#Number 1 Head Band

[runthepigeons]

[rembrandts-spraypaint]

Probably a bit of a hot take, but KoRn's album "The Path Of Totality" is completely overhated. Is it their greatest album? No absolutely not, but is it a bad album? No, hell I'd even say its a GOOD album! This is coming from someone who absolutely HATES dubstep btw, I'd actually go out of my way to listen to that album, its enjoyable! Of course it doesn't fit in with KoRn's discography but you gotta at least appreciate the fact that they wanted to try something new, it didn't work and they went back to their usual style, but they tried! They did a pretty damn good job at fitting dubstep with their style too, in a way that actually makes dubstep somewhat bareable! Anyways ramble over, this album deserves so much more love than it got.

[jaredthebc2]

Not sharing my whole wrapped but my top 5 songs are so funny to me

[seventeensrat]

Dorm Doll!

cw/tags: ot13 x reader (not all at the same time no one can do that), overstim, bondage, tickling (blink and you'll miss it), tummy rubbing, fluff but in a sexy way, sexual acts but in a fluffy way, cunnilingus, groping, thigh riding, fingering, somnophilia in jeonghan's, svt is referred to as brothers (how mahabharatha really should've gone), reader is "picked up like a little kid" in joshua's,(no pedophilia), innocence kink, slight petplay in jun's, reader wears cat ears, heavy objectification, exhibitionism, excessive use of commas.

EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL but negotiated off screen uhhhhh its just free-use on 300% softness

a/n: this is just svt brainrot I wrote at 1 am okay pls bear with me this is unedited and grammer is a foreign concept I was straight up jorking it in the stripped clubr to this I wanna be their pretty doll so fucking bad.

Oh, to be Seventeen's little free use doll, whom they treat like their own sex doll and comfort plushie at the same time. Minding your own business, writing or scrolling or reading? Not anymore :333 you're always getting swept off your feet— literally— because there is someone's strong arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the floor to be carried off to cuddle and touch. You can count on one hand the number of times you've been left alone without someone's hands on your skin. They pass you around, not just to be fucked dumb, but because everyone wants their turn to squeeze and play with their little dorm doll.

Movie nights would always end up with you stretched over multiple member's laps like a cat. Gentle hands draw up your arms above your head, half pinned down, half entwined with theirs. Your head is on one lap, your torso stretched over the next, legs in another's. In the darkness only lit up by the glow of the TV, it's hard to make out whose hand is petting your tit, pressing thumbs into the arch of your foot, or stroking the flat of your tummy. It's also hard to make out who's sliding fingers down your throat to keep your little whines muffled. Can't have you distracting them from the movie, right?

Seungcheol would be forever breaking up petty little fights that started from bickering over whose turn it was to have you (looking straight at bss) and taking it as an excuse to neatly pluck you from their arms and set you on his lap and wrap his arms around you. No amount of struggling will get you out of his grip, even though he finds it sooo adorable that you have to try so hard against a fraction of his strength. The squirming inadvertently makes him hard, so he flips you over so you're sideways on his lap, held up by one arm banding around your ribs, while he strokes along the curve of your back and gropes the flesh of your ass. Cheol is content with the softness of you on him, more than any completion.

Jeonghan thinks it's cute to ambush you. A midday nap is often interrupted by Hannie flopping on top of you and pressing his face into your back, sliding the point of his nose up the divot of your spine. Any and all activity is interrupted by him sliding behind you, hands sneaking under your shirt (if you're wearing one in the first place), squeezing your waist. He firmly believes there's no better place for his hands than the dip of your waist. That's where they end up even at night, sliding behind you on whomever's bed you're sleeping on for the night, his cock pushing into your warm, still wet heat. Fucking into you while wondering how many of his brothers had used you before he did.

Joshua, our resident sweetheart. He scoops you up like a child, both of you giggling, and sets off on little "adventures", as he was so fond of calling them. He affectionately pulls pretty clothes over you, dressing you how he pleases, then takes you shopping for more. Each outfit you try on earns you a little kiss. Shua thinks you're adorable in soft sweaters cropped too high, swishy floofy skirts that barely cover anything, cute stockings that hugged your thighs. He parades you around svt, forcing you to show off your new clothes, ignoring the blush high on your cheeks. No, his focus was completely on his teammates, watching their eyes darken at the glimpses of skin where delicate fabric rode up, where the pudge of your thigh stuck out over the lacy edge of the stocking. Later, he sets you on his lap— in front of everyone's hungry gazes— and knocks your knees open over his legs. Warm fingers soon find their place on your clit, further down to your hole. It's utter filth, the way his large hand stretches the fabric of your panties. Vulgar, really, when it's so obvious it doesn't belong there, but nothing feels more right when you fall apart around two of his fingers, his brothers' hands aching along his with the ghost of your release.

Junhui treats you more like a house cat than a sex doll. Always picking you up at random times of the day and carrying you to the couch, petting your hair, rubbing your back. He pokes your ribs and sides, just to see you twist away and push his hand down. Once, inexplicably, he grabbed your entire face as you would a cat you wanted to bother. The resulting cat fight (hehe) led to you straddling his face, your hands pinning his wrists down above his head. It was all a show really; he could push you off, flip you over, pin you down and have his wicked way with his dear kitty, all in the span of a breath, and you both know that. Yet, he let it happen because he loved the weight of you on his face, your pretty, breathy sighs and whimpers, your mewling when he didn't, wouldn't stop licking at your cunt. Jun loved when you initiated anything, cupping your pussy and affectionately calling you his "little cat in heat", scratching behind the cat ears he bought for you. He loved putting you face down ass up on the living room rug, where anyone could walk in on Jun slamming into you, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other pinning your wrists behind your back. If anyone walks in? Well, it's so commonplace they barely take note of it anymore, but sometimes—after a long day, or a hard practice— they push your teary face between their legs, cooing at how you rub your cheek against the bulge in their pants. Nothing relieves their stress and frustration like pushing your head down, large hand between your cat ears, seeing drool and cum and tears mix on your pretty face, but you curling up on Jun’s lap like a content cat comes in as a strong second.

Hoshi . Is bitey. Half man, half tiger, half toddler is really the only way you could even somewhat adequately describe him. He's forever teething against the soft inside of your thigh, licking at you until you cry, fucking into you like a rabid animal, pinching your cheeks and cooing over you, before burying his face in your neck and mouthing at the skin there. The other members teased you about the marks he left, pressing gently down on bruises new and faded. There was no embarrassing Hoshi, not when he proudly showed them off when he could, yanking your head back by the hair, exposing the delicate arch of your throat. His tongue laved over the bites, tasting the salt of your skin, and he paid no heed to your incessant squirming. Your shoulders are always adorned with perfectly circular bitemarks, to the point where the others were concerned by them. What they didn't know, not until Hoshi walked out smug and shirtless after a shower, was how much you marked him up as well (to Mingyu's scandalized gasp). You were usually so pliant underneath them, your hands always pinned out of the way and held down, but Soonyoung adored when your small hands tried to grasp onto him, when your pretty, sharp nails clawed at his back and shoulders, struggling to withstand the onslaught of pleasure. The result? Long, fine scratches adorning his spine, shifting under the toned muscles of his back and biceps. He wears them proudly like his own tiger stripes.

Wonwoo is a cat maid enjoyer trustttt. He is also a little shit. Even without the frills of the costume, the cat ears and his hand are permanently on your head. Number 1 headpat giver. Reading? His hands are stroking your hair. Sleeping together? His thumb is brushing over the arch of your ear. You do something mildly cute (breathe)? Pat pat pat. Loves cuddling you like a plushie against his chest, both while lying down and sitting up. The cuteness aggression is unreal. At least, it is until the sadist in him takes over. He loves nothing more than locking a remote controlled vibe against you and making you do menial household chores like dusting and scrubbing in your pretty, too-short outfit that did nothing to hide whatever lacy thing you had on underneath. His favourite is when you are on your hands and knees, pretending to scrub the floor, the ridiculously frilly uniform soaked through with water, skin slippery with suds, smelling like soap and desperation, all because he turned the vibe up too high, too quickly. He makes you come like that, shaking and crying on the floor. Once. Twice. You were well on the way to the third when he gathers you up in his arms and sets you on his lap, uncaring of the water soaking through his clothes. He presses a firm hand over your pussy, forcing the toy against your clit, and lets you sob your way through your climax. Wonwoo is gentle when he cleans you up after, undoing the ties of your dress with nimble, long-fingered hands, lowering your spent body into a hot bath, cradling you until you fall fast asleep against his chest. Of course, not without innumerous headpats.

Woozi has 3 loves in his life: music, working out, and you. According to him, there was no reason not to combine any of the three, which found you in his studio, curled up on his lap. His hands absentmindedly kneaded at your flesh, sliding from your chest down to the curve of your waist, palming at your ass, then up and over your thigh, to the round of your calf. Even the delicate swell of your ankles and the arch of your foot was not untouched, pale, elegant fingers stroking the skin and squeezing the entirety of your foot. Between the quiet of the studio and his warm hands, you barely notice the haze of dreamland drawing its veil over your eyes, or soft cushions meeting your back. You wake up to the soft click-clack of the keyboard. stretching, you watch your lover work.

One moment, you had been lounging on the studio couch— the next, plucked from it by a Jihoon that seemed to stomp in from thin air. His face, bright like the full moon, hovered directly over you, eyes meeting yours, glinting with quiet mischief. You blinked, and then you were weightless, rising, and your usually reserved Jihoon? Doing barbell curls of all things, using you as an exceptionally surprised piece of gym equipment. Usually, gym equipment did not stare at him with wide eyes and a mildly confused expression. Usually, gym equipment did not fist his shirt and cling to him. Usually, gym equipment was not this fucking adorable. What was Woozi to do with you, other than to set you on his cock and show you his new hip thrust PR?

Dokyeom gave Seungcheol and Hoshi a run for their money when it came to sheer clinginess, what with how you're folded into his side all the damn time. He's forever squishing you into his broad chest, arms and legs thrown around you, head buried in the crook of your neck. Rarely would you get to cuddle him back, because he seemed to have made it his life mission to bring any straying limbs back to your body and make you as compact as possible. Slender, long fingers wrap around your delicate wrists and pin them down, with seemingly little effort, but you can't move an inch. Forget being a plushie— you act as his living, breathing body pillow, always warm to the touch. Your skin? Free real estate. His hands are always roaming, cupping the curve of your tit, pinching your nipples and tugging until you arch against him. Further down, squeezing the softness of your stomach and pinching the narrowest part of your waist. Further, and he's stroking your thighs almost reverently, higher and higher until his palm is flush against your cunt, and he pets that too. It seemed like sacrilege to call it dirty, sexual; the slow drag of his finger against your clit was worship, your whimpers hymnal, your pleasure his offering. The scrunch of your face when you come is enlightenment to him. When he flips you over and pins you underneath him, Dokyeom can't help but think you're his own miniature goddess stolen straight from the altar, come to life and flushed and demanding under his reverent hands. When he's through with you, after carefully shaping your body into his, pressing you down into the mattress, bouncing you on his hips, drinking and eating from you until he can finally call himself somewhat sated, he cleans you like a devotee, presses his forehead against your sweat-damp stomach, and breathes you in, more fragrant than any incense.

You are Seventeen's doll, and Mingyu is their housewife. That's why he's always setting you on the counter next to him while he cooks, lovingly feeding you the first bite by hand. You looked so fragile to him like this, his oversized shirt falling off your shoulder, riding up your thighs, exposing impossibly soft skin. While dinner cooks, he spreads you on the counter as his appetizer, licking at you until you're begging him to let up, to give you a break. He finds your thrashing impossibly cute, how your thighs can't close around his shoulders, your helpless crying because it's too much for your little body to handle. It's so easy to manhandle you into whatever position he wanted, to hold you up and against him while he fucks into you. Some days, when he has too much energy, when practice and working out and taking care of others weren't enough, he would lift you up into the air and take you like that, your feet dangling off the floor. Out of everyone, you were the most doll-like with him, limp in his muscled arms while he uses you to his heart's desire. It had taken you so long to take him fully, needing days of prep before the first time. Days of him holding you down while he fingers you open, the pads of his fingers flush and rubbing against the soft, sensitive spot in you that your fingers could never reach by themselves. Days of Seventeen surprising you in the middle of the day by pushing a toy into you and forcing you to warm it. Days of Mingyu easing in inch by inch, making you come with each one, until you could finally, finally take his cock, flushed with pleasure and fullness and the endless praise spilling from his lips.

Minghao loves aesthetics. He asks you sit with him during his tea ceremonies, noting your perfect posture and neatly folded legs with an approving gaze. Everyone else is always bending you in half, but Minghao appreciates the neatness of your movement, the straight, elegant lines of your body, even in the mundane everyday— writing at your desk, molding the shape of your figure against one of his brothers', the swish of your skirt around your legs when you walked. It was in the smallest details to him— the tendons shifting under your hand, the stretch of an affectionate arm, the gentle arc of hipbone, the arch of your back off the bed when you come undone underneath his lips, his fingers, his cock. As far as Hao was concerned, this beauty was all the more perfect bound in cherry red rope, crisscrossing the narrow of your wrists and waist, digging into the fat of your hips and thighs. He spends hours with you in his studio, entwined together under warm afternoon sunlight, testing different patterns across your torso while your head leans against his chest. Every day was something different— arms tied to your ankles one day, calves and thighs bound together, forcing you to kneel, once tied to him while straddling him on a chair. The boundaries between his own touch and the bite of rope blurs, until the pinch of rope and the nip of teeth are one and the same.

You often called Seungkwan your "adorable boo bear", complete with holding up strands of his hair into fluffy bear ears. And indeed, he looked like a cartoon baby bear with his big eyes and clingy, soft tendencies. Evenings with him were always spent with you straddling him on the couch, your face buried in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around each other, breathing the other in. He cared for you in a way that was softer, warmer, care which seeped in through your pores until you glowed from the inside out. Beyond nagging you to eat and drink water 2982139 times a day, he fetched you meals himself, held bottles to your lips, and scolded your ear off. When you were on his lap, however, the praise was endless. He didn't fuck— he rolled his hips into yours slowly, hands grasping yours, pinning both of you down, kissing the planes of your face slack from pleasure. It wasn't a powerplay like with the others, either. His hands are exceedingly gentle on your skin, holding you close, and closer, trying to merge the two of you together. Your own hand stroked his round cheek, resting soft against your palm. You were his doll and he was your boo bear, and that's all that mattered sometimes.

Vernon is the most peaceful of them all, never given to throwing you around like the others (or gnawing at you like Hoshi). It's simply enough to share company, and occassionally, cat reels. He holds you as casually as he does his phone, manspreading on the couch and setting you on his lap, wide hand palming the fat of your ass. The unspoken order—grind—hangs in the air, and you obediently oblige, pushing your hips against the seam of his pants, head falling into the perfect curve of his neck. He captures your lips with his, a soft, slick meeting. Unhurried, calm, like everything else was with him. He wasn't particularly inclined to pin you down and fuck you senseless (not that it didn't happen), but enjoyed the pressure of you on him, the gentle press of your hands against his chest. Afterwards, the two of you fall asleep together, hand in hand, space between your bodies like open fields ready for sowing.

Chan thinks you're the cutest ever, especially when snuggled up on his chest. He also thinks you're the cutest ever when you're overwhelmed and half dazed, making adorable little faces of pleasure and unable to speak from overstimulation. He likes making you whine into his neck and chest when his wandering hands squeeze a little too hard at your waist, ass and tits. Chan was always using his strength to his advantage, knowing it drove you insane, grinning cheekily when it did. Your pleasure was his, and he carved that knowledge in your mind until you knew it better than you knew yourself. Eye contact is a must for him, to the point where he stops moving if your eyes fall shut from the pleasure. His favourite activity? Placing you on one strong thigh, supported only by your entwined hands, and forcing you to grind and look at him until you're sobbing into his shoulder from exhaustion and frustration. His pants are soaked through, but you still couldn't find completion, needing more from him. Chan loved the desperate tears tracking down your face. Once he takes over, you wish you did it yourself— he's relentless, bouncing you on his thick thigh until you're cross-eyed and stupid from how good it feels. He keeps going, long after you've turned completely limp, using your body to vent his energy out. Afterwards, he collapses next you, and spoons you until you both fall asleep and wake up again, though you are significantly worse for wear. It's hard to stay mad when he flashes that boyish smile at you, with sweet kisses and promises of food.

a/n pt 2: if you see me post more fics with the same themes no you don't

feel free to ask if you want to see more from this universe (ot13 or member specific) because I have MULTIPLE scenarios that I haven't included here. Both fluff and smut reqs are accepted!

please send me asks/feedback/criticism/dms I do not bite

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

The Cranberries - Zombie 1994

"Zombie" is a protest song by Irish alternative rockband the Cranberries. It was written by the lead singer, Dolores O'Riordan, about the young victims of a bombing in Warrington, England, during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. The song was released on 19 September 1994 as the lead single from the Cranberries' second studio album, No Need to Argue. While the record label feared releasing a too controversial and politically charged song as a single, "Zombie" reached number 1 on the charts of Australia, Belgium, Denmark, Germany, and Iceland, and spent nine consecutive weeks at number 1 on the French SNEP Top 100. It reached number 2 on the Ö3 Austria Top 40, where it stayed for eight weeks. The song did not chart on the US Billboard Hot 100 chart as it wasn't released as a single there, but it reached number 1 on the US Billboard Alternative Airplay chart. Listeners of the Australian radio station Triple J voted it number 1 on the 1994 Triple J Hottest 100 chart, and it won the Best Song Award at the 1995 MTV Europe Music Awards.

The Troubles were a conflict in Northern Ireland from the late 1960s to 1998. The Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA), an Irish republican paramilitary organisation, waged an armed campaign to end British rule in Northern Ireland and unite the region with the Republic of Ireland. Republican and Unionist paramilitaries killed more than 3,500 people, many from thousands of bomb attacks. One of the bombings happened on 30 March 1993, as two IRA improvised explosive devices hidden in litter bins were detonated in a shopping street in Warrington, England. Two people; Johnathan Ball, aged 3, and Tim Parry, aged 12, were killed in the attack. 56 people were injured. Ball died at the scene of the bombing as a result of his shrapnel-inflicted injuries, and five days later, Parry lost his life in a hospital as a result of head injuries. O'Riordan decided to write a song that reflected upon the event and the children's deaths after visiting the town: "We were on a tour bus and I was near the location where it happened, so it really struck me hard – I remember being devastated about the innocent children being pulled into that kind of thing. So I suppose that's why I was saying, 'It's not me' – that even though I'm Irish it wasn't me, I didn't do it. Because being Irish, it was quite hard, especially in the UK when there was so much tension." The song was re-popularised in 2023 after it was played after Ireland games at the 2023 Rugby World Cup. It was picked up by fans of the Irish team, with videos of fans singing the song in chorus accumulating hundreds of thousands of views on social media. This offended other Irishmen, who identified it as an "anti-IRA" anthem, and said that that the lyrics failed to consider their experience during the Troubles.

The music video, directed by Samuel Bayer, was filmed in Belfast, Northern Ireland, in the heart of the Troubles with real footage, and in Dublin. To record video footage of murals, children and British Army soldiers on patrol, he had a false pretext, with a cover story about making a documentary about the peace-keeping efforts in Ireland. Bayer stated that a shot in the video where an SA80 rifle is pointed directly at the camera is a suspicious British soldier asking him to leave, and that the IRA were keeping a close look at the shoot, given "the British Army come in with fake film crews, getting people on camera.” While "Zombie" received heavy rotation on MTV Europe and was A-listed on Germany's VIVA, the music video was banned by the BBC because of its "violent images", and by the RTÉ, Ireland's national broadcaster. Instead, both the BBC and the RTÉ opted to broadcast an edited version focusing on footage of the band in a live performance, a version that the Cranberries essentially disowned. Despite their efforts to maintain the original video "out of view from the public", some of the initial footage prevailed, with scenes of children holding guns. In March 2003, on the eve of the outbreak of the Iraq War, the British Government and the Independent Television Commission issued a statement saying ITC's Programme Code would temporarily remove from broadcast songs and music videos featuring "sensitive material", including "Zombie". Numerous media groups complied with the decision to avoid "offending public feeling", along with MTV Europe. Since it violated the ITC guidelines, "Zombie" was placed on a blacklist of songs, targeting its official music video. The censorship was lifted once the war had ended. In April 2020, it became the first song by an Irish group to surpass one billion views on Youtube.

"Zombie" received a total of 91% yes votes!

[okay-j-hannah]

Mama Bear | Smosh 💛

Smosh : Multishot

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, Spencer pining, reader is struggling in LA, not a lot of money, poor studio apartment, abusive boyfriend, physical/verbal abuse, lots of musical theatre talk

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: Thank you for all the love 🥰 I've really needed to get this story out of my system

Part 1: The Kickstart

Part 2: Mama Bear {You Are Here}

The next few months have been a whirlwind.

You grow accustomed to the inner workings of Smosh. You have become an integral part of the team. Many turn to you for help and advice – always eager to do what you can.

Though sets make you camera shy and rooms with more than your closest friends make you quiet, everyone knows who you are.

Your famously large fanny pack, full of essentials, becomes the new ‘mama bear bag,’ as it is lovingly called by the cast and crew. You somehow always have exactly what everyone needs, almost like you can sense their need of help before they do.

On the set of Reddit stories, you walk in with your setting powder, ready to pat away any shiny spots on the cast. You stand behind Brennan at the camera, quietly observing. They were still setting up lights and sound.

You watch as Shayne unknowingly has a food stain on his face. Angela is having a bad hair day, unable to keep her hair out of her eyes. Chanse beside her has discovered a cut on his finger from opening cardboard packages that morning.

Without a word, you walk onto the set, opening your mama bear bag. You hand Shayne a wet wipe and gesture to the stain on his chin. You give some bobby pins to Angela, helping her make crisscrosses above her ears to hold back her hair. And you grab Chanse’s hand, carefully wrapping his cut with a band aid.

On your way out you crumble the band aid wrapper and take Shayne’s wet wipe.

“And yet again, we’ve been humbled by the mama bear bag,” Shayne chortles. “I swear I don’t know how we survived without (Y/N) all these years.”

“She might be the most observant person I know,” Chanse says, getting comfortable on the couch.

You stand back, waving them off as the cameras start to roll.

The trio get into the Reddit stories, laughing about the ridiculousness of the posts. The audacity of some of the writers has you giggling in the back. Angela is rioting on the couch, flinging herself around with laughs.

At one point she falls to the ground, smacking Chanse on the leg. When she gets back up, the bobby pins in her hair are off centered and no longer pinned in place.

She starts to wail as a bit. “(Y/N)! I ruined my hair.”

Shayne starts laughing heartily, holding onto the iPad, “Quick, everybody freeze. (Y/N) is coming to the rescue.”

Everyone giggles as you move onto the set, refraining from showing your face. You’d ask the editors to cut you out of the shot later.

~~~

Over on the Games set, you help a coworker behind the camera who has a headache. You pull a little organized container of medicine from your bag.

A few members of the cast were playing another round of Moose Master and Amanda was complaining about her dry hands.

You put your medicine pack away and extract a bottle of coconut milk lotion. You walk to the edge of the set and wiggle it in the air for Amanda to see.

She lights up, “Oh, yes please! Thank you, (Y/N).”

You toss the bottle and watch Amanda catch it.

“I will forever be impressed with how much that bag holds,” Angela shakes her head.

“The mama bear bag,” Courtney giggles.

Amanda tosses the bottle back at you, “Thanks, honey!”

“We love our mama bear (Y/N),” Arasha smiles.

~~~

On the set of SmoshCast, you walk in during an active shoot with Amanda, Shayne, and Spencer. In an act of retaliation, Amanda had jokingly texted you for drinks and snacks. Spencer was doing another one of his bits where he brings a crazy number of drinks on the podcast.

Completely disregarding his own rule to not have drinks and snacks while filming.

Shayne spots you and immediately starts wheezing, covering his face with both hands. Amanda is wide eyed and stunned.

“You actually brought stuff!”

Spencer is in the middle subtly shaking his head and looking at you with such warmth.

You bring a container of delicious looking fruit danishes, serving them on little platters. Then you reveal actual teacups that you generously pour a honeyed tea into.

“Holy shit – you brought a whole spread,” Amanda continues, narrating into the microphone for those that aren’t watching on video. “(Y/N) has brought actual porcelain teacups and cream cheese danishes.”

Shayne is still occupied with his wheezing, tears now developing in his eyes. “Like we’re on the set of fucking Bridgerton.”

You smile, “Now you can properly spill the tea.” You know your voice will be muffled on the podcast without a microphone, and you awkwardly shuffle away to keep your face off camera.

“I’ve just had the most brilliant idea,” Amanda says, taking a sip of her tea and devolving into an English accent.

“And what is that, good sir?” Spencer asks, eyes still lingering on you.

“Gentleman’s episode of Smosh Mouth,” Amanda continues, “Where we delve into the explicit details of our illegal mines and mistresses.”

Spencer chokes on a laugh, “That is quite astonishing.” He gives you a wink and you smile.

~~~

The latest Smosh Games idea was to have a Gentleman’s video playing Ultimate Werewolf. At one point, the other gentlemen gained up on Spencer and pretended to beat him up because he was the werewolf.

It was a hilarious bit and Alex, being the director, cuts the video and asks for you to do some special effects makeup on Spencer while the others have a lunch break.

You lead Spencer to the makeup vanity outside the set rooms.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Agnew.” You turn the chair towards him and grab the clothing protector apron.

Spencer places his fake cigar onto the vanity and continues his English accent. “Thank you, young chap. I say – I should very much like for you to deliver a most formidable contusion to my eye.”

You giggle, wrapping the apron over his front, like a hairdresser. It protects his costume from getting makeup on it.

“I shall deliver the most fearsome blow to your face – using my delicate brushes.” You remove his top hat while he laughs.

“Powerful brushes, I say.”

You pull out some stage makeup and a stippling sponge. With Spencer’s hands confined to beneath the apron, you lightly take away his glasses and place them on the vanity.

Spencer watches you with a warm gaze. As you near his face, he tries to look straight ahead instead of directly at you.

“I’m thinking a bruised cheek that grows into a black eye. And maybe some fake blood around your nose. I could do a busted lip too?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Whatever makes me the ugliest.”

You smile, grabbing the yellow cream makeup. With your free hand, you push his hair away from his temple.

He closes his eyes at your touch.

You begin with a thin layer of yellow, then start to stipple purple and blue on top.

“Amanda is upset that we still have not had a hangout since you taking Angela to see my musical.”

He smiles, refraining from opening his eyes. Seeing you so close to his face would send his heart into overdrive.

“I’m still surprised that Angela wanted to come in the first place. She’s the one making jokes about how hanging out with coworkers is embarrassing.”

You use a maroon color to show a split in the middle of the bruise. “I was just thinking… maybe we should do something tonight. Can you look up for me?”

Spencer opens his eyes and looks toward the ceiling. You use the sponge and your fingertips to blotch color around his eye and cheek.

You smell like a flower garden. His pulse quickens. His throat bobs.

“We can celebrate another successful filming week,” you continue, oblivious to his visceral reaction to your presence.

“Y-Yeah,” he chokes out. “We can play games at my house and maybe watch a movie?”

You continue to blend out the cream makeup. “Awesome! I think Amanda, Shayne, and Courtney are down.”

You miss how his face dips a little when you mention other people.

“What about Aaron?” he asks.

You grab a different brush and start working on his lip, laying a base of concealer and dark colors.

He was finding it hard to take a full breath.

“I don’t think I’ll invite him,” you say quietly.

Spencer is unable to talk with you painting his lip. But his eyes snap to your focused ones. Was everything okay?

“He’ll be fine,” you continue, just as quietly. “I just… want to hang out with my friends.”

There’s something strange and suspicious about your tone of voice. Spencer starts to scrunch his brow, trying to figure you out.

You notice the worry in his expression. “It’s fine. I just… want to be out of the apartment.”

That doesn’t help his nerves.

You’re now applying a small amount of latex to make a visible wound on his lip. Letting it dry, you look at Spencer’s eyes to see him asking you a question with his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry,” you start to color the latex, “It’ll be fun.”

Spencer tries to say something, “Is there… ow!”

You smack his shoulder, “You’ll ruin your lip.” Your face seems a little sullen, but you give a small smile.

He slouches in the chair and gives you a penetrating look.

Back on the Smosh Games set, Alex continues to direct and you can already picture the cut scene in the video where Spencer is getting beat up to him now sitting in his chair with a messed up face.

It’s making you giggle as the other gentlemen comment on the bruising.

“I say, look at that ghastly contusion to your eye,” Shayne shouts.

Amanda flails her cigar around, “I do declare, it rather suits your complexion.”

Spencer readjusts his top hat, “I must profess, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I simply have some tenderness to my face.”

You laugh off stage – knowing that the editors would most likely put subtitles that said ((Y/N) laughing).

