#soft and quiet 2022 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cressidagrey · 10 days ago

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The Alpine McLaren Fiasco

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: The Alpine - McLaren Fiasco…and Felicity Piastri’s hand in it. (Or: why multiple F1 team principals are terrified of Oscar’s wife.) Set in the Summer of 2022.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

The pen in Oscar’s hand felt heavier than it should’ve.

Zak was across the table, nodding. The contract was crisp, the numbers bold. The McLaren badge printed at the top of the page gleamed in the light.

He was about to sign to a Formula One seat.

It should’ve felt like adrenaline. Like fireworks. Like victory.

It was a seat. An opportunity. A shot at doing what he loved.

But Oscar’s thoughts weren’t on the track. They weren’t even on the car.

They were with Felicity. And Bee.

In that too-small apartment in Enstone with the leaky kitchen tap and the one bedroom that doubled as a nursery and an office and a place where Felicity folded laundry between uni assignments.

He thought of how Felicity had taped Bee’s drawings to the side of the fridge because they didn’t have enough wall space.

How she tiptoed around her own life so Oscar could chase his dream.

How she never once complained.

Not when they had to squeeze Bee’s crib into the corner. Not when she had to stack books on the floor because there wasn’t a bookshelf. Not even when the neighbor’s dog barked through Bee’s naps and the heat didn’t work half the winter.

She’d just kissed him good luck each morning and said, "We’ll get through this. We always do."

Oscar looked down at the contract again.

It wasn’t just a deal. It was a door.

A way out. A way forward.

A house with a garden where Bee could run barefoot. A kitchen big enough for Felicity to hum and dance and bake without balancing the baby monitor on top of a stack of unopened mail.

Space. Safety. A future.

He signed.

Zak smiled and shook his hand. Someone said something about celebrating.

But all Oscar could think about was going home.

Not to the apartment — to them.

To Felicity. To Bee.

To tell them that the next chapter had just started. That this dream he’d been chasing — this seat, this opportunity — wasn’t just for him.

It was theirs.

He’d come home with takeout, he decided. From that noodle place Felicity liked, the one too expensive to justify often but always worth it. He’d pick up Bee’s favorite yogurt. And maybe a tiny plant for the windowsill — something green and alive.

Because they’d be moving soon.

Because McLaren wasn’t just a team.

It was the key to building the life he’d promised them.

And for the first time in months, Oscar let himself breathe.

Not for the racing. For home.

The apartment was dark when Oscar slipped through the door. The kind of dark that came with soft exhaustion — not nightfall, just drawn curtains and a tired toddler finally sleeping.

He closed the door gently behind him, careful with the handle so it wouldn’t creak, and toed off his shoes without a sound.

The hallway was cramped, the kind of too-narrow that made it impossible to pass Bee’s drying artwork on the walls without brushing it. The kind of space that didn’t feel like it was built to hold a family — just borrowed time.

It had never been enough.

He found Felicity in the living room. She was sitting on the old sofa, knees tucked to her chest, one of Oscar’s hoodies drowning her frame. The television was on low, but she wasn’t watching it. Just sitting there, staring at the quiet shadows on the floor like they held answers.

She looked up when he walked in, and he saw it — the tired hope in her eyes, and still, she smiled at him.

Oscar walked over slowly and dropped to his knees in front of her, right there on the fraying rug. He reached for her hands, holding them gently in his own.

“It’s done,” he said softly. “It’s McLaren. We signed today.”

Felicity blinked, her breath catching.

“Wait—”

“We’re going,” Oscar said, voice suddenly tight with everything he hadn’t let himself feel. “We’re leaving. No more Enstone. No more trying to squeeze Bee’s cot between the heater and the dresser. No more pretending this place is enough.”

Felicity’s hands trembled in his.

He squeezed them gently. “I’m buying us a house.”

Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“A real one,” Oscar continued, rushing now. “With a garden. And a bathtub that doesn’t leak. A proper bedroom for Bee. A kitchen where you can open both cabinet doors without hitting the fridge.”

Her eyes flooded.

“I want you to have somewhere that’s yours,” Oscar whispered. “I want Bee to grow up with a tree she can climb and space to dance and—and a door that locks properly, for God’s sake.”

A tear slid down Felicity’s cheek.

Oscar leaned forward, forehead resting against her knees.

“I’m sorry it took this long.”

Felicity moved, wordless, and slid off the couch, kneeling in front of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

He held her like he’d never let go.

“I didn’t mind the small space,” she whispered finally. “I minded you thinking that Bee and I deserved more. That you failed us in some way.”

Oscar’s chest cracked wide open.

“You deserve everything,” he breathed.

Felicity laughed quietly through her tears. “A garden?”

“A garden,” he promised. “With lavender. And a swing for Bee. And enough room for your books and a kitchen table that actually fits all three of us.”

She pulled back just far enough to look at him. Her cheeks were damp, her smile trembling but real.

“I love you,” she said.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“Good,” he said. “Because I just changed our lives.”

***

The first sign that something was wrong came from the way Oscar closed the door.

Not rushed. Not dramatic.

But soft. Measured. Careful.

Felicity looked up from the dining table, where Bee was hunched over her coloring book. The late sun poured gold across the room, catching the faint frown on Oscar’s face like a spotlight.

He dropped his keys in the tray by the door and stood there for a beat too long.

Felicity’s heart sank.

Bee didn’t notice. She was busy sorting her crayons by colors again.

Felicity rose quietly, walked into the hallway, and touched his wrist. “Oscar?”

He looked at her. And just shook his head.

She didn’t press. She just waited.

Eventually, he exhaled — slow and low — and said, “Otmar told me I was driving for Alpine next year.”

Felicity blinked. “I’m sorry — what?”

“In the sim,” Oscar added, still stunned. “In front of some of the engineers. Who didn’t even know.”

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. Not enough to shake. Just enough to sharpen.

“He blindsided you?” she asked.

Oscar nodded. “I didn’t want to make a scene. I just… nodded. Finished the session.”

Finished the session. Of course he had.

Because he was Oscar — calm, controlled, collected to the core. Even when humiliated. Even when put in a position no one that professional should ever be put in.

“And did you explain—?”

“I’ve explained, Felicity,” he said, finally lifting his head. “They knew. My camp told them multiple times we were exploring other options. I said it myself. It was never confirmed. They never had my signature. They just—”

“Claimed you.”

Oscar looked down again.

Felicity’s mouth went tight.

She’d seen it too many times — the way men like that assumed ownership, assumed quiet meant compliant. That saying it out loud made it real. That playing politics in front of others gave them leverage.

Oscar had never played those games.

And now he was paying for it.

“They’re not just trying to control the story,” she said. “They’re trying to corner you. Back you into looking like the villain if you correct it.”

Oscar’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the guys. It wasn’t their fault.”

She nodded.

Of course he hadn’t.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t furious.

They’d worked so carefully. So intentionally. The McLaren option hadn’t come from nowhere — it had been months in the making. Every conversation, every clause, every piece of it had been considered and weighed.

This wasn’t immaturity.

This was calculated.

And Alpine had chosen narrative over truth.

Felicity breathed slowly through her nose. “When are we releasing the statement?”

“Today, probably,” Oscar said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Mark’s furious.”

Good, she thought. She wanted him furious.

Because she was fuming.

Felicity could already see how it would play out — the headlines, the noise, the armchair contracts lawyers. The spin.

“You are not unprofessional,” she said, low and steady. “You are not a backstabber. You’ve been measured every step of the way. They underestimated your quiet.”

Oscar’s lips twitched. “That sounds familiar.”

Felicity smiled without warmth. “I’m used to it.”

Bee’s little voice drifted in from the other room. “Mama? Can I have some juice?”

Felicity turned toward the kitchen doorway, then looked back at Oscar.

“You’re going to be fine,” she said, reaching out and brushing a hand down his cheek. “We’ve got receipts. We’ve got truth. And we’ve got you.”

Oscar caught her wrist, just for a second. Held it. “Thanks.”

Felicity smiled, this time real and quiet.

“Go say hello to Bee,” she said. “I’ll text Mark and check the contract files again. They wanted a public war, Oscar. They picked the wrong family.”

Oscar stood, kissed the top of her head, and walked to their daughter.

Felicity turned to her laptop and opened the Alpine folder.

Let them come.

Let them try.

She had the facts, the documents, the dates. She had Oscar’s name, signed only where he meant it.

And most of all—

She had no intention of letting anyone turn the man she loved into a villain.

***

The living room was a battlefield of open laptops, phones buzzing, and half-drunk coffee mugs.

Oscar sat hunched on the couch, scrolling furiously through Twitter and official press releases, looking about two seconds away from a full existential crisis.

Felicity sat cross-legged beside him, calm as a storm before the first clap of thunder, flicking through her own phone.

Bee was sleeping in the bedroom, mercifully oblivious to the fact that her father was at the center of a global motorsport meltdown.

Oscar scrubbed his hands through his hair. “This is a mess. This is an actual, full-on mess.”

Felicity hummed noncommittally, tapping something into her notes app.

Oscar looked over, wild-eyed. “Aren’t you freaking out?! Alpine’s posting like I signed a contract with blood and glitter, and McLaren’s playing it cool, and half the grid thinks I’m lying, and—”

Felicity set her phone down neatly on the coffee table and turned to him, entirely serene.

“Oscar,” she said sweetly, “we did everything correctly.”

He blinked. “But—”

“They made promises they couldn’t back up. They leaked information before confirming it. They tried to paint you into a corner because you’re young and polite and they thought you wouldn’t fight back.”

Oscar opened his mouth.

Felicity leaned in, smiling like a wolf in a fairy tale. “But they underestimated you. And they didn’t count on you having a lawyered-up, spite-driven wife who reads contracts for fun.”

As if summoned, the phone rang.

Mark Webber.

Oscar winced and picked up.

"Hey, mate."

The sound of pure exasperation poured through the speaker. "How the bloody hell are you so calm? We’ve got half of Formula 1 Management breathing down our necks, and the internet's lost its mind."

Oscar opened his mouth.

Then Felicity, without looking up, said mildly, “Tell him we’re fine. That Alpine leaked confidential information prematurely. That we have documented evidence of their breach of duty. And that the Contract Recognition Board is going to back us because we're right."

Oscar blinked at her. Then relayed it word for word.

There was a long pause on the other end.

Then Mark said, very slowly, “Is Felicity there?”

Oscar handed the phone over like it was a live grenade.

Felicity took it without blinking. “Hello, Mark.”

“Hi.” A beat. “You’re terrifying.”

Felicity smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

Mark coughed awkwardly. “I mean that in the most complimentary way possible.”

“I know.”

There was another pause.

Then Mark said, almost reverently, “Honestly, between you, me, and the twitter post... I think Alpine’s lawyers should be more scared of you than of McLaren’s entire legal department.”

“That would be the correct assessment,” Felicity said pleasantly. “Would you like me to draft a bullet-point memo for Oscar to quote if anyone gets difficult in interviews?”

There was a stunned pause.

Then, almost meekly: “...Yes, please.”

Felicity grinned. “I'll have it to you in an hour.”

She hung up, handed Oscar his phone back, and sipped her tea like she hadn’t just calmly bent reality to her will.

Oscar stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

"You scare Mark Webber."

"And you," Felicity teased.

"Yeah," Oscar said with a soft, dazed smile. "But it's the best kind of scary."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, entirely relaxed. "You’re moving to the right team. You did nothing wrong. And if anyone tries to make you feel otherwise—" she smiled, all teeth, "—we’ll remind them politely."

Oscar stared at her, a little awed. Maybe a little scared.

Felicity sat back and sipped her tea. “We are legally sound. You are moving to a team that actually values you. And if anyone still doubts you after today?”

She smiled wider. Dangerously.

