#I HATE IT HERE ..!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheftsunoda · 2 days ago

Note

hi honey, i’m baaacckkk!

my love for susie wolff has been reignited, so here i am! susie wolff x reader x toto wolff. it’s me of course so there’s a twist…………………………………….

ferrari team principal reader, yep she stole lewis from toto! i’ll let you decide if they’re already a couple or if they’re falling in love. and for the sake of my little ferrari loving heart, let’s be delusional and pretend ferrari is doing much better than they actually are

love you lots! i can’t wait to see what you do with this, and i can’t wait for a couple of hours to pass before i think of another request for you

finders keepers — toto wolff + susie wolff

toto wolff x !ferrari tp reader x susie wolff

smau + blurbs

when you were announced as ferrari’s new team principal, the motorsport world lost its mind. young, unapologetic, and brilliant — you weren’t just there to shake the table. you were flipping it over. then came the real shock- lewis hamilton signing with ferrari under your leadership, leaving behind a furious toto wolff and a suddenly intrigued susie. they called it sabotage. you called it strategy. "Finders keepers," you whispered into Toto’s ear at the F1 75 event, your hand brushing Susie’s as you walked past. the war was on. and so was the chemistry.

fc : irina shayk

(a/n) : MY WIFEEEEEY. my honey sugar baby loveeeee! you know as soon as you request something, i drop everything and make sure it happens. i love you soooooo much. such a good idea. i had so much fun!!

—

scuderiaferrari

liked by yn_ln, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 7,525,002 others

scuderiaferrari : Breaking tradition, making history. Joining us this season is YN LN as our new Team Principal — and with her, she brings none other than 7 time World Champion Lewis Hamilton to the Scuderia. The future is bold. The future is red. 🔴

—

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lewishamilton : So honored to work beside YN. Let's make history together, Boss! Forza Ferrari. ❤️🔥

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and scuderiaferrari

↳yn_ln : boss makes me feel old...even though i am younger than you;) happy to have you champ! let's do this.

liked by charles_leclerc and yn_ln

↳ username000 : how old is she??

↳ username00 : 35

charles_leclerc : Welcome, boss. Don’t scare the engineers too much 😅They are already terrified.

liked by yn_ln, lewishamilton and scuderiaferrari

↳ yn_ln : aw i like to think im a little bit nicer than old man fred :(

liked by lewishamilton and charles_leclerc

sebastianvettel : This is the kind of chaos I would’ve stayed for. Welcome.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and scuderiaferrari

↳ yn_ln : miss your smiling face. come by sometime this season?

liked by sebastianvettel

↳ sebastianvettel : I’ll be there boss.

liked by yn_ln

↳ username1 : omg if seb loves her. we are GOLDEN.

yn_ln : thank you everybody for the love and warm welcome. i can say with confidence for once that this really is our season. forza ferrari ❤️

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and scuderiaferrari

↳ username5 : omg i love her already.

carlossainz55 : im not hurt. just a little upset. but this is so iconic i can’t be mad.

liked by charles_leclerc, lando, lewishamilton and yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : you are always welcome, carlos. you are family forever.

liked by carlossainz55

username7 : toto wolff punching the air right now 😭😭

liked by yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : finders keepers 🤷🏻‍♀️

liked by username7 and lewishamilton

↳ username11 : fuck. i really wanted to hate her but i can’t.

username15 : No hate but what’s her actual experience? Or did she just charm her way to the top?

↳ lewishamilton : You think I would just make this decision for anybody? You clearly haven’t done your homework. YN is one of the most intelligent, driven, and strategic minds I’ve worked with — male or female. She earned this. Every bit of it. Put some respect on her name.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and scuderiaferrari

username17 : Ferrari hiring a woman for the attention is insane. This is Formula 1, I seriously don’t think she can take it. I give her 5 races before ferrari collapses again.

↳ susie_wolff : This is Formula 1 — which means it’s about intelligence, strategy, and resilience. All of which YN has in abundance. If you think she was hired for attention, you’re clearly not paying attention. And for the record? I’d bet on her over half the grid.

liked by yn_ln and lewishamilton

↳ yn_ln : thank you for the kind words, susie. you’re a doll.

liked by susie_wolff and lewishamilton

—

flashback

You arrive at the private meeting room in Maranello five minutes early. Of course you do. You don’t become Ferrari’s team principal—the first woman in history to do it—by being late. Especially not when you’re about to attempt the boldest power play of the decade— poaching Lewis Hamilton from Mercedes.

The room is quiet, floor to ceiling glass looking out over a polished test track drenched in winter sun. The espresso in front of you is untouched, more for optics than anything else. You’ve rehearsed every line, every scenario. But nothing quite prepares you for the quiet shift in atmosphere when he finally walks in. Lewis Hamilton. Seven-time world champion. The very embodiment of calm power. He’s dressed in head to toe black, subtle jewelry catching the light as he sits across from you. No entourage, no assistant. Just him. That in itself feels like a test. He studies you. Not in the patronizing way most men in this industry do—but like he’s reading your pressure points, your intent, your truth.

“Ferrari,” he says slowly, eyes flicking across the Prancing Horse logo on the leather folder you’ve laid between you. “Didn’t expect this.”

“I know,” you say evenly. “But you didn’t get to seven titles by playing it safe. And I didn’t come to Ferrari to follow tradition.”

He lets out the faintest breath of a laugh. It’s not unkind. It’s curious.

“You’re young,” he says, not as a judgment, more as a fact.

You nod. “And you’re still winning. That’s why we’re both dangerous.”

That earns you a pause. Then a flicker of something sharper—respect, maybe—passes through his gaze.

“I’m not leaving Mercedes lightly,” he says.

“I’m not asking you to,” you reply. “I’m asking you to finish what you started—with someone who won’t waste your last peak years babysitting board politics.”

He leans back in the chair, arms crossed now. “You think you can run Ferrari better than everyone before you?”

“I don’t think,” you say quietly. “I know.”

The silence after that is thick. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on your spine, but you don’t flinch. You want him to see that. You want him to look across this table and realize that for the first time in a long time, someone isn’t just offering him a car—they’re offering him control. A legacy. He glances down at the folder. Doesn’t open it yet.

“You know Toto’s going to hate this,” he says.

You smile, slow and deliberate. “I know.”

And for a moment, Lewis just stares at you. Measuring. Calculating. And then—smiling.

It’s a real one, this time.

“Alright then,” he says softly. “Impress me.”

—

You watch as Lewis slowly signs the contract, the pen lingering just a moment longer than necessary—not for show, but because he’s savoring the moment. Your name sits at the top— YN LN. Ferrari’s new team principal. The one who just convinced him to leave behind everything he built with Toto Wolff. When he finally sets the pen down, you don’t move. You hold his gaze, calm and steady, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips—like you’ve been expecting this all along.

He looks up, eyes searching yours. “You didn’t even flinch.”

You tilt your head, cool and collected. “Was I supposed to?”

Lewis shrugs and closes the folder between you. “I thought you’d be either overcompensating or underprepared. But you’re neither. You walk in here like you’ve already won.”

You smile, subtle but real. “Because I don’t make offers I can’t back up.”

There’s a quiet confidence about you, not loud or flashy, but magnetic. The kind of power that commands respect without demanding it. It’s a presence he hasn’t seen in a long time, maybe ever.

You stand, extending your hand for a formal shake, but when his fingers curl around yours, the grip is steady, controlled.

“I’ll make this worth it,” you say softly, your voice low but certain. “Not just for Ferrari—for you.”

For the first time in years, Lewis feels something new—a spark, a steady pulse of belief. He meets your eyes, honest and unguarded. “I’m not used to being impressed. But you managed it.”

You nod once, silent but clear—Good. As you turn and leave the room, the sharp click of your heels echoes behind you, and Lewis watches the red of your blazer fade through the door. This is no longer just about a contract, a car, or a team. This is about something bigger. You are something bigger. And everyone on the grid better be ready.

—

f1gossipgirls

1,188,009 likes

f1gossipgirls : The Ferrari team has officially arrived at the F175 Event— all looking insanely gorgeous btw— and let’s just say… they did not come to play. New Team Principal YN LN made her red carpet debut flanked by both of her drivers— Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton. Charles looked the happiest we’ve seen him in years, smiling ear to ear as he helped YN down the steps like a man completely at peace with his life choices. Lewis spent time catching up with the Mercedes team — but the real moment? YN coming face to face with the Wolffs for the first time since the signing bombshell. Tension with Toto? Absolutely. But YN held her ground with that signature smug, steel spined composure she’s already becoming known for.

—

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username000 : the way susie smiled at her though… baby the tension is not just between her and toto 👀

username00 : i was a doubter at first but if she delivers on track the way she just delivered on that carpet… i’m ready to repent.

username0 : she is so hot. i am fucking GAYYYYY

username1 : smh ferrari only hired her because she is hot.

username5 : someone said she looked like the villain who wins in the end and now I can’t unsee it

username7 : watching the YN haters slowly become obsessed with her is my favorite subplot tbh

username10 : FERRARI GOT THE SEXIEST TEAM ON EARTH NOW. like sorry. no one else is competing in looks or leadership.

username11 : leclerc in love. hamilton intrigued. wolff enraged. this is the perfect Italian opera.

—

The cameras start flashing before your heels even hit the carpet. You step out of the car into the bright light, black mesh pooling at your ankles like liquid confidence. One side of you is anchored by Charles Leclerc — smiling like a maniac, offering his arm with the ease of someone who’d follow you anywhere. The other, Lewis Hamilton — sharp, composed, and unreadable, but close enough that your fingers occasionally graze. The crowd murmurs the second they see you. Not just because you’re Ferrari’s first female team principal — that story’s been printed and reposted a thousand times already — but because you’ve arrived like you own the entire grid. And maybe you do. Two of the fastest men in the world walk beside you like they’re yours. Like they chose you. And they did.

Charles leans in slightly as the press surges. “You’re making history, you know.”

“I’m making headlines,” you reply coolly. “History comes later.”

He laughs, and you don’t miss how his hand lingers at your lower back, grounding you as the cameras flash. Lewis remains quiet, but his gaze scans the crowd with intention — observant, protective, almost amused by the chaos in your wake. And then you see them. Toto and Susie.

He’s as composed as ever, arms crossed, his eyes following you like a storm cloud with a purpose. Susie stands beside him, impossibly elegant in a satin dress that shimmers like moonlight, her hand resting loosely on his arm. She’s not smiling. Not yet. You could walk past them. Pretend you didn’t see them. But that’s not who you are anymore. So you stop. Charles stills beside you. Lewis glances between the three of you but says nothing — though you feel the shift in his posture, protective and silent.

You take a step forward, heels sharp against the stone, and raise your chin.

“Toto,” you say calmly.

He doesn’t flinch. “YN.”

The way he says your name—like it’s both a challenge and a caution—only makes you straighten further.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he says after a beat, voice clipped. “Though I must say, I didn’t expect you to come for Lewis.”

You smile. “You should’ve. I was taught to never waste potential.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes at that. Maybe pride. Maybe regret. You can’t tell.

“And now?” he asks. “What happens when it all falls apart?”

You lean in, just slightly, just enough that only he and Susie can hear you.

“If it does,” you murmur, “at least it’s mine to rebuild. But I wouldn’t count on it.” Then, softly, with a wicked glint—“Finders keepers, Toto.”

His jaw clenches. You know that look — he only ever makes it when he’s trying not to lose his temper in public. Beside him, Susie exhales a quiet breath, her voice cutting through the tension like silk.

“She always did have a gift for knowing where things truly belong,” she says, eyes still on you.

You meet her gaze, and something passes between you. Not quite forgiveness. Not quite approval. Something heavier. Older. Intimate.

“Good luck,” she says at last.

You smile at her—not smug, not victorious, just steady.

“I won’t need it. May the best team win, Mr. Wolff.”

Then you turn, Charles instinctively stepping closer, Lewis falling into stride beside you. The flashes resume, brighter than before. The cameras can’t get enough. They all saw it. They saw everything. And you don’t look back. Because you don’t need to.

—

The lights shift to crimson as the music swells, pulsing through the speakers like a heartbeat synced to your own. You’re standing center stage, flanked by two of the sport’s most iconic drivers — Charles on your left, Lewis on your right — as the red silk slips away and the new Ferrari is revealed beneath the lights. It’s a monster. Sleek, sculpted, angry in all the right places. A promise made of carbon fiber and blood. Your signature — small, subtle — is engraved inside the cockpit, right beside the driver’s seat. A mark that says—This is mine. I built this. I chose this.

The applause is deafening. Flashbulbs explode. And still, you feel them. Watching. You don’t even have to look to know where they’re sitting — front row, slightly left of center. Toto in a dark suit, arms crossed, jaw locked. Susie beside him, calm, unreadable. But their attention is unmistakable. Fixed. They haven’t taken their eyes off you.

Charles leans in slightly, offering you the mic. “Your moment,” he murmurs.

You take a breath. Smooth your palms over your blazer. And step forward.

“Thank you all for the warm welcome,” you begin, your voice steady and sharp, echoing through the speakers. “This car isn’t just a machine. It’s a statement. Of intent. Of belief. Of red rising again.”

The crowd erupts into applause, but you continue — heart pounding, every word calculated.

“When I joined this team, I wasn’t interested in tradition for tradition’s sake. I came here to win. Not just races, but trust. Respect. And with these two men beside me, we’ve already started.”

You glance to your left. Charles beams at you like you hung the moon. Then to your right — and Lewis is looking at you with something quieter, deeper. Like he sees all the invisible wars you’ve had to win to stand on this stage.

“I believe in this team,” you finish. “And I believe we’re going to remind the world why Ferrari doesn’t follow stories. We write them.”

The audience roars. Charles is the first to speak. “When YN joined Ferrari, I’ll admit — I didn’t know what to expect. But now I do. She’s not here to participate. She’s here to lead. And I’ve never felt more ready to fight for this team.”

Then Lewis, mic low in his hand. He’s always more restrained, but when he speaks, the room listens.

“I came to Ferrari for a lot of reasons. But staying? That’s all because of her.” He nods toward you. “She doesn’t just make people believe. She makes us better.”

You hear it again — the roar of the press, the popping of cameras — but under it all, there’s a silence you feel inside your chest. And in that silence, you feel them. Toto’s stare is piercing, unreadable. Rage? Regret? You can’t tell. But it’s Susie who locks eyes with you. And there’s something else there entirely. Longing. Maybe even pride. Something that twists just below your ribcage and settles deep.

You don’t smile. You don’t flinch. You simply stand tall, two legends at your sides, your car behind you, and your name now etched into the Ferrari legacy. Let them watch. Let them feel what you already know. This is just the beginning.

—

3rd pov

The event had long since ended, but the tension lingered like static in the back of Toto’s jaw. The suite was dim, the windows overlooking London now dark and still. The sound of the crowd had faded, replaced by silence and the occasional clink of glass as Toto poured himself a drink with a hand far tenser than he’d admit. He stood there, unmoving, scotch untouched, staring at the empty crystal like it might offer answers. Behind him, Susie sank into the velvet armchair, heels kicked off, her posture relaxed in the way only someone deeply unsettled could fake. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

“It wasn’t just the car,” Toto said finally. Voice low, quiet. “It was her.”

Susie didn’t respond at first. She just watched him, brow drawn slightly, mouth pulled in that unreadable line she wore whenever she didn’t want to give herself away too quickly.

He turned to face her. “You saw it too.”

She nodded slowly. “Of course I did.”

Toto exhaled, sharp and short. “She looked right through me. Like I was… just another executive in a suit.”

“You were,” Susie said, not unkindly.

There was no bite in her voice. Only truth. Toto’s jaw flexed. “She stole Lewis.”

“She didn’t steal him,” Susie said softly. “She earned him.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to take it back. She didn’t.

“She’s smart,” she continued. “Controlled. Fearless. I haven’t seen that kind of presence in a paddock in years.” A pause. “Not since you.”

He turned away again, as if her words physically struck him.

“I thought you hated her.”

“I never said that.”

“But you should,” he snapped. “After what she did. What she’s doing.”

Susie looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of her bracelet, eyes distant.

“That’s just it,” she murmured. “I can’t.”

He stilled. Slowly turned.

Susie’s voice was quiet, but steady. “I should hate her. For the politics. For the power plays. For what it’s doing to you. But I don’t.”

She looked up then, eyes meeting his, and something in her face cracked open — just enough to let the truth out.

“I’m enamored with her,” she said. “And I can’t help it.”

Toto stared, frozen. There was no fury. No jealousy. Just the weight of knowing he wasn’t alone in what he felt — and that terrified him more than anything.

“She walked onto that stage like she belonged to the sport before it even knew her name,” Susie continued. “And now she’s the one everyone’s watching. Even us.”

Toto looked away, jaw tight, heart somewhere between admiration and ache.

“She’s dangerous,” he said.

“Yes,” Susie agreed, leaning back in her chair, eyes still on the window where the echoes of red silk and spotlight still lived in her memory. “But I’ve never wanted to be closer to danger.”

And neither of them said the rest — That it wasn’t just about racing anymore. Not even close.

—

2nd pov

You weren’t expecting her. The knock at your hotel door is sharp, deliberate — not press or staff. You’re still in your post gala clothes—dress unzipped, heels abandoned somewhere by the minibar, red lipstick half faded. You think about ignoring it. But something tells you not to. When you open the door, Susie’s already halfway through a breath. She’s in a long black coat over silver satin, hair pinned with effortless precision. Her eyes sweep over you, just once, and then she steps inside without waiting for permission. She always had that presence — like permission was implied, or unnecessary.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again tonight,” you say, voice quiet.

She turns, calm and unreadable. “I didn’t think I’d come.”

You shut the door behind her and lean against it, arms folded loosely across your chest. “So what changed?”

She looks at you for a long time, and for a second you think she might say something easy. Professional. Strategic. But then she exhales through her nose and walks past you, slowly, deliberately — toward the wide window overlooking the street lights.

“You didn’t just convince Lewis to leave,” she says, not turning around. “You understood him. That’s what I came to ask you.”

You blink. “You came to ask me how I won him over?”

Susie nods, still facing the city. “Because he doesn’t move for politics. He moves for people. And somehow, you made him believe in you.”

You step away from the door, your voice quieter now. “I didn’t win him over. I listened. I didn’t ask him to change. I gave him a space to be who he already was.”

Finally, she turns to face you. And when she does, it’s slower. Heavier. There’s something in her expression that you can’t place — not anger, not admiration. It’s too soft to be jealousy, too raw to be curiosity.

“I used to think I knew him better than anyone,” she murmurs. “But then I watched the way he looked at you tonight.”

You shift. “Susie…”

“And the way you looked at him,” she adds, but her voice falters slightly — just for a breath. “It wasn’t about victory. It wasn’t about revenge.”

“No,” you say. “It wasn’t.”

She steps closer. Just one, then another. The lights behind her outline her figure in soft amber and shadow. You don’t move.

“And now I can’t stop thinking about you,” she says, and the words land like a stone in the center of the room.

Your breath catches.

“After everything,” she whispers, eyes locked on yours, “after all the tension, all the rumors, all the silence between us… I still watch you like I’m trying to figure out what you’re really made of.”

You swallow hard, the air suddenly thick.

“And what have you decided?” you manage.

Her lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smile. “That I can’t decide. That I don’t want to. That maybe I just want to feel it instead.”

She’s closer now — so close you can smell her perfume, something expensive and subtle and maddeningly familiar. The space between you isn’t wide enough to breathe properly, not with her eyes on your mouth the way they are.

“Susie,” you say again, softer this time, and it sounds more like a warning than a plea.

She reaches up — slowly, like testing gravity — and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger there, just a second too long.

“I don’t know if I hate you,” she says quietly. “Or if I want you.”

Your throat tightens. “I think maybe it’s both.”

And in the silence that follows, the only sound is the dull roar of your pulse in your ears and the faint hum of the city below. She doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. She doesn’t have to. The want is already humming between you — unspoken, unanswered, inevitable. You don’t move. You just let her look at you like she already knows how this ends. And for the first time since the season began, you don’t feel like the one in control.

—

several weeks into the season…

f1gossipgirls

liked by yn_ln, lewishamilton and 4,010,005 others.

f1gossipgirls : We interrupt your regularly scheduled chaos to celebrate the era we’re living in… Ferrari’s absolute domination — and more specifically, Team Principal YN LN’s reign of excellence and couture. Eight races in. Eight podiums. Ferrari leads the Constructors. Lewis Hamilton leads the WDC. And through it all? YN has served strategy, silence, and looks that could end empires. Swipe for some of her most iconic paddock outfits of the season so far — from the red silk in Bahrain to the chunky black boots in Australia (yes, the ones made her taller than both Charles and Lewis). This woman is running the most powerful team on the grid and turning pit lane into a runway every Sunday.

—

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username000 : mother is not just mothering. she is mother. matriarch. monarch. menace.

username00 : can’t believe she’s the same woman who stared and chased down toto in miami in six inch heels and a backless dress. a god.

username0 : i’ve never seen lewis this relaxed since 2015. she’s giving him peace and pace. we support.

username1 : i fear ferrari is winning on vibes, vision, and violently hot leadership

username5 : when she wore the red suit in bahrain i started apologizing for things i haven’t even done

georgerussell63 : i need her to drop the skin care routine and her strategy notes

liked by yn_ln and lewishamilton

—

Race morning. The hotel room is quiet, golden sunlight slanting through the open balcony doors, casting long, warm streaks across the hardwood floor. You’re halfway through fastening your watch, hair still damp from the shower, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar — relaxed, but humming with the low voltage that always sparks beneath your skin before lights out. Your red blazer hangs from the back of a chair like a flag. You haven’t put it on yet. It feels like a ritual now — wait until the last possible second. Let it mean something. You’re calm. Or at least, you’ve gotten very good at pretending you are.

Eight races. Eight podiums. Lewis leading the championship. Ferrari standing tall, loud, and undeniable at the top of the standings. You should be satisfied. Elated, even. But there’s something else tangled beneath the pride. A tension that hasn’t eased since your ascent began. Since that first event. Since they started looking at you like something more than just competition.

You think about Susie more often than you should — the quiet conversations, the moments where her fingers lingered a second too long, her gaze always knowing, always searching. There’s something unsaid between you, coiled and waiting. And then there’s Toto. You’ve known ambition before. But you’ve never known it with charm wrapped around it like silk. He’s relentless in a way that’s almost beautiful — steady and sharp, every glance a challenge, every word carefully placed to get under your skin.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t work sometimes. You’re still half-buttoning your shirt when there’s a knock at your door. Three firm taps. You pause. No one’s supposed to be here. When you open it, it’s him. Of course it is. Toto Wolff stands in the hallway like he owns it, dark sunglasses perched in his hand, dressed in Mercedes black but smiling like he’s the devil dressed for church.

“Well,” he says lightly, eyes scanning you — shirt undone, sleeves rolled. “Am I early? Or did Ferrari move to a more casual dress code?”

You arch a brow. “This what you do now? Show up at rival hotel rooms to psych out team principals?”

“Psych out?” he echoes, stepping inside without waiting. “Don’t flatter yourself, Liebling. I’m simply visiting an old… colleague.”

You snort. “Colleagues don’t usually flirt like that.”

He tilts his head. “Neither do enemies.”

The air shifts. He stands a little too close. You don’t step back.

“I saw the numbers,” he murmurs. “Another front row. Charles second. Lewis on pole.”

You shrug, slow. “What can I say? We’re good at our jobs.”

“Dangerously good,” he replies. “Almost boring, if it weren’t so… dramatic.”

Your eyes narrow. “Is that what this is, then? You losing so you’re trying to play games before the lights go out?”

Toto smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just wanted to see if the ice queen cracks before the race or after it.”

You match his stare, steady. “She never cracks. You taught her that.”

The words hang between you like smoke. And for a moment, neither of you moves. His eyes flicker to your mouth, just once. You almost let him. But instead, you straighten. Button the last few buttons. Slip the blazer from the chair and slide it on with slow, deliberate precision.

“Nice try,” you say softly, smoothing the lapel. “But I don’t get shaken. I win.”

You turn toward the door. “I’ll see you on the pit wall, Torger.”

And when you glance back, he’s still standing there — watching you the way one studies fire…with awe, with fear, and with the terrible, aching desire to touch it anyway.

—

You’ve stopped trying to describe the feeling. The podium lights. The anthem playing. The scarlet sea of Ferrari mechanics swarming the pit wall. The smell of champagne in your hair and the taste of victory still sharp in your mouth. Another 1-2.

Lewis P1. Charles P2. And you? Standing just below the podium, hands still trembling slightly from the final twenty laps, sunglasses smudged, blazer soaked in champagne and sweat and euphoria. Charles finds you first — he always does — leaping down from the podium and wrapping you in a hug so tight your feet lift off the ground. He’s grinning so hard it makes your chest ache.

“You did that,” he says into your ear. “You made this team do that.”

You laugh breathlessly. “I just gave you the car.”

He shakes his head, stepping back just as Lewis swoops in, equally breathless but more composed. His hands settle on your shoulders, grounding, proud.

“That’s not what I saw out there,” Lewis says, voice low. “What I saw was strategy perfection. Cold blooded timing. And a principal who’s rewriting this sport in red ink.”

You blink once, caught off guard. “You’re being unusually sentimental.”

“I just won a race,” he says, smirking. “Let me have this moment.”

You smile — and for a second, the chaos fades. The screaming fans, the shuttering cameras, the thrum of the grid behind you. You are, in this brief pause, happy. And then, slowly, the celebration begins to shift. Mechanics retreat. Media floods the garage. The adrenaline thins. Drivers disappear for debriefs and obligations. You’re walking down the hallway alone, red heels echoing against the concrete, when you hear your name.

“YN.”

You freeze. That voice is unmistakable — smooth, poised, accented like an invitation and a warning all at once. You turn.

Susie stands there in soft white linen, tan, hair swept up, calm even in the fluorescent light of the paddock tunnels. Her badge is still clipped to her belt, though she doesn’t look like part of the circus. She never does.

“Congratulations,” she says simply.

You nod, unsure how close to stand. Unsure what this is. “Thank you.”

She steps forward. Not close enough to touch, but closer than she should. You can smell her perfume — something light and expensive and maddening.

“I’ve been meaning to say something,” she says. “But you’ve been busy. Winning.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what this is? A truce?”

She doesn’t smile. Not exactly. “It’s an invitation.”

You blink.

“When we’re all back in Monaco… come to dinner,” Susie says. “Our place. Just us.”

Your heart thuds once, heavy and sudden. “Why?”

She exhales slowly, eyes flicking to your mouth and back again. “Because I think it’s time you and I talk somewhere that isn’t full of engines and politics.”

“And Toto?”

“He’ll be there,” she says. Then, softly. “But it’s you I’m inviting.”

