keys in order to create new songs on the fly!

Their head shape takes on a vaguely humanoid appearance, having a protrusion in the back much like a skull’s cranium. However, Sun and Moon’s head and face structure are distinctly disproportionate to a human’s, lacking a more distinct nose and jaw. Unlike the canon design, this DCA does not have exposed wiring on the back of their faceplate, rather a slightly rounded compartment effectively holding their ‘brains’. The compartment is covered by a hand sewn bonnet, one Moon created for Sun as a gift. Their neck is covered by flexible casing making the general shape of an organic human neck, though over twice as long. A joint within the neck allows for the piece to be articulated, though to avoid the uncanny valley the DCA is designed to wear an oversized ruffle.

Composure wise, Sun is more animated and jittery, often needing to move or fidget in some way. He likes to skip and often fully involves himself into whatever interaction he’s taking part in. He’ll go from standing tall to crouching down, playing up his antics but never straying too far into what would be considered inhuman movements. He is more likely to use his hands to express himself while he talks. Moon is the exact opposite, often defaulting to deliberately slow or minimal movements. While he doesn’t play up his actions as much as Sun does, he will make a point to try and convey a purposeful feeling with his movements. When anxious, Moon can be surprisingly quick, though it comes off more in a harsh snapping manner than a more fluid motion. He often startles others as they don’t see him move. He does his best not to make himself feel bigger when interacting with others, keeping his posture down and his hand movements lacking. He does have a tendency to wring his hat or chew on a star shaped teether when highly anxious, as he’s grown to need a physical outlet after the events of the virus. Moon prefers to contort himself much more than Sun, often not concerned with how creepy they can look. (He does try to make it less obvious when interacting with others though, especially children.)

Sun and Moon also have deep pockets in their pants, one for Sun’s stuff and the other for Moon’s! Sun’s pocket usually contains a handful of Sunnydrops, a Fazbear bandaid box, individual alcohol wipes, and a mini tissue container. (Like the plastic ones you peel open!) Moon’s side has his hat (when not worn), a star shaped teething toy, a red foam stress ball, and a light up rubber ball. He does not keep Moondrops in his pockets due to their high melatonin content, rather keeping them locked away in a compartment near the naptime area.

Anyways!! That’s enough from me! Feel free to leave asks about these guys or their AU if you’re curious, I love yapping lol! Thank you for getting to the bottom of this post, Nighty Night!

[Dividers provided by @/saradika here on Tumblr]

#fnaf #five night at freddy’s security breach #five nights at freddy's #fnafsb #fnaf security breach #daycare attendant #sun and moon fnaf #sun fnaf #fnaf sun #moon fnaf #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #dca fandom #fnaf dca #vanilla au

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emo-batboy · 2 years ago

Text

Battinson on SNL

Idk how popular Saturday Night Live is outside of the US so there will be some links for context. That said, as a New Jersey native, I think Battinson would totally watch the show. And since he's a celebrity...👀

To promote WE’s newest charity fund, Alfred signs Bruce up to be a guest host on SNL (à la this post) The announcement is made, and everyone’s like “oh this is going to be a disaster. That man can’t even hold eye contact or speak a full sentence without crying.”

But oh, that’s why it’s so funny.

Now, hear me out. Bruce’s strengths are displayed best when he’s himself. That’s why he’s so popular in Gotham. That’s why the internet calls him Relatable TM and a Disaster (Affectionate) and “Poor Little Meow Meow.” It’s his ✨ essence ✨

But he tends to get overwhelmed or self-conscious onstage, right? Because he can’t be Himself himself if he has time to overthink something. So after a few meetings with Bruce, the writers of SNL figure out the perfect way to keep Bruce from getting anxious.

They decide to load this episode with as many skits where Bruce plays different caricature-like versions of himself as possible. The objective? Make him break character and laugh so he doesn’t overthink. And if he breaks character, he’ll still technically be in character because he’s playing himself, you know? Genius.

So that’s how they go about structuring the show. During the few days they have to write, they decide to take everything about Bruce’s public image and either ramp it up to 11 or turn it on its head.

He speaks quietly? Turn it into a running gag. He dresses in all black? Make him emo. He tips well? Add that in too. He’s “depressed” and “sad?” Literally, all he does on screen is laugh and break character. What’s not to love?

Of course, Bruce also gets to decide what skits are in each episode as well. (Refer to this if you have no idea how SNL works.) He loves the idea, though, and he has a surprisingly dark sense of humor which bleeds into some of the sketches. They add in a few skits without him, and they’ve got their lineup.

It’s the wildest episode of the season. Here are the highlights:

OPENING MONOLOGUE

It’s the big night, everyone’s excited to see Bruce Wayne hosting a live sketch comedy show with no idea how it will turn out.

To begin his monologue, Bruce walks on, opens his mouth to start talking, and immediately two cast members appear as stagehands to set up six microphones in front of him. He is already struggling to keep himself together.

Bruce: “You may be wondering why I’m host- Cast Member: *adds one more tiny microphone to his chest* Bruce: “You may be wondering why I’m hosting tonight.”

It’s working. The audience loves it.

Halfway through, Kate McKinnon comes out in a dark cloak with a chalice. “Your sustenance, my lord.” *sees camera* “Oh. Sorry. Carry on.” And she shambles off. Bruce has to take a second before continuing.

Bruce knows when (most of) the jokes come. It’s literally on the cue cards, but he still falls into a fit of giggles.

There are a few more gags, including Lex Luthor peeking out from behind the band set-up, all teasing the show to come.

Overall, an amazing way to set the tone for the episode. Expectations have been set. Then the skits begin!

(Oh but before I forget: During every single live skit with Bruce, the writers have scheduled for one of the cast members to run in dressed as a stagehand and put an extra mic on him. They do not tell him when it will happen.)

SKIT #1

Between the monologue and the first skit, he has to do a really fast quick change, but to everyone’s surprise, Bruce is a natural. (Huh, wonder why.)

The skit is called Gotham PTA Meeting. We open in a meeting room full of stereotypical PTA moms setting down baked goods and gossiping. And apparently, there is a new PTA member attending today 👀

Right as the meeting starts, he enters. Bruce walks in wearing the most emo get-up imaginable. He’s got a Nirvana shirt, a comical amount of eyeliner, black skinny jeans, chain accessories, metal rings, AND a clip-in extension to give him fringe.

Someone immediately runs in and puts another mic on him.

PTA Mom: “Oh, Bruce! You made it! Did you bring a snack?” Bruce: “I brought lemon bars.” PTA Mom: “Why are they black?” Bruce: “They match my soul…they’re also vegan.”

He talks like a moody teenager. HE CONSTANTLY has to brush the fringe off to the side to read the cue cards. And because there’s so much eyeliner and he’s sweating a bit from the lights, it starts running everywhere.

PTA Mom: “Bruce, you’re a little quiet. What are your thoughts on increasing the school lunch budget?” Bruce: *eyeliner dripping down his chin* “I think it’s a great idea.”

SKIT #2

For a pre-filmed skit, they bring back the Chad character with Pete Davidson.

It’s 2 am, and Chad is working at a 24hr drug store in Gotham. He’s reading Twilight (the book is upside down) when the lights begin to flicker.

He turns around and tries the light switch, turns back around, and JUMPSCARE it’s Bruce dressed as Edward from Twilight.

Yes, he IS sparkly.

Bruce is awkwardly holding a bunch of items, all concerning. He plops down a few knives, several raw meats, Sudafed. Chad: “Oh hey.” Bruce: O_O “I’d like to check out please.” Chad: “Lit.”

Chad’s “No Fucks Given” energy and Bruce’s “Please Do Not Perceive Me” energy clash like titans. The whole skit centers around it.

Bruce: *sweating bullets* “Oh. You’re reading Twilight?” Chad: “Just the title.” Bruce: *throws the book through the window at lightning speed* “It’s not very good. You should probably read something else.” Chad: *shrugs* “Okay.”

Chad: “ID?” Bruce: “ID? For what?” Chad: “Sudafed.” Bruce: “Oh. I don’t really need that, actually.” Chad: “Already scanned it.” Bruce: “Haha. Of course.” *awkwardly produces a scroll from his pocket that says Bruce Wayne DOB: 1901* Chad: “Okay.”

Bruce checks out, Chad picks up a porno mag or something, and we see Bruce turn into a bat and fly off through the window behind him.

SKIT #3

The next skit they have is Celebrity Family Feud: Billionaires Edition. Again, Bruce plays himself, but he’s more of a background character. Instead, the skit makes fun of billionaires as a whole.

Bruce’s team consists of Kylie Jenner, Lex Luthor, and Oliver Queen. So just imagine three Lucille Bluths standing beside one another.

Bruce’s bit? He just keeps handing cash to Steve Harvey every time he breathes in his direction.

Host: "We got the richest man in the world: Bruce Wayne!" Bruce: *hands him a roll of cash* Host: "Oh, what’s this for?" Bruce: "It’s your tip. I always tip." Host: "Oh, Mr. Wayne, you don’t usually tip the show host. I’m also a millionaire myself." Lex Luthor: *snatches it* "Well, if you’re not going to use it, I will…for charity, of course." Host: "Uh huh, whatever helps you sleep at night."

Just a ton of fun quips, the usual.

At some point, Harvey says, “That’s batty.” Bruce: *ducks* “Where?!” Host: “Oh, I don’t mean Batman. He’s not here.” Bruce: “You don’t know that.”

This time, the mic bit is a bit different.

Host: “We asked 100 billionaires: How much does a loaf of bread cost? Top three answers are on the board.” Bruce: *hits buzzer* Host: Bruce, your answer is? Cast Member: *runs in with a megaphone and holds it in front of Bruce* Bruce: “TEN DOLLARS?”

Board dings! That was the #1 answer

Brucie Wayne for the win

SKIT #4

Next is a skit that dares to ask Gotham, “Why would anyone live here?”

The skit begins with someone opening a press conference for Wayne Enterprises. “And now presenting: Bruce Wayne!” Bruce walks in…

But it’s not him. Instead, it’s one of the cast members dressed in a black suit with horribly gelled brown hair.

Everyone in the audience is wondering where the actual Bruce is before another cast member runs onstage crying, “Help! Help! I’ve just been robbed! Somebody call Batman!”

A mini version of the bat-signal lights up…

We hear some generic hero music play…

And there he is: Bruce Wayne dressed in a horribly cheap Batman costume

(They got the cowl ALL wrong btw)

Bruce puts his hands on his hips in a weird superhero pose. Bruce: “I’m Batm-” Cast Member: *runs out to attach another mic to his costume* Bruce: “….I’m Batman!”

Cue all of the gags and digs against Batman. The fake Bruce faints then starts crying under a table. Someone calls Batman a furry. Bruce is barely keeping it together the whole time. Lord help him, but he asked for it. He approved the skit.

Bruce: “Looks like a job for my bat taser!” Cast Member: “Isn’t that just a taser with a bat on it?” Bruce: *whispers* “You shut your mouth.”

He saves the day, the police take the thief into custody, then Batman myStErioUsly disappears. Bruce: “Look over there!” *runs off* Cast Member: “Oh my gooood, how did he do that?”

CLOSING SEGMENT

Finally, they have the Weekend Update where Bruce comes on as himself for the final time.

Since they got his permission, the writers switch out some of Bruce’s jokes last minute. (Think Bill Hader’s Stefon which notoriously caused him to break character because the writers would mess with his cue cards.)