“They can sit on the grass and watch you win from there.”

Oscar blinked.

“...God, I love you.”

Oscar closed his eyes and let out a long breath, tension bleeding out of him.

He had Felicity.

He had Bee.

And somehow, even in the middle of the biggest motorsport drama of the year, that made him feel invincible.

***

The kitchen table had stopped being a place for breakfast weeks ago.

It was now Command Central — home to three laptops, two legal pads, a rainbow of highlighters, half-drunk mugs of coffee, and a folder so thick it had earned its own spot on the chair beside Felicity like an honored guest.

The tabs alone told a story: blue for correspondence, yellow for contracts, pink for press statements, green for legal precedent. She’d chosen the colors late one night while Oscar slept curled around Bee, and something about the order calmed her.

She needed the order.

Because the rest of it was chaos.

The headlines, the speculation, the deliberate noise. And beneath it, the truth — quiet, sharp, waiting to be weaponized.

Felicity clicked open the spreadsheet for the seventh time that morning. It was color-coded, time-stamped, annotated.

July 13 – Verbal confirmation Alpine was “exploring options” July 15 – Email from Oscar’s management to Alpine: “No signed agreement exists” July 22 – Internal Alpine memo leak to press claiming Oscar’s “contractual obligation” August 2 – Alpine public statement: “We have Oscar under contract.” [note: NO contract signed. Cross-reference clause 3.1 of FIA driver agreement terms]

She didn’t even have to read the lines anymore. They were burned into her skull.

Every time someone tweeted about Oscar’s "lack of professionalism," she opened this document. Every time a commentator said he’d "done Alpine dirty," she updated the footnotes. Every time someone mentioned loyalty, she added another timestamp, another receipt, another piece of ammunition.

Because she wasn’t letting them rewrite the story.

Not this time.

Not after everything she’d given up.

Oscar didn’t ask her to take on the case. He’d asked her to let it go.

But Felicity had been letting things go for years.

She let go of her family the day she chose him.

Not in a dramatic, slammed-door kind of way — but in the quiet way that people who love carefully often lose things. They hadn’t approved. Of him. Of the life. Of the risk. They’d said things like “This won’t last” and “He’ll never pick you over the sport.”

They hadn’t seen him at two in the morning, rocking Bee back to sleep when Felicity was too exhausted to lift her head. They hadn’t watched him leave for another test session with aching eyes and a whispered “Thank you for doing this. For letting me try.”

They hadn’t read the letter he wrote her on their wedding day. The one where he said, “Every podium, every contract, every bit of success — it’s all because you believed when no one else did.”

They hadn’t heard how her voice steadied his when the cameras shook him. They hadn’t seen what she’d sacrificed so he could grow.

She’d given up her family. Her country. Her parents. Her safety net.

But she’d never once regretted it.

And now? Now someone was trying to take the man she loved — not with force, but with assumption.

Like he didn’t deserve to choose. Like he should be grateful for whatever scraps they handed down.

Not on her watch.

Felicity pulled out a press release — Alpine’s, dated August — and highlighted a single sentence:

“Oscar is our driver for 2023, as per our agreement.”

Then she opened the corresponding legal file and added a note beneath it:

NO agreement signed. Misrepresentation of contractual status. Possible breach of good faith negotiation standards under FIA governance protocols.

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t tweet.

She built her case, brick by careful brick.

Oscar would go to that hearing with his team — with Mark, with lawyers, with the truth.

But he’d also go with her preparation. Her structure. Her work.

Because if the world was going to talk about Oscar Piastri, they’d do it based on facts.

Not fiction.

Not noise.

At 1 a.m., Oscar padded in from the bedroom, hair rumpled, Bee’s stuffed frog in one hand.

“Fliss,” he said softly, “come to bed.”

“I’m almost done,” she said, not looking up.

He walked around the table and gently took the pen from her fingers.

“You’ve done enough.”

She looked at him, and for the first time that day, let herself breathe.

“I just don’t want them to get away with it,” she whispered. “With turning you into the villain.”

“They won’t,” he said, crouching beside her chair. “Because I have you.”

That broke something open in her. Not in the fragile way.

In the unshakable, I’d go to war for you kind of way.

“I gave up everything for you,” she said, not as a wound — but a fact. “And I’d do it again. But I won’t watch anyone try to drag you through the mud for having boundaries. For being smart. For knowing your worth.”

Oscar just pulled her into a hug. Held her there. Silent. Certain.

Because that’s what they were.

Not perfect.

But certain.

***

The days stretched long.

Not in the leisurely, golden-summer way. But in that suffocating, gray-laced kind of stretch where everything felt suspended — like someone had pressed pause and forgotten to hit play again.

Oscar’s name was everywhere.

Not in the way drivers dreamed about. Not headlines about timesheets or potential or precision. Not praise for his cornering or racecraft.

No, his name was in the noise. “Contract Chaos.” “Alpine Stunned.” “The Rookie Who Said No.”

Oscar had stopped reading the articles two weeks in. Felicity hadn’t — she’d compiled a spreadsheet.

With sources. And timestamps. And quotes cross-referenced against public statements and private emails.

Oscar didn’t ask how many tabs she had open on her laptop at any given time. He just brought her coffee and kissed her temple before sitting down at his own screen.

Waiting was the hardest part.

They weren’t allowed to say much — not until the CRB hearing. Everything had to be careful. Measured. Legally sound. Which meant there were long, maddening stretches of silence where the world speculated loudly and they just... endured.

Felicity kept things steady. Quiet, but never passive. She chased updates with the precision of someone who’d spent years patching together stability from scraps. She spoke to Mark almost daily. She checked and rechecked contracts until she could quote clauses in her sleep.

Oscar trained. Sim work. Gym. Notes. Repeat.

When he wasn’t on a call with his legal team or being told to “stay calm” for the fifteenth time that week, he was on the floor with Bee, building LEGO cars and pretending none of it touched them.

Some nights, though, after Bee was asleep and the dishes were done, he’d find Felicity on the balcony, a hoodie pulled tight around her shoulders, eyes scanning the sky like the stars might offer answers.

“Do you think they’ll rule in our favor?” he asked one night, joining her.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she passed him her mug and said, “I think truth doesn’t always win. But paper trails do.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh, took a sip. “Romantic.”

She bumped her shoulder against his. “You married a realist.”

Oscar wore a navy suit and the most impassive face he could manage to the hearing. He also carried The Folder — the one Mark jokingly called “Felicity’s Sword.”

It was thick. Color-coded. Cross-indexed. Tabbed and terrifying.

The hearing wasn’t dramatic.

There were no shouting matches. No grand revelations. Just sharp questions, crisp answers, and lawyers who underestimated how well-prepared the Piastri side was.

Oscar didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to.

He did — once. When asked to clarify the correspondence timeline.

He pulled out an email, read it aloud, and then pointed out a contradictory press quote from Alpine dated three days after it that Felicity had found.

He didn’t smile.

But Mark did. Like a man watching someone drop a precision-engineered anvil on a house of cards.

The ruling came on a Friday.

Oscar was at the table with Bee on his lap, coloring quietly. Felicity was on speaker with Mark when the email landed.

There was a pause.

Then Mark’s voice: “We won.”

Oscar blinked. “Wait—”

“It’s McLaren. Fully binding. The CRB ruled unanimously. Alpine never had a contract.”

Felicity let out a breath that sounded like it had been waiting in her chest for months. Bee dropped a crayon. Oscar stood, numb with disbelief.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

Mark was already laughing. “Mate, you’re officially a McLaren driver.”

Oscar turned to Felicity.

She was smiling. Not the careful kind — not the one she wore when she was holding things together for everyone else. But a real, wild smile. The kind that said, we did it.

He pulled her into his arms and spun her in the middle of their too-small kitchen. Bee squealed as they bumped into the table.

Felicity clung to him. “We’re free,” she whispered.

Oscar nodded, forehead pressed to hers.

“We’re going home,” he said, meaning McLaren. Meaning out. Meaning forward.

And for the first time since that awful meeting in the sim room, Oscar felt light.

Like gravity had finally let go.

“You’re going to drive orange cars now, Papa?” Bee asked him very seriously.

Oscar smiled, eyes wet. “Yeah, Bumblebee. I am.”

***

The ink was barely dry on the Contract Recognition Board’s official ruling.

McLaren had won.

Oscar Piastri was officially McLaren’s. Alpine was left scrambling to save face. And Zak Brown was feeling the rare, giddy high of a clean, decisive victory — but also the lingering shock at how ruthlessly, brilliantly, and perfectly the whole thing had been handled.

He leaned back in his office chair, rubbing his jaw, still half laughing in disbelief as Mark Webber sat across from him, looking far too relaxed for a man who had just navigated an international legal war.

“Okay,” Zak said finally, throwing his pen down with a clatter. “I need to know.”

Mark lifted an eyebrow. “Know what?”

“Who’s your lawyer?” Zak said, grinning wide. “Because whoever handled this — the paperwork, the contracts, the way you all walked Alpine into a brick wall — they’re a shark. We need someone like that. Seriously. Name your price."

Mark’s mouth twitched, like he was enjoying this far too much.

Zak waited, half-expecting Mark to name some fancy law firm out of London.

Instead, Mark said, perfectly straight-faced: “She’s not a lawyer.”

Zak blinked. “What?”

Mark leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “She’s Oscar’s wife.”

Zak blinked harder. “His wife?”

Mark nodded, looking far too satisfied. “Yep.”

There was a stunned pause.

Zak sat forward slowly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait. Oscar’s married?”

Mark smirked. “He is.”

Zak threw his hands up. “He’s, what, twenty-one?”

“Married,” Mark confirmed cheerfully.

Zak stared at him. “And the woman who just ran circles around Alpine’s legal team is his wife?”

Mark chuckled under his breath. “Felicity. Brilliant, ruthless, scary when she wants to be. She reads contracts for fun."

Zak shook his head slowly, as if trying to reboot his brain. “How have I never heard about her? Or seen a single post, or interview?”

Mark shrugged. “Oscar keeps his family very private. Always has. Protects them like his life depends on it.”

Zak opened his mouth — and Mark, because apparently today wasn’t wild enough already, added, totally casual:

“Oh, and they have a daughter too.”

Zak actually choked. “A what?!”

Mark was openly grinning now. “A little girl. Bee. Two years old. Smart as hell. Already critiques Oscar’s driving sometimes.”

Zak pressed both hands over his face. "Married. With a kid. And somehow still the most put-together twenty-one-year-old on the grid."

Mark laughed. "Told you. Built different."

Zak dropped his hands and let out a long, slow breath. “Jesus. I thought we signed a rookie. Turns out we signed an entire bloody empire."

Mark clapped him on the back as he stood up to leave, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he had delivered to McLaren.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Zak just sat there for a long moment after the door shut, muttering to himself.

“Married. Kid. Legal assassin wife. ...We are so screwed in the next contract negotiation.”And somehow? He couldn’t even be mad about it.

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st4rbwrry · 8 months ago

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𝐾𝐼𝑆𝑆 𝑀𝐸 𝑇𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝐼’𝑀 𝐵𝐿𝑈𝐸.