~~~

After the last shoot, you’re cleaning up the makeup vanities and grabbing some remover for Spencer. Your enormous fanny pack is strapped across your chest, almost all coworkers out of the building already.

The sets door flies open and causes you to jump.

Amanda and Spencer are there chatting away but pause when seeing you scared.

“Woah, you okay?” Amanda asks with a smile. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to startle you.”

Spencer looks really rough with his face still full of bruise makeup. But his eyes consider you quietly.

You wave them off, “I’m just a little jumpy. Here Spence.” You offer the makeup remover and a little bottle to take the latex off.

“I have to say, you are amazing at that, (Y/N),” Amanda says, leading the group toward the front doors. “Spencer literally looks like he’s been mauled by a bunch of gentlemen.”

“Man, I should have done a bite mark,” you laugh, “Mauled by a bunch of gentlemen.”

Amanda laughs again, “Gentleman Angela would 100% gnaw on your arm for accusing her as a werewolf.”

Spencer starts to laugh at that mental image, rubbing his face with the remover and a cotton pad. “Feral gentleman game would be so funny.”

“Because the irony is that we are gentlemen that are shitty people. Then we can take it a step further by being gentlemen that are shitty people with rabies.”

You snort, “I guess we have a new video pitch for the next meeting.”

“So, um…” Spencer opens the door, “I can give you a ride and we can all meet at my place?”

Amanda agrees, saying how Shayne and Courtney were planning on that anyway. You smile at him, causing strange things to fly around in his stomach.

“Is it weird of me to say I’m excited to see what your apartment looks like?”

He laughs, “Curiosity did kill the cat.”

“I can’t believe you just confessed to taking me to your place to kill me.”

“Not before I show you my katana,” Spencer smiles, opening the passenger door for you.

You laugh, “The murder weapon.”

Driving towards his apartment, Spencer is being hyperaware of how you’re acting. He was still suspicious of your motives for wanting to spend the night out. He notices you cowering into the car door.

He’s never noticed that before.

“Are you okay?”

You take a shaky breath, “Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t like driving much.”

“Is… is that why you take the bus? Did you choose not to have a car?” He keeps moving his eyes from the road to you.

You try to straighten out, “No, I can drive if I have to. I just don’t like to.” You hold onto your purse to give your hands something to do. “What should we play at your place?”

Spencer tries to let your explanation settle, but he’s still curious about your disklike of cars. “We could play Super Smash Bros.”

“Or Super Mario Party?”

He smiles, “Not before some pizza.”

The drive to his apartment is full of pleasantries, Shayne and Courtney already parked and holding boxes of pizza and breadsticks. Amanda is just helping them carry a box when you get out.

“Happy weekend!” you say cheerily. “Ready for some food and games?”

Amanda puts one arm around your shoulders, “I’m excited to get to know you more.”

“Yes!” Courtney adds, following Spencer to the door. “You’ve been at Smosh for a few months, and I still feel like we don’t know much about you.”

“Well, I’m… I wouldn’t say I enjoy talking about myself much,” you laugh awkwardly.

Amanda snickers, “Clearly.”

They walk inside the little apartment and are immediately welcomed by the mewling of a gray cat. You are obsessed.

“Aw!” you fall to your knees, “Hello, sweet girl.” You offer a hand and wait for the cat to sniff your fingers. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

The little gray cat lifts her nose to the air before rubbing her face against your hand. You begin to melt.

Shayne starts laughing, startling the cat. “I think we know why (Y/N) wanted to hang out.”

“That’s Cleo,” Spencer says sweetly, putting his keys down and going to grab some drinks.

Courtney puts their share of the pizza boxes on a small dining table before joining you on the ground. “She is the prettiest little lady.”

Amanda helps to set out some paper plates and napkins before starting to serve. Shayne grabs himself and Courtney some slices before sitting on the couch in the living room. You stay with Cleo the cat, completely content to sit with her for the rest of the night.

It’s not until you notice a pair of feet standing in front of you that you look up, Cleo in your lap. Spencer stands there with an ice cold Diet Coke from the fridge.

You smile, taking the drink, “I didn’t know you were a Diet Coke fan.”

“I’m not,” he says.

Your smile falters for a second before a warm feeling swells in your chest. Cleo hops from your lap and Spencer offers a hand to you.

You take it, standing with ease. The others are already chatting and eating their pizza in the living room.

“Do you have any pets, (Y/N)?” Amanda asks.

You sit down beside her, Spencer quick to sit on your other side. “No, I couldn’t afford one,” you laugh awkwardly. “I don’t really have the space for one either.”

“Shame, it seems like you’re an animal person,” Amanda continues.

You nod enthusiastically, “I love animals.”

Shayne reaches for one of the switch controllers, “Fancy a game, Chosen?” he speaks in a silly lisp accent.

Spencer chuckles, settling in beside you. “Of course, Chosen. The only acceptable opponent… is obviously myself.”

A strange anime laugh comes from Shayne, and you smile. You’re rubbing shoulders with Spencer every time he moves his arm with the controller.

“Finally, girl talk,” Courtney says sarcastically. “(Y/N), how long have you lived here?”

“For about two years,” you say shortly. You don’t elaborate and you can feel the sudden shift of an awkward pause after you speak.

Amanda gives a laugh to fill the space, “What made you want to move here?”

“Probably the same reason many others do…” you say quietly, taking a sip from your soda to buy you time. “I wanted to live somewhere that might support my creative side. LA has a lot of creative and performing arts.”

Courtney agrees, putting an arm over the couch and behind Shayne. “Right, you’re a bit of a theatre nerd.”

“More than a bit,” Spencer butts in.

You nudge your shoulder into him. “I do love theatre.”

“I’m glad you’ve continued working with it to some capacity,” Amanda says. “I’ve been doing improv troops and sketches for years. The black box is my home.”

You smile, knowing that a black box was a dark room in a theatre where actors can improv something out of nothing. Sometimes people perform shows there, utilizing the empty space to be more creative.

“Are you a part of an improv group right now?” you ask, glad to steer the conversation off yourself.

“I’m a part of the Groundlings Improv Theatre and I keep doing performances at UCB as a Maude performer.”

You find that Spencer’s arm isn’t so much bumping into you as fully pressed against yours now. “What’s a Maude performer?”

Amanda perks up, “It’s someone that’s a part of UCB’s sketch comedy group. You have to audition annually and then help write for and perform sketches.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” you remark. “What about you Courtney?”

“I’ve found my way into being a main writer and a director on the Smosh channel. That’s where I’ve found my most creativity. I’ve helped with some FX makeup on some music videos, and I’ve made an online apparel rental subscription service. It’s called Courtney’s Rack,” they giggle for a second, “And it’s inspired by my own style.”

“You guys are so cool,” you say warmly. “Way to follow your passions.”

Amanda waves you off, “You too, girl. You’ve worked your way into a sketch group.”

You nod, but don’t elaborate. Instead you feel a chill – you shiver. “Are you guys excited about our next karaoke livestream?” You miss the way Spencer side eyes your shivers.

Courtney holds an invisible microphone, “Hell yeah! I think it’s time to get our Madonna on.”

“You haven’t seen how wild our karaoke streams go,” Amanda laughs, “Throw a bunch of attention seeking performers in front of the camera and all bets are off.”

Courtney shoves her, cackling, “Just calling all of us out.”

Spencer hits pause on the game and jumps from the couch. You watch him walk awkwardly around the ottoman and to the hall.

“Ha!” Shayne says in his silly voice. “The Chosen has realized that he can never beat himself. Therefore, I – the multiverse Chosen – have succeeded in defeating him.”

“We’re off set, Shayne,” Amanda rolls her eyes, “You can cut the act.”

Shayne combs his hair off his forehead, “Sorry, it’s just a part of me at this point.”

Spencer reappears with blankets. He tosses one toward the other couch with Shayne and Courtney. He lays the other over your lap and retakes his seat beside you.

You smile at him and whisper, “Thank you.” His arm presses against yours as firmly as before.

“Welcome.”

“Are you planning on making a guest appearance, (Y/N)?”

You hum your confusion. “Hm? Me do karaoke on the stream? I don’t think so.”

“Why not! We invite crew on it all the time,” Amanda says cheerfully.

You shake your head, sipping your soda. “I couldn’t – not in front of all those people.”

“I bet you have a lovely singing voice,” Courtney smiles, “All those musicals you’ve been in.”

“Once upon a time…” you say quietly, “Maybe.”

“Well,” Amanda says warmly, “Maybe it’s time to try it again.”

You feel an ache enter your chest. It quells the ever constant anxiety roiling in your stomach.

Shayne cries his defeat, “Curses! Bested by the best.”

Spencer nods his head in acknowledgement, “Would the ladies like to participate?”

“I’m ready for a movie,” Amanda says, putting her pizza plate down. “I’m feeling something epic.”

“Like Interstellar,” Spencer says, putting his controller down.

Courtney sighs, “Like 13 Going On 30.”

Shayne starts laughing, leaning back and putting a hand on Courtney’s leg. “All right let’s compromise. Let’s watch Megamind.”

“I second that,” you say, “Or a Marvel movie.”

“Let’s watch Avengers,” Courtney says.

You all agree, Spencer flipping through his smart tv to get a streaming service. His arm against yours is full of warmth. You gravitate towards it, leaning into him more.

Cleo the cat pads over and jumps onto the couch between you and Amanda.

“Hello, sweetie,” Amanda coos. But Cleo turns her eyes onto you. She blinks slowly and crawls onto your blanketed lap.

You’re very pleased with yourself, petting her fur as she settles. Spencer looks at you, eyes moving from your contented face to the cat. He suddenly has to hold his hands in his lap to keep them from wrapping around you.

The movie begins with everyone settling in. Cleo the cat purrs in your lap, snuggling into a little ball. You pet her, subconsciously leaning into Spencer.

The longer the movie plays, Shayne and Amanda cracking jokes about certain parts, you feel sleepy.

Cleo is fully asleep in your lap, stretching her cute little paws.

Your body slumps more into the couch and into the side you’re leaning into – right into Spencer. He tries to keep his cool as your head falls closer and closer to his shoulder. He tries to ignore the looks the friends are giving you two.

He tries to keep his eyes on the tv screen, his hands being tightly held in his lap.

You fall asleep on his shoulder.

His heart beats faster.

The movie ends with the end credit scene and the friends begin to excuse themselves.

“We’ll just leave you to it,” Amanda says in a teasing tone. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Remember to breathe,” Courtney snickers, getting her shoes on.

Shayne salutes him at the door, “Good luck, dude.”

You begin to stir as they shuffle out the door. Cleo turns onto her back, still asleep. Spencer turns his head to watch you wake.

He traces the outline of your face with his eyes. It’s soft and careful and warm.

His arm pleads to be moved around your shoulders. Hold you to him. Urge you back to sleep.

“God, I’m sorry,” you mumble sweetly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“That’s okay,” he says just as quietly. “You must’ve needed it.”

You stretch, lifting your chin from his shoulder. He hates the rush of cold that it leaves against him.

“Thanks for letting me drool on your shirt.”

“I will never wash this shirt again.”

You giggle in a groggy way, eyes heavy. “That’s disgusting.”

“How dare you say that about your drool. Nothing about you is disgusting.”

You sit straighter, running your hand down Cleo once more. She begins to purr again in her sleep.

“She likes you a lot,” Spencer says quietly. “She latched onto you real quick.”

“I’m an animal whisperer,” you say, rubbing at your eyes. You still hadn’t noticed how enraptured Spencer was with you beside him.

He finds it hard to swallow – the dim light, quiet room, and comfy couch all tempting him.

“Are – Are you ready to go home?”

You heave a heavy sigh. “I guess.”

“You guess?” he asks playfully. “You frozen in place with Cleo in your lap?”

“Partially,” you hum. “I have to get home sooner or later.”

Spencer feels that itch that something is wrong. The same feeling he had when you asked to hang out. “Is… everything okay?”

“Fine,” you say sleepily.

“(Y/N),” he asks slowly, “Why did you want to be out of your apartment tonight?”

There’s a silence that speaks volumes. Your face falls in a way that scares Spencer. He turns his body to see you better – his arm falls onto the back of the couch.

“(Y/N)?”

You clear your throat. “I just wanted a break from Aaron. That’s all.”

“Why?”

You pat Cleo’s head, waking her up. She sits and stretches her back on your legs before hopping off. “Sometimes your partner frustrates you and you need to walk away, right?”

“Depends on what’s frustrating you,” Spencer says, watching you stand and fold the blanket.

“I don’t know, Spencer. He… I shouldn’t complain. He’s helping with the bills.”

Spencer stands with you, “But that doesn’t mean you have to deal with whatever’s bothering you.”

“It does when it puts food on the table and a roof over my head.”

“But you did that before him.” He follows you to the door to drive you home.

Walking outside in the cold, you start to get upset. “You don’t understand.”

“Maybe I don’t. You have a new job that pays those bills, (Y/N). There shouldn’t be anything tying you to him like that.”

“I… I don’t like talking about this, Spencer.”

Now in the car, you drive down the street with momentary silence. Spencer feels anger brewing in his stomach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to butt into your relationship.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, arms around yourself. “My friends are entitled to their opinions.”

“But not when I make you upset like this,” he says. “I’m just worried.”

You look at him with sad eyes. “Why?”

He flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. “I just… you’re my friend, (Y/N). Of course I worry about you. I care about your wellbeing.” There’s a pause where he feels a joke bubbling out of him. “And not just because I need you on set for my job to function properly.”

You smile and it relieves him.

“Thanks, Spence.”

The car parks outside your shabby apartment and Spencer stares at the chipped door with slight disdain.

“I’ll see you next week,” you say, opening the car door.

“Hey,” Spencer says suddenly, drawing your attention.

You bow down to see him still inside the car, “Yeah?”

“Call me if you need anything,” he says firmly. “Okay?”

You look at the seriousness in his face and start to nod a little bit. “Okay.”

~~~

The next week begins with a new round of meetings and writing. You are not needed until characters are decided for sketches, but you help the other art coordinator Alex to organize a few other set items.

You’re able to come in later than usual to do this.

You get off the bus and begin your walk toward the Smosh office. Your hair is down and slightly obscuring your vision. You try not to touch the makeup on your face too much.

“Good morning, Selina,” you say in your same sweet tone.

Selina waves at you, “Good morning to you too.”

You walk past the lunch tables and toward the art department by the costume and props storage. You wave at Erin and Josh before sitting at your desk.

Cassie fills you in on a few projects that the writing room is working on. You begin by cataloging what you’ll need to set on costume racks for the next filming week. You give a list of makeup and hair care refills to be ordered.

It’s into the afternoon when you head toward sets to organize racks and vanities for the coming week.

“(Y/N)!”

You turn toward the hallway of pods where the cast and crew work on the media side of things. Tommy and Spencer are heading towards you.

“Have you seen some of the new videos that’ve posted?” Tommy asks.

You ruffle the sides of your hair, making sure they lay to hide some of your face. “No, I don’t really look at the views and things like you guys.”

Spencer has a big smile on his face, “Well, the comments on the last few have been pretty good.”

“Meaning?” you say, walking into the empty sets to reach the costume racks. You don’t want to give them enough time to look at your face.

“Meaning that the fans have started to notice how often we talk about you on set.”

You turn sharply on your heel, Tommy and Spencer running into each other. “I’m sorry?”

“Look at some of these comments,” Tommy says, holding an iPad to your face. You grab it and begin to scroll, seeing line after line that’s asking about you.

“Angela asking for mama (Y/N) to fix her hair is so funny!”

“Does anybody know who (Y/N) is?”

“Is (Y/N) a new member of the Smosh crew?”

“Face reveal for (Y/N) please!?! We want to see who you guys are talking about!”

“Amanda saying yes please and then a lotion bottle being launched at her head took me so off guard.”

“Mama bear bag is my new favorite character.”

“Video for what’s inside (Y/N)’s mama bear bag!”

“Ah! (Y/N) almost being revealed on Smosh Mouth!!”

“(Y/N) bringing a full English tea set is hilarious.”

“We love a supportive crew member trying to encourage spilling the tea.”

“I love hearing (Y/N) laugh off set.”

“Spencer’s gentleman is so feral. His true self comes out with that top hat.”

“Do you think (Y/N) was the one that did his makeup?”

“I swear I hear the cast mention (Y/N) every video now. How can they tease us?!”

You start to feel a tightening in your chest, your breath a little shallow. “All of these… people recognize my name?”

Tommy is still giddy with the comments, “Yeah! Isn’t that crazy? We might have to have you guest star just to tease them a little bit more.”

Spencer notices that you are a little tense. “But we don’t have to do that. We just wanted to show you the positive response from the audience.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Thanks, but maybe we should hold off for a while longer.”

Tommy seems a little disappointed, but Spencer waves him away. He wants a moment with you alone. He watches you sort through some old costumes on the rack.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean for that to stress you out.”

“It was a little overwhelming is all,” you give a strained smile. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

Spencer puts his hands in his denim jacket. “We’ll wait until you’re ready.” His brows scrunch when he notices something on your face.

“Got anything fun planned for Games this next week?”

He leans over to see your complexion better, starting to get in your way. “Um… we’re thinking about some guessing games and… and a Throw Throw Burrito…” His hand lifts from his pocket and you lean away.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s that on your face?” he asks.

You turn away sharply, “What do you mean?” You start walking towards the vanities on the outside of the sets.

Spencer is close on your heels. “There’s something by your eye.”

At a mirror, you open your giant fanny pack to find your makeup. Under the lights, you notice some smudging around your eye where pristine makeup had been before. Yellowing spots that still hold a hint of blue and purple.

“Oh dammit,” you mutter, pulling out your concealer. “I ran into a cabinet this weekend and got a black eye. I thought I could keep it painted to avoid any awkward questions.”

You smudge concealer and foundation under your eye. You can see Spencer behind you in the mirror.

“That looks like a nasty bump,” he says lowly.

“Yeah, it hurt a bit.” You say, feigning a smile. You can hear a hint of disbelief in his voice. “I’m fine, really. It’s just a little bruise.”

Spencer purses his lips and nods his head, “Sure.”

You pat the makeup down and walk back to the sets to grab the sorted costumes.

~~~

You walk through the office with a few little presents and gifts of food. Your fanny pack is full of essentials, your arms full of plastic bags and a large drink carrier in your hands. A ballpoint pen sticks awkwardly from behind your ear, and you mumble the checklist you made earlier that day.

In another writing and meeting week, you find other things to occupy your time when your usual responsibilities are completed. It keeps you busy.

And out of your apartment.

Sharply turning a corner, you tap on the glass door of the conference room. People at the table smiling and waving you in, you quietly slide open the door to enter. The look of concentration leaves your face to reveal a wide grin.

Ian pauses his presentation of a fresh project by waving at you and gazing excitedly at what you brought.

“Don’t mind me,” you whisper. The same thing you whisper every time you make one of these deliveries.

All the main cast were there, along with a few representatives of social media and the heads of production. They were going over ideas for the next livestream to raise money for a foundation.

But you were more focused on getting this little ‘side quest’ done. Side quest meaning it wasn’t on your usual list of responsibilities. You start to pass out drinks to their corresponding owners, doing so in such a fluid motion that no one doubted their cup was exactly what they ordered.

Next, you open the plastic bags digging into your arms to hand out sandwiches and salads. You normally pitch in a few extra dollars to buy a better lunch for your coworkers and friends. You can see a speculating eye from Anthony as he accepts his deluxe meal.

You put on your best smile and wave a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And before you leave, you reach into your fanny pack to extract a small box of cookies. “For dessert,” you whisper with a wink.

And before anyone can protest the homemade treat, you run out of the room with a few more drinks and meals to pass out.

There was a smaller number of people in the office today as it was primarily a writing day. You go searching for the few editors that were still working on things.

You find Kiana and give her another box of homemade cookies, then you find Tim to give him a coffee.

This became another routine for you. Just like how you use your mama bear bag to help on set so much, you use this spare time to help all the editors and production teams. People at Smosh start to expect your little visits and gifts.

Many know you by name, by smile, and by gifts. They come to love the sight of you because it meant something sweet was on the way – whether it was a thoughtful treat or a thoughtful conversation.

You took this self-proclaimed occupation very seriously. You love caring for your coworkers and friends.

That didn’t mean you never got stressed.

Your steps are quick again as you make your way to other editing pods. That checklist in your head never seems to grow smaller:

Get Damien his coffee

Give cookie box to art department

Ask Angela and Amanda about seeing that play together

Give Spencer his drink

Give Tommy a hug and see how he’s doing

Make sure Spencer actually ate a lunch

Update portfolio with some special effects makeup

Ask Spencer if you were…

Someone suddenly crashes into you, sending the last few cups of coffee into the air and all over your shirt. You jump at the steaming hot liquid, pulling against the fabric of your shirt to keep it from your skin.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

You wince and look up to see Spencer’s sympathetic face. “It’s… it’s fine. I’ll just bump a few things on my list and go get changed and grab more coffee.”

He immediately knelt down to pick up the remains of the cups and carrier. One foam cup had an off-color soda dripping from it. “I’m guessing this one’s my kickstart? Serves me right not looking where I’m going.”

He gives you a smile, his eyes sloping in natural concern. His heart beats in an uneven way. You look so flustered and worried – making your cheeks turn pink.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just…” You hold your sticky shirt a few inches from your stomach, closing your eyes and thinking hard, “I’ll figure something out.”

Spencer sighs, “I just ruined your whole agenda, didn’t I?” He picks up your ballpoint pen and quietly slides it to behind your ear, “Please don’t stress out about it.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I guess I could find a costume or merch shirt to wear.”

“You know I have one of my Smosh sweatshirts in my pod. You want to change into that? Get yourself out of brewing in your own shirt.”

When he laughs at his own joke, it makes you giggle. “Uh… actually, that’d be really nice.”

He leads the way toward his pod, “I know you’re not working on any art coordinating today.” He goes under his desk to extract a simple pastel colored hoodie. “So you know you could take a short day instead of making up errands to do.”

You grab the sweatshirt and head to the bathrooms, “Yeah, but then I’d be stuck at home.”

He follows you down the hall, “You make yourself intentionally busy to avoid being at home?”

“Precisely,” you say, opening the bathroom door. “I’d rather be with all you guys.”

Spencer waits patiently outside, smiling to himself and shaking his head. You think you’re so clever, but he knows there’s something going on in your apartment. Something that makes you afraid to stay there.

It only took one minute to change, but maybe two minutes to stare in the mirror and identify the smell that was undeniably Spencer. A clean laundry detergent smell, like the ocean, but with something spicy.

You walk out to see Spencer eyeing you.

“You look cute.”

Something tightens in your chest. “Thanks weirdo.”

His eyes notice something along your chin. “What happened here?” he points to a spot on your jaw.

“Oh, I’m not sure. Probably some clumsy accident,” you laugh off.

It looks like another bruise. Smaller than your eye. But a bruise nonetheless.

Spencer frowns, something protective and angry beating in his chest. “You seem to get a lot of those lately.”

You shrug your shoulders. “I gotta pass out these last lunches to Bailey and Brennan.”

~~~

After a long day of reorganizing, passing out homemade treats, and checking in on people – you are exhausted.

So when you walk out the front doors a little before everyone else and see the pouring rain… it doesn’t lift your exhaustion in the slightest.

Preparing yourself, you walk outside, lifting the hoodie that you borrowed from Spencer to cover your head.

The bus stop is just a couple blocks away, but you are soaked through by the time you sit on the bench. You wait with your hands in your sweatshirt pockets, hoping the bus will be there earlier than usual.

A coldness begins to drip down your back and you’re sure this will develop into an unwanted flu.

Shivering, you hardly notice when a car pulls over on the side of the road and directly in front of you.

It’s Spencer who jumps out, baseball cap on to shield his glasses from the rain. He runs around the car and crouches in front of you.

“What are you doing!?”

“Waiting for the bus like I do every day,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He’s not happy about it. “Even in the rain? Didn’t you think to ask somebody for a ride home?”

You pause for a second. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well,” he puts on a cheesy smile, “This is a prime time to start. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Really, Spencer – it’s okay. I’m fine with waiting.”

He straightens out and gives you a deadpanned stare. “Are you also fine with contracting pneumonia?”

You roll your eyes, and he knows he’s won. “All right, let’s go.”

He open the passenger door and you clamber in. You’re nearly chattering with cold by the time he sits down. He promptly turns on the heat.

“Why didn’t you call someone when you noticed it was raining?”

“Because I didn’t think of it.”

“Ms. Independent over here,” Spencer laughs.

You playfully punch his shoulder, “So what? I would have been perfectly fine on my own.”

He looks at you sincerely, “I know. I know you are capable of doing it on your own. But I still would like you to let me help you.”

You hold yourself, beginning to shiver. Though your head was protected by the hood, the strands of hair spilling out were soaked. It wasn’t helping that your clothes were all damp and now resting on your chilled skin.

Spencer feels a sympathetic ache settle into his chest. “Aaron couldn’t pick you up?”

You bite down to keep your teeth from chattering. Then you use your favorite word. “I didn’t want to inconvenience him.”

It makes the ache pulsate in Spencer’s chest. “Because you know he’d be upset by you asking?”

“It’s understandable when I ask so much of him.”

Wonderment befuddles Spencer. When have you ever been someone to ask too much? If anything you don’t ask for enough things. “I think if you love someone, you’d be willing to do pretty much anything for them.”

“There are different kinds of love,” you say in a soft voice.

Spencer doesn’t like it. It sounds afraid.

“You might be right about that,” he swallows, driving down your street. “Remember to call me if you need anything.”

You smile like you always do when he says that. It’s become a regular thing.

“Sure,” you get out of the car, “Get home safely, Spence.”

And he watches you walk inside and even a little bit after that. Unsure of how to interpret the ache still in his chest.

