#and i'm going to be looking into this author

[cherrygirlfriend]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT? ✮

✮ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

✮ summary: agreeing to go to a party with you and meeting your friends for the first time causes rafe to have insecurities and doubts.

✮ warnings / tags: angst. fluff. hurt and comfort. punching someone. insecurity. nudity. them being ridiculously perfect for each other. wc: 2k

✮ author's note: what’s been up with me making these two suffer lately… tbh i just wanna deepen their emotional bond!! but dw i have freaky smut coming up for them soon!!

PERVERT MASTERLIST ✮ 5K MASTERLIST

people say that opposites attract, and that saying was a fact when it came to you and your boyfriend. you and rafe were like day and night; all the bouncers at all the clubs and bars within a five-mile radius of your university campus knew you by name, meanwhile every professor on campus knew your boyfriend by his name, all of them delighted whenever they found out they got to teach him. sometimes, a single outfit of yours had less fabric than one piece of rafe's outfit. rafe did more studying in one weekend than you did in a month. he was a virgin when you started dating, and you were... experienced.

and your boyfriend was definitely not a party animal.

"c'mon..." you coaxed, "i can't go alone. besides, i want you to meet my friends!" you whined, "your friends are gonna hate me." rafe deadpanned, his brows raised. "no they won't. so what if you're different from them? i'm sure you can find something to talk to them about." "like what? shoes and purses?" "like how much you adore me." your lips quirked up into a grin and you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, "pleaaase?"

honestly, rafe's assumption wasn't that far from the truth; when you'd first told your friends that you were dating him, they all looked at you like you'd grown a second head. but it never mattered to you; you adores rafe, and even though you two sometimes got strange looks from people and your friends got weird whenever you mentioned him, it never bothered you.

"pleaseeee?" you stuck out your bottom lip, doing your best to put on a 'sad puppy dog' look. "fine." rafe grumbled, running a hand over his face, "only because you're cute."

"this is gonna earn you a reward..." you giggled, biting down on your lower lip and running your manicured finger down rafe's chest, the suggestive tone of your voice and the feel of your long nail against his muscles through his shirt causing his own voice to go hoarse, "i didn't... didn't even ask for that." "don't care." you give rafe a quick peck, "good boys get rewarded."

you'd told rafe that it'd take you around an hour to get ready, but the two of you had finally gotten to the frat house nearly three hours after you'd told rafe it'd take you an hour, but you'd just mumbled, "fashionably late..." into his ear.

but once you got to the frat house the party was being held at, you got past with ease... but the random dude at the fraternity door who acted as the bouncer looked at your boyfriend up and down and let out a disgusted 'eugh', making rafe look down at the ground, his cheeks starting to redden as he switched from one foot to the other, the other boy letting out a belittling chuckle, "sorry, but you're gonna have to ditch him."

you could see your boyfriend's face fall and him starting to step back, only for you to pull rafe back to you and looking at the boy standing at the door with the bitchiest smile you could muster up.

"he's my boyfriend." you said as calmly as you possibly could, even though you truly wanted to punch the living hell out of that dude, "and if you don't want him inside, it's gonna take me about two minutes to get every girl at your shitty ass party out." you smiled widely, "so, if you want a sausage party, then go ahead."

the boy's gaze went over rafe once again, a small groan leaving his lips. "alright, go in…" the faux-bouncer mumbled, and your smile widened as the boy stepped aside, making sure to bump into his side as you passed him.

"you didn't have to do that… i could've just gone back to the dorms." rafe leaned closer to you so you could hear him through the blaring music, only for you to take his hand in yours and squeezing it, "please. like i'd let someone get away with talking to you like that." you smiled up at him, "should we go find my friends?" rafe took in a deep breath before turning to you with a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

rafe felt out of place. when you'd introduced him to your friends with a cheerful, "this is my boyfriend, rafe." and brought his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss on the back of his hand that left a glossy imprint there.

after your friends had awkwardly introduced themselves to rafe, looking at him up and down the same way the guy outside had, they went back to how they'd been before; chattering about something had no understanding of, with you joining in while your friends acted like he wasn't there.

lately, he'd been noticing all the ways you were different in. you went out nearly every weekend while rafe stayed in his dormitory either studying, reading, or gaming. you felt so confident you brightened up every room you walked into, meanwhile he felt like he was nothing but a dark cloud that followed you around. you seemed to get along with everyone, being able to make a friend in almost any setting, meanwhile most of his friends were ones that he'd met online.

even now, with the two of you being surrounded by crowds of sweaty people pressed to one another, music blasting so loudly the floors sticky with spilled booze were shaking, you looked like there was nowhere you'd rather be; meanwhile rafe's flight instinct was kicking in.

he leaned close to your ear and quietly said, "hey, i'm gonna go to the bathroom." pulling back and trying to give you a convincing smile. "okay." you nodded, and when he freed his fingers from your own, you reluctantly let go of his hand, watching as he made his way through the crowd, a small frown on your lips.

rafe gripped the bathroom sink, his knuckles turning white as he took tried to steady his breathing, his heart beating to the rhythm of the bass he could hear through the bathroom door. "get it together..." he mumbled under his breath. rafe took off his glasses and placed them down, turning the faucet on, splashing cold water on his face, wishing it could wash away all the thoughts plaguing his mind.

all the thoughts about how much happier you'd be with someone who you didn't have to beg to come out with you. all the thoughts about how much your friends would be more accepting of someone they thought was more suitable for you. all the thoughts about how he wasn't good enough for you. how he would never be good enough for you.

rafe was startled by someone beating their fist against the door, swiftly turning the faucet off and drying his face on a towel before turning to the mirror, "just be normal. just... be normal." he mumbled, putting his glasses back on.

the boy spotted you almost immediately as he was making hi way through the crowd, recognizing the outfit you'd spent too much time choosing, but it seemed like you hadn't spotted him. rafe's brows furrowed as he got closer to you, a dark-haired guy leaning close to you, a cup in his hand, his other hand on your arm, your jaw clenched.

"c'mon. we had fun last time, didn't we?" rafe overheard the guy say, almost as if he was boasting, deciding to stop a small distance away to see how the situation would play out. "let's just ditch the party and go to my room."

"that was ages ago. i have a boyfriend, thomas." "so?" the boy laughed, "your little einstein doesn't need to know. everyone knows you're just dating him so you can better your grades." "you think i'm that big of an idiot that i need to date someone to get better grades?" you scoffed, shaking your head, "then, what's it for? you pity him because he has like three friends?"

"i know this concept might be strange for you, but some people actually like others because of who they are and not just because of their bodies." you remarked,

"well, you weren't like that before." thomas rolled his eyes while you narrowed your eyes, "what do you mean by that?" you asked, cocking your head to the side. "i mean, you used to fuck anything that moved, fucking slut. now you're just with some nothing loser who probably doesn't know how to fuck." thomas laughed, rafe's jaw clenching, intending to interrupt until—

THUMP!

your fist made contact with thomas's face, the drunk boy falling to the ground as you took in a sharp breath, shaking your hand with an 'ouch'. "just so you know," you look down at him, your words coming out slightly clumsily, "he's better than you. and bigger. take that." you turned to walk away from thomas, but when you noticed rafe standing there with a stunned expression on his face, you froze, looking like a deer in headlights. "rafe."

but rafe simply chuckled, taking the hand that hadn't just greeted thomas, pulling you through the crowd, hurrying you outside.

you were breathing heavily, goosebumps forming on your skin from going from the hot, packed party to the chilly outside air, looking up at rafe, "rafe, i can explain, i know i shouldn't—"

but you were silenced by rafe leaning down, pressing his lips on yours, his large hands going to cup your cheeks, and as his lips moved on yours, he hoped it conveyed everything he thought, everything he worried about, and everything you somehow managed to make him feel.

when rafe pulled away, he tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, his thumb going to stroke the soft skin of your cheek. "weirdly, that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." rafe looked down, gently taking the hand that you'd punched thomas with as a hiss left your lips, the boy noticing some bruising on your knuckles, a few of them even bleeding, "let's get back to my dorm and fix this up, yeah?"

every time the antiseptic made contact with one of the cuts on your knuckles, you let out a quiet hiss, each of them sounding unfairly adorable to rafe.

"this is the cost of punching dickheads." he jokingly mumbled, "well, i had to protect your honor." you shrugged, making rafe furrow his brows as he applied lotion onto the cuts, "my honor?" "he called you a nothing loser. i'm not gonna let that slide."

"i thought you punched him because he called you... that." "oh, no. i've heard it many times. if they wanna shame me for liking sex then they can go ahead and do that. but i'm not gonna let them say something like that about you."

your words made rafe's lips quirk up a little, "so, are you my knight in shining armor?" "only if it's one of those ridiculously skimpy armors they give to female characters in games." you grinned, rafe shaking his head. once your boyfriend had applied band-aids onto your knuckles, he pressed a kiss on each of them.

it wasn't long until the two of you were under rafe's blanket, your naked bodies pressed together, rafe holding the hand he'd patched up, "you know, sometimes i worry that i'm not good enough for you." he mumbled, "why would you think that?" "i'm... i'm not like guys you've been with before. i'm not into parties, i'm not cool and confident..." "you're also not a total dickhead." "yeah, that." rafe chuckled softly, "i don't know. what if you were happier with someone more like you?"

"the thing is... i think you are like me, rafe." "how's that? we're... so different." "yeah, we have different interests, we have different personalities..." you bring your hand to rest over his heart, "but when i'm with you... i feel connected to you in a way i haven't before. like we're one."

"that's weirdly poetic." rafe chuckled softly, "i think you're secretly a sap." "shut up." you rolled your eyes, "but i know what you mean. like we're two sides of the same coin."

"yeah. and for me, that's better than anything or anyone else. i don't care if i could have the world's most perfect person. because they'll never measure up to you. i wouldn't want to love anyone else but you."

rafe smiled, bringing his lips to your forehead, "no one else." he whispered, pressing a kiss there.

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[fragranticareviewers]

As someone who doesn't know a thing about perfumes, reading what you have to say about them is so unbelievably cool!

If I may ask something, what would a magical girl use, but not the pink main one, maybe the orange/yellow one?

ive been sitting with this for a little bit rotating it in my head... this will be a long one

so im putting my answers into two different categories:

one is for the Orange Magical Girl Archetype, which is how i was thinking of the first one. in my head, the orange ones are usually sporty, energetic, and have a sun or fire theme going on, while still maintaining a lot of that youthful sparkly fun vibe. (i also personally associate them with citrus, because, well, orange) so i was thinking of that. this will be my first category of answers.

olympea solar by rabanne - yummy! white florals and mandarin orange.

h&m sunray - golden warmth by h&m - straight up smells like summer. sunscreen, coconut, slightly floral?

orange ice cream by colornoise - i have no idea if this one is good or not to be honest. but it looks like it should fit. i trust it. i believe in it.

dr. botica poção da criatividade by o boticário - ok pause. i have never seen this mentioned before by anyone and found it by accident. what is this. this is ridiculously cute. how do i get my hands on it? the bottle is so cute! it has a star for god's sake

sundrunk by imaginary authors - "oh noo it's so linear" "it doesn't smell like a city on fire or bull's blood" i don't care. smells like artificial orange flavoring followed by neroli. yummy

...so this was my first thought.

then i started thinking: what about the actual orange magical girls from things i've watched? what do i associate with them?

and then i realized: WHERE ARE ALL THE ORANGE MAGICAL GIRLS?? i can think of, like, 5 total! all of them have completely different personalities! everyone's always like "ohh toei hates making green magical girls, we're starving, please feed us more green magical girls please" as if there is not currently a CRISIS of MAGICAL GIRLS WHO WEAR ORANGE in their series even greater than this...

with that said: the 5 magical girls i can think of who are primarily orange all have completely different associations for me, so i figured it'd be fun to pick a perfume or two for each of them.

cure soleil from star twinkle precure - i think they technically classify her as yellow so she might not even count. that's stupid. she's orange. being blonde does not change the color of her outfit.

for her, i pick aqua allegoria nettare di sole by guerlain. it has solar notes, which are critical for her IMO, along with beautiful white florals, which i think matches with her association with flowers.

hazuki from ojamajo doremi - ah, i'm struggling with this a bit.. she's very shy, naive, and studious, with an interest in things like violin and ballet. i was hoping i could find something with maybe a light varnish accord, but no luck. instead, i looked for things with an old book/paper smell without being overly dark or old, and i'm stuck between these 2...

gion by fantome - powdery rose tea with honey and books. light and cute.

morning room by solstice scents - you thought i was gonna do a recommendation post without mentioning solstice scents huh? huh?? *beats you up* this is another powdery and light floral, this time mostly based on violet instead of rose. and, of course, there's a paper note in here.

cure sunny from smile precure - i'm realizing that, in my head, she is the prototypical orange magical girl. i may be biased because she's also my favorite. i want to find something that evokes fire without being overly smoky or autumnal.

beach bonfire by alchemic muse - a firey gourmand with a little bit of nice sandalwood and amber, nice!

fire opal (orange 2; natural) by dsh perfumes - planning on getting a sample of this. bitter orange that people are complaining is "too masculine"

sailor venus from sailor moon - oh god. is she orange? anyways, i think i'd associate her with like, makeup accords, like the way lipstick smells. but fun and silly. it'd be cool if i could find a light and fun fragrance with a hot iron accord because she has a chain attack and all that, but no such thing seems to exist

iris crush by jimmy choo - powdery floral lipstick. yay!

nagisa momoe from puella magi madoka magica - is this even a question?

cheesecake by arcana wildcraft.

anyways, to be transparent, a lot of the time i don't answer fandom/character requests because it's always things i've never watched/read/played/etc. before. but mahou shoujo... well i've heard of it

[kdh-tally]

Huntr/x and The Saja Boys being Jealous

Prompt : How Huntr/x and the Saja Boys would react to their partner being flirted with. @erisanix

Author’s Note : I’m so sorry it took me so long to get to this 😭 Hope you enjoy!!! So it was only after writing this (and preparing to publish this) that I realised you probably meant partner as in the reader... I'm so sorry- and will rewrite this if you want

Abby when someone flirts with Mira

The two of them are working out.

Neither of them need it but Abby insists that they work to keep their muscles in shape (insert unnecessary flexing here)

Some dude decides to work out next to them and when abby leaves to grab them water, the person takes their chance to talk with Mira. 

His first reaction is to laugh. 

Like, genuinely finds it funny.

How did anyone have the audacity to flirt with Mira???

“You’re trying to flirt with her?”

“Oh… you’re serious.”

He’d walk over, arm casually slipping over her shoulder as she glares at the person trying to make a move on her

He wouldn’t say a thing first and would just stand there smiling.

Normally, most people would use their brains and back off once they see that:

1. Mira isn’t interested

2. This huge guy with muscles in standing by her like a body guard and could very much easily beat them up

However, lets say the person keeps going

While Abby knows fully well that Mira can handle herself, he likes playing knight-in shining armour.

“She’s taken” he’d smirk condescendingly at the person (who is now shaking in their boots) 

He doesn’t get jealous so much, but will get competitive.

It also gives him an extra EXTRA confidence boost knowing that he (and romance ig 😒) is actually Mira’s boyfriend.

“You think she’d want you? Try again in your next life.”

(He wouldn’t say this in front of Mira of course cause she would obliterate him)

Once they’re gone, he’s gentle and playful again.

“I feel bad for them”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember how long it took me and romance to convince you to go out with us?”

“Yea-”

“And you liked us” he pointed out in disbelief “That poor person bro. They stood no chance” he’d shake his head dramatically watching the flirter walk away defeatedly.

Romance when someone flirts with Mira

They were both in the practice room. Mira testing out new lyrics with him and Romance just watching her.

A new staff member, who wasn’t briefed on any of the relationships between the groups, attempts to make a move on Mira.

Romance is smiling the whole time.

He doesn’t take the person seriously.

“Oh, you like her? Cuteeeeee. Same.”

Would hug Mira from behind mid-conversation (knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to attack him for the PDA in front of the innocent (and flirty) bystander), his chin resting on her shoulder as he more or less stares at her in awe.

“Isn’t she just perfect?” he’d say, looking smugly into the flirter’s eyes.

He, like Abby, is so confident in his position as Mira’s boyfriend that he has no need to be jealous.

And to be honest even if he did feel jealous, he used to be a powerful demon. Hiding a dead body wouldn’t be that difficult for him.

He wouldn’t mind outflirting the flirter to their face.

He would also let Mira do most of the rejecting.

He lowkey finds it attractive when she goes all “Sorry but I’m already in a relationship”

His head is filled with hearts and flowers and all he can think of is  ‘she loooooooves me~~’

But, If Mira gets visibly annoyed or uncomfy (and that would take a lot to happen), his smile turns sharp.

“You can leave now,” he’d say, eyes narrowed as he more or less forces the person away with his sharp gaze.

His tone is so obviously threatening.

Later, he’d make Mira and Abby laugh about it.

“You know I’m prettier than them, right?” he’d tell the two while laying across their legs on the couch.

Mira would roll her eyes but she wouldn’t disagree.

Abby would give romance a proud high five (or whatever it is bro’s do…)

Definitely throws in some extra flirty lines that night, just to remind her of the whole encounter.

Mystery when someone flirts with Zoey

The only Saja boy that would get seriously jealous.

This could go two ways though. 

He could either get super protective over Zoey to the point where it’s lowkey animalistic…

I’m basically saying he might start barking at whoever is flirting with her 😭

Based off of his behaviour in the movie i’d feel like he’d try to freak the person out so they’d leave 💀

The more likely option would be for him to just freeze.

Doesn’t speak. Just stares.

You can feel how uncomfortable he is with the entire situation.

Lets say the two are hanging out after practice hours and they encounter a group of fans, one of them thinking they actually have a chance with Zoey.

I feel like Zoey would be completely oblivious to the fans' intentions cause she just wants to believe in the good of everyone. 

Remember how she said the Saja boys were magicians even though it was really obvious they were demons 💀

Mystery, after attending to his own fans, just stands behind Zoey and watches,

He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him but it obviously does.

He can’t stand still.

Crosses his arms. 

Shifts weight between his legs. 

Backs up a step only to come back up.

He won’t interrupt the conversation. Honestly he might just leave.

But Zoey usually finds him sulking in a corner later.

“You okay?”

“Why must you be so nice to people?” he be all frowny while flopping around on the floor”

“Thank you? she let out a small laugh before sitting by him and moving the hair out of his face.

“I don’t want you to be nice to everyone…” he’d be all flustered but still very upset. “Just me.” a small pause, “and huntr/x and the saja boys i guess…”

She ends up comforting him because his jealousy would manifest as confusion and anxiety.