꒰ armin takes his pretty girlfriend on a picnic in an enchanted forest.꒱

𐀔 . . . 1.4k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, established relationship, sub / dom, profanity, pet names, unprotected penetrative sex, we’re in luvvv, outside indecency, love bites, praise, kinda shy reader, smoking, kreampie, minors aren’t welcomed ! reblogs + comments are appreciated! <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . this been in the drafts since 2022 y’all. a lil sum.

a pastel baby blue dress clings tight to your smooth skin, looking like the prettiest cottage core girl. frills on the shoulders and bust sitting low to accentuate your perky chest. love handles and tummy pudge swallowed by the soft material. armin couldn't keep his eyes, or hands, to himself. rubbing all up on you throughout your entire picnic date. fresh air blows through the trees and the bright views of sunlight beam across the blue lake where pure white doves swam in silence. armin had found this mythical location by driving around one day. it's quiet and reserved, deep into an enchanted forest.

the two of you sat on a blanket sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the food armin neatly packed. lots of fruits because you loved them. strawberries, raspberries, pomegranates, green grapes, apricots, and peaches . . . you name it. overdoing it just a bit, but he knows it’ll be eaten by this week. this was breakfast, the time now around eleven in the morning, so while you got ready he prepped the food. heart shaped pancakes, waffles, turkey bacon, pork sausage, scrambled cheese eggs and of course never forgetting your orange juice.

to make it cuter he brought a glass vase and filled it with water and multicolor roses he bought from the flower shop. you ate so much food your stomach bloated, unable to eat anymore. armin lays on his back with you to stare up at the sky and watch the trees blow, the weather perfect for the occasion. the sun hitting your skin serenely. you rest your head on armin’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as he massages your back in gentle circles, nearly falling asleep because you’re so at peace.

“i’m so glad we did this,” a yawn escapes as you smile sweetly at him, rubbing his stomach over his white tee.

armin presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering it before mumbling, “me too.” soon, digging into his jean pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. tapping the plastic box to release a stick. your body moves with the forearm he brings together to light his cig, flicking the lighter twice and satiating his need.

“i needed a break from life. so, thank you, love.” the softness in your voice makes the man's heart beat twice as fast. he smiles at you after turning his head the opposite way to blow out smoke, knowing you hated it in your face. being at close proximity right now was less irritating since you're elated at the moment. you could care less because he's comfortable, and it makes you feel the same. you could never get him to quit no matter how hard you tried. never argued with him about it. minor debates but he gave valid points so you laid off it.

“i figured it'd be nice to escape for the day. it's upsetting we have to return to reality tomorrow. but when i'm with you, it always feels . . . free.”

armin brushes a curved knuckle over your cheekbone, your eyes glued to his own.

“i feel the same way.”

“i say i love you all the time. but do you really understand it? how deep it is?”

you curl your lips inward, pondering on his question. more like a statement.

“i know you love me. you show it more ways than one. i think that's meaningful overall.”

fluffy blond hair with gold hues covers his angelic baby blue eyes, reaching up to tuck some of the wavy ringlets behind his ear.

“tell me you love me, then gimme a kiss.”

your face grows hot from his demand, growing nervous. you sit up briefly to grab a peach to bite into and distract yourself, more like hide your face because you were smiling so hard. this happens to be the second time since he's first told you he loved you. it makes you shy even still, the rush of heat coming to your cheeks from the intense glare he gives you, waiting for you to say it. you don't know why it felt so hard to utter. it's clear you love him, but maybe it was the large commitment of the word . . . the vulnerability, the devotion, the forever tie that scared you.

"tell me you love me, or i'll make you say it, ꒰♡꒱ ."

and make you he does.

his breath is warm on your neck, tongue following to lick a bold stripe over your skin with his fingers indented into the flesh of your cheeks and jaw. your face is upturned, head resting on his shoulder, back to his chest as you rely on his body for your balance. your thighs are spread wide, holding yourself open with your unoccupied hand, gripping under the bend of your knees, whimpering in the breezy air as his hips interact with the round of your ass, fucking you from the side fervidly. his moans are light, dancing in your ear while you claw into the picnic blanket beneath you two, clutching the grass and dirt in the wake. tuning into the lewd interaction of his heavy dick pounding into you, tits bouncing out of the enclosure of your dress.

“i can’t hear you, ꒰♡꒱,” armin grits his teeth, his lips on your jaw now, kissing away and grunting as he raises his hips to fuck you deeper, thrusts steady but rough. you’re feeling dizzy, whining from the baritone of his voice. “i didn’t make myself clear enough?”

“n-no. . . ar—min. mmph,” while denying, there’s a crack in your voice as you try your best to speak, moans rumbling in your throat, your tummy jiggling from his harsh pace.

“then tell me, tell me,” armin’s voice is a whispered plead, his jeans to his knees and his shirt pulled up to his midsection, skin scorching against your own.

you’re soft, and small. his big hand with veins protruding goes from your face to your chest, tweaking your nipples that spilled out of it’s cups alluringly, before spanking them with the pads of his fingers. tweak, spank, tweak, spank. it’s a notion that has you drooling, and sobbing pathetically. he’s trying to upkeep his composure, trying not to bottom out and lose his sanity. you’re too cute.

“i love youuu,” you finally cry out, ragged moans falling out in shorts gasps, tears coaxing and the pressure in your tummy building.

“fuck, there you go, sweetie,” his excitement shows through the way his dick slips out of you, both of you gasping from the loss until he slaps your clit with his dick, your juices sputtering out of you with each wet pat pat pat. armin draws his hips back slightly before sliding back inside easily, digging his fingers into the back of your thigh you held up and rolled his waist to fuck you harder.

each pound is harder than the previous, his jaw widening as he chokes on his moans and catches your throat with his mouth, tongue lolling out occasionally and his teeth following suit. your head is tossed back entirely, his arm going around your shoulder to cradle you, falling back on the ground. your thighs press tightly together, and you hold onto his arm while his middle and ring fingers thrum intricately over your puffy clit to watch her squirt.

armin hisses with skaken moan. “say it again, ꒰♡꒱.”

“i love you, armin.”

“again,” he’s biting at your neck again, your mouth agape from the combination of that and the head of his dick kissing your sweet spot.

“b-baby, g-god. i love you.”

“ooh, shit,” armin then pushes your left thigh flat to the ground, your body twisted as he goes to level himself above you in push up form, dropping his dick into you with steady, hard pounds. his voice grows weak, moans whiny as he cums deep inside of you, and you follow not long after, squeaking and clutching onto his wrist planted by your head. the softness of your ass bouncing back onto his hips is entrancing. his ass flexing when he grinds into your pussy.

“oh my god,” those pretty strands of blond sway in front of his face, giggling and lowering his body to rest his chest on your side. repeatedly leaving kisses to your flushed cheeks, neck, even your forehead. unable to move at all.

“i really love you, i swear,” the pads of your fingers brush over his pink lips, overly sensitive at the moment so you definitely felt like crying. a high pitched hiccup interrupts the moment, and that only makes armin roll his lips inward before bursting out a laugh.

“you’re so cute,” he gives you an eskimo kiss before smooching your lips. “i know you do.”

#armin x reader #armin x you #armin smut #armin x y/n #aot smut #aot armin #armin arlert #armin x black reader #armin arlet x reader #armin arlet smut #armin arlert x you #snk smut #snk armin #x reader #attack on titan smut #꒰ ─── 𝓬𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓼.

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https-lovvers · 2 months ago

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hamzah x thoughtful!sweetheart!reader

introducing.. thoughtful sweetheart reader!

she's a relatively quiet girl, not necessarily shy (only shy on camera), just not very loud

she's been dating hamzah for a while!! (since 2022) and hamzah often references her within the pod and even on the main channel but shes too shy to make an appearance yet :(

after the positive response to mandy, hamzah convinced her to come onto a ooc episode, and how could she say no!!

it had always been a big mystery.. people knew hamzah had a girlfriend and they'd seen her hands in videos and other things, but no one knew what she actually looked like

and no one was surprised when she was the prettiest little thing!

popping into the frame of the camera and giving a shy little wave and a cute smile

everyone adored her from then on, and she began appearing more and more!

she's the most wise and thoughtful person ever! and when its time for the advice-giving segment in ooc, everyone wants her to answer theirs

very much taylor russell vibes; soft spoken, kind, thoughtful, girly.

her and mandy are best friends! she grew up with only brothers so mandy is like the older sister she never had!

martin loves her too! everyone says that martin and reader have such sibling dynamics because martin is teasing but treats her like a little sister

absolutely everyone thinks she's as cute as a button, and she's almost always got a smile on her face

and nobody is more proud of her than hamzah

he loves showing her off, and when she said she was finally comfortable enough to announce herself to the slushies he was overjoyed

this meant he could talk about her with no secrets now!!!

they're the cutest couple ever, and he brings out her silly side, so they're always giggly together

he praises her for her sensitivity and quirks and they just love each other sooo much

masterlist

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader #hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #slushy noobz #slushy virus

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dollfacefantasy · 4 months ago

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i feel like (2022) batman would want you to ride his face/let him eat the coochie whenever he had free time. idk he gives likes to please vibes to me. Also luv your work!!!!!

um i love YOU for sending me this ask.

bruce is absolutely a fucking munch because 1. he's obsessed with you and 2. it allows him to communicate his love for you without having to say anything.

shocking to absolutely no one, he's not that great with words. his love for you burns so intensely in his head that any coherent thoughts of adoration get all tangled up before they can leave his lips. and while you find his quiet nature endearing, it always embarrasses him.

so instead, he's found himself developing a habit around you. whenever the two of you are alone, whether it's when he's come home from patrol or during some rare moments where you're both doing nothing, he slides down to settle between your thighs.

it doesn't matter if you're reading a book or on your phone or watching tv. none of that stops him from getting to work on you. he curls his hands around the soft flesh of your legs and nuzzles against the thin cloth of your panties.

most of the time you'll let out a little giggle, but it doesn't make him shy like it does if he's trying to talk to you. instead, it sends all his blood down to his cock. the thick length stiffens up against the mattress even though he's not concerned with getting any attention it.

he takes his time when he's down there. he's in no rush to leave his favorite place in this world. once he's got your panties out of the way, he starts small with little kitten licks and kisses to your clit. as time goes on though, he gets more into it, more dedicated. in a matter of minutes, his eyes are shut and he's moaning against your slick folds, fully making out with your pussy. he laps at it like he's never tasted anything better. he moans without shame while sucking on your bundle of nerves. he devours you like he hasn't done this four other times this week.

he doesn't stop until tears of overstimulation brim your cute little eyes. only then does he pull away and start to crawl back up to be beside you. he then cradles you to his chest and rubs your back, soothing you down from the highs of repeated release. you're all spacey and clingy, so he doesn't have to worry about conversation either.

in fact, when you're all blissed out like this, he finds it pretty easy to whisper out the words i love you.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #the batman x reader #the batman smut #dc x reader #dc smut #battinson x reader #ch: bruce wayne 💌

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im4rmy · 5 months ago

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your first time together - mark (idol AU)

IMAGINE: mark comes back from his tour craving your presence.

TW: very sweet sex, fluff, MDNI

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

• July 2022. Mark is finally back from the Singapore leg of the tour. After weeks overseas, he finally has the time—and energy—to spend a proper evening with you. But today feels different. He couldn’t even sleep on the plane, restless at the thought of seeing you again. You haven’t been dating each other for long, and he thought a little time apart wouldn’t be so bad. But he was wrong. He missed you—more than he expected.

•📱“Hey, you wanna come over tonight? I just came back”

📱“Sure… you don’t wanna rest first?”

📱“No. I really need to see you”

• To say he’s nervous is an understatement. Tonight, he wants to take a step forward, to shift things between you into something deeper—if you feel the same. He’s planned everything. The boys are out or with family, the dorm’s a mess but completely empty. He paces by the door, hands twisting with anticipation, until the bell finally rings—and he forgets how to breathe.

• He takes a deep breath, opens the door… and there you are. Your smile is radiant, and you throw your arms around him. His embrace is eager and warm.

“I missed you so much.”

Mark can’t even form words, just lets out a quiet breath. You pull back just enough to cradle his face in your hands, eyes tracing his tired features. The way you look at him—so gentle, so full of something unspoken—knocks the wind out of him.

“I love you,” he blurts.

You freeze.