~~~

You sit at the vanities with Shayne, helping him look like a ghost for an upcoming sketch. You put in white hair color spray and attempt to tame it while he sits patiently.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You say with an easy smile, “Are you okay?”

He returns your smile, “Yeah, you seem a little tired.”

Was it the circles under your eyes or the lack of color in your face? “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“That sucks,” he winces, “Anything keeping you up?”

You feel vulnerable for a second, “Just taking care of my boyfriend.” You give an uneasy laugh, “He’s been having a lot of boys nights out drinking.”

Shayne furrows his brow, and you smack his shoulder as you try to smooth his ghost makeup.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “Doesn’t sound very fun.”

You shake your head, “But then I get to come here and be with all of you!”

He contemplates your expression, seeing the smile you put on top of the stress. “Have you noticed the number of commenters asking about you?”

“Of course I have. Spencer loves to bring them up.”

“They love you already,” Shayne chuckles, “They love how you help on set, especially when you throw in a little joke with it. They love that you take care of us.”

You feel that anxiety of the audience always watching eating at you. But it starts to be smothered by another feeling of pride as you realize people are acknowledging you for your efforts.

“That’s kind of them. I’m just doing my job.”

“Above and beyond your job, more like it.” Shayne closes his eyes as you put makeup around them. “They’ve really adopted calling you mama bear because of your mama bear bag.”

That makes you chuckle, “You have to be prepared for anything.”

“I’m glad we got to hang out,” Shayne says, his eyes moving to follow you, but staying still while the makeup settles. “We should plan another one soon.”

“That’d be a lot of fun.”

“Spencer never hosts big hang outs,” he says with a little smirk. “I was surprised when he was so willing.”

You pat down the makeup with some setting powder. “Well, I think when I mentioned hanging out he thought it was just going to be us two. Then I told him I’d invited all you guys. He was kind of roped in by that point.”

“That explains it,” Shayne says with a sigh. “Of course he’d be more willing to host when it’s just you two.”

“Why do I have a feeling there’s something more to that?”

Shayne shrugs, letting you take off the black apron that protects his costume from the makeup. “I just mean that Spencer would rather have one on one hangouts than be a part of a big group. It’s the black cat in him.”

“The black cat,” you laugh. “I’ve never heard of someone being called that before.”

“You know… like how people call some dudes golden retriever guys?”

You raise your eyebrows, “Kind of like you?”

Shayne gives a funny look. “Sure. Spencer is a black cat kind of guy. Just watch, you’ll notice.”

“What do you think I am?” you ask, cleaning up the vanity. “Do I have cat energy?”

“Maybe a little,” Shayne says, considering you. “But you remind me more of a… sunflower.”

“Never heard that one before,” you say, walking with him to the Smosh set.

“It’s just… you're bright and pretty and fun,” he says casually, “Especially with your smile.” You pass some writers and producers on their way to help with lunch. The caterers must’ve been seen pulling in.

Spencer is among them with Alex Tran.

You walk right up to them, “Do I give off sunflower energy?”

He looks taken aback and Alex smiles instantaneously. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know…” you point at Shayne, “Golden retriever energy,” you point at Spencer, “Black cat energy.” You then point at yourself, “Possible sunflower energy?”

“What a nice way to say you’re a grumpy old man sometimes,” Alex says hilariously.

Shayne starts to snort with laughter. Spencer gives them a glare but tries to answer you seriously.

“Um… y-yeah I would consider you a sunflower.” He watches you start to smile, “Especially right now. And the fact you smell like a garden all the time.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you look at him with confusion. “I smell like a garden?”

“Uh…” Spencer starts to splutter in his panic of possibly offending you. “You know, like flowers. You smell like flowers all the time. It’s just… something I’ve noticed.”

“From all the times you’ve been sniffing her?” Alex asks incredulously. That sends Shayne over the edge and the wheezing starts to come out.

You fold your arms, sucking in your lips to hide a smile.

“No, I didn’t say that,” Spencer retorts loudly, waving a finger at his friends. “People can smell people unintentionally. When you’re in the same vicinity. And (Y/N) smells like flowers whenever she walks by.”

You smile at him, completely endeared by him. “Thanks Spencer. It’s lilies.”

All the boys stop their antics and look at you.

“I love lilies,” you say, “Or lily-of-the-valley.”

Alex shrugs their shoulders, “I feel like I’m missing out. I have no idea what lilies smell like.”

You tilt your head to the side and expose your neck to them. “Then take a whiff.”

Shayne shakes his head, “That’s so unhinged.”

Spencer is stuck staring at the exposed skin of your neck, your head turned away and your hair falling behind your shoulder. He’s still daydreaming as he walks to lunch.

~~~

There’s something about Spencer today that is not sitting well with you. He seems a little nervous, a little fidgety, like anything could scare the living daylights out of him.

You wonder what is ailing him while you check in on all the editors in their pods. You leave a little treat on Erin’s desk and ask Courtney for her opinion on a cardigan you want to buy. You give a new guitar pick to Josh, telling him how the engraving of a sun reminded you of him. He beams afterwards.

You compliment Damien’s desk, asking him how he’s been lately. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Spencer spinning side to side in his chair. He’s looking at you with a straight face.

You talk to Shayne about sharing a Kristin Hannah book that you love, and you notice Spencer wiping his hands down his pants, fixing his glasses a worrisome number of times.

You pick up a bakugan that has fallen off Alex’s desk. You ask about it while noticing Spencer licking the corner of his mouth as he watches you.

It takes another five minutes before you’re at Spencer’s desk. “Hey!”

“H-Hey,” he says in return. He clears his throat and you can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek. You furrow your brow.

“Are you okay?”

His eyebrows raise, “Y-Yeah, of course I’m okay.” You miss how Alex starts to smile.

“Sure. You just seem a little… on edge today.”

“Yeah, just… thinking about an upcoming shoot.”

You nod slowly, squinting your eyes like you don’t believe him. “Alrighty then. I’ll see you later on set.”

He waves you off and then hides his face in his hands. The pod of boys starts to laugh.

“You are completely hopeless,” Shayne wheezes.

Damien is more sincere, “You’re in a tough spot.”

“I think it’s gotten worse,” Alex says, taking a sip of a drink to hide their smile.

Spencer starts to bounce his legs with the nerves, his head bouncing with them. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s sad,” Shayne chokes out, “You got to tell her.”

“Tell her what?” Spencer slumps back in his chair, “Hey, (Y/N)! Guess what? I’ve had feelings for you since you worked at that gas station, and I’ve been trying to get rid of them for months but seeing you every day has only made it worse. So anyway, you should leave your douchebag boyfriend and be with me instead!”

Damien sucks in his lips, trying to be genuine. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to go over well.”

Spencer groans, rubbing at his face with his hands, messing up his hat. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this distraught before,” Shayne says, “It’s more than a little disconcerting.”

“It’s starting to scare me a little,” Alex confesses, “Why is it worse today? You look like you have a ticking time bomb up your ass.”

There are some laughs until Spencer wipes the sweat at his temples. “I’ve been trying to ask her to hang out, just us.”

“To do what?” Damien asks seriously.

“I never pictured you as a homewrecker, Spencer,” Shayne says surprisingly.

Spencer waves his hands around, “No, not anything like that. I’m trying to be her friend.”

“And spending an evening alone together will prove that?” Alex asks with a funny look on their face.

“No, I just… I don’t know.” Spencer is at a loss. “If I can’t be with her, then I want to be good friends.”

“With benefits?” Shayne asks in a low tone, less with humor and more with serious questioning.

Spencer is mortified, “No! Just being good friends. I think having her in my life, even as a friend, will make me way happier than without her.”

“That’s sweet,” Damien says with rosy cheeks. “I think you should ask her.”

Spencer thought he could fit the role of best friend rather nicely. Maybe it would help him put his feelings to rest. Maybe it would help convince him that being friends was enough. Just to have part of you would be worth it.

But the thought of having all of you… to unashamedly hold you, touch you, kiss you, call you his. It put that all too familiar ache in his chest. The same warm, pounding ache that he feels whenever you’re near. Whenever he thought of you.

It’s what he’s feeling as he walks toward the green room – a little section next to the hallway of pods. It has a velvet green couch and a black vanity beside it.

You’re sitting in the makeup chair, spinning around mindlessly while looking at your phone.

Spencer stands there awkwardly, hands stuffed into his pockets, thumbs tapping a restless beat against his thighs.

You finally notice him. “Oh, hey Spencer.” He gives you a quiet greeting and you sit up with that same worry you’ve felt over him all day. “What’s up?”

He clears his throat. “Well, I… I was wondering if maybe… um – well, what…” He shakes his head, using a hand to fix his glasses. “I was wondering what has you so engrossed in your phone?” He’s mentally kicking himself. “A new Ghost Files episode?”

You smile as he remembers one of the ghost investigation channels you really like. “No, I was just contemplating buying the new Wicked on Amazon Prime.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows, “I think as an established theatre kid you legally have to own that movie.”

“Have you seen it?” you ask with a wider grin.

He feels warm at seeing you smile. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“That’s…” you contemplate his tense demeanor. “That’s not what you wanted to ask me, was it?”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “No, you’re right. I wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out tonight.”

“Oh, yeah! What’s everyone doing?” you lean forward.

His throat gets drier, “Um… no, I meant just you and me. I don’t really feel like hanging out with a bunch of people.”

“Ah,” you say funnily. “The black cat emerges.”

Relief starts to trickle in as he takes in your smile. “Right.”

“Well, what did you have in mind? My place isn’t exactly free with Aaron being there. He’s having a poker night with his work buds. It gets… well, I wouldn’t want to be there while they’re playing.”

Spencer feels something steely grow in his stomach. “We can go to my place. Play a game; watch a movie. Or maybe a musical.”

Your eyes get wide, “You really know how to woo a lady. A night in with a musical?” you give a chef’s kiss.

And that night you do head to Spencer’s house. He offers you a ride, but you’re flustered as it is with evading Aaron and his poker friends. It would make it a lot worse if he were to see Spencer picking you up.

You grab your purse and leave a platter of finger food for the boys. Aaron is already three beers deep when he demands a kiss from you.

“You think you can leave without giving me a kiss?” He slouches in his folding chair, the plastic dipping dangerously.

You patter over and leave a kiss on his cheek. Aaron grabs your upper arm and pulls you closer, “A real kiss.”

After a beat where his poker friends are snickering, you lean over to kiss his lips. They’re sour with beer. He smacks your ass for good measure. “Don’t stay out late – I’ll think this company meeting is actually a rendezvous.”

You wave him off, leaving the apartment as quickly as you can. You speed to the bus stop, excited to have a night in the company of someone that you like being around.

Walking to Spencer’s apartment took longer than you were expecting, but it was worth it to see he had set up a Jenga game, favorite drinks out, and Wicked already on the tv.

“I’m so excited,” you say a little breathlessly, taking off your shoes. You wince a little when you notice that above your socks, there were open blisters from your shoes rubbing your heel. “Shoot, um… Spence, do you have some band aids I could use?”

He slides from the kitchen with worry in his expression, “Yeah, what’s wrong?” He looks at you twisting around to look at the back of your heels, “Damn, that looks like it hurts.”

“I didn’t realize my socks had slid down,” you laugh it off.

Spencer grabs two band aids from a cupboard, “Here, sit on the couch.”

“That’s all right, Spence, I can put them on.”

He’s already unwrapping one of the bandages, “I know you can, but let me do it.”

“Seriously, Spence, you don’t have…”

He stops you, pointing to the couch. “Hey, just because you’re able to do it, doesn’t mean you always have to. Let me help – you’ll be doing me a favor – letting me feel useful.”

You smile with embarrassment in your cheeks. You sit down and twist your hips so you can show the wound on your heels. Spencer sits on the coffee table and gingerly lifts your leg to his knee.

He carefully lays the band aid on your heel, holding your socked feet with warm hands. He’s gentle in how he puts your leg down and grabs the other. You accommodate by twisting your hips the other way to expose your heel to him.

He repeats the process, “Was it a far walk to my place?”

“Not too far.”

“Can you explain what not too far means?” he asks with a smirk.

You play with your fingers, pinching the skin around your nail. “Maybe fifteen-twenty minutes from the bus stop.” You notice his eyes look a little upset at that. “I was walking pretty fast. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“And you wouldn’t let me pick you up because…?” he moves to throw away the band aid wrappers.

You continue to pinch and pick at your fingers. “Because my boyfriend is having a poker night with his friends. They get a little rowdy and drunk and I know he’d do something stupid if he saw you pick me up.”

Spencer returns to the coffee table, sitting on the carpet, “What kind of stupid?”

“Like…” you slide off the couch to meet him on the carpet. “He might try to pick a fight.”

“With whom?”

Spencer was definitely probing for a specific answer. He tries to be nonchalant.

You watch him remove a block from the Jenga tower. “Either of us, I guess.”

Something sad enters you. Something big and scary. It weighs on you and makes your shoulders sink. Spencer can hear it in your voice; can see it in your stance.

“That’s not very nice of him.”

A sad smile grows on your face but doesn’t meet your eyes. “No, I guess not.”

“Is he like that a lot?” Spencer asks cautiously.

You remove a Jenga block. “Maybe.” You look at Spencer and see the sincerity in his gaze. “Yeah.”

“And you’re with him still because…?”

You take a deep breath, leaning against the couch and pulling your knees to your chest. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

“Then why don’t you leave him?”

“Because he’ll be angry.”

Spencer looks at you with a furrowed brow, “You don’t want to make him angry?”

“And I don’t know – I still care about him.”

“Do you love him?”

You pause, the Jenga game still ongoing. “I’m not sure.”

“I’d take that as a sign.”

“It’s not as easy as it sounds,” you say quietly.

Your tone makes that ache in his chest pulse painfully. He hates to hear you sound sad and afraid. “You’re thinking about it, at least?”

You nod your head and silence consumes you. You did not want to dwell on boyfriend problems. “Can we watch the movie while we play?”

Spencer nods, grabbing the remote to start the show. Your mood instantly lifts. Like a flower turning towards the sun. He beams at your radiance.

He’s even more astonished when you start to sing.

“Holy shit, (Y/N). You can sing!”

You giggle as you continue to follow along with the musical. The Jenga game is eventually finished, blocks spilling over Spencer as he tries to pull some crazy move. You’re laughing as you pick up the blocks.

Spencer finds one of his blankets, Cleo the cat waking from her after dinner nap.

He sits on the couch beside you and drapes the blanket over you two. He is purposeful in how close he sits beside you.

“You should sing on our karaoke livestream.”

You shake your head, “No way.”

“But you sing so well!” he protests, gesturing to the musical you’re watching. “The viewers would go nuts for it.”

“I don’t know,” you say, leaning back into the couch. Your arms are fully touching. “They talk about me enough as it is.”

Spencer is determined, “I’ll sing a duet with you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, playing with your fingers again.

He watches you pick at your soft skin. “Of course, the fans have been begging to see you for months now. What a better way to do a face reveal than with a livestream for charity?”

“I’ll think about it,” you say quietly.

Spencer grabs your hand, keeping it from picking at your nailbeds. “Good.” He’s not sure what to do after that, letting go of your hand promptly.

You smile, content with leaning your head against his shoulder, unaware of how that little action caused his heart to pound.

That familiar ache consuming him.

An ache that Spencer is now beginning to wonder about. Wonder what would cause it. He was starting to recognize it as something equally terrifying and wonderful.

That ache was how he felt about you.

How he loved you.

~~~

Taglist: @maggiecc @tinkerbellsgf @georgeweaslysgirl

[withahappyrefrain]

i love that bob is getting love but where the hell is the love for our baby Jake. Sure, he's a grade a asshole but he's still admirable and honest

I like to think that Jake would be his wife's number 1 hype man. Like he gets turned on watching people flirt with his hot wife at the bar

Even assholes need love too!

Oh God, I can just imagine! This also fits Jake and Venus.

"Look at her," Jake beams, motioning to the opposite end of the bar, "Isn't she something?"

Bradley looked over to find you at the bar, facing a new recruit. Given the guy's body language, it was obvious the dude was flirting. He had the whole leaning thing going on.

You, on the other hand, looked bored to tears.

"Uh....is he flirting with your wife?" Bradley asked, incredulous of how calm Jake was. If it were Bradley's wife, he'd already be across the room.

"oh yeah, he's trying so hard. Bought her a drink and everything," Jake grinned, "Not that I blame the guy. My wife should be getting all her drinks for free."

"Doesn't she already?" Bradley snorted. Jake never was the possessive type. If anything...it seemed he got something out of watching others attempt to flirt with you.

"Watch this. He's able to lean further in. Probably to ask her if she wants to go somewhere quiet," Jake was practically giddy.

Right on cue, the new recruit leaned forward, closing some of the distance between your body and his. Bradley couldn't lip read the man's exact words, but he could make out want, out, and quiet.

"Now watch this. She's gotta let him down gently."

You leaned back, increasing the distance. Bradley recognized the look on your face; a polite smile, the shake of your head.

Holding up your left hand and pointing to the gold wedding band that was nestled under your huge engagement ring (seriously, how the hell did Jake afford that?).

You pointed in Jake and Bradley's direction. The poor recruit visibly gulped when he made eye contact with Jake.

The look of worry quickly turned into confusion when Jake responded with a happy wave and smile.

"C'mon Bradshaw," Jake elbowed his coworker, "Smile and wave!"

"Now he thinks I'm married to your wife too!"

"Please," Jake scoffed, "Like you could ever pull my wife.'

[ceeaann]

Arcane Highschool!AU

characters - vi, caitlyn, jinx, sevika, ekko, jayce and viktor content - 7.1k words, cliche highschool tropes, gn!reader, just pure fluff also a little reverse comfort

A/N this was so fun to do, cant believe i finished this in 1 day ahahahahhaah. this is my longest work yet so hopefully you guys enjoy it <3

— Star Athlete!vi and Band!reader

You’ve spent most of your high school life flying under the radar as the band’s flute player—quiet, responsible, and perfectly content in your niche. Your days revolve around early-morning rehearsals, sheet music, and the steady rhythm of practice. It’s predictable, comfortable.

That is, until the school’s star athlete, Vi, always in whispers and cheers, bursts into your life like an unrelenting storm.

Shes everything you’re not—loud, brash, impulsive, and dangerously confident. The type who winks at the crowd after scoring the winning goal, whose swagger fills the halls, and who’s constantly making headlines for their fiery outbursts on and off the field. You’ve heard the stories: the scuffle at last week’s game, the heated argument with the coach, the rumors of detention slips piling up.

You’d barely exchanged more than a few words with her, but that changes when the school decides to host a collaborative pep rally—complete with a showstopping performance featuring both the sports teams and the band.

When the coach volunteers them to help promote school spirit by playing a surprise number with the band, you’re horrified. So is she.

“I don’t have time for this,” she scoff when she gets dragged to the band room. “Why don’t you all just play louder or something?”

Your teacher assigns you the unenviable task of teaching them how to play an instrument. You can practically hear your friends giggling behind your back as you pull them aside, thrusting a trumpet into their hands.

Vi groans, slouching in her chair like a bored kid in detention. “What’s the point of this? Everyone’s here to watch me win, not play this stupid thing.”

You bristle at their cocky tone. “Well, if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the entire school, I suggest you try.”

VI then gives you a smirk, leaning in just a little too close. “Oh, you think I can’t do it? I’m good at everything.”

It turns out, she's not.

The first few lessons are a disaster. She blow into the trumpet like she's trying to blow out a candle from across the room, their fingers fumble over the valves, and she keep snapping, “This thing is broken!” every time it makes a screeching noise.

But underneath all the bravado and eye-rolls, you start to notice something. The way she glares at the trumpet when she messes up isn’t just frustration—it’s determination. she hates failing, and she hates it even more that they’re bad at this.

“I’m not giving up,” Vi declares after her third failed attempt to hit a note. “I’m not letting some dumb piece of metal beat me.”

The more you work together, the more cracks appear in their tough exterior. she's fiercely competitive, yes, but also surprisingly quick to laugh at themselves when the trumpet sputters out the wrong notes. Her cocky grin softens when you praise even her smallest improvement, and she starts showing up to practice earlier than you do.

One afternoon, as you’re packing up your sheet music, you catch them staring at the band photo on the wall. “You guys practice this much all the time?” Vi asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

she nod slowly, her usual swagger replaced by something contemplative. “Never thought about it like that. I guess… it’s kind of like training, huh?”

That’s when you realize she's not as invincible as she seem. Behind the hot-headed confidence is someone who works just as hard as you do, who’s just as passionate about what they love—even if they show it in a completely different way.

And when the pep rally finally arrives, with the gym packed to the rafters, she surprise's everyone—not just with how she learned to play, but with how she step aside during the performance to let the band take the spotlight.

Afterward, as the crowd cheers, she give you a lopsided grin. “Not bad, huh? Guess I’m pretty good at this whole teamwork thing.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your smile.

The pep rally is over, and the gym is buzzing with energy as people file out, still cheering and talking about the unexpected performance. You’re gathering your things in the corner of the stage when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Hey,” she calls out, her voice softer than you’re used to.

You turn to find her standing there, holding her trumpet in one hand, the other rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck. For once, her usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression that’s… almost nervous.

“Uh, so… you were pretty great out there,” she says, her eyes flickering between yours and the floor. “I mean, you’re always great, but, like, today���you really killed it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks. You were pretty great too. You didn’t even mess up the solo.”

She laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes your chest flutter. “Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. Guess I owe you for that.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. But you did the work. I’m impressed, actually. Didn’t think you’d take it so seriously.”

She steps a little closer, her usual confidence creeping back into her voice. “Yeah? So, I impressed you?”

Your face heats up, and you roll your eyes to hide it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” she teases, but her grin softens as her gaze lingers on you. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The noise of the gym fades into the background, and all you can hear is the faint hum of your own heartbeat.

She looks down at the trumpet in her hand, turning it over like she’s stalling. “You know… I used to think band stuff was just… background noise. Like, nobody really notices it. But being up there, seeing how much you guys put into it…”

Her voice trails off, and when she looks back at you, there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to breathe. “It made me notice you more.”

Your breath catches. “Me?”

“Yeah.” She takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the warmth radiating off her. “You’re not just some quiet band geek who hangs out in the background. You’re… amazing. And I’ve been an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words get stuck in your throat. She’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world, and for the first time, you don’t feel small or invisible. You feel seen.

“I know I’ve been kind of… impossible,” she continues, her voice dropping lower. “But I don’t want to screw this up. So if I asked you to, I don’t know, grab milkshakes or something sometime… what would you say?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “I’d say… as long as you don’t try to play the trumpet during the date, I might say yes.”

Her laugh is loud and bright, and before you know it, she’s grinning down at you. “Deal.”

The gym lights flicker as the janitor starts cleaning up, and you realize you’ve been standing there for what feels like forever. But as she walks you out, her shoulder brushing against yours, you can’t help but think that maybe this impulsive, hot-headed star athlete isn’t so bad after all.

— Childhood Bestfriend!caitlyn

You and Caitlyn were inseparable once, two halves of the same whole. Summers were spent running through sun-drenched fields, plotting grand adventures, and swearing eternal friendship under the stars. But that was years ago, before her family moved away to chase bigger opportunities, and you were left behind with only memories of her bright laugh and unshakable confidence.

Life moved on, and so did you. By high school, she’d become little more than a bittersweet memory. Until now.

When she walks into your homeroom on the first day of senior year, it feels like the air’s been knocked out of you. She’s taller now, with an effortless grace that makes the room go quiet. Her uniform looks somehow sharper on her, her long, dark hair falling in perfect waves. There’s something in the way she carries herself—poised and self-assured, like she owns the world—and maybe she does.

Her family name has become a symbol of power and wealth. She’s been in the headlines, her achievements as a youth advocate already earning her a reputation as a fierce voice for justice. And yet, when her gaze scans the room and lands on you, her face lights up with the same brilliant smile you remember from childhood.

“Hey,” she says as she slides into the empty seat beside you, her voice low and familiar. “Long time no see.”

You’re too stunned to do anything but nod.

You quickly learn that she’s not just here for nostalgia—she’s here with a purpose. Between rigorous AP classes, she’s working on a project to bring awareness to systemic issues in your town. Meetings, interviews, and late nights at the library seem to be her norm, and it doesn’t take long for her to rope you into helping.

At first, it feels surreal being around her again. The girl you once knew has grown into someone so driven, so ambitious, that it’s almost intimidating. She seems untouchable, like a shooting star too far away to reach.

But every now and then, the cracks in her polished armor show. When it’s just the two of you poring over notes at your kitchen table, she leans back with a sigh and pulls her hair into a ponytail, muttering about how she wishes she had more time to breathe. And when you laugh at her frustrations, she throws a crumpled piece of paper at you, her grin wide and mischievous.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says one evening, her eyes soft as they meet yours. “Still the only person who can make me laugh when I want to scream.”

It’s during one of these late-night sessions that the air between you shifts. You’re sitting on the floor of her family’s impossibly grand living room, surrounded by papers and laptops. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for her, a far cry from the polished image she presents to the world, and you can’t help but think about how beautiful she looks like this—unguarded and real.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head to look at you. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you lie, your heart racing under her gaze.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying.”

You hesitate, your pulse hammering in your ears. “It’s just… I can’t believe you’re here. That after all these years, we’re… us again.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer until your knees are almost touching. “I’ve missed you too, you know,” she says quietly. “It’s been so hard, being away from everything I used to care about. From you.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You want to say something—anything—but the way she’s looking at you steals the breath from your lungs. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a moment, the world seems to still.

“Do you ever think about those nights we spent under the stars?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, swallowing hard. “All the time.”

“I do too,” she admits, her hand reaching out to brush against yours. Her touch is warm, grounding, and yet it sends a jolt through you. “Back then, I always thought we’d have forever. And when I left, I realized how much I hated being wrong about that.”

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly the space between you disappears. Her hand lingers on yours, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin, and you’re acutely aware of how close her face is to yours.

“Tell me if this is okay,” she murmurs, her voice trembling just slightly.

You nod, barely able to speak. “It’s more than okay.”

And then her lips are on yours, soft and hesitant at first, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You lean into her, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, and the kiss deepens—sweet and full of years’ worth of unspoken feelings.

When you finally pull back, she rests her forehead against yours, a breathless smile on her lips. “I’ve waited so long to do that,” she says, her voice tinged with relief.

“Me too,” you whisper, your heart soaring.

As the night stretches on, you realize that the girl you thought you’d lost has come back into your life, not as the same person she once was, but as someone even more extraordinary. And for the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain—it feels full of possibilities, with her by your side.

— New kid!jinx and Class president!reader

You’ve worked hard to get where you are. Every meeting attended, every speech prepared, every carefully crafted decision—it’s all been for the sake of keeping order in the chaos of your high school. As class president, your name carries weight. You’re the dependable one, the one who keeps everything running smoothly, the one who always has things under control.

Until Jinx shows up.

The whispers start on her first day. The new girl. The one who doesn’t seem to care about blending in. She strides into the building like she owns it, her uniform already disheveled, her blazer slung over her shoulder, and a wild grin on her face.

It doesn’t take long for her reputation to spread. She’s unpredictable, impulsive, and utterly magnetic. Within a week, she’s already broken half the school’s rules, talked her way out of three detentions, and somehow charmed half your classmates in the process.