News Anchor: “Here to promote his newest humanitarian project: Bruce Wayne!” “Mr. Wayne, what a pleasure to see you today.” Bruce: “Thank you. This is probably the longest I’ve been out of the house.” News Anchor: “Since the Riddler catastrophe?” Bruce: “Since ever.”

News Anchor: “So Mr. Wayne! Before you make your announcement, any life updates?” Bruce: “Yes, actually. Just a few days ago, I adopted five- *starts losing it* five more children.” News Anchor: “Wow, really? So you have eight kids now.” Bruce: “Uh huh. *tears streaming down his face* One more orphan and I get the tenth one free.”

News Anchor: “So where can people find you online?” Bruce: “Well, I don’t have social media because I’m afraid of people, but sometimes I’m on Twitter.” News Anchor: “What about a phone call?” Bruce: “Oh no, phone calls- *giggle* phone calls give me fainting spells.”

It’s a great way of finishing the show, with the most genuine version of Bruce. Then, he gets to what’s really important!

News Anchor: “So if they can’t reach you on social media or on the phone, what else can our viewers do, Mr. Wayne?” Bruce: “They can donate to the Wayne Foundation’s newest charity called The Arts Initiative. It funds programs for the arts in underdeveloped school districts nationwide. I’ve already donated $30 million, and I’ve pledged to match every dollar donated within the next week.”

And that’s what he’s here for :) They share a link for where and how to donate. The anchors praise him for his charity, which he deflects because he can definitely afford this, and the 90-minute broadcast is over.

The camera pans away with the whole cast waving goodbye, and Bruce is seen keeling over with laughter.

Along with some of the other skits, these four specifically go viral. WE raises a fuck ton of money, and everyone loves Bruce.

THE END

LOVE YOU ALL!! Let me know what you think :D

#battinson #bruce wayne #batman #batman 2022 #the batman 2022 #the batman #battinson needs a hug #gotham #dc universe #dc #saturday night live #snl #soft bruce wayne #batdad #batfamily #gotham city #brucie wayne #only in gotham #give battinson a child 2k23

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fandomlit · 21 days ago

Text

something like falling (anthony padilla x reader)

requested by anon "omg! your ‘everyone’s a suspect’ smosh fic was soooo cute!! i was def side-eyeing ian but i loved who it ended up being 🥰 would you consider a pt 2 about how the info spreads or even a prequel to how the relationship began? tysm for reading, have a great day! 💞"

summary anthony finds himself falling hard for you at first sight, but is scared to make you uncomfortable in the workplace. meanwhile, you're grappling with the dilemma of crushing on your new boss while being a newer smosh cast member. this is the prequel to this fic!

warnings drinking and alcohol, swearing

gif cred belongs to @femmmie

anthony was drawn to you the first time he saw you.

it was one of the first visits he had made to set as he and ian were discussing buying back smosh. they were supposed to have a meeting, but the schedule had somehow gotten behind and ian was still in a shoot when anthony arrived. anthony popped into set, greeting some familiar faces quietly, as he watched ian and a few of the cast wrap up a gameshow-style video.

"now, this is a y/n tweet from 2016," ian announced, turning toward the board.

anthony noted a woman grinning at the contestant stand on the very edge. she shrugged at the camera with a grin that anthony couldn't describe as anything other than beautiful. "that wasn't that long ago."

"that was almost ten years ago, but thank you, y/n." your jaw dropped as some of the crew laughed out. "y/n in 2016 you said, "changing all of my socials to ___ ___ ___ just for the attention"." all eyes turned to you as your brow furrowed.

"now.. this was 2016," you spoke, shaking your head. "i'm going with logic this time, if you couldn't tell."

"good move," damien nodded from next to you.

"this was a big year," ian contributed. "big things happening."

"yeah, vine died," courtney offered.

"harambe, too," you pointed out. you serious, casual way of saying it made courtney burst out into laughter, damien letting out a 'wow'. a smile started to break through, but you worked through it by continuing to speak. anthony found he couldn't look away from you as you verbally worked through some 2016 trends, dropping the serious facade to meld into something that seemed more comfortable for you—a more bubbly demeanor. he imagined that could only be your personality. he hoped he had the chance to find out.

"okay, yeah," you nodded, leaning forward on your stand. "i'm locking in with 'who is harambe'! seems safe."

"let's see if safe is enough-!" ian spoke, gesturing to the screen, where the blanks were filled. you immediately folded over on yourself with laughter as courtney gasped dramatically, damien letting out a surprised laugh. ""changing all of my socials to vine deserved it just for the attention"," ian read out. "that's brutal for its time."

"yeah, that was pretty meta, wasn't it?" you giggled once you straightened yourself, your face flushed with laughter.

"stop trying to use the word meta!" spencer demanded from offstage and you laughed again, leaning onto your stand. anthony found himself grinning as a lot of the crew laughed. "you're not using it right!"

"i will never stop," you assured determinedly, eyes bright as you grinned sweetly at a camera. anthony felt something tug lightly in his chest.

"alright, cut! let's break for lunch and then film the next round," emily announced. anthony watched as the cast onstage took off their mic packs before walking off together, ian shaking his head at you as he spoke. you just grinned, shrugging at him. anthony couldn't help his smile.

"hey! there he is!" ian greeted, opening his arms to wrap his friend in a hug. damien and courtney greeted him after the hug before anthony turned to you. "anthony, this is y/n, one of the newer additions to our cast."

you held out a hand to him with a sweet smile, "nice to meet you."

"you too, y/n," he spoke kindly as he met your eyes, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. he was just thinking of how he liked how your name rolled of his tongue when ian clapped his hands together, breaking the brief spell.

"so, let's get to this meeting, shall we?"

anthony had small interactions with you for a while after that, but every detail he learned, every conversation no matter how short, and every smile you gave him left him grinning and with that familiar tug in his chest; he was falling for you without even meaning it. but it was the party they threw for the official buying back of smosh that he couldn't ignore the feelings any longer.

he had stepped outside for a moment to get some fresh air. both the alcohol and the energy of the party had him in a high he had never felt before, but he feared he was going to suffocate if he didn't get a gulp of cold air. he took a deep breath, sighing loudly as his skin instantly cooled.

"yeah, that's fine, you can join me." anthony jumped, sloshing some of his drink onto his arm as his free hand gripped his heart. you were laughing at the other end of the balcony, out of view of the door.

"jesus, y/n," he huffed as you turned toward him, giggling. "i could've jumped right off this balcony."

"you've got the long legs for it," you considered. "but i don't think i was that scary."

he chuckled, tucking a hand into his pocket and stepping closer to you, leaning against the balcony next to you. "i don't think you could be scary if you tried."

you shrugged. "you're right." he chuckled. "i can't even argue." there was a moment where you both looked over the city lights, a cool breeze sweeping through the night.

"so what are you doing out here?" anthony asked, raising his cup to his lips. "everything alright?"

"oh, yeah," you nodded. "just started overheating in there with all the excitement.”

he nodded in understanding, smiling at the way the wind ruffled your hair and you embraced it with peacefully shut eyes. you were so effortlessly gorgeous. the alcohol in his system threatened to voice that thought. he redirected his mind by instead speaking, “what's your favorite fruit?"

the laugh you let out in your surprise was well worth the stupid question, and he couldn't help but grin at you. you turned your sparkling eyes to him as you gave your answer.

as he stood on the balcony chatting with you, anthony couldn’t help how the butterflies in his stomach when he usually spoke to you, tugging on his heart, suddenly multiplied. by trying to redirect his thoughts of you with conversation, he had instead succeeded in falling harder for you.

it just seemed to get worse for him from there.

your office interactions turned from waves and small talk to seeking each other out for conversation, appearing with each other's favorite drinks, waiting for each other to finish shoots before going to get food on slower days, and endless smiles and laughs shared.

what had been an innocent curiosity about the pretty new girl was now full blown falling for anthony; he was flirting without hinting too much, complimenting you just to see your reaction, touching you when it wasn't even necessary. he was in too deep and he knew it, and yet he couldn't stop. he didn't want to stop.

anthony had been half-locked in and half-zoning out as he started at the scheduling spreadsheet for the week when something pressed his arm. he looked down to see your fingers pressing a warm mug to forearm and blinked in surprise.

"you've been in that exact position staring for at least ten minutes," you giggled, drawing away from him to perch in the seat across from his desk. "or at least, as long as it takes for me to walk by, make us both a drink, and come back."

"i didn't even notice any of that," he chuckled, blinking out of his haze. "i think i need more caffeine." you pointed to the mug you had just set down and he sighed, bringing a hand up to rub his face. "how did i already forget that was there?" your bubbly giggle brought a smile to his face, however. "thank you."

"you're very welcome," you hummed, taking a sip of your own mug. "i've got to run to the games shoot soon, but i can stay and chat for a few if you don't mind."

"how could i say no to the girl who brought me coffee?" he smiled. you giggled again as anthony took a long sip of the warm drink. "holy shit, how did you know how i make my coffee?"

you shrugged nonchalantly, but your smile was proud as you said, "i observe my friends, anthony. i like to know what they like."

"you are so wonderful," he sighed, taking another long drink with a swelling heart. hearing your chuckle gracing his ears brought some memories to the front of his tired mind, and he spoke, "you know, i knew you were gonna be cool the day we met."

you laughed out in surprise. "what? really?"

"oh, yeah," he nodded. "it was when you, damien, and courtney were doing 'you posted that' and i walked in and caught some of it. i just saw you were funny and happy and.. it was just so natural." you smiled, a small blush tinting your cheeks. "and then later that day you struck up conversation by asking me my favorite dinosaur and i just knew you were cool."

"oh, god," you laughed again at the memory and he chuckled with you. "that's my go-to when getting to know someone. it's such a good ice breaker."

anthony gestured around you both to the where you were now. "obviously, it worked."

you let out a content sight, sinking lower in the chair. anthony looked at you fondly, or at least with a deep fondness in his heart as you grinned at him, "always does."

again, anthony knew he was in deep.

and he knew he was your boss, and that would cause a mess. he would hate that, in a world where you reciprocated his feelings, if it didn't work and you two didn't last, you'd still be working at his company. and no matter what happened, he didn't want to put you in a difficult spot like that. so, he stuck to lunches and desk conversations and shitty shared memes. any way to show you he was thinking about you even when he shouldn't have been.

and then the perfect storm gathered at a work party at ian's.

you were starting to feel like you were sick in the head. the frequency in which you thought of anthony should've been some kind of crime, or workplace violation, or something of the sort. you were bursting at the seams with it, it felt, and you hated that you had fallen so hard for your boss in only a year of knowing him. it was painful and wonderful all at once to feel so attached to someone you felt you couldn't have.

when you had a few drinks in you at ian's, you couldn't stop looking over at anthony. the way he smiled, gave everyone he was talking to his undivided attention, and played any game ian dragged him into--it all had you swooning. you felt like you were going to explode with all of your thoughts.

you had no clue that anthony was going through something similar on his side of the party. it felt like everything was coming to the forefront of his mind, the perfect storm brewing.

“you doing alright?” you looked back to see anthony stepping out onto the balcony, too. you were on the dizzy cusp of tipsy and drunk, and you needed to feel some coolness on your skin before it got to be too overwhelming. your heart involuntarily skipped a beat at the sight of anthony smiling at you in the moonlight.

“yeah,” you smiled as you turned toward him, leaning your elbows against the railing. “just needed some air. the dirty shirleys started getting to me.”

"i see," he nodded. "those things are dangerous."