“Listen… I’ve been away for what—a month? And I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was exhausted, but you were always in my head. I don’t know what you think this is… between us… but I’d really like to make it official. If you want that too.”

You blink away your surprise, heart tumbling in your chest, then kiss him with a smile on your lips.

“Let’s make it official, Mark Lee.”

And kiss after kiss, as if by magic, you end up in his room.

• You’ve both been with other people before, so there’s no awkwardness, just a quiet anticipation. You undress each other slowly, savoring every touch, no need to rush your first time together. His fingers trace your sides, his cool rings making your skin tingle. He smiles as he kneels before you, gently sliding your leggings down, inch by inch. A kiss lands on each thigh. Your hands find his hair, and he lets himself get lost in the feel of you. He pauses and chuckles softly when he gets nearer your clothed core.

“Yellow underwear?”

“Shut up, Lee. You’re lucky I shaved yesterday.”

“I’d still be the luckiest guy in the world even if you didn't, so so lucky...” he murmurs.

His words make your heart flutter. When he rises and meets your eyes, you’re completely bare—but under his gaze, full of affection and awe, you feel anything but insecure.

• He kisses you again, drawing you close. The warmth of your body against his makes him sigh into your mouth. Your hands tug at the waistband of his pajamas—his boxers barely hide how much he wants you. You help him out of them, too, and he shivers under your touch. You can see the goosebumps on his skin and you decide that you can't wait to feel him on you, in you, everywhere. You undo your loose ponytail, letting your hair fall across your shoulders, catching his amazed gaze like a spark. He comes close again and takes you by your thighs to lift you in his arms.

“You’re so sweet,” you whisper, smiling.

He blushes, smiling back as he lays you gently on the bed.

• When he’s above you, your bodies align like pieces meant to fit. His hands and lips find every part of you, and the feeling of being this close—this open—makes you feel like the world has faded away. He allows himself to leave your mouth only because he believes your neck now needs attention and he starts to explore it.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers against your neck, voice low and rough. The vibration sends shivers through you. You arch your body into his, that aching need growing stronger with every breath.

• The moment comes when neither of you can wait anymore. As he settles between your legs, you lift your hips in silent invitation. The way he enters you—slowly, deeply—pulls a gasp from both of you. His groans wrap around your senses like velvet. Every movement is deliberate, tender, filled with the quiet intensity of someone who doesn’t want to miss a single second of this. Mark thrusts in and out of you slowly, trying his best to keep his skin on yours. He just loves the way he can literally feel the goosebumps on your skin through his own.

• When he’s close, he can’t keep up with your kisses—his breaths come hard, his voice broken with desire. He presses his forehead to yours as he chases the peak, holding you tightly. The climax crashes over you together, and he collapses against you, his cheek resting over your heart, a dazed smile playing on his lips.

• Your fingers slide through his hair as he catches his breath. You feel him growing heavier with sleep.

“You must be tired… You can rest now,” you whisper.

“But it’s our first night together… we should cuddle,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion.

You laugh softly, stroking his scalp.

“Let me take care of you tonight, hmm?”

He nods without a word, sinking fully into the comfort of you.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

other mark's chapters:

bf!mark scenario

when you first met

your first time together ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ you're here!

OT7 chapters:

your contact names in each other's phone

his favourite part of your body

when he hurts you during sex by accident

⇘ nct dream idol AU index ⇙

·˚✎ ﹏im4rmy's masterlist

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

#nct #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream headcanons #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #nct mark x reader #mark lee x reader #nct mark #mark lee imagines #mark lee #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x you

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goldfades · 5 months ago

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meeting hayes. | JOE BURROW⁹ [008]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your first couple of days with your little bundle of joy.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | sweet, domestic!joe, fluffy as a little pancake, mentions of pregnancy, babies (yaya!), joe being the sweetest, best dad husband ever, idk what else

APRIL 2022

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖. It wasn’t just the faint, powdery scent of baby lotion lingering in the air or the tiny clothes folded in drawers that made it so. It was quieter but also fuller—like the walls themselves were adjusting to the weight of this new chapter, reshaping to cradle this fragile little life.

You stood in the kitchen, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows in golden beams, and shifted your son higher on your shoulder. His soft breaths puffed against your neck, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your sweatshirt. He’d fallen asleep after his morning feeding, milk drunk and blissfully unaware of the exhaustion etched into every inch of your body.

Joe was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand cradling a mug of coffee and the other absentmindedly running through his hair, which still stuck up wildly from sleep. He was watching you with that soft, faraway look he’d developed since you came home from the hospital, the kind that made your heart clench because it was too much and not enough all at once.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and warm in the quiet kitchen, “he’s got my ears. Poor kid’s doomed.”

You laughed softly, the sound carried on a yawn. “I think he’s perfect.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re biased.” Joe stood, stretching in that lazy, unbothered way of his that made even mundane movements look effortless. He walked over, leaning down to press a kiss to your son’s head and then to your temple, lingering for just a second. “You need to sit. You’ve been up all night with him. Let me take him for a bit.”

“No, it’s okay—”

“Y/N.” He gave you a look, one eyebrow raised in that teasing but firm way that always made you cave. “Go sit. Or better yet, nap.”

Reluctantly, you handed over the baby, watching as Joe adjusted him with a level of care that never failed to amaze you. For someone who spent his Sundays being tackled by grown men, he handled your son like he was made of glass, his big hands cradling the baby’s tiny body with infinite gentleness.

You sank into the couch in the living room, intending to just sit for a moment, but the pull of sleep was too strong. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was Joe pacing slowly around the room, swaying slightly as he hummed a low, tuneless melody to the baby.

When you woke, the house was quiet except for the distant hum of the washing machine. You stretched, groaning slightly at the ache in your back, and wandered into the nursery, where you found Joe sitting in the rocking chair with the baby cradled against his chest. Both of them were asleep, the baby’s head tucked under Joe’s chin, his tiny hand fisted in Joe’s t-shirt.

For a moment, you just stood there, taking it all in. The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. The crib sat untouched—Joe always claimed he’d put the baby down, but more often than not, you found them like this, tangled together in peaceful sleep.

You didn’t want to wake them, but the sight was too sweet to resist. Quietly, you crept into the room and placed a kiss on Joe’s forehead, whispering, “I love you.”

Later that day, you all ventured outside for the first time since coming home. Spring had arrived in full force, the backyard bursting with new blooms and the soft buzz of bees flitting lazily between flowers. Joe spread a blanket on the grass, and you sat with the baby nestled in your lap, his tiny hat slightly askew on his head.

Joe stretched out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched the baby with a soft smile. “Do you think he’ll like football?”

You snorted. “I think he’ll like whatever doesn’t involve being tackled.”

Joe laughed, reaching out to adjust the baby’s hat. “Fair enough. But if he doesn’t, Maisie’s going to have a meltdown. She’s already planning his college career.”

The thought made you laugh, but it was also comforting in a way. You couldn’t imagine a future where Maisie wasn’t involved, where she wasn’t there to be the chaotic aunt who spoiled your son rotten.

The afternoon passed in a haze of soft laughter and easy conversation, the kind of day that felt like a balm to your soul. Joe dozed off in the grass, his arm draped protectively over you and the baby, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

This was your season, a time of blooming and growing, of finding joy in the simple, quiet moments. It wasn’t always easy—there were still sleepless nights and overwhelming days—but as you sat there, your little family wrapped in the warmth of spring, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d found your place in the world.

The day melted into evening, the golden hues of sunset fading into the deep indigo of night. The baby had been bathed and fed, his tiny body swaddled snugly in a soft blanket. You and Joe found yourselves in the living room, the baby nestled in your arms while Joe sat beside you, his long legs stretched out on the coffee table.

The glow of the TV provided a muted light, though neither of you were really paying attention to the movie playing. It was just background noise, something to fill the silence while you both lingered in the haze of new parenthood.

“He’s out like a light,” Joe said softly, his voice low and warm as he leaned in to brush a kiss against the baby’s downy head.

You smiled, glancing down at your son’s peaceful face. His tiny lips were slightly parted, and his delicate lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks. “He’s probably the only one sleeping in this house right now,” you teased, your voice equally quiet.

Joe chuckled. “Not my fault he inherited your sleep schedule.”

“You’re hilarious.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. The weight of the baby in your arms and the steady presence of Joe beside you felt grounding, like the world had shrunk to just this room, just this moment.

“We still don’t have a name,” Joe said after a while, breaking the quiet with a small sigh. He leaned back against the couch, his head resting on the cushion as he stared up at the ceiling. “We’ve got to pick something, babe. He’s going to start thinking his name is Little Man.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and tired. “I don’t know, Joe. Nothing feels right.”

“You don’t think Maisie’s suggestion of ‘Captain Joe Jr.’ has a nice ring to it?” he teased, grinning at you.

“Mm, tempting,” you joked, “but I think I’ll pass.”

The conversation fizzled out again, the two of you content to just sit in the quiet, letting the baby’s soft breaths fill the space.

Then, something small and unexpected happened.

A soft breeze stirred through the room, coming from the cracked window that let in the cool spring air. It carried with it the faint scent of freshly mown grass and the distant, earthy aroma of the fields beyond your backyard. The curtains shifted, and in the moonlight streaming through the window, the faintest shimmer of something caught your eye.

You turned your head, craning to see. There, just outside, the moonlight illuminated the grass in silvery hues, creating a soft, glowing haze over the backyard.

“It looks like a painting,” you murmured, your voice tinged with awe.

Joe leaned forward, his eyes following your gaze. “Yeah, it does,” he said, his voice just as soft. “Like one of those fields we used to drive past at night, back home in Athens.”

You blinked, smiling at the memory. The rolling hills, the mist that settled over them in the evenings, the way the moonlight would transform the fields into something almost magical.

“Haze,” you said absentmindedly, the word falling from your lips as if it had been sitting there all along.

Joe turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

“Haze,” you repeated, this time with more intention. “Like the mist, the way the light makes everything soft and dreamy.”

He tilted his head, considering it. “Haze… that’s kind of nice.”

A pause. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, you both looked down at the baby. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his little hand poking out of the blanket to rest on your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hayes,” Joe said, testing it aloud. His voice was quiet, reverent, like he was speaking something sacred into existence. “With a Y. Hayes.”

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the softness in his expression. “Hayes,” you echoed, and the name felt like a breath of fresh air, like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place.

Joe leaned in, brushing his knuckles gently over the baby’s cheek. “Hey, Little Man,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet affection. “Looks like you’ve got a name now.”

And just like that, under the soft glow of moonlight and the warmth of shared memories, your son became Hayes—a name born not from deliberation or debate, but from the quiet magic of a simple moment shared between the three of you.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nfl fic #nfl football #nfl lb #nfl imagine #nfl players #joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #cincinnati bengals #joeyb #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x y/n #bengals wags #joey b #cincinnati football

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pbaz7 · 3 months ago

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ONE SHOT: CLOSE QUARTERS

paige x azzi

word count: 6.2k

A/N: This is one of the prompts from my lovely 🍉 anon. It’s honestly just filled with dialogue and cute shit. 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

March 2022

The hotel buzzed with the quiet tension that only March Madness could bring DI athletes. Players from multiple teams staying there had settled into their rooms, preparing in their own ways for whatever laid ahead for them. For Paige Bueckers, it was another day of carrying UConn’s storied legacy on her back. She leaned back against the headboard of her bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, the blue glow casting a soft light across her face. Her headphones rested around her neck, music still playing faintly as she debated whether she should head down to practice early or steal a few more minutes to herself.

A few floors below, Azzi Fudd slipped on her slides, her focus already drifting toward being on court. Maryland’s hopes rested on her shoulders, and she thrived on that pressure. She stood off her bed, stretching her arms over her head, then grabbed her practice bag and slung it over one shoulder. The team had a meeting soon then practice right after, but Azzi wanted a moment to herself in the conference room before it started.