The silence between you stretches — taut, humming. You swallow. “I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you do,” Susie murmurs, then leans in slightly, her voice lower now, warm as silk. “You look good in red, by the way. But I think you’d look even better if you were ours.”

And then she’s gone, walking down the hall like she didn’t just set your pulse on fire. You don’t move. You just stare at the empty space she left behind, wondering what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into — and why every part of you wants to say yes.

—

yn_ln

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, susie_wolff and 7,770,113 others.

yn_ln : solid last few weeks. so proud of my boys ❤️

tagged : charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco and susie_wolff

—

view 425,770 other comments.

charles_leclerc : hope you know we’re just trying to keep up with you. ❤️ grazie, boss

liked by yn_ln

lewishamilton : So grateful to be a part of this team and for your leadership. Let’s keep pushing ❤️

liked by yn_ln

username00 : susie??? yn in her stealing arc to the MAXXXXX

susie_wolff : Always a lovely time with you. Congratulations on the season so far, YN.

liked by yn_ln

scuderiaferrari : BOSSSSS LADYYYYYY WE LOVE YOUUU

liked by yn_ln

lando : yn do you forgive me for barking at you yet? idk what happened my primal instincts just kicked in

liked by yn_ln and oscarpiastri

↳ yn_ln : haven’t decided yet. next time get on your knees and do it. ill be a lot more forgiving.

liked by lando

—

The Wolff home is as elegant as you’d expect — minimal in design, warm in lighting, perched above the harbor with a view that would silence anyone less comfortable with luxury. But you are. You’re not nervous. Or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself. You’re dressed carefully — not too polished, not too casual. A thin black dress, red lips, your hair pinned back but soft. You don’t want to give anything away. Not yet. Susie greets you at the door.

She’s in cream silk, barefoot, a glass of wine in one hand. The kind of effortless grace that makes people underestimate how sharp she is. Her smile is warm, but there’s tension beneath it. It lives in her shoulders. In the pause between her words.

“Right on time,” she says. “We weren’t sure you’d show.”

“I wasn’t too sure myself,” you reply honestly.

She steps back to let you in. Toto is already at the table, rolling up his sleeves, uncorking a bottle of wine with far too much precision. The muscles in his forearms flex. You shouldn’t notice, but you do.

“YN,” he says with that slight smirk, like he knows exactly how much space he takes up and exactly what he does to people.

“Torger.”

He pours you a glass, his fingers brushing yours as he hands it to you. Just a second too long. Just enough to make your breath catch — but only slightly. You all sit. The food is simple — pasta, fresh bread, roasted vegetables. Monaco casual. The kind of meal made by people who don’t need to prove they’re rich. But the conversation is… careful. At first, it’s just surface level. Racing. Constructors’ standings. Quiet jabs and dry smiles. A dance you’ve all done before.

“You’ve built something ruthless at Ferrari,” Toto says over his glass. “I can admit that now.”

You arch a brow. “Only now?”

His lips twitch. “You’re very hard to ignore.”

Susie laughs softly. “That might be the understatement of the year.”

The table falls into a short silence. The kind that prickles with everything not being said. Eventually, Susie rises to clear a few plates, and you follow her into the kitchen. The room glows warm, a soft golden spill from pendant lights.

You place your glass down. “I can leave, if this was a mistake.”

She turns, slowly.

“No,” she says. “I didn’t invite you here by accident.”

You swallow. “Then why?”

Her eyes meet yours. Steady. Unflinching. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night.”

You feel it before you can react — the breath caught, the chill under your skin.

“And I’m tired of pretending it’s only tension,” she says, softer now. “It’s not just rivalry. It’s not just power. It’s you.”

Behind you, Toto’s voice cuts gently through the moment.

“She’s not wrong.”

You turn. He’s leaned against the doorframe, wine glass in hand, watching the two of you like he’s studied the angles a thousand times.

“You walked into the paddock like it belonged to you,” he says, eyes on yours. “And then you took it. Quietly. Without begging for respect. Without softening to make people more comfortable.”

You’re frozen in place. Your pulse is loud in your ears. Susie’s hand brushes against yours. A whisper of contact, but it feels like lightning.

“We didn’t plan this,” she says. “And we don’t want to scare you off.”

“But we’re drawn to you,” Toto finishes.

You blink. “Both of you.”

“Yes,” they say — at the same time. And somehow, that’s what makes your knees almost buckle.

You look between them — the ruthless man who once mentored you like a weapon, and the brilliant woman who’s been in your peripheral vision like a shadow and a mirror all season long. And here they are. Laid bare. Not asking for a decision. Just telling you the truth.

You whisper, “Why now?”

Toto tilts his head. “Because we finally admitted it to ourselves.”

Susie steps closer. “And because you’re winning. And we want to be near you… not just on track.”

There’s no kiss. No touch beyond that single brush of fingers. But the energy in the room is breathless.

“I need time,” you manage.

“We know,” Susie says gently.

Toto adds, “We’re not asking for anything tonight.”

He pauses, eyes glinting in the soft light.

“Except maybe one thing.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

He smiles. “Don’t make us regret inviting you.”

You smile back — slowly, deliberately. “You won’t.”

And deep down, you already know it’s too late to walk away. Not really. Because you’re not just sitting at their table. You’re already part of the fire.

—

You don’t hear from them the next day. Or the day after. But the silence doesn’t last. On the third morning, a delivery man shows up at your penthouse just past nine. You’re still in silk shorts and a robe, coffee in hand, hair pulled into something half presentable when the concierge buzzes in.

The first box is small. Velvet. Inside is a vintage Cartier lighter you’ve mentioned in exactly one interview three years ago. Attached is a note in unmistakably elegant handwriting—

For when you light the world on fire — just thought you should have something beautiful to do it with. —S

You stare at the card for a long time before setting it gently on your counter. By noon, another package arrives.

This one is heavier — a bottle of red wine from a vineyard you only ever drink from after wins. The tag is embossed with a single word—

Deserved. —T

You smile — helplessly. By sunset, the penthouse is beginning to look like the aftermath of a very luxurious heist— fresh flowers on the marble island, a dozen handwritten notes, and a cashmere scarf in Mercedes black. By the fourth gift, you’re done pretending you’re not utterly charmed. You text them. One message. Simple. Deliberate.

Tonight. 9. Come over.

The doorbell rings at 8:57. You open it without hesitation. Toto is in a black linen shirt, sleeves rolled, watch glinting at his wrist. Susie is behind him in cream silk again — always silk — her hair down, her eyes trained on you like she already knows what happens next. They don’t speak right away. You step aside, letting them in. The penthouse smells like fig and bergamot candles. You’ve made sure of it. A bottle of champagne sits uncorked on the counter, glasses already poured. No one mentions the gifts. No one needs to. Toto takes in the view, the subtle lighting, the thin black dress you’re wearing like it’s a threat.

“You meant it then,” he murmurs. “The invitation.”

“I am not one to do anything half-assed.,” you say, voice low.

Susie smiles faintly. “We’ve noticed.”

You hand them each a glass.They clink. They drink. And then the silence returns — not heavy, not awkward. Charged. Like the air before a thunderstorm.

You speak first. “I haven’t stopped thinking about the dinner.”

Susie tilts her head. “Neither have we.”

Toto sets his glass down. “You’ve been in my head for months.”

“I’m not interested in a game,” you say softly.

“Neither are we,” Susie answers, stepping closer.

She reaches out — slow, deliberate — and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers grazing your skin. It’s so gentle it makes you dizzy.

“I want this,” she murmurs. “You.”

Toto moves behind you, his voice warm against your spine. “We both do. Entirely.”

You exhale, and it sounds like surrender. You turn, facing them both. No more politics. No more tension pretending to be rivalry. Just want. And when you lean in to kiss Susie — soft, sure, tasting of champagne and longing — Toto’s hand slips to your hip like he belongs there. It’s quiet. Intimate. The kind of kiss that says finally. When you pull back, Susie’s lips are slightly parted, her eyes searching yours.

“I thought this would scare me,” you whisper.

“It still might,” Toto says.

“But not enough to stop,” Susie finishes.

You look at them — the two people you were never supposed to fall into orbit with. And yet here you are. The most dangerous thing in racing… is no longer the cars. It’s this. And you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything.

—

The first thing you register is warmth. Not just the soft sheets tangled around your legs or the filtered Monaco sunlight spilling through the windows — but bodies. Breath. The quiet rhythm of two people asleep beside you. You blink your eyes open slowly. Toto is to your left, arm still wrapped loosely around your waist, his bare chest rising and falling beneath the rumpled edge of the duvet. He’s impossibly serene like this — the usually guarded steel in his expression replaced by something soft, almost boyish.

On your right, Susie sleeps facing you. One hand curled beneath her cheek, the other resting where your arm meets your shoulder. Her hair has fallen loose. There’s the faintest smudge of red at the corner of her mouth, a reminder of last night. You breathe in, long and slow.

You haven’t known quiet like this in weeks — months, maybe. Not since the season began. Not since the wins started piling up. Not since the world started watching you like a hawk, waiting for the cracks to show. But here, in this bed, there are no cracks. Just closeness. A calm you didn’t know you’d been starving for.

You shift carefully, trying not to wake them — but Susie’s eyes flutter open the moment your fingers move beneath the sheets. She blinks once. Then again. And then she smiles. It’s small, real, private.

“Good morning,” she whispers, voice like velvet.

“Morning,” you murmur.

Her fingers trace your arm absentmindedly, slow and affectionate. “You didn’t leave.”

You smile faintly. “Was tempted to. Just to be dramatic…but then I realized this is my house. ”

Toto stirs beside you, groaning softly, dragging a hand through his hair before cracking one eye open.

“If you left,” he says, voice still thick with sleep, “you’d be back by lunch. We both know that.”

You chuckle. “Arrogant.”

“Experienced,” he corrects, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

You let your head fall back onto the pillow. It’s dangerous, how natural this feels. You should be thinking about the team. The media. The optics. About what it means for you — for Ferrari. For everything you’ve built. But all you can think about is how good it feels to let yourself be here. With them. No audience. No paddock. No performance. Just this.

Susie props herself up on one elbow. “How are you feeling?”

You glance between them, then answer honestly.

“Like I don’t want to leave this room for a very long time.”

Toto laughs quietly, low in his throat. “Then don’t.”

And you don’t. Not for a while. Because for once, you’re not chasing something. You’ve already arrived.

—

He wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You’d planned on easing Charles into the reality of your new… entanglement. Maybe over a glass of wine. Or during a quiet post-race dinner. Something calm. Controlled. Definitely not in your kitchen at 9:14 in the morning.

And definitely not while Susie Wolff has you backed up against the marble island, her lips pressed to yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other splayed against your waist like she owns you. You’re too far gone to notice the door opening at first. Too distracted by the heat of her mouth, the hum beneath your skin, the way you’re smiling into the kiss like someone with no regard for consequences.

“Mon dieu.”

You both freeze. There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“NO. Nope. Nope nope nope. WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

You wrench away from Susie, both of you snapping toward the doorway.

Charles stands there, coffee in one hand, wearing an oversized hoodie and horror in his eyes. He looks like he just walked in on his parents doing something irreversible.

“I—this is—I CANNOT UNSEE THIS,” he shouts, physically turning around and pressing a hand to his temple like he’s trying to reboot his brain.

You clear your throat, trying and failing to sound composed. “Charles—”

“No. Don’t speak. Don’t say words. I’m already unwell.”

Susie, ever composed, takes a small step back, wiping the corner of her lipstick-smudged mouth with the pad of her thumb. “Good morning, Charles.”

“Don’t say good morning to me like we’re in a normal family household,” he cries. “You’re literally making out with my boss in her kitchen.”

“My penthouse,” you correct, deadpan.

“IT DOES NOT MATTER,” he wails, pacing toward the living room, hands in his hair. “I was coming over for pancakes and therapy and instead I get psychological warfare.”

You follow him slowly, while Susie suppresses a smile behind you.

“Charles, I was going to tell you—”

“When? After I walked you down the aisle? During a strategy meeting? In the middle of the Monza debrief?!” he gasps, eyes wide and fully wounded. “What next? Are you secretly with to Toto too?”

There’s a beat. Your silence says more than anything else could. Charles stares at you. Then at Susie. Then lets out a strangled sound so pitiful you almost feel bad for him.

“I need to lie down.”

He collapses dramatically onto the couch, flopping like a fainting Victorian woman, muttering into a cushion. “I can’t do this. This is above my pay grade. I am a race car driver. I don’t know how to process this level of emotional betrayal.”

You sit beside him, gently patting his back. Susie leans against the doorway, arms folded, watching with far too much amusement.

“I still love you,” you tell him softly.

“I DON’T BELIEVE IN LOVE ANYMORE,” he snaps into the pillow.

You laugh. You can’t help it. Susie walks over and places a glass of orange juice on the coffee table in front of him like he’s a patient recovering from a great trauma. Charles peeks out from behind the pillow.

“I swear to God,” he mutters. “If I ever walk in on Toto, I’m moving to Redbull.”

—

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 3 days ago

Text

I Don't Hate You (1)

Wanda X Reader 18+

Summary- As you were about to knock on her door you heard what sounded like a groan. You froze at the door. Did you hurt her badly in training? Was she in pain? Steve was going to kill you. Oh god you had fucked up. “Fuck Y/n, right there please,” the witch moaned and you realised. Oh.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Enemies to Lovers?, Dom Reader, Top Reader, Praise, Sub Wanda, Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral sex, Multiple Orgasms.

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List | Chapter 2

You hated her. She hated you. That was the only thing you and Wanda Maximoff could agree on. The rest of the team had no idea what happened to make you hate a certain witch so much but by the way you acted towards her they could tell it must have been something big. So here you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the Avengers compound with a scowl on your face as Wanda had just entered the room.

“Can’t you just try to be civil with her?” asked Natasha who was your best friend. The spy had been there when they rescued you from Hydra and helped you understand your abilities and control them so you couldn’t hurt anyone else. Natasha was the only person you willingly told about your past. The testing, the abuse, the torture and the stripping of your humanity really did a number on you but you managed to get through it. You had to. With an annoyed look, you turned to the redhead and met her eyes.

“I’m sorry Nat but I just don’t trust her,” you said for what felt like the millionth time. The whole team wanted you two to get along but that was quiet hard as you were both strong independent women who could be annoyingly stubborn. The spy dropped the conversation with a huff and continued to run by old mission files with you. During this you found yourself looking out for a certain brunette and you couldn’t help it. You thought it was just your paranoia acting up as that was a habit you couldn’t shake but you didn’t miss that other odd feeling you felt when looking for her.

“Y/n? Wanda? A word please,” spoke Captain America and you audibly groaned at the names called. You heard her mumbled something under her breath and you just help yourself from being a dick.

“What’s wrong darling?” you sarcastically retort.

“What do you think?” she spat out, her accent thick.

“I think your thinking about having to spend time all alone with me,” you started with a smirk and she just raised her eyebrow at you, “Trying your hardest to keep that little mind of yours from thinking about being under me.” Thanks to your abilities you heard her breath hitch and knew you had riled her up.

“As If I would want to be under you,” she growled but you could see the way her legs slowly squeezed together. You loved teasing her because it always worked and well if you were being honest you had definitely thought about her being under you. The woman was gorgeous! She had a stunning body from all her training, she could kill men twice the size of her and she never backed down from a challenge. How could you not fantasize about her? It would be like some amazing fanfic where the two people who hated each other would some reason have amazing hot sex and maybe fall in love.

“Keep telling yourself that darling,” you said. You were about to tease her even more but a firm grip on your shoulder stopped you.

“Go now,” ordered Natasha and you saluted at her in a mocking manner and walked down the hall to follow the captain and witch. You couldn’t stop yourself and your eyes wandered lower until they reached the brunettes behind. You quickly averted your gaze once you released what you were doing.

“So what’s this for Grandpa,” you joke as he leads you to the training room. You jump up onto the pile of mats to sit on while he just rolls his eyes at the nickname. You and Steve were close as you both shared the super soldier serum but yours was more enhanced.

“You and Wanda will be sparring partners from now on,” his tone serious and you just laughed.

“You think she could fight me?” your voice shocked. “Wow I’m officially hurt Captain,” for dramatics you placed your hand on your heart and acted as if he had shot you.

“Get down Y/n,” he grumbled but you listened as he was still your friend. “You are going to spar with each other and settle your differences otherwise you are both banned from missions.”

“What?” you and Wanda both asked in unison.

“You heard me,” his tone stern, “Now sort this out so we don’t have to listen to anymore arguing.” With that said he left the room and slammed the door making you laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she snapped while tying her hair up and getting in a fighting stance. You looked her up and down unconsciously before clearing your throat.

“Looks like you’ll have plenty of time to be under me darling,” you purred and launched yourself at her. She dodged a few of your punches but you noticed how she put way to much weight onto one of her legs meaning if you swiped at her other-

“Fuck,” she shouted as her back hit the mat and you climbed on top of her to pin her down. You moved her hands over her head while moving your hips to straddle hers. Your faces were inches apart and your smirk was predatory. You looked deeply into her ocean eyes and wondered has she always had such beautiful eyes? You watched as her breathing started to pick up as you moved to whisper in her ear.

“If you want to be under me just ask,” you purred. “I’m sure I could make you scream,” your tone was sultry and as you pulled back you saw her eyes dilate so much only slivers of the green were left. You chuckled at her reaction before getting of her and waiting for her to get back up. You let her make the first move this time and quickly avoided her incoming attacks. You read her movements and analysed her techniques before predicting her next moves. You knew Natasha had trained her mostly so she had learned the spy’s skills but they just weren’t as developed as hers. Once she lifted the weight on one foot you knew she was going to swing her foot at you so you moved back and caught it with your hand. You flipped her over as she was now off balanced but made sure to put a hand on her back before she hit the mat once again. You hated her but that didn’t mean you were going to purposely hurt her. You weren’t like that anymore.

“You really do like being on your back for me,” you teased as you pinned her once again.

“Shut up,” she said with her accent coming out strong. “I’m getting a drink.” You gazed at her as she drank from her water bottle. From where you were you could see the light showing off the sweat that was dripping down the column of her neck and slowly trickling its way to the valley of her breasts. The sight of her was intoxicating and you couldn’t help but stare. You managed to look away before you came off as creepy and she returned to you a few moments later.

“Ready to be beaten again?” you taunted and she just rolled her eyes before throwing a surprise punch. You were impressed but it didn’t work as you countered it and swiped her off her feet once again.

“Wow you really are falling for me,” you joked and she groaned in annoyance. The two of you continued to spar for another hour until Wanda finally called it quits as she was getting annoyed. She managed to land a few hits on you occasionally but would always end up underneath you. When she stormed out of the training room you assumed it was out of frustration as you had being egging her on for ages. However Wanda left in such a hurry as the wetness between her thighs was becoming too much.

Once in her room she quickly shed her self of her sweaty workout clothes and laid down on her bed in nothing but her underwear. She didn’t get why you hated her so much. The only reason she acted the way she did to you was because that’s how you treated her. Wanda pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind as she moved her hands along her sculpted body. Sparring with you had awoken something in her. Yeah sure she had thought about you multiple times while pleasuring herself but to actually be under you and be so close? It had her wet within seconds. Her nimble fingers found themselves teasing her nipples through the fabric of her bra before she moved to unclasp it and throw it somewhere into her room. She pictured you above her, your hands teasing her nipples as she moaned under you. Your name falling out of her lips like a prayer as you took her desperately in her bed. One of her hands moved from her breast to slip underneath the fabric of her underwear and start rubbing circles into her clit. She wondered if you would be dominating during sex as you had that cocky personality or if you were really just a brat who needed to be tamed like she was. She hoped you would take charge and make her scream like you promised. She found herself getting unbearably wet between her thighs as the coil in her stomach started to tighten. She slipped in two fingers and thrusted at a leisurely pace imagining they were your fingers and you were teasing her for being such a brat this morning. Her hips bucked every time her palm brushed her clit and soft whimpers left her lips. She didn’t even notice that she was moaning your name as she edged closer and closer to the edge.

“Y/n,” spoke a voice and you whipped your head around. It was Steve great. “Why did Wanda look so annoyed after training with you?”

“I don’t know maybe because all she did was get pinned to the floor by me? I’m sorry Cap I really am but she’s too easy to fight!” you exclaimed and he sighed in frustration.

“Then why don’t you try and help her improve!” he said and you looked at him confused.

“Isn’t that your job? Or Nat’s?” he pinched the bridge of his nose at you and huffed.

“It’s yours now ok?” he said in a serious voice and you just groaned. Why God, why? “Also you can go check on her and apologise for being so rough on her in training,” his voice left no room for arguing so you mumbled stuff under your breath before leaving to go see the witch.

“God Y/n,” she whimpered as her fingers hit her g-spot repeatedly. She was a wet mess by now and she didn’t care. The image of you pounding into her with a strap on was doing wonders for her and she was so close to coming for a second time.

As you were about to knock on her door you heard what sounded like a groan. You froze at the door. Did you hurt her badly in training? Was she in pain? Steve was going to kill you. Oh god you had fucked up. “Fuck Y/n, right there please,” the witch moaned and you realised. Oh.

Wanda curled the two fingers inside her and rubbed tight, fast circles into her clit with her other hand bringing herself right to the edge. With a final thrust she came with a guttural scream and trembled on the bed as her orgasm washed over her. She laid on the bed panting after having two of the best orgasms of her life. Who knew you turned the witch on that much.

You remained frozen at the door as you had just heard Wanda moaning your name and had just orgasmed at the thought of you. Every single ounce of confidence in you went flying out of the widow as Wanda just came thinking about you. You knew you had to see the witch otherwise Steve would definitely ban you from missions so you did the only thing you could think off- make dirty jokes while talking to her.

You knocked three times on the door before saying, “Hey Wanda, I’m sorry for going so hard on you in training I just thought you would have liked it hard and rough.” You could hear an embarrassed noise from through the door and quietly chuckled. “Anyway I can’t wait for you to come tomorrow.” Wanda groaned loudly into her pillow and dreaded training with you tomorrow.

The next day you and Wanda met for training you had decided to wear a tight fitting black t-shirt that showed off how defined your body was as well as slightly curvy. You certainly didn’t expect Wanda to turn up in tight leggings that hugged her ass perfectly and a small sports bra that made her chest look bigger. You had to control yourself as she swayed her hips towards you. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes and you could tell she was going to be a brat.

“Hey Y/n,” her tone sultry and accent thick.

“Hey Wanda,” your tone equally seductive. “Did you have fun last night?” You saw how she blushed and thought this was going to be easy.

“I did actually,” she murmured, her face inches from yours. “I did what you said I would.”

“And what was that darling?” the nickname slipping from your lips.

“Thinking of you,” her voice raspy. You raised an eyebrow at her boldness but let her carry on. “I thought of what it would be like to be under you,” she stepped closer to you and moved to a fight pose. She made sure that in the position she was in her breasts would be pushed up and it would give you a clear view of them. “To have your hands all over me,” she threw a punch and you easily dodged it but grabbed her arm and flung her over you. She landed on her back with you onto and her eyes dilated. You could see how flustered she was and how her thighs tried to squeeze together. You moved apart her legs with your hands, spreading her out for you before crawling above her and putting your knew in between her legs. A soft moan left her lips at the contact and you stopped advancing on her. It felt so wrong to have her here on the floor of the training room.

“Do you actually want this?” you asked in case she didn’t for some reason.

“Yes,” she gasped out. You pressed your lips against hers and heard her moan into the kiss. Fuck she was addicting. The taste of her lips, the sound of her whimpers, the smell of her perfume. You couldn’t get enough of her. You pulled away and saw how her eyes fluttered open, her lips chasing yours. A small peck on her lips was placed before you pulled away for good to stare at her.

“Not here darling,” you panted out on her lips. Her nose brushed yours and you so desperately wanted her now. “My room or yours?”

“Mine,” she whispered and you moved off her and pulled her up. You pulled her close to murmur into her ear.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” you nibbled on her ear lobe. “Go.” Swiftly she left the training room and you chuckled as she fumbled with the door.

Around five minutes later you knocked on her door after making sure no one would see you. As soon as the door opened a hand made its way to the collar of your shirt and she dragged you into her room. Wanda pressed you against the door and reattached your lips together in a hungry kiss. You groaned into her mouth as her body became flush with yours. In one motion, you switched the positions and trapped her body between you and the door.

“If you want to stop just say,” you panted out while resting your forehead against hers, “I won’t judge and will stop as soon as you want me to.” She smiled before lacing her hands through your hair and pulling you in for a bruising kiss. Your knee made its way back between her thighs and she took this as the chance to grind along it. Your hands moved from beside her head to massage her chest before pulling down the sports bra revealing her chest. She gasped as the cold air met her nipples while you just let out a low chuckle. Your fingers rolled and pinched her nipples as she sighed against your lips and grinded her core on your toned thigh.

“Please,” she whimpered as you moved your kisses to her neck. You sucked hard onto a spot on her neck where everyone could see as it and felt her buck her hips especially hard.

“Oh you like that darling?” you teased. “Do you want everyone to see your mine? To see this and think of me and you?” you bit down on another part of her neck and soothed it with your tongue before moving to her chest. Your name fell from her lips as you took a breast into your mouth and worshipped it. With a pop you let it go before moving onto the other.

“Y/n,” she whined, “Please I’m so close. I need you to,” she moaned out before you cut her off with your lips.

“Need me to what?”

“Touch me here,” she guided one of your hands to between her thighs and you instantly felt how wet she was.

“You’re so wet for me,” you growled out and she moaned at the tone of your voice. You rubbed her through the fabric of her leggings and felt her getting extremely close. “Do you want to come?” you felt her nod against your shoulder and you tsked her. “You’ve got to use your words if you want to be a good girl,” she moaned at the words. “Good girls get to come.”

“Please let me come,” she whimpered and you felt bad for what you were about to do but it would be worth it. “I’m so close,” as soon as she said that you picked her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around your toned abdomen. She whined as you placed her on the bed as she was so close to coming. Once she was on the bed you knelt by the end of it and reached for the waistband of her leggings. You looked at her in the eyes, asking the silent question, and waited for her to say yes. She nodded but you tsked again so she said, “Yes. Please!” You laughed at her neediness but continued to pull the remaining clothing off her skin. As you unveiled the soft, smooth skin of her legs you groaned quietly as she was breath-taking.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered while moving her legs over your shoulder. You peppered open mouthed kisses in between her thighs before leaving a few bites to leave as a reminder. “Is this what you wanted?” you murmured into her skin. “To be spread out and wanting for me?” your hot breath sent all sorts of pleasurable feelings throughout the witch and a low moan left her lips. “Desperate for my touch?” you finally gave in and took her clit into your mouth. Her hips jerked at pleasure so with one of your hands you held her hips down. The show of strength made Wanda feel even more aroused and a new gush of wetness pooled between her thighs. Your tongue licked between her folds while your free hand moved to circle her clit. You thrusted your tongue into her dripping core and felt her clench around you. Wanda was already extremely close from before so it only took a few thrusts of your tongue against her walls and a few rubs of her clit for her legs to wrap around your head. Her legs trembled as she came with a long string of moans, her back arching beautifully and chest heaving from the intensity of it. Once she had rode out the last of her aftershocks you switched your tongue with your fingers and easily slipped two into her.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned as her hips bucked as best they could under your grip. You started a fast pace of moving your digits within her while your mouth sucked and licked around your extremely sensitive clit. It took only a minute or so for the witch to cry out your name out as another orgasm washed over her. You waited once again for her to calm down and tested to see if she could handle another. You worked her up slowly this time and her hands unclenched the sheet in her hand and tangled in your hair. You made her come another time before deciding she had enough and it would be too much for another.