Poor boy fears she’d still leave him because he used to be a demon.

Starts to lowkey improve his posture and fix his hair next time they're out. 

He thinks no one notices but zoey does.

Jinu when someone flirts with Rumi

The pouty jealous one.

Not in a sad and anxious way like Mystery, but more in a ‘stop giving them attention Rumi~’ way.

Doesn’t react at first. He’s quiet, watching and assessing how serious the situation is. 

If Rumi laughs at something the flirter says?

His jaw drops in disbelief. Like her audacity??

“Wow. Guess I’m just a background character now.” • Said this to no one but himself. He said it outloud.

Will walk up after the conversation ends like:

“So… did you have fun Rumi?”

“Who was that?”

“Do you like them more than me? Be honest. I can take it.” (He cannot.)

Rumi: “You’re literally the only person I want Jinu.”

Jinu, perking up instantly: “Okay :)”

Still clings to her for the rest of the day, just in case.

He could get super protective though.

They’d probably be out on one of their dates that apparently aren’t dates…

They’d stop for food at a restaurant and the guy taking the order is just so annoying and persistent about getting Rumi’s number.

At this his eyes sharpen, jaw clenches slightly. You’d only notice if you knew him.

He does not interrupt. He’d look to see how Rumi handles it.

If she looks uncomfortable?

He steps in immediately with that low, casual tone he has “You okay Rumi?”

He’s not even trying to be threatening. He’s kinda just making in known that he is the boyfriend.

Even Rumi is flustered with just how protective he’s being.

When they’re walking back to the company, his hand hasn’t left her waist at all.

“Some people just don’t seem to know when to stop talking” he’d mumbled under his breath.

Mira when someone flirts with Abby or Romance

If they flirt with Abby:

Someone’s trying to compliment his abs and muscles.

The person is being all sweet n touchy like

“Omg! You must work out really hard~~”

And he can see Mira seething in the background so he tries to make the interaction seem as friendly as possible. 

She's watching it all happen with the flattest expression known to mankind.

Abby's being polite. He’s all smiles like “ooh thankyou :D” 

Mira’s patience is running out FAST.

She's standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows twitching.

In her brain she’s absolutely berating the person. 

“Can’t they tell that he’s taken??’

However she’d also be in denial about her jealousy. 

“Like what do you mean jealousy? I was just worried that the person was wasting their time on you muscles brain” is what she would say if ever confronted about the situation.

She’d eventually calm down until Abby chuckles at one of their jokes.

Her head slowly turns and her eyes are comically wide.

She lowkey looks deranged…

“You think they’re funny?” • “No– I was just–” • “Mm.” 

She’d kick him out of her car and leave him stranded on the street.

Eventually walks up casually, a hand on Abby’s bicep.

“Sorry, this one’s taken. But nice try.” Smile = threat.

Later in private?

She’s berating him.

“You’re such an attention seeker”

“I didn’t do anything..” he’s flabergasted

If they flirt with Romance:

Mira doesn’t even pretend to be calm.

The issue here is Romance is the type to flirt back. Not cause he’s a man whore or anything but he just loves when Mira acts all possessive about him 💀

She’s standing behind Romance while the flirter is mid-sentence, her arms crossed, lips pursed.

She’s giving them the look she normally uses to scare off demons before killing them off.

Romance obviously finds it hilarious and adorable.

Mira does not.

She doesn’t speak, just raises one brow at the poor soul.

This person must be blind or something cause they just keep talking???

Oh yea- Where did they meet the flirter?

The two went shopping for books. Yes. Books.

Romance thinks the best way to learn about human culture would be by reading as many novels as he can get his hands on. 

This leads to the shop owner flirting with him as they try to recommend good books to read.

The flirter slides him a very steamy looking book and winks at him “This looks like something you’d enjoy if you know what I mean”

When the person keeps talking, Romance is smirking. • “You’re gonna die~” he whispers, all happy.

Mira steps up between them. • “If you value your ability to walk and want to keep your store, I suggest you shut up.”

Romance: 🥰

He won’t shut up about it later.

“I’ve never felt more loved.”

“You threatened violence for me.”

“Tell me again how you’d break their legs.”

He’s just a girl.

Actually he’d probably love saying “I’m just a girl” 💀

Zoey when someone flirts with Mystery

She’s oblivious at first.

Like I said up above, she’ll probably think the person is just being friendly.

“Oh my god, Mystery, they said you have pretty hair! Isn’t that sweet?” • Mystery is trying not to freak out

Eventually, she catches on.

She’ll see the flirter get all up in his space. They’d try to touch his hair, or interlink their arms, literally anything to have physical contact.

Mystery is physically recoiling.

“Wait a damn minute…”

Her whole vibe changes.

Remember how she “ended” mystery in the movie?

“You’re just my type 🤩 Oh well” stabs

Yea that switch up is how she’d treat the flirter.

Her voice is still sweet, but it’s weaponized sweetness.

“That’s my boyfriend.”

One sentence. That’s it.

The air gets colder. The fan who was flirting? Gone.

She then turns to Mystery like nothing happened.

“You okay?”

“You scared them away.”

“Good.” sips her drink

She becomes extra clingy later too. Not because she’s insecure.

She’d do it to reassure him that she wouldn’t be going anywhere regardless of how many people try to flirt with him.

Random compliments and forehead kisses.

“Your hair is pretty by the way.” she’d say this while tying it up into a bun to admire his face. “I’m the only one allowed to touch it though”

“Of course Zoey,” his voice is practically a whisper as she clings onto him.

Rumi with someone flirts with Jinu

They went to the movies together. A new lego movie came out and the last one Jinu saw was years ago so he begged Rumi to take him to see the new one.

She goes to collect popcorn, leaving Jinu to take his seat, and when she returns, someone is in HER chair. Flirting with HER boyfriend.

She’d try really hard not to react.

She wants to be chill. Really, she does.

But the moment someone says “Hey, what’s your name?” and reaches out to his arm?

She’s considering summoning her weapon and wiping their head off clean.

My girl is staring daggers.

Probably the most over protective in the group (could rival Mira)

After all, the guy died for her. Why would anyone even think they could try to flirt with him???

Stares daggers.

Jinu is too polite (and oblivious. The guy used to be a 400 year old demon. Anything he used to know about flirting is now irrelevant)

He smiles. Maybe even giggles just because of how nervous he is. • That is what breaks her.

She walks over calmly, “Sorry. That seat’s taken.”

If the flirter protests? “By who?

“By me. Go find another one.” Rumi’s losing her patience and the movie is about to start.

“I actually like it here,” they’d lean a tad bit closer to Jinu to spite Rumi.

Let’s not forget that Rumi is half demon though!! “That wasn’t a suggestion.” Her voice gets a bit more dangerous and unstable.

Once they’re alone again, she teases him about it.

“Did you like the attention?”

“Nooo– Rumi, no, I was scared. ☹️”

“You were giggling.”

“IT WAS A PANIC GIGGLE!!”

The next time they go out, she’s in his hoodie. Hair down (out of the braid 😋). Holding his hand. The message is clear: • Don’t even look in his direction.

[kkumacoupzz]

guess who?

soft launching your boyfriend, joshua, on instagram (feat. seungkwan as your older brother)

notes .ᐟ smau (ig posts), random face claim, f!reader, use of y/n

a/n: a combination of some of my recent favourite tropes! i'm also exploring new and creative ways to write smaus and fics in general, thus the instagram feed layout. anyways hope you enjoy this short silly story! <3

urfavuser

urfavuser looking for someone

view all comments

dk_is_dokyeom WAIT WHATTTT

pledis_boos WHAT YOU ARE HERE???

urfavuser surprise 😛😛

user01 omg you went to support your brother! ♥︎ by author

urfavuser he better be grateful i dragged myself out the house for this

user02 Y/N IS A MENACE AND I LOVE HER FOR THAT

urfavuser

urfavuser midnight escape

view all comments

user01 ok queen 😩

sound_of_coups pledis_boos is looking for you girl

user02 WHO'S THAT IN THE 3RD PIC

user03 OH MY GOD RIGHT

user04 you might be onto something…

joshu_acoustic

joshu_acoustic late night walk

view all comments

user01 WAIT A MINUTE

user01 THIS LOOKS FAMILIAR

pledis_boos where even did yall go

joshu_acoustic for a walk obviously

min9yu_k why is seungkwan madder than sound_of_coups lmaooo

sound_of_coups i literally do NAWT care atp

urfavuser

urfavuser look who it is

view all comments

user01 SOFT LAUNCH WHOOO

user02 WE MANIFESTED THIS

user01 seungkwan about to go into his protective older brother era ♥︎ by author

user03 user01 WHY DID Y/N LIKE YOUR REPLY

vernonline 😦

user04 OH HE KNOWS THE TEA

urfavuser no he doesnt lol

pledis_boos ??? have i been summoned

urfavuser naw

user05 lies upon lies y/n WE KNOW

urfavuser

urfavuser watching the sunset with my sun

view all comments

user01 MAMA WHO THAT IN THE BACK

user02 PULLED A BADDIE

urfavuser *he pulled a baddie

user03 WE LOVE A SELF AWARE QUEEN ♥︎ by author

user04 hear me out, it's a seventeen member

user05 OMG RIGHT

user06 theres no way 😹😹 stay delusional gang

user07 user06 babes you must be fun at parties

urfavuser

urfavuser best of our recent dates

view all comments

user01 GUYS I SWEAR IT'S JOSHUA. JOSHUA LIKES BRACELETS. IT'S DEFINITELY JOSHUA. 100%. 

user02 idk but he lowk might be jeonghan tho…?

user03 she's not dating a svt member lol

user04 user01 i can confirm i am the bracelet 😔

user05 user03 IM CRYING THEY THOUGHT THEY ATE 😭

sound_of_coups pffft lol

user06 omg hii cheol

user07 BRO HAS INSIDER INFORMATION

user08 what about you tell us cheol !? 😍🫶

xuminghao_o GET OUT OF MY TL 😭😭😭

urfavuser NEVERRR

xuminghao_o but what if my fingers... slipped... and i accidentally... tag him... oops...

urfavuser MINGHAO PLS NO

user09 minghao over here doing god's work 🙏🙏

urfavuser #cooked

urfavuser

urfavuser brother approves

view all comments

pledis_boos SIGHS DRAMATICALLY IN FULL CAPS

urfavuser ok weirdo 🥀🥀

pledis_boos LOOK WHO'S TALKIN

user01 i love whatever beef the boo siblings have together ♥︎ by author

urfavuser user01 well i don't really do actually (jokes)

pledis_boos me neither (not joking)

joshu_acoustic ❤️ ♥︎ by author

urfavuser ❤️

user02 DAMN BRO IS DOWN BAD

user03 OK YNSHUA CUTEST COUPLE

user04 POWER COUPLE WITH LETHAL FACE CARDS

user05 THIS WAS NOT ON MY 2025 BINGO LIST

joshu_acoustic

joshu_acoustic ❤️ loml

view all comments

urfavuser love ya shua darling ❤️❤️ ♥︎ by author

joshu_acoustic love you too ❤️

user01 right in front of my salad too

user02 make love like this attack me too one day 🥹

pledis_boos you better take GOOD care of my baby sister

joshu_acoustic 🫡

urfavuser pledis_boos I AM NOT YOUR BABY.

user03 COUPLE OF THE YEAR

user04 OMG OMG OMG I CALLED IT

user she is such a pick me girl for dating her brother's friend. i bet she is only dating him for attention.

user05 go cry about it loser 😂

user06 sorry you're just single and hate people for being HAPPY

user07 what about you go touch some grass ms delusional

user08 i heard people tend to be jealous over what they don't have 😔

saythename_17 best couple 😊

sound_of_coups 👏👏

min9yu_k ynshua 🤩

vernonline congrats dude

urfavuser 💕

kkumacoupzz 🐈 © 2025 do not repost any of my work and writing

[hamilton-here]

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

𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒰𝓈

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

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

Warnings: angst, mentions of swearing, mentions of crash

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

MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

And still, you loved him.

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

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

But now?

Now the thrill had warped into dread.

Lewis was older now.

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

It was Lewis.

“Always am.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s dangerous.”

“It’s racing.”

“And racing can kill you.”

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

You needed him to hear you. Really hear you.

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

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

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

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

“But one day I could.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe she’s right.”

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

But you did. You always did.

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

You worried because you loved him.

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

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

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

You told yourself it was temporary.

You told yourself he would slow down.

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

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

And the terrible consequence?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d seen him almost lose control.

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

You’d felt your heart stop.

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

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

“You didn’t this time.”

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

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

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

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

The silence that followed was heavy. Stifling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both meant it.

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

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

It started small. So small you barely noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you couldn’t tell yourself that anymore.

The exhaustion crept in slowly too.

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

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

Until one quiet Wednesday morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just your body playing tricks on you.

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

Pregnant.

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

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

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

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

But it was buried under something bigger. Something heavier -

Fear.

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

But of what if he doesn’t come back?

What if he never meets them?

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

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

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

You should tell Lewis.

You should call him right now.

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

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

You didn’t know which answer terrified you more.

So you kept it to yourself. For now.

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

After the next race.

After the next fight.

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

But Lewis didn’t slow down.

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

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

But nothing changed.

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

Maybe he wouldn’t ever change.

Maybe nothing would be enough.

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

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

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

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

The Spa weekend always terrified you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

But the fear twisted in your chest like barbed wire.

What if telling him changed nothing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence again. The kind that left you hollow.

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

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

“Please come back to us.”

Spa had always been cruel.

But you never thought it would be cruel to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lap 17. Raidillon.

You felt the sickness rise before it even happened.

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

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

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

The screen cut away.

“Red flag. Red flag. Session suspended.”

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

The words hammered through your skull.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lewis spent three days in the hospital.

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

You never left his side. Not once.

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t care about any of that.

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

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

You didn’t let go of him once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He skipped the next race without hesitation.

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

Family first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now?

He did. He wanted to stay more than anything.

The labor came fast.

Faster than anyone expected.

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

But life doesn’t always give you time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your girl. His daughter. His reason to stay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For her. For you. For all of you.

When the lights went out, you didn’t feel fear.

You felt pride and love.

Because this was the balance you’d fought for, the life you’d built together. He had everything to lose now, and finally, he raced like he knew it.

And you knew now, without a single doubt -

He was always coming back to you.

[saetiate]

call it what it is. (or, the five times sae and you are "just friends". and the one time it stops being possible to deny what this really is.)

itoshi sae x f!reader fluff. friends to lovers, first kiss, how love happens, reader goes by she/her pronouns and has some personality (sorry, i couldn't get around it bc of The Plot but i kept it as minimal as possible) word count: 2.3k author's note: you both have a whole dinner date, go to events together, take care of each other, and then get surprised when people think you're dating??? okay so the sound of fireworks are less obvious than whatever yall have going on

Bitterness churns at the back of your throat. Is it from the roasted beans of the coffee you've been slamming into your system for the last few days, or from the lack of sleep?

Not that it matters. You've worked OT, both your team and your clients are unhappy, and according to your Excel worksheet, you're on your 85th job application. So really, it doesn't get worse than —

The doorbell rings.

Who the actual —

You breathe out the biggest sigh at the pretty face standing before you. It's definitely the lack of sleep, isn't it? Either you really should've checked the peephole and put on something a little more flattering, or he's a hallucination.

Let's hope it's the latter. You move to close the door, and his hand reaches out lightning-quick, holding it still. In a spark of annoying rebellion, you press all of your body weight against the door, and it doesn't budge an inch.

Right. Athletes and their stupid, stupid strength.

"You didn't answer my calls."

They say sighing is a necessary part of your lungs, that one of the struggles of artificial lungs was getting them to sigh. You wonder if it meant this many times in a day. "Sae, I'm busy. Wait, I didn't answer your calls? You don't answer my texts 90% of the time."

Then he's in your entryway, because of course you can't argue where your neighbors can hear, that's rude. But then he's in your kitchen, washing his hands, opening your fridge.

"There's nothing in here. When's the last time you took a shower?"

"You come here just to insult me?"

A towel hits your face with an oof before it falls into your arms.

"Sae," you try again, as the towel slides down your cheek, "You can't just barge in here and —"

20 minutes later, there's two steaming bowls of katsu curry rice on your now-clean desk. Sae opens up the little ziplock of togarashi, leans it against your bento box with more care than you'd expect.

"Itakadimasu."

~

It's the strangest thing, walking into your place only for someone to already be in there. How the noise cuts through, something unbelonging but welcomed.

"You know, giving you the key wasn't so you could just walk in here whenever you want. It was for emergencies only."

The only answer you get is the smell of onions being caramelized, crackled sparks of savory in the air.

"I answered your call," you continue, undressing behind a half-open door. "So this can't be an emergency. And you have a much nicer place than this."

Sae barely glances at you as your head peeks into the kitchen. "You could stay there."

"What, with you? Like we're roommates? Nah, you'd see what a mess I am."

"I'm already seeing it."

A spatula waves in little circles around the pan.

“What are you doing here, Sae?”

Like he's already braced for the question, the refrigerator light beacons out into the descending night. Your favorite wine passes from his hand to yours.

"Got gifted it," he responds before you can even ask. You could've caught him looking at you, but the gold label glints with stars in your eyes.

"How'd you get gifted icewine? You've never talked about it in an interview."

He doesn't tell you he asked his manager for recommendations, that he knows they let it slip to someone looking for a brand deal with him. Instead, he watches as you struggle to pop the cork open, the xylophone clink of ice into twin wine glasses.

"So you do like sweet things," you comment as the nectared drink meets your tongue with a smile. There's a reverence to it: how he watches you chop the vegetables before sliding them into the pan, how the last remnants of today's sunlight filter through the window and past your hair.

Sweet things. He supposes he does like something like that.

~

"This event, is it a big deal?"

He vaguely hears a ruffle of clothing behind the half-shut bathroom door, lightstream swept across the floor. He offered you what he knows his teammates get their wives for these events — stylist, makeup artists — but he watched you stand in his bathroom layering on eyeshadow for yourself anyways.

I don't trust anyone else to touch me. A simple statement made stark.

"Sorry, Sae. Could you help zip me up please?"

Maybe it's that implication, that hidden trust you place in him, that makes his exhale a little shaky as one of his hands wraps around your waist to hold the dress down, the other carefully pulling up metal piece up.

You've often thought athletes would naturally be aggressive. You've seen Sae make a fast pass across the entire field without breaking a sweat. But when his hands are on you, they're always light. You think of the falling of snow, its soft and silent touch that comes unexpected, the easy descent it makes before it melts into the ground.

Love is a little like that, maybe.