Paige glanced at the clock on the nightstand and sighed.. She slid off her bed, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. At the same time, Azzi locked her room behind her and made her way to the elevator. Neither knew that their paths were about to converge in a way that would change everything.

Paige stepped into the elevator, grateful to see it was empty. She loved her fans—truly—but riding with a group of them in a cramped space often felt more awkward than endearing. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder before leaning against the back wall, pulling out her phone to read some messages while the doors slid shut.

The elevator hummed as it descended, and Paige took the rare moment of quiet to breathe. After three floors, though, it slowed to a stop. She glanced up as the doors slid open to reveal none other than Azzi Fudd waiting to step in.

Paige chuckled lightly, tucking her phone into her pocket. “Wassup,” she said, leaning casually against the elevator wall.

Azzi gave her a polite smile as she stepped inside. “Hi. How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“Great.”

With that, the conversation fell into silence. Neither one seemed eager to strike up a conversation with the other tean’s star they’d face on the court the next day. The only sound was the soft hum of the elevator as it resumed its descent.

Until it didn’t.

A loud, rough jerk rattled the small space, and the elevator shuddered to a halt. Paige grabbed the handrail instinctively, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Across from her, Azzi shifted her stance, her hand pressing against the wall to steady herself as the lights flickered off, plunging the elevator into near-darkness. Only the faint, dim glow of the emergency light remained.

“Oh god,” Azzi muttered, breaking the silence.

Paige groaned, running a hand through her hair before stepping forward. She sighed, leaning toward the control panel. She pressed the emergency button firmly and waited. Nothing. She pressed it again. Still nothing.

The two of them stood quietly, waiting, hoping, for the elevator to lurch back to life. But as the seconds stretched into minutes with no sign of movement, both sighed in unison.

Azzi pulled her phone out of her pocket, holding it to see if she had a signal. Predictably, there was none. She glanced over at Paige, who had already taken her bag off and slid down the elevator wall, settling on the floor with her knees bent and her head tilted back against the metal.

“You have service?” Azzi asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

“Nope,” Paige replied immediately, not even bothering to reach for her phone.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even check.”

Paige cracked a small smile, tilting her head to look at her. “We’re in a faraday cage elevator. There's no point.”

Azzi blinked, confused. “A what?”

Paige laughed, waving a hand toward the walls. “All four walls are metal, meaning electromagnetic radiation is blocked from going in or out. I.e., phone signals. Whole lot of words meaning you might as well get comfortable.”

Azzi stared at her for a moment, then let out a light laugh as she slid down the wall, settling on the floor. “I didn’t know I was stuck in the elevator with Einstein instead of a basketball player.”

Paige laughed, running a hand through her hair. “I had a construction phase when I was a kid. Needed to know which kind of elevator I’d need in my mansion to still have service.”

That earned her a louder laugh from Azzi. “Your mansion, huh?”

“Dream big,” Paige said with a shrug, her grin widening.

Their laughter faded, leaving them in a silence.

The faint hum of the emergency light is the only sound in the small space. Neither of them really knew what to say. Azzi, who wasn’t much of a talker to begin with, didn’t mind the quiet. She leaned her head back against the wall, content to let the moment pass with her eyes closed.

But Paige? Not so much.

“Alright,” Paige blurted out, her voice cutting through the stillness. “I can’t be quiet for this long.”

Azzi turned her head to look at her, raising an eyebrow, chuckling saying, “It’s been like 5 minutes.”

Paige clearly not deterred states “That’s a long time to just sit in silence with a stranger.”

Azzi chuckles, clearly expecting her to continue. When she doesn’t Azzi says “Well?” The smallest hint of amusement in her voice. "Go ahead."

Paige adjusted her position, sitting up a little straighter as a grin tugged at her lips. “Alright,” she said, breaking the silence. “You excited for the game tomorrow?”

Azzi didn’t even hesitate. “I’m not talking to you about the game.”

Paige’s smirked, a cocky glint in her eye. “Why not? Don’t wanna talk about losing?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. “No, I don’t trust you. You seem sneaky.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Me? Sneaky?”

Azzi nodded, a teasing edge to her tone. “Yes, you seem sneaky. Like the type to try to smooth talk some answers out of me or something.”

Paige laughed, leaning back against the wall. “Fair point,” she admitted, the grin never leaving her face. “Just to be clear though, I don’t need mind tricks to win.” She raised her finger in the air as if to emphasize her point, her tone playful.

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “Whatever.”

Paige tilted her head. “Alright, you pick something since you don’t wanna talk about the game.”

Azzi thought for a moment before shrugging. “Fine. What’s your favorite color?”

Paige blinked, giving her a skeptical look. “Really?”

Azzi shrugged again, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Alright, fine,” Paige said, relenting. “Purple.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Wouldn’t have guessed that.”

Paige frowned slightly. “Why not?”

“You don’t seem like the purple type,” Azzi said casually, leaning her head back against the wall.

Paige squinted at her, a teasing glint in her eye for some reason. “You keep saying I seem or don’t seem like something. First it was me being sneaky, now it’s my favorite color. Didn’t know you thought about me that much.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile betrayed her. “I don’t.”

Paige grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Seems like it.”

Azzi immediately shook her head. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Okay, so what gives you the impression that I’m not the purple type?” Paige asked, folding her arms. “Or that I seem sneaky?”

Azzi gave her a flat look. “You’re all over social media sports pages. It’s hard not to have some sort of impression.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. “Sports pages don’t hint at what my favorite color should be.”

Azzi groaned, pressing her head back against the elevator wall. “Why am I being interrogated right now?”

Paige smirked, sitting up straighter. “Because your answers suck, and now I’m curious.”

Azzi threw her hands up, clearly frustrated. “Alright, fine. You’re always trending on Twitter. That has to mean something about you.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Twitter? Are you serious? Thought I would be trending for my highlights and not my favorite color.”

Azzi huffed. “Well, yes, but you’re always posting about the games, your interviews—people make impressions from that kind of thing.”

Paige shrugged. “Okay, but I still don’t see how you connect that to purple, or why I seem sneaky.”

Azzi thought for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, maybe I’ve read some articles about you. Like, your play style and stuff. Coaches mention your ‘quick sneaky moves’ sometimes. I don’t know... it just adds up.”

Paige shook her head. “Rightt so these articles you’re supposedly reading. What do they tell you about what color I should like?

Azzi groaned again, rubbing her temples. “Oh my god, fine, what do you want from me? It’s just... hard not to form some kind of opinion when you're everywhere.”

Paige sat back for a moment, narrowing her eyes as she just stared at Azzi.

Azzi groaned again, rubbing her temples. “Fine, I’ve seen videos that mention it.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “You’ve seen videos?”

Azzi just sighed, resigned. “Yup, videos.”

Paige squinted at her, studying her carefully. After a moment, her smirk broke out into a wide grin. “I’m on your TikTok feed aren’t I.”

Azzi’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh my god, no you aren’t.”

Paige didn’t buy it, leaning forward with a look. “Oh I definitely am. That’s why you’ve got all these impressions of me. They make some crazy edits so I’m sure you have quite the impression.”

Azzi’s posture stiffened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “No, you’re really not. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Oh really? You’re denying it now, huh?” Her smirk grew. “Which edits are your favorite?”

Azzi froze for a moment, her cheeks tingling slightly, and she quickly looked away. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

Paige leaned back, satisfied. “I knew it.

Azzi rolled her eyes, muttering, “You’re annoying.”

Paige grinned, her smirk never fading. “Sure, I am.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes twinkling. “So, what other impressions do you have of me, Azzi?”

Azzi shot her a glare. “None Paige.”

Paige burst out laughing, clearly enjoying Azzi's discomfort. “Really? None? Not one?”

Azzi sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine, I don’t know. The whole... superstar thing. You seem to love the spotlight and all of the attention.”

Paige nodded, still smirking. “The videos are definitely entertaining. Most of them aren’t accurate, though.”

Azzi shrugged, still a little defensive. “I don’t know what video’s you’re talking about.”

Paige just laughed again, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth. “Okay, let’s play 21 questions then. I’ll give you some real answers.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “21 questions? Really?”

Paige grinned. “Yup. You can figure out which ‘impressions’ you have are valid, and I can learn some things about you.”

Azzi, not ready to give in so easily, crossed her arms. “Why do you want to learn about me?”

Paige shrugged, leaning back casually. “It’s only fair that I even the playing field. Seems like you already know a few things about me even though you won’t admit it.”

Azzi groaned, clearly frustrated, as Paige’s smirk grew wider. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

Paige just laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Nope.”

Azzi sighed, crossing her arms. “Alright, fine. But I’m starting. What’s one thing about you that people would never guess just by looking at you?”

Paige thought for a moment before saying. “Most people think I let the attention and all that get to my head and I act all big, but I’m actually really chill.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You’re chill?” she asked, clearly not convinced.

Paige chuckled, leaning back against the wall of the elevator. “Yeah, for real. I mean, I get it. People see the spotlight and think I’m all about the attention, but nah, for the most part I like keeping things low-key when I can. Especially my private life.”

Azzi nodded slowly as if processing this new piece of information. “Alright, I can see that,” she murmured.

Paige’s smile grew as she shot a playful glance at Azzi. “So what about you? If you had to pick one song to describe your life right now, what would it be?”

Azzi groaned, letting her head fall back against the wall dramatically. “Okay, first thing you’ll learn about me is I’m too indecisive for questions like that. We’ll be here all day waiting for me to answer something like that.”

Paige chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep it simple. What’s your favorite color?”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “Pink,” she said quickly, as if she’d already had the answer ready.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Pink? Really?”

Azzi shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? It’s a good color.”

Paige shook her head, grinning. “Fair enough.”

Azzi shifted the focus back to Paige. “Okay, your turn. What’s your biggest fear?”

Paige chuckled, leaning against the elevator wall, a bit taken aback. “Oh, we’re diving deep already?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Paige shrugged. “Nah, it’s cool.” She paused for a second, her eyes flicking downward as she gathered her thoughts. “Probably failure.”

Azzi nodded. “That’s a very surface-level answer for a non-surface-level question.”

Paige looked at Azzi, meeting her eyes for a brief moment before continuing. “I mean I’ve always wanted to be the greatest I can be, so of course, I hated failing. But with all the attention and everything now, it’s turned more into a fear. It’s not just about not liking failure anymore. It’s like I’m scared to let people down.”

Azzi listened, her eyes attentive to Paige. “I see.

Paige, sensing the heavy moment starting to settle in, tried to shift the tone. “Alright, so... who’s your celebrity crush? I got Zendaya.”

Azzi immediately shook her head, a look of defiance crossing her face. “Nope, not happening.”

Paige protested immediately, her grin widening. “Come on, you can’t just skip the question.”

Azzi crossed her arms, leaning back against the wall, her expression stubborn. She wasn’t about to budge.

Paige’s grin only grew wider as she zeroed in on Azzi’s reaction. “You’re totally thinking about it right now. Come on, just one name.”

“Nope.” As she said this Azzi didn’t even glance at her. It didn’t take long before Paige pieced it together from Azzi’s behavior. Azzi’s eyes had immediately darted away, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink as she stared straight ahead. Paige raised an eyebrow, her suspicions raising.

With Paige’s undivided attention, Azzi let out a groan and buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled. “Oh my god... this is the worst day of my life.”

Paige couldn’t suppress her smirk as she watched Azzi, the realization finally dawning on her. “Ohhh I see.” She was trying to hold back her laughter, but the satisfaction was clear in her tone.

Azzi peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Please, stop looking at me like that.”

Paige leaned in, her smirk widening. “Like what? I’m just trying to help you out here since you won’t answer. You got a thing for me, don’t you?”