"they are," you sighed, tilting your head back to look up at the night sky. you were far enough from the bright city lights that you could just barely see some stars. you were blissfully unaware of how anthony smiled at the sight. "but angela was pouring them, and i've never been known to say no to her. plus she looks really pretty tonight. it was my own personal recipe for disaster."

“you know, you’re a very sweet drunk,” he smiled, coming to stand in front of you. your meddled mind only wanted him to stand closer to you.

“thank you,” you hummed instead of voicing those thoughts. "i like to think i'm sweet all the time, though."

anthony chuckled, raising his cup to his lips. he spoke with such sincerity that it felt like he stabbed your heart when he said, "you are."

you smiled at him for a moment, letting the compliment ring in the night before you broke, “you don’t look drunk at all.”

he shrugged, looking out into the distance. “it’s good that i don’t look it.” you chuckled and he smiled down at you, taking another step toward you. “but i’m definitely feeling it. not like, a lot, but i’m feeling it.”

you sighed, breathing out, “me too.” when you looked at anthony he was still smiling at you, seemingly way closer than he was before to your drunk mind. "but i definitely look it."

anthony shrugged again. "i don't think so." he inched closer.

you looked at him, heart speeding up as you hoped he was thinking what you were. "no?" even closer.

“no," he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "i think you just look beautiful." before your drunk mind could even process it, anthony leaned the final inch forward to press his lips softly to yours. it was like lightning in both of your veins, the perfect storm striking true. you reciprocated instantly, taking one arm off the balcony to cup his face. he was gentle despite the courage scorching through him, taking his sweet time with slow kisses, dropping his cup to tangle a hand in your hair and settle the other on your waist. the feeling of your lips on his, the snap of tension he always felt in his heart around you, was more of a relief than the cool air.

he pulled away from you for a second just to look at you, taking in the sight of your parted lips and bright eyes gazing at him from so close. there were a thousand emotions swirling in your gaze, and he was sure his was the same, and he was about to lean in for another kiss when the door to the balcony creaked open. a very drunk ian stumbled out, tripping over himself just enough that when you two sprung apart, he had just barely looked up.

"anthony, you have- oh hey, y/n!- you have to come inside. we have to sing karaoke."

anthony laughed, trying to snap himself out of the stupor the kiss had just put him in in an effort to look normal. he pressed the back of his hand to his lips, as if he could physically feel the tingling that was spreading through his whole body.

and with one final glance back at you, anthony returned inside, leaving you staring at his spilled drink.

at work on monday, you looked up when you heard a knock on the kitchen door. anthony was standing there, leaned against the doorframe as he looked at you with a smile.

you giggled, face flushing instantly at the memories that had been searing in your brain since saturday night, "come in?"

"can we talk for a moment?" he asked casually. you nodded and he closed the kitchen door before walking toward you. your heart hammered with every step he took--you knew this had been coming. tried your best to prepare for it. but you still weren't ready for what had to be done. "i, uh, just wanted to talk about saturday."

you nodded with a gulp. "right, yeah." he nodded, too, and looked down for a moment as he seemed to be gathering the words. you steeled your heart, something you weren't at all used to doing, before taking a breath and speaking, "we can just let it go. it's alright with me."

anthony looked up at you with a furrowed brow. "what?"

you swallowed, placing your mug on the counter as you spoke, "i know it doesn't look great for the boss and a girl who hasn't even been here two years to.. i don't know, do or be anything other than friends or coworkers, so i'm alright with just.. forgetting what happened on saturday." anthony was still looking at you, seemingly at a loss for words. your hammering heart urged you to fill the silence, so you spoke words that you absolutely didn't resonate with, "it shouldn't happen again."

anthony, in a last ditch effort to be completely transparent even though his heart was hammering with ache, spoke, "i was actually going to say that it should." you blinked in surprise. "i don't regret what happened at all, besides getting interrupted. and maybe the alcohol involved, but i was in my right mind. but if that's how you feel, i'll let it go. i would hate to make you uncomfortable." you stood there in stunned silence for a moment, and anthony took that for discomfort. he nodded, not quite looking at you, before turning to walk away.

until he felt a hand grab his arm. though your touch was light, it instantly stopped him in his tracks to turn to you.

"i didn't mean that," you spoke, eyes sparkling in a way that was similar to the other night, minus the starlight. "i just said it because i thought it's what you were going to say, and i thought i would've looked dumb if i was just some girl telling her boss that she really wanted to kiss him again."

and it was like the ache had never been in his heart at all.

"let me take you to dinner tonight," anthony said softly, eyeing as a few people walked by the kitchen, but didn't enter. he smiled down at you, closer than he probably should've been to you in a semi-public space. "please."

you smiled back at him. "i would love that."

the tug in his heart that he always felt around you was back, but in a more excited way than usual. he looked around, making sure no one was wandering nearby, before pressing a kiss to your lips and grinning at you when you gave him a look of shock, looking around to be sure that no one spied you two.

"sorry," he chuckled as you blushed. "i've just been wanting to kiss you sober."

you let out a quiet surprised chuckle, running a hand through your hair. "well, if you play your cards right, you'll get plenty more of those."

anthony grinned as he backed toward the door. "i'll see you tonight, y/n."

your grin matched as you hummed, "don't be late, anthony."

it was about two months later when you finally slapped the paperwork down on ian's desk. he let out a heavy sigh, as if some great weight was taken off of his chest.

"jesus, he's been saying he's going to ask you for weeks," ian huffed, leaning back in his chair as you grinned. "i was worried you said no or he fucked it up."

you giggled, "no. he just took his sweet time, i guess."

"i'll sign it all and file it before the end of the day," he said, offering you a smile. "but who's going to tell all the cast members crushing on sweet ol' y/n?"

you shook your head and rolled your eyes at him. "as if there's a line." ian furrowed his brow at you.

"do you seriously not know?"

now it was your turn to furrow your brow. "know what?"

she seriously doesn't know this whole office is crushing on her?! ian thought to himself, almost letting his jaw drop. but he decided against it. "nothing." he shook his head. you just shrugged innocently. "just be nice to him, please. i love him."

you leaned over ian's desk, placing a hand atop the papers. "here's a little secret for you.." you cupped a hand around your mouth as you whispered, "i do too."

"if i had the energy, i'd do a victory dance," ian assured you as you leaned back with a blushing smile. "but i have to record TNTL in an hour, and i'm saving up. but i'll do it afterwards. check your phone around 4." you laughed out and ian smiled at you again, speaking sincerely, "i'm very happy for you, y/n."

"me too," you winked, backing toward the door of his office. "and i know you know this from talking to anthony, but you're the only one trusted with this secret right now, ian. we're not quite ready to go boasting about the office."

he held his hands up innocently. "absolutely. it's your business--i'm just the paperwork keeper slash best friend."

"thank you, ian. i'll catch you later?"

ian nodded. "we have to start planning our prank for bit city," he reminded you. "we'll start the meetings soon."

"works for me," you grinned. "see ya!" and you walked out, holding the door for a smiling angela.

"thanks, gorgeous," she cooed at you, entering ian's office. "what's up ian? you said you had an idea for the try not to laugh?" ian watched as angela's eyes flitted around his office before landing on the paperwork right in front of him and widening in the slightest.

shit, ian thought to himself, choosing to ignore the obvious papers instead of draw any more attention to it. after pitching his idea to her and her laughing out her agreement before leaving his office, he assured himself, it'll be fine. angela's not a gossip..

here's the og fic if anyone missed it! everyone's a suspect (surprise!smosh x reader)

#smosh x reader #smosh cast x reader #smosh fanfic #smosh cast fanfic #ian hecox fanfic #anthony padilla #anthony padilla x reader #anthony padilla fanfic #youtubers x reader #youtubers fanfic #youtuber x reader #youtuber fanfic

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starsinthesky5 · 2 months ago

Note

ok ok so i’ve had this in my head FOR A WHILE and just kept forgetting to send it to you

but since songbird is based off of taylor, what was Joe’s reaction to the Brazil (I think it was Brazil) show? like it got so hot that she’s struggling to breathe, maybe panicking a little.

lowkey hope this makes sense lmao

a/n: HI MY LOVE <3 ty for sending this in

also, the fic series is not up to the tour storyline yet, but take this as another peek into it like i did a few months ago with this ask!

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh god. if joe had been watching that brazil show live, there’s no way he stayed calm. especially if he wasn’t there in person.

he was in pittsburgh, holed up in a quiet corner suite the team booked for away games. it was late—past 11—room lit only by the muted glow of the bathroom light and the flickering of his ipad screen, propped up on the pillows beside him. he was supposed to be asleep by now. that’s what he told her he’d do. but he couldn't help it. he never missed a show if he didn’t have to. especially not when she was overseas, out of reach, singing her heart out in a place where the heat was breaking records and even fans were fainting.

he watched with one earbud in, hoodie up, covers kicked off his legs because his body ran hot at night. his forearm was slung over his eyes like maybe that would help him ignore the adrenaline that always bubbled up when he watched her perform. every night it happened like clockwork, the same soft awe that curled through his chest when she hit her high notes, when the crowd screamed her name, when her smile spread so wide he could feel it in his bones.

and then it happened.

at first, he thought the audio glitched. she paused between songs, longer than usual. too long. and when the camera angle shifted, his gut twisted.

she stepped back a little too slow, like her balance wasn’t quite right. her hand rose to her chest. he saw the way her shoulders hitched—fast, shallow breaths. her lips moved like she was trying to say something, but no sound came through.

and then her hand went to her neck.

joe’s stomach plummeted.

he sat bolt upright, yanking the earbud out and turning the ipad volume all the way up. his heart pounded against his ribs, cold sweat slicking his palms. he leaned in, scanning the screen like he could read her mind, like maybe he could will her body to breathe for her. the lights kept flashing. the crowd was still screaming. but all he could see was her. the way her eyes blinked fast, searching the stage for someone. the way her other hand braced on her thigh. the faint, shaky wobble in her knees.

panic. real, raw panic.

he knew that look. he’s had that look.

and suddenly, he was moving.

already dialing her manager. already flipping open his laptop, opening the group text thread with her team, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“what’s happening.”

“is she okay??”

“SOMEONE GET HER WATER.”

his thumbs could barely keep up with his racing mind. he refreshed the thread twice. his heart thundered like it was trying to punch through his chest. every second that ticked by without an update made him feel physically sick.

he knew how hot that show was. he’d seen the photos—sweat-soaked fans, security handing out bottles like lifelines. he’d heard the warnings about the heat index, how people were being treated for heat exhaustion before she even stepped onstage.

but he hadn’t expected this.

hadn’t expected to watch the love of his life nearly collapse on stage in real time, her body trying to push through something it physically couldn’t take. he didn’t breathe again until he saw her crouch down near the edge of the stage and someone—god bless whoever it was—rushed over with a water bottle and a towel. she took both with shaky hands. stayed down for a beat too long. and then slowly, so slowly, held her mic again raised it to her mouth.

“i just need a second, okay?” she told the crowd, her voice small, rough around the edges. “just…just give me a minute,”.

he could hear how unsteady she was, how hard she was working to keep it together. and still, even then the crowd screamed her name, chanting it like a prayer.

joe stood up, pacing now. one hand fisted in his hair. the other pressed to his chest. he didn’t know what else to do. he wanted to be on that stage. wanted to lift her off her feet and carry her straight into the nearest air-conditioned room. wrap her in a cold towel. rub her back. hold her hand until her breathing slowed.

he came so close to calling her. hovered over her name in his favorites list. but he knew she was still mid-show. he knew she wouldn’t answer. so instead, he left a voicemail. just to feel like he was doing something.