~

It's a common feeling, to feel as if you're completely alone in this world. Easy to get into your own head, to see only yourself within four walls again and again and forget that there is a whole world outside. It's logical, well-researched, known. It's because of that that you can factor out the feelings when it hits you.

The four walls has never felt as striking as now, coughing into the hollow quiet. The morbid thought strikes that if you died here, no one would know. They'd find your body days later, after the smell starts to waft out.

But you chose this. To move and to fight and to create a life worth living. You, with your ambitions and heavy heart and endless survival faith that makes you somehow believe you can still make it. Sometimes you have to force a door close before wrenching another one open with nothing but your bare hands. Sometimes you have to swallow all your pride and roll up your sleeves and pray to no higher gods you worship that the decision you made is worth it.

You think you hear something click as your mind fogs back and forth into sleep. You hope whoever's burgling you will at least leave you alone and only take what they need. You hear your name, and then a shuffle, and god this is really the worst time to have a stalker.

The back of a hand over your forehead is cool to the touch, the night's breeze still pressed between the molecules.

"You're sick."

Thank you, intruder, for pointing out the obvious is what you want to say. But instead, your head lulls heavily to the side. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"You need a hospital."

"I'm fine. I'm just- being dramatic. But I'm fine."

Your world tips on its axis, warmth blooming into your side. He lifts you into his arms soundlessly. You almost envy how effortless it is for him; the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself.

It's only halfway towards his car that you find yourself processing, finally speaking, "Thank you, Sae."

There's a sharp intake of breath from him, the hard line of his body protecting you from the night's chilled-sweet air. His heartbeat against your ear is as steady as the shore, the way it waits for the kiss of the tide.

"Just call me next time."

~

Sae's not sure how he feels about this.

It's his first time being late when he's meant to be taking you to this event. He moves fast through the crowd, searches with keen eyes. Chandeliers flicker and crystal-light dances —

Only to find you propped up against the wall, Rin leaning down close.

Sae might be less confused if Rin didn't look — for what might be the first time at an event ever — like he actually wanted to be there. He's listening to you with all his attention, has no problem being in your space.

Sae only approaches once you've been whisked away by Bachira.

"Why were you talking to her?"

Rin whips around, and instead of looking guilty, he's in wide-eyed shock, and then narrow-eyed annoyance. "Ha? She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Sae blinks. Did he say that? He would've remembered, wouldn't he?

"You good-for-nothing older brother," Rin's voice is a grunt, nothing like the sweetness he gave you. "You didn't even introduce me. I had to fucking find out through Isagi."

"How does Isagi know?"

"Oliver."

"How does Oliver know?"

Rin gives him an begrudged, deadpan look. "He's your teammate?"

That explains nothing. Actually, Sae is even more confused. He has about a dozen more questions.

"She's nice." Rin mumbles low, playing with the stem of his wine glass, watches as it almost tips before swooping it back up.

"You like her?"

"I think she's nice." Rin grits, and Sae really doesn't know how Rin gets away with faux passes on the field when his reactions are this obvious, because he watches how his eyes grow with realization as another thought passes through his brain. "You don't like her?"

"I like her." Sae accepts quickly.

"Ha??? Then what are you asking me for?!"

~

If Sae's being honest, he knows he has more than enough. He wonders what this thing is that he's had since he was born, never satiated even as he reaches the top. He thinks about how Bachira describes his 'monster', a childlike wonder, whether this is his own version of something like that.

But even the blackhole-depths of his greed doesn't anticipate wanting you. Like remembering the sea upon the drink of an oyster. A second breath, heart soaked with knowing.

What am I doing, sleeping in his bed? The night grows darker with every step, so the invite was innocuous enough. You sink into the mattress and the blanket of night muffles the fear, the thought that love is never so easy. There will be complications and contracts —

You turn to him and all the braveheart strength seeps out of you. Maybe you can put it down here, just for a moment.

He looks at you love-first, in a thousand colors, something he can't find with anyone else. He brushes the hair from your face so delicately, you find yourself stuck between watching his relaxed expression and fluttering your eyes shut to absorb the feeling. The back of his fingers caress your cheek, a butterfly's wing.

"Are you happy? Satisfied?"

Sae is not abstract. It's a vague but concrete question. You understand him at first glance.

"Not yet," you exhale honestly. "I have more to do. I'm gonna get there."

I'm gonna be the person I want to be. And by that time, I'll also be —

I'll also be the kind of girl you'd consider worth dating.

"Just wanna be worth it," you smile weakly instead.

He looks at you with a tenderness that feels dangerous. You think of a bird's first flight, the swoop of the fall. The crackle of a flame before it eats the firewood.

"People are worth something the moment they're born," he recites with no inflections.

"I know that."

"You're the one who said that." It's not accusatory, it's a reminder: your own truth, a perception of love you've been made the exception of. It's too heavy with degradation for him to feel comfortable focusing on, so instead he asks something he knows.

"If you had everything you want now, would it be enough?"

You sit up, his eyes following you. Your body heat no longer pressed against his feels like a loss, something he's sure to correct.

"No. You know that's not how it works." You should know, better than anyone.

He does know. That greed is a bottomless abyss, ambition an infinite sky. There is no amount of good enough that could ever make it all feel worth it.

His hand circles around your wrist, pulls you in on top of him until you're chest to chest.

Love is not your right. Shattered somethings cradle your heart. Trees can grow around items. You wonder if your heart is the same — muscle grown strong around fractured glass, a whisper of a cutting edge with every beat.

If you're always going to want more, be better, go further —

Could you have a little something in the now?

He's so close to you now that it fills your mind completely. He's not naked but he feels so bare under you, your hands framing his cheeks, soft skin brushing against your fingertips. One of his hands skates up your back, the other slides up your jaw, cups the back of your neck.

You wonder when you started letting him touch you like that.

He treats you so gently, so unlike the overwhelming emotion that crashes into you. Both lightweight and heavy, you feel swept under, you just want to anchor onto something —

His lips touch yours and everything falls into place.

~

"How'd you know about her?"

Oliver could make it easy for him. He won't, because getting a reaction out of Sae is much more fun. Instead, he tries and fails to feign ignorance. "Who?"

"My girlfriend."

Oliver leans his head back against the wall, a playful smile over his face. "So she is your girlfriend. Loyal too."

Sae narrows his eyes.

"Relax. I just talked to her at one of those events you brought her to."

"You talked to her?"

Oliver gets the sense that Sae is trying to make it sound like a normal question, but all it sounds is exactly how annoyed he feels.

"She just said she's waiting for you."

notes: unbelonging is not a word, i used it anyways on purpose to strengthen the idea of something not belonging. nectared and lightstream are also not real words, but i like them. twin wine glasses is kind of a reference to twin flames, though i do think you and sae are actually soulmates. i wonder if people can be both. "the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself" is a double meaning, not just your body weight but everything else you carry too.

call it what it is: / a love created, hand-sculpted to fit. / a silent reprieve, / to be seen, / constellations bursting at the seams. / unfounded heart, / a tepid start,/ an easy, soft-sweet thing. / say what this really is. / place it on the justice scales of the abyss. / what you're meant to be / versus what you choose / you can decide you have a right to this.

[disorganizedkitten]

Oh also more on this but commenting legitimately gets fics back into the Active Wip Designation. Just so you know.

Every author works differently, of course, but I have around 200 works in progress and write mostly according to what sparks joy - you know what sparks the most joy? Nice comments.

I'll drop a few examples but comments like this genuinely do get me into the document to add another sentence, paragraph, chapter, etc

Say you like the fic and are interested in where it's going! Say you enjoyed XYZ! Ask a question about a mystery left in the chapter! What made you laugh? Drop some hearts! Say you reread a fic or you got it from a rec list and are deeply enjoying it! Say "thank you for posting, I'm looking forward to more!" I promise, that will be a thousand times better received than an "update pls" comment.

Just. Comment please, it makes the author happy, it helps you to gush over the writing and enjoy it on a deeper level, it shows - especially on multichapter works - that you're still reading, since you can only leave kudos once. And a lot of writers do adjust their upcoming chapters based on comments, especially big plot reveals. How else do we know if we've left enough clues?

do fic readers know that their comments actually influence the course of the story sometimes? i don't mean in a "you need to write it this way because i say so 😡" type of comment, i mean when people are asking questions or really engaging with the plot and the themes in the comments they sometimes bring up things that i didn't even think of, or dig into parts of the story that i've overlooked, or get really interested/fixated on something i was going to just kind of glance over--and it has me going 'oh wait that's actually really interesting, that's a good point' and fully adding or tweaking or changing things about the story going forward. i'm literally adding an entire additional chapter to something right now because someone's comment had me like "oh i didn't dig into that as much as i could have." you have impact!

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 7 - in transition]

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: Paige and Azzi said it was over.

Boundaries drawn, feelings shelved, rules in place. But with every game, every glance, every unexpected moment off the court, the line gets harder to hold. They agreed to stop, but how long can they mean it? Word count: 5,577 Author's note: first, I'd like to thank everyone for reading this fic. i'm overwhelmed but very happy with the comments, messages, and reactions. i didn't know a lot are reading this nonsense, but thank you! second (and you may not want to hear this), i may not update for a couple of weeks. i am going on a trip so i'm not sure i'll be able to do so. i hope you'll still want to read this if it's not frequently update until third week of july. third (if you're also reading my other on-going), unfolded will be updated but i also apologize it will not be that frequent due to the same reason above. thanks for supporting and reading my works.

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. May 2025. 

The sky outside her windows had settled into its noon haze, but Azzi hadn’t looked up from her desk in hours. Her monitor cast a soft glow across the dark wood, spreadsheets opened and minimized in equal measure. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, scrolling through a document she had already reviewed twice that morning. 

The knock on her door was brief. Nika stepped in without waiting for permission, balancing a takeout bag and two bottled teas in her hands. 

“I know you didn’t eat again,” Nika said as she shut the door behind her. “And I’m not letting you call a candy bar lunch.” 

Azzi sat back in her chair, one brow lifting. “You’re persistent.” 

“I work for a woman who hasn’t taken a real lunch break in ten days,” Nika replied, placing the food down. “Persistent is the bare minimum.” 

Azzi didn’t argue. She slid the papers to the side and reached for the tea, unscrewing the cap but not drinking yet. Across the desk, Nika opened the takeout containers with practiced ease. 

“How is your WNBA team?” Nika asked without looking up. “Season started last week.” 

Azzi didn’t flinch, though the pause before her answer was longer than usual. “Lisa’s handling things,” she said. “It’s her role as general manager, and she’s doing it well. I step in only if I'm needed.” 

Nika glanced up, reading more than what was said. “Good for her but that’s not the same as you supporting them.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“With what?” Nika didn’t soften her tone. “All deadlines are in. Contracts are locked through next quarter. We’re ahead of schedule with every major client. Even your advisory meeting next week was rescheduled by you.” 

Azzi set the tea down, untouched. 

“You’re not too busy to show your face at a home game, Azzi. And neither the team nor the city thinks you’re invisible. So if this is about being busy, I don’t buy it.” 

Azzi held her posture, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window. But the pause spoke more than anything else. 

Nika watched her for another beat before easing back into her chair, unpacking a fork from its wrapper.  

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said. “But don’t pretend like this is just scheduling. You’re not fooling anyone.” 

The room stretched between them, filled with paper, food, and the weight of everything unspoken. 

Azzi finally reached for the container, though she still hadn’t eaten a bite. Her voice stayed level, careful. “Lisa knows what she’s doing.” 

“Sure,” Nika said, spearing a piece of grilled chicken. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t still look for you.” 

-    Valkyries Headquarters, San Francisco. May 2025. 

Practice was nearly over, but Paige hadn’t slowed once. She moved through the drills like they were personal, like every missed shot meant something more than just another rep. Her jersey clung to her back, soaked through from the effort. While the rest of the team eased off, she kept pressing. 

“Okay, Paige, you trying to earn Finals MVP in practice?” Kate called, grabbing a towel from the bench. 

Paige gave a quick laugh. “Just keeping sharp.” 

Kiki, lounging near the sideline with her water bottle, chimed in without lifting her head. “If this is about Rookie of the Year, relax. I’m not trying to take it from you.” 

“I just want to do well. Don’t want to let the team down.” 

Kate tossed her towel over her shoulder and walked past. “You’re not. We’ve got your back. So maybe stop trying to bleed for every drill.” 

Paige nodded, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t even look toward the locker room when the others started filing out. She stayed at the three-point line, adjusted her stance, and kept shooting. 

The gym thinned out, noise fading as bodies left the floor. Lights still buzzed overhead. The sound of the ball hitting the rim echoed louder in the emptying space. 

One more shot. Then another. She moved like she could outwork the ache settling deep in her chest. 

- 

Barclays Center, Brooklyn. June 2025. 

The arena buzzed with rising energy. Lights swept across the court, catching on polished shoes and tailored jackets. Courtside filled with the usual rotation of executives, celebrities, and carefully groomed donors. 

Azzi sat quietly among them, legs crossed, her posture composed. Ines sat on one side, Tony on the other. Neither drew attention. 

Three nights earlier, New York liberty owner, Clara Wu had attended the foundation’s gallery fundraiser uptown.  

Toward the end of the event, in the space between polite farewells and final handshakes, Clara had asked if Azzi would be attending the Liberty vs Valkyries game. It hadn’t sounded like pressure, but Azzi understood the subtext. Clara rarely asked for anything directly. 

Azzi had smiled and said yes. She didn’t want to appear distant or detached, not while her team was in town, not so early in the season. By the next morning, Ines had secured the only tickets still available.  

Courtside, unfortunately. 

Across the floor, the Valkyries were already deep in warmups, moving through drills with controlled intensity.  

Paige stayed near the top of the arc, locked into rhythm, her eyes focused straight ahead. If she noticed Azzi’s presence, she didn’t show it.    The game had turned brutal in rhythm and pace.  

The Liberty held a five-point lead, and the crowd rode every possession like a wave, roaring with each defensive stop and every made shot. Bodies hit the floor more often now. Elbows flared. Timeouts were used sparingly. 

Paige moved with urgency. Her focus locked on the ball like nothing else existed. Sweat clung to her temples, her movements crisp and tight, no motion wasted.  

When a tipped pass ricocheted off a defender’s arm and spun wildly toward the sideline, she didn’t hesitate. 

She dove. 

The hardwood scraped beneath her as she slid forward, arms reaching, hands wrapping around the ball just before it could bounce out of bounds. But her momentum kept going. Her body skidded past the line, straight toward the courtside seats. 

She crashed at Azzi’s feet, shoulder brushing against her legs before she caught herself. 

“Shit—sorry,” Paige breathed, looking up. Her voice came low and rushed, all heat and adrenaline. 

Azzi’s eyes met Paige’s, calm and unreadable. 

For a second, the noise in the arena blurred behind them. 

Then the whistle blew. Paige scrambled up, tossed the ball to a teammate, and jogged back onto the court. 

Azzi didn’t look away right away. The faint trace of contact lingered in her skin. But her face gave nothing back. 

-    Team bus on the way to the airport, New York. June 2025.  

The internet had caught fire. 

Clips of Paige diving out of bounds and crashing at Azzi’s feet spread across every platform.  

Slow-motion edits looped the way Paige looked up at her, the brief glance that passed between them, the stillness of Azzi’s expression.  

Screenshots froze the frame at just the right second, turning a routine hustle play into something cinematic. 

Fans called it poetic. Dramatic. Predictable in the way only stories you couldn’t write better in fiction tended to be. 

“This is gay history,”  

“She literally landed at her feet. You cannot make this shit up.” 

“It’s giving princess and her knight,” another caption declared beneath a still of Paige on the floor, Azzi seated above her, untouched, statuesque. 

#ValkyriesCourtship alongside #PrincessAndTheHooper trended before the fourth quarter highlights even aired. 

Even sports media picked it up. A panel segment ran on afternoon television, showing side-by-side clips with commentary that couldn’t resist the subtext.  

ESPN headlined it “better than anything on Netflix.” 

Paige had seen enough of it by the time she reached the team bus. Her phone hadn’t stopped buzzing, but she left it face down on the bench.  

Kiki had sent her the clip with three crying emojis and “Oscar-worthy fall.” 

Kate pulled up another edit as she sat beside Paige, this one layered with a ballad and a dramatic fade to black. 

“You good?” 

“It was just a save.” 

“Sure. You threw yourself at the sideline like a knight charging into battle and landed at Miss Fudd's feet like you meant to bow.” 

Paige adjusted her hoodie without answering. 

Behind them, Kiki laughed. 

“She’s blushing.” 

She didn’t turn around. If she was, she wasn’t giving them the satisfaction. 

- 

The Venetian Resort, Las Vegas. June 2025. 

Las Azzi stared at her calendar, one hand pressed to her temple, the other resting over her laptop’s trackpad. The confirmation email sat open in front of her, clear as day. 

She leaned back slowly in her chair, eyes narrowing. 

There was no way this wasn’t deliberate. 

The Valkyries were playing the Aces. In Las Vegas. Tonight. And somehow, despite the number of ways she had tried to avoid repeating last week’s coincidence, here she was again. Same city. Same schedule. Same team. 

She remembered Nika casually handing off the file three days ago. Something about a last-minute scheduling conflict, how the developers were pushing for face time, how it made sense for Azzi to take. At the time, it hadn’t sounded strange. 

Now it did.    Another email which held two tickets to the game had found its way to Azzi.    Right. 

It wouldn’t look good if she didn’t show up to the game. Not when people knew she was in the city. 

If Nika and Ines had planned this, they weren’t going to admit it. But Azzi knew them both too well.  

She should have seen this coming. 

- 

Michelob ULTRA Arena, Las Vegas. June 2025. 

The game was tight. The Aces pushed in transition, fast and aggressive, but the Valkyries kept pace, sharp in their switches and relentless on the glass. The score stayed close, every possession carrying weight. 

Azzi sat still through it all. Close enough to feel the vibrations under her heels. She didn’t react. Didn’t lean in. Just watched. 

Paige was everywhere. Fighting through screens, calling switches, sinking shots like she was burning through something no one else could see. She didn’t slow down. She didn’t ease up. 

When she hit a three just outside the arc, her eyes searched briefly beyond the baseline. 

Azzi met the look. 

The moment was brief. The game pressed forward.  

- 

The Venetian Resort, Las Vegas. June 2025. 

The machine clinked quietly as Paige pressed the button again. Lights blinked. Nothing hit. She reached into the cup and slid another coin in. 

The Valkyries had pulled off the win. A tight, scrappy six-point finish that left the Aces frustrated and the bench breathing hard. 

Paige had smiled when she needed to. Nodded during the interviews. Let her teammates pull her into the photo. But once it was done, she slipped out early and didn’t look back. 