And for some reason, she’s decided you’re her favorite target.

It happens during lunch. You’re sitting at your usual spot, surrounded by student council members, going over plans for the upcoming fundraiser when she walks up to your table.

“Class president,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery and something else you can’t quite place. “Mind if I join you?”

You glance up, already annoyed. “I’m busy.”

She smirks, pulling out a chair anyway. “That’s cute. You think I was asking.”

Your friends exchange uneasy glances, but she doesn’t seem to care. She leans back in the chair, her sharp pink eyes locked on you, as if she’s trying to unravel you with her gaze alone.

“You’ve got a real stick-up-your-ass vibe,” she says casually, plucking an apple from the tray in front of her. “I like that. It makes messing with you way more fun.”

You glare at her, trying to keep your composure. “Do you need something, or are you just here to waste my time?”

Her grin widens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something wild and untamed in her expression. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

She becomes a constant in your life after that. You find her waiting outside your classroom, lounging against your locker, or casually walking into student council meetings as if she belongs there.

“Do you ever stop?” you snap one afternoon, cornering her in the hallway after she’s disrupted yet another meeting.

“Stop what?” she asks innocently, tilting her head.

“Whatever game you’re playing.”

She steps closer, and for the first time, you notice just how intense her gaze is. “Who says it’s a game? Maybe I just like you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and electric, and before you can respond, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.

It’s not until much later that you start to see the cracks in her chaotic facade. One night, you find her sitting alone in the empty music room, the piano keys beneath her fingers. She’s not playing, just pressing random notes, her usual manic energy replaced by a quiet stillness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, stepping into the room.

She doesn’t look up. “Neither should you.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I bet you think I’m crazy.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the vulnerability in her voice. “I think you’re reckless and impulsive and… exhausting. But no, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

She finally looks up at you, her eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“I’m not nice,” you counter. “I just… I think there’s more to you than the act you put on.”

Her lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile. “Careful, president. You keep saying things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

The more time you spend around her, the more you realize how deeply she feels everything. Her chaos isn’t just for show—it’s a shield, a way to keep people from getting too close. But with you, she starts to let her guard down.

One evening, she shows up outside your house, her hair messy and her eyes wild. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing your hand.

“Where are we going?” you ask, letting her drag you down the street.

“Anywhere,” she replies, her grip tight. “Everywhere. I don’t care.”

You end up at the park, sitting on a swingset as the stars blink overhead. She’s unusually quiet, her hands gripping the chains tightly as she stares at the ground.

“You ever feel like you’re spinning out of control?” she asks suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You glance at her, surprised by the question. “Sometimes.”

She exhales shakily, her fingers brushing against yours. “You… you make it stop. Just for a little while.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t know if it’s the raw honesty in her words or the way her fingers linger against yours, but you feel something shift between you.

It happens later that night, as you’re walking her home. She stops in front of her house, turning to face you with an unreadable expression.

“Why do you put up with me?” she asks suddenly, her voice soft.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a mess,” she says, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I break things, I hurt people… I’m not like you. I’m not good.”

“You’re not perfect,” you admit, stepping closer. “But you’re not as bad as you think you are, either.”

She looks up at you, her eyes shining with something you can’t quite name. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“Maybe,” you say with a small smile. “But I don’t think so.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in, your lips brushing against hers. She freezes for a moment, like she’s caught off guard, but then she kisses you back, her hands clutching at your sleeves as if you’re the only solid thing in her world.

When you finally pull back, her face is flushed, and she’s breathing hard. “You’re insane,” she mutters, though there’s no heat in her words.

“Takes one to know one,” you reply, grinning.

She laughs, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time, you feel like you’ve truly seen her—every broken, beautiful piece of her.

—Troublemaker!sevika and Tutor!reader

You weren’t thrilled when your teacher assigned you as her tutor. You’d heard all the rumors: skipped classes, biting comebacks that left people reeling, and a permanent spot on the troublemaker watchlist.

Her reputation painted her as unteachable, untamable, and entirely uninterested in anything resembling authority. When your teacher insisted she “just needed guidance,” you couldn’t help but feel skeptical.

The first session confirmed it.

She slouched into the library ten minutes late, her bag dragging on the floor, and dropped into the chair across from you with a loud huff.

“Look,” she said before you could even greet her, “I don’t need some perfect little know-it-all telling me what to do.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just here to help.”

“Sure,” she scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

Her tone was cutting, her expression bored, and yet… there was something about her. A quiet intensity lurking beneath the surface, like she was daring you to break through her tough exterior.

Each session felt like a test of patience. She was sharp, no question about it, but her attitude made every interaction a battle.

“You’re not even trying,” you said one afternoon after she tossed her pen aside for the third time.

Her eyes snapped to yours, hard and unyielding. “Don’t act like you know me,” she said coldly. “You think I don’t try? You think I don’t bust my ass every single day?”

You froze, startled by the edge in her voice.

She leaned forward, her gaze cutting through you like a blade. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I’m here because they told me to be.”

For a moment, you considered walking away. But then you saw it—just the faintest flicker of something vulnerable beneath her defiance.

“You’re right,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “I don’t know you. But I know you’re capable of more than this.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her fingers drumming on the table. “Whatever,” she muttered.

But she didn’t leave.

Slowly, things started to shift. She showed up on time—barely. She started taking notes—reluctantly. And every so often, she’d let her tough exterior slip, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the real her.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, you handed her a worksheet.

“You’re getting better,” you said, offering her a small smile.

She snorted. “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying you’re improving.”

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath for a thank-you card,” she replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Her walls were still up, but they were starting to crack.

It happened on a rare quiet day in the library. She was hunched over her notebook, her brow furrowed as she worked through a particularly tricky problem.

“Got it,” she said suddenly, sitting up straight.

“Really?” you asked, leaning over to check her work.

She shoved the notebook toward you, her smirk firmly in place. “Told you I’m not dumb.”

“I never said you were dumb,” you replied, meeting her gaze. “You just make things harder than they need to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

“Or maybe you’re just stubborn,” you teased.

Her smirk softened, just for a moment. “Takes one to know one, princess.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way she said it, her voice low and almost… fond.

After weeks of late afternoons spent together, you found yourself walking her home one evening. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the quiet streets.

“You’re not as bad as I thought,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, surprised. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

When you reached her house, she stopped at the gate, turning to face you. Her usual confidence wavered, just slightly.

“Why do you bother with me?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

“Because I see how hard you work,” you said honestly. “And because I think there’s more to you than what you let people see.”

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she stepped closer, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re a real pain, you know that?” she murmured, her voice soft but firm.

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as bold and unapologetic as she was.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her smirk was firmly in place.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, turning toward her door.

You smiled, your heart racing. “Too late."

—Artist!ekko and Muse!reader

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, the kind where the sunlight made everything look softer, warmer, like it belonged in a painting. You’d escaped to the park during your lunch break, clutching a well-worn book in one hand and a coffee in the other. It wasn’t the first time you’d come here for a little peace and quiet, but it felt like one of the rare times you’d actually get it.

You settled on a bench near the fountain, a cozy corner of the park where the only sounds were the gentle trickle of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

The moment you opened your book, however, you felt it—a faint, almost electric sensation prickling at the edge of your awareness. Someone was watching you.

Glancing up, you spotted him.

He was sitting on the grass a few yards away, sketchpad balanced on his knees, pencil flying across the page. His hair fell messily across his forehead, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal forearms speckled with faint smears of paint. Despite the chaos of his appearance, his focus was absolute, his gaze darting between you and the paper as if you were some rare discovery he couldn’t afford to lose.

You furrowed your brow, unsure whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “Can I help you?” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and stood quickly.

“Sorry,” he said, striding toward you. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His voice was smooth, tinged with an earnestness that made it hard to stay annoyed.

“I’m an artist,” he explained, gesturing to his sketchpad. “I know this sounds weird, but you’ve got this… look. The way you’re sitting, the way the light hits you—it’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“For a piece I’m working on,” he clarified, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Do you mind if I sketch you? Just for a little while.”

You hesitated, studying him. He didn’t look like a creep—just young, maybe a little unkempt, with an intensity in his eyes that was hard to ignore.

“I’m not really dressed for a portrait,” you said, gesturing to your casual sweater and jeans.

He smiled, and the way his face softened surprised you. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s the way you carry yourself.”

The compliment was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “Alright,” you said slowly. “But just for a few minutes.”

“Great,” he said, dropping to the bench across from you with a grin that felt like the sun breaking through the clouds

It turned out he was a prodigy, a young artist with a growing reputation in the city. His work had been featured in galleries, and he’d even won a few prestigious awards. But for all his talent, he was surprisingly down-to-earth.

“I don’t really like the whole ‘genius’ label,” he admitted one afternoon after convincing you to pose for him again. “It just makes people think I’ve got everything figured out. But most of the time, I’m just trying to keep up with my own ideas.”

You quickly realized that his art wasn’t just a skill—it was his lifeline. He spoke about it the way others might talk about breathing. And for some reason, he’d decided that you were his muse.

“Why me?” you asked one day as he sketched you in his studio. The walls were covered with half-finished canvases, each one brimming with vivid colors and raw emotion.

He glanced up from his sketchbook, his eyes soft but focused. “You’ve got something about you,” he said simply. “A kind of… light. I can’t explain it, but when I see you, I want to create.”

His honesty was disarming. There was no pretense in his words, no calculated charm. He spoke as though his heart was an open book, and every word was written in your honor.

“Do you say that to all your muses?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I’ve never had one before you.”

As time went on, you got to know him beyond his talent. He was fiercely independent, refusing to rely on anyone for his success. His compassion, however, was what surprised you most. He spent his weekends teaching art classes at a local youth center, his eyes lighting up as he helped kids discover their own creativity.

“They’ve got so much potential,” he said once, his voice filled with quiet pride. “They just need someone to believe in them.”

It was clear that he poured himself into everything he did, whether it was a painting, a lesson, or simply spending time with you.

One evening, he invited you to his studio after hours. The space was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of paint and turpentine.

“I want to show you something,” he said, guiding you to the center of the room where a large canvas stood covered by a cloth.

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the cloth away, revealing a breathtaking painting. It was you—your pose, your expression, every detail captured with such tenderness that it felt like staring into a mirror of your soul.

“Is that… me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “It’s not just you,” he said softly. “It’s how I see you. Strong, radiant… inspiring.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“It’s beautiful,” you said finally, your voice thick with emotion.

“So are you,” he replied, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile.

There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment where everything changed. Instead, your relationship grew in quiet, unspoken ways. The way he brought you coffee when you visited his studio. The way he asked for your opinion on his work, genuinely valuing your thoughts. The way his hand would brush against yours when he passed you a sketchbook, his touch lingering just a second too long.

One day, as you sat together in the park where you’d first met, he turned to you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I’m not sure I’d be able to do this without you.”

“Do what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Create,” he replied simply. “You make it… easier to believe in myself.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering at his honesty. “I think you’d do just fine on your own.”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I don’t want to.”

—Bestfriend!jayce

The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. From elementary school to your final year of high school, your lives had been stitched together with countless shared moments—late-night study sessions, chaotic group projects, and lazy afternoons spent at the local diner. You were the grounded one, the planner, while he was the dreamer.

He was everything you admired in a person: ambitious, creative, and unrelentingly passionate about making the world a better place. Whether he was organizing a charity event for the school or advocating for a greener campus, he didn’t just talk about change—he embodied it.

“Alright, hear me out,” he said one afternoon as you sat in your favorite spot in the school library. His voice was alive with energy, his words spilling out faster than you could process them.

You glanced up from your notes, already bracing yourself. “This is going to be another one of your big ideas, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “It’s what I do best.”

He leaned forward, spreading out a sketchbook filled with colorful doodles and bold handwriting. Each page was a mix of blueprints, campaign slogans, and notes for an initiative he wanted to pitch to the student council.

“I’m telling you, if we can pull this off, it could really make a difference. We could partner with local businesses, raise money for community programs, and even involve the younger students—”

“You’re going a hundred miles an hour again,” you interrupted gently, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Not when I’m onto something good,” he replied without missing a beat.

That was him in a nutshell: a whirlwind of ideas and determination, always moving forward. It was both inspiring and exhausting to keep up with him, but somehow, you always did.

For all his big ideas and boundless enthusiasm, he had a softer side too—a side he reserved just for you.

One Friday night, he showed up outside your house, honking his car horn until you came outside in your pajamas.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, glancing around to make sure your neighbors weren’t watching.

“Get in,” he said with a grin, leaning out of the driver’s side window. “I need your opinion on something.”

“You’re insane,” you muttered, but you climbed into the passenger seat anyway.

He drove to a quiet hill on the outskirts of town, parking near an old tree you’d both claimed as “your spot” years ago. He pulled out a notebook from his bag and handed it to you.

“These are my ideas for the youth outreach program,” he said. “I need to know if I’m being too ambitious.”

You flipped through the pages, your heart warming as you saw the effort he’d poured into every word and sketch.

“This is incredible,” you said softly. “You’re not just ambitious—you’re inspiring. People are going to listen to you.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You really think so?”

“Always,” you said, your voice firm.

For a split second, you thought he might reach out to take your hand, but instead, he leaned back, staring up at the stars. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

After particularly grueling school days, he’d find you at your locker, holding out your favorite drink or snack without a word. When the stress of finals hit, he’d sit beside you in the library, quietly working through his own assignments while offering words of encouragement.

And then there were the moments when his usual confidence wavered.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asked one evening as you sat on the hood of his car, staring up at the stars.

The two of you had just spent hours planning his latest project, a school-wide fundraiser for a local shelter. Despite his ambitious plans, his voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

“You? Crazy?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Absolutely.”

He laughed softly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade.

“Seriously, though,” he said, turning to you. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m aiming too high. Like, what if I can’t actually pull all this off? What if I fail?”

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You won’t fail. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. And even if something doesn’t work out the way you planned, it doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you’re brave enough to try again.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment lingered, and as he pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders. His gaze searched yours, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability there that he usually kept hidden.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a while now,” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Your breath caught. “What is it?”

“I don’t just care about you as a friend,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, I do, but it’s more than that. You’ve always been my anchor, the one person who gets me, who believes in me even when I doubt myself.”

Your heart raced, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. “I think I’ve always felt the same way,” you said quietly.

Relief washed over his face, followed by a smile so genuine it made your chest ache.

“Then we’re in this together,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Like always.”

From that day on, your friendship transformed into something deeper, something stronger. His dreams grew bigger, but now, they weren’t just his—they were yours too. Together, you were unstoppable, a team bound by shared passion and a love that had been years in the making.

Whether it was planning for college or brainstorming ways to change the world, one thing was certain: with him by your side, anything felt possible.

—Enemies to lovers!viktor and reader

From the moment the new kid transferred to your school, it was as if the universe had dropped a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. He was a contradiction: introverted yet razor-sharp in class discussions, quiet but with an undercurrent of passion that seemed to burst through in unexpected moments. His snarky comebacks and aloof demeanor were practically tailor-made to clash with your confident, no-nonsense approach to everything.

You couldn’t help but notice how he kept his distance from everyone else, often retreating to the farthest corner of the library or lab. Despite his unassuming presence, he somehow managed to infuriate you with his brilliance. Teachers fawned over him, classmates whispered about him, and you? You glared daggers at him every time he raised his hand in class to counter one of your arguments.

The first real confrontation happened in science class. It was a group project, and your teacher, in a cruel twist of fate, paired you with him.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

He barely glanced at you as he set down his notebook, already flipping through its pages. “It’s not my favorite pairing either, but let’s just get this done.”

His tone was clipped, and his eyes barely met yours.

“Oh, so we’re starting with passive-aggressive remarks? Good to know where we stand,” you shot back, folding your arms.

He sighed, finally looking at you. “Look, I don’t care if you like me or not. I care about getting an A on this project. If you want to argue, fine, but at least do it while we’re running the experiment.”

His bluntness took you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. But you quickly recovered, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you take over.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered under his breath, already scribbling in his notebook.

Working together was like a storm brewing in slow motion. You were both stubborn and headstrong, constantly butting heads over the smallest details.

“Why are you doing it that way?” you snapped one afternoon as he adjusted the settings on the experiment’s apparatus.

“Because it’s the correct way,” he replied without looking up.

“You didn’t even let me explain my idea!”

“Your idea would’ve blown up the circuit.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Let me guess—you’re the kind of person who thinks trial and error is the only way to learn?”

He finally turned to face you, a faint smirk playing at his lips “And you’re the kind of person who thinks you’re always right,”

The tension crackled like static electricity, but neither of you backed down.

It wasn’t until a late-night study session in the empty library that things started to shift. The project deadline was looming, and you’d reluctantly agreed to meet outside of school to finish your work.

He was unusually quiet that night, his usual snark absent as he stared intently at the data on his laptop.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence. “You okay?”

He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Just tired. And frustrated. I want this to be perfect.”

Something in his tone softened your usual defensiveness. “You know, it doesn’t have to be perfect. You’re allowed to mess up sometimes.”

He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Not really. Not when people are counting on me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you saw past the walls he’d built around himself—the pressure he carried, the weight of expectations.

“I didn’t realize you were dealing with so much,” you said quietly.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Why would you? We’ve been too busy trying to outsmart each other.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Fair point. Maybe we should call a truce—for now.”

He smiled, just barely, and it was the first time you’d seen him let his guard down.

As the project progressed, the two of you started to find common ground. You discovered his love for science wasn’t just about theories and equations—it was about helping people.

“Why are you so passionate about this?” you asked one day as he carefully calibrated a piece of equipment.

He hesitated, then said, “Because I want to make a difference. I has a chronic illness, and I’ve spent years struggling with treatments that barely work. I want to change that for me, and for anyone else going through the same thing.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You’d always thought of him as cold and detached, but now, you saw the fire that drove him.

“That’s… incredible,” you said softly.

He shrugged, his cheeks tinged with color. “It’s just what I care about. What about you? What drives you?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. But as you opened up about your own dreams and ambitions, you realized something had shifted between you.

On the night before the project was due, you were sitting in his garage, putting the final touches on your presentation. It was late, and the two of you were running on caffeine and adrenaline.

“Here,” he said, handing you a mug of tea. “You’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself.”

“Look who’s talking,” you teased, taking the mug.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the garage filling the space.

“You’re not so bad, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

He smiled faintly, looking down at his hands. “I mean it. I’ve never met anyone who challenges me the way you do. It’s… refreshing.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, pretending to focus on the data. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m not going easy on you just because you’re finally being nice.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that made your heart race.

[kitkatscabinet]

SING FOR ME BABY

Summary: The Batboys with a famous musician for an s/o

Pairings: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake x fem! reader.

DICK GRAYSON: Nu Metal

Everyone expects him to end up with a popstar, if anyone famous, someone typically feminine/fashionable to match his charm. They forget they're talking about the og crashout kid. After the incident that sees him stepping away from Robin and, subsequently, Bruce, he spends months thrashing bands like Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park

It's Roy that ends up introducing him to your band when he's suddenly unable to attend the concert he'd gotten tickets for. In typical Dick fashion, he forgets all about it until the day, attending on a whim and becoming a little mortified when he realises 1) he doesn't know any of your songs & 2) you're gorgeous. And oh my god, you're looking at him. You're laughing at him he swears!

He watches you smash a guitar into smithereens like it's nothing and he thinks he's in love. Actually shoves someone out of the way to catch the pick you throw.

It's you who slides into his DM's after the show, one of your bandmates having recognised him. He asks you out almost immediately, who cares if it's a little desperate? This man is determined to have you hanging off his arm by the next Wayne gala.

Being in a band lends you at least some anonymity outside of your fanbase, all of which is completely shattered once you go public with Dick. Not just because he's a Wayne and therefore pretty famous himself, but because he's so obsessed with showing you off, playing your music for anyone that will listen (and the people that don't want to).

JASON TODD: Pop

You're passing through Gotham whilst on tour when the inevitable happens, someone takes the opportunity to kidnap you. Enter the Red Hood, who just happened to be in the area.

Despite the hyperfeminine persona you display for your audiences, you know how to throw a punch. Which is the sight that greets Jason as he bursts through the window of one of the hundreds of warehouses in Gotham picked out by the amateur kidnappers, you, kicking the shit out of a thug whilst still in high heels.

For a few seconds, he forgets he's supposed to be saving you, too busy watching the woman decked out in pink sequins and glittery makeup kick ass. He gets his head in the game when a gun gets pulled and he's pulling you into his arms (totally unnecessary but he's not gonna pass up the opportunity. Hopes you don't notice how bricked up he is.)

You give his helmet a kiss of thanks afterwards, leaving a glossy mark whilst slipping him your number, neither of which he notices until hours later after a full day of patrol. He's never regretted the helmet over the domino mask more.

He can't exactly show his face in your music videos, but you can bet your ass he's not gonna let anybody but himself play the sexy muscular dude touching you up in them.

TIM DRAKE: Indie/alternative

He is the type of guy who sits with his iPad, phone, personal laptop, and even the bat computer open as he waits to snag tickets to your concert. He's getting those motherfucking backstage VIP passes if it kills him (or he has to kill someone else to get them).

Actually cries when he somehow still fails to secure one. Damian takes a photo and posts it on Twitter. Tim's too distraught to even care, that is until you message him. One of your friends showed you the post, and you thought he was cute. Bruce bursts into his room when he suddenly hears hysterical screaming, convinced his son is being murdered, only to back away slowly when Tim yells something about VIP tickets and some singer.

Nearly faints when you ask him out on a date after the show. He's sweaty, dishevelled and a massive mess after having a near-religious experience from hearing you live. He's honestly not convinced he's still alive, blacks out for a few seconds before all but screaming yes! in your face.

This man is your no.1 stan, and yes, that's a title he regularly defends on social media. Especially after you begin dating. Constantly gets into fights with the legions of lesbians who are distraught that you've got a boyfriend.

[godoreo22]

Saja boys x Manager reader: Part 1

A loss can lead to a gain.

(Name) walks past a few missing persons posters and frowns before entering the cafe they works at. "Sorry (Name) but we're so short staffed I'm gonna have to close this place down but i appreciate all the time you've put into working here." Mrs. Yoon hands (Name) their last paycheck with a sad smile.

"Thanks Mrs. Yoon" (Name) bows her head before walking out the front door and turning back to see Mr.Yoon flipping the closed sign and holding Mrs.Yoon close with a deep frown.

(Name) sighs before walking back home to their small apartment to look for another job. (Name) pushes her apartment open and crashes onto their couch with a groan.

"Poor Mr and Mrs. yoon. Poor me, how am i gonna stretch my last paycheck to cover my rent and food. I can more than likely kiss those Huntrix tickects goodbye." (Name) sighs before going on their phone and looking through job offers and applications.

They scroll for what feels like hours but was realistically ten minutes.

They groan in frustration because all the jobs they see are either have crazy hours, seem sketchy, or have unrealistic qualifications. They prepare to put their phone down but come upon a job offer that catches their eye, Band manager.

It looks sketchy but it is the best they can find so they apply and put their phone down hoping to get a confirmation soon only for their buzz a second later. "Okay, that was a little too soon."

They pick up their phone and see their application was approved, and they received an address and a time to be their. "This gets sketchier the more i get into it but I've gotten this far in so i guess I'll be meeting this band tomorrow at noon."

They sigh and put it into their calendar before preparing their dinner.

The next day, (Name) is up and walking to the address they were sent.

"Okay, this is no big deal, just going to a suspicious address that i got from a kinda creepy job add to do a job I'm probably not qualified for... just gonna have the cops on speed dial. just in case of course." (Name) says to herself as she gets closer to the address.

Only for that address to take her to a expensive looking apartment building.

(Name) is starting to have second thoughts about this, but (Name) swallows their anxiety and walk into the lobby and looks around in awe as they extravagent apartment.

"Uh hi i came for a job at apartment, 185... is that the top apartment..." (Name) looks around a little bit anxiously.

"Oooh... those are our new tenants." The receptionist looks off dreamily before clearing her throat. " just show me some identification and proof you know them and I'll buzz you right in."

"oh uh- they didn't mmm... give me ah..." (Name) fumbles now realizing how unprepared and how sketch this job offer was.

"Honey if you don't have any proof im gonna have to ask you to leave or im gonna call security." This only made (Name) more nervous and they try to find some identification in the ad.

Suddenly they feels a warm hand on their shoulder.

"No need to fuss, we'll verify." A husky cool voice fills (Name)'s ears. They look up over their should to glassy smooth skin and deep dark eyes. Those eyes slowly move from the receptionist down too (Name).

"yeah jenny, no need to press our new manager." Said a much deeper voice only for (Name) cute blue eyes and an adorable baby like face. Suddenly more incredibly hot guys appear too.

"Oh of course boys, j-just wanted to make sure they were legitimately here for the manager position." Jenny stammers

The boys move past her leading (Name) up to their apartment.

"So... i got the job?"

OK so that is the full Part one, hope you all like, so i will put out a few more chapters and this story will be my number one priority but i will also be working on all the other stories even if they didn't win the votes. If anyone has any feedback or ideas they want me to use or even little requests just leave a comment and ill see what i can do because i read every comment and i try to reply to every comment.

Taglist: @sparky2020sworld @imaginarydreams

[sweetbuckybarnes]

Who is This?: Chapter 1

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?

The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.

His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.

The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.

She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.

There she was.

His girl. His wife.

He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.

Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.

She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.

Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."

"Like you don't do that every night."

Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.

"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.

"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"

He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.

She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.

She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).

"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."

Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.

"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.

Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.

"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.

"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.

Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.

When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.

He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.

He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.

He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.

The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"

The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."

As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"

The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"

The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.

Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.

"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.

The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.

Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"

Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.

"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."

Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"

She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."

"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.

The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.

Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.

Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.

"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"

Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."

[rockinglikemotley]

Something, something, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish thinking you’re cute at the bar but… you have eyes for someone else.

The 1-4-1 boys were in America on a mission. They were extremely out of place in the Deep South, but they gotta do what they gotta do. They had one rest day and decided to head to a bar that looked a little run down on the outside, but the lot was filled with cars and trucks. People stood outside, conversing with one another as they smoked cigarettes with a bottle of beer in their hands. Their accents were loud and drawn out as they spoke about the town drama.

Johnny was the first one inside seeing as this was his idea to go get a pint before they continued on their mission the next day. Gaz followed him inside with Simon and John right behind them. Simon scanned the room for anything odd or out of place as they went up to the bar to get themselves some drinks before going and sitting at one of the few high tables there was.

People were all around, some stumbling, some singing along with the singer on the stage, and many of them dancing together at the slower song being sung. Johnny turned around in his seat to watch the girl on stage sing. “Oi. She’s a looker.” He smirked, nudging Kyle with his elbow and pointing up to the stage. “Oh yeah she’s quite fit.” He agreed with a nod of his head. John shook his head at the young men of his team while he took a drink of his draft beer. Simon sat stoically as her usually did, a glass of bourbon sat between his big hands.

The song changed into another slow country tune making the scenery of the bar slightly solemn. The lights cast an orangey hue, people weren’t as rowdy as the 141 thought they were going to be, and the slow song being sung brought everyone together. Couples danced, women were spun in slow circles, and people shared kisses in the sea of cowboy hats.