“baby. please. call me. i just need to hear your voice, okay? i need to know you're alright,”.

when she finally called hours later—hair damp, skin pink from the shower, voice still hoarse—he couldn’t speak at first. he just stared at the screen, jaw clenched, blinking too fast.

she gave him a tired smile. “hi, joey,”.

his throat tightened. “baby. jesus. don’t ever scare me like that again,”.

she laughed, but it cracked down the middle. her eyes welled. “i didn’t know if i was gonna pass out or throw up or both,” she admitted, voice whisper-soft. “i couldn’t breathe. my lungs felt like they were cooking,”.

he let out a long breath, running a hand over his mouth, his face. “i almost flew down there,”.

her lips parted. “joey—,”.

“i’m serious. i didn’t even care that i had game tomorrow. i had my bag halfway packed,”.

“you’re in the middle of a season, quarterback,” she whispered.

“don’t care.”

and god, he meant it. she was everything. if she needed him—even for something as simple as sitting cross-legged on a hotel carpet with a cold gatorade pressed to her forehead—he’d do it. no g questions asked.

“next time,” he murmured, soft and deliberate, “we’re getting you one of those backstage AC packs. like, the ones they use in NASCAR. or one of those cool astronaut-suits. i’ll build it myself if i have to,”.

she giggled, all sleepy and tender. “you’d make a cute little roadie, joey,”.

he smiled, gaze warm and unwavering. “anything for my girl,”.

and he meant that, too.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #yail asks #yail #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fic #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joeburrow #nfl fan fic #nfl imagine

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coolwyous · 3 months ago

Text

┈─★ 𝘣𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ getting over the girl who taught you how to dance, now nothing more than a ghost to you. ( dani loved you, once, a long time ago. )

ˎˊ˗ 🌘 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🔓୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: idol!daniela avanzini x f!reader

➴ genre + wc: 2.6k, angst, no comfort, pre-debut flashbacks.

➴ you might want to tune in...: baile inolvidable- bad bunny. ♫

you've been extremely intentional about avoiding the corner of the internet where you might run into memories of her. blocked tags, limiting your follows, even being strict about your screen time. of course, deleting every single photo you once had of her— erasing as best you could, every possible memory left behind.but even with all your precautions, it was inevitable to run into her eventually.

so here you are, at 2am, curled into a ball in your bed, phone in your hand, seeing her face on your screen. it feels like you've found a ghost, her bright smile, always camera ready. the girls alongside her, the interviewer seeming more than enthused to have his moment with her. he clears his throat and reads off the card in his hand.

"dani, for you, when is a memory more than just that?" he asks, leaning in to hear her answer.

"what a beautiful question," dani smiles, and you feel your chest tense. watching her on your phone, the tiny screen. her smile never falls, her face never creases, but you see it. something in her eyes shifts.

you had never exactly enjoyed being out partying, but when your friends invited you to a live band playing at a local venue, you figured the worst that could happen is that it's too loud, and the best that could happen is you get lucky enough to not get carded for drinks.

you stand against a pillar in the venue, head bobbing to the music. around you, people moving along to it, dancing without a care in the world. you wish there was more coordination in your body to be able to join in, to match them, but you've always been too self conscious to do it.

instead you'll admire everyone who loses themselves in the rhythms blasting over the speakers, the band going from song to song to keep the pulse of the room thudding. people dancing in pairs, people dancing in groups, a few dancing on the own near their friends.

but there's one that catches your eye— a blonde in the center of the crowd, dancing with no-one in particular, moving with a precision to every beat that feels absolutely entrancing. you're not the only one who notices, there's quite a few people who turn to eye her throughout the night, but she pays them no mind. she dances as if her life depends on it, her body taking the music in as if it fuels her, her head tossed back in pure bliss. you admire it, and wish it came that easily to you.

you're about ready to leave, looking down at your phone and texting the group chat that you're about to order an uber, when there's a quick flash of blonde and you realize the girl is in your bubble, eyeing you with her bright curious gaze, two cans of

"what's your name?" she calls out over the music.

you tell her, and she narrows her eyes at you curiously.

"how come you're not dancing? you're the only one in here not even bouncing."

"i'm so bad at it," you laugh.

"well, i'm good," she says simply, and you like the sincerity in her confidence. "i could teach you."

"why would you do that?"

"something tells me you'd be a good dance partner." she beams at you, the light reflecting off her tooth gem. "can't explain it."

"this group plays here every friday," she goes on, pointing up to the band onstage, before looking back at you. "come back next week, promise?"

“what’s your name?” you ask, nearly forgetting to get the key detail as she escapes back into the mass of bodies.

“daniela!” she calls out to you, waving quickly as she disappears to lose herself once more to the music.

you can't explain it either. something in the way she convinces you feels like you might be able to be swayed by anything she says.

next friday, and your eyes are immediately seeking the blonde curls as soon as you enter past the doorway into the booming room. you don’t have to look long, because as long as there’s a crowd, you know it’s inevitable to spot a girl as magnetic and talented as daniela at the center of it.

"you came back," she beams, her eyes meeting yours excitedly as she approaches.

"you're crazy convincing," you laugh, and you came alone this time. "the music last time was fun."

"i thought you'd see the vision,” she grins, before reaching up to grab your shoulders. she twists you from side to side, and though you’re surprised by the touch, you don’t mind it. “loosen up this time, okay?"

you spend the night with dani puppeteering you, the two of you making small talk and laughing. it’s so easy to follow her lead in the conversation, the way she carries herself so unapologetically.

"what made you come back?" she finally asks, after you’ve finally mastered the move she’s been trying to drill into your head

"um, you," you admit, though the way she’s been working at your rhythm has made it admittedly more fun to dance along.

"i was hoping you'd say that," she grins, and pulls your phone out of your hand. "don't make me wait until friday, okay?"

she calls you when you're home, chatting as if it isn't 3 in the morning, as if she has nowhere else to be or anything else to do. you two fall into this rhythm, spending all your free time talking to each other, learning about her interests, her hobbies, her fears.

her dreams. she tells you all about how hard she's working to break into the entertainment industry, and that's where all her time in the week goes. you don't mind— you're talking constantly, and you see her every friday, swinging by her place whenever else she's free to drop her off a coffee or watch another quick piece she's choreographed.

"i think i can do it," she beams, asking you to help record another video of her dancing.

"i know you can," you smile back. the world would be foolish to not see the light that radiates out of her.

another friday. the pulse of fun, racing latin music, dani's hands all over your body. you're laughing, losing yourself in the feel of her, the shine of her skin in the flashing lights, the glimmer of those perfect teeth each time she smiles back at you.

"you've gotten good, bebesita," she smiles, and the pet name makes your ears flush. "you still suck at leading, but you're tripping less."

"okay, sorry i'm not ballroom ready," you laugh.

"you learned for me, what more could i ask for?" she smiles, and you find yourself realizing you’d probably do anything for that smile.

you feel yourself surge with bravery, your heart threatening to pound out of your chest. she’s so beautiful under the light, so radiant, so impossibly magnetic. you’re not ignorant to the eyes that flood to her and the people who reach for her to try and partner up, but through all of it, her focus remains on you. that doesn’t go unnoticed.

"you could ask to kiss me," you test the waters.

you see her pause, a quick glance around. you wonder if you’ve prodded too far, maybe misread her signals.

but she reaches forward, her elbow hooking around your neck, pulling herself into your bubble without hesitation.

“let me kiss you,” she presses, and somehow it feels so like dani, a question and a demand all at once. all you can do is nod, and she’s bridging the gap between the two of you, her lips so soft against yours, so hungry for something inexplicably so easy between you both.

you two dance all night long, until your ears are ringing from the music blasting the whole night. as soon as you mention leaving, she agrees and calls an uber for the two of you. you don't ask her what it means that she's inviting herself over.

weeks turn into months, and through those months, she leaves more of her things at your place, never asking questions, never settling into anything too predictable besides the consistency of her phone calls. she reaches out to you any chance she gets, and if she’s not working, or auditioning, she’s seeking you out, finding any opportunity to spend time with you.

you’re too scared for the other shoe to drop, this girl so magnetic, so perfect, spending every ounce of spare energy with you, saving her friday nights to dance with you, ignoring the world around the both of you as you two disappear into the music.

it’s a routine you could get used to, you realize. maybe you don’t have to ask a million questions, if you’re happy with what you have now.

"i love this song," she beams one night, you spinning and dipping her into your arms. you’re better at this, miles from where you started, and you owe it all to the charming instructor that wiggled her way into your arms.

"i love that you love this song," you tell her, laughing back, as you two match pace with your movements.

she takes a moment, her eyes feeling like they’re burning into yours. your mouth goes dry as her eyes light up with something mischievous, something seeking more.

"more than you love me?" she tests you, head tilting.

"i might love you a lot," you answer without hesitation, the truth having pressed against your chest for months now.

she smiles, as if triumphant, and wraps her arms around your neck, pressing your foreheads against each other.

"i do love you a lot," she confesses, before adding, "i think the only thing i might love more is music."

"i'll take a fair second place," you laugh, and she grins back and wraps herself up in your arms.

a part of you knew the high wouldn't be able to last this long. it starts with her not making it to a friday night dance date, noting that she has an audition that went well and needs to train for the second round. you don't mind, because she’s stayed the night for months at this point, and even mentions something about moving in together once the audition is over.

but then the texts take longer to get replies, the phone calls shorten in between, she's alone less and less.

the other shoe drops, and you can’t say you’re surprised.

she has the decency to tell you in person, your first time seeing each other in nearly two weeks, where she simply shows up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, eyes red. you can tell she’s been thinking, been contemplating, you can tell she has her mind made up.

"i can't make it all work." it’s quick, and in another world, it might be painless.

whatever it was with dani, it's gone now. you can't even be mad— did you ever ask her to be yours in public outside of your circle, to truly talk about the future, to live in anything besides the present moment?

"okay," you say simply, feeling your heart crease in half before it tears as she leans in for a hug, presses a kiss to your temple, and disappears into the night without another word.

you wait to hear back the next day, the next evening, the next friday night, but you realize the painful finality in it all.

dani never comes back to the friday night live music. dani doesn’t call, doesn’t text. you’ve resigned yourself to the realization that dani has probably erased you from her mind entirely.

you know you had blocked her public account, nearly a million followers now. somehow it's a clip that pops up from a fan account, avanzini_edits with a bio that lists all the dates which dani had interacted with it. you can picture her, watching edits of herself, critiquing her dancing or her singing the way she used to with you in bed watching back her audition videos you had recorded for her.

you find the interview by accident, and can't manage to look away.

she breathes deeply before answering the question, though you admire the way she can keep her composure. there’s no slip, no wince, she’s perfectly composed through it.

"i've tried a lot to just live in the moment, not think about anything else," she finally answers, and you’re in awe of how she can be so vague yet so sincere all at once. "but that hasn't always been the best move for me. i think when a memory is the last thing connecting you to something, or someone, a memory can be everything."

"okay, work philosophy," one of her groupmates laughs, snapping her fingers to cheer her on. the other few begin to giggle along.

"i can be deep sometimes," she laughs, and your heart lurches inside your chest. that laugh had comforted you so many times before, now feeling more like the laugh of a stranger.

you’ve seen enough, but it resonates with you. you like the video, if only to prove you were able to make it through without bursting into tears, and fall asleep to the silence of your own breathing. you can swear when it’s quiet, you hear the music you used to dance to.

your phone buzzes, waking you. you blink a few times, as if to try and clear your vision, when you realize exactly who is on the calling end. the contact photo you never realized you had kept.