She found herself now hunched at a forgotten corner of the casino floor, staring through the slot machine like it owed her an answer she couldn't phrase. 

A pause behind her, then Azzi’s voice. 

“You know I’m not paying you to lose your money on a stupid machine.”    Paige slid in another coin and pressed the button, not bothering to turn around. The reels spun and missed again. 

“I know you’re ignoring me,” Azzi continued. “And I deserve that. But I wanted to say congratulations. You were great tonight.” 

Paige’s eyes stayed on the machine. “Hm, ‘s that all?”     Azzi wanted to say more. To sit down, to explain, to ask for something she hadn’t figured out how to name yet. 

She stood there for a moment, unsure if she should say more or walk away. The noise around them was constant—machines whirring, voices rising and falling, the usual chaos of a casino floor. It wasn’t the right place for this type of conversation.    “Yes. Have a good night, Paige.” 

Azzi moved through the casino without looking back, weaving past clusters of tourists and cocktail servers until she reached the elevators.  

One had just arrived. She stepped inside, pressed her floor, and leaned back against the wall as the doors began to close. 

A hand shot through at the last second. 

The doors jerked open. 

Paige stood there, a little breathless, eyes steady. She stepped in without asking and let the doors slide shut behind her. 

“D'you already have dinner?” 

Azzi shook her head. 

Paige glanced at the buttons, then back at her. 

“Wanna order room service with me?”    - 

The coffee table was a mess of wrappers and half-crumpled napkins. Paige leaned back into the couch, one leg tucked under the other, working through the last of the fries like it was a timed competition. 

Azzi watched from the armchair, equal parts fascinated and horrified.  

She had offered a quiet space for their impromptu dinner since Kiki was already asleep in Paige's room. 

Paige had inhaled three burgers in under fifteen minutes and was now making quick work of the fries without so much as a breath. 

Azzi reached for her untouched sandwich, glanced at it, then looked back at Paige. 

“Do you want mine too?” 

Paige didn’t even pause. “What is it?” 

“That was sarcasm.” 

“You’re gonna need to be more specific if food’s involved.” 

Azzi shook her head, sinking deeper into the chair. “I’m genuinely alarmed.” 

“You’ve seen me play,” Paige said through a mouthful of fries. “How is this surprising?” 

“You didn’t unhinge your jaw during the game.” 

Paige grinned, tossed a fry in the air, and caught it with her mouth.  

Azzi sighed and reached for the water bottle on the table but didn’t drink. Her gaze lingered on Paige, still working through the fries like nothing in the world could distract her. 

“You’ve been playing really well lately,” she said. “The last few games especially.” 

Paige slowed her chewing just a little. “Oh.” 

Azzi smiled. 

“I mean, thanks. I didn’t know you were watching.” 

There was a pause. Azzi could have let it pass, could have deflected or changed the subject, but the quiet between them felt too close to something real to lie through. 

“I haven’t missed a game,” she said. “Even if I’m not there, I watch. Every one of them.” 

Paige blinked, then looked down, a trace of pink blooming along her cheeks as she reached for another fry she clearly didn’t need. 

Sitting with her hands loosely clasped in her lap, Azzi’s eyes fixed on the untouched sandwich beside her. The weight between them had been there the whole night, carefully unspoken, but now it pressed harder, closer.    “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For what happened. For how it happened. It wasn’t fair to you. If I could take it back... I would.” 

Paige didn’t answer right away. She wiped her hands clean with a napkin, taking her time, then leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. 

“I don’t regret kissing and making out with you that night,” she said.  

Azzi finally looked at her. 

“I only regret putting you in a position. You were already carrying too much, and I pushed you when I should’ve backed off. That’s on me.” Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry for that.” 

Azzi shook her head slowly, the words already forming before Paige could say anything more. “No. Paige, I was the one who kissed you.” 

“And I kissed you back.” 

Azzi looked away, lips pressed together for a moment before she spoke again. 

“I let my emotions get the best of me. That night... I wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

“That’s exactly my regret,” Paige leaned back slightly, eyes holding firm. “I didn’t stop to think what you were going through. I shouldn’t have let it go that far when I knew you weren’t steady.”    She stood up abruptly. “God! Azzi, you just had to deal with your brother that night and all I could think was myself and my stupid ego.”    Azzi’s brow lifted, disbelief flickering across her face. 

“You’ve really been carrying this like it’s on you?” 

"Well...” 

Azzi motioned to the couch. “Sit down.” 

Paige hesitated but did as she was told, settling into the cushion with a quiet breath. 

“Listen,” Azzi started, her tone even but not cold. “I don’t know why you’re blaming yourself, but don’t. And if it makes you feel better, I appreciate your thoughts about me. It’s been a long time since anyone’s cared enough to think about what I’m feeling.” 

She paused, eyes fixed forward. 

“But I’m not going to lie. We’re re-opening something we shouldn’t cross again.” 

Paige sat still, her body tight, listening. 

“We started on the wrong path, Paige. And if we keep walking it, it’s going to lead both of us somewhere we won’t come back from. Whatever this was, we can’t keep going. There’s too much at stake. Not just for me. For you too.” 

Paige kept her gaze on the floor, jaw tight. The words weren’t new. Not really. She had imagined this conversation too many times—Azzi choosing control over closeness, reason over feeling. But now that it was happening, the actual weight of it pressed in deeper than she expected. 

She had been holding on to guilt, turning it over in her head like a stone she thought she could smooth down if she just kept at it long enough. But hearing Azzi say it out loud, the finality of her tone, made it clear that nothing she’d been carrying would change the ending. 

Still, it stung. 

It stung to be told they had started on the wrong path when it had been the only one that felt right. 

She nodded slowly, barely. 

“Okay,” she said, though it didn’t feel like one. 

- 

Valkyries HQ, San Francisco. May 2025. 

The Valkyries were rolling. Eleven wins, three losses. The best start of any expansion team in league history. Their chemistry was sharp, execution cleaner with every game, and the league had started paying attention. 

Paige was a headline regular now. Her stats held weight, her plays made highlight reels, and the noise around her name had shifted from hopeful to certain. Rookie of the Year wasn’t just possible—it was probable. 

All-Star voting opened with her name already at the top of the ballots. 

She felt it, the momentum. The lift of it. Practices ran smoother, her body felt lighter, even the travel days didn’t drag. 

But that talk in Las Vegas hadn’t left her. 

Azzi hadn’t shown up to a game since. Not once. Not even for the home stands. 

The gym had emptied out over an hour ago, but Paige was still there, catching her own rebounds, the steady rhythm of the ball echoing through the quiet space. Her body moved on instinct—one dribble, two, rise, release. Net. Repeat. 

She wasn’t tired. Not enough to stop. 

The sound of the door clicking open didn’t pull her attention right away. Only when footsteps drew closer did she finally glance toward the baseline. 

Azzi stood just inside, arms crossed, the faintest trace of something amused in her voice. 

“Practice ended a while ago. If you’re staying this long, I should start charging you gym maintenance.” 

Paige caught the ball and held it. Her breathing slowed as she turned to face the person living rent free in her head for the past couple of months. 

She let the ball rest against her hip, then spun it slowly in one hand. 

“I don’t want to slack,” she said. “We’re on a five-game win streak. Last thing I need is my boss getting mad I’m not putting it all out there.” 

She looked up, a flicker of something teasing behind her eyes. 

“Last I heard, she never misses watching our games.” 

Azzi scoffed, stepping forward without hesitation. She plucked the ball from Paige’s hand like it belonged to her.    “You really think flattery’s going to make me overlook the fact that you’re hogging the gym?” 

Paige grinned and walked backward toward the free throw line, holding out her hand, shrugging. “If I said I was staying late to honor the legacy of the franchise, would that make it better?” 

Azzi turned the ball slowly in her hands. “It might make it worse.” 

Paige laughed, stepping back with a bounce in her step. “I’m just trying to keep the lights on. You know, making sure your multi-million dollar floor space stays in good use.” 

“I should charge you rent.” 

“Add it to my contract,” Paige said, motioning toward the court. “Tell you what. You make one shot, I’ll clear out.” 

Azzi tilted her head. “You think I’m just going to embarrass myself for your amusement?” 

“I think you’re dying to see if you can make one,” Paige said, voice low and teasing. “Come on. You’re standing on the floor of your own team’s gym, and you’ve never even taken a shot?” 

Azzi stared at her for a long second, then shook her head and let out a sigh. 

“You’re relentless.” 

Paige grinned and walked toward the free throw line, tossing the ball up and catching it. “One shot. I promise I won’t tell the world. Unless it’s perfect.” 

Azzi followed her slowly, arms folded. 

“This is ridiculous.” 

“This is team bonding.” 

“You’re not my team.” 

“I’m your headache. Close enough.” 

Azzi let out a breath, finally taking the ball back. “Fine. But I’m blaming you when this ruins my reputation.” 

Paige stepped in, already adjusting her grip. “If anything, this is gonna make it better.”    Azzi stared at the hoop like it was challenging her. She adjusted her grip on the ball, stepped awkwardly toward the free throw line, and squared her shoulders like she had watched athletes do a hundred times from the sidelines. 

She launched. 

It left her fingers too flat, spinning awkwardly in the air before clanking off the front rim and bouncing back with a dull thud. 

Paige bit her lip, then broke into a jog to chase it down before it rolled out of bounds. 

“That was…” She paused, dribbling the ball once. “A very brave attempt.” 

Azzi crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it.” 

“I’m not.” Paige grinned. “I’m saying you’re clearly an expert at hitting the exact part of the rim that guarantees it won’t go in.” 

She walked the ball back, but instead of handing it over, she stopped in front of Azzi and held it with one hand. Her voice dropped, softer this time, and something in her face shifted. 

“Let me show you.” 

Azzi hesitated, watching her closely. There was no mocking now. Paige’s grin had settled into something quieter. Not serious, but careful. Like she was trying not to move too quickly through a moment that meant more than it should. 

She nodded once. 

Paige stepped closer, placing the ball in Azzi’s hands again, but this time kept hers there too. She adjusted Azzi’s grip gently, her thumbs brushing over Azzi’s knuckles. 

“Right here. Let your shooting hand sit under the ball. Other hand just helps guide it.” 

Azzi didn’t look at the hoop. She looked at Paige. Their hands were tangled around the ball, Paige’s fingers warm and steady. Close enough to feel her breath when she spoke again. 

“You don’t need to force it. Let it roll off your fingers. It’s about rhythm. Trust.” 

Azzi swallowed hard. 

“Trust the shot?” 

Paige’s eyes met hers. “Trust yourself.” 

The gym felt too quiet. Just the creak of sneakers on polished wood and the low hum of lights above. Paige stepped behind her, setting her palms lightly on Azzi’s elbows, guiding them into position. 

“Bend your knees a little. Keep your elbow under the ball.” 

Azzi followed. The motion was stiff, but she listened. 

Paige leaned in, voice at her ear. “Now lift it slow. Let it go at the top.” 

Azzi raised her arms and released. The ball floated, not perfect, but cleaner. It hit the backboard and bounced toward the rim before falling away. 

Better. 

Azzi turned to look at her, something flickering in her eyes. Not frustration. Something else. A heat she didn’t name. 

“That was almost good,” Paige said. 

“Almost?” 

“I think you need another lesson.” 

-    Paige’s apartment, Oakland. June 2025.  

The apartment was dark except for the soft glow of Paige’s phone. She was sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched toward the armrest. Her hair was damp from a shower, and there was a half-finished protein shake on the coffee table. 

Her thumbs tapped quickly. 

Paige: You looked good last night.  Paige: But I still think your hair looked better during draft night. 

She attached a photo. 

It was Azzi, polished and poised, walking into a real estate conference. Hair pulled back in a sleek twist, dressed in a charcoal pantsuit that made her look every inch the power executive Twitter loved to obsess over. 

Azzi: Where did you get this? 

Paige answered before the read receipt even registered. 

Paige: Internet. You’re famous, remember? 

Azzi exhaled through her nose, typing slowly. 

Azzi: Are you stalking me now? 

Paige: Maybe.  Paige: Just enough to form an opinion about your hairstyles. 

Azzi: And here I thought you were too busy chasing Rookie of the Year. 

Paige: I multitask. 

Azzi sat up straighter in bed, the corners of her mouth betraying the start of a smile. 

Azzi: You really liked my hair that night? 

Paige: I like a lot of things when it comes to you.  Paige: Want a list? 

Azzi hesitated.  

Azzi: I’m scared of that list. 

Paige: You should be. It’s long. 

Azzi: Paige. 

Paige: Azzi. 

Azzi: I thought we weren’t doing this. 

Paige: You texted back.  Paige: So maybe you’re doing it too. 

There was a pause. Paige watched the typing bubble appear and disappear three times. Then finally: 

Azzi: Goodnight, Paige. 

Paige stared at it. Then sent one more message without thinking. 

Paige: I still like your hair better down. 

She set her phone down beside her, the softest grin tugging at her mouth as she leaned back into the couch. 

While Azzi lay still in the dark, phone on her chest, heartbeat louder than it should be. She didn’t reply again. But she didn’t stop reading it either. 

-  

Rocco's Cafe, San Francisco. June 2025. 

The clink of glass against ceramic filled the space between them. Afternoon light poured through the tall windows of the restaurant, the kind of place Nika always picked—unassuming, elegant, with an outdoor view that cost more than it looked. Azzi sat across from her, shoulders relaxed, her phone turned face down for once. 

Nika stirred her espresso, eyes flicking to the plate Azzi had barely touched. 

“Westlake signed,” she said. “The rezoning permits came in yesterday.” 

Azzi nodded, lifting her glass. “Good. I want the contractors briefed by Friday. We’ll reroute phase three if they can’t break ground in time.” 

“They will.” Nika took a sip, then leaned back in her chair. “What about the Dallas project? Still holding?” 

Azzi glanced past her toward the window. “We’re waiting on final numbers. But I’m not rushing that one. The board will push if I give them a reason.” 

A beat passed, comfortable and slow. Nika tilted her head, her voice quieter. 

“How are you?” 

“I’m fine?” 

“You’re more than fine.” 

Azzi looked at her confused. 

Nika smiled, sharp but kind. “You’ve been smiling. Laughing. You even left the office before seven last week.” 

Azzi raised an eyebrow, daring Nika to continue. 

“You’re glowing.” 

She shook her head, but her mouth twitched like it wanted to smile. 

“And forgive me, but I have a feeling Jake’s not the reason.”  

Nika lifted her cup with a knowing tilt, like she was letting Azzi keep her secret while quietly reminding her it wasn’t all that well hidden. 

-  San Francisco International Airport, San Francisco. June 2025. 

Azzi reread the message from the Valkyries’ training staff, the words sharp in their precision.  

Concussion protocol.  

Paige had been pulled from practice following a hit during the game against Indiana two nights ago. 

Azzi had watched that game from a bar in Dallas, her tablet propped up between half-finished cocktails and development briefs. The meeting with local contractors had stretched past dinner.  

Her flight home today was late and quiet, and somewhere over the Rockies, exhaustion claimed her. 

The message hadn’t registered until she was standing outside Terminal 2, luggage beside her, the San Francisco air cutting through her blazer. She scrolled absently while waiting for the car. 

Another text sat beneath the first.  

Let us know if you’d like to see the medical report. 

She didn’t reply right away. Headlights pulled up. The town car stopped cleanly at the curb. 

She typed her reply. 

Not necessary. 

Tony stepped out, moved to the trunk. Azzi got in without a word. The door closed with a soft click, and the city hummed low around them. 

She stared straight ahead.    Thinking.    More thinking.    “Tony, we’re making a detour.” 

-    Paige’s apartment, Oakland. June 2025. 

Paige blinked, hard, like it would help make sense of the shape in front of her. 

Azzi stood at the doorway, calm as ever, hair tucked neatly behind one ear, as if she belonged there. She hadn’t called. Hadn’t messaged. 

And now Azzi was stepping inside like she hadn’t just knocked a minute ago, like being let in meant she belonged there. 

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You know, knocking doesn’t mean you get to just walk in like it’s your office.” 

Azzi took two more steps in, ignoring the comment entirely. 

“You’re in concussion protocol,” she said. “I got the update this morning.” 

“I—what? Wait, how do you even—” Paige closed the door slowly. “You’re not even on the medical distribution list.” 

“I don’t need to be.” 

“Okay. Cool. Great. Love the vague billionaire surveillance energy,” Paige muttered. “That’s definitely what every injured rookie wants.” 

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I didn’t hack into anything, if that’s what you’re implying.” 

Paige snorted. “You didn’t have to. One look from you and half the staff probably tripped over themselves to send an update.” 

“I asked, they answered.” 

“Right. Because that’s totally normal. Just your average team owner flying across the country to check on a player with a bump to the head.” 

“I’m not your average team owner,” Azzi’s gaze didn’t waver. “And it wasn’t just a bump.” 

Paige’s breath hitched before she could hide it.  

She tried to mask it with sarcasm. “So what now? Are you here to run your own tests? Gonna flash a penlight in my eyes, ask me who the president is?” 

"Would you answer if I did?” 

“Depends,” Paige said, voice lower now. “Are you gonna tell me why you really came?” 

Azzi didn’t look away. “Does it matter?” 

“It does if you want to keep pretending this is just about basketball.” 

“Paige.”    “Azzi.” 

Azzi exhaled, slow and tired. “I was worried.” 

Paige stepped closer, the tension in her shoulders softening as she reached out and cupped Azzi’s face with both hands. 

“I’m fine,” she said gently. “You don’t have to worry.” 

Azzi didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on Paige, and before she realized it, she was leaning into the warmth of that touch, drawn by something quieter than reason. 

Paige moved in without rushing, her hands sliding down until they rested on Azzi’s waist. She pulled her in, carefully, like she didn’t want to spook her. Their bodies met in a slow, steady hold. 

Azzi let herself be held. 

“Didn’t we agree we need to stop this?” Azzi’s voice was soft, but the weight behind it settled between them. 

"I only agreed half-heartedly.” 

Azzi rolled her eyes and gave her a light smack on the arm. Paige caught her wrist before she could pull away, grinning. 

“Let’s just have this night, please.” Paige said, voice lowered to something more honest. “We don’t have to do anything. I miss you.” 

There was a pause, then a quiet mumble from Azzi. “I miss you too.” 

Paige wrapped her in a hug, slow but firm, the kind that said more than words could carry. She held Azzi tightly, grounding herself in the contact, in the relief of having her this close again. 

“How was your flight?” she asked after a moment, still not letting go. 

Azzi answered once they finally pulled back, their fingers laced. “Long. Delayed twice. I hated every second.” 

“Stay the night,” Paige said without thinking. 