Azzi froze, her face going an even deeper shade. The playful teasing in Paige’s eyes made it impossible to deny, and Azzi let out a defeated sigh. “This is so embarrassing.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Nah don’t be. I’m flattered, really.”

Azzi grumbled, burying her head in her hands. “We’re moving on.”

Paige chuckled but let her drop the topic—for now. “If you say so…”

Azzi took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “Alright, let’s get back on track. What’s one thing that’s on your bucket list that you haven’t done yet?”

Paige looked up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. “Umm selfish answer, I want to win a natty and be National Player of the Year again. Unselfish answer, I wanna build a free grocery store.”

Azzi looked at her for a second before raising an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re giving me PR trained Paige answers.”

Paige laughed at this. “Nah, I’m deadass.”

Azzi crossed her arms, giving Paige an unimpressed look. “So, you’re just perfect in every aspect?”

Paige’s smirk faltered for a moment, her tone a little more serious. “Nah, I’m far from perfect. We’re all human.”

Azzi tilted her head, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Okay, what’s the worst thing you’ve done then?”

Paige hesitated for a second, her mind flicking through memories. She didn’t want to get too deep, but the question lingered. Finally, she sighed and spoke. “I cheated once.”

Azzi blinked, visibly shocked. “Recently?”

Paige shook her head, her voice softer now. “Nah. Like freshman year. It was a lot going on and I got a little too drunk one night.”

Azzi’s expression softened, but there was a hint of surprise in her voice. “Wow.”

Paige shrugged, a small laugh escaping her. “See? Not perfect.”

Azzi looked at her, studying her face, sensing the weight behind the confession. “I mean, it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s bad for sure, but not the worst.” She emphasized the word worst, as though trying to comfort her.

Paige chuckled a little. “I felt like the worst person on the planet.”

Azzi’s voice was soft, but there was still a curiosity beneath it. “Why’d you cheat?”

Paige blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

Azzi continued, her gaze never leaving Paige. “Yeah, you were drunk, but what else was going on?”

Paige let out a long breath, her shoulders slumping slightly at the memory. She glanced down for a moment, before looking back up at Azzi. “We’d been arguing a lot. She was my high school girlfriend so you know how that is. We barely saw each other because she stayed in Minnesota and I was getting hella attention just from playing at UConn, and she didn’t like it. Like every other day she was accusing me of cheating, so we were just arguing all the time… and then I don’t know, it kind of just happened from there.”

Azzi listened, her expression softening as she absorbed Paige’s words. There was a silence between them now, as Azzi processed what Paige had shared.

Paige shifted, her fingers brushing against her phone in her lap. “I definitely didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did… it was a stupid mistake.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her voice soft. “I get it. We all make em.”

Paige quickly sat up, her eyes earnest. “I’m not like that anymore, though.”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Oh, so you’re the perfect girlfriend now?”

Paige chuckled, the tension easing as she leaned back against the wall. “Well, I don’t have a girlfriend, but you know… I’ve grown. So I’ll be good for the next one.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Confident, aren’t you?”

Paige smirked, her playful tone returning fully. “Just telling the truth.”

Azzi tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she asked, “Why are you single then?”

Paige shrugged, leaning back against the elevator wall. “Told myself I wouldn’t date anyone who doesn’t understand the spotlight, but… that comes with its own issues so here I am.”

Azzi nodded. “Fair. So… what’s your type?”

Paige licked her lips, glancing up at Azzi with a small smirk. “Never really thought about it.”

Azzi laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Everyone has a type, though.”

Paige was about to answer before she realized something and gave her a look. “I feel like you’ve asked me a million questions in a row. It’s my turn.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, laughing softly. “Alright, fine. Go ahead.”

Paige grinned mischievously. “What’s your type?”

Azzi groaned, shaking her head. “Really?”

Paige leaned forward slightly, mockingly adding, “Everyone has one, right?”

Azzi glanced at Paige for a moment before deciding to be a little forward. “I tend to go for athletes, blonde… pretty eyes.”

Paige smirked, her expression smug. “Huh. That’s interesting.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Interesting?”

Paige nodded, her smirk widening.

Azzi tilted her head slightly. “Why is it interesting?”

Paige shrugged casually, her eyes flickering over Azzi. “Sounds familiar, is all.”

Azzi hummed softly at this, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Are you going to finally tell me your type, or is that the one thing you’re refusing to answer today?”

Paige’s gaze lingered on Azzi, her eyes tracing her features for a moment before she finally spoke. “I usually go for someone with curly hair… pretty lips—”

Azzi cut her off, raising an eyebrow. “Lips?”

Paige licked her own, leaning back slightly with a faint smile. “Yeah. That’s important.”

Azzi blinked, her curiosity getting the best of her. “Why?”

Paige smirked. “Why you wanna know?”

Azzi leaned back, feigning disinterest as she crossed her arms. “I’m not curious, by the way. Just so we’re clear.”

Paige smirked, her eyes lighting up at Azzi’s obvious deflection. “Rightt, totally clear.” Her tone was clearly laced with sarcasm as she leaned in slightly, resting her chin on her hand while watching Azzi.

Azzi rolled her eyes, doing her best to look unaffected. “You’re kinda annoying.”

Paige chuckled. “Am I? You sure seem to be spending a lot of time thinking about me for someone who claims I’m annoying.”

Azzi shook her head with a laugh, trying to play it off, but the faint pink blush on her cheeks betrayed her. Paige noticed, of course, so she just smiled at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Azzi asked, her tone more defensive than she intended.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Paige replied, leaning in just a bit more, her voice dropping slightly. “You’re just… really easy to fluster.”

Azzi let out a nervous laugh, holding up her hand. “Nope. Nope. We’re not doing this.”

Paige tilted her head innocently, a small grin tugging at her lips. “Doing what? I haven’t done anything.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Do you flirt with everyone who seems remotely interested in you, or is this just a special service you offer me?”

Paige laughed at that, leaning back slightly to give Azzi some space—but her smirk stayed. “Nope, this is new. Just the curly-haired ones that play at Maryland, apparently.”

Azzi groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before looking up at Paige with an exasperated expression. “You’re full of yourself.”

Paige laughed, the sound bouncing off the metal walls of the elevator. “I’ve been told.” She leaned casually against the wall, her shoulder brushing Azzi’s as the space between them seemed to shrink. “But you seem to be enjoying it more than most.”

Azzi gave her a flat look, though the faint flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “You’re so ridiculous.”

Paige shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Hey, I’m just saying—if you’re gonna be stuck in an elevator with someone, it might as well be me.”

Azzi groaned, leaning her head back against the cold metal wall of the elevator. “I swear, this is the universe’s way of punishing me for being gay.”

Paige laughed at that, the sound light. “Most people wouldn’t see it as a punishment. More like an opportunity.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, turning her head to look at Paige. “An opportunity for what?”

Paige’s lips curved into a grin. “Not many people get this much uninterrupted time with me.”

Azzi blinked at her, her mouth falling open in disbelief before she let out a dry laugh. “Oh, so I’m lucky now?”

Paige shrugged, her expression as confident as ever. “You can be—only if you make the most of the situation though.”

Azzi let out a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?”

Paige tilted her head, her grin growing. “Now that’s up to you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming, maybe,” Paige shot back. She shifted slightly, the small movement bringing her closer to Azzi, their shoulders almost brushing.

Azzi glanced at the narrowing space between them but didn’t move. “Do you always talk like this, or is it just when you’ve got someone cornered with nowhere else to go?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” Paige said, her voice light but her eyes locked on Azzi’s.

Azzi tried to hold her gaze but faltered, her cheeks warming under Paige’s stare. “I don’t like you,” she muttered, trying to deflect.

Paige laughed softly, leaning her head against the wall and turning to face her more fully. “Yet, here you are. Stuck in an elevator with me. What are the odds?”

Azzi groaned again, a reluctant smile breaking through her exasperation. “Like I said clearly, the universe has a sense of humor.”

Paige tilted her head, smirking. “Or it’s trying to give you an opportunity.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her expression guarded for a moment as if debating whether to keep deflecting. But then, with a small sigh, she settled into herself, her shoulders relaxing. “You know what? You’re right.”

Without another word, Azzi scooted closer to Paige on the elevator floor.

Paige’s smile widened, a mixture of surprise and amusement lighting up her face. “Ahh, there we go.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at Paige’s reaction, though a small smirk betrayed her. “Don’t make this a big thing.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Paige said, holding up her hands as if innocent. But her grin said otherwise.

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi muttered, leaning back against the elevator wall, her knee just barely brushing Paige’s.

Paige glanced down at the small point of contact before looking back up at Azzi. “You’re getting comfortable now, huh?”

Azzi gave her a sidelong look. “Don’t push it.”

After that time passed slowly, the soft hum of the elevator filling the quiet moments between their conversation. They’d moved past the teasing and into lighter territory—sharing random stories, laughing softly, and letting the space settle into something much more comfortable.

Paige now had her stretched out in front of her, glancing at the small display panel that was still blank. “It’s been like, what—45 minutes now?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the wall, letting out a dramatic sigh. “With you, it feels more like an eternity.”

Paige let out a sarcastic laugh, leaning back slightly as she shot Azzi a teasing glance. “Haha, very funny.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow looking at her phone. “Probably more like an hour, to be honest.”

They sat there in quiet for a moment before Paige’s eyes lit up suddenly, an idea popping into her head. “You should make a TikTok with me.”

Azzi immediately shot back, “Nope. We don’t have a signal, remember?”

Paige’s grin only widened. “Doesn’t matter. We can still film it, I just can’t upload it until later.”

Azzi looked like she was about to protest some more, but Paige was already up and scrolling on her phone, clearly having made up her mind. With a grumble, Azzi stood.

As Paige continued to scroll through her app, the unmistakable sound of Thuggish Ruggish Bone blared from her phone’s speaker, cutting through the quiet of the elevator as she propped it up to the best of her ability.

Azzi groaned, “This is probably the worst way to pass time.”

Paige, already in her element, said. “It’ll be fun I swear.”

Azzi reluctantly pressed record, and Paige wasted no time, guiding her through the first TikTok with surprising ease. The first two took only a couple of tries before Paige was satisfied. But the third? That one took forever.

“Azzi, come on bro! You gotta go to the right first then the left” Paige said as Azzi threw her hands up in frustration after yet another failed take.

“I hate TikTok,” Azzi muttered, but her tone was amused despite her irritation.

Paige laughed. “You’re just mad because I’m better at it than you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but laugh at how relentless Paige was, forcing her into a third, fourth, and fifth take. At this point, Azzi had completely given in to the ridiculousness of it all, much to Paige’s delight.

Just as Paige hit record on yet another attempt, the elevator jerked, throwing both of them off balance. They shared a quick glance, and the low rumbling echoed before, to their relief, the elevator started moving down again.

After a few moments the doors opened with a soft ding, revealing a group of firefighters and several of their respective team members standing in the lobby, waiting. The sudden change in scenery caught both Paige and Azzi off guard, and they stood there for a moment, unsure of how to act. It felt strange to just walk away after spending almost an hour and a half together, trapped in the elevator with nothing but each other for company. That short time had somehow changed both of them a little.

Leaning down to grab their bags, they exchanged a quick glance and a small smile before starting to walk in opposite directions. Paige made it a few steps before she stopped, her competitive nature—and maybe something else—getting the better of her.

“Aye, Azzi,” Paige’s voice carried across the lobby, making a few heads turn, including Azzi’s teammates.

Azzi stopped mid-step, her brow arching slightly as she turned back around. Paige stood there, her bag slung over her shoulder, her expression somewhere between cocky and amused. She licked her lips, smirking just enough to send a jolt of heat up Azzi’s spine.