“Are you alright?” you whispered as you moved back above her body. She sighed out a yes before pressing her lips against yours. The brunette moaned as she tasted herself on your lips before pulling away.

“Do you want me to?” she asked breathlessly and you shook your head.

“Its ok,” you said after pressing your lips together once again, “You’re tired. Go and rest.” You moved to her bathroom to grab a towel so you could quickly wipe her down and clean her up. Once you were happy she was alright you went to grab her clothes and put them into a wash basket before passing her some comfortable clothes to wear. You heard her call your name so you turned around to look at her.

“Stay?” she had hope in her eyes and for some reason you felt like you couldn’t deny her. You crawled into the bed with her and felt her move close to cuddle you. This felt weird for you as you had never expected to do this with her but it didn’t feel wrong so you went with it. “Y/n?” you hummed in response, “Why do you hate me?

“I don’t hate you,” you admitted. It was true. You never hated Wanda you were just scared of what she thought of you. When she went into your mind all that time ago when she was with Ultron you were still a new member of the team. You hadn’t done much to remove the ‘red in your ledger’ as Natasha phrased it and you assumed she just thought you were evil. “I just thought you would see me as a monster. I pushed you away because you saw all of me and it just….scared me I guess.” She removed her head from your chest to look at you in the eyes.

“You’re not a monster Y/n. And I never thought that of you.” She pressed her lips onto yours and this time it felt different.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you,” you whispered against her lips, not meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry too,” she cooed and you finally looked at her, “But to be honest I was just mad at you. I had a huge crush on you and you just wanted to push me away.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m yours now,” you said and you saw her raise her eyebrow, “Well that’s if you still want me.” She answered you by kissing you passionately on the lips and pulling you closer.

“Of course I do.”

#wanda maximoff #marvel fanfiction #wanda x reader #eventual smut #wanda x you #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch #dom reader #enemies to lovers #wlw smut #top reader

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uncuredturkeybacon · 2 days ago

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𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you go to your first basketball game and didn't expect something more

You were exhausted. Not in the tired of life way, just the overwhelmed by glamour kind of way. The Formula 1 movie premiere had been a blur of flashbulbs, champagne flutes, and glimmering gowns. You weren’t a driver, but you may as well have been with the way the cameras hounded you and Charles from the moment you stepped onto the red carpet.

It never really stopped, that attention. Not when you were the younger sister of Charles Leclerc and one of the very few women working as a Formula One race engineer—let alone one who’d made it onto the Ferrari team by twenty-three. People were interested. People always had questions. And your face? Apparently marketable enough for every tabloid to want it next to your brother’s whenever you were in the same city.

So, yeah. You were exhausted.

Which is why the idea of going to a basketball game sounded... almost rebellious in its normalcy.

You leaned your head on Charles’s shoulder as the car rolled through Manhattan traffic, humming under your breath. “I still can’t believe you dragged me into that afterparty last night.”

Charles snorted, relaxed in his seat with Alexandra curled up against his other side. “You say that, but you were the one doing shots with Lando.”

“I did one shot with Lando,” you corrected, “because he said I was too uptight.”

Alex laughed softly. “He also said you should be in front of the camera instead of hiding behind pit walls.”

You groaned. “He says that every time. I fix your telemetry one time during qualifying and suddenly I’m Angelina Jolie.”

Charles grinned and gave your hand a squeeze. “You just hate being famous.”

“I don’t hate it,” you murmured, lips quirking. “I just hate not being able to disappear.”

And that was really it. You hadn’t told anyone outside your inner circle about your plan for today. A quiet trip to the Barclays Center. Just you, Charles, and Alex.

You’d mentioned it in passing after breakfast this morning, still sipping your iced coffee, eyes puffy with sleep.

“I’ve never seen a basketball game in person,” you said, squinting at your phone. “New York Liberty’s playing tonight.”

Charles blinked at you across the kitchen island. “You want to go?”

You shrugged. “Kind of curious. I know nothing about it, but the atmosphere seems cool when I googled it.”

“You google everything,” Alex teased you, whited you just shrugged at.

“Alright.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll text my manager. We’ll sort it.”

And of course, being Charles, he sorted it within half an hour. Three courtside seats. No fanfare or sponsor ties. Just you three, sitting down to watch women throw a ball around and, hopefully, scream at each other with intense athleticism. It sounded oddly soothing.

Now the black SUV pulled up to the Barclays Center and the street buzzed with energy. The pre-game crowd was thicker than you expected. People in teal and sea foam green jerseys stood in clumps on the sidewalk, others in navy and silver.

You read a few of the names on the backs of shirts. Jones. Ionescu. Bueckers. That last one you pronounced in your head like “Buckers” before second-guessing yourself.

As the door opened, Charles stepped out first, always the gentleman, offering a hand to help Alex out next. You slid out after them, a little disoriented by the shift in atmosphere. Less polished than the premiere, but more alive somehow. No tuxedos or gowns—just sneakers, t-shirts, music blasting from speakers along the entryway.

You adjusted your sunglasses, even though it was nearly evening, and tugged your denim jacket tighter around you. The press hadn’t followed. No one here really cared mush about who you were. A few teenagers glanced at Charles—probably Formula 1 fans—but no cameras. No interviews. No one asking how Charles thinks of the season so far, how no one asks you about updates on the cars.

Just... peace.

“Didn’t think there’d be this many people,” you said under your breath as you approached the VIP entrance.

“Basketball’s apparently big here,” Alex replied, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “The Liberty are kind of a big deal.”

You tilted your head. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Enough to pretend,” she said with a grin.

“Perfect. I’ll follow your lead.”

Security ushered you in quickly once credentials were checked—Charles’s manager had arranged everything—and the cool of the arena swallowed you whole. Air conditioning, the sharp scent of popcorn and floor polish, and the distant thud of basketballs echoed in your ears.

You followed a staff member through the lower tunnels, emerging out into the blinding brightness of the court.

And just like that, you were courtside.

It was... closer than you expected.

You could see the lights glaring off the court. Hear the rubber of sneakers squeaking with warmup drills. Players darted up and down the court, long-limbed and agile, even just jogging. You didn’t know who was who, but one team was in blue warm-ups and the other in black.

Someone was shooting three-pointers with precision. Another sprinted from baseline to half court and back, ponytail whipping behind her like a comet trail.

“Bloody hell,” Charles muttered beside you, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. “They’re fast.”

“Mmhm,” you said, barely hearing him.

One of the players jogged past, close enough to see the tiny bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face. She didn’t look over, too focused on her footwork. Her jersey read BUECKERS in crisp blue letters across the back.

You blinked.

Oh. That name again.

You leaned toward Alex. “Is that... Buckers? Like the jersey we saw outside?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. She’s really famous, I think. Played for UConn. Supposed to be a big deal for the Wings this year.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “How do you know that?”

“Google is a wonderful tool, hermana.”

You studied the woman as she slowed to a jog near the bench, catching a water bottle and tipping it up with ease. Blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, pale skin, strong arms that flexed easily with every movement. She had a kind of presence. Not in the way F1 drivers did—loud, cocky—but... quietly intense.

You tilted your head. “She looks like she could stare through someone’s soul.”

Charles chuckled. “Don’t let her stare at you like that. You’ll explode.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

The arena began to fill. The crowd’s energy ramped up with every minute closer to tip-off. Announcers boomed over the speakers. Lights dimmed, and spotlights painted patterns across the hardwood.

You settled into your seat, tucking one ankle over your knee and balancing a bottle of water between your palms. The back of your neck buzzed with anticipation, though you couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just the unknown—this whole world of sport you knew nothing about. Maybe it was the air conditioning. Or maybe it was the fact that Bueckers, whoever she really was, had just glanced toward your row like she knew exactly who you were.

But she didn’t. Did she?

It started with a tap.

A quiet one, like the soft thud of a butterfly wing against your skin. You were distracted by the sweep of pregame lights moving across the ceiling, the slight back and forth between Charles and Alex beside you and by the rhythmic sound of basketballs echoing like thunder on the court.

You didn’t notice the two players breaking away from warmups at first, not until you caught a shift in the atmosphere. Like energy moving in a new direction.

And then, there it was. A gentle, almost tentative voice near your shoulder.

“Hi. Um. Are you—are you Charles’s sister?”

You turned and blinked.

It was her.

Bueckers. The name you’d only just learned a few minutes ago. She was taller than you’d expected up close, but not by much. Her cheeks were flushed from warmups, blonde hair tied in a tight ponytail. Her jersey was still partially tucked in, and she was holding her water bottle in both hands like it might anchor her to the moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your mouth. “Depends who’s asking.”

She let out a soft breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh of relief. “Just a fan.”

That surprised you. “You’re a fan of me?”

Paige shook her head, then immediately nodded, then looked like she regretted both. “No, I mean—yes. Not like in a weird way. Just... I’ve seen you on the screen sometimes during races. You always looked beaut—uh, I mean—focused and serious.”

You blinked again. “You follow Formula 1?”

“Arike’s girlfriend is obsessed,” Paige replied, glancing quickly over her shoulder. “She’s a huge Ferrari fan. So Arike’s always hearing about your brother. And I guess I kind of got sucked up in it once I moved to Dallas.”

You glanced past her. Sure enough, one of her teammates—the one with the wicked jumper during warmups, now confirmed as Arike—was enthusiastically talking to Charles. She looked slightly overwhelmed, and very excited, holding her phone in one hand as she grinned up at him like he’d just won her a car.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That’s not something I expected today.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, and when you turned back to her, she was already looking at you again. “Me neither.”

You didn’t know what it was, exactly. Maybe the nerves in her voice, maybe the way she rocked slightly on her feet like she was resisting the urge to bolt—but it made you soften.

You held out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Her smile grew. “Paige.”

You nodded. “Ah, Paige. It’s nice to finally know the first name.”

She laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” you said, tipping your head. “Just kept seeing Buckers jerseys everywhere.”

Paige’s ears went a little pink, and she tucked a loose piece of hair behind one ear, fingers fidgeting with the elastic of her jersey. “Um, it’s Bueckers actually. The ‘u’ is silent.”

“Bueckers. I apologize,” you said.

“It’s okay,” she gave a shy smile. “You, um. You’re really here for a game?”

You glance back out to the court, where the rest of the Wings and Liberty were still running drills. “First one ever. Thought I’d see what all the hype is about.”

She grinned. “You picked a good one. Liberty versus Wings is never boring.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said lightly. “I’ve never watched basketball before. Been surrounded by race cars all my life.”

Paige laughed again, lighter this time. “That’s okay. I know nothing about racing except that I can’t even go-kart without spinning out.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can teach each other.”

The words hung in the air, light but charged. Paige’s eyes flickered to your mouth before quickly darting away again. You didn’t miss it.

“So,” you said, shifting in your seat so you were angled slightly more toward her, “are you just saying hi, or are you here on official wingwoman duty for Arike?”

She groaned softly, but she was smiling. “She begged me to come over. She got too nervous and didn’t want to go alone.”

“Too nervous?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Charles is like... a walking golden retriever. He’s the least intimidating person I know.”

“I think that’s why she’s nervous,” Paige said, leaning slightly closer. “She wants to make a good impression. Her girlfriend’s always saying how cool he is. Especially his girlfriend. Plus, Arike’s not great with... subtlety.”

You snorted. “I can tell. She’s practically vibrating.”

Paige’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer before she pulled back slightly, clearing her throat. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be bothering you before the game.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you said easily. “I feel like I’m the one that’s bothering you. But this is already more fun than I expected.”

She grinned. “What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “To sit here awkwardly while everyone screamed around me. To not understand what was happening. To check my phone halfway through the second quarter.”

“And now?”

You looked at her, really looked, and smiled softly. “Now I kind of want to stay until the very end.”

Her blush returned, stronger this time.

The crowd began to rise in volume as the clock above the court ticked closer to tip-off. Music pulsed through the speakers. A Liberty player dunked during layup lines and the crowd roared. Paige glanced toward the bench.

“I should probably get back,” she said, sounding reluctant.

You tilted your head. “Are you starting?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “But I’ll—um. I’ll try not to trip in front of you.”

You smirked. “No promises from me. I might cheer for the other team just to keep you on your toes.”

Her mouth parted like she didn’t know whether to laugh or challenge you. “You wouldn’t.”

You lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

She bit her lip. “Well... if you change your mind, I’ll be number five. Wings jersey. You know. Just in case you decide you want to cheer for the right side.”

You leaned back, eyes gleaming. “We’ll see how you play.”

She took a few steps back, still facing you, then finally turned around just as Arike finished her impromptu photo with Charles and bounded after her.

You watched her go—watched the easy way she moved, the subtle glance she cast over her shoulder before disappearing behind the bench.

Alex elbowed you gently. “So. That was a very long conversation for someone who only came over because of Arike.”

You tried for casual. “She was being polite.”

Charles snorted. “Mon dieu. She was flirting and she was terrible at it.”

“She was sweet,” you corrected, still smiling faintly.

Alex leaned in. “And you liked it.”

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your water, eyes trailing back to where Paige now stood with her teammates, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, gaze already scanning the court—but every now and then, flickering right back to you.

And each time it did, your heart fluttered a little faster than it had on any starting grid.

It wasn’t obvious at first.

You weren’t sure what to watch during a basketball game—when to focus on the ball, when to look at the off-ball movement or when to just follow the flow of the players gliding across the court like it was muscle memory. The speed surprised you. The precision. The sheer athleticism of it all.

But what surprised you most was how often your eyes were drawn back to her.

She moved like she didn’t need to think, like the court was just an extension of her breath. One second, she was at the top of the arc calling for the ball, the next, she was slashing into the paint, drawing a defender with her before dishing out a no-look pass that made the crowd gasp and a teammate drain a three.

You leaned forward unconsciously. “She’s really good,” you murmured.

Charles glanced sideways. “You mean Paige?”

“Mhm,” you said without looking away. “She plays like she’s solving a puzzle no one else can solve.”

“She has vision,” Alex added. “Like a driver who sees the apex before the turn.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as Paige picked off a lazy pass and darted up court in transition. She didn’t rush, didn’t force anything—just read the defender’s body language and timed her steps perfectly before finishing with a layup that rolled off her fingers like silk.

The scoreboard ticked up in the Wings’ favor.

And Paige—oh, Paige—jogged back on defense with a half-smirk tugging at her mouth. Her eyes scanned the front row, just briefly, but when they landed on yours, they didn’t move.

You didn’t either.

Her gaze lingered a second too long. She gave the smallest shrug of her shoulders—barely noticeable—but it said everything. That one was for you.

You blinked. A beat passed. And you smiled, just a little.

Timeout.

The coaches called for a break, and both teams huddled by their benches. Paige wiped her face with her towel, bouncing on her toes, sipping from her water bottle, listening with half an ear to what her coach was saying.

But her eyes found you again.

You didn’t pretend not to notice.

She raised a hand and waved—quick, subtle, a flick of fingers from low by her waist like she didn’t want anyone else to see.

You lifted your brows, amused.

She smiled again—shy, still—but different now. Confident in a way that felt like a quiet dare.

“She’s waving at you,” Charles said, practically choking on his soda.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, thank you, Cha.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied, grinning like an idiot. “You’re distracting a professional athlete in the middle of a game. That’s impressive.”

“I’m not trying to distract her,” you muttered.

Alex smirked. “You’re not not trying.”

You crossed one leg over the other, resting your elbow on the armrest between you and Charles. Paige was back in the game now, standing on the wing waiting for the inbound pass. She glanced toward you again.

You didn’t wave, didn’t smile. You just raised one brow and tilted your head like Alright, Bueckers. Show me something.

And she did.

She moved off the ball like she was built for it—cutting, darting, changing direction so fast the Liberty defender couldn’t keep up. She caught the pass mid-motion, turned, and let it fly from just beyond the arc.

Swish.

The net barely moved.

Half the crowd screamed.

The Wings bench stood up, cheering.

And Paige? She jogged back, biting her bottom lip like she was trying to hide a grin—but didn’t try that hard. Her eyes met yours again, and this time she winked.

Winked.

You could feel Charles and Alex practically vibrating next to you.

“Ay dios mío” Alex said under her breath. “You’re in so deep already.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly. “I just met her. I didn’t even know how to say her last name.”

“You know,” Charles said, “I always imagined you’d fall for someone complicated. Mysterious. Dangerous.”

“She plays basketball,” you said flatly.

“She’s clearly dangerous to your self-control.”

You ignored him. Sort of.

Because you were watching her again. Watching the way she locked in when she played. The way her teammates looked to her instinctively. The way she trusted her first move—no hesitation, no overthinking. Paige Bueckers played basketball the way you did data analysis mid-race… fast, decisive, and like the margin for error was nonexistent.

And every time she made a big play, her eyes flicked back to you.

Like she wanted to know if you’d seen.

Like she needed you to.

By halftime, your heart was pounding harder than it had in any garage on race day.

You’d come here for something simple. A distraction. A break from being Charles Leclerc’s little sister or Ferrari’s engineering prodigy. Monaco’s Princess.

Instead, you got Paige Bueckers.

And every time she looked at you, it felt like she saw right through the noise.

The final buzzer sounded like a sigh.

The game had been close—closer than anyone had predicted from what you gathered in the crowd chatter around you. Liberty fans were loud, but by the fourth quarter, you started to hear more Wings chants pick up momentum. You didn’t understand every foul or call or play, but you understood Paige.

You understood how her team trusted her. You understood how she handled pressure like it was gravity. You understood how, after every big moment, her eyes found you.

And now, it was over. Scoreboard locked. Jerseys drenched in sweat. Fans buzzing in that familiar post-sport high.

You stayed seated as most of the arena stood to leave. Charles was scrolling through his phone, nodding occasionally at a fan who called his name but otherwise keeping low-key. Alex sipped the last of her drink, curled comfortably against his arm, while you just… watched.

The court was still alive.

Paige was surrounded—first by teammates, then reporters, then fans pressed against the rails. She was gracious with each person, smiling wide in photos, laughing at something a little girl said, holding her sharpie with care as she signed the backs of posters, jerseys, and phones.

“She’s got that same energy you do after a podium,” Alex said gently.

You glanced at her. “Huh?”

Alex nodded toward Paige. “A little exhausted, a little adrenaline high, kind of glowing but pretending not to notice.”

You looked back. Paige was crouched to take a photo with a kid in a Wings jersey two sizes too big for him. She gave the camera a thumbs up. Her pony was messy now, strands of blonde hair falling loose around her face.

She glanced toward you. Saw you still there.

And smiled like it meant something.

You felt it like a pull.

Paige whispered something to a staffer and took a final photo, then jogged toward the bench. Her teammates were heading back to the locker room, but she lingered. You stood as she approached, not sure what you were expecting.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “I said I’d stay until the end.”

Her eyes flicked to Charles and Alex, who were now standing just behind you, watching quietly. Paige’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground.

“I, uh—I have to do post-game interviews,” she said, almost apologetically. “Media stuff. Probably fifteen, twenty minutes. But I was wondering…” She shifted, bouncing slightly on her toes. Her voice was softer now, meant only for you. “Would you wait?”

You blinked. “Wait for you?”

She nodded. “I just— I’d really like to talk more. If you want. I don’t know if you’re going somewhere after or flying out soon or—”

“I’m here tonight,” you said, cutting gently through her nerves. “We’re in New York for another day.”

“Oh. Good. Okay.” Her smile was so honest it made your chest feel warm. “So... would you?”

You could feel Charles and Alex still watching, but they didn’t say a word. You tucked your hands in your jacket pockets and tilted your head.

“You want me to wait around in an empty arena just so you can talk to me again?”

Paige met your gaze. Didn’t back down. “Yes.”

The answer was so simple it made you grin.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll wait.”

Relief bloomed across her face. “Cool. I won’t be long. Promise.”

She started to turn, paused, then hesitated before glancing at Charles.

“I’m a big fan of yours, by the way,” she added quickly, cheeks turning red. “Both of you. You guys looked really good in Monaco.”

Charles lit up. “Merci. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear most of that conversation earlier.”

Paige laughed nervously. “Noted.” Then she looked back at you. “Be right back.”

You watched her disappear into the tunnel, every bit of her confidence lingering behind in the way she glanced at you over her shoulder one last time.

When she was gone, Charles bumped his shoulder lightly into yours.

“Does she always look at people like that?”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing.”

You shrugged. “Maybe she just appreciates a challenge.”

Alex grinned. “You’re such a liar. You’re already gone for her.”

You didn’t answer. Just sat back down and stared at the empty court where she’d just been.

And waited.

It was quiet by the time she returned.

The kind of quiet that only settles in after the world has exhaled. Most of the crowd had gone home. Security lingered by the exits, sweeping the rows. Staffers rolled carts of used towels and half-empty water bottles down the tunnel. The court was bare now. Just the hushed hum of the arena winding down.

You were still there. Sitting courtside. Jacket draped over your shoulders, fingers absently spinning the cap of your water bottle. Charles and Alex had wandered off somewhere to give you space. You hadn’t asked, but they just knew.

And then you heard footsteps again—softer now, not game shoes. Slides against the polished concrete.

You looked up.

There she was.

She was fresh from the locker room, face clean, blonde hair damp and tied loosely now. A W hoodie, oversized, sleeves pulled down over her hands. She wore simple black shorts and Nike socks pushed halfway down her ankles.

She looked like herself in a way that tugged at you—like all the edges were finally rounded off now that the lights were dim and the cameras were gone.

“You waited,” she said, quiet.

You gave her a small smile. “I said I would.”

She sat beside you, one seat in-between, giving you space but close enough for your knees to brush if you shifted.

Neither of you moved.

For a while, you just sat there like that. Silence stretching between you like a breath held, but not tense. Not awkward. Just... present.

She finally spoke. “So… be honest. What’d you think?”

You looked at her. “Of the game?”

Paige nodded.

You took your time. “It was like hearing a language I don’t speak, but still knowing exactly what everyone meant.”

She blinked at that. “That’s... really poetic.”

You shrugged. “I’m around fast cars all day. I don’t get to be poetic very often.”

Paige smiled to herself. “You said you’d never seen a basketball game before?”

“Never.” You glanced out at the now-empty court. “I came in expecting to get bored halfway through. I thought I’d be checking my notes on my phone by the second quarter.”

“And instead?”

“I forgot I even had a phone.”

She turned her head toward you, expression soft. “Because of the game, or...”

You looked back at her. “Do I need to answer that?”

She didn’t blush this time. But her eyes dropped for a second, and when they lifted again, they held something steadier. More certain.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

You studied her. “You mean that?”

“Yeah. I—” she hesitated, exhaling through her nose. “I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes when you play so many games, they all blur together. It becomes muscle memory. You forget what it feels like to want someone in the crowd to see you. Like, actually see you.”

You didn’t speak, not right away. Because that hit somewhere you weren’t ready for.

“Does it get lonely?” you asked softly.

Paige blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “Being known. By everyone. But not really known by anyone who isn’t part of the circle.”

She was quiet. You risked a glance at her. She was already watching you.

“It does,” she said. “It really does.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“I figured you would.” She shifted in her seat, angling toward you more. “You know what it felt like tonight?”

“What?”

She paused. “It felt like you weren’t here for the show. You weren’t waiting to be impressed. You were just... there. Watching. Like it was already enough.”

You held her gaze. “That’s because it was.”

You saw the breath catch in her chest before she tried to play it off with a quiet laugh. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

“Because I said something kind?”

“No. Because you meant it.”

That silenced you both for a long moment. You let it happen. Let the silence linger and swell and settle. Eventually, Paige leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, looking out at the court.

“Do you think you’ll come to another game?” she asked.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you mirrored her posture, your shoulders touching ever so slightly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll be there.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh, low and fond. “God, you’re gonna wreck me.”

You smiled. “That’s not my intention.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why it’s worse.”

The lights overhead dimmed a little more as the staff shut down sections row by row. A janitor passed with a sweeping broom. You didn’t care. You had nowhere else to be. Not in that moment.

She looked at you again. “Can I give you my number?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was inevitable.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” she said, grinning now, eyes crinkling. “You could’ve been not interested. Or just—”

“Paige,” you cut in gently. “I waited for you.”

She smiled slowly.

You reached into your jacket and pulled out your phone, unlocking it and holding it out. She entered her number carefully, then hesitated before handing it back.

“What?” you asked.

She looked slightly sheepish. “Just thought my contact name should pay tribute to our first interaction to each other.”

You checked it.

Buckers

You laughed. “Wow. You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Nope. It’s part of you now. You gonna change it?”

You didn’t. You saved it as is.

“I like it,” you said. “It’s us.”

You both stood when security finally made a quiet gesture that the arena was closing up. Paige stretched her arms above her head and gave you a look like she didn’t quite want to leave.

You didn’t either.

“Hey,” she said, more serious now. “Can I call you tomorrow? Or tonight? Or whenever it’s not weird? I just... I’d like to talk more. Without a clock running.”

You nodded, heart softening. “I’d like that.”

And then you leaned in—just slightly—and kissed her cheek. Slow. Intentional. Close enough that your lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

She froze. Exhaling softly.

When you pulled back, her face was pink, her eyes shining.

You whispered, “I’ll be waiting for that call.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #pb5 #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige x reader #paige buckets #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #dallas wings #wnba x reader #wlw #lesbian #wuh luh wuh

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hamilton-here · 2 days ago

Note

heyyy i hope youre doing fine now :))) before i forget this (lol) can I request a reader x lewis with a comfortxangst that whenever lewis is on the track he doesnt mind if he can get injured or hurt while reader has been telling him to be careful and theyre always arguing over it and when he gets into a nasty crash reader reveals that she's pregnant and he'll be more careful now i just think this will be a reminder that f1 is a highly dangerous sportttt u can do this anytime u feel like it thank uuuu

𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒰𝓈

Authors Note: Hey everyone, I'm alive! I will be opening requests later tonight. Though I still have three to do after this one. Hopefully this meets your request. I hope you're all well. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis Hamilton learns to race to come home after discovering he’s going to be a father.