Azzi blinked. Her body stilled. “Paige—” 

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Paige added quickly. “We both need rest. That’s all. Just... don’t leave.” 

Azzi hesitated for only a beat, then reached for her phone. She typed out a message to Tony to go home without her. 

Paige disappeared for a moment and came back with a folded UConn sweatshirt and matching joggers. “You’ll look better in these than I ever did.” 

Azzi gave her a look, took the clothes, and changed in the bathroom. When she emerged, the room was dim, Paige already under the covers. 

She climbed in, the air between them thick with hesitation. They left a small space between their bodies, but not for long. 

“Come here, ma,” Paige said, voice almost teasing. 

Azzi didn’t bother pretending. She folded into Paige’s side, resting her head on her shoulder. 

“I’m only doing this because of your concussion protocol,” she murmured. 

Paige laughed, the sound low and grateful. “If it means I get to have you like this, I’ll bang my head every day.” 

Azzi let out a quiet laugh of her own, her breath brushing against Paige’s neck. 

Paige pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for coming. And for checking on me.”    “We’re so bad at stopping this.” 

[taeyongdoyoung]

cherry

summary: you are looking for danger to distract you from your dark thoughts but you find something you weren't even hoping for... pairing: seungcheol x reader genre: strangers to lovers, smut warnings: stranger danger, mentions of alcohol, spiked drink (not by cheol !), lying, swearing, non-consensual touching, bar setting, morally grey characters, unsafe drinking practices, danger/risk kink, threatening, brat!reader/brat tamer!cheol, kissing, unprotected car sex, pet names, attachment/abandonment issues, lowkey angst with a happy ending, roleplaying as strangers author's note: okay so...my initial idea was a fun night out with cherry-flavoured kisses but i got carried away and delved more into the realm of troubled psychology, proceed with caution & please stay safe out there! 🍒 word count: 2.3k playlist

Seungcheol watches the situation from afar, somewhat concerned for a total stranger. You are staring at your third cocktail for the night, absent-mindedly playing with the maraschino cherry on top of it. The guy talking to you looks sketchy from a mile away but for some reason, you keep entertaining his advances. Or rather…you feel unsafe to outright reject him?

For now, Seungcheol decides to observe only. Maybe he's making an assumption based off the guy's looks, which isn't very nice of him. Then, he notices you excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. He wonders if the alcohol is starting to affect you. Seungcheol is about to go back to his own glass whiskey when he notices something even more suspicious. He swears he sees the creepy guy putting something white in your drink! Seungcheol's grip on his glass tightens.

Everyone seems to be lost in their own business. Should he intervene? Would things escalate? Should he attack the weird guy trying to drug you? But then again, he has no proof for what he saw other than his honest word. You come back from the bathroom and Seungcheol is on the verge of approaching, when he overhears your conversation.

"I don't wanna drink more," you mumble dizzily. "I've had enough."

"Come on, don't be such a party-pooper," the creep tries to convince you.

You shake your head in disagreement and that total shithead of a man has the audacity to bring the spiked glass towards your lips in an attempt to force you to drink.

Oh, hell nah! Seungcheol can't watch this any longer and dashes in, gripping the guy's wrist mid-air, causing the drink to spill.

"The lady said no," he hisses.

"Yah, why are you butting in our business? I know what my girlfriend wants," the beast grunts.

"I'm not your girlfriend," you say in a slightly louder, more confident voice.

"Pfft, babe, don't be like that," the guy loops an arm around your neck, but even in your drunken state, you attempt to get him off you.

"We literally met tonight. Leave me alone already," you reply, obviously emboldened by Seungcheol's presence.

"You heard what she said," Seungcheol insists. "Leave her the fuck alone."

His fiery gaze seems powerful enough to burn holes in the wicked guy's soul. Wanting to avoid a physical confrontation, the creep finally gives up and leaves the bar.

You breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks for your help," you mumble nervously. "I was trying to get rid of him all night."

"He spiked your drink," Seungcheol informs you suddenly. "I probably wouldn't have intervened otherwise."

"Shit…" you drawl but you don't look particularly worried about that discovery.

"Why did you drink alone if you didn't want attention? And why did you leave your drink unsupervised?" Seungcheol can't resist asking all these questions.

"Apparently, it wasn't unsupervised, if you were watching," you respond only to the second inquiry.

"You shouldn't do that. It's…dangerous. What if I hadn't seen it? Do you have any idea what might have happened if I wasn't here on this particular night and if I hadn't decided to step in?" Seungcheol is starting to get angry.

"Do you want a reward or something?" you scoff sarcastically. "You don't know me. Maybe I was looking for danger."

Oh, you were like that. Self-destructive tendencies. A bit of a brat. Nothing he hasn't seen before. And yet…

"There are better ways to feel an adrenaline rush," Seungcheol explains patiently.

"Do you want me to buy you a drink?" you ask out of nowhere. "Will that get you to stop fucking lecturing me?"

Ouch. Nobody speaks to him that way. Ever. Nobody who knows him anyway…

"I can afford my own drink, thank you very much," Seungcheol rolls his eyes. "But no more drinks for you."

He doesn't know what possesses him to do that but he grabs your wrist and leads the way towards the door. He usually isn't like that but your ungrateful behaviour is so frustrating he feels the overpowering urge to teach you a lesson.

"What are you doing?" you whisper in a small voice, as he opens the door to his car and pushes you inside, locking the door. What the fuck?!

"Showing you what happens when you drink alone and leave your drink out of sight," Seungcheol growls.

"W-what?" you mumble and the actual fear in your eyes stuns him.

"Are you scared?" he laughs maniacally and leans in, facing you from up close. "Imagine what might have happened if you actually got drugged by that guy. Imagine if-"

"P-please, s-stop, I g-get it," you cry out, eyes tearing up in terror.

Seungcheol realizes his point was driven home and lets go of you, unlocking the car door.

"Get out of here," he orders.

You blink in shock and drunkenly stumble out of his car. No goodbyes are exchanged. The encounter so unusual, intense and emotionally charged that a goodbye would only mar it with its trifling nature.

A couple of nights pass and Seungcheol can't bring himself to go to his favourite bar. What was once a relaxing activity after a long day at work now seems like it would be a stressful ordeal. What if he sees you again? Drinking alone, purposefully putting yourself in danger?

He tries to convince himself that it doesn't matter. You're just a stranger he'd probably never cross paths with again. And yet…his curiosity gets the better of him.

Seungcheol returns to his favourite bar. Dreading (or perhaps hoping) that he'd find you there. And just like that, as if his thoughts manifested your appearance, he sees you.

Only this time, you are not alone, but with a girl friend who seems very happy to be spending time with you. Another major change is that you are gripping your drink tightly, not letting it out of sight. Good. Even though you're with a friend, it looks as if you learned your lesson from that bittersweet night.

Seungcheol wonders if he should approach you. Despite the fact that his intentions were noble, his behaviour back in his car was near abominable. He decides against ruining your fun night with your friend and tries to focus on his own drink, slowly sipping from it.

However, you seem to have a different plan.

"Long time no see," you greet him, as if he's an old friend and not a complete stranger. "You haven't been here recently."

"I didn't want to catch you getting yourself into trouble again," Seungcheol reminds you.

"I've been good," you promise, but for some reason he can't fully believe you. "And besides, what does it matter to you? We don't even know each other's names."

Are you asking for his name, then?

"Seungcheol," he introduces himself calmly. "I would say it's nice to meet you but I don't lie."

"Harsh," you chuckle. "I'm Y/N. I love lying, so…nice to meet you."

"Where did your friend go?" Seungcheol suddenly notices, not paying attention to your little jab.

"She went home to her boyfriend."

"So, you're drinking alone again?" he points out.

"I'm here with you, aren't I? So, I'm not alone," you explain logically.

"You don't even know me," Seungcheol shakes his head, as if to convince you that he's not trustworthy enough.

"I know your name, though. Doesn't that count for something?" you tilt your head to the side, taking a bold sip of your cherry-flavoured cocktail.

"You haven't changed," he groans bitterly. "You're just pretending to be more responsible to grab my attention."

"I thought I already had your attention," you grin flirtatiously.

"You do," Seungcheol admits reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean I'll act on it."

"What if I want you to?" you bat your eyelashes at him.

"You're insane, you know that?" he laughs.

"Aren't we all?"

And Seungcheol loses every last ounce of self-control he prided himself in usually possessing. He kisses you savagely, conquering your mouth with his own. The need to have you, to wipe that bratty smile off your face is overpowering.

You kiss him back just as eagerly, ravaging his lips.

"Let's get out of here," he suggests. Only this time, the words carry a different meaning from when he kicked you out.

Seungcheol leads you to his car again, too impatient to bother with finding hotels. It's so dark outside and he's parked at a place so empty and hidden that it gives you goosebumps. Not a soul in sight.

Perhaps, he is right. Perhaps, you are acting up, no self-preservation instinct in your body. But who cares? You've spent too long not feeling anything. This is the first time in a long while you've felt something so real.

There is no tenderness in the way he fucks you on the backseat of his car. It's as if Seungcheol makes it his mission to corrupt you even further, satisfying your reckless need for adrenaline.

"You're so sick, letting a stranger do this to you," Seungcheol grunts in your ear, as he rubs your pussy.

"You're not a stranger," you stand your ground, fully convinced this is normal behaviour.

"Knowing my name doesn't make this any better," his words are drowning in anger, but his actions are overflowing with the desire to pleasure you.

"What does this say about you, though?" you fight back verbally. "You're just as irresponsible as me."

"I. Need. To. Teach. You. A. Lesson," he punctuates with each thrust.

"Too bad I'm terrible at learning," you confess, scratching his back with your sharp nails.

"Say my name," Seungcheol demands.

"Seungcheol," you mumble obediently.

"Again."

"Seungcheol. Cheol. Seungcheol-ah," you repeat mindlessly.

"Good girl," he whispers.

"No, I'm not," you argue, biting his neck, while he's still fucking you viciously.

"I'll make you," Seungcheol promises and you are stunned by the assuredness in his deep voice.

"I'd like to see you t-" you fall apart beneath him before you can finish the word "try".

He truly ruins you so deliciously, making you forget everything that ever bothered you.

The only thing that remains in your mouth is the taste of whiskey mixed with the flavour of cherries.

Your first instinct is to run away. Every time you meet someone decent, you do that. Because if you don't, they'll leave you first. And you'd never let that happen again.

You start to put on your clothes hurriedly, attempting to flee the scene.

"Chérie..." Seungcheol pleads tenderly.

Fingers on the car handle, you hesitate upon hearing the gentle French endearment.

"What?" you ask despite yourself.

"Where are you going?"

"Doesn't matter. Did you think I'd stay?" at this point, being mean is a defense mechanism. Looking for danger, finding it and then running away.

Only Seungcheol is more dangerous than danger itself. Because you can see in his eyes that he cares.

A total stranger, you don't even know if you have anything in common. And yet...he cared enough to intervene that night. He cared enough to discipline you. He cared enough to give you just what you need.

But you are so afraid. That he'll start to care too much. And one day, he'll stop.

"I'm not done with you," Seungcheol stands firm, gripping your wrist. "I told you I'll make a good girl out of you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," you confirm weakly. Too weak to fight him on it. Too weak to escape...

"Well, I'm a man of my word."

"And if I want to go?" you still try.

"You don't," Seungcheol pronounces with certainty.

"How do you know what I want?"

"Because we want the same thing."

He doesn't say what that is. But he's right.

You bury your head in his chest, allowing him to hold you tightly.

Somehow, this turns out to be not just what you wanted. But what you needed.

"I'll take care of you," Seungcheol vows. "I'll be so good to you."

And for some reason, you believe him.

You let him consume your darkness with his own. And bring your shared light to the surface.

Bonus:

~ A year later ~

That same bar where you met. A cocktail in hand. Your red dress. The dim lights.

"What's a bad girl like you doing in a nice place like this?" Seungcheol teases you, pretending to be a stranger.

Oh, how times change.

"Looking for love," you joke, as you slide the maraschino cherry into your mouth.

"You seem like the kind of woman who already has that," Seungcheol reminds you of the reality of your relationship.

"And how would you know what kind of woman I am?" you play along, enjoying this game far too much.

"Because of the ring on your finger," he points out.

Oh, right! You never take it off. You completely forgot how about you'd explain it in such a scenario.

"Careful, there. My fiancé is a very jealous man," you poke fun at Seungcheol.

"Is he, now?" your fiancé leans in. "What would he do if I did that?"

Seungcheol kisses you warmly but possessively. What starts as innocent turns more heated and passionate. Never before have you felt so safe and wanted.

"He'd probably kill you," you shake your head, gasping for air. "Lucky for you, you're him."

"I must be the luckiest man in the world," Seungcheol announces proudly.

"Not really," you jest. "Your fiancée is a bit of a brat."

"A bit?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe a lot. But she loves you very much," you admit honestly.

"Then, it's a good thing I love her, too," Seungcheol hugs you strongly.

You don't get the urge to run away anymore. Because this? This is better than any adrenaline rush.

"Watch me dance," you request mischievously.

"Oh, I will," he promises.

Seungcheol watches you at a close distance. Always concerned. Only this time, you're not a stranger. You're dancing freely, feeling protected from danger. Not keeping an eye on your drink. It's okay. He's here now to keep you out of harm's way. You allowed him to use his darkness to devour yours. But there is light, in this world, too. And light will always prevail.

The End

[cherrygirlfriend]

──── ALL TIED UP ♡

♡ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

♡ summary: you tie up rafe for the first time.

♡ warnings / tags: smut. dryhumping. sub!rafe. dom!reader. rope play. coming in underwear. MDNI WC: 1.1k

♡ author's note: this is my last 5k fic, but this is also another entry for @zyafics MRGA campaign, i feel like this fic fits it!!

PERVERT MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST l

all of this started with one simple sentence that you'd muttered against your boyfriend's collarbone.

"could we try something new?"

now your boyfriend's hands were tightly bound into his wooden bedframe with baby-pink rope, his legs separated, both of his ankles bound to the end of the bed with the same pink rope. rafe tugged on the ropes around his wrists only for them to not move an inch, the boy softly mumbling, "these are... weirdly well done..."

"i was a girl scout." you called out from the small toilet attached to rafe's dorm room, "you ready?!"

"i'm ready!"

oh.

rafe soon realized that he definitely wasn't ready to see you walk out of the tiny bathroom with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as a you untied the sinfully short pink, silky robe, letting it fall onto the ground while you walked towards him.

you let out a soft, seductive chuckle when you saw the tent in rafe's dark blue plaid boxer shorts, straightening your back even more to let him get a good look at you, and your chest.

rafe swore he could get drunk on the way you looked; the pink, lacy bra just sheer enough to let him see your nipples, a small, wet patch in the matching panties. "i don't think you were ready..." you stuck your bottom lip out in a pout and tilted your head to the side, trailing your manicured nail down his sharp jawline, rafe's cock twitching in his boxer shorts "poor baby. y'gotta be suffering, huh?" you cooed.

you let your finger trail down rafe's bare chest, the boy's hands once again tugging against the restraints when you brought your lips to his red nipple, twirling your tongue around it and sucking the hardened bud into your mouth, letting out a quiet chuckle against the sensitive skin before you pulled back, a whine leaving rafe's lips.

"why are you teasing me?" your boyfriend looked at you through his long dark brown lashes, making you shrug as you sat yourself on the edge of his bed, your fingers continuing to explore until they came across the sandy-colored happy trail leading into his boxer shorts.

you lifted the waistband of rafe's boxer shorts, a sigh of relief leaving his lips, interrupted by the snap! of the elastic meeting his hips as soon as you let go.

"have you ever thought..." you moved your hand to the head of his cock, standing at attention even through his boxer shorts. "that maybe..." you started sliding your hand down his shaft painfully slowly through the fabric, rafe's hips bucking up, searching for more friction as you leaned closer to him, your words quieting down into a whisper "i like making you all cute and whiney like this?"

"it's... nnngh... crossed my mind a few times..."

you grinned as you boosted yourself up onto the bed, moving to straddle rafe, his eyes on your ample cleavage. you chuckled, trailing your hand on the lace of your bra, "you want me to take em off?" you purred, the boy fervently nodding, making you chuckle softly as you leaned closer into him, your breasts nearly in his face, "bet you wish you could take them off yourself."

once again, rafe tugged on the restraints around his wrist, only for you to chuckle as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide down your arms before discarding it onto the floor.

"i bet i could make you cum in your underwear..." you purred, rafe's eyes glued onto your bare chest until you lifted his chin up so he was looking into your eyes, a small "hm?" leaving his lips and it became clear to you that the boy hadn't listened to a thing you'd said.

"nothing..." you mumbled, positioning your clothed cunt over the head of his cock, starting to draw slow circles over his tip, rafe's eyes rolling back in pleasure. each time you could hear him struggle, each time rafe tried to get out of the pink ropes binding him, your clit throbbed.

"please..." the front of rafe's boxer shorts was covered with a mixture of your arousal as well as rafe's, your boyfriend's mouth open wide as if he was in heaven. "please what?" you asked with a breathy voice, your boyfriend letting out a petulant whine. you brought your hand to his chin, forcing him to look up at you, "tell me what you want with words, or you're not getting anything."

"sorry..." rafe mumbled like he was an injured puppy, making you chuckle as you pressed a soft peck on his lips, "tell me what you want." you whispered against his pink lips, "i... i wanna come..." the boy whispered.

you pulled back slightly, only to see that rafe's beautiful, freckled cheeks were turning red. "okay." you said softly, cupping his jaw reverently, "well, i'm gonna make sure my boy gets to cum."

positioning your entrance at the head of his cock, you started circling your hips, held back by two separate layers of fabric. "you're- ngggh... you're not gonna take any of it off?"

"no." you mumbled simply before you sunk yourself down on him, letting out a moan, still able to feel rafe's cock even through both sets of underwear, both of you breathing shakily, and although many layers were separating you, you could feel his cock twitching. "you're close, aren't you?"

"n-nouuugggghhh...." rafe's protests quickly died down once your hand moved to fondle his balls through the plaid fabric, his hips bucking up into you.

you moved yourself up, the front of your boyfriend's boxer shorts completely soaked, rafe's eyes pressed closed tight. "i bet..." you mumble, rolling your hips, your entrance positioned just above the head of rafe's cock, his hips bucking up to meet you, begging for some kind of friction, his wrists and ankles begging to be freed, "you'd cum if i just sink down on you right now."