“Let me get your number,” Paige said, her tone casual but her intent clearly anything but that.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to her teammates, who were already watching intently, then back to Paige. A small amused smile tugged at her lips as she walked back toward her, stopping just a step too close.

“Why do you want it?” Azzi said, tilting her head slightly as if daring Paige to explain.

Paige smirked wider, leaning a little closer. “You never told me who your crush was,” she fired back smoothly.

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the faint blush creeping up her neck didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re annoying,” she muttered, but the teasing glint in her eyes betrayed her words. Reaching out, her hand brushed lightly against Paige’s as she grabbed her phone. Their fingers touched for a brief moment, sending a spark of awareness through both of them.

Azzi typed her number quickly, glancing up at Paige once or twice, before handing the phone back. “Here you go,” she said with a small smile, her voice softer now.

Paige glanced at the screen before she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket, her smirk turning into something more genuine. “I’ll text you,” she said confidently, holding Azzi’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

Azzi started walking backward toward her teammates, her eyes never leaving Paige’s. “I look forward to it,” she said, her smile still in place as she turned back around.

Paige stood there, watching her go, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face.

…

The arena still buzzed with excitement as Paige made her way to the side of the court for the post-game interview. UConn’s win over Maryland was still fresh in the air. Her teammates were still scattered around, chatting about the game and cheering about the Final Four, but Paige was still zoned in, ready to speak to the media before relaxing.

A reporter stepped forward, microphone in hand, eager to ask the first question. “Paige, first of all congratulations on the big win.”

Paige smiles down at her saying “Thank you, it feels great. Maryland played an amazing game.”

The reporter smiles before continuing to speak. Before we begin with the game questions we have the state farm fan question and someone asks ‘what's been one of your best memories off the court during the tournament so far?’”

Paige leaned back slightly, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she thought about the events of the previous day. She glanced at the gathered reporters, some still watching her closely, others making notes for their stories.

“Well, yesterday was pretty memorable," she said, her voice light but laced with amusement. "I got stuck in an elevator at the hotel for like an hour and a half.” She paused for a second, thinking about if she wanted to say anything else before continuing with a grin. "That was pretty fun, honestly.”

Her eyes flickered briefly, but she didn’t give anything away. There was no mention of who she’d been stuck with, but the faintest smirk on her face made it clear she wasn’t talking about any ordinary elevator mishap.

The reporter laughs at this saying “Oh wow, that’s definitely an answer I’m sure they weren’t expecting.”

“Yeah, definitely not the usual pre-game prep,” Paige added with a shrug, her grin widening as she looked back at the reporters.

As they moved to the next question, Paige couldn’t help but replay the elevator incident in her mind, her smile lingering as she continued with questions about the game.

…

Later that night Paige lounged on her hotel bed scrolling through social media. After she got bored enough though she switched to her messaging app typing in Azzi’s name before typing out a simple message:

“Hey.”

She hit send and tossed the phone onto the bed beside her, not expecting a quick response. But her phone vibrated almost immediately, making her raise an eyebrow.

“Who is this?”

Paige laughed quietly to herself, shaking her head as she grabbed her phone again. She quickly typed back:

“Paige.”

The typing bubbles popped up almost immediately, and Paige smirked, leaning back against the pillows as she waited for Azzi’s reply.

“I’m not talking to you yet. You just beat me.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head as she typed back:

"You’re going viral."

She attached a link to the TikTok she posted, one of the three they had filmed during their time stuck in the elevator. The video had already racked up a few million likes and thousands of comments, many of which were trying to piece together the details behind the mysterious elevator mishap.

Azzi saw the link come through, and after a moment, curiosity got the better of her. She clicked on it and watched the TikTok, her face scrunching slightly at the memories of how Paige had roped her into it. Then, as she scrolled through the comments, she noticed some of them speculating about Paige’s interview and this being the “favorite memory” she had mentioned. Intrigued, Azzi did a quick search and found the interview clip before responding.

A smirk tugged at her lips as she texted back:

"I heard this was your favorite memory off the court."

Paige rolled her eyes, chuckling softly as she typed her response:

"Spending time with a pretty girl is pretty fun."

It took Azzi a moment to respond, her reply brief and teasing:

"Stop flirting."

Paige grinned, tapping out another message:

"No. Wyd?"

Azzi’s reply came quickly this time:

"Nothing now."

Paige didn’t hesitate.

"Let’s chill."

There was a pause before Azzi finally texted back:

"Fine, but I’m not taking the elevator."

Paige laughed out loud, shaking her head as she typed:

"Bet. I’ll meet you downstairs."

She tossed her phone onto the bed and got up, already grabbing her hoodie and slipping on her slides.

…

Paige and Azzi would always argue about who made the first move that night. It became a playful back-and-forth between them over the years, one neither could resist bringing up whenever the opportunity came up.

Azzi swore it was Paige who crossed the line first. “You were trying to come back to my room,” she’d claim, her voice dropping with mock exasperation. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

But Paige never let the accusation slide. “Excuse me? You asked me to walk you back. I was just being polite.”

Azzi would laugh at that, shaking her head as if Paige’s logic was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Polite? Right. And then you just happened to stay. Sounds like you made the first move to me.”

But Paige always had her trump card ready. “Okay, but who took my jacket so they had an excuse to see me again? You. So, technically, you started it.”

The truth didn’t matter, not really. The moment they were together that night, the rest was history as they talked for hours about everything and nothing. The elevator was just the beginning of a story neither of them would have seen coming—a story full of late-night texts, unexpected flights, and stolen moments that would lead to them finding the love of their life..

Whatever happened in that elevator didn’t just leave them stuck in a cramped space together. It set them on a path neither could walk away from, a connection born out of shared teasing and undeniable chemistry.

And honestly, they both wouldn’t have had it any other way.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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svt-luna · 2 months ago

Text

𝜗℘ LET THE WORLD BURN

❛ 𝘪’𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯. 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯— 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴. ❜

timeline: 2022

synopsis: After Luna gets injured during Be The Sun tour rehearsal in Bangkok, her members— willing to do anything and everything for her— refuse to let her face it alone.

warnings: angst, cursing, crying, injuries, mentions of blood, stitches, graphic description of injury, graphic description of stitches, medical jargons, protective!svt, worried!svt, injured!Luna, angry!Cheol, anxiety, mentions of panic attack, fluff by the end, couple goals, team goals (i lOvE mY tEaM, i LoVE mY cReW!)

angst might be my favorite genre to write… what does that say about me? 😝 anyway, hope you lovlies enjoy this one! happy reading❤️‍🔥

part two: the aftermath - She Will Be Loved

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

There were good days, and then there were perfect days.

This was the latter.

Luna had woken up that morning with the kind of well-rested feeling that came once in a blue moon. The kind where her body felt weightless, her limbs loose and relaxed, as if sleep had actually done its job for once instead of teasing her with a few hours of restless tossing and turning. The kind where her eyes opened naturally, with no groggy blinking or sluggish protests against reality, just a deep inhale followed by a satisfied sigh.

No alarms blaring, no manager knocking, no overwhelming exhaustion from back-to-back schedules— it was almost unsettling how good she felt.

Almost.

She rolled over, half-expecting Jeonghan to still be fast asleep beside her, but to her surprise, he was already awake. Awake and staring at her with a soft, sleepy-eyed smile that made her heart flip just a little.

“Good morning,” he murmured, voice still husky from sleep.

Luna blinked at him, half convinced she was still dreaming. “You’re awake before me?”

He smirked. “Miracles do happen.”

That alone was enough to tell her that today was going to be a good day. Because if there was one thing Jeonghan wasn’t, it was a morning person.

They both weren’t, really.

They usually spent their mornings in a sluggish haze, shuffling around each other in slow motion as they tried to find the will to start the day.

But today? Today, they were both awake, well-rested, and— dare she say it— energized.

Which was shocking cause it usually takes the both of them a couple hours to actually wake up— sometimes they don’t even talk, a mutual understanding enveloping them that it could take a few minutes.

And if that wasn’t enough, breakfast had only solidified the perfection of the morning.

They had eaten together, just the two of them, something that didn’t happen as often as they would have liked with their schedules. The meal had been simple but satisfying— nothing extravagant, just warm food and quiet company. And Jeonghan, despite being notoriously grumpy before noon, had been in a good mood. He had nudged her knee under the table, stolen a bite from her plate with a mischievous grin, and even made her laugh before she had finished her coffee.

Perfect.

The weather, too, had decided to play along.

It was the kind of day that made traveling easy— clear skies, a gentle breeze, the kind of temperature that was neither too hot nor too cold. The airport had been bustling as always, but their departure had been smooth, their flight to Bangkok a breeze.

No delays, no turbulence, no last-minute chaos that usually came with their schedules.

And, to top it all off, Luna looked good.

She wasn’t even going to be humble about it. Her airport outfit was one of her favorites— effortless yet chic, the kind that made her feel both comfortable and confident.

She knew she looked amazing because Jeonghan had given her that once-over when she walked out of their room, the kind of look that lingered for just a second too longer than normal before he hummed and said, “You’re going to make the fans go insane with that outfit, Nana-ya.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

Everything was going right.

They were in Bangkok for the Be The Sun tour , a city filled with fans who always made them feel like royalty, and as soon as they landed, the energy was contagious. Excitement buzzed in the air as they made their way to the venue. The anticipation for tomorrow’s concert was already thick, and the entire team was riding on that high.

By the time they arrived at the arena, spirits were high. The members were in a great mood, their team was in a great mood, and— perhaps most importantly— everyone was in excellent condition. No colds, no injuries, no exhaustion lingering in their bones from the previous leg of the tour.

It was rare for things to align so perfectly, but somehow, today, everything just was.

As always, the day before a concert was dedicated to rehearsing— going through the flow of the show, refining their markings, making sure every little detail was in place. Unlike the soundchecks on concert days, which were open to VIP ticket holders, today’s rehearsals were private. Just them and their team, no audience, no distractions.

It was a familiar routine.

They ran through their setlist, making sure their formations were clean and tight. They tested their microphones, adjusted their in-ear monitors— everyone had their own preferences for how they wanted to hear themselves, whether they needed more bass, more vocals, or a balance of both. The tech team ran through lighting cues, pyrotechnic timings, and camera placements.

Everything had to be perfect, every detail accounted for.

But despite the professionalism, there was still that undercurrent of chaos that only they could bring.

Dokyeom kept acting he was playing random guitar riffs in between songs. Hoshi and Seungkwan kept breaking into impromptu dances that had nothing to do with their actual choreography. Mingyu was either mimicking everyone’s vocal runs or dramatically collapsing onto the floor every time they finished a song. Even Woozi, their usually focused producer, had cracked a few jokes, making everyone laugh as they rehearsed.

And Jeonghan— of course, Jeonghan— had been nothing short of a menace.

At one point, he had somehow gotten his hands on a stage prop and used it to poke at the other members mid-rehearsal. Then, when he got bored of that, he started throwing Luna mischievous glances, making faces at her from across the stage until she nearly choked on the water she was drinking.

But through all the chaos, the rehearsal itself was smooth. Everyone knew their marks, their moves, their cues.

It was all going so well.

Too well.

Luna should have known.

Should have known that the moment she started labeling the day as perfect, she had already jinxed herself.

Should have known that there was no such thing as perfect.

Because perfection was a fragile, fleeting thing. A delicate illusion that could shatter in an instant.

And in just a few moments, it would be.

The stadium was quiet, save for the gentle strumming of the backing instrumentals playing through their in-ear monitors. The air inside the vast arena was still, almost heavy with the kind of warmth that came with rehearsing for hours under stage lights.

They were nearly done for the day— so close to wrapping up their final run-throughs before they could head back to the hotel and rest.