Warnings: angst, mentions of swearing, mentions of crash

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You had always known that loving Lewis Hamilton came with risks.

It wasn’t just the time zones or the endless race weekends. It wasn’t the relentless moving, the constant packing and unpacking, the brief kisses goodbye that always tasted like he was already half gone.

It was what he chased. The high-speed danger of Formula 1. The knowledge that every time he stepped into that cockpit, he was gambling with gravity, dancing on the edge of control.

And still, you loved him.

You loved him because he was that person. Fearless. Passionate. Relentless. A man who didn’t know how to step back from a fight, who didn’t know how to race at anything less than the limit.

But that edge, the one that had drawn you to him like a moth to flame, had started to scare you now. It used to be thrilling to watch him thread the car through gaps that didn’t exist, to see him make impossible moves look effortless. You used to sit on the pit wall with your heart racing, smiling through your adrenaline-soaked nerves.

But now?

Now the thrill had warped into dread.

Lewis was older now.

In his Ferrari era, wearing the red that somehow made him look even more untouchable. The fire still burned in him, maybe brighter than ever but it had changed. He wasn’t chasing numbers anymore. He wasn’t chasing records.

He was chasing something more personal. Legacy. Purpose. A mark that no one could ever erase.

You had admired that. You still did. But lately, you’d started to hate what it could cost.

You.

“Be careful today,” you said softly, your fingertips grazing the tattoo on his chest as he zipped up his race suit, the Ferrari crest sitting proudly over his heart.

The Maranello red suited him. Too well. Like he’d always been meant to wear it. Like he was born to be exactly here, in this era, fighting for something only he could see.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and smiled - that easy, boyish smile that always seemed to dissolve your nerves. It was infuriating. It was comforting.

It was Lewis.

“Always am.”

You shook your head, pressing your lips together to keep them from trembling. “That’s not true.”

You sat down on the edge of the hotel bed, wringing your hands in your lap as the words gathered thickly in your throat.

“You take risks you don’t need to. You push when you don’t have to.”

His back stiffened just slightly as he adjusted the collar of his suit, eyes flicking down to his gloves as if focusing on something else would make this conversation pass quicker.

“It’s what I do,” he said quietly, not looking at you. “It’s who I am.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“It’s racing.”

“And racing can kill you.”

The words came out harder than you’d intended, but they were sitting on your chest like a weight, and you couldn’t hold them in anymore.

You needed him to hear you. Really hear you.

He turned toward you slowly, his expression softening, like he’d expected this argument but still didn’t know how to solve it. “You can’t think like that, baby. If I go out there scared, I won’t be me anymore. I can’t race like that. You know that.”

Your fingernails dug into your palms, your skin pinching painfully, the only thing grounding you in this moment. “Then what am I supposed to do? Sit here every weekend waiting for the phone call that you’re not coming back?”

His face dropped just slightly, a flicker of something like guilt, maybe shadowing his eyes.

“You’ve never gotten that phone call,” he said softly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“But one day I could.”

The words landed like a crack of thunder, final and brutal.

You’d both been tiptoeing around this truth for too long. You couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t clawing at you, waiting at the edge of every race weekend. The silence that stretched between you was suffocating. It thinned the air like you were both standing at the top of Eau Rouge, hearts in your throats, waiting for the drop.

Lewis finally crossed the room, crouching in front of you, his warm hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“Look at me,” he said gently, his thumbs stroking soft circles against your skin. “I know you’re scared. I know. But I need you to trust me. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing.”

You looked into his eyes, those deep, familiar eyes that had always made you feel safe.

But this wasn’t about trust. It was about probability. Followed about the brutal, unforgiving statistics of a sport that took as much as it gave.

“You’re not twenty-five anymore, Lewis,” you whispered, your voice tight and trembling. “Your body can’t bounce back the way it used to.”

He exhaled a soft, almost amused laugh, but you could see the flicker of frustration tightening his jaw. “You sound like my physio.”

“Maybe she’s right.”

His hands squeezed yours, as if he could physically press reassurance into you. “I’ve got this, love. Don’t worry so much.”

But you did. You always did.

You worried through every corner, every pit stop, every time the camera cut to his onboard view, and you saw him chasing every millimetre like it was oxygen.

You worried because you loved him.

And the worst part? You didn’t even know yet that you were worrying for two.

However, it kept happening. Race after race. Argument after argument. Like clockwork.

You told yourself it was just the pressure of the season and the weight of Ferrari’s expectations pressing against his shoulders. Or the noise of the media questioning if he could still deliver at this stage of his career, the brutal self-imposed bar that Lewis never stopped raising.

You told yourself it was temporary.

You told yourself he would slow down.

But the more you watched him, the more you realised this wasn’t new at all.

Lewis had always raced like he didn’t care what happened to him.

And the terrible consequence?

You’d fallen in love with him because of that edge.

The way he danced so close to the line no one else dared to touch. The way he made you feel like the impossible was always just within reach.

But love changes things. Love rearranges your priorities. What used to thrill you now terrified you.

It was after the Spanish Grand Prix when the next argument exploded.

You waited for him in his driver’s room, the race replay still playing on mute on the little screen in the corner, but neither of you were paying attention. You’d seen it all live.

You’d seen him fight tooth and nail into Turn 3, holding a defensive line most drivers would’ve abandoned, forcing the other car wide, balancing on the edge of disaster.

You’d seen him almost lose control.

You’d felt your lungs collapse in that split second.

You’d felt your heart stop.

“You could’ve gone into the wall!” Your voice cracked, the panic still clawing its way up your throat, your whole-body trembling with leftover adrenaline.

“But I didn’t,” he said simply, pulling off his gloves, peeling away his sweat-soaked balaclava like it was just another Sunday.

“You didn’t this time.”

He turned to you sharply, exhaustion painting his features, his patience threadbare. “What do you want me to do? Let them pass me? Sit back and wave them through?”

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “I want you to come home.”

His jaw clenched, his mouth flattening into a hard, unreadable line. “You knew what this was when you met me.”

“I didn’t know it would kill me slowly like this.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Stifling.

His voice dropped to something low, something brittle. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake every time I get in that car? I’m not stupid.”

“Then why don’t you drive like you care whether you come back?”

His head snapped toward you like you’d slapped him. For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you blinked. You felt like you’d crossed some invisible line.

His voice cracked. “I have to race like this. I can’t back down. If I start thinking about what I could lose, I won’t be me anymore.”

You stepped closer, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “You wouldn’t lose me, Lewis. You’d keep me. That’s the point.”

His shoulders sagged like something inside him had caved in. “But I’d lose me.”

It hit you then, like a gut punch. You weren’t just fighting for his safety. You were fighting against the very thing that made him him.

The argument fizzled out, not because you’d resolved it, but because you both knew there was nothing else to say.

That night, when you finally crawled into bed. Lewis wrapped his arm tightly around your waist, pulling you so close it almost hurt, as if holding you would stop the ground from crumbling underneath him.

You pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist, right over the flutter of his pulse. “I’m sorry I keep bringing it up.”

His lips brushed the bare skin of your shoulder, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry I keep making you.”

You both meant it.

But deep down, you knew you’d fight about it again. Because what else could you do? Except keep loving him and praying that one day, he’d finally want to stay.

What neither of you knew then - was that soon, he’d have more to lose than just himself. And you didn’t know it yet, but that knowledge was already beginning to grow inside you.

It started small. So small you barely noticed.

The first time it hit you, you were standing in the kitchen of your Monaco apartment, the pale morning light spilling through the open balcony doors, the breeze carrying the faint scent of saltwater and sun-soaked pavement. You were making coffee just like you always did and pouring Lewis’s favourite beans into the machine, savouring the quiet hum of routine.

But when the coffee began to brew, the bitter familiar aroma suddenly twisted your stomach into tight, unforgiving knots. The sharp nausea hit you so hard and fast you had to grip the counter to steady yourself.

It passed quickly, but it left you shaken. But you brushed it off.

Maybe you hadn’t eaten enough. Maybe you were just overtired. Maybe it was the stress of the season building to a breaking point - the endless race weekends, the airports, the arguments that seemed to linger in the air long after they’d ended.

Maybe it was the weight of loving someone like Lewis Hamilton.

But the nausea didn’t fade. It returned the next day. And the day after that. It lingered when it shouldn’t have, curling around your mornings like smoke, settling in the back of your throat.

You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were being dramatic.

Until you couldn’t tell yourself that anymore.

The exhaustion crept in slowly too.

It wasn’t just tired but was bone-deep, dragging your body down like gravity had doubled its pull on you. No amount of sleep seemed to fix it. No amount of quiet seemed to refill the empty places. You found yourself lying awake long after Lewis had fallen asleep, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting absently over your stomach as though some part of you already knew before you dared to say it out loud.

You’d been keeping track in the back of your mind, but you hadn’t wanted to really look at the dates. You hadn’t wanted to connect the dots. Because what if you were wrong? And worse, what if you weren’t?

Until one quiet Wednesday morning.

Lewis had gone out cycling along the Monaco coast - a ritual, something he always did when the pressure got too loud in his head. He’d kissed your temple before he left, his curls still damp from the shower, his skin warm and real beneath your fingertips.

You’d told him to be careful, like you always did. And he’d given you that same soft, teasing smile the one that said Don’t worry about me, love. I’ve got this. The one that never really settled the panic rising in your throat.

When the door closed behind him, the apartment felt impossibly silent.

The echo of the ocean drifted in, soft and distant.

You sat on the cold marble floor of your shared bathroom, your legs folded tightly beneath you, your hands trembling violently as you clutched the little plastic test like it might burn you. Your heart hammered so hard it hurt.

You’re just being paranoid. Or you’re just late because you’re stressed.

It’s just your body playing tricks on you.

But then the lines appeared. Two of them. Bold. Bright. Unmistakable.

Pregnant.

The word slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave. Eyes widening. Pregnant.

You whispered it aloud, your voice breaking as the syllables slipped from your lips like they didn’t belong to you. Like you were watching this happen to someone else. You stared at the test, waiting for it to change, to fade, to dissolve into something deniable. But it didn’t. It stayed. Steady. Unmoving. Certain.

The seconds ticked by. Then minutes. Your knees ached from the cold tile pressing into your skin, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe properly. The air felt too sharp, too thick.

You should’ve felt happy. Maybe you did, somewhere beneath all the static.

But it was buried under something bigger. Something heavier -

Fear.

Not of the baby. Not of being a parent. Not of how your life would change.

But of what if he doesn’t come back?

What if he never meets them?

The thought hollowed you out, cracking something inside you so fast the tears came before you could stop them. You sobbed into your folded knees, your body curling in on itself like you were trying to keep the whole world from falling apart inside your chest.

You weren’t afraid of becoming a mother. You were afraid of becoming one alone. Afraid of raising a child who would only know their father through old race footage and stories told in past tense. Afraid of what it would mean to love someone so fiercely and still not be able to keep them safe.

You wrapped your arms around your stomach, protective already, desperate to shield something so impossibly tiny, so fragile, from the storm you knew was coming. From the father you loved more than anything in the world, who didn’t know how to love himself enough to stay.

You should tell Lewis.

You should call him right now.

But the fear lodged in your throat, thick and unmoving. Would it make him more careful? Would it pull him back from the edge you’d watched him balance on for years?

Or would it push him harder - make him race with even more desperation, as if he needed to outrun time, to win faster, to lock in a legacy before the window slammed shut?

You didn’t know which answer terrified you more.

So you kept it to yourself. For now.

You folded the secret into the quietest places of your chest, tucked it beneath your ribs like maybe, if you just waited long enough, the right moment would come.

After the next race.

After the next fight.

After he’d shown you just once that he could choose to be careful. That he could choose to stay.

But Lewis didn’t slow down.

Not in Japan, Spain or Canada. Not when he skimmed the wall in Austria so close your knees nearly gave out watching the onboard.

You told him to be careful. Again. You begged him. You fought more than you ever had before. You screamed, sobbed and pleaded.

But nothing changed.

And the terrible, suffocating thought began to creep in, gnawing at the edges of your heart like something you couldn’t unthink -

Maybe he wouldn’t ever change.

Maybe nothing would be enough.

Not until something broke. Until the thing you feared most finally happened.

And you prayed desperately that it wouldn’t take a crash to make him finally understand what he was risking. That it wouldn’t take twisted metal and a red flag for him to see that there was more on the line now. That there was someone else on the line now.

But Formula 1 isn’t a sport that hands out second chances so easily.

You knew that. It was always going to break before he listened. The only thing you didn’t know was how much it would shatter you too.

The Spa weekend always terrified you.

There was something about it - a weight in the air, a shadow that lingered over the circuit no matter how bright the skies pretended to be. It wasn’t just the layout, the speed, the razor-thin margins. It was Spa’s reputation. Its history. The corners that swallowed cars whole. The weather that changed in minutes. The ghosts that never really left.

Lewis loved Spa. He always had. He loved it the way he loved anything that challenged him, anything that dared him to go further. And you hated it for exactly the same reason. You hated it because you could feel how alive it made him, how the danger seemed to call to him louder here than anywhere else.

And tonight, sitting in the hotel room the night before the race you hated that you were running out of ways to ask him to stay.

Your voice shook more than you wanted him to notice as you watched him pull on his compression shirt, the muscles in his back still tight from the long, gruelling practice sessions. “Lewis, please,” you whispered, standing by the edge of the bed like you could hold the whole conversation together with just the force of your desperation. “Just promise me you’ll be careful tomorrow.”

His gaze flicked toward you in the mirror, soft but distant, like he was already mentally walking the circuit. “I’m always careful, babe,” he said, pulling the shirt over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric across his chest.

You felt the words lodge in your throat, sharp and unbearable. “You’re not,” you choked out, your fists clenching at your sides. “You’re fast. You’re smart. But you’re not careful. Not when it matters. Not when you’re in the car.”

His sigh came hard, his jaw tightening, the same familiar frustration rising between you. “We’ve been through this -”

“No, you’ve dismissed this,” you cut in, stepping forward, grabbing his arm with both hands like you could physically tether him to the ground, to you. “Every time I bring it up, you act like I’m asking you to give up who you are. But I’m not. I’m not asking you to stop being Lewis Hamilton. I’m asking you to survive.”

His jaw flexed, a muscle twitching there, his body taut like a coiled spring. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Your voice cracked, the ache in your chest breaking loose. “Because the way you’ve been racing this season. It’s like you don’t care what happens to you anymore. Or like you’ve stopped believing you’re mortal.”

His eyes softened, just for a second, but when he pulled his arm away, it was gentle, final. “That’s not true.”

“It is.” You were trembling now, your heart hammering in your ribs, your throat thick with everything you hadn’t yet told him. “And I can’t watch you go out there tomorrow and race like you’ve got nothing to lose. Because you do. You have me. You have us. And -” Your breath faltered, your whole body bracing under the weight of the truth clawing its way to the surface. “You might have more than that soon.”

Lewis blinked, a frown knitting between his brows as he slowly turned to face you fully, finally hearing something in your voice that didn’t match the fight he thought you were having. “What do you mean?”

You almost told him. The words perched right there, aching to be spoken.

Almost.

But the fear twisted in your chest like barbed wire.

What if telling him changed nothing?

What if telling him made him race harder, like he was running out of time?

What if this new pressure only added fuel to the fire he’d never learned how to put out?

You swallowed hard, the moment slipping through your fingers. “Nothing. Just please.” Your voice cracked, desperate and hollow. “Please don’t make me regret tomorrow.”

His features wavered something caught between defiance and something softer, something that almost looked like he wanted to fold into you, like he wanted to end the argument right there and choose you.

But then his guard slid back into place. He reached for his cap, tugging it over his curls, angling it low to shield his eyes. “I know you’re scared. I get it. But you have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” you whispered, your voice barely holding itself upright, “but I don’t trust the sport.”

His hand lingered on the door handle, a silent beat stretching between you like a chasm neither of you knew how to cross. “I can’t race scared,” he said quietly.

“And I can’t love you without being scared,” you whispered back, your voice splintering around the truth.

Silence again. The kind that left you hollow.

“I’ll see you after quali,” he said, soft but firm, stepping out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. The finality of that click shattered you.

You sank to the bed, your hand falling instinctively to your stomach, the tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered to the tiny life inside you, the secret you’d been carrying like a glass heart.

“Please come back to us.”

Spa had always been cruel.

But you never thought it would be cruel to you.

The next day felt like moving through wet cement. You stood by the pit wall, the headset digging painfully into your ears, your heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the chatter of the engineers. Every breath felt borrowed.

Lewis had qualified third. He was in the fight. He was always in the fight.

But today, his driving was different - aggressive off the line, elbows out, like he was still chasing something invisible, something just out of reach. He’d found something this season with Ferrari, something that made him push like he was twenty-five again, like the weight of his body didn’t matter, like time was still bending to his will.

And you hated him for it. But at the same time you loved him for it. Therefore, it was tearing you apart.

Every lap felt like a gamble you hadn’t agreed to. Every defensive move felt like a warning you couldn’t shake.

Please, slow down. Please, don’t prove me right.

Lap 17. Raidillon.

You felt the sickness rise before it even happened.

The onboards flicked to him fighting for position, side by side with another driver, the track tightening, the line disappearing.

You knew what was coming. You felt it in your bones before the camera even caught it. No margin for error.

The car clipped the kerb. A heartbeat, desperate correction, brush of wheels. Lewis’s car was airborne. It twisted violently, flipping unnaturally, shrapnel spinning across the runoff as the Ferrari slammed into the barriers, skidded, bounced, then crumpled to a halt at a sickening angle.

The screen cut away.

“Red flag. Red flag. Session suspended.”

Your headset slipped from your ears and clattered to the ground, the sound of the paddock dissolving into static. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

The words hammered through your skull.

He’s not moving. He’s not moving. He’s not moving.

You bolted from the pit wall, shoving through engineers, security, the blur of people shouting at you to stop. Let me through. Let me through. Let me through.

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the salt hit your lips. Didn’t realise you were screaming until your throat burned.

By the time you reached the medical car, they were pulling him from the cockpit, his head slack against the halo, the medics stabilising his neck with clinical precision.

“He’s conscious but disoriented,” one of them said, his voice like a distant echo. “Heavy impact, possible concussion. We need scans immediately,” another called.

But you couldn’t hear anything beyond the roar in your ears. You fell to your knees beside the stretcher, your hand finding his glove still on, limp in yours and you sobbed, your body folding over like the weight of him might pull you under.

“Lewis,” you cried, clutching his fingers like they were the only thing tethering you to this earth. “Lewis, I’m here. I’m here. Please - please stay with me.”

His eyelids fluttered, unfocused, the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “You always…worry too much,” he slurred weakly.

“I told you -” Your voice cracked, the tears falling faster now, splashing onto his red race suit, “I told you this would happen.”

“I’m okay,” he whispered, but his voice was thin, as if even he didn’t believe it.

“You’re not.”

The medics ushered you into the ambulance, and you rode the entire way to the medical centre gripping his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, the panic thrumming under your skin like a second heartbeat.

The scans. The blood tests. The neurological checks. You watched all of it through a haze, your body present but your soul still trapped on that corner still watching him fly.

They confirmed a mild concussion. Bruised ribs. No spinal injury. Lucky. They kept saying he was lucky.

But it didn’t feel like luck. It felt like you’d just watched the universe take a coin toss with his life. And one day, you wouldn’t win that toss.

When they finally let you sit with him alone you crumpled into the chair beside his bed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, your voice raw, each word clawing its way up your throat. “You can’t keep making me watch you destroy yourself.”

His tired brown eyes flicked to yours, soft, heavy with guilt. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You always scare me,” you sobbed, your whole-body trembling. “Every race. Every qualifying. Every lap. I can’t do this again.”

His hand found yours, weak but warm, his thumb brushing across your skin in tiny circles, as if that alone might fix all the broken pieces between you.

“I can’t lose you, Lewis,” you choked out, the truth finally too big to swallow. “Not now. Not when -”

Your voice faltered. But you couldn’t stop it now. “I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed swallowed the room whole. His chest stilled. His lips parted but no sound came. His fingers tightened, the realisation anchoring him back to the present. “You’re serious?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “We, we’re having a baby?”

You nodded, your tears flowing freely. “I found out before this weekend. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if it would change anything. I thought maybe you’d still race like you didn’t care. I thought maybe nothing would be enough.”

His hand cupped your cheek, the weight of his touch soft, trembling. “I didn’t know I was gambling with so much more.”

“You weren’t just gambling with yourself,” you whispered, leaning into his palm. “You were gambling with me. With us. And now with them.”

His other hand moved to your stomach, resting there gently like the world was holding its breath. His eyes filled, his voice thick with something you’d never heard before a vow.

“I have to change,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I have to be more careful. I have to come back to you. To both of you.”

Your sob broke loose, your forehead resting against his as you finally let yourself believe him. This wasn’t just his life anymore. It was all of yours. And he finally realised he had everything to lose.

Lewis spent three days in the hospital.

Three long, agonising days where time moved in molasses and every beep of the machines laced a fresh layer of panic through your chest.

You never left his side. Not once.

You slept in the stiff, narrow visitor’s chair, curled up in impossible angles, your hand always laced with his like it was your lifeline. The dull ache in your neck and spine didn’t matter. The cold fluorescent lights didn’t matter. The dry hospital air, the stale taste of coffee you could barely choke down - they didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was Lewis, breathing in the bed next to you.

Every time his heart monitor spiked or dipped whether from shifting in his sleep or reacting to pain you jolted awake in terror, your pulse skyrocketing as your hands shot out to steady him. The doctors assured you over and over that he was okay, that his injuries, though painful, were not life-threatening. But they didn’t understand that it wasn’t just his body you were terrified of losing, it was him.

It was the part of him that laughed. The part that loved you. The part that wanted to come home.

When he was finally discharged, you helped him into a quiet car waiting at the hospital entrance, both of you wearing hats pulled low and oversized sunglasses to shield from prying cameras. The media storm had erupted the moment the crash replayed on screens around the world with Ferrari issuing statements, journalists speculating, fans flooding social media with hashtags and heartbreak.

But you didn’t care about any of that.

You just wanted to get him home. Home to Monaco. Home to safety. Home to you.

The flight back was a blur, the low hum of the engines lulling him to sleep in the seat next to you, his head resting carefully against your shoulder while you traced slow, comforting circles on his thigh.

You didn’t let go of him once.

When you got back to your apartment, the world felt oddly still. No race noise, pit wall calls or tension threading through his body. Just soft linen sheets, gentle waves brushing the rocky coastline below the balcony, and the two of you bruised, but breathing.

The first night home, you helped him into bed like he was made of glass.

Every movement was slow, delicate, your hands ghosting over his ribs as you tucked the sheets gently around him, as if the fabric itself could offer protection. He watched you, silent, his usually strong, self-assured frame now resting heavily against the pillows.

You went to step away to grab him some water and get his medication, but his hand caught your wrist. “Baby?” His voice was raw, still cracked around the edges from the lingering pain and the adrenaline crash.

You sat back on the edge of the bed, your thumb automatically sweeping across his hand. “Yeah?”

His eyes flicked down to your stomach, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“Do you think they’re okay?” His voice was so soft, so unsure, it broke your heart open. “I mean we didn’t even get to talk about it properly.”

You guided his hand to rest over your belly, the skin still flat but warm beneath his palm. “They’re okay,” you whispered. “It’s early, but they’re here. We’re here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as though a weight he hadn’t dared to acknowledge was finally releasing its grip on him. “I want to do this right.”

“You already are,” you said, the words instinctive, immediate.

But he shook his head, his thumb beginning to trace slow, endless circles over your skin, like he was grounding himself to you, to this new future neither of you had been prepared for.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice thick. “I’ve spent my whole career believing I had nothing to lose. That I could risk everything because it was just me on the line. That if I went out, I went out chasing what I loved. But it’s not just me anymore.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his composure finally, finally splintering. “I want to be there for this. I want to be there for you. For them. I want to come home.”

Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring the soft edges of him, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. “You will,” you promised, your voice barely holding steady as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his.

His arms, weak and aching, still managed to pull you close, as tight as his bruised ribs would allow. “I’ll race differently. I’ll be smarter. I’m not done with this sport, but I’m done pretending I don’t care what happens to me.”

You smiled through your tears, your hands cradling his face, feeling the faint stubble against your palms. “Good. Because we care.”

His lips found yours slow, lingering, tasting of salt and something unspoken, something that tasted like a vow and for the first time in what felt like months, you let yourself believe him.

Lewis wasn’t making promises to the sport anymore. He was making promises to you. To your family.

The next few weeks moved in quiet rhythms. There was no travel. No schedule. No roaring engines. Just you and him, wrapped in the stillness of recovery.

You spent lazy mornings curled up on the couch, your hand resting over his as you flipped through baby name lists that made him groan and laugh in equal measure.

You caught him absently scrolling through baby gear on his phone, pretending not to care but his favourites folder said otherwise.

He went to physiotherapy religiously, never once skipping, never once complaining not because he was in a rush to return to the car, but because he wanted to heal properly this time. He wanted to be fully here, for you, for the baby.

He skipped the next race without hesitation.

When the media demanded answers, Ferrari’s statement was simple, pointed -

Family first.

And somehow, that meant more than any podium ever could.

He told you about the team’s reaction their genuine concern, their relief that he was okay, the way Charles had immediately texted when he heard about the baby.

Papa Hamilton! Charles had written and according to Lewis, he refused to stop using the nickname, even during debriefs, even when it made Lewis roll his eyes.

Angela cried when you both told her properly, her hug tight, teary, like she’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

When Lewis returned to the paddock later that season, something in him had shifted. Something permanent. The fire was still there, the brilliance, the hunger but it burned differently now.

He still attacked the corners, still carved through the grid like poetry, but gone were the reckless dives, the impossible lunges. Gone was the blind refusal to back off. He chose his battles now. He picked his moments. And for the first time, you saw him racing not for the risk but for the return.

Every time he climbed out of the car, the first thing he did was find you whether it was in the garage, in the motorhome, on the pit wall. His hands would find your stomach instinctively, his forehead pressing to yours, his whispered, “We’re good. I’m okay,” easing the weight in your chest.

You still worried. Of course you did. You always would. But now you worried knowing that he was finally racing to come home.

One crisp autumn afternoon, you stood by the pit wall, your hand resting protectively over your now-visible bump, feeling the soft flutter of tiny kicks under your palm as Lewis crossed the finish line.

He finished P4 that day. He didn’t force the podium. He didn’t throw the car into a gap that wasn’t there. But pulled out of a risky move on the final lap, a move the old Lewis would have taken without thinking.