"no..." rafe mumbled, yet when you let out a soft chuckle, you could see the full-body shivers ravaging through him. "let's test that."

you let yourself sink down on rafe's clothed cock once again, moans leaving your lips with every inch that you felt inside of you, but once he'd bottomed out, rafe started grunting, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, curses leaving his lips as his hips involuntarily started thrusting up into you.

you chuckled as you got off his cock, rafe's breathing slowly getting steadier as you pulled up the waistband of his boxers, the inside of them covered in sticky white cum.

"i won." you grinned, sitting back. "alright, what do you want as your prize?" the sandy-haired boy asked, "are you sure you wanna know?"

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[littlegrapejuice]

Grid Mum 7 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Kimi gets his first podium, and you're crying like you just witnessed your kid walk for the first time. Bonus: Franco being bullied on a plane.

Author's Note: I'm still so so happy ab kimi's podium, i was fr super proud and i can't wait for him to get others + for the rest of the rookies to get one in the future🤍

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part

Kimi didn’t care about what people would think. He didn’t care about how it would look when his first instinct after hugging his team was to make his way towards the sea of Red Bull employees. Because amongst those employees who were here in parc fermé to celebrate Max’s P2, there was you.

Your smile was wide, cheeks almost hurting. And as soon as your eyes met Kimi’s, you grinned harder – if that was even possible.

“You did it!” You told Kimi once his arms were around you.

“I did it!” He echoed your words. His voice was muffled by his helmet, but the happiness and joy were obvious.

Pulling back from his embrace, your hands went to hold Kimi’s helmet. The rookie noticed that your eyes were tearing up a bit, and his couldn’t help but do the same too.

“That was a wonderful race, Kimi. I’m so proud of you.” Your tone was soft, conveying how genuine you were.

“Thank you!” Kimi’s eyes were enough to express his gratitude for your support, and they showed that he was smiling under his helmet. When someone from his team called him for his post-race duties before the podium, he quickly turned towards the voice then met your eyes once again. “Bye, I love you!” Next thing you know, he was gone from your side.

It wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal that Kimi was saying that he loved you – you had been mothering him since the season had started and had supported him through his unfortunately numerous DNFs. But still, it made you feel warm inside.

You observed as Kimi hugged George once again before Max went to congratulate him as well. You obviously would’ve loved to see your boyfriend winning this race, but this would definitely be one of your favourite podiums of the year – it wasn’t everyday that one of your grid kids featured on it. And such a wholesome scene it was to watch, as Max had a wide smile on his face while spraying Kimi with champagne. The tension between him and George had dissipated despite the accusations they had made against each other during the safety car earlier. They were just both enjoying their podiums and appreciating their own success – they also had to play pretend at being a happy little family to not ruin Kimi’s first podium.

You were truly over the moon for both Max and Kimi, so you obviously wanted to celebrate with them. And despite Kimi desperately wishing he could say yes, he had been forced to refuse:

“I can’t go partying… I got homework”, he reminded you as he thought about his final exams awaiting him.

“Then we’ll celebrate later if you graduate”, Max said with a shrug.

“When you graduate”. You sent a look to Max, one that meant to be invested in Kimi’s education even if Max’s hadn’t been his focus years ago.

“Yeah… if, when… same thing.”

“It’s not!” You and Kimi both argued.

“Have some faith in me, mate. I studied hard for this”, Kimi claimed.

“We studied hard”, George added as he joined the conversation.

“You’re not the one doing the exam, though. Not sure you could even manage”, you teased him.

“Please, I could ace it.” George raised an eyebrow at you, a challenging look in his eyes. “Could you?”

“I’m pretty sure I helped Kimi more than you did. Weren’t you the one who delegated the work to the engineers?”

You and George held eye contact for several seconds, neither of you looking away. That was until Kimi intervened.

“Okay guys, please no weird tension.” Kimi waved his hand in front of your and George’s faces, thus breaking the eye contact between the two of you. “Max and George finally figured their shit out – kinda, I don’t need another Verstappen-Russell fall out.”

“Good thing I ain’t a Verstappen, then.”

Yet, Max wanted to add. Even Kimi and George thought the same thing, both of them knowing that it was only a matter of time before it would eventually happen. You were practically one already, and it wasn’t an actual change in last names or a ring on your finger that would ever affect how you relationship with Max already was.

…..

Despite you skipping the F1: The Movie premiere in NYC, it almost felt like you were there with how much the rookies were talking about you. Due to the drivers all going to the same place, it made sense that some of them would be sharing a plane. So that was how Ollie, Franco, and Gabriel ended up travelling together with Lando.

“You should’ve forced her to come with us if you were gonna miss her that much”, Lando complained. He was so close to texting you to leave Max wherever he was and to come get your kids.

“Max didn’t want to come so… whose plus one she would’ve even been?” Ollie asked. “I have my girlfriend already.”

“Same,” Gabriel said with a nod.

“I would have gladly taken her if I didn’t care about the risks of Max running me off track once the pictures would be released. Imagine this: Max’s girlfriend was Lando’s plus one at the premiere, I’m done for!”

“I could have taken her”, Franco chimed in.

“Oh trust me, we know.” Gabriel rolled his eyes at Franco's words, and leaned back in his seat.

Lando and Ollie looked at each other, not sure whether they understood what was going on.

“Are we missing something?” Lando wondered.

Gabriel opened his mouth to explain the situation, before Franco interrupted him:

“Nothing’s going on, no. You’re not missing any vital piece of information.” Franco put on his best innocent smile and tried to think of a way to change the topic.

“That’s a lie”, Gabriel argued. “See, little Franco there did the only thing we had told him not to.”

“Which was?” Lando asked.

But Gabriel didn’t even have time to reply, that Ollie immediately understood what had happened.

“You did not?!” His accusatory tone was directed towards Franco, as Ollie couldn’t believe it.

“Maybe…?” Franco looked away, not liking his business being aired out.

“When was it?” Ollie questioned both Gabriel and Franco, his eyes darting between the two rookies.

“When was what?” Lando was completely lost, and he was definitely not enjoying being excluded from the drama.

“We gave one rule to Franco before Imola,” Ollie finally explained. “Just one tiny little rule.”

“Don’t flirt with Max’s girlfriend”, Gabriel added.

“Okay.” Lando was carefully listening and nodding, showing his investment in the story. “And how long did it take him to break it? Two, three weeks?”

“A day”, Gabriel said.

“A day?” Ollie repeated. “That’s insane, Franco. Imola was…” Ollie started counting in his head, to figure out when it had happened. “More than a month ago! We should revoke any grid mum privilege you’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t have many to start with”, Franco muttered.

“Does Max know?” Lando had no idea whether he expected a positive or negative answer, just wanting to know more about the situation.

“He apparently threatened Franco”, Gabriel explained with a snicker.

“That was traumatising. I had Mad Max in front of me,” Franco dramatised.

“Now that’s something I would’ve liked to see!” Lando started laughing, imagining how Max had intimidated the young driver. “He hasn't driven you into the wall since then, though. So consider him being generous with you.”

“Wanna know what I think?” When the three drivers nodded, Ollie shared his thoughts. “I feel like Max didn’t actually see you as a real threat. Sure you tried to flirt with his girlfriend–”

“Extremely fucked up of you to do that”, Gabriel interrupted Ollie to add his comment.

“Agreed. But yeah, Max is definitely not the guy to get insecure. He knew you had no real chance anyways”, Ollie finished explaining.

“Damn… you have no game, mate.”

“Lando, please don’t bully me as well.” Franco sighed. “I have game! But obviously, it works better when I’m not going after a taken woman!”

“We have yet to see this skill of yours this year”, Gabriel teased.

“Oh God…” Franco groaned as he put his head in his hands.

The Argentinian wouldn’t hear the end of it until the plane had landed. And he knew that once Isack as well as Liam would know, those two would definitely gang up on him too – spoiler: they did.

…..

Meanwhile, in Belgium…

Max had offered you to come see him race in Spa, and you had gladly accepted to show him your support while he pursued this new interest of his. You hadn’t given it a second thought, not really caring about missing the F1: The Movie premiere. Max might have taken you if you had truly wanted to go, but he hadn’t hidden at all the satisfied grin on his face when you had told him that you didn’t want to see Brad Pitt overtake your boyfriend and win all the races that Max had actually won last year.

So while most of the drivers were on their way to New York, you and Max were currently on your way to Spa after a quick pit stop back home. You had just finished typing a text to wish Kimi luck for his final exams, when your nose suddenly started itching right before your body forced you to sneeze.

“Bless you”, Max simply said without looking up from his phone. “Hope no one’s talking badly about you.”

“It might just be allergies”, you argued.

“Or the rookies not being able to shut up about you”, Max teased.

It was honestly your allergies acting up, but Max was also not wrong to trust a silly superstition for once.

..........

Taglist: @umm-i-love-u @callsign-mirage @freyathehuntress @elieanana @suns3treading @fastandcurious16 @l3thal-l0lita @urmomsgirlfriend1 @guacala @delululeclerc

Hope y'all enjoyed this!! I'm honestly loving writing short chaps in between double/triple headers bc it's like a nice change of pace so don't hesitate to tell me if y'all like them too :)

I think isack was acc on the same plane as them (idk ab liam bc bro appears nowhere) but when i eventually noticed, it was too late to change and i was too lazy to add him🤗

Also we reached 500 followers!! It still feels insane that there are this many people supporting me and my silly fics so thanks y'all🫶🏻🫶🏻

See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx

[kdh-tally]

Hi! If your requests are open, is there a chance you can write a oneshot about Mystery and Zoey from Kpop Demon Hunters? They're my favorite characters. I know all of the Saja Boys, except Jinu, are unfeeling demons, but I'm choosing to disregard what's canon. For the story, I was thinking of a scene where Mystery notices Zoey ogling Abby's abs. Seeing this makes Mystery jealous and self-conscious, and he asks himself, "What does he have that I don't have?" I would also lol if Mystery then starts barking at Abby.

Prompt : Mystery is a tad bit insecure

Author's Note : A tad bit on the longer side maybe?

Mystery didn’t intend on enjoying the idol life so much. Jinu had to spend most of his time persuading him out of the four other boy-band members. Mystery had enjoyed his home in hell to some degree. There was nothing to do really, and he wasn’t disturbed as long as Gwi-ma remained focused on someone else.

Of course there were still voices. The voices were always there. Well, they were. Jinu, the idiot, had the bright idea to debut their little boy band sooner than needed.That’s how he and the other 3 boys found themselves being shoved into a sketchy alleyway. 

“Look good!” he whispered yelled orders at them. The boys groaned in unison, annoyance visible in their tones but they listened anyway. 

Mystery was the first one turning the corner. He heard silent squeals coming from the other end but couldn’t see what was going on. He tilted his head slightly, hair flowing gracefully in the wind. The other boys seeing this copied his move, making it look synchronized and purposeful.

He took note of the three girls. Two of them seemed to be fangirling over Abby’s muscles, he didn’t understand why Jinu gave them such basic names, and the other girl looked so done with the situation. 

The girl that stood in the center, short with little space buns, began to turn red. She was the first human he’d noticed and, not that anyone could tell, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. But there were more important things than a cute human girl. Especially when she was a hunter that killed his king for a living. 

Killed them with her voice. Her beautiful, gentle, siren… 

“Mystery?” someone interrupted his thoughts. The man hadn’t even noticed that they had passed by the girls already and were standing near the center of the market place.

“What is it Baby?”

“You need to lock in”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Mystery scoffed at the new terminology the youngest demon had begun using. Baby seemed to really enjoy human humor.

“We’re about to perform so focus you idiot”

—

Jinu never seemed to run out of dumb ideas. None of the boys knew how they found themselves camping outside of the fan sign hall. All Mystery could remember was playing this game called Valorant or something of the sort, only to be summoned away to the front of a line. 

As they were letting it Mystery understood everything. Jinu wanted to flirt with his girl- enemy. Yep. Ignoring the sudden fuss when the purple lady said the groups would sit together, Mystery quickly found himself sitting beside the girl with the space buns again. 

He quickly learnt that her name was Zoey and she was the main rapper of the group. This shocked him slightly seeing as she was so bubbly and sweet. He’d honestly thought the scary pink lady was the main rapper, but seeing as Baby was their rapper he should've known better.

Eventually, Mystery mustered up the courage to ask her a question only to be interrupted by a fan. How dare they interrupt him? He didn’t even notice he was barking at them to scare them away until Zoey began to chastise him for it. 

“No! Bad Saja Boy!” she shamed, tapping his head with the pen until he calmed down. Mystery slouched back into his chair, what was coming over him?? From just two seats across, he could hear Baby snickering at him.

As he watched Zoey reassure the fan that everything was alright, why did she have to hold the fans hands???, he realized this feeling might have started to become a bigger problem than he thought it would be. —

The battle was over. Gwi-ma was finally defeated and the underworld was closed up for good. With the odd stillness that followed, Mystery found himself in a strange place. He found himself at peace. Well.. kinda?

He still couldn’t sleep properly as he wasn't used to the silence of the overworld at night, and his hair still got frizzy and big when it was humid, and sometimes Baby stole his earrings, but all in all, it was fine. Livable. Manageable. Different.

The dance practice room was empty aside from him and Zoey. The floor-to-ceiling mirrors stretched across the front wall, reflecting the two of them. Zoey in her grey sweats and a tiny white crop top (which was so unfair), and Mystery, slouched on the floor, playing dead.

“You’re not even trying to learn the moves,” Zoey said through a laugh, twisting her water bottle open.

“I am,” he groaned. “Just give me a week to actually get interested first.”

Zoey rolled her eyes at his dramatic behaviour, something that only ever seemed to pop out around her. “That choreography isn’t even that hard.”

“Says the girl with demon hunter blood and abs. This must be so easy for you.”

Zoey blinked. “Excuse you?”

Mystery sat up, one knee drawn up, resting an arm on it as he spoke, “It’s distracting.”

“You’re distracting,” she said pointedly, and then immediately flushed when she realized what she said. “I mean..!”

Mystery smirked, tying his hair up into a bun. He was fully aware of the fact that Zoey believed he was ‘just her type’ and took full advantage of it whenever he could. “You think I’m distracting?”

“I meant your weird slouchy pose was distracting,” Zoey huffed, face red, eyes looking everywhere but his face as she sipped her water too fast.

He liked this. The way her cheeks puffed when she was annoyed. The way she was clearly trying not to look at him while fixing her buns. The way she…

Stopped. Right in front of the mirror.

“Oh my god,” she said, squinting at the mirror.

“What?”

“I look jacked,” she whispered, checking her arm. “Is this what Abby feels like all the time?”

Mystery’s smile faded. “Abby?”

“Yeah. Look at this.” She lifted her arm slightly, flexing, and raised a brow in approval. “No wonder people like his stage presence. He’s a wall of charisma and strength.”

Mystery’s eye twitched. “What does he have that I don’t?” he muttered.

Zoey turned. “Hm?”

“Nothing!” Mystery said too fast. “Just… practicing the dance moves.”

Zoey snorted. “Sure you are. Just like how you were 'barking to protect our image' at the fan sign.”

Mystery’s eyes narrowed. “That fan was sketchy. Their aura was weird.” Aura was a word Baby taught him.

“Uh huh. You were jealous,” she teased, walking past him to grab her towel.

“I was not,” he lied poorly. “I’m incapable of jealousy. Demon, remember?”

“Right,” she dragged, throwing the towel at him. “And I’m incapable of sarcasm.”

She left him there on the floor, towel over his head, ego bruised. But even as she walked away, Mystery found his eyes trailing her again. He hated how soft he’d become.

Hated how often his thoughts drifted back to that first fan sign. To the first time he saw her in the overworld. Laughing. Blushing.

She'd been so red when they passed her in the alleyway, her and Mira swooning over Abby’s opened shirt while she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. He’d noticed her immediately. And it wasn't just because she was cute. (Okay, that was part of it.)

It was because she was human. So very human. Something he, at the time, didn’t realise he would want so bad. And yet she’d stayed in his mind like a song he couldn’t stop humming.

Even now, months later, with the world no longer ending and his contract with Gwi-ma gone, Mystery still found himself aching whenever she looked at someone else with even a fraction of the warmth she gave him.

Abby. Abby.

The name echoed in his mind again like some cursed chant. Summoning courage, he stood and marched up behind her. “You didn’t answer me.”

Zoey glanced at him in the mirror. “About?”

“What does he have that I don’t have?”

Zoey blinked. “Wait. You were serious?”

Mystery folded his arms. “I barked at a fan for you. I gave up my spot as center for that weird duet stage. I let you touch my hair. That’s practically marriage in demon culture.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped in laughter. “Mystery, I pat everyone’s head when they’re being a weirdo.”

“You don’t call everyone a good boy.” he pointed out.

Zoey flushed bright pink. “That was one time! I was trying to calm you down!”

“It worked.”

“Stop being dramatic.” Zoey laughed, softer this time, walking closer.

He hated how fast his heartbeat got when she stepped into his personal space.

“You’re not Abby,” she said gently.

“I know that,” he huffed.

“But you’re Mystery,” she added, poking his chest, her eyes peering into his. “You’re weird and intense and accidentally funny and overly stylish. And I like that.”

Mystery blinked. “Wait. What?”

Zoey turned, clearly trying not to look at him anymore. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“You like me?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m pushing it,” he said, stepping beside her. “You said you like me.”

“Fine,” Zoey grumbled. “I like you.”

Mystery grinned.

“I knew barking was the right way to go.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m going to bark at Abby next time I see him.”

“No!”

But Mystery was already planning it.

If he had a heart, it would be doing cartwheels.

He glanced at her reflection again, her cheeks warm, eyes shy, and something settled in him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly.

Zoey looked up.

“I like you too. Even if your abs are unfair.”

Zoey broke into laughter, her head tilting back.

And for once, Mystery didn’t mind the quiet that came with the over world. He didn’t mind the quiet anywhere as long as it meant he could listen to the girl he probably shouldn’t have fallen for, laugh her heart out.

[himasgod]

M-Mayhaps platonic Malleus with reader who is his adoptive sibling but the Senate and majority of the people refuse to accept them as a sibling of their heir as they are half-fae and not a Draconia (Maleficia is fine with them but she holds very little power over the Senate)

MALLEUS AND READER

Where the Senate does not accept you as his sibling

The castle always smelled like briar smoke. You used to love that smell — it meant home, even when nothing else did. But lately, it just reminded you how unwanted you were here.

"You're scowling again," Malleus said beside you as you walked through the hall.

"Am I?" you muttered, hands in the sleeves of your robe. "Must be the lighting."

Your footsteps filled the corridor. The portraits of your adoptive ancestors — tall, haughty Draconias— glared down at you like they knew you didn’t belong.

The news from this morning still clung to your ribs: another vote in the Senate had failed to recognize you as a full member of the royal household.

"Third rejection this season," you said casually, trying not to care. "I’m breaking records."