Simon finally looked to the stage after deeming the bar was safe from any potential threats. He always sat facing the door, so with his head turned he gazed upon he country singer on stage. From under a tan cowboy hat came long (H/C) hair and a sweet face. The woman sat upon a stool, even while singing her lips sat in a light pout, colored in a pretty pink color that shined in the light above her. She was in a matching denim vest and flared jean outfit with silver and turquoise jewelry. She was easily one of the most prettiest women in the bar, but Simon kept that thought to himself.

Especially when Johnny had his eyes glued to her like a dog with a bone.

As time went on, the guys nursed their drinks, Johnny and Kyle going back to the bar a few times to get more. Simon and John talked amongst each other as Soap and Gaz looked around the bar for a lady for Kyle. The pretty country woman on stage had ended her song, taking the mic in her hands and standing from the stool she had been sitting on. “Alright y’all,” Came her sweet southern drawl with a rasp to it. Johnny’s head snapped towards the stage with a boyish grin on his face.

“I’m gettin’ tha’ lassie’s number so help me God.” He uttered to Gaz who laughed and listened in on what the singer had to say. “This is our last song for the night so I hope y’all brought your dancin’ boots.” Her smile was gleaming as she moved her long hair over her shoulder and turned back to her band. Her guitarist started the tune and some of the crowd started to cheer with excitement towards the song. The pretty woman laughed into the mic, “I know y’all like Reba now!” She pointed to the people in the front.

“Steamin’ Jesus. She’s bloody fit.” Johnny huffed and downed the rest of his drink as his fair lady sang ‘Fancy’ by Reba. He was familiar with the redheaded country singer, Dolly as well. All thanks to his mother who had little shrines for them both. She often made him swear to them if she thought he was lying. “That she is.” Gaz chuckled as they watched her dance with the sway of her hips, her free hand raised above her head.

Johnny was damn near bouncing in his seat by the time her set was finished. John couldn’t help but laugh something low at the young man sitting across from him. Simon just huffed at his antics and watched him go off to find his ‘dream girl’ - Johnny’s words - as soon as she stepped off the stage. His mohawked head disappeared in the sea of people and orange light.

Johnny had a few close calls of almost running people over to get to the stage’s exit. He merely send absentminded apologies and went on his merry way to find the pretty country singer. He stood by the exit, watching as her guitarists walked out together, chuckling, as they fixed their hats and bolo ties. Then the drummer of the band came out and finally here came the singer.

He could see her darkened silhouette coming down the hall. Her full hips swaying as she walked, the muffled clack of her boots against the hard flooring. She was lucky she looked up in time to stop just before him or else she would’ve ran into his broad chest. “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” She giggled, her accent making Johnny fawn all over again. “Ach. It’s okay.” He waved it off. Her brows raised at the sound of his thick Scottish accent. “Wow. You’re far from home.” She pointed out with a toothy grin.

“I came all this way just to see you.” Johnny smoothly joked with her. The apples of her cheeks went pink as she tipped her head back and laughed. “Hope it was worth it.”

“It’ll be more worth it if I could buy you a drink.” Soap smirked down at her, his big arms crossed over his chest. “Alright.” She nodded and off they went through the crowd to the bar. They ordered their drinks and while she wasn’t looking he turned his head over his shoulder to give his team members a big grin before turning back to her. “I’m Johnny.” He introduced himself, thankful the bar was lowkey and wasn’t loud so he didn’t have to yell his introduction. “I’m y/n. Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? Already with the pet names, love?” Johnny smirked at her. She shrugged while she took a sip of her drink. “It’s a southern thing.” The pretty woman brushed off. “Well it’s a Scottish thing too.” He chuckled and shifted his feet. “I’m here with some of my mates, you can come sit with us if you’d like.” He offered, deep down just wanting to show her off already and to show them that he could get a woman since they joked too often about him scaring them off with his ‘Scottish-ness’ as Simon would say. “Sure, I can hang for a little.” She nodded and followed along right behind him.

When she got to the table she laid eyes on a charming looking man with a big smile, then to another one that had a thick beard and stache and wore a bucket hat, then finally she laid her eyes on one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Simon sat there all big and brooding with scars littering his face and a half sleeve of tattoos on his forearm. Johnny gave her his chair and she felt a little bad knowing he had come over to flirt with her.

But hey, she was only a woman.

They all introduced themselves to her with laughs towards Johnny and gave her kind smiles. She introduced herself back and took the time to talk to them all. Simon didn’t say much, he was as stoic as every but she figured he didn’t do well in social situations. Or maybe he was the nonchalant type. Hell, she didn’t care she couldn’t take her eyes off him for half of the time she sat there amongst the four of them.

By the time she finished her drink, Johnny was carrying back more for himself and Kyle. She reached across the table for the napkin holder that sat in the middle of the table and fished out the pen she kept in her back pocket to write her name and number down. With a sigh she slipped off the chair as her cheeks grew rosy. John watched her with a small smile which quickly went to shock as she slid the napkin across the table and over to Simon.

He looked up at her in shock as she stood there with a cheeky grin. Johnny had witnessed it with his own two eyes and his jaw dropped. Kyle couldn’t help, but laugh out of shock. “Well it was nice meetin’ y’all.” She grinned and rounded the table. “Hopefully I’ll be seeing you.” She gave Simon’s arm a squeeze, sending Johnny a wave before going off and disappearing back into the crowd.

“You just stole my girl!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Simon uttered as he picked up the napkin with the pretty writing before slipping it into his pocket. Part of him just wanted to spite Johnny and the other part of him was glad she had chosen him over his friend. “I can’t even be mad. That was sly as hell.” He shrugged and sat down in the chair.

Later that night, her phone buzzed with a text.