And when the checkered flag waved, and the cheers rippled through the paddock, all you could feel was pride. Not because he won, but because he chose to be careful. When he returned to you, his fireproof suit still clinging to his skin, sweat still beading at his temple, he cupped your face in both hands and kissed you softly, deeply, as if the whole world had narrowed to this moment.

“You saw that, right?” he murmured against your lips.

You smiled, tears gathering in your eyes. “Yeah. I saw.”

It was never about making him stop or making him want to stay.

And now?

He did. He wanted to stay more than anything.

The labor came fast.

Faster than anyone expected.

You were supposed to have more time - weeks, maybe. Time to pack the hospital bag properly, to finish the nursery, to slow down and breathe before life as you knew it was rewritten. Time to walk hand-in-hand with Lewis through those final, quiet moments of just the two of you.

But life doesn’t always give you time.

Your water broke just before sunrise. The early Monaco sky was painted in soft lavender and streaks of gold, the peaceful morning breeze slipping through the cracked balcony door. You’d stirred awake, your hand resting instinctively on the gentle swell of your belly when you felt the sudden, unmistakable gush.

You gasped, sharp and panicked, sitting upright in bed as adrenaline punched through your chest. Beside you, Lewis jolted awake in an instant, blinking in confusion, his fresh curls messy and sticking to his forehead. “What - what is it? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His hands were on you immediately, frantic, searching, like he could physically catch whatever had just changed. Your wide, terrified eyes met his.

“It’s happening,” you whispered, breathless. “She’s coming.” For a man who could handle a Formula 1 start with ice in his veins, Lewis unraveled spectacularly.

“Okay. Okay. Okay right.” He launched out of bed like he was sprinting to the grid, grabbing the hospital bag, dropping it, grabbing it again. “Wait did I pack enough? Where’s the list? Where are your shoes? Babe, where are your shoes? Do we need the charger? I need -” He trailed off, spinning in circles, pure panic on his face.

You groaned through another wave of pressure, squeezing his hand so tight you felt his wedding band bite into your palm. “Lewis. Shoes later. Baby now.”

That snapped him out of it. He all but carried you to the car, his hands trembling as he buckled your seatbelt, his lips brushing your forehead in between whispered apologies and frantic reassurances. Every red light, every roundabout, he muttered under his breath. “Not too fast. Not too slow. Can’t risk anything. But shit what if we don’t make it?”

When you got to the hospital, the world around you blurred. The midwives, the beeping monitors, the sterile smell, the tidal waves of pain that crested through you none of it stuck the way his presence did. He never left your side. Not for a second or a breath.

He whispered encouragement through every contraction, his voice shaking but steady enough for you to hold onto. His thumb stroked your palm in soothing circles, and when the pain became unbearable, you clutched his hand like a lifeline, his knuckles paling from the force of your grip.

When your strength faltered, when exhaustion tugged at your edges, Lewis pressed your hand to his lips, kissing your skin like it might anchor you both. “I’m here,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

And when the room finally filled with the sharp, piercing cry of your daughter. When the midwife placed her, tiny and wriggling, on your chest – you watched Lewis fall apart in the most beautiful way.

Tears streamed down his face, falling freely as his breath came in shallow, overwhelmed shudders. His hands trembled when they cradled your face, his forehead pressing tightly to yours as his words tumbled out in a desperate, joyful rush. “She’s here. She’s here. Oh my God. You did it. You did it, baby. I love you. I love you so much.”

When they finally placed her in his arms, she seemed impossibly small, her whole body barely the length of his forearm. He held her like she was the most fragile thing the world had ever made, his fingers trembling as he stroked the soft down of her hair. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice raw, reverent. His tears dripped onto her blanket, his thumb tracing tiny circles over her curled fist. “Look at her. Look at what we made.”

You leaned against him, exhausted but full, watching the man you loved melt entirely for this little life. “What do you want to name her?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Lewis smiled through his tears, still staring at his daughter like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. “Something strong. Something beautiful.”

You spoke the name you’d both circled for months. The name that had felt right in your heart from the moment you saw those two lines. He nodded, pressing his lips to her forehead. “That’s her. That’s my girl.”

Your girl. His daughter. His reason to stay.

And from that moment, you knew there would never be a corner, a podium, or a championship that could matter more than coming home to her.

When the season resumed, Lewis returned to the paddock with something new stitched into his race suit - something that changed everything.

Her name. Embroidered in small, delicate letters, right over his heart.

It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for the media. It was for him. For you. For her.

A quiet promise stitched into the fabric of his second skin. As well as a reminder of who he was racing for now.

For the first few races, he didn’t bring her. He told you he wasn’t ready not because he didn’t want to, but because the idea of exposing her to the flashing lights, the relentless cameras, the noise. It overwhelmed him.

“I just want her to be ours for a little longer,” he’d said one night, his arms wrapped protectively around both of you, his chin resting on your shoulder as your daughter slept peacefully on your chest. “The world can wait.”

But by the nearing of the season ending, the wait became unbearable. He wanted her there. Needed her there.

And so, that morning, you stood beside him at the track a place that once felt like the enemy, now softened by the weight of your shared history and the little life you both cradled between you.

The soft hum of the Ferrari garage wrapped around you like a familiar rhythm. The buzz of air guns, the shouted calls between engineers, the smell of petrol and rubber hanging thick in the air. It used to make your heart pound with anxiety, your pulse synced to every movement Lewis made, every corner he dared to dance around.

But now? Now it felt slower. Softer. Safer. Because this time, she was here.

Your daughter was strapped snugly to Lewis’s chest, tucked into the tiny carrier you’d agonised over choosing. Her oversized baby headphones sat slightly askew on her head, her small hands occasionally batting at them with innocent curiosity.

Her big brown eyes - his eyes darted around, wide and unblinking as they followed the bright colours, the glittering cars, the rhythm of the track life she’d somehow inherited.

Lewis leaned his chin gently against the top of her head, his thumb resting protectively over the curve of her back. He swayed on instinct, rocking her softly, like she was still fragile in his arms. “First race day, huh?” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe, like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real. Like the weight of her against his chest still grounded him in a way nothing else ever had.

“She’s probably wondering why so many people are fussing over just one car,” you teased, sliding your sunglasses up into your hair, watching the way his entire body softened around her.

“She’s going to love this one day,” he murmured, brushing his hand over her soft curls, his eyes not leaving her face. “It’s in her blood.”

“She might end up wanting to drive one of those cars, you know,” you said, raising your brows, unable to hide the amusement dancing in your voice.

His head snapped toward you in mock horror. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Piano lessons. Ballet. I’m buying her a library. She’s not touching a race car.” You laughed, resting your hand over his. “She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“She had me the second I heard her heartbeat,” he said softly, his thumb brushing tiny circles over the carrier strap, his heart so open, so vulnerable.

The team fell in love with her instantly. The Ferrari crew kept their distance at first, unsure if Lewis would want the attention. But when he knelt down to show her to them with proudness beaming and his eyes shining any hesitation dissolved.

One of the mechanics gifted her a miniature Ferrari cap, the brim too big for her tiny head. Another knelt beside her, gently tickling her toes as she stared, fascinated by his bright gloves.

Even rival drivers wandered over to meet her, their usual competitive edges dulling in the presence of something so pure. Lando made faces at her until she giggled. Carlos tapped his chest and whispered, “Future Ferrari champion.” You gave him a look. Lewis gave him a harder one.

Charles, of course, grinned the second he spotted them. “Papa Hamilton looks good on you LH,” he teased, ruffling the baby’s dark curls with brotherly ease.

Lewis just grinned, bouncing her gently against his chest, his whole face softening in a way you’d never seen before. “Yeah. Feels good, too CL.”

The media kept their distance for now. Ferrari had made it clear this was private, sacred, not for headlines.

When it was time for the formation lap, Lewis lingered by your side, reluctant to pass her back to you. He kissed your temple, slow and warm, then pressed a lingering kiss to his daughter’s head, his lips brushing against the soft baby hairs that had started to curl just like his. “You gonna cheer for Daddy?” he whispered to her, his voice low, sweet, full of reverence. “You’re gonna bring me good luck, huh? I race better when you’re here. You know that?”

She babbled back at him, clutching the edge of his chain with her tiny fingers, completely unaware she’d just rewired her father’s entire universe. You watched him pull on his helmet, watched him settle into the car but this time, the weight that used to crush your ribs didn’t settle in your chest.

Because Lewis still raced fiercely. But now he raced smartly.

As he tightened his gloves, as the roar of the crowd built, his gaze flicked across the pit wall right to you and your daughter, his entire world standing just beyond the barrier.

He tapped his chest twice, right over the stitched name.

For her. For you. For all of you.

When the lights went out, you didn’t feel fear.

You felt pride and love.

Because this was the balance you’d fought for, the life you’d built together. He had everything to lose now, and finally, he raced like he knew it.

And you knew now, without a single doubt -

He was always coming back to you.

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 x reader #x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton one shot #team lh44 #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula one

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mickyschumacher · 12 hours ago

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[SUMMER SUNSHINE!] 𓆝 ⋆｡

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: finally on holiday after winning two races and a constructor's championship, oscar comes home to the aussie summer sunshine only to find his sister's best friend making his heart beat once again.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: childhood friends to lovers, best friend's brother trope, mental health/emotional regulation discussions, poor humour, dashes of angst here and there

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x childhood bsf!fem!reader

PT.1 WELCOME HOME, SUNSHINE 2.3k words

PT.2 CHAMPAGNE COAST 3.3k words

PT.3 PERFECT DAY 3.5k words

PT.4 WALKING ON SUNSHINE 2.8k words

PT.5 ISLAND IN THE SUN 2.8k words

PT.6 FALLING FOR YA 2.1k words

PT.7 SUNSHINE, AT LAST 3.3k words

𝐀/𝐍: sooooo i'm so excited for this! since this is me... expect some plot holes or like a lot of them. i'm planning to release every part over seven days bc ngl i hate waiting for parts as a reader so... ♡︎ first part will be out today! – i think this is a total 20.5k fic if i did all the actual calculations.

#mickyschumacher #micky's summer sunshine series 🐚#oscar piastri fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 #formula 1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #op81

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g00my-4ng3lss · 2 days ago

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Some wl tips that I learned over the years lol

(Tw: Very disordered tips)

1. Look up what your bmi will be when you get to your desired weight (and vis versa). This way you'll be motivated to keep loseing weight

2. Don’t act like you hate your body in front of other people. This will increase suspicion

3. Use a rubber band and snap it on your wrist when you want to eat,or if you think about eating, food=pain.

4. Look at food as calories and fat, not food.

5. When your own your period, use it as an excuse to why you’re purging. (If you already purge. Don't start if you don't already)

6. Use school as a way to get out of eating. You can lie and say you ate a big lunch so your not hungry for dinner.

7. Drink as much water as you can, water DOESNT make you fat! It can also help make you feel full!!

8. Chew sugar free gum when you want to eat. And if your like me and gum makes your jaw hurt tic tacs are a good alternative.

9. Only eat if you have to, don’t eat if you don’t want to or don’t need to, the longest you can fast is most likely for 5-7 days, it depends who you are.

10. Chew your food into tiny bites, until it’s like apple sauce. And if that is gross to you (real) then eat SUPER slowly in small bites

11. Don’t eat until 7am and don’t eat past 7pm, so you’ll have a 12 hour fast everyday.

12. Have thinspiration in different places, having a gallery for it on your phone help, and you can put it on your lock screen as well.

13. Eat ice when you’re hungry, that can help as well.

14. Distractions will be your bff. Binge shows, watch movies, etc. I make little rules for myself that I can only eat when I finnish [insert movie/show here].

15. Don’t tell anyone that you’re trying to loose weight, not even your closest friend (only tell people if you’re overweight).

16. Get clothes that don’t fit you and are too small and hang them up, they should motivate you to loose weight.

17. Exercise when your bored. Honestly keeping your body moving will do wonders for weightloss. Hell even fidgeting will help some. While fidgeting won't burn cals necessarily it will get you into the habit of moving more

18. Buy smaller clothes when you go shopping. so when you loose weight you’ll have clothes to wear. It will also work as motivation!! You can try them on to see how much more progress you have to make/how much progress you have made.

19. Do things that you enjoy when you loose weight THAT ARENT EATING,such as getting your nails painted, getting your hair done, buying nice clothes, etc. Basically non food related rewards

20. Whenever you do eat, eat food 500 and under, split serving sizes in half, it helps ALOT.

21. Find a photo you think is utterly revolting, like rotting meat. Look at it while you eat and really think about it. Pretend it is what your eating.

22. A fun distraction I do is add rules to myself as that one I can remember my goals/rules and also have something to do lmao I highly recommend it's so much fun and really helpful

I also make weird ass rules for myself

1. I can only eat when I finnish x amount of tasks. Like cleaning my room, showering, brushing teeth, complete homework, study for tests, etc.

2. I can only eat after I've had a nap

3. I have to at least fasted for 12 hours between dinner and breakfast. And 6 hours between breakfast and lunch.

4. I can only eat after paceing for 3+ hours

5. I can only eat after journaling. That way I can ensure it's not emotional eating lol

6. Can only eat when there is no 0s in the time. So instead of eating at 6:09 I would have to wait until 6:11

7. Can't eat with hands. I'm not a pig so I won't eat like one.

8. Have to drink at least 1 water bottle (16oz) before/after eating

9. Stick to more healthier food. Only have fun foods once every other day.

10. With that being said don't deprive yourself of craving too exstreamly. If it's between binging and moderation PICK MODERATION!!

There's more but I'm tired rn so I'll update when I wake up (let's pray I don't wake up guyss)

Update: I added the ones I didn't add before I went to bed lol (6-10 on second list and 22 on first list lmao)

#ana y mia #unhealthy weight loss #@na buddy #bul1m14 #i just want to be th1n #ana angels🪽#i need to be th1n #tw f4sting #3d relapse #ed mia

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heejakeswifeyyy · 18 hours ago

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~ENHYPEN fic recommendations (hyung-line (heeseung and Jay) )

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these stories!!! I’m simply appreciating the writers work . Kisses to all these amazing writers who wrote those amazing fanfics💋💋💋

Some of these have nsfw so mdni!!!!!

•Lee Heeseung

1. You make me @heesdreamer (stranger heeseung )

one of first fics ive read when I first joined tumblr I love this smmmmmm!!!!!

2. Player rank : platinum @simpjaes (sisters bf)

Is is even an Enhypen fic recommendations without simpjaes being mentioned????? Her work is just so good and well written

3. Only if you say yes @jaylaxies (Enemies to lovers)

I literally love all her work . Her brain just works differently yall 😣😣 wanna kiss it fr

4. I’m burning hot pt2 @orimuraa (idol x idol )

Idk if it’s just me but I’ve been looking for idol x idol fics for SO LONG and this was really good

5. Reasons to (hate) love you @hoonjayke (Academic rivals)

Words can’t describe how much I enjoyed this 😞💋

6. Cumming of age @enhaflixer (bfs brother)

Okay first of all big warning for this!!!!! I FUCKING LOVE IT??????? This is just crazy cuz it’s so well written

7. Miscommunication @jayparked (best friends to lovers)

Okay hear me out I usually don’t like this trope but when the writer is amazing as this u gotta expect a masterpiece

8.waiting room @heejamas (friends to lovers)

Same thing with this one literally amazing

9. Childhood best friends complex, p2 , p3 @myinaru (best friends to lovers)

Can u tell that I LOVE long fics? Low-key felt like I can went through my own break up 😭😭😭 an emotional ride fssss!!!

10. Make be mine @cutehoons02 (hybrid deer hee)

I literally lover all her work and this is just a chefs kiss fr💋

11. Nothing safe is worth the drive @calumcxke (playboy heeseung x inexperienced reader)

I LITERALLY REMEMBER WAITING FOR THIS bro I low-key felt so jobless waiting for this I’m literally an adult for ffs 😞😞 but who gives a fuck this was so worth the wait 💋

12. No hands @jaeyuniversal (loser heeseung)

3 fucking words : A FUCKING MASTERPIECE!!!!!!!!

13. Trapped @lassiie (step brother hee)

SHE WRITES SO WELLL I CANTTTTTRRRR PLEASE READ THIS?!!!!!

14. Kiss me he’s watching @enhaflixer (stranger hee)

I feel like I got so into it 😭😭😭 but so worth it <3

15. Closing shift @manifestobackshot (coworkers)

again literally waited so long for this AND IT WAS SO WORTH ITTTTTT the ending made me a bit sad tho :/

More under the cut

•Park Jay

1. Speed it up @mssishipi (bf Jay)

She lowk never disappoints I wanted to recommend other things but like there’s so much other good things 😭😭😭

2.Babysitter @jaysbaefie (age-gap / CEO Jay cheabol reader)

THE TENSION!???????

3. Pushing all my buttons @gyuuberryy (bodyguard Jay)

I literally love all her works they’re so funny and good?!!!!

4. DTF (Jake x reader x Jay) @simpjaes (neighbour Jay . Jake and reader are married)

Again it’s simpjaes what do y’all expect her work is always so yummy 😋

5. My kink is karma @sundives (strangers to lovers)

This was such a ride I love writers who pick up the pen and decide today I’m gonna destroy everyone with what I wrote

6. The art & science of parenting 101 @jakesimfromstatefarm (Academic rivals)

I LOVE LOVE LOVE ALL HER WORKS SHES SUCH A SWEETHEART 22😭😭

7. Leather jackets @cutehoons02 (frat gym boy Jay x book girl reader)

YALL YOURE GONNA BE SEEING LOTS OF HER WORKS RECOMMENDED HERE SO BARE WITH ME

8. Symphony of us @heartsriki (band mates)

THIS MADE GO UGHHHHHHHHHHHHH IT WAS SO GOOOOOODDD😣😣😣

9. Yours (maybe?) pt2 @jaylaxies (Jake x reader x Jay) (academic rivals to lovers)

10. Shoe designer Jay x cheabol reader @hoondrop

Sigh I love being manhandled what can I sigh 🫩

11. Pretty kitty @sunniques (hybrid cat reader)

The smut was smutting fr DONT even argue w me on this one 🥹

12. Bad romance @cutehoons02 (vampire ceo single dad Jay)

the tension was so real bro I felt it irl istg….

13. Hate to have you @heesmiles (hocky player Jay)

Didn’t continue this yet but bro I’m literally dying I wanna finish it so bad but (WARNING) I have work😰

14. The intern @jaysbaefie

Pls I need her writing injected in my veins and blood

15. Burn the city for me @wetdarkprincess (Mafia au )

I LIVE FOR THIS 💋💋

YALL I promise I was adding Jake and Sunghoon but my laptop started to crash out so in p2 ig 🥰🥰🥰 pls DONT hate me 😰 anyways I really wanted to add more heeseung and Jay fics but Yk

I’m so so so sorry for all the writers I tagged 😭😭😭😭😭 pls forgive me 🙏

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung #park jay #jay x reader #lee heesung x reader #sim jaeyun #sim jake #sim jaehyun x reader #sim jake x reader #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen jake #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen smut #enhypen x female reader #smut

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alanisstonedd · 3 days ago

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busted | singledad!ony x teacher!reader

an: so cute! i love themmmm. i’ve had this one in the drafts for a while now yall, please enjoy! send me ya nasty asks

cw: fluff, suggestive themes, black!reader, cussing, single dad

you hear a soft knock, blinking up from your laptop a little confused. it’s 1:30 and your kids are in science, currently grading with the little free time you do have today - you certainly were not expecting any meetings.

but when you focus your eyes on the figure at the door, you don’t even know why you didn’t expect that shit. amira’s father is once again standing in your classroom doorway, shoulders broad as hell in a white tee and grey sweats, clutching a little pink jacket in one thick hand. go figure.

you squint, not only at his unplanned appearance at 1:30 on a wednesday, but more so at the jacket “it’s… 85 degrees.” you can already smell the con he came in here tryna fool you with

he shrugs, biting his lip like he don’t even care about the excuse anymore. but he locks eyes with you and steps in slowly like he hasn’t been here a million times already. “mm — yeah, she said she was cold earlier. y’know kids. gotta be on go.”

you fold your arms, smiling despite yourself. he really is relentless — this is like the fourth time he’s been in here this week and you’re only three days in. “they in the art room right now, ony.” you sing-song, standing up and rounding your desk to give him your full attention. i mean he’s already here, smelling like you wanna climb him until your legs are around his head… it would be rude to not give him at least a second of your time.

“oh, word?” he steps farther in, looking around like he’s seeing it for the first time or something. “well… I could just leave it.” he mumbles, licking his lips at you, and it feels like he just turned the heat on in here.

this is precisely why you hate him coming in here like this — because as soon as you see that big ass frame tryna bust out of that white tee, that sweet smile that also somehow says “i’ll man-handle you and wear yo ass out”, and what maybe or may not be a bulge inbetween two huge thighs that you’re unsuccessfully trying to avoid… you fold like a damn chair. your will power is never strong enough to withstand this man and his apparently unyielding desire to see you.

but he doesn’t “just leave it”, of course, the man always has another plan.

instead, he sets it on amira’s desk and plops into the nearest tiny chair. you almost bust out laughing at how ridiculous he looks — this ass big man, all thick thighs and grown-man muscle, folded into a desk built for 7-year-olds.

you lean against your own desk, raising an eyebrow. you can’t help but smile at him grinning up at you like he’s so happy with himself. but he knows you already folded.

“you good, mr. ony?”

“mhmm.” he tilts his head, eyes trailing over your frame. drinking you in. wishing you’d move a little closer so he could reach for those hips. “you look real good today miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧. real professional. definitely too fine to be up in this school single…”

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “you here to flirt with me or to bring your child’s unnecessary outerwear?”

“it can’t be both? you know i need my miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ time…” he says, full grin, unabashedly and very obviously undressing you in his head.

“mhm, you a piece of work ony.” you’re trying to keep it together — you really are. hut this man’s sitting there all big and broad, sweats straining against his big ass legs in that tiny chair, hand stroking his sexy ass beard while he watches you like you’re art — eyes shining like the things he’s imagining doing to you right now have no place in this classroom

“so how’s your day been, miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧?” he asks, and all the sudden you’re hot with just those simple words, his voice all low and seductive. “you eat somethin’ today? drink your water? anybody holla at you yet or i’m the first lucky man?”

you tilt your head, snickering. “is that how you talk to every teacher?”. you sass back, fronting like you don’t want his flirting but you can’t deny the fanny flutters you get when he comes in thirsty for you.

he leans forward, tryna reel you in even closer than you already are, resting his arms on the tiny desk like it’s the most natural thing in the world. little does he know, you wanna lock that damn door and show him off-the-clock you.

“nah,” he says, eyes glinting with that mischief that makes your clit throb. he knows he got you — or at least got your attention. “just the one i’m tryna take out for dinner… then dessert… and then breakfast.”

your breath catches, and he immediately sees that shit because he’s been watching you like a hawk since he came in here. watching you every move, your beautiful face and all your expressions like he wants to know every single one you have, jealous of the way your hands get to hold your juicy hips and thighs.

he stands up realllll slow, walking toward you, caging you in — close enough that the desk’s edge is flush against your booty, that the heat from his big frame is making your face hot. making all of you hot. you try to stay calm. professional. but his voice drops to that dangerous whisper.

“y’know how hard it is not to grab yo fine ass and kiss you every time I see you?”

you blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck and down into your pussy. his hands on the desk behind you, boxing you in, his hips dangerously close to your hips.

“ony, this is not—”

his hand slides up your thigh slow like he wants you to feel it, hiking your leg up just slightly against his body. he leans in slow enough to show you he’s not scared, lips barely brushing yours, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes like he’s starving. he wants you in his bed already. the holding-back is not for him, but if he keeps this up, he might do something regrettable in this elementary school classroom.

then, suddenly, just as you’re about to lean in and suck his tongue like yall are alone, his hands gripping you up and pressing you against him like he craves to do every damn day —

SLAM.

the classroom door swings open.

you jump against your desk. he steps back lightning fast, not ashamed but… you could loose your job right? ‘course he wants to have you, but ideally without that possibility.

amira skips in like she owns the place, completely oblivious to the little situation happening in there just moments before.

“hi miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧! miss smith said i could come get my water bottle!”

she grabs it off her desk, “oh, hi daddy…” and gives you both a sweet little wave before skipping back the way she came in…

but she pauses mid-skip and turns around…she squints at you both like she knows something, then smiles like the devil. she lets out a little “mhm..” before continuing on her way back to science class.

but not before blurting “quit kissin’ on the mouth with the door unlocked!” you hear a sneaky giggle and then she’s skipping right out the door before yall can even speak.

you and ony are still frozen in shock — then BURSTING out laughing. he collapses forward into you, head on your shoulder, muffling a full-body laugh into your shirt while you wheeze with one hand over your heart. she too smart for her age.

you shake your head, smirking. “you ain’t right, mr. ony. almost got our asses busted.”

he grins into your shoulder, like he doesn’t even care. “she really said on the mouth… we wasn’t even…”

hope yall liked this! likes, comments, reblogs and all the rest are much appreciated!!

xoxo, lani 💋💋💋

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obsessive-daydreamer · 2 days ago

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You're a real one, honestly.

Thank you tanya

Alright, I want to tag everyone in the server. But I don't know everyone's tumblr tags, so that's not happening. Here's a few:

@roterstern Literally one of my best mates. We talk literally all the time, you make beautiful art and have made art specifically for me, which I ogle every day. I know we became friends because I wrote filthy Lore/Hugh smut for you, and it's the most important fic to me for that reason. I get excited every time the little online symbol pops up on discord, and I 100% overshare constantly with you. And you accept it every single time. I cherish our conversations, and every discussion that we have means the world to me, whether you think it was silly or not.

@tanyayoung-322 (who tagged me) ^ as I said at the very top. You're very lovely and are one of the people I met at the beginning. Somehow one of the most tolerant people (of me) that I know. Even though I'm a nasty British bitch

@hawkstar5 literally the number 1 supporter of the discord server, love you for that. Actually, was the first person i got to know on tumblr. We met through smutty roleplay. Another person I've met through smut - fancy that.

@xm0-m0x For being British and really funny. You also draw some banging art, which I realised today I forget to respond to half the time, but I can guarantee I do stare at it for ages. Heart emoji, heart emoji, boobies emoji.

@dawnkiller08 This one is a little out of the blue but I'm pretty sure we met on TikTok. I sometimes tag you in ask games because in my head you're a treasured mutual. (Hope the tagging doesn't annoy you 😭) You also drew Lore with cat ears (had to double check this because it was so long ago. Your account was very long and my hand hurts from scrolling right to the bottom, but I can confirm. The post is indeed there).

@drfuckerm-d ngl mate i really like you. And slag. I love the little video things you do with the sound overlays too. I've actually watched some of them on repeat bc im kind of addicted to your art style.