"Their pride will cost them more than a few stained ledgers if they continue."

You glanced at him. Malleus looked calm, but his eyes were that stillness he always got when he was furious.

For your sake. That still made your chest ache.

"They say I’ll never be a Draconia, no matter how many generations pass. They call me the ‘thornblood orphan’ behind my back."

Malleus stopped walking. You almost kept going before realizing.

"You were not chosen my sibling because of your blood. You were chosen because you were family the moment you looked at me and asked if my horns were heavy, when you were almost a toddler."

"...You remember that?"

He allowed himself a ghost of a smile.

“I had never laughed so much before that night.”

Maleficia was waiting in her usual spot, teacup balanced on one finger.

"You’re late," she said mildly, not looking up.

You bowed your head and flopped gracelessly onto the cushion beside her.

"Politics is a disease."

"Mmm. Caught it young, did you?"

You groaned into the pillow. Maleficia finally turned, her features sharp and amused.

“You’re stronger than them. That’s why they hate you. You've established a bond of trust with Malleus that neither of them has been able to achieve in decades and decades of years.”

"They hate me because I don’t fit into their little picture of a perfect monarchy."

"That too. But mostly because you remind them their rules can be bent. Bent rules threaten old men with no power except tradition."

You peeked up at her.

“Why do you always sound like you’re quoting an evil play?”

“I am an evil play,” she replied, lifting her teacup with flair. “But I’m your play, and I’d turn every last one of those doddering cowards into bats if I had more authority. I could have it, but… I'm getting older. I prefer to drink tea and watch them argue in the Senate with a smile.”

"...Thank you?"

"You’re welcome, little thorn."

The chamber echoed with voices.

“Half-fae or not,” one senator was saying, “the child has no blood claim to the throne and cannot be granted the privileges of the House Draconia.”

Malleus rose from his chair slowly. The room fell into silence.

"You dare refer to my sibling as 'the child' in my presence?"

The senator blanched.

"I recognize blood, but I also recognize loyalty. Character. Strength. And if the Senate does not, perhaps they should look in a mirror and ask if it still deserves to stand.”

The senator sputtered.

“You would threaten the Senate?”

“No,” Malleus said, smiling ever so slightly. “I would only remind it that I am not a child anymore. And neither is my sibling.”

That night, you sat alone in the overgrown garden. You watched the fireflies float, thinking how they never questioned belonging.

Malleus appeared wordlessly and sat beside you.

“…You’re not supposed to talk to the gallery guests,” you said, trying for humor. “It’s probably illegal.”

“Would it make a difference, if I told you that I consider you closer to methan half the fools arguing over titles?”

“They’ll never stop coming for me.”

“Then let them come. You are not alone.”

You leaned against his shoulder. Malleus let you.

At the next state event, you walked at Malleus’s side. Not behind him. Not two steps back as usual.

The nobles stared, bristling in quiet outrage.

Malleus offered you his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Let them see," he said.

"They're already whispering," you replied, adjusting your head high.

"Then let them choke on it."

You smirked.

The thornblood orphan walked like royalty that night. Because you were.

And eventually, they would have no choice but to see it.

[ebodebo]

these boots are made for walkin’... │ simon riley

simon teaches you a lesson in this tumblr writing special .ᐟ

│cod masterlist │ inbox │ taglist │ao3│

│CONTAINS│18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, slight dubcon vibes, boot riding till orgasm (i know that's right,) slight brat taming vibes, power imbalance (he's your lieutenant,) age-gap (late 40s/early to mid 20s,) superiority complexes, meanie & condescending simon, & no use of y/n. [979 words]

│AUTHOR'S NOTE│yes, your eyes do not deceive you! this is a very special tumblr writing special! my bestie & fellow writer @sceletaflores and i have decided to collaborate and give YOU a writing challenge. your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to write a fic about anything and anyone you like, but it must be 1k words or less. make sure to tag us, @ebodebo and @sceletaflores, with #ratwritingunder1kchallenge so we can see your fic and add it to our challenge masterlist. we’ve both made our contributions—are you ready to make yours?

│MORE│dividers by @bernardsbendystraws!

You barge into his cramped, dimly lit office, skin sizzling and tongue hot with accusations, the only sound is the scratching of his pen on paper. 

"Why the hell would you pull me out?" you shout at Simon, your lieutenant, who is hunched over his desk doing paperwork.

He doesn't even look up; he just scribbles messily across the page. "Best adjust your tone, Sergeant," he replies, his voice low and gruff as always.

You stand your ground, arms crossed over your chest. "No," you declare, your voice firm and unwavering.

This time, he glances up at you, and his tone shifts to a lethal seriousness. "What was that?"

"I will not let you or the other guys treat me like a little kid, Ghost. I may be young, but I earned my rank, and Laswell wanted me here, so you're just going to have to deal with me," you insist, your arms flailing with anger.

He exhales sharply, setting his pen down and rubbing a hand across his masked face. "You're gettin' to be a real fuckin' pain in my ass, you know that?"

"Good. Then maybe I won't be so fucking easy to ignore," you grit out, your voice straining.

"You should be thankin' me," he suggests, leaning back in his chair with a creak.

"Thanking you?" you gawk, your eyes wide.

"You're ungrateful," he stands. "Disobedient," he mutters, moving from around the desk to walk over to you. "A real brat."

"Ghost," you start, your voice trembling as he stands right in front of you.

"Worst of all, you come in here with your chest puffed, thinkin' you can talk to me the way you did. Oh, sweetheart," he shakes his head. "You need to learn some damn manners."

“Ghost,” you urge, feeling the toe of his boots press against yours.

He shakes his head; his harsh emotions are easy to read, even with his face covered. “Get on your knees, Sergeant,” he directs firmly, his eyes looking down at you.

Your eyes widen in shock as his command catches you off guard. “Wha—what?” you stammer, confusion evident in your voice.

“Did I stutter?” he asks, his eerily voice low.

"No… I—Ghost..." you manage to stammer, your voice trembling with worry.

He twists his head to the side, clearly agitated. "You show me some goddamn respect and call me 'sir,'" he commands before turning back to meet your wide eyes and tight shoulders. "You lack the discipline needed to succeed here," he continues, resting his hands on his hips. "You haven't a single clue how mean I can be. You haven't seen me lose control. Not really," he states, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"So, I'm… what? Lucky?" you say, trying to tread lightly—or as lightly as your rebellious mouth allows. 

"Yes," he confirms without hesitation. "You are. But right now? You're tearing apart every shred of patience I have left to give. So, I’m telling you one last time: get on your knees, Sergeant."

 A fire ignites in your stomach that you despise, but you obey, sinking to the cold floor before him.

"Wasn't so hard, now was it?" he sarcastically questions. His tone makes you want to erupt in anger, but you hold back and bite your tongue. "Now, sit on my boot."

"What?" Your voice comes out more breathless than you intended as you look up at him.

He narrows his eyes, tapping his foot impatiently. You can tell he's testing your obedience. "Sit," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. 

Your mouth opens slightly as you slowly move to sit on his foot, feeling his laces and the fabric rubbing your cunt through your cargo pants.

“Good girl,” he praises, making you swallow deeply as you stare at his leg. “Use my boot, Sergeant,” he encourages through clenched teeth.

“For what?” You look up at him, your chest heaving from nervousness and adrenaline.

“For this,” he says, picking up his boot slightly to rub against you. You grab his calf and let out a stifled moan at the sensation. “Yeah. Feels damn good, huh? See what happens when you listen to me, Sergeant,” there’s condescension in his tone before his voice goes dark and low. “You get to have this greedy pussy takin’ care of.”

Your body jerks forward at his words, and you can feel yourself grind into his boot, mouth hanging open as you let out a small whimper. 

He lets out a gruff laugh, which you look up with needy eyes. “Take what you need,” he tips his head in approval towards you. 

And so you do.

Your fingers span across the back of his calf as you work your aching cunt on his boot.

Back and forth, the fire in your stomach burning hotter and brighter with every rhythmic movement.

“Look at you squirmin’ on my boot,” he murmurs, hand resting on top of your head as you wail and whine. “Like a cat in heat. Fuckin’ needy and whiny.”

You lock your arms around his leg as you feel the soft blow of your looming orgasm.

“Eyes on me,” he commands, moving his thumb to press against your pouty bottom lip.

You comply, gazing up at him as you rock yourself against the leather fabric, seeking more friction. Your eyes remain half-lidded as you watch his intimidating gaze swirl beneath the mask.

“You gonna start mindin’ me, Sergeant?” he prompts, squeezing your bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger. “Better not mouth off again, or I’ll let Price deal with you.”

Your orgasm crashes over you as you wail into the fabric of Simon’s cargo pants, fingers digging into his calf. 

“Thanks,” he speaks after a brief moment as you are still trying to recuperate.

“For… what?” You tilt your head in confusion as you try to catch your breath.

“My boot needed a good shinin’.”

│MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE│this writing special was created because i challenged @sceletaflores to write a fic that is less than 1k words. she then challenged me to do the very same, and we thought it would be a fun challenge to share with other writers on here! remember, make sure to tag @ebodebo and @sceletaflores with #ratwritingunder1kchallenge so we can see your fics and add them to our challenge masterlist. we can't wait to see what you all come up with. mwah!

[simjakesgirl]

drive in (18+)

synopsis: you and jake haven't seen each other for a while and decide to go see a drive in movie... warnings: afab reader, smut, dom!jake, brattamer!jake (sortaa??), sub!reader, degrading author's note: okay i haven't forgot abt my series but i am multi fandom and while digging through my drafts i found this old jake smut and it's kinda good lol..

you and jake went out to see a drive in movie, unsure of the last time you guys might’ve went on a date. you can guess the outcome of that, you were dying to just touch each other. jake, being a gentleman, tried his best not to go insane when you left the house in the tiniest skirt he'd ever seen. of course he also couldn’t tell you not to wear it because it was him that bought it for you. you knew exactly what you were doing though. it barely covered enough for his liking and you knew that it would drive him crazy. with so much comeback preparations, the only thing you got was phone calls when he was too fucked to even think straight and he needed to hear your voice.

it became obvious that you guys needed more as you both could barely pay attention to the movie. you noticed how jake would look over once in a while, not at your face of course and then quickly turn back to the movie with no focus on it whatsoever. his mind raced with things he wanted to do to you instead, but his restraint was strong. you couldn't help but look over at him too, taking in the way his jaw was tightly clenched and his hands fidgeted with each other. he looked too good and knowing that he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him was enough to tip you over the edge.

you then got the best idea possibly ever. you quickly checked your surroundings as jake’s eyes stayed glued to the movie. everyone seemed preoccupied, just enough for you to get away with your plan. jake drove a pretty old car, not because it was all he could afford or anything, but because he liked the style of it. the downside was the air system was pretty busted. it would only really work when it felt like working and jake constantly worried about overheating the car especially in summer, so he'd try and run the ac when it did work. you realized since you guys left that jake forgot your blanket that you'd use when he ran the ac since you preferred warmer temps. the plan was destined to work.

you began to fake shiver in your seat, rubbing against your arms and chattering your teeth just enough to make it look real. jake quickly took notice, shutting off the ac and turning to check the backseat.

“fuck,” he breathed out. you almost stop breathing at the sound.

he turned back to you, examining the way you shivered and looked up to him innocently.

“i forgot the blanket, i'm sorry,” he apologized sweetly, biting his lip while trying to think of a way to help you.

“it’s okay, jakey,” you pouted, trying to seem as innocent as possible even though your plan was far from it.

“here.” he removed his hands from his lap, gesturing you over with his fingers. “sit on my lap.”

you hid your smile the best that you could, climbing over the center console and sitting between his legs so you were facing the movie. he innocently kissed the top of your head before pulling you gently into his chest for comfort. you were inches away from what you needed, except you were unsure how to get the point across. he brought his hands to your legs, rubbing them to warm you up, but stopping inches away from where you needed him the most. you shifted around, purposefully rubbing against his dick a little bit to give him a hint. his breath hitched, but he didn’t do anything further, making you pout. you tried again, making it more obvious.

“here,” he lifted you up onto his thigh, putting his hand loosely around your waist so you couldn’t fall. “is that better?”

“..mhm” you hummed, lightly grinding yourself against him, fighting for release.

at this point jake knew what you were up to, but he didn’t want you to think it would be so easy. he’d let you continue and then stop you once you were close by moving his leg. tears began to bore at your eyes as your multiple attempt failed. you didn’t know why he couldn’t notice you needed him.

“why're you pouting like that, sweetheart?” he teased, turning back to the screen.

“jakey please.” you breathed out, your tears falling from your eyes at that point.

“what’s wrong, hm?” he started, his voice laced with fake comfort. “you wanna cum?”

you nodded quickly, looking at him with glossy eyes as he looked down on you with dark ones.

“tell me what you want.” he demanded, finding himself getting hard at your quivering lip and teary eyes.

he turned you around effortlessly, your back now facing the movie. you looked down, shy all of a sudden and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“i..i want you to fuck me jake…please.” you pleaded, just above a whisper.

“yeah?” you could hear the smirk in his voice. “that’s why you wore this little skirt to tease me and rubbed yourself against my dick like a whore? hm?”

you nodded, your face still buried in embarrassment.

“if you want it, you’re gonna speak to me like a big girl,” he said, bringing his hands to your arms and pushing you away from his neck.

you diverted your gaze, playing with the bottom of his shirt innocently, too shy to look at him. his hand quickly left your arm, holding your chin and pushing it up so you had to look at him.

“tell me then,” jake started again as if he was disciplining you.

his eyes locked with yours, making you shiver under his touch.

“i…i wanted to tease you,” you admitted, your cheeks getting hot under his gaze. “m’ sorry, please forgive me.”

your eyes welled up with tears and the pressure from trying to hold them back had you sucking in your breath.

“baby, i know you’re sorry,” he fake consoled you, rubbing his thumb against your bottom lip. “but you know how hard you made things for me?”

“yes,” you choked out, tears soaking your face from how bad you felt.

he stuck his thumb into your mouth, rubbing against the soft padding of your tongue.

“then tell me you’ll be good girl,” he demanded, his eyes flitting back up to yours.

he removed his thumb from your mouth, still holding your chin.

“i’m a g-good girl,” you repeated, just above a whisper.

“you can do better, do it again,” he demanded.

“i-i’m a g-good girl.” you repeated, louder but strained from your crying.

“stop crying, do it again.”

you whimpered, biting down on your bottom lip to try and calm down, but the frustration only made you want to cry more.

“please, jake, i’m a good girl.” you repeated once again, gripping the bottom of his shirt to put your frustration somewhere.

he reached down, unhooking your hands from his shirt to unzip his jeans. he pushed through his boxers to free his cock and you almost drooled at the sight, especially the way he ran his hand over it to jerk himself just a bit.

“you think you’re a good enough girl for it?” he questioned, his voice husky and strained.

you nodded quickly, looking up at him for a split second to meet his dark stare.

"you want it?” he asked.

you nodded again, trying to grab it, but jake grabbed your wrist tightly.

“nuh-uh, you want it, then you gotta beg me for it.”

you whined again, feeling yourself wanting to cry. your core was aching painfully, just wanting to be touched, but you couldn’t do anything about it. you pouted, trying to lightly grind yourself just barely against jake’s leg to ease the pain and clear your mind, but his hands came to your waist, holding you with such a grip, you couldn’t move.

“you really are a whore,” jake degraded, “can’t even spend two seconds without touching yourself. you see how pathetic that is?”

“jakey, please, i can’t think straight. i want it so bad, it hurts, please give it to me. please, daddy.” you babbled, not even registering half of the things you were saying.

“it hurts, baby? is that right?”

you nodded, taking shallow breaths to control your emotion. his cock visibly jumped, not that you noticed at all. you weren’t noticing much of anything at that moment. he knew it was past enough teasing for you, but now also for him.

“fuck,” he breathed out. “lay back for me.”

you laid back against the wheel as jake pulled your legs closer to him so he could see under the skirt. right away there was a dark wet patch against your underwear and his jeans. he pulled them off to the side, you now on display for him. he ran his fingers up your folds, noticing how sensitive you were from the slightest touch. you couldn’t help but moan when he touched you since you’d been waiting so long. he stuck two of his fingers in, watching your face as he slowly fucked them in and out. you wanted him to go faster, but you knew better than to provoke him at that moment. at least he was giving you something. he waited until you climaxed to even think about himself, his restraint wavering towards the end as he guided you through your high.

he spit on his dick, jerking with it before lining himself up. you looked at him with lidded eyes, almost too drunk on feelings to even keep them open.

“fuck,” he breathed out while he pushed himself in.

you moaned lightly, trying to keep quiet before anyone got suspicious, but jake didn’t seem to care. the way he had you, if anyone looked over they'd know exactly what was happening. slowly you forgot to care too, the way jake felt was just too good after so long without him in you.

“kiss me,” you strained out to him.

he pulled you towards him, kissing you and swallowing your sounds as they came. you tried your best to slowly ride him so the car didn't shake so much, but eventually jake got tired of it and took things into his own hands.

“feel good?” he asked through heavy breaths.

“yes, it feels so so good jakey.” you whined, feeling close already.

he took notice, bringing his thumb to your clit to bring you to your high. you tried to hold back, not wanting the moment to end just yet, but the sensation was too much.

"stop fighting it. be good and cum for me, sweetheart."

and that was all it took. before you knew it you were cumming all over his cock and he was pulling you off.

“wait, what about you?” you asked as he was still visibly hard.

“you know i can’t help but feel bad for you, baby, but it doesn’t mean that you can get away with anything. we still have to go home,” he explained, covering you up once again before himself “i didn’t even punish you yet.”

he gestured for you to sit back in the passenger seat and next thing you knew, he was pulling out of the lot...

[nuelles]

Ring Light, Ring Finger

A month after secretly eloping with Spencer Agnew, you're back to 'normal' life at Smosh - only for you to forget to take off your rings, and fans instantly zoom in. Let the teasing from your fellow Smosh fam, the edits from fans, and overall chaos begin.

Spencer Agnew x F!Reader ft. Smosh Cast

tried to keep it gender neutral, but the bonus scene has a photo with a female presenting human.

warnings: fluff, romance, crack, secret relationship, smosh chaos, eloping, not proofread

wc: according to Google Docs 3k

author's note: nothing to do with my other series, this is a stand-alone :) what game are they playing no clue! Also, creds to @cafekitsune for the star divider/banner

It started with a ring.

Two, technically.

Yours–sleek, minimal, and gleaming beneath the studio lights.

And his plain silver, always partially hidden by his hoodie sleeve.