‘So I take it you perfer Brits over Scots?’

~~~~~

Just had his idea on my mind for a few days. Hope you liked it xx

[reiding-writing]

Congrats on 3k lovely!!! For your celebration may I request

1. ❛ how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time? ❜

2. them getting angry on ur behalf

3. Maybe boyband Spencer but honestly happy with any

This is such a fun idea!! Love your writing x

SERIOUSLY, SPENCER? /spencer reid/

“how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time?”

them getting angry on ur behalf.

s5! spencer x gn! reader 1.0k flangst event masterlist. main masterlist.

You’ve always admired Spencer’s intelligence. His mind is like a machine, constantly whirring, processing, analysing, and spitting out facts at a speed most people can’t keep up with. But for someone so brilliant, he can be completely oblivious.

And right now, it’s driving you insane.

The two of you are at a coffee shop near the BAU, grabbing a quick break between cases. It was your idea—Spencer has a bad habit of overworking himself, so you figured some fresh air and caffeine might help. The shop is warm, the scent of roasted coffee beans filling the air as you sip your drink. It should be relaxing. Should be.

But the barista, a guy with slicked-back hair and a condescending smirk, is ruining it.

He’s been making snide comments toward Spencer for the past five minutes, and your best friend doesn’t even seem to notice.

Spencer, of course, is just being his usual self—rambling about some obscure psychology study that somehow relates to the flavour profiles of different coffee beans. He’s excited, completely in his own world, but every time he speaks, the barista’s smirk grows.

“Oh wow,” the guy interrupts, voice dripping with mock interest. “That’s so fascinating. You must be, like, super fun at parties,”

Spencer, being Spencer, doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm. He simply nods. “Actually, I don’t go to many parties, statistically speaking—”

“Shocking,” the barista cuts in, rolling his eyes.

You tighten your grip on your cup, knuckles turning white. You glance at Spencer, waiting for him to realise what’s happening, to say something, but he just keeps going.

“Well, large social gatherings can be overwhelming due to the noise levels and the sheer number of unpredictable social interactions. It’s actually quite common for people with higher IQs to prefer smaller, more intimate settings—”

The barista snorts, shaking his head. “Right. Makes sense.” His eyes flick to you, and he smirks. “And you hang out with him?”

That’s it.

Slamming your cup down on the counter, you glare at the guy, your patience snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

Spencer blinks, finally looking up from his coffee. “What?”

You ignore him, stepping closer to the barista. “You’ve been making fun of him this whole time, and I don’t know if you think you’re being subtle, but news flash—you’re not. So why don’t you cut the crap?”

The barista puts his hands up, mock innocence plastered across his face. “Whoa, chill. I was just joking,”

“No, you were being an asshole.”

Spencer’s brows furrow. “Wait, he was?”

You whip around to face him, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

He looks genuinely confused. “I mean, he was engaging in some light teasing, but it didn’t seem particularly—”

“Oh my god.” You stare at him, frustration bubbling over. “Spencer, how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time?”

His mouth opens slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but for once, he doesn’t seem to have a response.

You turn back to the barista, levelling him with a glare that could melt steel. “Apologise.”

The guy scoffs. “For what?”

“For being a condescending jerk to someone who was just trying to have a conversation with you,” you snap. “You think it’s funny to make fun of people for being intelligent? That says a lot more about you than it does about him.”

The barista hesitates, eyes darting between you and Spencer. When he realises you’re not backing down, he mutters, “Sorry,”

You don’t even wait for a real apology before grabbing Spencer’s sleeve and tugging him toward the exit.

Outside, the cool air hits your face, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. You can feel Spencer staring at you.

“That was… unexpected,”

You turn to him, still fuming. “Seriously, Spencer? You really didn’t notice?”

He hesitates. “I mean… I noticed his tone was a little off, but I assumed he was just—”

“Being a dick.” you finish.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably. “I guess I just don’t always pick up on that kind of thing,”

Your anger softens a little. You know he’s not stupid—far from it. But sometimes, when it comes to social interactions, he misses things that seem obvious to you.

You sigh. “Look, I know you like giving people the benefit of the doubt, but some people don’t deserve it,”

Spencer tilts his head, considering your words. “You… seem upset,”

You scoff. “I am upset. You’re my best friend, Spencer. I’m not gonna stand there and let some idiot talk down to you like that.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—a small, genuine smile that makes something in your chest tighten.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You roll your eyes, bumping his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Just—next time, try to pick up on it a little faster, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he promises. Then, after a beat, he adds, “But I think I like it better when you notice for me,”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Metallica - Nothing Else Matters 1992

"Nothing Else Matters" is a power ballad by American heavy metal band Metallica. It was released in 1992 as the third single from their self-titled fifth studio album. The song peaked at number 11 on the Billboard Mainstream Rock Tracks chart, number 6 on the UK Singles Chart, number 1 in Denmark, and reached the top ten on many other European charts. Recognized as one of Metallica's best known and most popular songs, it has become a staple in live performances.

Lead singer and rhythm guitarist James Hetfield wrote the song in 1990 while on tour, when Hetfield "was bumming out about being away from home". Hetfield initially had reservations about presenting the song to the band: "I thought that Metallica could only be the four of us. These are songs about destroying things, head banging, bleeding for the crowd, whatever it is, as long as it wasn't about chicks and fast cars, even though that's what we liked. The song was about a girlfriend at the time. It turned out to be a pretty big song." In August 2021, the music video hit one billion views on Youtube, making it Metallica's first music video to do so.

"Nothing Else Matters" received a total of 71,6% yes votes! Previous Metallica polls: #77 "Wherever I May Roam", #200 "Enter Sandman", #371 "The Memory Remains".

[hamilton-here]

Hey, I don’t know if your requests are open, but I was wondering if you could write a story about Lewis and tennis player Reader. Like she is nr. 1 in the world, and they celebrate her win of another tournament? (if you want it can include smut, but it doesn’t have to). Thanks❤️

𝑀𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒫𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! I absolutely loved writing this one-shot. I hope the person that requested it enjoys! Lots of love xx

Summary: After winning the Australian Open, the world’s top tennis player is surprised by her secret boyfriend Lewis Hamilton in the crowd, leading to a night of passion, public pride, and the start of their shared spotlight.

Warnings: sexual content, mild swearing

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

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

The stadium buzzed like electricity under your skin.

Rod Laver Arena was a cathedral of sport tonight, packed to capacity with tens of thousands of fans and millions more watching around the world.

A hot summer wind whispered through the open roof. The air was heavy with tension, expectation and the kind of energy that could crack lightning across the Melbourne sky.

You rolled your shoulders back and steadied your breath, standing behind the baseline with the weight of a country or more on your back.

Sweat traced a slow path between your shoulder blades beneath your violet and black Nike kit, damp strands of hair sticking to your temples beneath your hat visor.

You raised your arm patting your damp face with your wrist band, breathing heavily.

6-5 in the third set tiebreak.

Match point.

The final point of the Australian Open women’s final.

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears. Somewhere in the crowd, people were chanting your name. Others followed. Then the whole arena surged into a chant. You closed your eyes and let the sound lift you.

Focus. Breathe. Trust your body.

Across the net, Aryna Sabalenka stared you down like the warrior she was. Her chest rose and fell with exertion, her neon pink dress soaked through with effort. You had battled her for nearly three hours under the Australian sun, each set a war of wills, but you were here now. One point away.

The chair umpire called, “Time.”

You bounced the ball three times.

Tossed it into the air.

And served.

The ball cut through the air with slicing pace and landed near the sideline, forcing Aryna wide. Her return was fast but shallow.

Your instincts took over. One step in. Racket low. Forehand. Deep into the opposite corner.

She chased it.

Desperate.

Her feet scrambled across the court.

She reached. Swung.

But the ball clipped the net cord and died.

Gasps. Then silence.

And then - chaos.

The crowd erupted in a wall of sound.

You dropped your racquet and fell to your knees. Your hands flew to your face as tears pooled in your eyes.

You had done it.

You were the Australian Open champion.

Your team rushed onto the court - your coach, your physio, your hitting partner.

You embraced each of them as flashes exploded from every direction. You barely heard the interviewer’s first question as you blinked up at the stands, overwhelmed.

You scanned the VIP box instinctively. But he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was overseas getting prepared for the race season coming up and with himself starting at Ferrari.

You shook the thought from your head and waved at the crowd, lifting your arms, heart pounding with adrenaline and disbelief.

“I’m just, I don’t even have the words,” you choked out in the interview, wiping tears from your cheeks. “This one means the world. I’ve worked my entire life for this moment. Winning the Australian Open has always been my dream. Even though I am number one in the world already, this has been a massive achievement."

And you had. From a tiny court in your hometown, all the way to world No. 1.

The trophy ceremony began and you stood beneath the bright lights of Rod Laver Arena, clutching the silver Daphne Akhurst Memorial Cup like it was a lifeline. You thanked your team, your family, your fans.

And then came the camera lens.

The moment every player dreams of.

A black marker was passed to you. You knelt before the lens and grinned.

You signed your name with a flourish and, below it, wrote -

"For every girl who was told she couldn’t."

And then, in smaller letters, only visible to the few who’d pause to read it -

"For him."

You smiled.

Because even if Lewis wasn’t here, he would see it.

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

The celebration was still roaring behind you as you disappeared into the tunnel beneath Rod Laver Arena. Your legs felt like jelly not just from the match, but from the weight of it all. The cameras, the spotlight, the ceremony. It was over. And you’d won.

You clutched the trophy tightly to your chest like it might float away if you didn’t hold on.

A member of the WTA staff guided you through the winding halls of the stadium, offering congratulations and asking if you needed water or food. You nodded absently, still high on adrenaline.

Your team peeled off toward the press room, but your agent lingered behind, eyes twinkling.

“There’s…someone waiting in your private suite,” she said, tone casual.

You turned, puzzled. “Media?”

She shook her head with a sly grin. “Just go see.”

You padded down the hall, your tennis shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor.

You opened the door.

And stopped.

Lewis was there.

Leaning against the windowsill of your private lounge, hands in the pockets of his charcoal Ferrari hoodie, cap pulled low over his face. But that smile - that unmistakable, heart melting smile lit up the room before he even moved.

Your mouth fell open. “You’re - what - Lewis?”

He stood up straight and took a step forward, his voice low and warm.

“Didn’t think I’d let you win your first Aussie Open without me here, did you?”

You were already in motion.

You ran into him, arms flying around his neck, trophy clattering to the carpet as he caught you. You buried your face in his hoodie and suddenly all the tears you’d held in during the trophy ceremony came crashing down.

“You lied to me,” you whispered, voice breaking. “You said you had meetings. You said you couldn’t -”

“I had to,” he murmured against your hair. “You wouldn’t have focused if you knew I was watching.”

You pulled back to look at him, tears streaking your cheeks. “You watched the whole thing?”

He brushed your hair away from your face. “From the third row. You were unbelievable. I’ve never seen anyone move like that. Every time you hit the ball, the whole arena held its breath.”

You laughed through your tears and lightly hit his chest. “You asshole.”

“I know,” he grinned, then kissed you deeply. “But I’m your asshole.”

You melted into him. His cologne - the earthy, clean smell that always lingered in your pillows when he left hit you full force. He kissed you again, slower this time, cupping your face with reverent hands.

“You’re everything, you know that?” he whispered. “Everything.”

You laughed softly, your forehead resting against his. “You coming back to Melbourne just to see me win is already the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you. “I didn’t just come to watch you win.”

His hands slid to your waist. “I came to remind you what happens when you do.”

The door to your suite clicked shut and locked behind you.

Lewis didn’t say a word as he backed you toward the plush couch by the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Melbourne skyline. The city lights twinkled outside, a mirror of the stars in your eyes as he traced his fingers along your jawline.

“You’re still shaking,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Adrenaline,” you said, breath hitching as his hands slid down your waist. “And maybe because you just showed up like a damn movie ending.”

He smiled. “Couldn’t miss my girl’s greatest win.”

His girl.

The words settled into your chest like a promise. You tugged his hoodie upward, fingertips brushing the hem of his shirt.

“Take it off,” you breathed.

He did slowly, deliberately revealing the tattoos you knew by heart - the compass on his chest, the script over his collarbone, the lion on his pec. Every line, every shadow, made you ache for him more.

You pulled your visor off, then the damp tank top, leaving you in your sports bra and skirt. Lewis’s eyes flicked down your body with heat and reverence, as if you were the trophy tonight.

“You looked like a goddess out there,” he murmured, stepping closer, hand skating over your exposed stomach. “I nearly lost it when you signed that lens. It reminded me of when I first did it in F1."

Your voice softened. “I signed it for you.”

He paused. His thumb rested above your navel.

“I saw it,” he whispered, suddenly serious. “I saw every word.”

And then his lips were on yours again this time firmer, more desperate now. The kiss deepened quickly, mouths open, breaths mingling as his hands tangled in your hair. He backed you against the couch and gently pushed you down, climbing over you like he’d waited all season to have this moment.

His body hovered above yours, eyes dark with desire.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said, voice low.

You shook your head. “Don’t stop.”

Your skirt slipped down your hips, tossed somewhere near your trophy.

He kissed every inch of your inner thigh before his mouth reached the core of you, tongue warm and slow and purposeful. You gasped, your hand flying to his braids as he worked you open with lips and fingers, coaxing pleasure with the same focus you brought to center court.

When you came, you cried out his name, shaking, legs locked around his shoulders. He looked up at you, smug and tender.

“Still shaking?” he asked.

You were breathless. “For a whole different reason.”

He stood, unzipping his pants and you watched with hungry eyes as he slid them off along with his boxers. His body was beautiful, lean, carved, all heat and control. He kneeled between your legs, running his hands along your thighs again, patient, reverent.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, voice husky.

You reached for him, pulled him down until his forehead touched yours.

“Make me forget the world,” you whispered.

And he did.

He entered you slowly, both of you groaning at the perfect, familiar stretch.

You clung to him, your hands on his back, nails dragging over skin as he moved. He kissed your collarbone, your jaw, your lips between every thrust, whispering how proud he was, how beautiful you were, how no one in the world compared.

The rhythm built, his hips moving against yours in smooth, rolling waves. Each movement echoed with tension and devotion, like he needed to be closer, deeper, inside your very bones.

“I love you,” he murmured into your mouth as you began to fall apart again.

"I love you too." You moaned back throwing your head back.

You came with a sharp gasp, trembling beneath him. He followed soon after, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt and spilled into you, holding your face like he never wanted to let go.

When it was over, he collapsed beside you on the couch, both of you sticky and glowing with sweat, your skin still buzzing from the high.

Wrapped in one of the soft robes, you stood by the window a little while later, watching Melbourne glitter beneath you. Lewis came up behind you, arms slipping around your waist.

“Tomorrow, they’ll talk about your forehand,” he murmured. “Your stats. Your legacy.”

You smiled. “And tonight?”

He kissed your neck. “Tonight, you’re just mine.”

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

The morning after your victory arrived like a dream you never wanted to end.

Melbourne was still glowing from the night before. Headlines flooded your phone -

"World No. 1 Reigns in Melbourne"

"The Queen of Tennis Conquers Australia"

"Crossover Power Couple? Fans Think Lewis Hamilton Was in the Crowd!"

You sat at the edge of your hotel bed, wearing nothing but Lewis’s white t-shirt and your gold WTA bracelet. The trophy was beside you, glinting in the early light. Lewis was still asleep, one arm draped over his eyes, the other stretched toward the spot where you’d been curled into him all night.

Your phone vibrated again.

A message from your agent -

“Press conference in an hour. Wear something killer. You’re the moment.”

You smiled.

In the bathroom, you applied your makeup carefully, chose a sleek white pantsuit that hugged your body and made you look as powerful as you felt. When you stepped back into the bedroom, Lewis had one eye cracked open and a crooked smile on his lips.

“You trying to kill me this early?” he said, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“You coming with me?” you asked, walking over and sliding onto the bed beside him.

He reached for your hand. “If you want me there.”

“I want them to see.”

His brow lifted slightly. “All of them?”

You kissed his shoulder. “You were there for every part of this win. It’s time they know.”

The press conference was already crowded by the time you stepped inside. Cameras flashed, journalists whispered and jostled. But the moment Lewis entered behind you, hand on your back, a hush rippled through the room like a wave.

You smiled graciously, taking your seat at the table with your nameplate and the trophy in front of you.

Lewis stood to the side, watching, his presence magnetic. He wore a tailored black suit with no tie, his braids pulled back, sunglasses tucked into his collar. Every part of him screamed quiet support and pride.

A reporter raised her hand.

“First off, congratulations! You made history last night. But I have to ask there’s been a lot of speculation online. Can you confirm that Lewis Hamilton was in the stands during your final?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“I can confirm he was,” you said, smile widening. “He flew in to surprise me. And yes, we’re together.”

The room exploded in flashes and soft gasps.

Lewis simply nodded once, cool and steady, as if he’d been by your side all along. In truth, he had ways just been in the background. Until now.

The moment you stepped off the podium, he was waiting for you.

“That was brave,” he said, fingers brushing yours.

“That was honest,” you corrected. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Then let’s show them how a real team celebrates.”

Later that night, you curled up with Lewis on the hotel bed, doom scrolling through social media as he laughed beside you.

@WTAfanatic: “LEWIS HAMILTON AND [Y/N]?! I THOUGHT I WAS READY BUT I WASN’T.”

@GOATandGOAT: “Their baby’s gonna have a 200 mph serve and a carbon fiber stroller.”

@F1updates: “Hamilton’s biggest win this year might not be on the track.”

“I can’t believe how loud the internet is being,” you muttered, cheeks burning with joy.

Lewis took your phone and tossed it gently onto the other pillow.

“Let them scream,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms. “We’ve got our own world.”

The chaos quieted by evening.

Your eyes caught the last of the golden sunset spilling through the windows. You stood on the balcony in one of Lewis’s oversized tees, sipping champagne from the bottle as the breeze tugged at your hair. Below, Melbourne buzzed softly with nightlife and celebration but up here, it was just peace.

Behind you, Lewis stepped out, freshly showered, his chain glinting in the dying light. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed the top of your head.

“Proud of you doesn’t even cover it,” he murmured into your neck.

“I feel like I’m still floating,” you whispered, leaning back into him. “Like it didn’t happen.”

He turned you gently to face him. “You’re not dreaming. You earned every second of it. And I was lucky enough to watch you do it.”

You reached for his hand, running your thumb over the knuckles. “I used to think winning was everything. Like if I had the title, the ranking, the trophy it from every tournament would finally feel like enough.”

“And now?”

You looked up at him, eyes soft.

“Now I think the best part is who I got to share it with.”

His smile was warm. He leaned in and kissed you, slow and unhurried. Not a kiss of celebration, or of lust but of something deeper. Of foundation. Of future.

As the sky turned lavender and the first stars appeared, you both stood there in silence, the city beneath your feet and the whole world stretched ahead of you.

And for once, you didn’t feel like you were chasing anything.

You’d already won.

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - six (j.yh); section one

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. five | six (section 1); (section 2) | series masterlist 🔗read on ao3✨across stardust pinterest board

note: the end. thank you all so much for loving this story and being so kind and supportive. this fic has meant the world to me, and i hope you all are happy with the ending. there will be a short epilogue posted soon, but for now our story comes to a close.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, anxiety/nerves, some general angst and upset emotions, allusions to a bad household growing up and cptsd, very frank coversations about idol life, pr, etc. saesangs and saesang invasions of privacy, discussions about delulu both fun and not okay delusion, but then also smut! including.... oral m!receiving, throat fucking, messy oral, cockwarming, dom!yunho, sub!reader, actual d/s dynamics even if it's kinda not defined, subspace but reader doesn't know that's what it is, fingering, dirty talk, fingers in mouth, light degredation, mostly praise, heavy on the good girls / pretty girls, cowgirl, absolutely intense multiple orgasms, creampie, dw they don't need to wrap it up they're married and in love

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 21.9k **note, this part was too long again for tumblr! please make sure you continue on to part six section 2, linked here!

The ring feels heavy on your finger when you wake up on Sunday morning to an empty bed, but you’re grateful for the weight of it. Without its presence you’d have nothing tangible telling you that the wedding happened at all, that you and Yunho were all of a sudden husband and wife. As the days of the week drag on, the ring becomes your tether. Every time you feel his spikes of anxiety, disappointment, or discomfort, you find yourself fiddling with the ring, your only true way of communicating with him while this is all happening around you, to you.  

By Tuesday you think you’ve memorized every divot and scratch on the band, and by the evening on Wednesday you’ve taken to spinning it in twisted little circles on your finger, so many times you probably have an indent already. 

On Thursday, you wake up once again to his side of the bed empty. You were up late the night before, a deep pit in your stomach, but once you fell asleep you really, truly slept. With Yunho gone, it’s hard to get rest like this, but somewhere in the back of your mind you know your body is trying to carry you both through the stress. 

When your eyes open it’s to a room bathed in full sun. For a second you feel relaxed, at ease, but the quiet of your apartment and the silence around you jolts you properly awake and you twist in the sheets to find your phone. 

Each morning, Yunho had been updating you on the negotiations. 

The meetings had gotten off to a rocky start to say the least, with their CEO truly blindsided by the sudden negotiations. Yunho hadn’t revealed too much about his reaction to the marriage, but you can put two and two together. 

Your eyes flick up to the clock on your nightstand and with the sharp sink of a stone in your stomach you realize it’s already ten. 

Scrambling in the sheets you search for your phone and hastily take off the Do Not Disturb. 

You have a missed call from an unknown number from eight thirty this morning, but then one simple text from Yunho sent only fifteen minutes ago. 

I know I said you wouldn’t need to speak with anyone, but our CEO would like to meet you.  

You sit down immediately, tapping back a fast reply - Meet me? 

He must be keeping a close eye on his phone, because his reply flicks back in record time - He wants to discuss your job directly, and it should be your choice how things are handled, not mine.

Your stomach flips, but he’s right - What time? 

Can you be here by eleven? 

You check the clock again - Yes. 

It takes a moment for him to respond this time, and you wonder if he’s in a meeting now and organizing things. If he’s speaking to the CEO directly, if their attorney is at his side. 

Your phone buzzes with his reply and you breathe out a sigh of relief - This feels like the last step, and I’ll be next to you the whole time. I love you. 

You text him that you love him too, and with a mix of tumbling excitement and panic in your belly, you get ready and start the all too familiar walk to the KQ offices. When you get there, you’re early and a new face from the security desk gives you a visitor’s pass and walks you towards the elevators. 

You haven’t seen Yunho in person since he kissed you on Saturday night and tucked you back into bed, but when the elevator doors open and you’re greeted with his face, everything melts away. 

“Hey,” He smiles, “I thought that was you,” 

“Hi,” You smile back, probably giving too much familiarity away for being in a shared hallway, but with him looking at you like that, you couldn’t care less anymore. 

“Are you ready?” He asks. 

“As I can be,” You nod, “is he upset?” 

Yunho shakes his head, “No, but I don’t know, this whole negotiation process has been strange,” 

You take in a deep breath and nod, “Let’s get this over with then.” 

Without hesitation, Yunho takes your hand in his, “Let me walk you back,” 

Your heart stutters, your hand solidly in his within full view of anyone, but he doesn’t pull away or apologize like the touch was an accident, he meant to take your hand and he meant for people to see. 

His thumb smooths over your knuckles. 

“You’ll be in the meeting?” You double check as you start to follow him up the hall. 

“All of us will,” He assures you, “don’t worry.” 

You give his hand a squeeze and steady your racing heart. 

The CEO’s corner office is nice, but somehow still modest. That’s the first thought that strikes you as Yunho knocks lightly and opens the door, nothing like the last corner office you were dressed down in, flashy in ways that made you want to roll your eyes. 

You’ve met Kim Gyu-uk before, but it was brief and years ago when the teams were much smaller. He’s around sometimes on tour or gives rousing speeches at larger company parties, but otherwise the KQ CEO was largely out of your orbit, your jobs so vastly separate you rarely cross paths even in the halls of the same building. 

Despite that, he greets you with a smile like he’s been friends with you for years, standing the moment the door opens and crossing to the front of his desk to outstretch his hand to you. 

Your hand slips out of Yunho’s and you meet the handshake. 

“Miss y/n,” He shakes your head, “it’s very good to see you again.” 

“Oh,” You bow your head, “thank you,” 

“Perhaps I should say Mrs. Jeong,” He grins, eyes flicking between you and Yunho, “Yunho, now that your lovely wife is here I can offer proper congratulations.” 

Yunho wraps an arm around your shoulders, thanking him, but you have the strangest sensation that this can’t be real. He’s too kind, too pleased about the marriage, too congratulatory, and it makes your stomach clench with unease. 

“Alright,” He says after a moment, returning to his commanding side of the desk, “let’s chat,” 

Yunho guides you forwards to an empty chair, and you sink down into it, nodding to the rest of the men in the room, Attorney Choi at your right, Yunho at your left, and the rest of the members perched around the room in various spots. 

While there’s a subtle air of tension in the room, no one looks upset or outwardly stressed, and all you feel from Yunho’s side of the bond is anticipation. 

“So,” Kim Gyu-uk begins, “I trust that Yunho has been keeping you up to speed on our meetings this week?” 

He hasn’t, not nearly enough for you to feel confident in this meeting, but you nod anyways, “Yes, I think I’m clear on things,” 

He leans back in his chair, “Then you already know my position on your termination. While you two technically broke contracts and the company was within the right to fire you, I was not properly informed of the situation and of the true nature of your relationship. Mr. Minchul took it upon himself to handle it in the way that he did, and though I disagree with his actions, this is my company and my responsibility.” 

Yunho takes your hand back in his. 

“I apologize,” Gyu-uk says, “on behalf of the company and personally, you were treated without respect or consideration. I can assure you it won’t happen again,” 

“Oh,” You manage, “I… thank you, of course, thank you,” 

“Mr. Michul was let go this morning,” He adds. 

Your eyes widen, but Yunho leans forward, “What?” 

“Clearly we need a bit of housecleaning,” Gyu-uk offers, “you know we’ve never operated that way, and I don’t intend to start now.” 

Hongjoong smiles in your peripheral vision and nods, pleased. 

There’s a collective sense of relief, and your tense fingers start to relax. 

“Now,” Gyu-uk rests his elbows on the desk, leaning forward to address you, “as for your position here. I cannot offer you the same job,” 

Your heart sinks. 

“With your relationship,” He nods towards you both, “it wouldn’t be professional to have you work in such close proximity. I would say the same to any couple in this building,” 

You nod, “I can understand that,” 

“That being said,” He smiles, “I hope that you will accept a position working with the Xikers team,” 

Yunho smiles next to you, watching your face carefully. 

Gyu-uk continues, “You’d be in a slightly more senior role with that team of artists, but you’ve done great work for years with us, and until this I’ve never heard anything but positive feedback about you and your performance.” 

You’re stunned silent. 

Their CEO smiles and nods, “And of course,” he says, “Ateez may need an extra pair of hands on tour from time to time, if you’re comfortable with a certain amount of additional responsibilities and overtime,” 

Your eyes prick with tears, “Of course,” you interject, but then catch yourself, dipping your head and getting your emotions under control. 

Yunho rubs the back of your hand again. 

“Good,” He nods, “then Monday, can I expect to see you back at work?”

You swallow back the knot in your throat, “Yes, sir,” 

He nods, pleased. 

Attorney Choi clears his throat next to you, “I’d like to see her employment contract,” 

“I assumed so,” 

“We want explicit statements excluding their relationship from any of the standard language,” He continues, “and we expect an increase for a more senior position, even if Xikers is a junior group.” 

“Oh, I,” The words slip out, a slight shake to your head, you can’t lose this job when it’s been such a fight to get it back. 

Attorney Choi holds up a hand towards you, rendering you silent, but his eyes stay on their CEO. 

“I anticipated that already,” Gyu-uk laughs, a huff of air through his nose, “I’ll have the contract forwarded over for your review today. Satisfied?” 

“For now,” Attorney Choi nods, “where do we stand on our redlines?” 

It’s clear the conversation has shifted back to their employment contracts, and you make brief eye contact with Yunho and then Gyu-uk, “I’m sorry,” you interrupt, “should I step out?” 

He shakes his head, “Stay, we have a few more things to discuss.” 

Yunho separates your hands, shifting in his chair, and his hand finds a new home on your mid back. 

Their CEO looks to Attorney Choi and nods, “I am comfortable saying we have reached an agreement,”

You can practically feel the energy coming off the members at that sentence, and you glance to the side to see their faces. Hongjoong looks pleased and deeply relieved, and San and Seonghwa are grinning from their position at the far wall. 

Relief courses through you from Yunho. 

On his side you catch Mingi’s eyes, calm and betraying nothing, but you can see that he’s pleased and relieved too. Your eyes meet for the barest second, and in it he gives you a small, private smile. You can’t see the other members' expressions without twisting in your chair, but you imagine they’re feeling the same collective relief. 

“Can we agree on a five year term?” Gyu-uk continues, and you look back up. 

“Five years, with a salary review at three,” Attorney Choi says, completely calm and cool. 

There’s a pause. For a moment you wonder if this will push them back from the agreement and back into negotiations, but blissfully Kim Gyu-uk smiles. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” He says, reaching his hand across the table, “but I think we can agree to that.” 

Attorney Choi shakes his hand firmly. 

“Contracts will be ready for review by this afternoon,” Gyu-uk confirms, “if everything looks good, we can execute tomorrow and put this all behind us.”

Yunho lets out a heavy sigh of relief. 

“Dinner,” Gyu-uk says, “tomorrow after your recordings, my treat. We have much to celebrate.” 

In a snap the tension of the week is gone, and there’s a sudden rush of handshakes, hugs, the members erupting in a flurry of excitement all around you. You know from conversations with Yunho that they didn’t get everything they wanted in the renegotiation process, you know that’s how contracts work, but they got the important things. And you and Yunho got each other.

In the celebratory fray, Gyu-uk steps close to Yunho and claps him on the shoulder, “Now that that’s settled,” he says, “let’s have that talk,” 

Attorney Choi smoothly slides into the conversation, “Yes, let’s.” 

You glance between them. 

Gyu-uk nods and steps back, “Alright, everyone, I have some additional things to discuss with the happy couple,” 

Yunho leans in, “It’s okay, don’t worry.” 

You nod, but his words do nothing to soothe the strange sensation in your gut. 

“I’ll see everyone else for dinner tomorrow night,” He nods, “I’m glad we could reach an agreement, and I appreciate everyone’s additional time over the past week while we worked this through.” 

It’s the most professional and polite dismissal you’ve ever seen, but the meaning is clear. Gyu-uk wants the room cleared out, and he’s not waiting around for it to happen naturally. 

Hongjoong exchanges a quick word with Yunho as he steps out, “You good?” 

“Good,” He nods, “we’re fine,” 

Hongjoong nods, and then meets your eyes, “Glad to have you back, y/n,” 

“Me too,” You smile, “thank you, for everything, seriously,” 

He nods, shrugging a bit, “It’s nothing.” 

It wasn’t nothing, not at all. You know how many sleepless nights the members spent preparing for this moment, how many difficult conversations they had to get through. And while not every part of it was for you and Yunho, they put themselves on the line right alongside you both and you feel like you’ll never be able to thank them enough for that. 

After a moment, the room clears out, leaving you and your husband and your attorney, and a sea of empty chairs. 

Gyu-uk looks a little more serious this time, and he sighs as he takes a seat behind his desk. 

Nervous bubbles pop in your stomach. 

“I won’t lie to you,” He says, looking at Yunho, “you’ve put me in a hell of a position here, kid,” 

Yunho nods, “I know.” 

Gyu-uk waves you all down to a seat again and rubs his eyes, he’s tired too, you realize, “I want you to know, I would have agreed to dropping the clauses and having her back without the marriage. If you say you’re bonded, I personally believe that, and I can see it, it’s plain as day looking at the two of you.” 

Your heart thumps quickly in your chest. 

“In another life you would have made a good business man,” Gyu-uk laughs, “because this was one serious fucking ace of a negotiation tactic,”

He glances at you when he curses, “Excuse my language,” he says, but you shake your head to tell him it’s fine. 

“Sir,” Yunho takes your hand again, “I love my job, but you and your wife are soulmates, aren’t you?” 

Gyu-uk’s eyes flick up and he nods. 

That’s new information to you, and your breath seems to stay trapped in your chest anticipating Yunho’s next words. 

“Tell me,” Yunho says calmly, “what kind of a man would I be if I left this up to chance?” 

Emotion bubbles in your chest and you blink back another tug of tears. 

Gyu-uk sighs and leans back in his chair, “Point taken,” he says. 

“I stand by my choices,” Yunho adds, his thumb passing over the band of your wedding ring. 

“I know,” Gyu-uk nods, “and you better keep that mentality, because I don’t know if you both have thought this through, but what happens from here is going to be ugly.” 

You grip Yunho’s hand a little tighter. 

“We know,” Yunho says. 

“No,” Gyu-uk shakes his head, “you don’t know.” 

Yunho takes a breath, but Gyu-uk continues smoothly. 

“We’re going to take a serious hit from this,” He explains, “we’ll lose appearances, venues, brand deals. Fans are going to boycott, they’re going to say cruel things, girls are going to burn your photocards and say you betrayed them. Our revenue will take a dip, potentially a significant one, and that has ramifications of its own.” 

Yunho swallows tightly. 

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment at the honest scrutiny of his words. 

“What’s more than that,” Gyu-uk continues, “is what will happen to her.” 

Yunho’s posture broadens, defensive, his spine straighter as he takes in a breath to push back. 

“Her name, her family's names, where she lives, everything you’ve ever posted online will be scrutinized and picked through. That’s to say nothing of the fans that will cross the line offline; stalking, harassment, death threats,” 