"hey," that voice, the familiarity causes your chest to rumble. you're very easily the wrong step away from a sob within a few given moments.

"hi." you try to keep your voice even, calm, but it shakes gently. you don't know how long it's officially been since your breakup, but it's been long enough. "what are you doing?"

"just thought about you," she says simply, and you wonder what the timing is of having liked the video and daniela calling you for the first time after months of radio silence.

"i um, i miss you," she adds, after a moment of silence, and you hear a sniffle from her end of the line. "a lot."

you bite your lip and feel the first few tears well up in the corner of your eyes. she sounds so small, so gentle. "i miss you too, dani."

"i need you to forget about me," she breathes. "if you miss me, it's like i can feel it, and i start to miss you back, and it just keeps hurting."

"you called me," you remind her, the rage building in your chest at her audacity.

"i know, it's my fault i'm crashing out, i just—" she pauses, and you hear another sniff on her end. "i'm struggling to forget you. i need you to help me, i need to hear you say you'll forget about it all."

"i can't just let go of it all that easily," you tell her frustratedly. "it's not like i'm still in love with you on purpose."

"i'm sorry things didn't work, in this world." you hear her breathe on the other end, and you’re torn between asking more and letting her follow what she believes she needs to do for her dreams. "this is the last time i'm ever going to call you. please help me move on."

"okay," you breathe. you’re not brave enough to ask anything else of her.

"i'm sorry." she says simply, the line goes dead.

#katseye x reader #daniela x reader #daniela avanzini x reader #daniela avanzini imagine #☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous baile inolvidable.

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irisintheafterglow · 2 years ago

Note

hi!!! could i request pro hero!bakugo & pro hero!reader where bkgs doing an interview and they ask about relationships and his answer is “I thought you people already knew that im married”

i have no idea how to word things but i hope that was readable🙏🙏

keeping it in the family

wc: 1.6k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of drinking and alcohol, established relationship, dialogue-driven

note: RAHHH I LOVE HUSBAND BAKUGO. anyways !!! i hope you like this, i did get a little carried away when writing it so hopefully it makes sense. thank you for your ask!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“And we’re on in five, four, three, two…give ‘em hell.” The roar of excited applause jumbles together with the late-night show’s opening theme and the screams of excited fans can still be heard even as Kirishima flashes a blinding smile to the camera.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Heroes on Heroes! We’re so glad you’re joining us tonight, seeing as this is the finale of season one!” The audience cheers with fiery passion and it makes the three heroes onstage chuckle nervously. This was going to be a long night, especially if the superfans were crying after every word they spoke. “I’m Red Riot,” he pauses while the cheering erupts once again, “and I’m joined by my fellow pros, Chargebolt and Dynamight.” You wince from your place at sidestage from the sheer wave of noise that slams into your eardrums when the latter is introduced.

“Thanks for having us tonight, man,” Denki grins. He eagerly drums the armrests of his chair, to the left of Kirishima. “I’ve been looking forward to doing one of these since I saw Deku’s a few weeks back.”

“It’s a great concept, really. I love being able to just chat with you guys and shoot the shit about hero stuff. It’s so manly.” Kirishima turns expectantly to the other hero sitting to his right, whose hot-headed nature was blatantly obvious by how he was slumped in his chair, squinting slightly at the burning spotlights and clicking cameras. You admire Kirishima’s confidence in forcing Katsuki to say something. “What about you, Bakugo? How’re you feeling tonight?”

“I’m alright,” he shrugs indifferently. Your breath catches in your throat and you can hear the Dynamight agency’s publicist put his head in his hands. “It’s been a while, so it’s good to see you guys,” he adds with unexpected fondness and you exhale in relief. His eyes meet yours for half a second and he shoots you a wink that makes your knees wobbly. “I saw that save at the bridge collapse last week, Shitty Hair. Pretty decent work.” Kirishima blinks once, twice, and then glances at Denki. Katuski’s blank look narrows into a scowl. “The hell are you looking like that for? I got shit in my teeth or something?”

“No, no. Sorry, man,” Kirishima laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting a compliment from you so early in the show.”

“Yeah, we thought we’d have to booze you up a little more to get you to be nicer,” Denki jokes and he recoils a bit when he’s struck with a molten hot glare from the hero across from him.

“Whatever you’re about to say, bro, don’t say it,” Kirishima warns and the crackles in Katsuki’s palms gradually dissipate. “But, I’m wondering too. What’s with the good mood?”

“I guess I feel like playing nice tonight,” he answers cryptically, his gaze flicking over to you again with amusement. You can almost sense the fainting girls falling over each other in the front row. Kirishima’s attention subtly darts over to you and a knowing smirk grows over his face. It was the first time you and Katsuki were at the same press event, since you both thought it was too dangerous to sneak around until now. “But, talk about that bridge save. I don’t think a lot of people know that the guy was wanted by several agencies.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Denki agrees with a quick sip of his drink. He swallows and sets the glass down with a light thud. “He’d been giving us hell for weeks. It's not really the best matchup for a sand villain to be going up against an electric hero.”

“It was the sand villain and his wife, wasn’t it? That chick with the melting Quirk?”

“Yep, they were a nasty couple to deal with,” Kirishima confirms. “I had to keep track of this guy’s damn sand spikes and his wife turning the floor to goop at the same time.”

“Goop is a weird-ass way to put it,” Katsuki points out with obvious distaste.

“Yeah, but he was a pretty goopy guy.” Chuckles ripple through the audience and you can’t help breaking a smile too at Kirishima’s joke.

“I think for me, at least,” Denki adds, “the biggest pain was the fact that they were married, and they had, like, marriage telepathy or something.”

“Bro, I thought that was just me! Here I was, thinking that I’d incapacitated one and split them from the other, when bam! Both of them appear in front of me like a damn genie.”

“You ever have to deal with villain couples, Bakubro?”

“Nah, not recently. We’ve been doing a lot of big raids on all the crime families downtown.” He flexes his right bicep and pulls back the sleeve of his shirt to show a gnarly purple spot growing on his skin. “Got this little beauty three days ago from a neo-Hassaikai asshole.” You're not fazed by the ugly shade of the wound because you were the one who stitched up the...less visible results of the raid.

“Jeez, man,” Denki says in disbelieving awe at his friend’s injury. “If you ever need backup, we’d love to do a team up with you.”

“I think I’d rather die–”

“My agency would also love to team-up with you,” Kirishima interjects before Katsuki can finish his thought. The heart rate monitor of his publicist begins to rapidly beep behind you. “We can have a threeway team-up! That’d be pretty cool, don’t you guys think?”

“What if we all just merged into one big super agency? Like a big family?”

“That sounds like the stupidest shit–” Again, Kirishima cuts off Katsuki’s brash protests and saves them from being taken off the air.

"That would be so awesome."

“Would that mean we’d have to get pro-hero partners, too? Keep hero work in the family?”

“I think Salonpas would have heart palpitations if we said we were trying to keep hero work within the family,” Katsuki points out and his friends nod in agreement. “On another fuckin’ note, that Half-and-Half idiot keeps hogging the number two spot and it pisses me off.” Though you didn’t often encounter Todoroki while you were on patrol, you knew that he was adamant about keeping work life and family life separate. It made him even more of a dedicated hero and a recent bust of a notorious crime ring bumped him into the number two spot over Dynamight for that month. You didn’t hear the end of it from Katsuki.

“He and Deku just work really efficiently, Bakubro.”

“I can efficiently slam both their skulls into a–”

“You know what would solve that problem?” Denki butts in unceremoniously, covering up his harsh words for a third time. Katsuki grunts in response and the lightning-decorated hero gives him enthusiastic finger-guns. “Combining and making a family agency.”

“What are the chances that Sero would want to join too?”

“Probably pretty high,” Kirishima guesses. “He’s at my place every other week, anyway, so he’s basically my brother.”

“Alright, maybe this could actually work, then. I just need to find a smoking hot hero wife.”

“That’ll probably be the hardest part, buddy–”

“What about Bakugo?” You stiffen and the three guys turn their attention to a voice calling out from the audience. Speaking during the interviews was strictly prohibited until the question and answer section, but getting Katsuki’s attention was a surefire way to derail the entire episode.

“The fuck do you mean, what about Bakugo? Who the fuck said that?”

"Dude, just ignore them."

“Can’t be a family agency if Bakugo never gets into relationships,” the same nasally, irritating voice argues and your face feels like it’s been set on fire. Kirishima’s attention jumps to you for a moment and then back to his friend, whose palms are starting to spark like fireworks. “Do you just get no bitches, or something?” The audience gasps and security finally arrives to escort the disturbance out of the building. The director is ready to stop the cameras and jump to a commercial break, but Katsuki speaks before he can order the sound crew to cut the mics. To everyone’s surprise, his voice is nothing but amusement, like the insinuation didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“You think I don’t get into relationships?”

“Bakugo…”

“It’s alright, Pikachu. I really don’t give a shit about whatever that guy said,” Katsuki reassures his friend with a sly glint in his eye. His friends watch him warily, like a grenade on the verge of exploding. Once again, burning red eyes meet yours with a single question that you answer with a resolute nod. “I’m not gonna blow up, so stop looking like that. Really, I don’t care.”

“Why not?” A tense beat of silence passes, then–

“I thought you people knew that I’m married.” A shit-eating grin spreads across your husband’s face as gasps of shock burst from the audience. Kirishima and Denki both shake their heads in exasperation. They knew already, of course, but they didn’t expect him to reveal his relationship status as a result of a heckler. “Yep, going on a year and a half, now. Around five years together total coming this winter.” More collective cries of jealousy, surprise, and betrayal shake the building’s foundation. "If you don't believe me, ask these guys."

"Yeah, we were at the wedding, too. It's hard to keep it a secret when all of your friends are also high-profile heroes."

“Can you guys believe that he fell in love during the winter?” Denki’s thumb juts out toward his friend, who frowns at the mere mention of cold weather.

“I fucking hate the winter,” he grumbles.

“We know, man,” Kirishima says sympathetically, unsuccessfully hiding a chuckle. “You’ve been saying that since high school.”

“Yeah, and shit hasn’t changed,” Katsuki bites back with lighthearted indignance. “Look, they saved my ass when it was cold; how was I not supposed to fall in love with them?” To your delight, his complexion has turned a slightly darker shade of pink. “Yeah, I love them. What about it, asshats?”

“Is this a bad time to bring up the family agency again?”

“Let’s go to commercial before I blow this fucking chair to pieces.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #ask iris!

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gotta-winwin · 7 months ago

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(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> at the end of this road

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

word count: 1k TW: mentions of scoups hiatus, overworking italics are interviews cut in between scenes + english. a/n: this one's short but sweet ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

Cyana watched as Hoshi mumbled to himself in the mirror. She walked over, worried that the boy had finally pushed himself to the brink of insanity.

"You got this, Hoshi." He chided himself through the mirror. "You have to smile onstage even if you're not feeling well. This is your job."

Her heart sank.

She knew everybody was finding it rough without Seungcheol, their conditions were wearing thin and members kept falling ill left and right. Approaching him, she put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

"Number?" She asked. The question was feeling increasingly silly to ask as everyone's pain became more obvious.

She admired Hoshi a lot, when he still looked up at her with a bright smile. "7? I'm doing good." They both knew he was lying through his teeth, afraid of adding to the already low moral.