@dataentryspecialist BRO I ALMOST FORGOT YOU. If I remember correctly, you were the first person I ever dmed on tumblr? Or maybe it was the second...not sure. But I wanted to bookbind Electric Excavations and you gave me the big thumbs up and so far only one (of probably something ridiculous like 15) books has been bounf. 1.3 million words is INSANE. I currently have the second part stashed in a pillow waiting for when I return to bookbinding and can bind it. I'm making it my goal for 2027. Maybe 2028.

(Also means I need to redownload Electric Excavations and my computer is really going to hate me but ohh wellllll...)

I'm also tagging other people I'm friends with on the server but forgot the tumblr handles for ily <33

favirote moots?

(People you tag have to reblog and say their favorite moots)

Okay wait

@ibrokeurheartbcuzubrokemine @foliverfalls @allyeilishh @addisonraesbaby @emiliesblohsh @bilsslut @noodleswashere @bilsbabyy @bitchesbrokenpromises @billsdollie

#ask game

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cuteandhughesy · 1 day ago

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It’s You. ╰┈➤ AS37

summary: when your best friend needs a fake girlfriend for his cousins wedding, you are the girl he claims is his. after all, what’s the worse than can happen? well, after sharing a bed, an awkward conversation about sex with his family and an unexpected kiss, you and andrei are forced to confront feelings you thought you had been repressing.

[word count] 10.9k

a/n: the end of 2024, I put out a poll asking which players you wanted to see my write for (that I haven’t done yet) and svechy was one of the players you guys wanted to see! so I hope you guys love this 💋 this uses some scenes from a no-longer published fic—if it looks familiar, that’s because it is ❤️

🎵 perfect places by lorde, scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo, must be nice by ruel, breakfast in bed by nessa barrett, carry you home by alex warren, it's you by zayn, best friends by 5 seconds of summer, delicate by taylor swift, + always been you by shawn mendes

andrei already knows that it's not the brightest idea he's ever had. actually, refrain that, it's quite possibly the worst idea he's ever had.

it's just—the idea passed through his system and fell out of his mouth before he could even blink. andrei's mother and aunt had practically ambushed him on a three way call just over three weeks ago—8 a.m in russia, 1 a.m. in carolina—which already had him in a frazzle. but then they immediately started asking about the dreaded (dreaded for andrei, more so than anyone else, obviously) plus one attached to his cousins wedding invitation.

the wedding that yes, was in fact only three weeks away. and a plus one attachment that andrei still hadn't confirmed or denied if he needed. because according to his very empty left side of the bed, and the singular toothbrush on his bathroom counter, andrei svechnikov is very much single and very much not needing a plus one.

but it just came out before he could stop it.

‘of course i'll be bringing someone to the wedding mama and tetr! in fact, i'll be bringing my girlfriend!’

and know here he is, 2 hours into an 18 hour flight from raleigh to his hometown in a first class seat that, despite its expanse of leg room, feels all too small. it's suffocating for no other reason than his own doing and sneakiness that he’s drowning in.

because you're next to him, happy and sipping on your third glass of champagne—skin radiating heat with the bubbly alcohol running through your bloodstream. you're halfway to tipsy and somehow completely oblivious to the way andrei's shoulders are still tight and ridged, something that normally subsides after take off.

as far as you know—because it's what your best friend told you, mind you—you're attending andrei's cousins wedding as his best friend. because since 2019, where you meet the russian hurricanes rookie downtown at a shitty dive bar playing music far too loud, you and andrei have been just that. best friends.

you suppose the friendship blossomed because of your common interests of sports and adam sandler movies and how the smell of coconut is one of your favourite things in the entire world. or perhaps it was your differences that had you and andrei forming such a strong friendship.

you hate rollercoasters, but andrei loves them.

you love tequila, but when andrei drinks tequila he ends up with his head inside a toilet bowl.

you would rather eat rubber than an olive, but andrei puts olives on everything he eats—much to his dietary staffs displeasure. salt is a killer people.

regardless, the both of you bonded over shitty honey garlic wings served with a side of ranch—sauce on the side per your request, to which he called you a weirdo for. whatever—and became fast friends.

so obviously three weeks ago when andrei asked if you wanted to come to the wedding so he, you and quote, 'doesn't have to be alone while he young cousins force him to play around the yard, and his distant family talks his ear off the entire weekend,' you easily complied. you booked the time off work that afternoon before leaving the office without so much as a second thought.

but andrei didn't tell you why he needed you to join him. not the real reason anyways. because what? he's just supposed to say, 'oh by the way, this weekend I need you to be my fake girlfriend because I told my family that's what we have become. boyfriend and fucking girlfriend.'

yeah, unfucking likely. and andrei knows that you're not going to kill him over his little lie. that's just not you. he's also sure that if he was truthful from the beginning with you, you would've agreed to the whole fake in love act with the snap of a finger. because you're giving and caring and so damn compassionate that it's almost sickly.

but andrei just couldn't. he kept pushing the truth back, telling himself that the moment would come and that’s when he would come clean. but now you're both on the plane to russia, wedding just a few days away, and you still have no idea that in 16 hours you're going to be sharing a bed and holding hands and maybe even needing to show a few kisses.

god, it's a mess.

"do you feel sick?" your smooth voice breaks andrei out of his stress whirling thoughts, lifting his palm off his sweaty forehead like he's been caught stealing candy. it's then when andrei realizes he audibly groaned out loud, which obviously did it’s part in grabbing your attention.

he swallows and sends you an unconvincing smile. "no, i'm fine." andrei feels sick alright, just not in the way you're picturing.

you blink like a baby deer at him from over the adjustable wall between your scoop like seats—your champagne glass abandoned on the fold away table in favour of clutching the edge of the wall between your manicured fingers.

a pout pulls at your lips before you reach out, touching his forehead with the back of your hand. "are you warm?"

andrei jerks back, worried that you’ll notice the misting of sweat dusting his hairline. "no, what? I'm fine, y/n."

you send him a skeptical look, "you look like you're about to blow chunks everywhere."

"that's gross."

"it's true," you chime. a beat passes, your gaze never wavering from andrei's wound up, tight expression, while the plane continues to easily glide through the clouds.

you take your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing on the plump skin until it will undoubtedly go raw. andrei has to stop himself from reaching over to pull your lip out with his thumb.

"are you mad about something? nervous?" you push, determined to get your best friend to spill regardless of how tightly wound up he is. and obviously you've noticed that he's been a little...off, for lack of a better word, the past three weeks. andrei is your best friend, of course you noticed.

but you know better than to push him, and that andrei will open up when he's ready—like usual. but the champagne floating around in your head has your tongue slipping, and curiosity has gotten the best of you.

"is it something I did?" you swallow, something tentative in your tone that makes andrei's belly clench with guilt.

"no," he breathes before running a calloused hand down the front of his flushed face. andrei looks back over to you, eyes flickering between your wide and sad ones, and he just breaks. "I fucked up."

ever amused by his dramatics, you quirk a brow at his distress. the drunk haze has you unable to see his actual, very real, distress. "you get the sushi from that airport kiosk after I went to the bathroom, didn't you?"

but it's then —when andrei looks over at you with a guilt ridden, pouty raw lip, that you blink. hard. a wave of hot sweat rushing over your skin as every possible problem arises in your body.

andrei mutters your name in that deep, gravelly way and you think you might be the one who ends up puking.

"what is it?" you swallow, "what happened? are you okay?"

he groans again, no less dramatic than the previous display, head falling back against the plush first class cushioned head rest, giving himself a nice view of the hard plastic roof above.

andrei thinks back to the phone call with his family—more specifically, how pleased they sounded when he told them that you were the girl he was bringing home.

you, the girl he's cared for since before he could string a cohesive english scentence together.

you, the girl who his mom facetimes more than she facetimes her own son.

you, the best friend his family has had the pleasure of falling in love with and accepting as one of their own. but left disappointed when andrei said, no, nothings there between you.

just friends.

it's too late to back out now—for obvious reasons, clearly—but also for the fact that he can't take this away from his family now. not when his mother had said she's been waiting for the two of you to fall in love.

so fall in love you must. even if it's fake.

andrei's head lols against the headrest over in your direction, and he gulps slowly, adam's apple bobbing largely. before he can chicken out and do something crazy like jump out of the emergency exit, andrei's lips part with hesitation.

"we have to pretend to be in love," he pauses, "like in love."

at first you just blink at him, face completely flat and void of emotion, and then every so subtly, your brows draw together. "...why?"

"I just," andrei hesitates like he's not quite sure exactly what to say to you. he chalks it up to the way your soft eyes are unwavering—patient, even—and that's the reason andrei just spews.

he tells you everything. from the wedding invitation with the accompanying plus one he got in the mail a year prior, and all the way through the conversation with his mom and his aunt just a few weeks ago. the taunting plus one and lack of girlfriend that just bubbled up in his chest until the lie just fell off his tongue.

andrei takes a much needed inhale, his cheeks flushed like a little boys in the summer heat. "and when my mom asked for my girlfriends name...I don't know? you were the first person I thought of."

you nod after a beat, every so slightly that andrei is not sure if he's imagining it. you fall back into the large seat with a fluttering sigh, "oh fuck."

andrei can't help the disbelief laced laughter that rumbles through his broad chest, because, yeah, oh fuck is right.

you turn to look at him, face a little less flushed than the last time you did.

"if it makes you feel any better," he continues awkwardly, scratching the spot next to his heart like a nervous habit. "my mom was really excited that we're together now."

"andrei."

he winces, "are you mad at me?"

the question prompts a flash of deja vu from meer minutes ago, when the question was flipped between you. "no," you tell him after a beat, running a clammy hand over your untamed hair. "i'm just...trying to digest it all."

"right, of course." andrei swallows and sits up straighter in his seat, "and I know i'm springing this on you very last fucking minute. but i've already figured it all out, and i've got some sort of a game plan for us."

"a game plan?"

"yeah," he nods, "I've called it the 'andrei and y/n love affair 2025.'"

"that's good," you gulp, pulling your knees up against your chest. your matching cream sweat set all blends together in this position, and andrei thinks you look like a cute marshmallow—but he chooses to not verbalize that right now, because it may just push you over the edge.

even though right now, you're surprisingly calm and it's kind of freaking him out even further.

you continue, "I hope you have this said love affair plan written down because we really gotta figure this out before we get to russia."

instinctively his chocolate eyes flicker towards the map screen, stealing a glance at the ETA of the touchdown. andrei looks back at you, "oh, we've got time."

for the next hour and forty five minutes, you and andrei go through every possible nook and cranny of your fake relationship and nail it down. from the beginning right until the very end, the plan has been polished and repeated between you over 20 times. each.

throughout the conversation you started to come a little more to. it helped that andrei asked if you were okay every fifteen seconds—which any other time may be a little annoying—but right now, you accept his persistent with open arms.

knowing that he feels bad about the situation is enough, even though you could never actually be mad at him. not over something as simple as this. the amount of times andrei has picked your drunk ass up from a variety of different carolina bars over the years—or took care of you the next morning—let's just say you definitely owe him a favour or two.

besides, it's not like you're really worried about faking a romantic relationship with andrei. most of the time it feels like andrei is already your boyfriend, just without the kissing and…stuff. now that's making you a bit nervous. but you digress.

you've both had a few glasses of champagne now, allowing yourselves to relax a bit more—which was much needed. it also allows your usual banter and teasing to return between you and andrei, hushed laughter falling from your lips under the dim lights of the cabin.

"so," you muse, a little slurred. "when did you realize you liked me?"

"you're ridiculous," andrei snorts, earning a cautious look from the old lady on the other side of the plane. neither of you notice.

"what," you laugh, "i'm prepping you for the questions." you reach over and push his thick thigh with the tips of your fingers. he barley budges.

"'nobody is going to ask me that." andrei counters teasingly, nudging you back.

"they might!" you counter, a teasing smile still tugging at your lips, a sight that has andrei following suit with his own boyish grin.

"if they ask...i'll say," he pauses, making you wait with half baited breath, tucked under the first class blankets that andrei always thinks feel like toothbrush bristles. andrei shrugs casually, "i'll say always."

your head whips in his direction from where you previously started to flip through the dinner menu—always so easily distracted—so fast that andrei gets a whiff of your raspberry shampoo. it's a pleasant smell, one that reminds him of coming home after a road trip to you sleeping on his apartment couch.

his words settle over your skin like a prickling whisper, and you blink a few times in surprise.

but then, like he didn't just say something so heartfelt and beautiful, turns towards the airplane dinner menu, humming thoughtfully as he reads the three options. "I think i'm gunna get the steak."

—

carefully, but with precision, you roll your shoulders, bones and vertebrae squeaking and cracking in—a much needed, mind you—protest.

you can still smell the lingering champagne and the scent of plane on your skin, and on andrei's as he walks back towards you from where’d he’d been in the heart of baggage claim, both of your suitcases in tow—wheels squeaking along the weathered floor tiles.

andrei looks all but awake as he raises his eyebrows in question, "all ready?"

you groan sleepily as a form of answer, raising your arms in a limb stretching pull, tank top risings and exposing your lower belly to the bustling airport. you removed your fluffy hoodie as soon as you stepped onto the hot, sticky tarmac and it's now sitting comfortably around your best friends broad shoulders, making him look like he belongs in a country club.

oddly enough it suits him—when you said that though he gave you a look.

despite the way andrei urges you along, he too is fighting exhaustion. changing time zones is always a struggle no matter how many times a year andrei does it, and this weekend trip is no exception. there's matching eye bags under both of your eyes, and even though andrei knows that his family is waiting for your arrival, all he wants to do is climb into his small double childhood bed and pass out.

and you're in the same boat it seems, ugg slippered feet dragging on the ground beside andrei as you both step onto the descending escalator—suitcases clinging annoyingly at the change of surface.

the ride down is held for nothing but the whirling sound of the machinery as you and andrei stay quiet. not only are you both on the brink of falling asleep while up right, but you're both so damn nervous about perfecting your plan that speaking about it will only make it worse.

and if you panic, andrei will panic and it will just go to shit.

so silence is good.

once you're stepping off the escalator and onto the ground level of the airport, andrei automatically places his large palm on your lower back, steadying you as you both make your way towards the large exit doors that lead to the even larger parking lot.

a parking lot that undeniably has his family waiting for the both of you. suddenly you’re wishing you guys just called and uber.

your heart flutters anxiously, feet coming to an abrupt stop at the thought of the days ahead. you're supposed to be a girlfriend from here on out, and that has your tongue molding into a sheet of sand paper.

once he notices you’ve stopped walking, andrei spins to look back at you, his brows pulled in the concerned way he always seems to have when it comes to your well being.

"do I look okay?" you ask frantically, running your hands over your oily, yet somehow also frizzy, hair.

"you look fine," andrei soothes, pulling your hands away from your head and holding both of your clammy hands in one of his. stupid giant boy. "stop playing with it though, or else we will really have a problem "

you send him a deadpan look. "you're not funny."

andrei grins despite the sleep lacing his expression. he easily tugs you back into his side as you both begin to short walk towards the doors. finally. "you're right. i'm actually hilarious."

you roll your eyes and push the door open, a wave of heat washing over your already dewy skin and making you feel a bit woozy. andrei reaches over your head and pushes it open further, holding the door and allowing you to easily slip outside.

he continues, "you don't need to be nervous, y/n. you've met my family before and they are already obsessed with you." andrei makes a noise between an amused scoff and a laugh, "my mom texted me yesterday and said she's already changed your contact name to, future daughter in law."

"jesus christ," you exhale shakily, pressing a hand to your forehead. your eyes flicker up to his, "don't say that or i'll start feeling bad."

andrei holds off from smirking, "don't feel bad."

"too late."

"hey, just stop for a second." andrei gently takes ahold of your wrist, his index finger automatically stroking the outer part of your forearm. you know he's doing it to calm you, but unfortunately it only turns your stomach flutters up to a maximum.

andrei swallows, and all signs of his playfulness from mere seconds ago fades. his eyes swim with sincerity as he continues, "if this is too much just tell me and i'll handle it. I don't care if my mom whoops me with her shoe—if you're uncomfortable with this plan, i'll make sure it doesn't move forward."

you blink before managing to give one firm shake of your head. obviously you're nervous, but not enough to ruin your best friends entire trip. not over this. "i'm fine."

he looks skeptical, "promise me?"

"we're not 5." you deadpan.

"promise me."

you sigh—a mixture of reluctance and amusement. "I promise. i'm just...nervous. and overthinking everything. i’ll be fine once I get some sleep."

andrei's response comes easily, like he doesn't even need to think about reassuring you. "that's okay. just be you." he squeezes your wrist. "seriously."

your lips part in an attempt to deflect the wave of tenderness rushing between you and andrei—some sarcastic remark about him becoming a softly, surely. but the excitable gasp from across the surprisingly calm parking lot halts you.

"andrei!" his mothers voice is full of excitement as elena svechnikov bounces on her heels. both you and andrei look towards the commotion and find not only his mother, but his father, igor, and for some reason the family dog.

your best friend grumbles under his breath. "oh god."

you squint through the sunshine reflecting on the cars and distorting your vision. "is that a sign?"

he matches your squinty expression, even going as fair to shield his eyes from the sun with his gigantic hand. "that's definitely a sign."

his mother, ever to sweetest lady—seriously like purse candy, shirt of her back, treats you like her own kind of sweet—is clutching a piece of red and black decorated bristol board. canes colours obviously. a big and bold font that says welcome home smack dab in the middle.

you're pretty sure there are even a few pictures of you and andrei accompanying the words.

andrei's shoulders fall in what is probably exhaustion and the act of giving up. his eyes flicker towards your side profile, a careful expression on his face as he asses yours.

"we got this," you mutter after a beat, squinting through the blistering sun and away from his parents—up at your best friend.

"I hope so." without another passing second, andrei interlocks your fingers together, a soft yet confident smile overtaking his face as he pulls you both across the parking lot and in the direction of his family.

you don't even register the feeling of his hand in yours until his mother is greeting you both happily, pulling you into a bone crushing embrace that has the potential to crack your ribs.

"wow mom," andrei snickers playfully, ruffling the dogs overrun head of curls as it jumps up his thighs. "you must love y/n more than me if you’re greeting her first."

elena waves of his teasing before pulling andrei into a hug that mimics the one you just received. andries father gives you a polite hug and then takes one of the suitcases andrei wheeled up to the side of the car.

"how was the flight?" his mom questions, eyes darting between you both with the upmost twinkle of curiosity.

"long," you breathe a laugh.

andrei grins, "but we were fine. lots of talking to pass the time."

you shoot him a look, and andrei winks at you in response.

this guy.

registering your voice, the family dog bounds towards you next, its chubby legs and paws scratching at your legs, tail wagging happily while it pants up at you—clearly seeking affection. affection that you're happy to provide. always a sucker for animals, you crouch down and scrub behind the dogs ears. it earns you a satisfied rumble from its tiny body.

"you guys are definitely tired," elena clicks her tongue in displeasure, running a knuckle over her sons cheek like he’s a kid. "let's get you two home."

she gently pets your head before making sure her husband is packing the luggage in the car correctly—even though igor claims there's no correct way to pack a trunk. andrei's mother begs to differ.

the dog follows in her footsteps, leaving you. with a sigh, you place your hands on your knees and push up from your crouched position.

clearly you should've checked how close andrei was standing behind you, because your proximity has you completely grinding your ass against his crotch as you move to stand.

you gasp as andrei lets out a gentle grunt.

"sorry!" you wince quietly, but before you can move away, andrei arm wraps around your waist, fingers flexing against your lower stomach as he pulls you back into his chest, holding you in place and not allowing you to escape.

"it's okay baby." he says. you try not let your eyes widen at the nickname or the way you can feel his semi poking at your lower back. you're sure the blush you're now sporting is visible by anyone in the general vicinity and that's embarrassing enough.

elena hearing your voices, turns away from her husband and looks towards you. the sight of you embraced has her cooing, hands held to her chest like she's just seen the rebirth of christ himself.

"aren't you too so cute, I'm glad you two are finally together." it's clear she's not seeking any kind of response with her admiration because she turns and gets into the passenger seat before either you or andrei can attempt at closing your gaping mouths. you seriously look like fish.

the car door slamming shut has andrei blinking. he clears his throat once, and drops his arm from around your waist, and despite the heat of the sun, his lack of touch leaves you feeling cool.

you quickly move away from andrei and his...situation, allowing him the space to subtly fix his problem before anything else. you try not to think about it and pass your backpack to andrei's father, who is waiting patiently for the last bit of luggage.

"you okay sweetie?" igor sends you a weary coupled with amused glance, placing your pink bag on top of andrei's green suitcase. "you're looking flushed."

your eyes widen into saucers as your skin only warms further. jesus christ.

thankfully, ever your savour, andrei saunters up next to you, shoving his own carry on into the trunk with anything less than grace. he laughs, "it is summer, dad. we're both roasting." andrei jerks his head towards the front of the suv while the dog barks happily from his mothers lap. "go ahead and get in dad, run the air conditioner for a second. i've got the rest of the bags."

as soon as igor gets into the driver's seat, your both whipping in each others direction, looks of bewilderment on your faces as the last 5 minutes linger in the air.

"fuck i'm sorry," andrei whispers frantically, pretending to adjust the suitcases to not draw too much attention to either of you. "I don't know what came over me there. are you okay?"

you can't help your eyes from flickering towards his crotch. "are you okay?"

"I will be as soon as we stop talking about it."

you snort a laugh before quickly covering your mouth with your hand, concealing the sound. andrei sends you a harsh look which only makes you giggle more.

he shuts the trunk. "just...get in the car."

"such a gentlemen."

all earlier teasing and playfulness comes to a lull as the cool and plush leather seat envelopes you—the lack of rest and pure exhaustion quickly creeping back into your bones. it's truly game over when the car starts moving, lulling you into a much needed sleep.

not even the smell of airplane and greasy hair can stop the comfort of your best friends thick body pressed against yours, providing you with the most perfect pillow as you knock out, the beautiful city of barnaul passing through the window panes.

— day 1 BREAKFAST

you have very faint memory of climbing up the stairs of the svechnikov home after arriving back from the airport. andrei helped you out the car—sleep still clouding your eyes and your legs wobbly like a brand new baby giraffe.

the next thing you know, you're blinking awake, the sun shining through the sheer blue curtains and assaulting your eyes. you're not sure exactly what time it is, but based on the light and the smell of breakfast food wafting up the stairs, you can only assume you've slept through yesterday afternoon and night.

you blink a few times, squinting at the alarm clock on the bedside table until it becomes clear—7:08 a.m. you groan into the quiet room, the mattress squeaking under your weight while you shift into a more upright position. the navy blue plaid duvet falls to your hips. it unmistakably smells like andrei, and although it's a room you've stayed in before, being in here never fails to make you feel all warm and fuzzy.

there are posters up on his wall of ovechkin and a few other russian nhl stars. old hockey sticks sit collecting dust in the corner of his room, and next to them is your suitcase. andrei must've rolled it in after you got into the bed, where you undoubtedly knocked right back out.

you stretch the stiffness from your limbs before slipping out of bed. you're still in your travel clothes, so you make quick work of changing into something a little more appropriate—cut offs and an old shirt of andrei's because you really can't be bothered to dress up for 7 am breakfast—and cleaning yourself up.

after a quick trip to the bathroom where you speed run brushing your teeth and washing your face, you timidly make your way down the stairs, the noise of bacon sizzling on the stove and gentle chatter becoming louder as you enter the room.

evgeny, andrei's brother, spots you first from his spot already sitting at the dining table. he quickly swallows his gulp of tea before calling your name in welcome greeting, "hey, you're up. how was the flight?"

it causes a chain reaction really. elena and igor turn to look in your direction from where they're fussing over scrambled eggs and various meats in the frying pan—both greeting you warmly in a way that just sounds like one long jumbled scentence. evgeny's fiancee, sara, smiles and says your name in the bubbly way she does, patting the chair next to her as an invitation.

the dogs loudly barking and it's kind of a lot for this early, but you've done it all before, and easily navigate through the bustling kitchen, and the happy dog weaving through your legs, to take a seat beside sara.

"it was alright," you answer evgeny's question while sara wordlessly pours you some orange juice. it's your favourite, and elena always makes sure it's made fresh anytime you and andrei come visit. the thought of that alone has any lingering tiredness disappearing, and a absentminded smile blossoming on your face at the simple gesture.

he snickers and shoves some bacon into his mouth. "long, huh?"

"you can say that."

"sausage or bacon, y/n?" igor glances at you over his shoulder.

you hum, "bacon, thank you."

"you and andrei," his mother woos knowingly, "you're both the only people I know who love bacon as much as you do." elena holds a plate towards her husband, and once he piles some bacon beside the gooey eggs, she's placing it on the woven placemat in front of you.

"speaking of sleeping beauty," evgeny's playfully tone has you looking away from your breakfast and towards the archway that sits between the kitchen and family room. and there stands andrei, sweatpants hung low on his hips, and hair messy like he's been running his hand through it.

you heart ticks as you lock eyes and the corner of andrei's lips turn upwards into a lazy smile.

"get enough beauty rest?" his older brother continues to tease him, earning evgeny a flick to his bicep courtesy of elena.

your brows furrow, as its only then you realize andrei wasn't in his childhood bed, but in fact, you were. "where'd you sleep?" it's not uncommon for you and andrei to share a sleeping place, even if he's on a half deflated air mattress, grumbling like a baby, while you snuggle in the cozy bed.

"the guest room — although," he shoots his mother a look, "it was hard with all the clothes that have seemingly taken over that bed." andrei rounds to the back of your chair, hovering over you while he playfully scolds his mother.

naturally you tilt your head back to continue looking at him, his mothers rebuttal comforting background noise.

he looks down at you, a half frown settling over his face. "you're squinting. you forgot your glasses, didn't you?" he reaches out and runs his thumb along the crease between your eyebrows.

the action is so soft and so sincere that you almost forget you need to reply like a normal person. "oh, right. yeah, I did."

you didn’t even realize you’d forgotten them.

andrei always notices.

he hums in what sounds like displeasure, taking his thumb off your face in favour of moving to sit on the unoocupied chair to the other side of you and sara. then andrei gulps down three huge gulps of your orange juice and just like that you forget about the butterflies in your stomach—snatching back the glass and shoving at his shoulder.

elena sits down across the table, breakfast plate piled high with eggs and fruit and sausage. it's just as mouth watering as your own plate. "you know," she starts, "you don't have to sleep in the guest room, andrei."

he shrugs, the kind of shrug that tells you he's listening to his mother but he's not actually hearing her. no, he’s too busy shoving eggs covered in pepper into his mouth. "it's no big deal," andrei stays through bites.

elena waves a dismissive hand, while she forks some cantaloupe with the other. "oh don't spare me son, I know you two share a bed, and It's alright to sleep upstairs with y/n." she pauses, a half amused and half concerned drawn look at her face. "well, I can imagine you do more than just share the bed."

you choke on your sip of juice at the same time andrei almost spits out the piece of bacon he just greedily scarfed. it earns you both curious looks from around the table. well, curious for everyone except evgeny, who looks all too amused with the way this conversation is headed.