Your breath feels thready, panicked. 

“Did you want this meeting just to scold them? Get to the point,” Attorney Choi interrupts, “They know the risks.” 

“Do you want that for her?” Gyu-uk continues. 

“Of course not,” Yunho’s jaw is set tightly. 

“You should have come to me first,” Gyu-uk says firmly, “I’ve known you since you were a boy, Yunho. I would have listened to you, and we could have made a plan for the two of you together,” 

Yunho shakes his head, “Sir, with all due respect I don’t know if I believe that. No matter how long we’ve known each other, I’m an idol on a rookie contract, and you’re still my CEO.” 

Gyu-uk regards him, his posture tight, and then he nods, “Maybe,” 

“‘Maybe’ wasn’t good enough for me,” Yunho says plainly, “and I may have let the company lead for me in the past, but this is about more than me now.” 

“I can understand that,” Gyu-uk concedes. 

Both of you wait for him to say more. 

“My point is,” Gyu-uk finally says, “you’ve put me on the back foot, and that’s not somewhere I enjoy being.” 

Yunho stays silent, unapologetic, but nods. 

“What I’m asking you now,” Gyu-uk says clearly, “after we’ve made our deals internally, is to buckle up for what we’re going to have to do.” 

The men on either side of you don’t say a word, and you glance between them before you finally speak up yourself, “Which would be?” 

Gyu-uk’s eyes click to yours, assessing, “We need to be on the right side of this story. You’ve worked with idols for years, are you clear on what that means?” 

“You want to announce it?” Your eyes widen a little. 

You were ready for the story to break at some point, and you and Yunho had agreed that being together was worth the risk of that, but going public this quickly still strikes you in the chest. 

“Immediately,” Gyu-uk nods. 

Yunho shakes his head, “Absolutely not,” he leans forwards, “we have time to figure things out,” 

“Yunho,” Gyu-uk stares at him with a withering look, almost fatherly in amusement at Yunho’s naivete, “you can’t make a move this strong and then concede before the check mate.”

Yunho’s jaw tightens. 

“Catch me up here,” You rest a hand on Yunho’s leg and lean forwards to keep Gyu-uk focused on you. 

“This past week,” He explains, “we had discussed a strategy for how to handle the story of your relationship breaking. Standardly, the company line for dating scandals that don’t produce definitive proof is silence. When caught in something more serious or undeniable, there’s usually a lot of apologies from the idol, groveling, and again, silence from the company. In both of those scenarios there is no real room for the couple to be together.” 

“Okay,” You nod, hand sliding to find Yunho’s. 

“Marriage is different,” He continues, “it has a different public perception, so do soulmate bonds. Marriage is also legally binding, which I know both of you are very clearly aware of,” 

Yunho bristles a little, but Gyu-uk isn’t wrong, it’s exactly why you did it now. 

“There are three options as I see it,” He holds your gaze, and something tells me that these three things were made very clear to Yunho this week even if you’re still in the dark. 

“Option one,” Gyu-uk says, “we renegotiate and Yunho leaves the company on positive terms, leaving you both free to pursue whatever lives you want together.” 

Your breath quickens. 

“It’s clear from this week that option is not viable, but it is the path that would afford you both the most privacy.” 

“What’s option two?” You prompt him. 

There’s a strange flicker of appreciation in his face for your directness and he continues, “Option two is that we wait for you both to be caught and then run the company playbook. It’s not a matter of if that will happen but when given marriage licenses are public record and people outside of this room are aware of your relationship.” 

You nod. 

“Option three is to go public now,” 

“We don’t have to announce it right away,” Yunho presses, “we can wait a little while, figure out the best way, this isn’t,” 

“Yunho,” Gyu-uk interrupts softly, “we do, and you know that.” 

“What do you suggest?” Your thumb strokes over the back of Yunho’s hand, but you keep your focus on the conversation. 

“I have a larger plan put together with the PR team,” He explains, and then looks to Yunho, “but we are willing to take this risk with you for the good of the group. We have worked together since you were trainees, and I hope you understand that the reason we are even having this conversation is because I genuinely, genuinely believe this group is stronger with you in it.” 

Yunho nods, his eyes flicking down. 

“The company will announce it,” Gyu-uk says smoothly, “very clearly and in no uncertain terms you will have our support in that announcement. You will need to address your fans in a variety of posts, but the PR team thinks starting off with something personal on your Instagram is the right path.” 

“From there?” Your husband asks. 

“We remain positive and we handle the questions as they come,” Gyu-uk offers, “we’re wading into unprecedented territory here, but we will handle it all head on.” 

Yunho nods and then looks up sharply, “Does her name need to be in the announcement?” 

“Yunho,” You murmur softly. 

No matter how ready you both were for the oncoming storm the day of your wedding, it’s clear that here and now all he can think about is the risks, the worst case scenarios. 

“No,” Gyu-uk says, “and we’d like to keep your relationship as private as possible, not just for you, we really do not want to stoke things further and invite more inquiry. Y/n, your name will be public one way or another, but it won’t come from our announcement. You should prepare yourself for when it happens, but we’ll provide you with as much time as we can.” 

“Thank you,” You murmur. 

“She’ll need security,” Attorney Choi speaks up. 

Yunho nods, his hand tightening on yours. 

“That’s a given,” Gyu-uk says, “if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” 

Relief bleeds through your chest. 

“That being said,” He continues, “there is a chance this story is uncontrollable, that this industry is not ready for the change you want them to be ready for.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest. 

“We can only do so much,”

Yunho nods and looks from you to his CEO, “If that happens, I already told you, I will resign and I’ll make sure the members know it’s my choice. They won’t follow me,” 

Your eyes widen, your hand tight on his. 

“Yunho,” His attorney warns. 

“We will do everything we can to prevent that and avoid that,” Gyu-uk says earnestly, “that is not a path any of us want to walk. I give you my word on that,”

“This needs to be in writing,” Attorney Choi says, “if you want a stipulation for their relationship have an attorney draft-,” 

“No,” Yunho shakes his head, “no more contracts. I’m trusting you on this, and I give you my word too,” 

The assess each other quietly for a moment, and then Gyu-uk nods, “Alright,” 

Yunho’s hand rests on your back, “When do you intend to announce, then?” 

“We’re on a bit of a time clock with the next comeback,” Gyu-uk says, “but we’ll go to print on Thursday of next week. We’ll work through the language this week, and then Wednesday night you both will leave Seoul for a few days until the brunt of it blows over.” 

“Leave Seoul?” You ask.

”My brother has a house in Jeju. It’s private, rarely used, and far, far away from any newspapers or fans who would want to show up and harass you,” He explains, “consider it a wedding present,” 

You blink.

He sighs and then leans forwards, “Think of it as a way to get out of town and stay offline for a few days,” he says, “whatever the response is, it won’t be easy. Take a few days to yourselves and get your heads on straight, this is going to be a long process with a lot of publicity to manage. Let us handle it and get a few days alone,” 

You nod, and Yunho says, “What else?” 

“Nothing else,” Gyu-uk assures, “you both need to meet with Harin, and then you both need to lay low and let this play out.” 

Harin, the head of their PR team, was always available to nip and tuck a story into just the right language to sway public perception, and you’re not surprised in the least that this is where you’d be heading next. 

“If we’re doing it that soon,” Yunho says, “we need to discuss the apartments.” 

“What?” You turn your head, studying Yunho’s profile. 

“I was going to say the same thing,” Attorney Choi adds, “it would certainly make security easier.” 

Gyu-uk only looks at him.

“What apartment?” You ask again. 

Yunho turns his head to you, “We’re able to get our own apartments now,” he explains, “without managers living in unit as long as the building has approved security protocols and is within a reasonable distance to management and the offices,” 

You remember that clause in the paperwork you read, “Right,” 

He smiles, “I’m also contractually able to have a roommate,” 

You’re sure the surprise is all over your face. 

“So,” He turns back to Gyu-uk, “if we’re concerned about people stalking her or harassing her, I think she’s a lot safer living with me in a building that has security,” 

Gyu-uk sighs. 

“And I think you know better than anyone,” Yunho adds, “how much better I will be at my job if I’m not unnecessarily separated from my bonded soulmate,” 

For a moment, Gyu-uk shows nothing on his face but calm calculation, and then he nods, a small smile pulling at the edge of his lip, “I agree.” 

Yunho’s hand closes on yours, “Good,” 

Gyu-uk rubs his tired eyes again and then nods, “Let me speak with security, there’s not much time for us to get an apartment sorted before the announcement, but until we can, you’re of course free to stay with y/n at her apartment or at your dorm. But communicate clearly with management, no driving yourself or public transportation,” 

“y/n walks to work,” Yunho adds. 

“Not anymore,” Gyu-uk shakes his head, “not until we know what this is going to be like, is that fair?” 

“Absolutely,” Yunho agrees, “whatever we need to do.” 

All you can do is nod, once again your head spinning at the amount of information you’re being dropped into. 

“Alright,” He leans towards the telecom on his desk and presses a button, calling out to reception. You listen as he sets up a call with the head of the security team and as he directs Harin and the PR team to set up in the small conference room down the hall. 

“Last thing,” Gyu-uk says as he stands, clearly signaling the end of this conversation, “rings off, until the story breaks.” 

Yunho nods, “Fair enough.” 

“Stay discreet for a few more days,” He advises, “and then after that, well, we’ll take it as it comes.”

The meeting ends with more handshakes, with both of you being ushered into a conference room with the PR team who are more than prepared to discuss strategy at length. You don’t have a moment to debrief with Yunho, to drop your smile and take a breath and ask him how you got here to this result all of a sudden on a Thursday. Instead, you’re at another conference room table with a team of people who seem to know more about social media than you could have ever fathomed. 

Harin is a small woman, but within two minutes you can tell she’s a fearsome adversary when it comes to arguing and spinning a story. You’ve never been the subject of her inquiries before, but all of a sudden you’re center stage. 

For hours you pour over details in ways you couldn’t even imagine. Yunho seems unphased by the directness and the detail in their questions, but they peel apart every facet of your life and your connections until there’s no stone unturned, no surprise story about your life that could break without them knowing and having a pre-planned response. 

You don’t have any school drama, no history of bullying or bad behavior. Your relationship history isn’t all that scandalous, only one bad breakup, but it was him who cheated and not you. Your relationship with your parents is described as unfortunate, but not unfamiliar in their line of work. The PR team files these little facts away for a rainy day, detailed and meticulous in their every follow up. 

Harin is clearly pleased that you’re at least moderately attractive, but you watch the way they try to label you and market you, your tattoos at least ‘consistent’ and ‘feminine’ enough to be deemed trendy and artistic. She’s appreciative of your personal style, but when she suggests layering in particular designer pieces to look more elevated you start to think that Harin and her team can only communicate in backhanded compliments. 

By the end they’ve dissected you open. 

It isn’t until one of the PR team members asks you a pointed question about your gay sister that real annoyance flickers through you and Yunho interrupts, making it very clear that Hana and Em are not only off limits, they’ll be publicly supported by both of you if anyone publishes anything negative about them. 

Once again, Harin takes it all in stride, a perfect story and a perfect response for everything. 

It isn’t until the meeting breaks and the room clears out that you get a moment alone with Yunho to digest any of it at all. 

In the sudden quiet of the conference room, Yunho shifts back to work, fielding a litany of texts, his eyes tired as he catches up what he’s missed and invariably needs to make up from being trapped in board rooms all day, and you stay quiet. Your own gut is churning with discomfort, but you bite the inside of your cheek, and you wait. 

Eventually, he drops the phone to the side and sighs, his office chair spinning towards you as he reaches out to take your hand, “I’m sorry,” he says, “you must be so exhausted,” 

“Me? I’m fine,” 

“I didn’t realize they’d take you through all that today,” He admits, “Harin’s just thorough,” 

“Mm,” You nod, “it’s fine,”

He fixes you with a look, finally picking up on your flat tone, “How are you really? And don’t say fine,” 

You can’t lie, not to him. 

He squeezes your hand and you let out an exhausted breath of air, “It’s been a long day,” 

“I know,” He soothes. 

Your chest throbs a little and you pull back from him, “Yun,” you murmur, “why didn’t you tell me about the apartment? About you leaving the group if this goes badly?” 

His back straightens, “What do you mean?” 

“You have to be honest,” You sigh, “you have to talk to me.” 

“You’re upset,” He observes, his brows ticking up in surprise. 

“I’m not,” You say it, even though deep down you both know it’s not the perfect truth, “but you can’t keep handling everything by yourself and expect me to just be on board,” 

His face falls, “Are you uncomfortable with what we decided today? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” You take his hands in yours, “you’re handling all of this so well, but Yunho, what was the plan if Gyu-uk didn’t ask for me to be in the meeting? Would you have told me we were moving in together after getting the keys?” 

“y/n,” He shakes his head, “that’s not it,” 

“Listen,” You settle him, catching his cheek in your hand, “I love you. I love that you’re trying to protect me from this, and I know this is new for both of us, but this is our lives together, we need to make decisions together.” 

“We are,” He presses, “I’m telling you everything, you read all the contracts, I’m,” 

“Yunho,” You press, “stop,” 

“You are upset,” He says. 

“Okay, fine,” You lean back, “I’m upset,” 

“Tell me,” He nods, expectant. 

“I’m trying to!” The words slip out, exasperation through your tone. 

Yunho looks surprised, but he just nods, “Go on,” 

“You think you’re talking to me about everything?” You ask the question calmly, clearly. 

He nods again.  

“Baby,” You shake your head, “you’re keeping me in the loop, but that’s it. You tell me what’s happening after the fact, and then you plug me in to make a decision when you need one,” 

“That’s not fair,” 

“I waited for you for days after I got fired,” You tell him gently, and his face falls, “and when I came back everything was already in motion and we were married before I could even blink. I am so, so happy to be your wife, please don’t misunderstand me,” 

“You regret it?” His heart hammers in his chest. 

“Never,” You slide closer to him, “never, ever. Listen to me,” 

His eyes study yours, his mouth snapping shut. 

“You are making big decisions about our life together without me,” You tell him gently, “I think because you want to shield me from all the bad parts about your life as an idol, or maybe because you think it’s your job as my partner, as my husband, to take care of the hard things so I only get the good parts.” 

His eyes drop. 

“I trust you,” You murmur, “with my life, my whole heart, but I don’t want a marriage like that.” 

His brows draw together, his hands tightening on yours. 

“I want you to tell me our options,” You continue, “I want to decide things together. I want to hear about the bad shit so we can face it together, get through it together.” 

He doesn’t look up. 

“If this all goes badly,” You tell him softly, “I don’t want you pulling the ripcord on your career because you decide you don’t want to put me through something. We’re bonded, we’re married, we’re going through it together no matter what, but I want you to talk to me so we can decide how to get through it together.” 

He sighs, dropping his head into his hands. 

You insist, “I know you’re just trying to keep me safe,” 

He nods. 

“I promise you, I can handle this,” You murmur, “whatever people say about me, whatever people do to me, I don’t care.” 

His head lifts at your words, his eyes flaring with sudden intensity, and his hands close over yours, “No one’s doing anything to you.” 

You can feel the sudden pit of fear in his body, and you shake your head, “Yunho, breathe.” 

His lips pull into a frown and he leans back in his chair, your hands still secured in his. Something’s frozen on the tip of his tongue, you don’t need a soulmate bond to tell you that. 

“What?” You murmur softly, squeezing his hand. 

 His knee bounces, nervous, strained energy bursting out of him until he finally says it, “Did you know that two years ago some fans, stalkers, put GPS trackers on our managers' cars?” 

You nod, “I heard,” 

“Did you know our old dorms were broken into?” He asks calmly, finally turning back to look at you. 

Slowly, you shake your head. 

“We came home after promotions and there were gifts in Yeosang’s room,” He explains, “and letters. A whole box of love letters that started off like fan mail and turned into threats,” 

“Against Yeosang?” Your eyes widen. 

He shakes his head, “No,” he murmurs, “against everyone else. The company was keeping them apart, the management was conspiring against them, the members were jealous of their connection,” 

“Jesus,” You breathe. 

“She was very sick,” Yunho explains, “but very fixated and very motivated.” 

“What happened?” 

“We had security footage, the company turned it into police and she was arrested,” He explains, “but that’s not the point,” 

Your stomach sinks. 

“I want you,” He laces your fingers together, “and I want to be with you in front of the world, all of that is true.” 

You nod. 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not terrified of what that means,” He confesses, “I would shield you from the cruel things people are going to say online because I love you, and I know what that kind of attention feels like, but,” 

You squeeze his hands, your chest aching as he opens up to you more and more. 

With a deep breath he shakes his head, “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “when I say I’m terrified, it’s not about what people could say. It’s what people could do,” 

“Yunho,” You manage.

“I wake up terrified that someone will find your address,” You can feel his heartbeat thundering in your own chest, “that someone who doesn’t know me, but thinks they love me, will find you and hurt you or take you away from me in a way that I c-can’t,”

 His breath hitches on the word and he shakes his head, pushing those thoughts out of his mind, “I didn’t tell you because I don’t want you to be scared, but there are things we have to do to make sure you’re safe once people find out about us, and I won’t risk your safety.” 

“Come here,” You pull him close into a hurried embrace between the chairs, “you think I don’t worry about the same things?” 

He exhales heavily against your hair. 

“I’m not naive,” You murmur, “I’ve worked with you for years, I know what some fans can be like.” 

“Then,” 

“I’m safer if you talk to me,” You pull back to see his eyes, “we’re stronger together and that includes making decisions together. Trust me to know when something doesn’t feel right, let me carry this with you.” 

“y/n,” He murmurs, his expression pained, “some of this job is so ugly, so horrible. I just wanted to keep that from touching you,” 

“I know,” 

“If anything ever happened to you,” He shakes his head, cupping your cheeks.

“I know,” You assure him softly, “but nothing bad is going to happen to me,” 

He just looks at you.

“Yun,” You murmur, “I trust you to keep me safe, I trust your judgement with the company, the extra security, all of it. I just don’t want to be in the dark, I don’t want to be unaware and I don’t want you killing yourself with all this pressure.” 

He sinks forward, his lips connecting with your forehead, but he nods, “Okay,” 

“If we’re together,” You murmur, letting the feeling of his lips ground you to him, “then whatever happens can’t divide us,” 

He nods again, his shoulders sinking, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry,” 

“It’s okay,” You pull back, meeting his warm eyes, “we’re okay,” 

“Are we?” He checks, fingers soft on your cheeks. 

“Always,” You assure him. 

He smiles slightly, just a twitch of his lips, his dark brown eyes full of tenderness, “You’re everything to me,” he kisses you softly, “I’ll do better, I promise,” 

You shake your head, taking his hands in yours, “Me too,” you tell him gently, “we’re still just figuring this out. Six months ago we were co-workers, now we’re married,” 

He smiles properly now, “That’s true,”

“And it’s not as if I had the best track record with relationships,” You add, “figuring all of this out takes time, learning how to be the right kind of partner for each other takes time,” 

He hums, appreciative of your words, “I always thought it would come naturally with a soulmate,” he murmurs, “my parents always said it took work, but I never really understood that until you,” 

“Yeah,” 

He nods, sitting up a bit in his chair and sighing, “Together,” he says, “with everything.” 

“That’s all I’m asking for,” You reply gently. 

The tightness in both of your chests relaxes, the steadiness of your heartbeats in time bringing you both back down to center. 

After a moment, Yunho grins wide though and looks back up at you, “Was that our first fight?” 

A laugh bursts out of your lips and you cover your mouth with your hand, “I don’t know if that counts as a fight,” 

“You were upset,” He points out, “I upset you,” 

“I feel like fights have a lot more shouting, we figured that out pretty quickly,” You smile, leaning back in your chair. 

His brows pinch together, head cocking to the side at your words. 

“What?” You ask at his confused expression. 

“Yeobo,” He says slowly, “if that’s your definition of a fight, then I guess we’re never going to have one.” 

His confusion makes no sense to you, and you laugh reflexively, “That’s optimistic,” 

“I don’t shout,” He says, his eyes studying your expression, “not really at anyone, but definitely not at you.” 

“I don’t know,” You shrug, “marriage is hard, things happen. As long as we work through it though,” 

Yunho shakes his head again, “We’re not going to fight like that,” he says gently, “we’ll disagree sometimes and maybe we’ll hurt each other by mistake, but I’ll never raise my voice to you. I don’t do that,” 

Your expression falters. 

In the back of your mind there’s a steady image, your parents face to face, their expressions contorted in anger, shoulders squared off and tense, a broken vase at their feet on the kitchen tile. Hana hiding behind your legs, her small hands gripping your jeans, your body taut with a fraying cord of panic.  

Yunho’s hand gently smooths over yours, “My parents never yelled at each other,” he explains softly, and you wonder how much of your sudden thoughts he could see, feel the shape of, “even when things were difficult. Talking to each other like that,” he shakes his head, “that’s not something I want for us, you won’t get that from me.” 

You manage a nod, your throat tight. 

“So,” He smiles, rubbing the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, “our first fight, I think we did pretty good,” 

You release a soft puff of air through your lips, his smile infectious, bringing you back once again from the bad memory, “Yeah, I guess we did,” 

“How can I make it up to you?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your lips, “After two weeks of being a controlling ass,”

You roll your eyes, “You weren’t being an ass,” you assure him, “and you’re forgiven, honestly,” 

He brushes past that though, “Dinner,” he says, “Gyu-uk said lay low for the week, but I have my phone back. Let’s do takeout over FaceTime?” 

You grin, nodding, “I’d like that,” 

“I’ll tell you all about this week,” He adds. 

“Mhm,” 

He stands and stretches his tired limbs, “It was eventful,” 

“I thought so,” You stand with him, packing away what little things you have out. 

“Harin said she’d email over the first draft of the announcement tonight too,” He adds, “let’s review it together?” 

You nod, “Perfect,” 

He starts to reach for the door and then doubles back, “Oh,” he says, making a face, “I almost forgot.” 

You watch as he reaches for his wedding ring, twisting it off his finger. 

“Can you keep this safe for me?” He holds it out to you, “Give it back to me on our way to Jeju?” 

You take the warm loop of metal and slide it onto your thumb, the only place it’s sure not to slip off, “Of course,” 

“I have to get to practice,” He murmurs, leaning in and kissing you one last time, “but I love you. Text me when you get home safely?” 

“I will,” You nod, still caught in his gravitational pull as he reaches properly for the door this time. 

Yunho walks you out the same way he walked you in, with a hand on your back, making sure you’re safely in the elevator before he finally leaves you. 

You start the walk home with both wedding bands securely around your fingers, and only then do you allow the pure feeling of relief to flood through your body. 

It’s done.

Finally, finally done. 

By the time you’re home, your face hurts from smiling. You’re dialing Iseul the second you’re tucked away where no one can hear you. 

For the first time in months, a conversation with your best friend isn’t laden with panic and what-ifs. For the first time you’re both laughing, practically giddy. You diagnose every aspect of what being on the Xikers team means for your career, you joke about getting her pulled over onto that team with you so you have the same schedules again. She tells you all about her confrontation with Eunji, the way she dressed her down in front of Dahan and made it perfectly clear she wasn’t a welcome member of their inner circle. You speculate how many days before she quits. You fall apart into peels of laughter at the idea of her quitting the day of the wedding announcement. 

You talk about the honeymoon like it’s a real one, not an island getaway to avoid the press. You try not to think about the fact that you and Yunho are about to change this industry forever. Instead, you just talk to your best friend, in a way that you sorely, sorely missed. 

While you talk, you play with Yunho’s ring on your finger, twisting it this way and that, carving another indent into your skin just for him. You keep it safe, guarding it the same way you’ve been guarding both your hearts since brushing his cheek in Berlin. 

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

This part of Jeju is quiet in the off season. 

Nestled along the shoreline of Seogwipo, you and Yunho wait in a house far too big for two people, but blissfully far away from any other properties, overlooking the dark blue water of the South Sea. Despite the privacy and romantic scenery though, you’re both on edge after arriving late last night and having hours alone with your thoughts before the public announcement. 

You’re still wrapped up in bed at ten the next morning, hitting refresh on the Ateez official Twitter account over and over, nervously double checking the clock and your WiFi connection just to be sure you haven’t missed it. 

“Is it up yet?” Yunho asks softly, two cups of coffee in his hands as he walks back into the large corner bedroom, his wedding ring back in its proper place on his finger. 

“Not yet,” You check your phone again for good measure. 

He sets the coffees on the nightstand and slips back under the fluffy white duvet cover, sliding towards the middle to sit next to you, “They’re probably double checking the language,” 

“Yeah,”

“It’s going to be alright,” He wraps his arm around your back, “we’re going to be alright,” 

“I know,” You breathe, “it’s just a risk,” 

“It’ll be worth it,” He promises, kissing your temple softly. 

You nod, and then the phone buzzes in your hands. 

Both of your eyes snap down and you tap the push notification from Twitter alerting you to the tweet you’ve been waiting for. 

Your heart starts to pick up in your chest as you tap the link to the official announcement, even though you already know exactly what the text will say. You and Yunho both had given your consent on it yesterday before you left Seoul, but that was when it was just a draft in an email. 

This is real. 

Both of your eyes flick over the words. 

KQ Entertainment Artist Announcement 

Hello,

This is KQ Entertainment. 

We would like to provide an update regarding one of our artists, ATEEZ Jeong Yunho. 

Earlier this week, ATEEZ member Yunho was married in a private ceremony, supported by his family and friends. The company offers sincere congratulations and well wishes to the couple. 

While we apologize for the sudden news and any concern this may cause fans, we ask for your kind understanding and support for Yunho at this time. Yunho will continue participating in all ATEEZ activities with the full support of KQ Entertainment. 

We will continue to prioritize the well-being of our artists both professionally and personally, and request that fans do the same. At this time, we request privacy for the couple. 

Thank you.

Yunho takes your hand and gives you a squeeze. 

“It’s really out there,” You breathe. 

He nods, “It is,” 

“How long until they figure out who I am, do you think?” You chew the inside of your lip, dropping the phone back onto your knees, the announcement still open. 

“Not long,” He murmurs, “your socials are all private?”

He’s asked that numerous times over the past few days of preparations, but you smile, “Yes, Yunho,” 

He exhales slowly and wraps his arm back around you, tucking you into his chest. 

Preparation for this announcement had been meticulous, the past week spent quibbling over every word choice and potential outcome.

To maintain as much privacy as possible, you and Hana and Em had all made your social media accounts private, and then you and Yunho had gone to Jeju to weather the storm and stay out of sight.

Yunho kisses your hair gently and brings you out of your thoughts, “Our management should be posting my announcement soon too,” 

You nod. 

Yunho leans to the side and grabs his phone off the nightstand and you watch as he lights up the screen to show dozens of notifications already. He swipes the phone onto Do Not Disturb and swallows audibly, and you feel the onset of nerves in his chest. 

“We’re okay,” You wrap your arms around his middle, pressing a soft kiss to his throat. 

“Mhm,” He holds you closer, “I know,” 

You watch him navigate to Instagram, opening up his own profile, and he nods when he sees the new photo in his grid, “It’s up,” 

He hasn’t let you read it yet, and you shift in his arms to look up at him, “Can I?” 

He nods, placing his phone into your hands before sliding out of bed, “I’m going to get some water,” 

It’s a thinly veiled excuse, but you don’t press him. What he’s written must be deeply personal if he doesn’t want to watch you read it, and you let him go. 

He gives you one soft smile and then disappears again. 

Left alone with his phone, you take a deep breath and tap on the first photo in his grid. 

The post is simple, one single photo of Yunho. He’s far from the camera, sitting along a large stone wall overlooking the ocean in Japan. His head is turned slightly to the left so you can make out his profile and there’s a distinct, soft smile on his face. 

You tap open the text of the post and start to read. 

Atiny, I have something personal to share, more personal than anything I have ever shared before. 

While I know what I am about to tell you may cause concern for me or may upset you, you who I consider precious and beloved, I ask that you please read everything I have to say and remember that I am still your Yunho. 

Late last year, at an unexpected time and in an unexpected place, I accidentally bumped into a woman and knew the moment we touched that she was my soulmate. While she and I have known each other professionally for many years, we did not know that we shared this connection with one another until very recently. In complete honesty, which is what I think you all deserve, we did not know what we should do or how we could move forward and live honestly if we decided to hide this from the world. 

Those of you who have been lucky enough to find your soulmates will understand how difficult these decisions are, and how deeply your life is changed by finding your steadfast partner in life. 

We chose to be honest with our families, our friends, and our company and we will be forever grateful that we have received nothing but kindness and support. We chose to be married so that we could live honestly and openly in your eyes too.

As an idol, I have spent my life receiving love from you. Because of this, there are things I believe I should endure so that I may become a better Yunho and give more to my members and you, our Atiny. Those things are worth enduring to bring you a better Ateez, and I have taken personal pride in being called your happiness, I always will. But there are limits to what I think is fair for us as idols to endure, painful things that go beyond the bounds of what is normal for other professions and for what I believe is right. Idols conceal their relationships for years even after retiring from public life, and those who have announced their relationships have been met in the past with difficult words.

I speak for myself when I say it has been the greatest honor of my life to be a member of Ateez and to be able to feel love and support from our Atiny every day. But it would be dishonest to you and to myself if I did not stand up for my own happiness, and it would be both unfair and unkind to ask my partner, my soulmate, to hide herself away behind the shadow of my career out of fear. 

To my Atiny, I will always be grateful to you for the love and care you have shown me. You have taught me how to live well and how to love well, and it is because of you that have become the bright, energetic person that I am today. Now that I have met my soulmate, I can share that love with her too, someone that I can rely on, someone who helps carry me, and someone who I can spend the rest of my life with. 

I hope that you can give us your understanding and your consideration. I will always be your Ateez Yunho, and I will never stop working hard to be an idol you can embrace and be proud of. 

Atiny, you have been and will always be my happiness, but she is my heart. I can only hope that you can take care of us both for the years to come. 

You take a sharp breath as you finish reading, tears spilling over and splashing onto the screen, your eyes looping over the final sentence over and over again. 

“Was it alright?” Yunho’s voice is gentle, a little fearful, and your head snaps up to see him lingering in the threshold watching you carefully. 

“Alright?” You wipe the tears away with the backs of your hands, “Yunho, it was perfect, I don’t care what anyone says about us, I can’t believe you wrote all that,” 

His posture softens, “Yeah?” 

“Yes,” You take a breath, reaching for him, “I love you,” 

He climbs back into bed with you, arms wrapping around you, “I love you,” 

“It was so perfect,”

He nods, kissing your forehead, “I just wanted to be honest,” 

You lean into him, folding into a hug, until you’re both sliding back down into the bed and cuddling close. 

“It’s out there now,” He says after a few minutes, “everyone’s probably talking about it.” 

“Probably,” You nod, smoothing a hand up and down his arm, “but we’ve got this.” 

He nods, a ragged breath leaving his chest as he falls away from you onto his back, “Yeah,” 

You can feel the slight knot of tension in his gut, but you know he’s trying to stay strong and positive for you. Cuddling into his side again you kiss his chest, “Let’s let it be,” you murmur, “we’ll just hideaway right here,” 

His arm wraps around you, “Right here?” 

“Mhm,” You snuggle closer if it’s at all possible, “just you and me and this big bed. Ateez who?” 

That gets a laugh, and he turns into you, carding a hand through your hair, “Just you and me,” 

“Mhm,” You kiss his chest and he lets his head fall back to the pillow.

Your eyes flutter shut, sinking into the sound of his heart and the feeling of his warm skin. If you’re being honest, your mind is going a mile a minute too, but you focus on breathing in time with him. 

Time passes around you, both of you quiet and resting together, caught in your own individual thoughts. You keep your eyes closed, and for a moment you think Yunho might be falling asleep, his breath evening out and his arm relaxed on your back, but then a heavy pang of shame echoes through the bond and you blink your eyes open. 

The first thing you see is his phone as he quietly scrolls and studies something on the screen.  

“Hey,” You reach up, “what are you doing?” 

“Just checking,” He admits. 

Your eyes flick to the screen, and you see the comment that got a reaction from him. 

I should have known never to trust you. Too nice. Too sweet. It’s always a lie. 

“Stop,” You snatch the phone from his hand, locking the screen fast and putting it to the side. 

“I’m fine,” He swallows tightly. 

“You don’t seem fine,” You murmur, pushing yourself up to lean on his chest and look down at him. 

“I just,” His eyes flick away, “I wish there was a way to be with you that didn’t mean disappointing all of my fans, but they hate me now,” 

“They do not.” You argue. 

“They do,” He shakes his head, “you haven’t read the comments.” 

“The post went up ten minutes ago,” You counter, “the only people commenting are people that have you on post notifications, and I’d bet more than half of those people are the ones who will be the most mad,” 

“y/n,” He sighs. 

“Give it time,” You use the words he’s been using all week, “come here,” 

Pushing his phone farther to the side, you slide up on his chest and tug his mouth to yours. 

“Mm,” He laughs gently against your lips, “What are you doing?”

“It’s a honeymoon, right?” You kiss him again. 

“Yeah, but,” He grips your hips as you kiss him again, cutting off his words. 

“Let me make you feel better,” You murmur, peppering kisses down his throat, “take your mind off things.” 

“Oh,” He blinks as you shimmy down his body, “baby, I’m okay,” 

“Soulmate bond, remember?” You say, “I can tell when you’re stressed.” 

He swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple shifting under your lips. 

“I think we could both use the distraction,” You admit. 

You feel him soften under your body at that. 

Slowly, you separate your body from his and shift down to the bed between his open legs. His eyes are wide, a pretty flush already across his nose and cheeks, his chest rising and falling more quickly with the rapid onset of his arousal. 

He’s not fully hard yet, but you felt him start to get there at just the suggestion of sex, a firm press against your belly as you slid down over his body. As you peel away his boxers though, your hand ghosting over his cock to tease him, he starts to stiffen up fully, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen twitching at your touch. 

“Sweetheart,” His hands clench down on the duvet, “you’re killing me,” 

“I’ve barely done anything,” You tease him. 

“Doesn’t matter,” He shakes his head, “I think I’m Pavloved to get hard whenever you touch me,” 

You giggle, shaking your head at his words, “Oh yeah?” 

He hisses as your hand closes around his cock more firmly, his hips jumping, “Mhm,” 

“If that were true, wouldn’t you be hard all the time?” You tease him. 