Cyana pulled up a chair next to him and laid her head down on the table, turning so she could still see him. "I miss Coups."

Hoshi nodded, reaching over to run his fingers languidly through her hair. She no longer recoiled at the physical touch anymore, both too tired and too used to it to move. They felt like second nature to her by now. "Me too."

It felt like they were always dodging around the problem, pretending that everything was fine. Cyana supposed it was probably easier to go onstage and smile if you didn't have to talk about what was bothering you.

"Fighting!" Hoshi brought his hand up for a fist bump.

Returning the gesture lazily, Cyana couldn't help but feel amazed at how well Hoshi could adapt, still bringing the energy even when he wasn't feeling 100%.

"My stomach was hurting a lot during rehearsal." Hoshi was busy eating as he answered the interviewer's question. "Probably caught whatever Dino had in Japan."

He could be seen stumbling during their choreo, a strange sight coming from their performance unit leader.

"I wanted to bubblewrap every single one of them and tell the world not to get them sick." Cyana's lips curled at the wishful thought. "We were all trying to compensate for Coups oppa's absence and Hannie oppa, but Hoshi was trying the most."

"We're both sick." Dino told the camera, as if he was a little proud to be having a partner in crime.

Cyana frowned when Hoshi nodded. "That's not a good thing."

"At least we have each other." Hoshi shrugged, clapping Dino on the back in solidarity. "Suffering together."

She scoffed, although the worry was evident by the way she was pulling Dino's jacket tighter around him. "My overachievers." She mumbled endearingly, shaking her head when they only exchanged a smile. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Cherish and love us." Hoshi laughed when she cringed at his comment. "Ow." He stopped laughing to clutch his stomach. "Laughing hurts."

Cyana let out a deep sigh. "Go lie down with Jeonghan. We have like 20 minutes before we're rehearsing again."

She looked at the camera with an exasperated glance as the two boys left, following her orders. "It's a wonder I'm younger than all of them. Sometimes I feel like the oldest."

The Hiphop Unit's performance felt empty without Seungcheol's presence. Cyana sat next to Hoshi and Woozi, joining them as they watched Vernon, Mingyu and Wonwoo rehearse their own separate parts.

"They're good." Hoshi spoke into her ear, tucking her hair aside.

She nodded. "I miss Coups though."

"You've been saying that since he left." Woozi glanced at her with faint amusement. "Keep talking and we'll start thinking you have a favourite."

Cyana laughed, clapping her hands together at the accusation. "Maybe I do have a favourite."

"It's got to be me." Hoshi mused, grabbing her hand in his and shaking it. "You love me."

She made a face and he pouted.

"We both know her favourite is Dino." Woozi offered, it was rare for him to join in in teasing Cyana, but she was glad he felt they were close enough for that now.

Eyes wide with mock offense, she gently nudged Woozi in retaliation. "I'm not telling."

Hoshi sighed, ignoring her words. "It's definitely me." He said, deliberately, to no one in particular.

The other two shared a look and they both snorted at the statement. "You wish."

"What is Hoshi to you?"

The question was asked to everyone gathered in the makeup and hair room, a couple hours before their concert in Bangkok.

Wonwoo looked up from the ramen he was busy picking apart. "A..." He paused, trying to find a more polite way to phrase what he was thinking. "...a very passionate friend."

"A cute attention seeker?" Minghao offered when the camera approached him.

Hoshi let out a guffaw from behind him. "I am not an attention seeker.”

"Hoshi's a lunatic." Woozi said, summing up exactly what everyone else had been thinking but had been too afraid to say.

The camera panned to Cyana, who was staring at Woozi, mouth agape. "That was what I was going to say!" She protested, now at a loss for words. "Umm..." She looked at Hoshi, thinking. "Hoshi is a friend who I look at sometimes and think...what is going on inside his mind?" She quoted the viral tiktok sound, laughing when only Vernon caught the reference.

"People usually don't know that I'm an introvert." Hoshi spoke to the camera. "I'm only a lunatic around my members, or people I'm close to."

"You should've seen how shy he was the first time we were alone in a room together." Cyana remembered the instance. "He could barely look at me. Addressed the ground whenever he said anything.”

As the hours passed and it was time for the concert to begin, everyone crowded around and placed their hands in the center, looking expectingly at Hoshi for him to begin their chant.

"Okay everyone!" He yelled, all fired up and ready to go. He could feel the energy and passion bubbling through him as a fire ignited within, ready to give his all onstage. "An Ode Tour in Bangkok! Let's give a shout in 3!"

Cyana stood opposite to him in the circle, admiring him silently.

"I always joke and say I want to be just like Hoshi when I grow up." Cyana giggled at her little quip. "But there's truth to that. I want to be just like him onstage - a natural performer who gives his all."

a/n: there will be lots of hit the road eps coming soon! i loved exploring hoshi and cyana's dynamic further

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authortelevision · 8 months ago

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the green room with arthur ₊˚⊹♡

words: 2,228 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆ tour arthur hill, dominant arthur, smut

you’re on tour with arthur taking photos for his instagram, after celebrating his show in the green room with the rest of the crew, you’re both left alone sharing a bottle of champagne. as the beers begin to flow, so does arthur’s mouth with his confessions of the night.

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The concert had been incredible. From the packed crowd to the raw energy onstage, every moment seemed to pulse with excitement. As the final notes of the encore faded, you found yourself in the green room, camera slung around your neck, capturing the band’s afterglow. Amidst the laughter and celebrations, your eyes kept meeting Arthur’s. His glances felt more than you wanted to admit, each one lingering a second too long, his smile breaking into something almost shy every time he caught you catching him.

Eventually, the rest of the crew drifted out, leaving just you and Arthur alone in the quiet, dimly lit room. Arthur lounged on the couch, cheeks slightly flushed from the drinks, a lazy smile curling at his lips as he tilted his head back, looking every bit like he belonged in this moment. He raised his glass toward you with a grin.

“I think I’m officially gone,” he admitted with a soft laugh, the sound deep and easy, filling the silence between you.

You leaned sat on the sofa opposite him, feeling the warmth of the alcohol yourself but unwilling to tarnish the warmth in your cheeks. “Yeah, me too,” you replied, lifting your glass in response. “Not that either of us is going anywhere right now.”

Arthur’s grin softened, and there was a glimmer of something more intense now in his gaze. He tilted his head, looking at you with a serious expression. “You know what, fuck it. You looked really good tonight.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his unexpected sincerity catching you off guard. You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep things light. “Yeah? I noticed you staring.”

Arthur laughed softly, a low, teasing sound as he shrugged. “How could I not? You were standing right there, looking… god, you looked…” His voice trailed off, as if he couldn’t quite find the words, and his eyes dropped to you, darker than before. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

The words hit you, hard but full of truth, and you could feel your cheeks heat up. But before you could respond, Arthur straightened, his attention shifting to the fridge in the corner of the room. “I’m grabbing a beer. Want one?”

You grinned, rolling your eyes. “You know I don’t like beer.”

Arthur shrugged as he opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle, his mischievous smirk unmistakable. “Oh, come on. I finally sung Lily tonight. You can’t say no to that.” He popped the cap off, holding the bottle up to you with a teasing look.

You shook your head, your eyes glinting with a playful defiance. “I’m not drinking that. You’ll have to make me.”

A playful challenge flashed in his eyes, and he took a step toward you, crossing the room with his beer in hand. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, his voice low and a little dangerous. He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Open your mouth,” he ordered softly, with a slight dazed smirk.

You pressed your lips together, shaking your head in refusal. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your stubbornness. He lifted the bottle and tilted it slightly, as if he was going to pour it. “Be good for me,” he whispered, placing a hand on your shoulder, his face close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin.

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he gently brought his thumb to your bottom lip, brushing it softly. The touch was unexpected, sending a shiver through you as his thumb grazed over your skin.

“Open," he repeated, his tone softer now, but with that same firm authority. You froze, looking up at him through your lashes, a mix of defiance and anticipation in your dialated pupils. Arthur's thumb gently stroked your lip, pulling it down, his touch gentle yet unmoved, and without thinking, he coaxed your lips open just slightly. A small breath caught in your throat, and you could feel the heat pooling in your stomach.

Just as you did, he tilted the bottle toward you, letting a tiny bit of beer pour over your lip. The cold liquid dribbled down your chin and neck, and you gasped, feeling the coolness against your skin. Arthur’s eyes widened slightly, and his jaw clenched as he looked at you, his expression darkening. Arthur raised an eyebrow. He took a step closer, his body leaning in just enough to crowd you, the space between you suddenly narrowing.

“Fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself, his eyes locked on the trail of beer glistening on your neck.

Without hesitation, he reached forward, his hand moving to rest on the side of your neck, tilting your head slightly. His lips found the path of the beer, his mouth pressing against your skin in a slow, warm kiss. His tongue traced the line where the beer had spilled, his breath hot against your neck, and you felt your knees go weak at the contact.

Arthur’s kisses grew rougher, his mouth trailing along your neck with a heated urgency, his hands sliding up to the nape of your neck to hold you steady. His lips lingered at the hollow of your throat, his stubble grazing against your skin, leaving a tingling sensation in its path. You couldn’t help but close your eyes, a soft breath escaping you as you tilted your head, giving him more access.

The world around you seemed to melt away as his kisses became more insistent, more desperate. You felt his hand slide down to your waist, pulling you closer, your bodies now flush together. You tugged on his shirt pulling him on top of you feeling the tension that had been building between you both all night finally breaking free.

When he pulled back slightly, his eyes met yours, and there was a fierce, almost vulnerable intensity in his gaze. “I’ve been trying to keep this professional,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But fuck, I could fuck you on this sofa right now.”

Your heart raced, the weight of his words settling over you like a confession. Swallowing, you met his gaze, your voice slightly wavering as you felt your heart in your throat. “Arthur…”

Arthur’s fingers tightened on your waist as he took a breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re all I’ve been thinking of all night.” His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he searched your eyes, as though looking for confirmation.

You felt a surge of courage as you leaned forward, closing the last bit of space between you both, your lips meeting his in a messy, drunk kiss. The kiss deepened quickly, his tongue licking along your lower lip, pulling it back slightly with his teeth.

The room felt scorching and the heat of Arthur’s body on yours only turned you on more, leaving just the two of you, lost in the heat of the kiss and the heady thrill of finally giving in. His hands moving gradually down your stomach, his fingers undoing your zipper to then hook the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down your thighs. You adjusted your legs, breaking the kiss to look down at your jeans being discarded on the floor, leaving you in just your shirt and underwear. Your fingers slid up to his chest, feeling the quick beat of his heart under your touch as his eyes devoured you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, Arthur’s eyes searched yours, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

“Fuck, you’re so.. you’re so fucking gorgeous like this.”

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His hands caressed your thighs, slowly inching upwards, causing your breath to quicken. You arched your back slightly, inviting him to explore further.

Arthur's fingers deftly traced the hem of your shirt, his touch sending shivers of anticipation through your body. With each passing moment, the tension between you grew, like a tightly coiled spring ready to snap.

"I want to taste you," he said, his voice hoarse with need. His lips found your neck again, leaving a trail of hot kisses that made you squirm with pleasure. You tilted your head back, granting him better access, your body already responding to his touch.

As Arthur's kisses traveled lower, you felt his warm breath against the sensitive skin of your cleavage. He stops for a moment lifting your shirt above your head, throwing it behind the sofa. His hands gently cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples through the fabric. A soft moan escaped your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated desire.