"oh, that's okay-"

andrei cuts you off, a blush settling high over his cheeks. "mom, do not continue that thought."

"what?" she squawks, "it's completely normal for people who are together to make love."

"make love!" evengey relates with a laugh.

sara hides her face.

igor, used to his wife's antics, just stays silent. but the half smile on his face lets you know that he too is amused.

but you and andrei are like statues.

elena continues, "although i'd prefer if you didn't do anything in your childhood room, andrei. it's too nostalgic for you to just...strip it of its innocence." she forks some more egg onto her utensil, "but as soon as you guys get back to carolina, please, get to making me some grand babies."

"okay," andrei cuts her off before either of you can truly die from embarrassment. he scratches the spot near his heart awkwardly, and even in your own state of despair, you have to resist the urge to distract him. "can we save the sex talks until dinner." he trails off, muttering under his breath, "and the babies until the wedding."

it's sara who clears her throat, clearly also feeling the laughable tension—and snickering from her husband—tainting breakfast. she plasters on a smile, before shifting the conversation. thank god.

"I can't believe it took you guys so long."

you tilt your head, "what do you mean?"

sara laughs in a way that tells you she finds this whole ordeal cute. not sure if that’s the word you would use to describe it, but anyways. “to get together. you know, dating.”

"right!" you almost shout, blinking fast. without thinking, you toss your hand on andrei’s thick thigh, rubbing it briefly like some weird form of possessive affection.

at your touch, andrei tenses. you can feel it under your palm. if it wasn’t for his family all around, you would’ve face palmed right in that very moment. is this a normal thing girls do with their boyfriend? grope his thigh during family breakfast?

before you can remove your grip and regret your entire existence, andrei casually tosses his thick arm over the back of your dining room chair. his fingers stroke your shoulder over your (his) oversized shirt, wordlessly reassuring you that everything is fine.

it feels far from fine, especially with your hand starting to sweat.

“yeah,” andrei shrugs the shoulder that’s not beside yours, “guess I finally realized what was right in front of me.”

you shove some more eggs into your mouth, chewing slowly while your try to not freak out. and then andrei’s hand is on the back of your head, scratching your scalp like it’s an everyday occurrence.

why are you kind of wishing it was?

sara and elena gush, sharing knowing looks over the table. a look that says yeah, I remember falling in love with a svechnikov.

which on one hand is great—they are truly buying the whole fake dating thing.

but on the other hand—fuck, do you look like you’re actually in love with your best friend?

"I always thought the two of you would be cute together.” sara notes after swallowing her bite of whole wheat toast. “i've been telling y/n that since, what, like our engagement party in september?"

andrei makes a light noise, “is that so?” he tugs at the roots of your hair, “you never told me that.”

“mhmm,” you hum noncommittally, finishing off your glass of orange juice. you barley remembered that conversation with, at the time, newly engaged fiancée until this moment. you briefly recall you and sara, wine drunk and with a ring glittering on her finger—her smooth voice talking about you and andrei and how she thinks he’s in love with you.

you look at andrei, “didn’t cross my mind.”

“oh no?” he murmurs, voice all low and syrupy.

evgeny snorts, “get a room.”

you let out a laugh that sounds a lot like a grumbly breath, retracting your hand from andrei’s leg. you attempt to get the pitcher of orange juice but your best friend beats you to it, refilling your glass almost dangerously full—no doubt planning on stealing some more.

then andrei takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and then resting them on top the table. it so sweet and domestic and if it wasn’t doing funny things to your head, you’d probably melt at the sight.

elena grins, “awe, they’re holding hands.”

and then—

“yeah soon enough they’ll be making babies in the bathroom.”

— day 2 REHEARSAL DINNER

andrei check his watch, not impatiently mind you, because when it comes to waiting for you, andrei has all the patience in the world.

plus his mother would kick him in the butt if andrei even breathed the wrong way right now about your current lack of presence. his cousins rehearsal dinner starts in an hour, and with a 45 minute drive to the vineyard, andrei is looking to leave like, 2 minutes ago.

which is fine, because he's not just waiting on you. sara is still upstairs with you, and his mother is changing out her purse on the kitchen island because her usual handbag isn't the right shade. andrei didn't even realize there were different shades of black. but whatever.

it’s just about as andrei is about to climb up the stairs and make sure you haven't burned all your hair off and are having a breakdown in his dinosaur themed bathroom , the sound of shoes clicking on the floorboards echo through the home.

and then you're appearing, in some breezy conversation with his brothers wife while you descend down the stairs. your dress, which is the perfect shade of summer blue, swooshes coolly around your ankles, making you look like a real life princess. your hair is styled perfectly, and you've even added a little extra glitter to your eyelids and andrei thinks you look fucking ridiculously pretty.

your eyes catch his, and you falter. time slows down like honey between you and andrei, warming your skin and making your knees feel heavy.

andrei's lips part like he's going to say something, but elena waltzes into the room, igor just being her—both sporting wide smiles as the height of the evening approaches.

his mother spots you and inhales sharply. "oh wow, don't you look beautiful. andrei, honey, doesn’t she look beautiful?"

it seems to break you both out of your locked, heated gaze. you smile naturally like being polite is second nature, closed mouth and with glossy lips as you continue the rest of the way down the stairs. you gravitate next to andrei instinctively.

"yeah," andrei breathes, a half smile on his face that says something words can't yet. "she does."

and then he ruffles your hair and everything shifts again. you smack him away form your freshly done hair, but andrei just takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers as his parents usher everyone out the door.

—

the speeches go by in a flurry of laughter and emotion, warming your chest in a longing way you didn't release you held. there was one point when the best man started talking about how lovely the bride to be was, and your eyes got a little misty. which meant that there were fat tears rolling down your cheeks. andrei caught it, and instead of snickering at your emotion, he tugged you into his side, wiping your tears before they could continue to fall with his thumb, before turning his attention back to the speeches.

somehow, that was worse than him laughing.

thankfully as soon as the food came around, your stomach growled and the tears and sudden feeling of impending doom towards being single forever, disappeared. it's delicious and perfect and andrei keeps purposefully nudging his knee against yours under the table when someone makes a loud, stupid joke.

and that always ends up with you hiding your grin in his shoulder.

andrei, long clearing his own plate, snatches one of your brussels with his silver fork. right off your plate without a care.

your mouth goes agape, a half laugh falling from your lips. "hey!" you scold, "those are mine."

"sharing is caring," he reminds you, stabbing two more from the pile before raising them to his mouth.

"so?"

"so, do you want me to starve or something?"

you quirk a teasing brow, "maybe if you savoured the taste of your own dinner, instead of scarfing it down like a neanderthal, you would actually be full."

"I can help it," andrei says around chewing, leaning in real close before continuing. "they're so buttery and delicious." clearly, andrei is trying to sound sudective and wind you up, but all you can hear is his chewing and it has you laughing, pushing him away as his voice tickles your neck.

"you're so gross." you laugh, grabbing the last full brussel that andrei was hoarding on the prongs of his fork, and then pop it into your own mouth.

he tongues his cheek as you chew up at him, a shake to his head so slow and soft that you're not even sure he's done. it's admiration, and amusement, and care—and it sends your heart into cardiac arrest.

andrei's gaze is so intense that it has a shiver running up your spine. the feeling making you straighten your posture and force yourself to look away. you don't see the way his face falls, or feel the way his heart drops.

and andrei doesn't know the way your heart has completely opened up to him in a different way. a way that reminds you of the feeling of home. of the past. of love.

"so, how'd you two meet?"

someone who you're pretty sure is a college friend of the groom, asks from across the table, looking between you and andrei curiously. his girlfriend has the same look on her face, hugging her man's arm fondly.

their display of affection makes you feel a bit funny considering you and andrei are supposed to look in love, but aren't even cuddling with one another at the dman rehearsal dinner like the very real couple.

so—awkwardly—you lean through the space between you and andrei, and wrap your arms around his bicep, your cheek resting against the crisp linen button up decorating his shoulder.

andrei shoots you a curious yet amused look. clearly he knows what you're trying to do, because he doesn't bring attention to your sudden affection. instead, he plays into it, large hand coming over your knee like this is something you two do all the time.

it must look natural enough because no one around the two of you bat an eye.

"we met at a bar." andrei says, "around the time I was drafted to the NHL."

"we've been friends for years." you add on without thinking.

a bridesmaid next to the couple nods, "and when did you realize you were in love?"

andrei laughs softly, rubbing that spot on his chest with his free hand. he swallows gently before answering the loaded question. "her laugh. that night at the bar, she was laughing at something one of her friends had said. I was naturally attracted to the sound. it was loud and real- it matched her perfectly."

andrei pauses, thumb twitching over the material of your blue dress. "and then when we started to chat, she was so patient with my broken english and bad flirting that I just..." he trails off, meeting your eyes from where you're softly peering up at him. "I fell for her that very same night."

you're pretty sure you stop breathing, and if you weren't surrounded by a bunch of strangers, you probably would've audibly gasped at that.

andrei blinks sheepishly, like he's only just taking account of what he's actually just said. he looks away form your gentle gaze and back towards the member of his cousins wedding party—who is staring at the two of you with a look he can't decipher.

andrei forces a chuckle and it's like a cold water bucket over your head. "only took me 7 years to admit it." he squeezes your knee in a way that feels like an apology mixed with truth. "but we're here now. right baby?"

"yeah," you clear your throat, his words and admission laying heavy on your heart. "we are."

—day 3 THE WEDDING

okay so you've kind of been avoiding andrei since the rehearsal dinner. and that was yesterday. it's just—you don't really know where to go from that.

even if andrei was trying to play into the whole fake relationship scheme, he literally admitted that he's been into since the night you met in that dingy raleigh bar almost 8 years ago. even if he didn't actually mean it, hearing him say those words cracked open the locked box in your chest.

when you met andrei many moons ago, you were quickly drawn to his dorky smile and shy persona. it was almost instantly that you developed some form of infatuation. and back then—drunk of course. you were in college. in a bar after all—you were much more confident.

you weren't going to let the russian slip away. not when the guy had you flustered and dipping your chin after two minutes of a half strung together conversation.

so you made sure to stay in touch. texting and calling and making andrei download snapchat so he could see how dolled up you'd get. for him.

you went out for drive thru dinners before andrei’s athletic trainer cared too much about the food he was consuming, and you watched movies with your legs tangled together in his apartment. fuck you even helped him learn english outside of his lessons.

but nothing ever happened. no moves were made because frankly, you weren't sure if he possessed the same kind of romantic interest in you.

so you pushed those feeling away. deep, deep, deep down into the spot in your heart you keep concealed to everyone, even to yourself. and you threw that damn metaphorical key in the toilet it and flushed it. twice.

friendship was good. and easy. and you could accept a friendship with him. because you still had him, regardless of your hidden feelings.

and you thought your feelings for your best friend had completely vanished in the last 8 years. until last night. when andrei and his sweet words and large mitt on your leg—stroking you and squeezing your flesh—started taking about falling for you the same night you fell for him.

surprise! feelings are coming back up the drain and soaking you.

and, oh god, the wedding. the venue which was stupidly packed and even more beautiful, decorated in lavender and baby pink, only made your feelings amplify.

because your avoidance for andrei didn't stop him from being the most patient and sweetest guy. he could tell you needed space as soon as you woke up this morning, and he walked into the bathroom to find you angrily brushing your teeth—and when you didn't send him a foamy smile from around the handle, andrei just knew something was up.

so he just sat beside you silently during the ceremony, wordlessly handing you a few tissues from his suit jacket when you began to cry during the vows. even when he didn't know your tears had nothing to do with the happy couple up at the altar, but instead the guy you've been in love with since before you knew the difference between tequila and vodka.

"you okay?" andrei asks during the journey to the ceremony outside, to the reception inside, words hushed against your ear while his hand hovers your lower back.

you nod, too quick and ridged. "just need a drink."

and drink did you ever. because two hours later once the sun has long set, and your shoes have been abandoned under the dinner table in favour of dancing, you can barley contain your drunken laughter and poorly timed singing.

you've probably had two bottles of wine to yourself.

and andrei can tell because your skin has changed shades and you no longer seem upset. which andrei knows is only because the liquor has coated your bloodstream, allowing you to forget whatever—or whoever—had upset you.

even though andrei is 99.9% positive that the reason for your cold shoulder is him. that, or the oyster joke evgeny made yesterday afternoon, but that was a long shot. it was most certainly him.

andrei watches with what he doesn't realize is a full blown pout on his face—like glistening, down turned lips, chin resting on his knuckles pouting—as you spin around with his sister in law.

not even the sound of your previous seat scraping against the floor pulls andrei out of his sad stare. it’s only when his brother nudges him that andrei blinks.

“so,” evgeny starts, voice low enough to keep the conversation between them, but still loud enough to be heard over the music. “y/n, huh?

“yeah,” andrei breathes, “y/n.” your name taste like sugar on his tongue.

evgeny nods in approval, but his lips are pursed in thought. a beat passes between them, nothing but the laughter of guests and synth pop song playing from the dj booth to be heard.

“can't say I'm suprised,” his brother eventually settles on, making andrei’s brows turn upwards in question while a rush of ice shoots through his veins. the inquiry and tone of evgeny’s statement has andrei feeling weary.

simply due to the fact that his older brother has always known andrei better than andrei knows himself.

he’s scratching at his chest again, but evgeny notices the nervous tic before andrei notices it himself. once andrei sees his brothers knowing glance though, andrei pulls his hand away so fast it’s like he’s been burnt, choosing to rap his knuckles against the table cloth instead.

andrei lick his lower lip before speaking. lis that a bad thing?”

“absolutely not,” evgeny reassures at the speed of light, voice steady. “it's just...I could tell that you loved her. always have.”

andrei laughs once—low and breathy—despite the way the words weigh on his chest. “I haven't always loved her. you're making me sound like a sad puppy or something equally as...” andrei trails off, but his brother is quick to fill the silence.

“pathetic?”

“yeah.”

“well, you are pathetic.” evgeny snorts, a playful edge to his voice that makes andrei sweaty. nervous. “when it came to her. always watching her, not subtly at all. and the flowers, and the birthdays, and that one year you couldn’t come home for christmas because y/n had the flu and you wanted to make sure she was okay.”

andrei shrugs causally, all while the weight of the truth sits like thick fog in the air. suffocating him. andrei doesn’t dare look over at you. not now. not when it will make him crumble and spill everything. “well i'm a good friend-and boyfriend.”

his brother doesn’t comment on the slip up. “I know that. but when it came to taking care of y/n and just being with her, it wasn't just about you being a good friend. it was about you loving her.”

fuck.

evgeny watches his brother carefully. he can see the way his words are affecting andrei, and the emotion pricking the heart on his sleeve.

it’s only then, when the conversation comes to another brief pause, does evgeny see the way andrei’s eyes flicker back towards your dancing, carefree frame. and instantly, he watches his younger brothers face changes.

it’s hurt.

it’s longing.

it’s unspoken love.

“it's okay to be in love andrei.” evgeny breathes slowly as if not to startle. “you've got a good one.”

a rough swallow and then andrei nods. “yeah. I do.”

“and mom loves her.”

that seems to do the trick, and it illicit a rough chuckle from andrei’s chest. “you don't say.”

“definitely more than you.”

andrei looks back at his brother, the start of an amused smile beginning to pull at his lips. “thanks dick.”

“you're welcome. and hey—now that you finally have her, never let her go.”

andrei isn’t oblivious to the underlying meaning of evgeny’s words. like he’s said, his older brother knows him well. but it doesn’t stop the panic creeping up andrei’s sternum, and the urge to deflect and deny is uncanny.

just as andrei goes to respond, you stumble into his eyesight, tripping over the air like it was a curb, and completely stealing andrei’s attention. thankfully you catch yourself before falling to the ground, but it still sends andrei’s heart into over drive.

"you okay?" evgeny asks you, his amusement clear. almost as clear as your level of intoxication.

andrei is on his feet before he even realizes that he’s stood up from the upholstered chair, standing next to you with his hand hovering over your back.

you nod with a lazy smile on your face, and your eyes completely glossed over. slowly, because you’re not completely all there, your eyes trail towards andrei. your smile grows tenfold while you grab onto his hips. “hey there. come dance with me?"

"I don't know," he breathes softly, eyes moving over your body as if he’s trying to assess you. regardless, he can’t stop the smile that blossoms across his lips. “I think it’s probably time we go? no?”

you frown playfully, swaying until your chest is pushed against his. "please? just one dance. please, I love this song."

andrei doesn’t recognize the song, and considering you play him every single song you like at least 20 times in a row, he knows you’re lying, and this is just an excuse to get him on the dance floor.

because you have seemingly pushed away your vendetta with him for the moment, andrei decides that he’s taking this opportunity to be with you while things are normal. andrei sighs reluctantly, yet with a hint of enjoyment, and that has your face lighting up—because you can see the answer before he says it.

andrei lets you lead him into the middle of the crowded dance floor and to a spot you seem acceptable before turning in his arms, wrapping your own around his shoulders while his find your waist, completely enveloping you.

the music has slowed down, casting the room with a slow, romantic haze that makes your limbs tingle.

"if you're sick of me after this week and never want to see me again, I understand." andrei mutters after a minute, thick fingers flexing around your body, like he’s fighting an internal battle. one that he seems to win, because he then is pulling you flush against him.

your eyebrows pull towards your nose. "what? no. nothing could make me never want to see you again."

“I hope this weekend hasn’t been too overwhelming,” andrei starts, voice no higher than a whisper due to your proximity. “and i’m sorry again for…springing all this on you—quite literally last minute.”

you shake your head. “i’m not upset, andrei. i’m fine, you really don’t have to worry about me.”

this time, it’s andrei’s brows that turn down. “i’m always going to worry about you, y/n,” he swallows thickly, knees bending ever so slightly so he can better peer into your drunken eyes. “you’re my best friend.”

maybe it’s the liquor, or maybe it’s pure exhaustion of fighting your feelings off for 8 years, but your bold question comes before you can deflect it. “and?”

your prompt makes andrei halt.

a beat passes and then andrei’s hand is running down the back of your head, smoothing your hair and you heart. “and.”

and right now—that unspoken knowing—is enough.

—

andrei brings you up the stairs of his childhood home two hours—and two chugged bottles of water—later. he gently guides you up the walkway, slowly and with his hand on your hip, guiding you and keeping somewhat of your stability in tact—your heels dangling from his index finger of his opposite hand.

he sits you on the edge of his navy bed once you’re back in the comfort of his old bedroom, ensuring that you’re okay before turning and shutting the bedroom door. your heels thump to the floor as he drops them next to the dresser.

andrei pulls his tie loose while spinning back on his heels. instead of the upright position he left you in, you’re now flat on your back, limbs all spread out and starfish like.

you’re not asleep. not yet. but rather grinning like a naughty child at andrei. your hair is fanned out against the covers, and there’s still some sweat lingering on your hair line from all the dancing and alcohol.

you’re quite literally glistening and andrei feels light headed.

"you can't fall asleep yet," he tells you, walking over to stand above you. with a delicate touch, he traces a finger over your thigh, and even through the material of your pale lemon dress, andrei can feel your body heat. "you have to change out of your dress, or else you’ll be mad at me when you wake up because it’s wrinkled."

you whine, "can you do it for me?”

your words are nothing but innocent, but his sex deprived brain doesn’t think the same way, and your whiny tone shoots right down to his dick. andrei swallows roughly, scratching at his chest twice before running his hand through his tousled hair.

you shift, the strapless hem of your dress slipping down just enough that it’s dangerous. andrei’s eyes instinctively dart away—just like the time they did three years ago when you’d been swimming at his place and your nipples got all pebbled under your bikini.

andrei curses under his breath.

you call his name and like the hopeless man he is, looks back at you. "please, i'm tired."

so, so hopeless.

andrei nods, grabbing ahold of your outstretched hands before pulling you back into your previous sitting position. your smile thickens and it has him feeling incredibly nervous.

"stand up for me." andrei requests quietly, and thankfully you agree with a simple nod, moving to stand on unsteady feet at the foit of the bed.

andrei doesn’t dare break eye contact. not when you’re so close that your scent is intoxicating and your bulging breasts are practically calling his name. without blinking or tearing his gaze from yours, his shaky hands reach around your body, blindly finding the clasp of your gown.

the clasp pops open, and you almost don’t catch the dress in time before it falls away to reveal your chest.

but andrei doesn’t stop there, his breathing heavy against you as he begins pulling down the small, yellow zipper. as andrei slowly begins tugging the zipper, revealing more and more of your bare skin, the more your breathing catches.

his knuckles graze against your skin, ilicting a hitched sigh from your plump, wine stained lips.

this exchange is quite possibly the hottest and most intimate thing either of you have every experienced, and nothing really has even happened. perhaps it the hesitant yet eager brushing touches that are making you light head. or perhaps it’s the eye contact between you.

it’s definitely the way your nipples have turned to diamonds, and andrei’s dick is sitting hot and heavy beneath his slacks though.

the zipper hits the end of the track with a soft clinking sound. andrei slowly lets the tag go, his hand smoothing over your hip as he begins to retract his touch.

you can feel his restraint. you can feel his desire.

"andrei," you whisper his name like a prayer. like a mantra. like it’s the password to the 8 year long puzzle between you. “i’m going to let the dress fall now.”

his gaze flickers. just far enough down to see the start of your dress and your barley concealed breasts. then, like gravity, andrei’s eyes find yours again.

“okay.” his voice is hoarse in a way that’s undeniable.

and then the dress hits the floor, the smell of your perfume puffing around you like a cloud as the material falls away. not even the smell of wine could over power your fruity scent.

he doesn’t look. he can’t. not when you’re still a little tipsy and he’s barley holding onto himself. instead, andrei brushes your hair away from your face, lingering on your cheek.

you swallow, “what are you thinking about?”

his answer comes like clockwork. “you.” andrei’s voice falters as you reach out, your much smaller fingers clumsily pulling at the buttons of his dress shirt. like your bodies know what happening before your heads do. as his summer skin becomes exposed, your hands find new home against his flesh.

andrei lick his lower lip and tilts your face up, towards his. "i'm always thinking about you."

and then, without hesitation or reluctance or anything else he’s been fronting since that night in that bar years ago, andrei slots his mouth against yours.

pushing up onto your toes, your grasp at his sides under his unbuttoned shirt, sighing against andrei’s mouth just as he does yours.

with his free hand, andrei grabs your hip, pulling your naked body flush against his, all while he expertly kisses and licks into your awaiting mouth.

after what feels like an eternity of switching between languid, slow kisses and heated hands and desperate kisses, andrei slowly guides you back down to his childhood bed, slotting between your open legs like it’s where he’s meant to be.

and perhaps, it is.

— day 4 THE MORNING AFTER

the sun beating on your back is what wakes you up the next morning. its bright and hot and too much for just opening your eyes. you groan out like a baby, pulling the covers up and over your head to further bury yourself in the cocoon of andrei’s bedding.

andrei.

your eyes snap open at a comical pace, and you sit up even quicker if that’s somehow possible. your eyes flicker towards the right side of the bed where just hours ago, andrei was curled against you. skin warm and bare against yours.

the spot is now empty.

the night comes back to you in movie like flashes. the drinking and the dancing. andrei’s calloused hands on your zipper and even more so on your skin. you sit there, still as a statue, as you remember how andrei kissed you—all over—and how his body rutted into yours like second nature.

the whispered praises and pleasure filled moans.

you remember it all.

and you remember, most of all, that you love him.

you don’t know if you should puke, cry, scream or just jump out the window. maybe all four.

you slip on the housecoat hung over the bed post, tying the string uncomfortably tight, just before slipping out of the bedroom. with last night still fresh, and your feelings practically drowning you, you know you need to find andrei—like yesterday—and tell him.

well, tell him as much as you can without choking on your own tears.

the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits your nostrils before anything else. you round into the kitchen and see elena and igor. they both grin politely, one of them offering you a drink—you’re not sure who because you’re too busy wondering where the hell andrei is to notice anything else.

the words tumble from you without a second thought, interrupting the dogs happy hopping at your ankles. “where's andrei?” and of course the cherry on top is your voice wavering.

elena’s eyes draw in confusion, her lips parting in wordless question.

“i'm here,” andrei’s familiar voice sounds from behind you. and instantly you feel like crying. he rounds to your front, looking freshly showered and clean in his shirt and athletic shorts. “you okay?”

“I just, I thought you left.” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself as embarrassment washes over you.

“no moya lyubov,” andrei coos with his native tongue, brows pulled tight in concern. he brings you into his arms despite the way your self hug makes it a little awkward. “just putting our bags in the car so it’s all ready to go for tonight.”

“oh right,” you nod, a little dumb. you lower your voice even more before continuing. “we should talk, right?”

“yeah, we should.”

you nod again, manoeuvring in andrei’s arms until you’re able to grasp at his fingers. “come upstairs with me? please.”

he hums. “of course.”

as soon as you’re back in his navy bedroom, and the door is heard softly shutting behind you, you’re nervously wringing your hands out. “you're my best friend.” you blurt out, robe slipping off your shoulder as it is inevitably, too big. as it is obviously andrei’s robe.

he fixes the shoulder so you’re covered again. “I know.”

you continue, heart racing and voice cracking despite andrei’s calm demeanour. “and I thought that these feelings I was pushing down were unreciprocated.”

“I know,” he mumbles, pushing your hair away from your neck. “me too.”

its something in the way he’s touching you—looking at you—that has you faltering. it’s like you’re his. like he’s in—oh.

“and now.” andrei continues.

“and now,” you breathe, “and now I want to kiss you again.”

andrei legs out a laugh. “you can.”

“but not just today,” you interrupt, “I want to kiss you everyday and wake up next to you everyday because I really fucking like you.”

“well,” andrei breathes, chest puffing as he takes an impossible step closer to you. he gently but confidently takes ahold of your face in his hands. caressing you like a porcelain toy. like a prized possession. like the greatest trophy in sports. “I really fucking like you too.”

you exhale.

but he’s not quite done with his love confession. after all, he has been thinking about it since 2018. “and I always have.”

your breath catches, curiously and hope gnawing at you like a moth to a flame. “since the bar?”

“since the second you stepped foot into that bar, y/n.”

a beat passes.

“this is kind of crazy, right? is this crazy?” you laugh in disbelief, continuing to look up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky.

“absolutely,” andrei nods, thumbs brushing over your cheek bones. “but it's a good crazy. don't you think?”