The studio was buzzing with familiar energy, soft banter, and dice clattering across the table, as someone had already accused Angela of cheating, probably with good reason. Being back with the Smosh Games crew felt like slipping into your favorite hoodie: comfortable, cozy, and just chaotic enough to keep you on your toes.

Your first filming day back, and they'd thrown you right into Board AF. Of course. No warmup. No easing in. Just instant conflict, weird rules, and loud accusations wrapped in plastic game boxes.

It felt good.

Except for the very real, very shiny ring on your left hand.

You had meant to take it off that morning. Swore up and down you wouldn't forget. You and Spencer had even gone shopping for a nice ring box where the ring would live when you two went to work. Every morning, you told yourself, "Left hand, dummy," as you would walk past your mirror, the shiny sparkle catching your eye.

But then Spencer, distracted you wandering into the shared bathroom, hair a mess, asking if you slept well and wanted to grab breakfast before heading to the studio together.

And you forgot just like that.

So now, there it was, the physical embodiment of a very recent Vegas wedding. One month ago to the day. Not even thirty full days since you said "I do" in front of an LED sign that read 'Til Death' and promised to love each other forever in front of a guy named Dennis, who was dressed as Elvis, and who also charged by the hour.

And you were wearing the proof of it.

On camera.

In 4k.

Next to the very man you married, who was currently trying to hide his matching ring beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, like that was going to fool the internet.

"Okay," Damien said, dramatically flicking the dice into the center of the board, "I'm just gonna say it, if Spencer wins again, I'm quitting the channel."

"You said that last time," Spencer chuckled, leaning back lazily in his seat. "You were back the next day."

"Don't challenge me, I've got dignity!"

Angela leaned in, "He really doesn't."

You smiled, trying not to look suspicious. Your hand itched to hide the ring, but moving it would draw more attention. Next to you, Angela was squinting at the rules like they were written in ancient Greek. "Okay, wait, so if I land here, I lose a coin unless I shout the name of a vegetable in under two seconds?"

Alex Tran, joked from offscreen, "Welcome to Board AF!"

You and Spencer shared a subtle look. Just a flicker of amused eyes, like a secret passed under the table.

It had only been a month, and you still felt like you were learning how to wear the title of spouse. It wasn't weird, but it was tender. A new kind of closeness. A little thrilling. A little terrifying.

And very, very private.

"Y/N" Angela asked, nudging you with her elbow, "you with us or are you calculating your next betrayal?"

"Huh?" You were startled back into reality, "Oh. Sorry. Betrayal, obviously."

"Hell yeah," Damien nodded. "Marriage material, honestly."

Spencer coughed, badly hiding a laugh.

Your face flushed. He looked away.

No one noticed. But the camera was still rolling.

And when you reached across the table to grab a game piece, your hand, your left hand landed perfectly in frame. The studio lights caught the ring just right, making it sparkle like a flare gun into the sky.

You didn't notice the slip.

Neither did the crew.

But the fans would.

The video had barely been up for twelve hours.

At first, it seemed like a normal upload day. Comments rolled in as usual, people yelling about dice rolls, calling Angela a menace, asking why Damien was so competitive over board games that made no sense.

Until one comment changed everything.

@smosh_xoxo: "Wait....is that a ring on Y/N's finger??? 👀💍"

It had five likes at first. Then twenty. Then two thousand.

And finally came the edits.

🎥 TikTok by @detectivestans4life Caption: “They thought we wouldn’t notice 😏” Audio: The “They don’t know” meme song Footage: A slowed-down clip of you reaching for the game piece. Zoomed. Cropped. Circled in red. Frame freeze. Cut to: Spencer, arms crossed, hoodie sleeve slipping just enough to expose his ring.

The comment section? A minefield of spiraling.

@spencersbajaqueen: “STOP. PAUSE. ENHANCE. HE’S WEARING ONE TOO. THIS ISN’T A DRILL.” @y/nstansince2019: “We’ve officially entered the soft launch apocalypse.” @smoshwitnessprotection: “So what I’m hearing is… they got MARRIED and thought we wouldn’t notice?? Oh, honey.”

Someone had found screengrabs of previous videos where Spencer was looking at you with loving eyes, how he laughed just a little harder when your turn on TNTL was up, and last but not least, the matching rings.

Someone else zoomed into your tagged photos and noticed a matching band on your left hand at a coffee shop in Silver Lake. One week post-wedding.

A third person posted a TikTok with side-by-side screenshots of every shared glance, subtle smile, and awkward shoulder brush between you and Spencer from past Smosh videos.

Other fans jumped in with unsettling speed and spreadsheet-level efficiency:

Timeline screenshots of Spencer and you both “going offline” a month ago for three days.

An old tweet of yours: “brb, making a questionable but romantic decision 👀”

A photo of a Vegas sign from Spencer’s private Instagram story (how they got it, you were clueless) that was posted exactly four weeks ago.

A blurry mirror selfie where a silver band could maybe, possibly, definitely be seen on your finger.

@gayforthechaos: “So let me get this straight… they ELOPED A MONTH AGO and have been lying to our faces ever since???”

@fbiwifeysquad: “They didn’t soft launch. They whispered it under their breath and hoped we’d never hear it.”

@spencersbajaqueen: “The ‘just married’ glow is literally in their faces. Look at how Y/N is smiling. LOOK AT HOW SPENCER LOOKS AT THEM. I'M IN SHAMBLES.”

The term #smoshwedding began trending by midnight. Followed by the theories of said wedding.

Had you eloped in Vegas? Was Courtney the maid of honor and just playing dumb? Did Shayne officiate while dressed as The Chosen?

And still, you and Spencer stayed silent.

No posts. No clarifications. No “haha guys calm down.”

Just... quiet.

Which only made it worse.

@softmarriedenergy: “THE WEDDING WAS A MONTH AGO?? ARE THEY STILL IN THE HONEYMOON PHASE RIGHT NOW??”

@smoshdramaqueen: “I’m not okay. I feel like I just found out my best friend got married and didn’t invite me even though I live in their phone.”

Some fans cried. Some made fan edits. Some were dangerously close to organizing a digital reception with a shared Spotify playlist titled “Songs They Definitely Slow Danced To in Vegas”.

The internet was losing its collective mind.

And back at the Smosh Studio?

None of the team had noticed. Not yet.

But the group chat was starting to buzz.

And Courtney Miller was about to open their TikTok For You Page.

Which meant the countdown to total chaos... had officially begun.

It started, as most Smosh-related meltdowns did, in the studio break room.

Courtney was sitting cross-legged on the couch, eating cold leftover pad thai straight from the container. Shayne sat across from them with a LaCroix in one hand and his phone in the other, doom-scrolling with the focus of a man trying to avoid responsibility.

“Did we ever figure out if Damien cheated last video?” Courtney asked, casually twirling noodles with their fork.

“Statistically speaking, yes,” Shayne said, without looking up.

He paused mid-scroll. Blinked.

Then sat up straighter.

“Wait… what the hell is going on in the comments?”

Courtney’s head tilted like a curious golden retriever. “On what?”

“Board AF. People are losing it. Half the comments aren’t even about the game. They’re like... zooming in on hands or something?”

Courtney opened YouTube.

Found the video.

Scrolled.

Froze.

“Is [Y/N] wearing a ring???”“Wait. Spencer has one too. Y’ALL.” “SOFT LAUNCH MARRIAGE DETECTED.”

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Then lunged.

Two taps and she was on TikTok. Their For You Page? A crime scene.

🎥 @chaoswithintent: “Evidence that Y/N and Spencer got married a month ago and thought we wouldn’t notice.”

The video played—slowed-down footage of [Y/N]’s hand on the game table. Zoomed in. Circled. Sparkling. Cut to Spencer adjusting his hoodie, the ring on his finger peeking out for exactly 0.4 seconds.

Courtney shrieked like she’d just seen Bigfoot propose to Mothman.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

“What?” Shayne asked, eyes wide.

“THEY’RE MARRIED!”

Shayne nearly dropped his LaCroix. “WHO’S MARRIED?!”

“Y/N AND SPENCER!”

“WHAT??”

Courtney thrust their phone in his face. “LOOK. ZOOM. FREAK OUT WITH ME.”

He stared at the screen. Watched the edit. Looked like he was trying to compute calculus while on fire.

“No. No. They wouldn’t-” “They DID.” “They’ve only been back for ONE VIDEO.” “AND THEY GOT CAUGHT IN IT.” “THE WEDDING WAS A MONTH AGO???”

A silence fell between them.

Then

“I feel betrayed,” Shayne whispered dramatically. “I thought we were friends.”

Courtney placed a hand over their heart. “I swear to god, if Elvis officiated and we weren’t invited...”

They stared at each other.

Then, at the same time:

“GROUP CHAT. NOW.”

📲 Group Chat: “Smosh Chaos Line 🔥”

Court: EXPLAIN YOURSELVES RIGHT NOW 👀💍👀💍👀💍👀💍👀💍

Shayne: We saw the ring. We saw HIS ring. Y’ALL GOT MARRIED???

Damien: wait WAIT are we yelling?

Amanda: I leave the chat alone for two hours and come back to a full wedding scandal??

Alex T.: I TOLD you they were acting weird. I SAID it.

You and Spencer didn’t even make it past the front door.

One second, you were walking into the Smosh studio like everything was normal—the two of you sipping iced coffee like you hadn’t just become the Internet’s newest married couple overnight.

The next?

Courtney and Shayne were standing in the entryway with the kind of energy usually reserved for dramatic courtroom reveals and surprise baby announcements on soap operas.

Courtney was holding her phone like evidence.

Shayne had a whiteboard that said “EXPLAIN YOURSELVES” in neon pink Expo marker.

“Oh no,” Spencer muttered under his breath.

“Oh YES,” Courtney snapped, marching toward you. “You thought you could soft launch an entire marriage and we wouldn’t notice?!”

“Soft?” Shayne repeated, scandalized. “This wasn’t a soft launch. This was a whispered launch. This was a secret side quest with no map!”

Spencer raised a brow. “Aren’t you the same person who hard-launched your relationship on Instagram.”

“That’s not the point!” Courtney barked. “The point is YOU GOT MARRIED.”

You blinked. “Okay, technically…we got married a month ago.”

“A month,” Shayne repeated, as if that was somehow worse.

“That’s thirty days of keeping the secret,” Courtney added.

“Thirty days of lies. Betrayal. DECEPTION.”

You raised your hands defensively. “We weren’t trying to deceive anyone. We just…didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Then why did you do it in LAS VEGAS?”

“Because it was cheap,” Spencer said.

“AND ROMANTIC,” you added quickly.

Damien wandered in holding a bag of chips. “So wait. This is real? I thought this was just another weird fan theory.”

Shayne whipped around. “LOOK AT THEIR FACES.”

Courtney waved their phone again. “LOOK AT THE RINGS. LOOK AT THE GLINT.”

Spencer sighed and lifted his left hand.

The ring gleamed under the overhead light.

Courtney made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a victorious war cry.

Alex appeared from the hallway with a clipboard. “So are we filming the Q&A today or tomorrow? Because I’ve already booked the couch, prepped the mics, and made a slideshow titled ‘Love and Lies: A Smosh Games Retrospective’.”

You groaned.

Shayne was still spiraling. “I just… I made so many jokes about you two being married over the years. I didn’t realize I was prophesying.”

Courtney smacked his arm. “We ALL made those jokes. THEY WERE DROPPING HINTS.”

Spencer tilted his head. “Were we?”

You elbowed him. “You literally tweeted ‘marriage is cool if it’s with someone who makes you laugh during dentist appointments.’ Two weeks ago.”

Damien squinted. “Wait. Is that about the time y’all disappeared from the group chat for three days and said you were ‘redecorating a closet’?”

Courtney gasped. “THE CLOSET WAS A METAPHOR?!”

Spencer sighed. “We went to Vegas. We got married. We had tacos. Elvis said we looked like trouble. It was great.”

The room went still.

Courtney blinked. “...You had tacos at your wedding?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Carne asada. And Baja Blast.”

Shayne clutched his chest. “You didn’t even invite me to the Baja Blast wedding?”

Damien snorted. “Alright. This calls for full content chaos. Mic’d up. Fan questions. No script. And we need a post-ceremony reenactment. Shayne’s officiating.”

Matt was already scribbling notes. “We’ll drop it next Friday. ‘Smosh Games Reacts to a Secret Marriage.’ It’ll trend. I want glitter. Maybe a cheap veil.”

Spencer looked at you, then looked around at your friends,these completely unhinged, overreacting, wonderful, weirdos, and sighed with a tiny smile.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m not wearing a tux t-shirt again.”

The camera blinked red. The room buzzed. You could practically taste the drama in the air.

Courtney sat in the center like a talk show host who’d been personally wronged. Shayne flanked her, whiteboard in hand. Damien had cue cards. Amanda and Angela had popcorn. Alex was in the back with a clipboard and a fire extinguisher for "just in case."

You and Spencer?

Sitting on the infamous white couch, holding hands like two kids about to be grilled by divorced parents who teamed up for once.

“Welcome back to the channel, where today we’re confronting two of our coworkers who LIED to us for an ENTIRE MONTH.” Courtney's cheerful but menacing voice started the video.

“That’s right. A whole marriage. Hidden. In PLAIN SIGHT.” Pouting beside his wife was Shayne, fake crying with a box of tissues next to him.

"Let’s begin the trauma bonding," Damien slapped the cards against his lap as his mischievous smile grew.

[ROUND 1 – FAN QUESTIONS]

“@chaoscakes says: ‘Who proposed, and was food involved?’” Courtney read off the first cue card.

“Spencer did. Outside a Taco Bell. At like, 3AM.” You smiled sweetly, remembering it fondly.

“In my defense, it was romantic. And the moon was out.”

Shayne scoffed, “What did you say? ‘Marry me before the nachos get cold?’”

Deadpan Spencer explained “Actually: ‘If I’m gonna do this dumb life thing, I wanna do it with you.’”

Cue the collective 'aww' from the cast and crew behind the camera who had gathered to watch.

Damien read off the next question “Next: ‘Did you elope in Vegas or did you black out and wake up married?’”

"Both." Responding at the same time, a chuckle rippled through the crowd again.

“Look, there was an Elvis impersonator, a vending machine that dispensed White Claw, and we just went with the vibes.” Spencer explained.

Finally, Shayne's turn came, he read the card to himself first and nodded along like he agreed with the question “@bajablastbabes asks: ‘Why didn’t you tell us?!’”

“We wanted something just ours. Quiet. Simple.” You softly explained wanting to let everyone, fans and friends alike, know that it wasn't personal, just a decision to stay in your married bubble for a little longer before having to be swept up in the chaos.

“Also, we knew you’d react like… this.” Spencer gestured to the three, specifically Courtney and Shayne. Damien really was just there for shits and giggles.

"Valid." Courtney shrugged it off.

[ROUND 2 – SMOSH QUESTIONS]

The cameras turned to the group watching them. Amanda stood up, but not before passing the half-eaten popcorn to Angela. “What was your first fight as a married couple?”

“He ordered pineapple on pizza. In front of me. Shamelessly.” And as if remembering that disparging event, you scooted away from him. Spencer gasped, pointing his finger at yo,u “You left the cap off the toothpaste. Again.”

“Divorce is sounding real mutual right now.” Damien chuckled as he looked at the way you both jokingly had your backs turned away from each other.

Next was Ian, who had congratulated you both before the shoot began, “Did you cry during the ceremony?”

"I cried," You admitted going back to your original sitting position.

“I cried harder,” Spencer admitted on camera. You both smiled softly at each other before grabbing each other's hands. The group once again awed at the display.

“You would.” Shayne agreed with his friend, whom he was no longer feeling betrayed by.

Courtney shook her head before sitting up straighter like she was getting ready for something big. You were worried about what she would ask. Nothing too bad, right?

“Okay, final question—do you take each other all over again in front of us, your ridiculous chosen family?”

You both laughed.

But the laughter soon ceased as Shayne pulled out two blindfolds from behind his back. An evil smile was proudly displayed on his face.

They had changed the set. In like, two minutes.

There were streamers duct-taped to the walls. Someone (probably the art department) set up an arch made from unused lighting stands and plastic ivy. A speaker played the Wii Mii Channel theme softly in the background.

Courtney had changed into a faux priest outfit made of a curtain, sunglasses, and righteous vengeance.

“If Elvis could do it, so can I.” Courtney grinned at the camera. Both of you were still stunned by the display.

“I’m your flower boy.” Shayne giggled from behind the camera, throwing cheetos like rose petals as he made his way down the make-shift aisle.

“They grow up so fast.” Damien was putting the tissue box Shayne was previously using as a prop to good use.

You and Spencer stood under the arch, rings still on, grinning helplessly.

“Do you, Spencer Agnew, take Y/N L/N, to be your lawfully wedded co-chaos gremlin, partner in crime, and best friend who tolerates your caffeine habits?” putting on a more 'serious' and 'officiant' voice.

“I do.” His smile brought the stars to shame, you thought.

“And do you, [Y/N], take Spencer, knowing full well he once drank expired soda and said ‘it builds character’?” She looked at you, knowing very well you couldn't take it back even if you wanted to.

With a sigh and a shake of your head, “Unfortunately, yes. I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me by YouTube, a borrowed ring light, and the comments section… I now re-declare you married as hell. You may high-five your husband.”

You and Spencer high-fived. Then kissed anyway.

The team cheered. Confetti poppers went off way too close to your ears. A cake was brought in, shaped like a dice with “You Rolled a Nat 20 on Marriage” written in icing.

The whole cast gathered around the cake, screaming laughing, while Spencer smashes frosting into your face and you try to stab him with a plastic fork. The caption fades in:

“They got married. The internet found out. We made it weird.” #SmoshStyleWedding 💍✨🎲

Bonus Scene:

The day after the video went live, the Smosh YouTube channel was still on fire.

The comments were a mix of screaming, crying, begging to be invited to the real honeymoon, and at least twelve conspiracy theories about what else the cast was hiding.

You woke up in bed, half-buried under a blanket, with your phone buzzing non-stop. Spencer lay beside you, one arm draped lazily across your waist as he scrolled through the chaos.

“I feel like people think the glitter wedding was the real one,” you murmured.

He blinked. “We literally got married by Elvis with a chihuahua in the background. I don’t think anything we do can be taken seriously.”

You snorted. “Should we… I don’t know… post something real? Like a photo?”

Spencer looked at you, head tilted.

Then he grinned.

“Yeah. But I’m doing it my way.”

@spenceragnew One month ago, we said ‘I do’ with churro dust on our hands and soda in our veins. It was the best impulse decision I’ve ever made. Love you, wife. 💍💙 #ActualWedding #NotAFakeSketchThisTime #BajaBlastForLife