"You like that, don't you?" Arthur whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want to hear you moan my name." His words sent a wave of heat rushing to your core, and you couldn't deny the pleasure his touch was eliciting.

Arthur kissed further down, nipping and biting as he travels further. When your lacy black bra beneath is exposed, his eyes sharpen with desire as he took in the sight of your exposed skin. He leaned in, his warm breath caressing your bare shoulders, sending goosebumps down your arms.

You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. The sensation of his lips on your skin was far too much, and you couldn't help but arch into him, seeking more contact.

Arthur's hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of your body. His touch was both gentle and possessive, leaving a trail of fire burning in its path. He kissed and bit at your skin, his breath hot and needy, driving you to the brink of ecstasy.

"I want you," he growled, his voice thick with passion. "I want to feel you around me." His words made your head spin as you eagerly reached for his belt, ready to unleash the desire that burned between you.

With skilled fingers, you undid his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, your hands brushing against the hardness beneath. Arthur's breath caught, and he groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you slowly revealed his throbbing erection, freed from its confines.

You stroked him gently, feeling his length pulsate in response. He hissed, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before locking with yours again.

"I need to be inside you," he said, his voice strained. With a swift motion, he lifted your hips, positioning himself at your entrance, moving to grind his tip on your clit teasingly. You gasped as he slowly entered, filling you inch by inch.

The sensation of being stretched and filled by Arthur's dick was overwhelming. You moaned, your head leaning on his shoulder, scratching him with your nails through his shirt, as he began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. He pulled at your hair forcing you to look him in the eyes, your lips parted in a silent plea for more as your eyelids felt heavy.

Arthur's thrusts were powerful, each one hitting a sweet spot deep within you. You clung to him, your head being thrown back as he tugs at your hair, the act forcing waves of pleasure to wash over you. His name escaped your lips in a breathy moan, and he responded by kissing you deeply, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips.

The green room echoed with the sounds of your moans and whimpers—the wet sounds of the skin slapping against each other, sighs of pleasure, and the rhythmic creaking of the sofa. Arthur's kisses became more messy and sloppy, his movements faster, as he drove you both towards the edge.

"Come, my beautiful girl," he whispered between kisses, his words a contrast to the primal grunts that accompanied his increasing tempo. "Let go, baby. Come for me."

His words were like a trigger, and you felt your orgasm building, ready to overflow onto his dick. Your body tensed, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Arthur's lips found your breasts, kissing them gently as he thrust harder, driving you over the edge.

A cry escaped your lips as your climax hit, waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Arthur's name was a mantra on your lips as you rode the waves of pleasure, your body trembling with the force of your release.

Arthur's own release was imminent, his thrusts becoming erratic as he fought to maintain control. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin as he found his own climax. With a final, powerful thrust, he came deep into you, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

In the aftermath, Arthur collapsed onto the sofa, his weight pressing you into the cushions. His heavy breathing mingled with yours, and you could feel his heart pounding against your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

As you lay entwined, the green room seemed to shimmer with the aftermath of your climax. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat

Arthur lifted his head, his brown eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "You're incredible," he whispered, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss.

"I guess that’s the end of strictly professional." he laughs.

You smiled, your heart still racing from the intensity of the experience. "I guess it is," you replied, your voice now strained.

As you both slowly regained your composure, the realisation dawned that this moment was just the beginning.

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a/n: I AM SO JEALOUS OF PEOPLE WHO ARE SEEING ARTHUR ON TOUR!! i wish there were more arthur fics so i had to take it upon myself to GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT

a/n 2: added the extra part i wanted to the original story

also @arthurhillmastermind i hope this is up to your standard !! xx

#arthur hill #george clarkey #george clarke #chrismd #italianbach #arthurhill #arthur hill fics

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sgtpeppers · 4 months ago

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Paul McCartney & Memory Almost Full (2007): A Reconciliation of ‘Him’ and ‘Me’

"When you talk about Paul McCartney, I talk about the guy inside me, but you’re talking about him - the guy who goes onstage and makes records and stuff. And I think it’s just a way of preserving my sanity really, is thinking ‘I’m not really that, I’m just some little kid from Liverpool really. I didn’t do all that stuff. It’s a dream really and it’s gonna stop soon."

Paul McCartney, Flaming Pie Press Kit Interview, 1997

Thematically, Memory Almost Full is probably one of the easiest Paul albums to talk about, because it's not exactly subtle. It's there in the title, in the lyrics, and in the way Paul talks about it, but I think it's still worth pulling it apart a bit.

In short, it's album that looks to the past in an attempt to get to grips with it.

Paul often talks about needing some separation in his head from Paul the celebrity and Paul in private, but this album goes some way to reconciling those separate versions of himself, giving him a moment to step back and look back at his life and the effect on the man he's become, before swinging the camera in the opposite direction and asking what comes after that.

Secondly, there's a thread running through this album which is somewhat contradictory to the idea that he struggles to put all the pieces of himself together, one that describes a man who does know who he is, and in very confident in that and in his ability to make his own decisions.

This is a track by analysis of the album, examining lyrics as well as Paul's comments about the songs.

Background on the album:

Memory Almost Full began life in 2003 and was produced by David Kahne. The first batch of sessions were around the time that Paul and Heather's child was born, so it's easy to see already why Paul may have been in a reflective mood. The medley songs, as well You Tell Me, Only Mama Knows, and The End of The End were recorded then.

Paul then took a break to record Chaos and Creation In The Backyard which was released in 2005. Paul then returned to Memory Almost Full over 2006 and 2007, in the midst of his divorce with Heather. Again, like with the birth of a child, the ending of marriage is the sort of life changing event you'd expect to cause someone to start contemplating their past, present and future.

Track Analysis:

Dance Tonight:

Okay so starting off this track really isn't that deep, but it does have a sweet little story behind it:

At home, I started stomping around the kitchen, playing this little instrument, just enjoying myself. I sang, ‘Everybody gonna dance tonight’ and my little girl came running in and started dancing, so I fell in love with the song. In fact, I liked it so much I ran into the studio to record it, and stuck it on the album. It seemed like a good atmospheric opening.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

The interesting thing to note here is that he is starting off the album with a sense of 'now'. This is him, in the present, with one of his kids loving a song and rushing to the studio to record it. He starts off the album with 'this is where I'm at'.

Ever Present Past:

Which brings us nicely to the first track of the album that really kicks off this exploration of Paul's past and linking it to how things are in the present.

I don't want to do Paul a disservice here but this is one of those tracks where he says he doesn't read too much into it:

There’s no deep meaning in it. I think what happens with me is that I just write something and people read into it. I like that, because often you do things in a subliminal way and don’t realise what you’re doing.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

So I'm gonna do the reading into it for him, because it fits too well with the album to just ignore it. It is a song about this huge, unbelievable life he's lived that is impossible for him escape from, because no matter how much he wants to compartmentalise, his past is his.

Searching for the time that has gone so fast The time that I thought would last My ever present past

Ever Present Past Lyrics

There's a sense of it slipping away, of something being gone, and yet of it being still very present. I often get the sense Paul is someone who is constantly at odds with himself, and I think you get that here; a struggle between wanting to hold onto the past while also feeling that it's an overwhelming thing to accept is his.

And when you also look at the video, where Paul literally comes face to face with another version of himself, we return to that idea that he is most comfortable when he separates the performer 'him' to the private 'me', and playing into that idea of his duality.

In this song we also touch on this idea of Paul being very sure of himself, and this isn't him talking about himself now. This is him saying that he's always been one to walk his own path. We'll come back to this in a bit.

I wouldn't join in with the games that they were playing.

Ever Present Past Lyrics

See Your Sunshine:

That is pretty much an out-and-out love song for Heather. A lot of the album was done before, during and after our separation. I didn’t go back and take out any songs to do with her. That one was written during a good time with Heather. I don’t want to deny those times. When you’re going through a separation it’s always tempting to put all that behind you, but I don’t think that’s right.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Mirror, 2007

I love that Paul included this song rather than scrapping it. By the time the album came out him and Heather were in the midst of their divorce, which wouldn't be settled until the following year. It would have been easy to leave it, or to do the thing he's done with a lot of his love songs and say it's not really for any particular person, but instead he's clear that this was about a good time with Heather and despite everything else that happened, that's still important.

And so while the lyrics themselves don't add much to the theme, I think its inclusion makes it reflective, and it makes it a piece of his history that he is able to say is his and was an important part of his life.

Only Mama Knows:

This is one of Paul's story songs, and there's a few important things here even if again, the lyrics themselves aren't totally on theme.

I like to get into those imaginary stories, then follow them through and become that character. The lead character in this song is someone who was left by his mother, doesn’t know why she left him and doesn’t know if he’ll ever see his father’s face. It’s interesting because it takes you out of yourself. You can become an alter ego. It doesn’t have to be Paul McCartney singing it – it can be this other guy singing.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

Once I start writing about that I obviously come to it from my own perspective. I'm just acknowledging that the kid whose Mother left him has got more problems than the average person in life.

Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, 2021

So first of all, this song is based on a real person, a friend of Paul's who was adopted as a baby after being left by his Mother. So I don't want to take away from that, but art and storytelling doesn't just have to come from one inspiration and as he also says, he comes at this from his own perspective. Therefore, it's hard not to tie in the fact that in a different way, he was 'left' by his Mother when she died and then there's also the fact that John has a remarkably similar story of being left by his parents as what's described in the song. In a round about way, I think this is Paul's nod back to those teenage years and sense of loss and grief which was prevalent in him and the people around him.

The other interesting thing to me is "You can become an alter ego. It doesn’t have to be Paul McCartney singing it – it can be this other guy singing". Again, Paul separating himself into two, taking the chance to stand in someone else's shoes, but specifically on a song that understandably may bring up difficult emotions for him.

You Tell Me:

Carrying on the darker mood of the album, we get to what producer David Kahne described as "maybe the saddest song he’s ever written" (x).

I started off just remembering summers: ‘Were we really there?’ ‘Was it real?’ Sometimes, for a lot of people, memories – particularly childhood memories – seem so golden and you think, ‘Did it really not rain all summer or am I just imagining the sunny bits?’

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

In You Tell Me Paul is repeatedly asking the person he's singing to to confirm that the way he remembers things it right, because it seems like it was too good to be true.

Were we there, was it real? Is it truly how I feel? Maybe You tell me

You Tell Me lyrics

It's melancholic and uncertain, there's so much doubt laced through the song and directly ties back to Ever Present Past and the idea that he's "searching" for his past, and that it went "too fast". Compared to a lot of the tracks on this album, it's stripped back with a huge feeling of vulnerability coming from Paul not even trusting himself that what happened, really happened.

Mr Bellamy:

Am I really gonna tie Mr Bellamy in with this whole thing? Yes I absolutely am because for me this is one of those songs that sums up that second thread I was talking about at the start - confident, knows exactly who he is Paul. "I wouldn't join in with the games that they were playing" Paul from EPP.

I wanted some lyrics that would poke in and out of the riff, so I began with, ‘I’m not coming down, no matter what you say, I like it up here.’ Sometimes I don’t actually know where I’m going, so then I look at just what that verse is, and in this case I got a picture of a guy sitting on top of a skyscraper and all the people in the street – the rescue team, the psychiatrist, the man with the megaphone shouting: ‘Don’t jump’ and the people shouting: ‘Jump’. So I fished around for a name and came up with Bellamy, which sounded like someone who might want to jump. And I just followed the story through. The end is like a pull back with a camera – there he is, little Bellamy sitting on the ledge, enjoying it up in the clouds.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

So Mr Bellamy tells the story of a man sitting up on a roof, with everyone below him panicking and telling him not to jump. The opening lyrics, repeated towards the end are:

I'm not coming down No matter what you do I like it up here Without you

My Bellamy Lyrics

My reading on this song is that it's not about someone who's actually going to jump, I've always felt more like Bellamy just wants to be left the fuck alone, for people to stop interfering so he can enjoy the view. He likes it up there.