“I basically am,” He smiles down at you, watching the way your hand strokes up and down over him, “you’re very distracting,” 

“Hmm,” You shift downwards in the bedding so that you’re laying on your front between his legs, propped up on your elbows as you continue to tease him, “that sounds difficult,” 

He snorts a gentle laugh, “I wouldn’t say wanting to fuck my wife all the time is a hardship,” 

Arousal bubbles up at his words and you can feel your face heating, “Well,” you murmur, grazing your nails up his abdomen and pushing up his t-shirt, “it’s a good thing you married me then,” 

“Why’s that?” His voice goes a little breathy as you cup his balls. 

“I’m pretty insatiable,” You press a kiss to his inner thigh, “I need a husband who can keep up,” 

He laughs again, his eyes growing hotter, tongue resting cheekily against his upper teeth, “I’ll show you ‘keeping up’,”

“I know you will,” You kiss him again, “we have days to keep ourselves busy,” 

“And distracted,” He groans lightly as you graze the underside of his shaft with your fingers again. 

“Exactly,” You kiss the velvet head of his cock and watch as his mouth falls open. 

“God,” He sighs.

“Just relax,” You murmur, teasing him slowly with a lap of your tongue, “forget about everything else,” 

He’s quiet at that, and when you search the bond you feel his tight hesitation. 

“Just be here with me, baby,” You touch him more, hands up and down his thighs, another lick, the teasing promise of your mouth, “fuck everything that isn’t you and me in this bed.” 

His breath catches, and you answer the sound by finally sliding your mouth down over his leaking cock. You start slow, practiced and measured, gentle bobs of your head up and down as you focus your tongue on his tip, the taste of his precum already salty and hot on your tongue. 

You lavish your mouth over him, focused on ridding him of any feeling but pleasure and need. Slowly you increase the pace, dropping your mouth down further, your nails scratching lovely lines into his thighs, doubling down on any touch that pulls a breathy noise from his lips. 

Despite his sounds, how you touch him, how you taste him, the knot of tension in his gut stays rock steady. You can feel his mind elsewhere. He’s tense, he’s stressed, and there’s an undercurrent of guilt and shame that you just can’t seem to shake out of him no matter how tender you are with your tongue. 

You know what he needs in a surprising pang of clarity, and strangely, you want it just as much as he does. 

You pull back from his cock to take a breath, and without a glance up at him, you find his hands with yours and draw them close. 

He sucks in a sharp breath as you guide his hands to your head, and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Are you sure?” 

You nod, eyes flicking up to his, “I trust you,” 

He studies your face for a moment, and then his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He swallows tightly, and you feel his fingers sink pleasantly into your hair. 

“This okay?” He checks, his fingers tightening against your scalp just a fraction. 

It’s been years since you’ve allowed anyone to touch you like this, but Yunho’s hands feel perfect. 

It feels good. 

You nod again, your heartbeat quickening in your chest in anticipation.

“If you want me to stop,” He brushes one hand over your hair, keeping it back from your face, “tap my thigh, I’ll let go,” 

“I trust you,” You echo it again, and then you dip back down to take his cock deeply in your mouth, his hands heavy on your head. 

He groans earnestly this time, like he can’t stop the sound from ripping out of his chest, and you know he’s restraining himself still but you can feel his satisfaction in the way his fingertips press down. 

“Jesus,” He manages as you bob your head back up and then down, sinking him as far down your throat as you can, “baby,” 

You stay focused on his cock, teasing him with your tongue, sharp sucks, humming sensations at the velvet tip. 

His hands stay gentle, but present, taking it at your pace and letting you drive. 

When you pull off to take in a breath, you pant out one word, “More,” 

His body freezes, his breath caught in his chest, but you’re already back to sucking him sweetly, and he can barely contain himself as he watches you give everything you have to his cock. 

Slowly, experimentally, Yunho applies more pressure to your head, pushing you down on him just a little to see how you’ll take it. 

Your shoulders relax, and you let him push. This normally scares you, it makes you panic and scramble away with anyone else, but with him? After everything? It’s perfect and dizzying, and all you feel is overwhelming care from his side of the bond. 

You go lax in his hands the more he guides you, and you can feel his hips aching to move under your hands. 

You moan, silently begging him for more, when he stops things.

“F-fuck,” He pulls his hips back, drawing his cock from your lips, “come here, baby,” 

Dazed, you lift up to look at him, “What?” 

“Come here,” He beckons you up to him, “I want you closer,” 

His hands slide under your upper arms, gently tugging you towards him and you climb over his thigh, following his direction until you’re kneeling at his side, your knees by his hips. 

He shifts up in the bed until he’s somewhat seated, reclined against the pillows and headboard, and then he reaches out and cups your cheek, “Come lay down,” 

“Here?” You start to shift like you’re going to lay down next to him the same way, but he shakes his head. 

“Like this,” His hand presses against your back, drawing you down towards his abdomen again, and you realize how he wants you. 

You relax down until you’re curled up, your back to the headboard and your cheek against his stomach. 

Yunho rubs your back, soothing you into the new position, “There we go,” 

Like this, every stitch of his anxiety seems gone. Something deep seated in his body needed to touch you like this, see you like this, and you shiver in anticipation. Positioned like this, all you feel is deliciously submissive. 

“Can I touch your hair like this?” He asks softly. 

You nod against him, “Yeah,” 

“Mm,” He sighs pleasantly, “thank you, baby,” 

Your chest expands with dizzy warmth, and his hand tenderly passes over your hair twice before settling into a comfortable spot on the crown of your head. 

“Ready?” He murmurs. 

You nod. 

“That’s good,” His voice is so warm, low in his chest, “put those pretty lips around my cock again, sweetheart,” 

You melt into him, shifting forward to sink down over his shaft again. 

This time, Yunho’s in control, you’re under no illusions otherwise. You moan as he slowly pushes your head down, directing his cock in just deep enough that it settles heavily on your tongue without irritating the back of your throat. 

“Good girl,” He says, and at that your eyes flutter pleasantly closed. 

You press the flat of your tongue to his cock and relax your mouth, breathing in and out slowly through your nose. 

Yunho finds your hand and lifts it, placing it over his thigh, his hand tightening over yours to illustrate his words, “Tap and we stop, okay?” 

“Mm,” You reply, mouth still full of him. 

“Show me,” He strokes your hair. 

You tap his thigh twice, sharp and unmistakable. 

“Good,” He croons. 

Something about this tone from him has your body unspooling. You were just meant to take his mind off the hate comments, distract him with a little blowjob and maybe take a nap after, but something about this feels like therapy for you too. 

“So pretty for me,” He sighs, stroking your hair, letting his cock rest heavy between your lips. 

You sigh, your mind going soft. 

With his wide hand on your head, he applies a little pressure, directing you into a slow, bobbing motion, “There we go,” he says as you catch on, “that’s it, honey,” 

Your eyes roll, your hand gripping his thigh for purchase. 

He keeps this pace for a while, both your head and his hand moving with deliberate sluggishness. Curled against his side you find yourself breathing in and out deeply, almost meditatively, and with his free hand, Yunho continues to rub your back. He makes no attempt to touch you any other way, just slipping his hand under your loose sleep shirt to feel your skin and soothe you as you take his cock like this. 

Slowly, his hips start to move. First in time with the motion of your head, little undulating thrusts that push his cock a little deeper down your throat with every upstroke, but then you feel his hand tighten on your hair. 

You want him to take it.

That’s your single coherent thought as you whine around his shaft, his hand gathering your hair into a loose fist. 

“Good girl,” He groans, “making me feel so good,” 

You hum again, body relaxing in his grip. 

“Letting me use that perfect mouth,” His voice sounds tight again, thready with his own pleasure. 

You moan at his words, saliva pooling in your mouth, dripping and messy down his cock as he picks up the pace. 

“That’s my girl,” He thrusts a little more, fucking your mouth properly now, “oh, god, look at you,” 

Your eyes are watering, your jaw starting to ache, but don’t want to stop, not even close. 

“Can you take it deep, pretty girl?” 

“Mm,” You nod a little, dropping your head down as far as you can with your hair caught in his fist. 

“Oh, fuck,” He sighs, “of course you can,” 

With a push on your head and a jerk of his hips he buries the full length of his cock down your throat and holds you there. 

Your hand tightens on his thigh and Yunho waits, his body still, giving you the easy opportunity to tap out, but you don’t. 

His hand leaves your back, reaching around to cup his own balls and feel just how deeply you’re taking him. He groans, “So perfect,” 

You make a tight noise, the first tickle at the back of your throat, and he lifts your head up to give you a break from the overwhelming sensation of him stretching your mouth. In a second though he’s back to his pace before, sharp thrusts that drag his cock over your tongue, his breath getting more audible as he uses you. 

You can tell he’s close before he says it, the feeling of his pleasure building in your own gut, but you still moan when you hear him say it, his words punctuated by sharp pants, “I’m gonna come, baby,” 

It happens fast, with a jerk he pulls you off his cock entirely and you suck in a full, startled breath of air. 

He fists his cock, his arm wrapped around you, and he pumps himself hard and fast. 

“Fuck,” He shudders under you, “I’m close,” 

“Please,” Your voice is hoarse, but you nod, holding yourself up with your hands braced on his thighs, “Come,” 

He shudders, groaning, and you close your eyes again as his orgasm hits, warm cum splattering over you - painting your chest, your throat, ropes of his release on your lips and cheeks. 

You’re both breathing heavy, trembling, but Yunho clears the fog with a shake of his head and he releases his tight hold on your hair, easing you down to the bedding. He slips out from under you, dipping off the edge of the bed and you watch as he pulls his boxers back up and darts into the master bathroom and back out again, a damp washcloth in his hands. 

He’s sweaty, his neck and cheeks still dark pink, and you smile up at him as he kneels on the bed to get closer to you. 

“Hey,” He murmurs softly, “relax, let me clean you up,”

Your mind feels mushy and delicious even though you haven’t even come, and all you can manage is to hum a soft, affirmative response as he quickly wipes away his release from your skin. 

Yunho’s eyes flick over you, taking stock of your body language, your facial expression, how you’re feeling in the bond, before tossing the towel aside and laying down to be eye level with you. 

“Jagi,” He says softly, fingertips gentle on your jaw, “are you alright?” 

“Mhm,” You nod lazily. 

“I know that was big,” He massages your jaw with light pressure, “tell me how you’re feeling,” 

Words still feel distant, almost foreign, and you blink, “Good,” you manage. 

His lips turn up on one side, “Floaty?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, and you don’t know how he picked out the perfect word for how you’re feeling but he did. 

“Okay,” Yunho murmurs, “I got you, baby.” 

He wraps you up in his arms again but keeps his eyes on your face, guiding you through whatever soft, blissful feeling you’re swimming through. 

“Love you so much,” He whispers as he kisses your forehead. 

Little by little, your body and your mind seem to come back online, and finally you blink up at him, “Was that okay?” 

“It was amazing,” He assures you, “you’re amazing,” 

You smile, feeling strangely shy. You’ve never done something quite so intimate, never surrendered control like that. You’ve always liked men to be a little bossy, and you’ve loved how direct and vocal Yunho is when you have sex, but this was something altogether more intense and you’ve never felt safer or more held by him. 

His fingers slip into your hair again, massaging your tender scalp, “Was I too rough at all?” 

“No,” You breathe, “just right,” 

He smiles at your expression and nods, “Good,” 

“You feel better?” You manage. 

“Mhm,” He huffs a small laugh as if to say it’s obvious, but then he directs the attention back to you, “did you like that?” 

“A lot,” You confess. 

He grins this time, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, leaning your head back unconsciously into his hand, “you were so gentle,” 

“Good,” He softens, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips, “I love you,” 

“Love you too,” You sigh. 

Yunho gently lets you relax back down onto your back before he slides off the bed again, “I’m going to start the bath for you, okay?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “that sounds nice.” 

“I’ll be just in there, okay?” He nods towards the bathroom, “I’ll come get you in a minute,” 

“Okay,” 

He gives you another smile, and then disappears through the bathroom door. 

For a minute you take stock of your body. You feel relaxed down to your very core, something about the way Yunho held you and touched you during the blowjob felt primal, essential. You stretch out your limbs against the mattress, listening to the steady pour of the water from the next room, and by the time you sit up in the bed you feel strangely proud. It feels like a new chapter, maybe even an entirely new book. 

You pull yourself off the bed and right the sheets, and your eyes catch on Yunho’s phone. 

The rest of the world was undoubtedly talking about you both right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not after that. You take your phone and his and place them both face down on the bedside table, and resolve not to look at them again until much, much later. Whatever the world was saying would have to wait. 

You step into the doorway of the bathroom and smile when you see him again, pangs of your own arousal thrumming back through you. 

Yunho’s crouched by the side of the large, deep porcelain tub, his hand under the steady stream of water to gauge the temperature. 

“Almost ready?” You ask him. 

His head turns a little at the sound of your voice, “Yeah,” he says, “how are you feeling?” 

“Honestly? Kind of amazing,” You say. 

“Good,” He sighs. 

With a smile, you pull your sleep top off. 

Yunho passes his hand through the water in the tub, “it’s a little warm,” 

“I like warm,” You let your top fall to the floor and tug on the drawstring of your pants. 

His back is still to you as he adjusts the temperature of the water one last time. 

While he’s not looking you push your pants down and kick them away, your underwear right along with them, so that when he turns back around you’re naked and standing in the bathroom doorway. 

“I think if you want,” He starts to say as he looks up, but the words die on his lips and his eyes rake over you in an instant. 

“If I want what?” You smile, stepping into the room properly. 

“Want what?” He fumbles over his words, brow creased with confusion as he meets your eyes again. 

“Flustered,” You tease him, “that’s cute, you’ve seen me naked before,” 

He recovers, smirking and reaching for you, “It really does not get old,” he says, “now come here and let me touch you,” 

“Yeah?” You can’t help but take your sweet time, loving his hot eyes on you, the way his voice gets deeper when he sees you like this. 

He takes two steps towards you, pulling off his white t-shirt and letting it drop to the floor beside your discarded clothes, “I said, come here,” he murmurs as he gently tugs you into his space, “and let me touch you.” 

His hands travel over you slowly, lovingly. 

For a split second you think of the world outside, your phones on the nightstand, and you dip closer to press yourself against his bare chest, soaking up the feeling of so much skin on skin. 

“Hey,” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, “you okay?” 

You nod, “I’m good,” 

“You sure?” He checks, feeling the sudden pangs of tension in your chest. 

“Yeah,” You kiss his bare chest, “I just thought about everything else for a second,” 

“Mm,” He hums, a hand softly in your hair, “I got you, let’s just relax,” 

He draws you to the edge of the bath and checks the water once again, but you’re already reaching in, finding the water just the right amount of hot. He’s shucking off his boxers as you straighten back up to tie up your hair.

“Perfect,” You step directly into the water. 

Yunho’s hand settles under your elbow, “Careful,” 

“Babe,” You chastise him lightly, but if you’re being honest the affection in his voice and his tender care with you is something you could never really tire of, not when it’s him. 

“I don’t want you to slip,” He admits, stepping in behind you until you’re both standing in the center of the deep basin of water. 

“Mhm,” You start to say more, but his arms wrap around you loosely, his body nestled close to yours. 

“Look at that,” He says, nodding towards the floor to ceiling window along one wall of the bathroom. 

You look back up at the view and any teasing thoughts slip out of your mind. It’s beautiful, a private view only for your eyes, hidden away from the world entirely. The dark rocky beach outside leads right into the bright blue ocean, a little slice of heaven tucked away along the coastline in Jeju. 

“Now this,” You sigh, “this feels like a honeymoon,” 

Yunho kisses your shoulder, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” 

He kisses you again and then shifts back to sit down in the bath and you sink down into the water with him. His hands slide across your body and draw you back so that you’re settled between his open legs, your back resting on his chest. 

“Not too hot?” He asks. 

“Mm-mm,” You shake your head against the broad plane of his shoulder. 

Tangled together in the warmth of the water you rest, letting the tension in your muscles unspool, watching the waves surge against the rocks outside. For a while you just let it be, his arms wrapped around you in the cocoon of the water, fingertips grazing gently along your skin. 

“It looks like rain,” He finally says softly. 

You nod, “A storm,” 

“That’s alright,” He kisses your hair, “we don’t have anywhere to be,” 

You soften in his embrace, cuddled against him, “True,” you murmur, “just here.” 

“Tonight,” He says, “I’m thinking, movies on the couch? The TV out there is huge we could set it up like a theater,” 

“Like a sleepover,” You smile.

“Great idea,”

 “We’ll bring the pillows and duvet out,” You say, “oh, and snacks,” 

You feel his happiness, his contented warmth through the bond, “I love it,” 

Turning your head, you catch his bicep with a quick kiss, “This house is so nice, this is like rich rich.” 

He hums, gathering you a little closer, “Yeah,” he nods, “do you like it?” 

“It’s nice,” You tell him honestly, “this view is crazy,” 

A few birds cut across the darkening sky, the waves rougher against the rocks, but inside it’s perfectly silent and warm. 

He huffs a little laugh against your hair, “You want a house like this?” 

You shake your head immediately, “That’s crazy,” 

“Why?” He kisses your hair. 

“Yunho,” You nudge him gently with your elbow. 

“Yeobo,” He says affectionately, amusement in his voice, “I have money,” 

“Not this much money,” You laugh. 

He’s quiet, not laughing along like you’d expect, and then he clears his throat, “I do, actually,”  

You turn your head, twisting to see his face, “What?” 

“Uh,” He blushes a little, “well yeah, when I was eighteen my father helped me set up a few funds for myself, a way to keep my salary set aside as a nest egg and then some investments.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“Now that I’m sure we won’t have to pay back any debts, and we’ll start getting properly compensated for the albums,” He smiles, “well, if I don’t have enough to buy this house today, I’ll have it in a year or two.” 

“Fuck,” You blink, the curse slipping out. 

He laughs, his head dropping to lean his forehead against your hair, “Did you think I was completely broke?” 

“You always hear about idols who never get their paychecks,” You counter, “like five years in and they don’t have a cent,” 

He shakes his head, lifting up to meet your eyes, “Well, I’m definitely not broke,” he smiles, “I like that you married me anyways, though,” 

You roll your eyes, nudging him in the chest, water sloshing around you, “Shut up,” 

He grins, “So,” he gestures with a jerk of his head to the room, “you want a house like this someday?” 

“This?” You shake your head, “This place is too much,” 

He looks amused at that idea. 

“Do you want a house like this?” 

He shrugs, “We could,” 

“You’re serious,” You laugh, still wide eyed in surprise. 

“You’re cute,” He kisses your lips once, before shifting you back to your reclined position in his arms against his chest, “you really thought I was broke,” 

“I don’t know,” You grumble, finding his hand under the water and thoughtlessly playing with his fingers. 

He smiles against your hair, and the sky outside opens up with rain. For a few moments you both rest together again, and then he murmurs a soft question, “y/n,” he says, “before Berlin, what did you imagine for your life?” 

 “My life?” You turn your head a little, your cheek against his wet chest. 

“Mhm,” He hums, the warm vibration of his tone running through you, “did you have big career dreams? A house in the country? You’ve never said,” 

You smile, your eyes locked on his wedding band and yours under the water, “I don’t know,” you confess, “for a long time I was just focused on making it out of my house, and then focused on protecting Hana,” 

He strokes your arm gently, listening quietly. 

“I imagined finding my soulmate someday,” You murmur, “and I love Seoul, I think it would be hard to leave the city. I love my life there, and my work is definitely suited for it,” 

“Mm,” He nods. 

“I don’t know,” You confess, “I just want a place of our own, somewhere we can make memories, I’ve never really worried about how big or how nice it would be,”

“I’d like that,” He murmurs. 

Your eyes drift shut and you think about your life, the images you played in your mind over and over while you waited for his call at Hana and Em’s. 

“I’d like a garden,” You continue, “and a nice kitchen. I’m not the best cook, but I’d like to learn,” 

Yunho’s hand laces with yours and he brings them up out of the water to kiss your knuckles, “What else?” 

“Hmm,” You shiver at the cool air in the room and he wraps you up, “a big bed, you’re so tall.” 

He laughs. 

Your stomach flip flops and you let your eyes open, finding your rings again before you confess a little more, “Maybe some extra bedrooms,” 

Yunho’s breath catches, his body stiffening behind you, “Yeah?” His voice is small, tentative as he searches for your meaning. 

You swallow tightly, a nervous bubble in your chest, “Enough space to grow into,” your voice nearly a whisper, “if we want a family?” 

He’s quiet, but his lips drop to rest on the crown of your head. He takes in a slow breath and then says, “How many extra bedrooms do you think we’ll need?” 

Warmth floods the bond, unfettered tenderness in your chest, “Maybe two?” 

Yunho squeezes your hand, “Two’s great, two’s perfect,” 

“You think so?” Your smile grows. 

He nods, “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“Someday,” You kiss his arm again. 

“Someday,” He agrees, his hand coming to rest over your soulmark, his palm warm over the sensitive skin of your looping red tattoo. 

You hum pleasantly as he kisses your forehead, your eyes drifting shut with a sigh. For a minute, you just listen to the rain against the window, your hearts syncing up their rhythms. The water laps around you with every little movement, relaxing you both into a pliant, warm mess of limbs. 

Yunho shifts behind you, and then the hand over your soulmark shifts, and you gasp lightly as it closes over your breast, kneading the soft flesh with gentle firmness. 

“Oh,” You exhale, “that’s nice,” 

“Mhm,” He squeezes your breast again, fingers teasing gently at your nipple while his opposite hand drifts down your belly, a promising descent towards your parted thighs. 

Your body responds instantly, heat reigniting to the surface. 

“I think it’s your turn,” He murmurs. 

You nod against his chest. 

“Let me take care of you, pretty girl,” He says as his finger curls over your mound and dips into your slick folds. 

“Oh, yes,” You sigh, letting your legs fall open a little more, your knees pressing against Yunho’s inner thighs. 

“Mm,” He slides his fingers over your clit, “you’re wet,” 

You can feel that you’re slippery from how easily he’s touching you, the bath water not enough to dull how much you want him, and you nod. 

“Are you that easy?” He says appreciatively, “Or have you been wet this whole time?” 

You moan as he rocks his fingers, “Whole time,” 

“Sucking my cock got you wet?” He teases. 

You nod, your legs straining to open wider despite the lack of space in the tub. 

“Look at you squirming,” He dips his head, nudging your face to the side so he can kiss your temple. 

“Feels good,” You sigh, your hips twitching to chase the stroke of his fingers as he rubs you. 

Yunho pulls his fingers away from your aching cunt and you suck in a sharp breath, “Relax,” he nips at your ear, “I’ll make you come,”

“But,” You manage, breathless already. 

“Let me touch you,” His hands feel heavier on your body this time, dragging up your stomach, over your sides, cupping your breasts in his large hands. 

You buck as his fingers tease at your nipples. 

“So sensitive,” He comments softly, “I wonder if you could come just from this?” 

“From this?” You gasp sharply as his fingers flick back and forth over your hardening nipples. 

Pleasure arcs through you, molten and throbbing from your chest down to your clit, and you grip down on his thighs. 

“That good?” He adjusts, leaning forwards a bit so he can kiss down your neck, sucking over your pulse point as he teases your nipples. 

You whine sharply, hips bucking on their own, “Oh, god,” 

He squeezes both your breasts again and groans, “Oh, baby,” he sighs, “one of these days I’m going to spend all night playing with these perfect tits,” 

“Please,” You pant, but what you really need is his fingers on your clit again. 

“Mm,” He drags his hands down, exploring your body under the water again, “I want to do everything with you,” 

“Yeah,” You breath, head lolling back onto his chest again, “yes,” 

Yunho’s hands settle on your hips, and then they stop. 

An involuntary whimper bubbles out of you and your hips rock, looking for some kind of touch, some friction. 

He takes in a slow, steady breath and then exhales against your temple, “What do you want, jagi?” 

Your hand searches for his, trying to tug it down between your open thighs, “You know what I want,” 

“Do I?” You can feel his smirk against your skin. 

Yunho lets you move his hand, pushing it into the right place over your slit, but he doesn’t move at all. You press down over his hand, trying to get his fingers back in the right spot, “Yunho,” you whine.

“Ask me nicely,” He says simply, “ask for what you want, and I’ll do it.” 

“Touch me,” You beg. 

“I am touching you,” He squeezes your hip. 

“Yunho,” 

“Ask me nicely,” He enunciates every word, his lips against your ear. 

Your heartbeat picks up, hammering in your chest. This side of him brings out something in you that you never understood before, but now you don’t know if you could feel this good any other way. 

“I already know what you want,” He murmurs, “I want to hear you ask for it,” 

You swallow tightly, “Please, Yunho,” you say, “will you make me come?” 

He smiles against your ear, “How?” 

Your nails dig into his skin, “Rub my clit,” 

“Uh huh,” He nods, prompting you. 

“Please,” You correct, realizing what he wants to hear, “Will you rub my clit, please?” 

“Of course, baby,” He teases, and all at once he starts to play your body like an instrument. 

His fingers shift over your clit, circling with perfect, firm pressure, and his other hand slides up your body, his fingers splayed wide over your chest and pinning you in place to his shoulder. 

You arch into him, one hand flying out of the water to grip the side of the tub, “Oh, fuck,” 

“There you go,” He says low against your forehead, “does that feel good?” 

“So good,” You shudder in his arms, “don’t stop,” 

“Not gonna stop,” He promises, his fingers sliding through your slick slit to gather more wetness, doubling his efforts on your clit. 

Your eyes slam shut, your body rocking against him as he cages you in, and you feel the stiff length of his cock nudging at your back the longer you writhe against him, the only sounds in the room, your echoing moans and the rhythmic slosh of the water. 

“Love you like this,” He groans, his hand sliding up to the base of your throat, “who knew my soulmate would be such a needy, filthy girl?” 

Pressure tightens in your gut, “God, oh god,” 

“And so good for me,” He sighs, rolling his fingers faster, “you like being told what to do, don’t you?” 

“Yes!” Your mind is starting to fray at the edges, only pleasure and his voice and the warm water. 

Yunho leans forwards in the tub, sitting up properly and slipping the hand that was on your throat under the water and between your legs. You’re not ready for the sensation of two of his fingers pushing inside you, and you gasp, your hand slipping on the porcelain lip of the tub, your body snapping forwards. 

“Ah, ah,” He’s quick to catch you, pulling his fingers out and bracing you back against his chest, “careful, babygirl,” 

You can’t say a word, your body too close to the edge. Your hips rut with needy, artless jerks into the firm press of his fingers, and you reach back to grip onto his shoulder, a whimper on your lips. 

“Suck,” He says suddenly, pressing two of his fingers through your lips, and you accept them with ease, “good girl, good girl,” 

You taste yourself on his fingers, lips closing instinctively just like he wanted you to, and through the dizzy haze of your almost orgasm you suck, taking them heavy on your tongue. 

He groans, his breath hot on your ear. 

Whimpering, your legs jerk with a spasm of sensation, just a little more and you’ll tip right over. 

Yunho laughs, amusement in his voice at how quickly you’re following his every direction, “Oh,” he drags out the sound to tease you, “needy girl,” 

You whine, clinging to his slick shoulder. 

“Come like that, just like that,” He says, “suck on my fingers while you come,” 

You inhale sharply through your nose, head digging into his shoulder as you arch, “Mm, mm!”

“There it is,” He pants, rubbing your clit faster, “there it is, come on, sweetheart, come for me,” 

Your orgasm slams into you, and you shudder in his arms, your body jerking so sharply that water sloshes over the side of the bath, but he just stays focused and works you through it. 

You jerk your head and he pulls his fingers free as you moan out the broken sound of his name. 

“I got you,” He kisses whatever part of your skin he can reach at this angle, “I got you, that’s it,” 

When his fingers finally slow, your brain is buzzing. You’re slumped lower in the water, your legs clamped together and bent at the knees, and you're shaking from your top to your toes. 

“Holy shit,” Yunho breathes, his hands finding your waist to pull you back up out of the water and against his chest again. 

You manage a nod, but your chest is still heaving. 

He kisses the side of your head hard and chuckles, “I think you have an oral fixation,” 

His words don’t sink through the cottony afterglow of your brain though, “Hmm?” 

“Nothing,” He smiles, “not a thing,” 

You feel the hard nudge of his cock against your lower back, and you twist in the bath, more water sloshing over the sides as you follow the needy pull inside you, finding his mouth, “Kiss me,” 

He groans against your lips, his tongue flicking against yours. 

“I want you,” You confess, trying to turn around despite the tangle of his long legs, “please,” 

He nods, but pushes you back, “Let’s go to bed, the bath isn’t big enough for that,” 

“Yeah,” You slide backwards in the tub through the water, and try to stand but find your legs still a little weak. 

“Hang on,” He holds a hand out to you, keeping you in place. 

He climbs out of the bathtub, grabbing a towel from a hook on the wall and tossing it down on the wet floor to keep you both from slipping, and then he locates two luxuriously fluffy looking white robes and smiles down at you, “Here, baby,” 

He pulls his robe on first, and then holds one out to you, slipping it on you as you get out of the tub. You wrap the robe around yourself, tying the cord, but before you can dry off properly, Yunho pulls you into his arms, one arm under your knees as he carries you. 

A startled noise slips out and you laugh, “Yunho!” 

“You’re still shaking,” He says, stepping back into the master bedroom, “I’m just helping,” 

He tucks you both into bed despite your still wet skin, yanking the fluffy duvet up over both of you until you’re completely encased under the covers with him. He tugs you close, wrapping his arms around you until you’re chest to chest, nose to nose. 

You laugh softly, “What are you doing?” 

“Warming you up,” He murmurs, rubbing up and down your back, “you’re shivering,” 

You reach up, looping your arms around his shoulders and diving into another kiss. His hands on your back slow, fingers gripping down as the kiss heats up again, and you pull yourself closer to touch more of him. 

Your robe parts open naturally as your legs tangle together, and Yunho slips a hand underneath to cup your ass, groaning into your mouth as you buck against him. You lose yourselves in the kiss, more skin starting to press together, and your heart beats hard in your chest, the heat between you building in steady waves. 

“Love kissing you,” He pants before dipping his tongue back into your mouth. 

Something between a sigh and a moan slips from your lips and you nod, “Love you,” 

His hand travels, sliding up to lock down on your hip. 

Your body’s thrumming, the orgasm in the bath only enough to settle your need for him for a few moments. Tucked away with him like this, the warm air of your shared breath, just the sounds of your bodies together, it’s enough to make you wish this were your whole life. Rich, tucked away on the coastline, only the two of you, no amount of days together enough to sate this hunger in your belly.  

His hand slips between your bodies where your stomach presses into his, and he finds the tie of your robe, pulling at just the right angle for the knot to come undone and the fabric to fall slack around your body. 

“Mm,” You slip a hand into his robe, gripping his firm ass, “please,” 

His hot eyes flick over you, settling on your face, “You need it?” 

“Yes,” You breathe. 

“Hold onto me,” He says as he kisses you once more, and then he hikes your leg up by your knee to hook over his hip, opening you up wide. 

You grip down on his shoulders, “Yes, yes,” 

Reaching between your bodies he pushes his robe open and directs his hard length into your slick heat, no amount of hesitation in the way he pushes into you. Once his cock catches, he secures a hand back on your ass and drags you down as he thrusts, sheathing himself deep inside you. 

You moan at the familiar stretch, “Oh, Yunho,” 

“Baby,” He shivers, “god,” 

Without another word, you sink into each other. Your lips connecting in a crash, tongues tangling as you moan into him. Using his shoulders and your leg hitched over his hip to secure yourself to him, you start to roll your body.  Yunho curses, hips snapping into a steady rhythm, his hands anchored on your naked skin and pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke. 

It’s needy, frantic, and you wonder distantly if there will ever be a time that sex with him doesn’t feel like an all consuming wildfire in your veins. This time there’s nothing to say, no teasing, no dirty talk, just both of you moving hungrily together, every kiss bringing you higher and higher as his cock spears you open. 

You fuck like this until Yunho changes the tempo, responding to the sound of your arden whimpers. 

Without breaking the kiss he rolls onto his back, dragging you with him so that you’re perched on his hips, the sudden position change pushing his cock in to the hilt. 

You moan sharply, the kiss disconnecting as you tremble over him, “Oh my f-fuck,” 

His hands grip your hips, “You’re so tight,” 

Heat floods your brain, and you scramble to sit upright, your robe falling off your shoulders. You shove it off, pushing it to the side, and then pull open the tie on Yunho’s robe, getting it open so you can see all of him. 

“C’mere,” Yunho mumbles, taking your hands in his and lacing your fingers together, “god, you’re beautiful,” 

Your cunt clenches around him. 

“Yes,” He nods, pupils blown with desire as he looks up at you, “ride me,” 

Using his hands as your balance, you lean into it, hooking your feet over his muscular thighs. You bounce on him slowly at first, getting used to the feeling of how deep inside you his cock connects every time you drop down, but once you have it, you let yourself get lost in it. 

His eyes flick from your face down to the connection of your bodies, and his plush lips part as he watches his cock disappear all the way into your slick sex again and again. 

“Good girl,” He sighs, squeezing your hands, “that’s it, baby, keep fucking yourself on my cock,” 

You gasp sharply, pleasure blooming inside you, his and yours all at once in a tangled mess of want. 

“Oh god,” Your thighs are aching, but you keep going, up and down with every breath, the sound of your bodies wet and messy. 

“Say my name,” He pants. 

You crumble a little, shoulders caving in but he holds you steady with his hands, “Yunho,” you moan, “Yunho, Yunho,” 

“That’s right,” He says, nodding up at you, “tell me how good it feels, babygirl,” 

“S-so good,” You can feel it building, knotting in your belly, “love your cock,” 

“Yeah?” He groans, his head pressing back into the pillows. 

“Yes, yes,” You grip his hands harder. 

“Don’t stop,” His eyes find yours, “ride me until you’re coming all over this dick, baby,” 

You fall forwards, pressing his hands back into the mattress, and your brain shorts. In a breath you’re dropping down your hips so that he’s fully buried inside you, a cry on your lips as you start to grind against him. 

Yunho disconnects your hands and you collapse on his chest, your head over his shoulder, lips against his throat, your body just jerking and grinding against him as you chase your pleasure. 

He hisses, his arms banding around you, “Fuck, pretty girl,” 

You whimper into him, “Need it,” 

“I know,” He murmurs, turning his head to yours, “I got you,” 

“Close,” 

He holds you to his chest, his lips at your forehead, “Come for me, sweetheart,” 

“Oh, god,” You grind down on him harder, endlessly rolling your hips, faster and faster as your body tightens. 

“You’re all mine,” He soothes, “aren’t you, gorgeous girl?” 

“All yours,” You babble into his skin. 

He groans, his hips jerking under you just once, but he holds himself still so you can take what you need. 

It comes over you fast, and you fall apart into needy shakes above him, biting down on his shoulder as your body breaks open. Sucking in a sharp breath, he adjusts his legs under you, and with a few hurried thrusts into your spasming cunt, he spills himself hot and deep inside you. 

“Perfect girl,” He presses kisses over your face, holding you to his chest, “love you so much,” 

You’re still panting, out of breath, but you nod, “L-love you,” 

You fall asleep in a tangle of sheets, his cock still deep in you, his hands stroking a tender line down your back. 

The world outside, completely forgotten. 

Nothing but you and Yunho and your makeshift honeymoon suite. 

**remember to continue on to section 2!