“definitely.” you mumble through the beginning stages of a sheepish smile. your fingers itch to reach out and touch andrei, and unlike everyday before this one, you allow them to.

“okay then let’s bask in the crazy, yeah?”

A/N: okay. so! this definitely got a little rushed and I can only hopes this flows well enough to follow along with. and hopefully it makes sense and you catch the drift! I went through a writers block through this fic so a lot of the parts were spaced out (writing wise.

on another note—the rom com series is still happening. i’m just not sure when it will be out. i’m hoping for at least one before the summer ends, along with a few other goodies.

jo will girls and wyjo girls, get excited.

anyways this is just to say thank you for your patience and support like always.

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mona-risms · 2 days ago

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Can’t stop thinking about reader’s family and friends not believing them when they say that they’re dating rumi, bc 1. Rumi is a worldwide famous popstar and 2. Rumi is a literal goddess in her own right and reader is just going insane trying to prove that Rumi is actually their girlfriend.

The moment I saw this ask come through I really did just have to run over here bc as someone with a large family, white siblings and two fuckass extended family ahh friend groups this felt like an obligation. Ofc different groups may respond differently, but 😜

Telling your friends would be a Challenge aka they'll probably laugh your ass out the door. How the fuck did YOU??? Bag THAT fine piece of ass HELLO????? Like okay bae and I'm actually Tom Holland's side piece it's time to wake back up to reality 🫶. You need like proof in pictures, receipts in messages and preferrably her right in front of them. It feels like you're going through an immigration checkpoint. When they actually see that Oh you're Not actually bullshitting and this is actually #holyfcknairball? "THEM?????? REALLY" but tbh at the end of the day they'd support it easily. If you have K-Pop enthusiasts in your group they'll probably freak out and faint but they'll be back up later asking for autographs from her and the other members. My friends would threaten me if I ever fumbled personally

Rumi finds it funny asf but also she's kinda like "my bad", half laughing at you and half sincere bc wow you fr have to prove you're not just being DELUSIONAL. It's okay she'll kiss you in front of them if they want proof, she'll take Any excuse to kiss you :3c

Family would be another thing. You wouldn't even need to supply proof though, she'd wanna make a good first impression on her own. She'd bring like food baskets and gifts and everything, getting to know your family and all that. She'll basically do all the work for you and next thing you know she's basically already invited to the gc and whatever sort of family gatherings you have 🤷‍♀️ atp wedding her would just become a formality LMFAO but if you fumble this they'll kill you. Joke. Maybe. Who knows. But she's like the most likeable person out there, parents fucking love her and yours probably won't be an exception—can't help but stare at how easily she can just. Do it like "is it PR training or is this just like natural for you" "🥰"

My mum would love her and she's very Traditional so 💀. My siblings would personally also laugh me out the door too 🫶 hate them (love them)

#mona's appetisers...#rumi x reader #kdh rumi x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters imagines #kdh x reader #kdh imagines #huntrix x reader #huntrix imagines #huntr/x x reader #huntr/x imagines

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band--psycho · 3 days ago

Text

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 12)

I'm gonna say that I'm sorry again for this part 💛

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 13

Warnings: Feelings of worry, car chase, car crash, mention of blood, paramedics, ambulances. being unconscious

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist /Taskforce 141 Masterlist /Join My Taglist

Simon was on edge, leaning against the kitchen counter, rarely even blinking, a hundred scenarios racing through his mind.

John shared Simon’s feelings; he was sitting at the table unable to stop his right leg from bouncing up and down in worry.

“I shouldn’t have let her go,” Simon mumbled; his eyes continuing to stare at the wall in front of him as though he was going to burn a hole through it.

“She’s with Y/f/n,” Kyle began, trying to get the two stressed men in front of him to calm down, “she’ll be safe,”

“Aye, Y/f/n might hate us but they care about Y/n,”

“Doesn’t mean shit,” Simon grumbled in response, tearing his eyes away from the wall to Johnny, “Graves could’ve gotten to her,”

“We don’t know that,” Kyle countered softly; but Simon shook his head dismissively at Kyle’s words.

He knew under normal circumstances Y/f/n wouldn’t betray you.

But these were not normal circumstances.

Graves could’ve threatened Y/f/n…threatened people they care about….or they could’ve hurt Y/f/n, they didn’t look like they’d been tortured but that didn’t necessarily mean they hadn’t been.

“We couldn’t keep her here,” John sighed, turning everyone’s attention to him.

He wished they could’ve.

Wished that they could’ve kept you here, with them, safe, away from any type of threat or harm.

But he also knew that you being around them all was a risk in itself.

He broke your heart; persuaded the others to side with him; then they came along and ruined your life again when you were happy again.

He hoped Y/f/n took you as far away from them and Phillip as they could.

John understood Simon’s worry.

He felt it too.

But he didn’t want to believe that Y/f/n would betray you.

He couldn’t bear to think of you losing another person in your life that you trusted.

Simon remained silent; lost in his own thoughts, your words continuously replaying through his mind.

“Trust me”

The trust he had in you was the only reason he let you go….he just couldn’t be convinced by what his partners were saying; couldn’t allow himself to trust anyone except the people in this room with you.

“She’ll call us if she needs us-”

Kyle had barely finished his sentence when Simon’s phone began ringing in his pocket.

Everyone’s eyes locked on to Simon as he answered the call; his words indicated enough to the others that something bad was going on.

“Turn the car around and drive back here,” they heard Simon instruct clearly; before he pulled the phone from his ear, putting it on loudspeaker as he placed it in the centre of the table.

His hands were gripping the table like he was about to flip it over.

“They’re being followed,” he stated quietly, gritting his teeth as his grip on the table edge tightened.

“Shit!” They heard Y/fn shout, their panic evident in their voice.

“What’s happening?” John asked, leaning forward across the table, his brows furrowing in concern when there was no answer to his question.

All the four men heard was the sound of a car crashing.

John picked up the phone quickly and handed it to Kyle.

“Keep talking to her,” the captain ordered, wishing that he could do it himself, but unable to trust his own voice, already feeling his stomach twisting at the thought of you being hurt.

Kyle nodded, taking the phone carefully and continuing to say your name as well as Y/f/ns, in a desperate attempt to get some sign of life from you both.

Twenty seconds.

That’s all it took for the four men to put on their shoes, leave the house and get in the car.

Simon was driving, not giving a single fuck about the speed limits along the country roads; the only thing he and the others cared about, was finding you.

“C’mon baby…say something,” Kyle spoke through the phone, his voice trembling slightly now as he desperately tried to get an answer from you.

But his attempts were unsuccessful; only being met with static and the occasional muffled crackle, sounds that made his chest tighten in fear.

They couldn’t lose you.

Not like this.

Not now…

“C’mon baby,” Kyle repeated his plea desperately; his eyes going wide as he heard the echoing sound of sirens through the phone.

The sound only made Simon drive faster; his knuckles going white as he gripped the steering wheel, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.

They soon heard the sirens that had been coming from your phone; all of their hearts dropping in their chest as they drove towards the crash, each of them mentally trying to prepare themselves for the news they were about to receive.

~~~~~~~

The flashing red and blue lights painted the trees in strobing bursts of color as the car skidded to a stop just behind the ambulances.

None of the men waited for the engine to fully die, they threw the doors open and rushed towards the scene of the wreckage in front of them.

“Jesus,” Johnny breathed out.

Y/f/ns car was mangled against a tree, the front end completely crumpled in.

Smoke was coming from the front of the damaged vehicle and shards of glass were glittering across the side of the road like freshly fallen snow.

It was like they’d walked into one of their nightmares; their biggest fear somehow becoming a reality.

There was a young uniformed responder who tried to stop the men from approaching any further; but they quickly failed, each of the men walking past with ease.

“This is a secure area, you can’t just-” the responder tried to argue; before John turned around for a brief moment.

They were only doing their job.

But right now; he didn’t care.

“We know the people in that car,” he snapped harshly; before turning back around and following his men towards the car.

“How is she?” Kyle asked, his voice unsteady as he stumbled forward, towards the paramedic, his eyes locking onto you instantly.

Blood was running down the side of your face; and you weren’t moving much, your chest rising and falling in shallow, laboured breaths.

The paramedic was understandably startled by the appearance of them all, but quickly answered Kyle’s question.

“She’s lucky,” the paramedic said quickly; allowing Kyle to release a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

A similar relief washed over John, Simon and Johnny, who were all crouched alongside Kyle.

You were alive.

The relief they all shared was short lived though as the paramedic continued to say, “The drivers side took most of the damage.”

The paramedics' words caused the four men’s attention to go to the driver's side of the car.

To Y/f/n.

Blood was trickling down their face from their forehead; their eyes were closed, and for a moment, none of them knew if Y/f/n was even alive…unable to see past you to see their injuries.

“Are they-?” Johnny began; not being able to say the last word of the question he was asking.

“We have a pulse but it’s weak and they are currently unresponsive,” the paramedic on the driver's side stated, with a solemn look in their eyes as they slowly and carefully extracted Y/f/n's limp body from the car and onto a stretcher.

A small cough fell from your slightly bloody lips, causing all of their attention to go back to you.

“It’s okay, baby,” Kyle cooed softly, quickly taking the paramedics place as they went to go and get another stretcher.

“We’re all here, Bon,” Johnny softly added, gently taking your hand in his, rubbing small circles like he had done before at their house.

“Let’s give the paramedics some room,” John said to Johnny and Kyle; noticing how reluctant they were to leave your side.

He didn’t want to leave your side either, but he knew the paramedics needed to remove you from the wreckage and get you to a hospital.

Johnny and Kyle nodded hesitantly, rising to their feet and shuffling back slightly to allow the paramedics the room they needed.

John took one look at you on that stretcher and felt his heart break completely; this, this was everything he wanted to protect you from.

He took a few steps away from you and the paramedics; joining Simon who was standing in the road, surveying the scene around them.

Memorizing and cataloging everything in his mind.

Simon knew, just like the others did, that this hadn’t been some random car crash.

It was too coincidental.

They didn’t have any proof, but they knew for a fact that Graves and Shepherd were involved somehow.

But did whoever caused this mean to leave you alive?

Were they going to come back and try to finish the job?

Or was this all simply just a threat towards them, warning them all to stay away from you?

Realistically it didn’t matter all that much; because they weren’t going to let anyone hurt you ever again….

Taglist:

@imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @euriiverse @s-void @lilyalone @salemlovespies @z-wantstowrite @maryrhodalouandted @uraeus56 @skipping-throughlife @backalleytimetravel @fruitymoonbeams-blog @alejandro-vargass-wife @dasphinxone @magicwriterinspo @lilylovesliterature @tabbslouuformer @disasterofastory @yearninglustfully @therapyneeds @beautifuleaglealpaca @mischievousprincess01 @rite-te-suli-kireysi-ite @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @ontopofthefridge @rosecastiello @harrys-ravioli @hypertail @hahaifolded @felinegaymerl0ver @little-mini-me-world @noheadcanons-juststories @nocturnal-nyx @ilovesoapandnotthebar @leon-thot-kennedy @astridbaby @galactict3a @k-dinosaur @famouspoetrydinosaur @rivwritesiguess

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happyk44 · 2 days ago

Text

[ID: 1. Text reading: I am so busy. I am practicing

my new hobby of watching me

become someone else.

2. Text reading: “How strange it is to long for one’s self!” she said; “and yet I often, so often, long for myself as a young girl. I love her as one who I had been very close to and shared life and happiness and everything with, and then had lost while I stood helpless.”

3. Text reading: she said, I outlived who I was yesterday.

4. Text reading: though we’re dry and waiting. [highlight] Part of me died here so another could go on. The body I raised and abandoned still walking the path on the hill where I became larger than myself and the day could no longer contain me. [end highlight] Turns out, dust

5. Tumblr post from @/bakwaaas: does anyone feel overwhelming emotions seeing pictures of their younger self? Like that’s me but it isn’t… I love her I wish she knew… I hope she’s proud of me…. I miss her

6. Digital illustration. A person looks down at various papers in their hand. Text beside them reads, “I used to hate looking at pictures of you. But now, I’m just grateful to have been you, and to be look at you as me.”

7. Text reading: Take a body, dump it, drive. Take a body, maybe your own, and dump it gently. [highlight] All your dead, unfinished selves and dump them gently. [end highlight] Take only what you need.

8. Text reading: I act and react, and suddenly I wonder, “Where is the girl that I was last year? Two years ago? What would she think of me now?” /end ID]

jennifer willoughby / jens peter jacobsen / brandon melendez / marty mcconnell / @bakwaaas / @mueritos / richard siken / sylvia plath

#described #quotes #poetry #pics #writing #reblogged #web weaving

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a-casxandra · 2 hours ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃

Zayne's pov | the other side of the story

[Part 1]

You had always been the brightest part of Zayne’s life.

Three years. Three years of quiet breakfasts before dawn shifts, sleepy forehead kisses in the locker room, walking each other home under flickering streetlights. He wasn’t a man of words, but with you, he never needed them. You understood his silences. You understood him.

He had been planning it for months now. The proposal.

The ring sat in his desk drawer at Akso Hospital, hidden beneath files of bypass patients and transplant rosters. Platinum band, simple diamond—just like you. Understated, beautiful, eternal.

He was going to ask you to marry him after he saved MC.

MC. His childhood friend. Practically a little sister.

When she came in with her worsening heart condition, he felt responsible. She had no family left, no one to stay by her side. And Zayne… he was a doctor. He was her doctor. It was his duty to be there.

That day you walked in on them, the day everything shattered—

Zayne remembered the moment in blinding clarity.

“You should eat more vegetables.” he said, setting down MC’s lunch tray. It was bland, tailored for her condition, but necessary.

“Says the doctor who hates carrots,” MC teased, reaching out and flicking his wrist. Then she paused, silent for a moment, looking at him with unreadable eyes.

“Zayne… thank you. For always being here.”

“Of course.” He smiled faintly, busy checking her IV drip.

And then, without warning, her fingers curled around his collar and pulled him down. Her lips pressed against his. It lasted barely a second before Zayne jerked back, stunned.

“MC—what are you doing?” His voice was firm, almost cold.

That’s when the door opened. And there you were.

Your eyes widened. Your face crumpled with heartbreak before you turned and fled.

“Wait—[Name], it’s not what it looks like!”

He ran after you, his chest aching with panic. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to propose to you after MC’s surgery. After everything was calm again.

In the silent hallway, he grabbed your wrist. “Please—listen to me. Let me explain.”

“What is there to explain!?” you snapped, tears filling your eyes. “Does our three years together mean nothing to you, Zayne?”

“No—no, that’s not it. Please… don’t make me choose between you two.”

Because how could he choose between his entire world—you—and the life of a girl who saw him as her last hope? MC was family. She was a little sister, a patient. Someone he swore to save.

“Why? Because you’ll choose her…?”

Your voice trembled. Shattered. And he couldn’t find the words. He reached out, but you stepped back, the distance between you widening into a chasm that he couldn’t cross.

Afterwards, he went to MC’s room.

She sat up, clutching her sheets. “I’m sorry… I just… I thought maybe… you…”

Zayne shook his head. His eyes were cold, clinical. “Don’t misunderstand. You’re like a sister to me. I’m your doctor. My only responsibility is to save you. Nothing more.”

MC’s tears fell freely, but he didn’t comfort her. Because his heart belonged to only one person.

You.

Zayne planned to fix things after her surgery. To save MC’s life, clear the misunderstanding, and finally propose to you. He imagined kneeling before you in your shared apartment, holding the ring with trembling fingers, telling you everything he never said enough.

But fate was cruel.

“Where’s [Name]?” zayne asked immediately after the operation ended. Thanks to the last-minute donor, MC was stable. Her vitals strong. Relief flooded his body, because now—now he could go to you.

But the nurses wouldn’t meet his eyes. Dr. Greyson’s expression was tight with grief.

“Greyson. Where is she?” Zayne demanded, his voice trembling for the first time in years.

Greyson swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Come with me.”

They walked down the corridor in silence, each step echoing like a funeral march. When they entered the donor room, Zayne felt his chest tighten.

On the table lay a body covered in white sheets. He approached with shaking hands, gripping the edge before Greyson slowly pulled the blanket back.

And there you were.

Still. Silent. Beautiful, even in death.

“No… no, no, no, no—” Zayne choked, falling to his knees. He clutched your cold hand, tears splashing onto your pale skin. His thumb brushed the empty spot on your finger, the spot where he planned to place your ring.

He reached into his pocket with shaking fingers, pulling out the velvet box. Opening it, he slipped the ring onto your stiff hand, pressing his forehead against it as sobs tore through his chest.

“I was supposed to propose to you… I was supposed to spend forever with you…” His voice cracked. “Why… why did you leave thinking I didn’t love you? God… [Name], I love you. I love you so much.”

But it was too late.

No surgery could fix this. No time could undo this. You were the cut that always bleeds—and now, the wound would never close.

He loved you.

Zayne only loved you.

𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲...

Author's note : so.. I don't think i made this angsty enough...

#casxandraꔛ♥️#lads #love and deepspace #lnds #lnds x mc #lads xavier #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads zayne #lads caleb #zayne x mc #zayne x you #zayne x reader #non mc reader

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kamospeach · 1 day ago

Text

(any pics without tags are bc i didn't know who they belonged to!)

plot: suguru's getting antsy, his ex-lover isn't looking his way on the field anymore

content warning:my sweet sugu is a little perverttt (we won't be seeing that yet), angstyyy, i love writing about trust issues and character development

dean's (aka peachy) yap: the last of the angst i promiseeee

“touchdownnnn!” the announcer yelled through the speakers of the stadium. that was the sound of the star football player of your university throwing a 45-yard pass. this was his third time making a play like that in this game alone. you wish you weren’t even there at this specific moment and time. you hated having to cheer on your ex as he won yet another game.

so it started a cycle, geto threw a pass, and you cheered. a pattern that was performed every saturday, in your home stadium or away. your reaction was what fueled his passion to play. yeah, you heard me right, he made plays and did the most because of you. whenever he assisted a touchdown, there you were cheering on his team. i mean, you had no choice, of course.

so that was why whenever suguru did something in the game, he’d look at you, always finding you looking right back at him. he read you like a book he knew you missed him, that or he was too cocky to admit that he missed you and he was now projecting.

when the game was over, you sat around with the cheer team, talking about any and everything. the football team had won, of course, thanks to suguru’s never-ending efforts. before the game, suguru asked you to stay behind so both of you could talk.

if you weren’t still slightly in love with him, you would've said no, but here you were waiting behind just to see him. he sauntered out hair down, wife-beater, and sweats. he walked towards you with a cockiness that clearly showed he was expecting you to stay behind.

“what?” was all you said, and he smirked. he had always loved your fiestiness.

“how did i do?” he asked, getting closer to you so he could tower over you. suguru was a self-proclaimed pervert; he liked seeing you look up at him. it reminded him of all the times you were on your knees, lips wrapped around his-

“seriously?” you scoffed, walking away from him, and he grabbed your arm. “let me go sugu… i mean- suguru- geto? fuck it just let me go.” you were conflicted on what to call him and he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love the way you said his name.

“you can still call me sugu…” he says, letting go of you like you asked. “you’ve always liked calling me that,” he gave you his signature smile, and you laugh. it wasn’t funny, but the audacity of this man was hilarious. he knew you saw him as goofy, at least that’s what you called him when the two of you broke up anyway.

“really? you care what i like now? you’re full of shit geto.” you spat turning around walking to your friends. they were waiting for you so you all could go get ready for the after-party.

“ya okay love?” your friend asked, rubbing your shoulder, knowing how you get about geto. you

were very, very, very in love with him. you would do anything for him. he knew that you knew that, and yet your relationship still failed.

“i’m fine, yeah.” you say as you look out the window, reminiscing on the times you and suguru spent together, the breakup, all of it.

4 months ago

“see you tomorrow!” you yelled out to the other girls on your cheer team. practice was over, and you waited in your car for suguru to get out. he had a spring football game tomorrow, a few hours away from the university. you were supposed to cheer at the basketball championship game, so the two of you won't be able to spend time together.

so you waited an hour after your practice for suguru, the clock finally hit 8, meaning they should be done. but one hour turned into two, and two into three, three into four, and so on. you ended up falling asleep, and when you woke up, it was 1 am, going on 2. you checked your phone, seeing one text from suguru.

‘can’t come practicing late.’

he sent that at 9:30, about 45 minutes after you had fallen asleep. no missed calls, no extra texts, nothing. he didn’t even try to make sure you were safe, and that was the worst. so, without hesitation, you made your way to his apartment.

you were prepared to make a scene, sure you had shame and self-control, but not today. you were about to make sure this conceited cocky- the door swung open to suguru with his eyes half closed. just boxer's, hair messy, and sleep in his eyes.

“you open the door like this for everyone?” you asked, and he just blinked, not sure what you were doing at his apartment. “why did you text me instead of calling me and telling me you weren’t coming anymore?” you asked, and he cleared his throat.

“thought you were asleep, so i just texted you and hoped you’d see,” he said voice still groggy, and he rubbed his eyes trying to adjust to all the lights you turned on around the apartment. “i didn’t get in until 12 anyway.”

“so you practiced until 10?” you asked, lightweight, not believing him, and he sighed, nodding.

“it’s our first game back since the fall, of course, i want to do the best i can,” he explained, and you nodded. you both were working on your trust issues he was getting better but you seemed to be stagnant.

“i don’t like when you don’t respond it makes me over think.” you explained trying to use your hands to further explain your point. his face was deadpanned almost as if he was angry at you.

“look no offense but i don’t care about what you like or whatever. we were supposed to work on our trust and i’ve done that for you but if you can’t focus on improving with me then do it without me.” he ranted and your eyes got wide. was that his shitty way of breaking up with you.

“are you breaking up with me?” you asked confused and he shook his head dropping on the couch. he didn’t say much just ran his hand through his hair as he thought.

“i’m not, i’m just saying that you’ve been fine since we’ve been close together for a while. we got together when things were slow and when i wasn’t as busy. so you haven’t had a chance to work on your trust issues, and so i guess the blame is halfway on me,” he grumbled head still in his hands and you stood there frozen as you listened to him.

“so do you think i’m better off leaving then?” you raise a brow and suguru sighs with a shrug.

“i think i’m stunting your growth. if we do break up it would only be because i want you to be better,” he admitted. truthfully suguru didnt know the best decision himself. he wanted to be your boyfriend and to graduate with you, he even thought about after. how a few years later he’d work on getting married to you. but if you can’t trust him you’d just suffocate him.

“so then let’s breakup. that’s what you want that’s what we’ll do.” you nodded tears now running down your face. you wiped your tears but it was futile as the waterfall poured. suguru knew your crying voice and took it upon himself to engulf you in a hug.

“i don’t want to but i love you and i want you to trust me the way i trust you, before i end up resenting you.” he whispered in your ear and you nodded. you both pulled away from the hug he wiped your tears kissing your lips one more time before you left.

present time

the party was everything you expected it to be, loud, smelly, hot, and chaotic. you liked it because it meant you were bound to get crossfaded. you and your friends held each other’s hand as you navigated through the dense crowd. once you made it to the kitchen of the frat house drinks on drinks were poured.

you were throwing shots back like there was no tomorrow wanting to forget about suguru for a while. but just your luck you had a filthy nerdy leech that was a constant reminder. satoru gojo.

“what are you doing here?” you asked satoru who shrugged looking just as confused as you.

“suguru invited me i’m just tagging along. met a girl too, she invited me so i’m following the crowd i guess you could say.” he laughed and you nodded understanding. you were kind of in the same situation as him just following the crowd.

“i getcha.” you say as you passed him a shot that was passed to you and he denied it. you shrugged your shoulders taking both shots in front. “well looks like my crowd moving, see you later yeah?”

“yeah see ya.” he smiled as you walked away with your friends and they went to hang out with the football players. as if running into satoru wasn’t enough now you’re sitting in a circle of people. and dead across from you is suguru who was smiling and laughing with his friends.

the lighting was great but just for him, his jawline was enhanced in the light. this couldn’t be real here you are drunk (and in the process of getting high) staring at your ex almost lovingly. minutes were going by and your were getting higher and higher. and while you were getting crossfaded suguru was getting finer and finer. you felt it was practically illegal to feel this way about someone who you were no longer romantically affiliated with.

“are you okay?” one of your friends asked and you sent him a small smile.

“just peachy.” you mumbled standing up to go get water until someone came up to you. you’ve never seen him before but he was clearly flirting. his words were started to blend together and his face was almost not even there. he started to sound like a friend you knew so your body became laxed.

his hands gripped your waist and you spoke with him casually. you were now drinking whatever your ‘friend’ had poured for you. all you knew is that your blinking felt extra slow and the floor was spinning.

after a while your friend who asked if you were okay came looking for you. he was getting suspicious as to what took you so long to come back outside with the group. until he saw your almost limp body leaning on some guy who he had never seen before either. he stormed towards the two of you both snatching the drink out of your hand.

“what are you doing?” he asked you and you shrugged not even sure who he was at this point. he watched your behavior and then looked up at the man who was with you. “who the hell are you?”

“does it matter? who the hell are you?” he copied his question whispering in your ear to calm you down. but now it felt weird and your brain seemed to register that you may or may not be in danger.

“do you even go to this school? i’ve never seen you before.” he questioned the man and his body became stiff against yours. strangely this was the only thing he did that raised red flags for you.

“so? do you know everyone at this school or somethin’?” he grumbled and your friend found him suspicious so he grabbed you arm to pull you away from the man but he didn’t get anywhere with that. “don’t touch her, come on let’s go. you do want to leave with me right?” he asked you and your head slowly tilted to the side as you looked up at him. you were still struggling to make out his face.

“no you won’t, she doesn’t even know you, she’s coming with me.” he said lightly pulling you towards him. you were now caught inbetween the two men one wrist in the strangers hand and the other in your friend’s.

“i-...” was all you could manage before you heard a voice. the only voice that you could identify throughout the foggy haze that was your brain.

“neither of you will be taking her home.” he said as he walked over to you. you didn’t need to see suguru’s face to know it was his. his long hair was enough for you to know it was the man you once and still do love.

“sugu…” you said walking towards him and the two men had no choice but to let you go. before you knew it suguru had his hand around your waist.

“he didn’t hurt you did he?” he asked and you shook your head. even though you weren’t exactly sure how you got into all of that. you both made your way outside to his car that you wasted no time getting. he pressed the 1 button, and it immediately went to your settings, the way you liked it.

“you never took that off?” you asked looking up at him with eyes that had him questioning his actions 4 months ago.

“why would i? this’s your seat.” he said putting on your seatbelt but before the door closed you had to say one more thing.

“thank you, sugu.”

“anything for you.” was all he said before he closed the door and got in the driver’s seat to take you home.

to be continued...

one two three four five six

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