This is very Paul to me. His decisions have always been his own, to the point where he has been labelled as 'controlling' by people who have worked with him, but I think the other side of that is that he can say with certainty that everything he's done is his and I think that's really important to him.

What this song does very well (apart from being fun because who doesn't love Paul doing silly voices) is contrast with the previous uncertainty about himself in You Tell Me. He's taken us from a place of needing external validation, to a place where he (or, yeah yeah whatever, 'Mr Bellamy') knows exactly what he wants to do and doesn't need to hear other people opinion's.

Gratitude:

So the mood starts shifting into more upbeat Paul here, but I do think there's a slightly odd contrast between the song and what Paul says about the song.

Before I looked this up I assumed this was a Heather song because it reads as someone looking back on a relationship that has ultimately gone wrong, but still being grateful for the good times (therefore, tying in with See Your Sunshine). Considering it was one of the later songs worked on, so Paul and Heather would have been separated by the time it was recorded, that makes sense to me. Also if we take a look at the lyrics, I think they very much allude to how Paul was feeling after Linda's death:

Well I was lonely I was living with a memory But my cold and lonely nights ended When you sheltered me

Gratitude lyrics

And then the relationship falls apart:

I should stop loving you Think what you put me through But I don't want to lock my heart away

Gratitude lyrics

But then we have what Paul's said about the song:

I’ve always had a couple of voices. Originally you’re just a kid at home, like everyone else, and then you start to dream of being a singer. My heroes then were rock ’n’ rollers, so my ballad voice was based on Elvis and the screamy voice was me trying to be Little Richard. I loved him so much. When I joined the Beatles, John used to like that and it’s stayed with me as something I enjoy doing – that gritty, souly voice. So on this track I was just thinking of how much there is to be grateful for in life, and I wanted to put that into song and use the gritty voice to do it with.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

It's one of his more vague answers, and maybe he just doesn't wanna talk about it which is fair enough. But to me the song seems to be directed at a person rather than life in general. Either way, we have Paul looking back on something and being grateful for it and the positive impact it had on him, rather than trying to separate himself from it.

What's also of note here, is the thing about wanting to do a song using his Little Richard voice, and how in talking about that he links back to The Beatles. We're getting more specific about where in Paul's past we're talking about now which means...

The Medley

There is a medley of 5 songs towards the end and that was purposefully retrospective. I thought this might be because I’m at this point in my life, but then I think about the times I was writing with John and a lot of that was also looking back. It’s like me with ‘Penny Lane’ and ‘Eleanor Rigby’ – I’m still up to the same tricks!

Paul McCartney, introducing Memory Almost Full, 2007

I hadn’t done that since Abbey Road and I thought it would be quite nice to flirt with that idea again. It just means it’s a slightly longer form. You’ve got to think, ‘What came before?’ ‘What statement are you going to make now?’ ‘How’s this going to lead on?’ It’s not that different from just sequencing an album, but you suddenly think of them as a suite of songs, and it’s interesting to write them in that way.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

So I think the entire album was built around this medley. As mentioned earlier, they were the first songs recorded and it seems he consciously went into it aiming to toy with that Abbey Road idea, another pointed link back The Beatles.

Vintage Clothes:

For me this is about my clothes from the Sixties and the fact that what’s out comes back – fashion going round in circles. I meet quite a few young guys in bands and a question they always ask is, ‘Did you keep the clothes?’ As a matter of fact I did. The Beatles had a tailor, Dougie Millings – he’s in a scene in A Hard Day’s Night. Instead of just going to get a suit as you did before, for a job interview or whatever, suddenly you were going to get epaulettes and fancy buttons, materials and linings. That to me is where the song is coming from. The message is: vintage clothes are great but don’t live in the past.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

So there's a very literal reading of him actually singing about old clothes and wearing them again (which he does!) but he does go a little bit deeper when talking about the song, with the idea of not "living in the past". I wonder if that's how he justifies trying to keep that separation in place sometimes, that it's for his own good because because dwelling on things that have happened won't change them, but I also think this lyric is significant:

A little worn A little torn Check the rack What went out is coming back

Vintage Clothes lyrics

He tells us that "fashion goes round in circles" but I also like a deeper meaning to this, something about your past catching up with you perhaps, which would tie in nicely with the rest of the album. But, even as a song that is literally about his old clothes, it sets the tone for the medley and and the following song, which I kinda think is the entire point of the album.

That Was Me:

Yes, Paul! It was! You really did all that! That Was Me takes us back to Liverpool and through The Beatles, and is the triumphant, proud acceptance that it was 'me', no long talking about Performer Paul in the third person.

All I had to do for this song was to think back. And immediately I go back to Liverpool, where there was a little place we could escape to, beautiful little woods where, come springtime, there would be these carpets of bluebells. It was a magical place. There’s something about me at the bus stop that’s a big part of my memories – going to school, coming home from school, going to the pictures, going to your friend’s house. So all of these things got in there. ‘The cellar’ is the Cavern, ‘Royal Iris’ is a ferry boat they had – they’d call them riverboat shuffles, and some of our earliest gigs were on them. So these are just exciting memories of mine, and I connected them.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

The same me that stands here now And when I think that all this stuff Can make a life, it's pretty hard to take it in That was me

That Was Me lyrics

So we're back to confidant Paul, Paul who knows who he is and is willing to point at The Beatles and say that was me no matter how unbelievable it all was. In classic Paul style though, the song is happy, upbeat, and a collection of what he calls "exciting" memories, rather than dwelling on the hard bits which I think he has much more difficulty doing.

Feet In The Clouds:

But talking of more difficult memories, we get to the song about his school days.

Because of the retrospective mood of this medley, it then goes back to school and teachers. I had a real motley bunch of teachers at the Liverpool Institute High School for Boys. Some of them were complete maniacs. Whereas I wrote about golden summers in You Tell Me, school was very dark and gloomy. The building itself wasn’t the lightest of places – it was built in 1825. This seemed to affect the attitude of the teachers. They were a dark bunch of people. So the song is like a therapy session for me.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

I love the concept of this song and the flipping round of the well known phrase "head in the clouds".

I've got my feet in the clouds Got my head on the ground

Feet In The Clouds lyrics

To me it goes back to that idea of Paul always walking his own path, even if it's not the normal one, he's not just subverting a well known saying but the literal imagery speaks of the same thing. His head is on the ground, giving the idea of his thoughts being 'grounded' but his feet are the ones doing their own thing, going where they're not supposed to. Getting him away from school perhaps, but also treading a path other people haven't walked which is exactly what he did. So it serves as a retrospective piece but also tying up that thread Paul does and has always known who he is and what he wants, no matter what other people were telling him.

House of Wax:

My personal favourite on the album, god I love this song and the mood it creates. On the first listen you may think... what's this got to do with this 'retrospective medley' Paul's talking about, but we actually get some surprisingly helpful insight from The Lyrics.

You get on a train of thought, and things just come in without you noticing. The poets are about “To set alight the incomplete / Remainders of the future’. I think that’s just a way of saying ‘to clarify things’.

Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, 2021

I had this little idea that the ‘remainders of the future’ were sort of buried in the yard, just like hidden treasure. Meaning that we don’t know what’s going to happen.

Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, 2021

So we've got these ideas of clarifying things, making them less confusing, combined with the future being unknowable. This is Poet Paul, and whilst I don't think this song needs to anything more than it is, knowing his intention with those lyrics does tie into the themes of trying realign with his past, and also of living a life where another crazy thing can be just around the corner...

The End Of The End:

For example, the fact Paul is going to die one day. I know, I don't want to think about it either. But Paul was certainly thinking about it and wrote a whole about what he hopes will happen, how he hopes he's remembered for the good times, for the songs and the stories and happy memories.

On the day that I die I'd like jokes to be told And stories of old To be rolled out like carpets That children have played on And laid on while listening To stories of old

The End Of The End lyrics

At the end of the end It's the start of a journey To a much better place And this wasn't bad So a much better place Would have to be special No need to be sad

The End Of The End lyrics

It's classic Paul taking a sad song and making it better. After an album of looking back on a life that's hard to grapple with and of relationships that have stopped working, Paul changes to the perspective from looking back to looking forward, and decides that hey, this has all been pretty good. And even when contemplating death, he brings in that classic Paul optimism - if this has been good, imagine how much better the next thing will be.

Nod Your Head:

And then, because it's Paul and he can't just end things there, he needs to bring the mood up again. There's not a huge amount to say for me personally, so I'll end with Paul's own words before I wrap things up:

Well, that End Of The End brought the party down, didn’t it? It was going to be the last track on the album, but we thought we couldn’t leave everyone going, ‘Oh God, I’m not going to listen to that again.’ So we had a little stompy rocker called Nod Your Head and we thought we’d let them off the hook. I think it’s good to talk about difficult subjects and then to get off it and just rock out. So that was the feel of making the album. Get some personal thoughts out (Gratitude, The End Of The End), talk about my childhood, talk about love, about beautiful memories. Try and get everything said, but with a feeling of optimism and enthusiasm. I thought if I could accomplish it all then that would be a good thing to do.

Paul McCartney, interview with The Daily Mail, 2008

The Title

Memory Almost Full is probably one of my favourite album names because it's so perfect. It's that imagery of a life well lived with lots of memories, but it was also a phrase Paul picked up from seeing it on his phone, which is a nice little link to his present day. Although, thankfully eighteen years later he's still cramming those memories in.

One extra little thing:

Some people mentioned that the album’s title, Memory Almost Full, is an anagram of “for my soulmate LLM” (the initials of Linda Louise McCartney). When asked if this was intentional, McCartney replied; “Some things are best left a mystery“. In an interview with Pitchfork Media, McCartney clarified, “I must say, someone told me [there is an anagram], and I think it’s a complete mystery, because it’s so complete. There does appear to be an anagram in the title. And it’s a mystery. It was not intentional.

(x)

Conclusion (yes, I'm stopping soon 😭)

To me, Memory Almost Full is thematically one of Paul's most cohesive albums, and he's being very transparent with what he's doing. I'm not saying he should all feel sorry for Paul because he's Too Famous, but I do think it's understandable that everything he's done is inconceivable in hindsight, and he finds it much easier to put those parts of his life in boxes.

It's a contradictory album in a lot of ways, but Paul has always been a bit contradictory, pulled between who he is and who he thinks other people want him to be, being very aware of the paths people are expected to take and then choosing to take his own. This is an album that speaks to that, that speaks to the kid in Liverpool with big dreams and those dreams being completely mindboggling when he got them, of a man who sometimes looks back and struggles to accept those things happened to him, and is at the same extremely proud of what he's achieved.

I guess my point is, if you haven't listened to the album yet, you should go and do that now.

And if you've made this far thank you and ily <3

#paul mccartney #memory almost full #the beatles #okay i know this looks long but it's mostly because i included a lot of quotes #i just really love this album and i needed to yap about it!!#also praying this isn't full of typos but if it is i've become blind to them and i can only apologise #also !! if anyone has any thoughts to add i would love to hear them <3

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