Seated in rows along the metal bleachers set up on the main stage, the members swayed lightly to the melody of ‘Our Dawn is Hotter than Day’. The song was always a moment of solace in their setlist— warm, nostalgic, fun, filled with a quiet kind of comfort. It wasn’t a song they just performed; it was a song they felt.

Luna sat beside Jeonghan, their shoulders barely touching as they sang, their voices blending effortlessly with the rest of the group. Their microphones were held up to their mouths as they always did, their bodies slightly leaned forward as they focused on their harmonies. She could feel the energy between them, that unspoken connection of knowing exactly when to breathe, when to soften, when to let the music take over.

The moment was peaceful.

Almost lulling. Almost perfect.

And then it wasn’t.

It happened so fast that for a second, Luna didn’t even register it as pain— just a sudden, sharp pop in her right ear, so loud and jarring that it rattled her skull. A strange sensation, foreign and terrifying, like something had snapped inside her head.

And then— Agony.

A white-hot, slicing pain shot through her right ear, so sharp, so immediate, that it was as if she had been electrocuted. The pain was cutting, searing, burning— an unbearable sting that radiated from deep inside her ear canal and spread like wildfire through the side of her face, down her neck, into her jaw.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

A startled, high-pitched squeal of pain tore from her throat as she jolted up from her seat, her left hand instinctively dropping the microphone she had been holding. The mic hit the stage with a loud, echoing clunk, the sound of it reverberating through the empty stadium and blasting into the members’ in-ear monitors with a harsh, grating screech.

At the same time, her right hand shot up, yanking both of her in-ear monitors out of her ears in one swift, panicked motion. The small earpieces tumbled from her fingers, falling somewhere on the stage, forgotten. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her entire body seized with alarm.

She barely registered the members’ voices, their sudden shouts of confusion and concern as she stumbled away from the metal bleachers, her legs moving on autopilot.

She needed space.

She needed to breathe.

She can’t breathe.

She’s in pain.

Her hands flew up to her ears, pressing against them as she crouched down on the stage, trying to steady herself. But nothing was steady. The pain was relentless, roaring in her right ear like an explosion that refused to fade.

And the worst part—

The worst part was that she could feel it.

The warm, sticky sensation trailing down her neck. The unmistakable wetness pooling beneath her fingers.

Blood.

It was pumping, both inside and out— throbbing in her head like a relentless pulse, trickling down the curve of her jaw, soaking into the collar of her shirt. Her ears were ringing, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else, leaving the world muffled and distant.

She wasn’t even sure if she was crying or if it was just the blood she felt dripping down her skin.

Maybe it was both.

Somewhere in the haze of pain, she vaguely registered movement around her— shadows shifting, voices yelling, hands reaching.

“Jiyeon-ah!”

“Hey, hey— what happened?!”

“Someone get the medic, now!”

But the words were warped, lost in the deafening ringing in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths.

The perfect day was over.

And all she could do was hold her head in her hands as the world blurred around her.

The metallic scent of blood was thick in the air, sharp and unmistakable. It clung to her skin and her clothes— overwhelming her senses as she pressed her right hand tightly against her ear. The sticky warmth seeped between her fingers, and even without looking, she knew the extent of it. The iron-tinged, coppery smell made her stomach churn.

Hands were on her— gentle but firm, rubbing slow circles on her back, trying to ground her. Voices overlapped in frantic concern, some closer, some further away. Through the relentless ringing in her ears, she could just barely make out the distinct sound of Seungcheol’s voice cutting through the chaos.

“Where the hell are they?!” he barked, the weight of his authority sharp and urgent. “I said hurry up!”

Luna barely processed his words. She kept her head bowed, eyes shut tight, too afraid to look at the damage. She wasn’t good with blood— never had been. It made her queasy, made her feel lightheaded. If she removed her hand, if she actually saw how much she was bleeding, she knew she’d be teetering on the edge of passing out. Her body already felt weak, her breathing uneven.

But then, through the mess of panic, there was Jeonghan.

He was crouched in front of her, his presence steady, unwavering. He had been one of the first to reach her the moment she screamed, and now, as she blinked against the blur of pain and tears, she found his eyes— calm, focused, searching hers.

For a second, everything else faded. The noise, the chaos, the overwhelming nausea. It was just Jeonghan, his gaze locked onto her like he could somehow anchor her back to reality.

Then he moved, reaching out with a touch so careful, so deliberate, as he cupped the back of her neck. His palm was warm against her clammy skin, his thumb ghosting over the curve of her jaw in the softest reassurance.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice impossibly gentle. “You’re alright, Nana-ya.” His eyes never wavered, steady as the way he spoke. “I know it hurts, but you’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

Luna swallowed hard, her breath shuddering as another sharp pulse of pain throbbed through her ear. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut, fighting against the dizziness creeping in.

Then suddenly, there was another shift beside her— stronger, more urgent.

Before she could react, she felt herself being lifted, scooped up effortlessly from the ground. A pair of arms secured her in a bridal carry, firm but careful, moving with quick purpose.

Seungcheol.

His jaw was tight, the muscle in it flexing as he carried her with ease. His usual composure was cracked, frustration seeping through in the way his grip tightened just slightly, in the way he muttered under his breath, words laced with quiet, restrained anger.

“They need to be way faster in situations like this,” he muttered darkly, his voice low but sharp.

But when he looked down at her, the frustration melted into something softer. His brows furrowed in concern, his lips pressing together for a second before he exhaled through his nose. And then, despite everything, he offered her a reassuring smile.

“You’re gonna be okay, Jiyeonie,” he said, this time gentle, meant just for her. “We’re getting you help. Just a little longer, alright?”

Luna didn’t say anything— she couldn’t. She only nodded faintly, her body instinctively leaning into him, her forehead resting lightly against his chest. Even with her hands still pressed against her ears, she could hear the murmurs of the other members trailing closely behind as Seungcheol carried her off the stage.

The moment they entered the backstage area, the chaos only intensified.

Backstage was always busy, always filled with movement and overlapping voices, but this was different. The usual calm, controlled energy had been shattered. Managers and staff were darting around, some grabbing medical supplies, others speaking hurriedly into their earpieces.

Everyone’s eyes were on Luna.

And not in the way she liked.

There was no hiding it— she was visibly shaking, the top of her shirt stained, her hands still shielding her ears like she could somehow block out the pulsing pain.

The rest of the members hovered, not a single one of them sitting despite the waiting room’s couches lining the space. They couldn’t. Their worry was palpable, radiating off of them in waves as they stayed close, watching as Seungcheol carried her straight to one of the sofas.

Only when he gently lowered her down did they finally exhale, but the tension in the room remained thick, suffocating.

And as Luna sat there, dizzy, aching, and clutching onto the last bit of strength she had left, she knew one thing for certain.

She jinxed herself.

The second Luna was sat down on the sofa, Jeonghan was right beside her. He moved without hesitation, pressing himself close as if to shield her from everything else in the room. His hand found her thigh, palm warm as he caressed it in slow, soothing strokes. The touch was grounding, firm but gentle, a silent reassurance that he was there. That she wasn’t alone.

Her breathing was uneven, her hands still clamped over both of her ears, though it was the right one that throbbed relentlessly. Her fingers were sticky with blood, and the coppery scent was still thick in her nose, making her stomach churn. She kept her eyes down, trying to focus on anything other than the pain, other than the fact that her head was spinning.

Then a voice cut through the tense silence of the room.

One of their tech team members, a man with glasses and a staff badge hanging around his neck, stepped forward hesitantly. His expression was tight, nervous, like he knew that whatever he was about to say wouldn’t be well received.

“We checked the equipment,” he started, his tone careful, measured. “Jiyeon’s in-ear monitor… it malfunctioned. It, um… exploded.” He swallowed, shifting slightly under the weight of so many stares. “From what we can tell, it was a wiring issue. A buildup of pressure. It caused the internal components to—” He exhaled sharply. “Basically, it blew apart from the inside. Thankfully, it only affected the right ear and not both.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Thankfully?”

Seungcheol scoffed, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack, his eyes dark with barely restrained frustration. He turned his full attention to the staff member, incredulous.

“Seungcheol-ah,” Jeonghan said with a warning tone, his eyes not leaving Luna.

“We should be thankful?” Seungcheol’s voice rose slightly, though not from hysteria— no, it was something sharper. Something dangerously close to fury. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

The air in the room shifted, tense and heavy.

Joshua was the first to move. He stepped toward Seungcheol, placing himself between him and the tech staff, his presence as calm and collected as ever.

“That’s not what he meant,” Joshua said, his voice steady, level. He turned slightly toward Seungcheol, making sure his words were heard clearly. “It could’ve been worse.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, shaking his head. His hands curled into fists at his sides before each raked a hand through his hair.

“This isn’t worse?” His voice was low, but the anger behind it was clear. He gestured toward Luna without looking, his eyes still locked onto Joshua. “She’s bleeding.”

Joshua didn’t waver. “It could’ve been worse,” he repeated. His tone didn’t change, still as levelheaded as before. “She could be bleeding out in both ears. Don’t be mean.”

The weight of the words settled over the room.

But the thing was— no one thought Seungcheol was being mean.

Not really.

Everyone knew why he was reacting the way he was. He wasn’t just the leader of SEVENTEEN. He was their oldest, the one who carried the weight of their well-being on his shoulders. His job, his responsibility, was to make sure his team— his family— was safe. And out of all the things he hated, out of everything he could tolerate, the one thing that gutted him was seeing his members hurt.

And right now?

Seeing Luna sitting there, blood trailing down her fingers, eyes glassy with unshed tears, visibly shaken— this was the worst it had ever been.

So of course Choi Seungcheol was pissed.

If he was a cartoon character he would have steam coming out of his ears right this second.

Jeonghan was angry too, sure. Not angry at anybody— he knew none of this was intentional. But he was angry at the circumstances, the cards that Luna was dealt with today.

Before anyone could say anything else, the medics finally arrived.

The moment they stepped into the room, they swarmed to Luna, their movements efficient and practiced. They wasted no time— one of them crouched in front of her while another stood to the side, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. A third unpacked medical supplies from a case, working swiftly.

Luna barely reacted. She just let them do whatever they needed to do, too drained to resist. Her mind was foggy, her body heavy. She could still feel Jeonghan beside her, his fingers running through her hair, soft and rhythmic. The gesture kept her grounded, kept her from slipping too far into the haze of pain and exhaustion.

“Alright, sweetheart,” one of the medics murmured gently. “We need to take a look.”

She felt gloved fingers against hers, prying her hands away from her ears. The second her palm lifted from her right side, she winced. The fresh sting of air against the open wound made her suck in a sharp breath, and Jeonghan’s hand immediately slid to her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

There was a pause. Then a murmur. The medic studying her injury leaned in closer, brow furrowed as they examined the damage.

There was a long, deep cut on the top of Luna’s right earlobe. It was bleeding heavily, the skin torn in a way that suggested something sharp had sliced through it.

One of the medics exhaled through their nose. “Looks like she was cut by something sharp.” They turned slightly, addressing the others in the room. “Most likely from the shards of her in-ear monitor when it blew apart.”

Another medic nodded. “It’s a bit deep. She is gonna need stitches.”

The second Luna heard the word stitches, her entire body went rigid. A sharp inhale hitched in her throat before she instinctively recoiled, twisting in Jeonghan’s arms as a whine escaped her lips.

“No, no, no—” she mumbled, attempting to squirm away.

But Jeonghan was faster.

The moment she moved, he moved too— his grip firm yet gentle as his arms tightened around her, stopping her from slipping away. His fingers curled securely around her forearm, his other hand pressing lightly against her back to keep her steady. He wasn’t restraining her, not really— just holding her in place, keeping her from running when they both knew she needed to stay.

“I’m fine,” Luna whined, her voice breaking, the threat of tears bubbling up again.

“You’re not.”

A chorus.

The room spoke in unison, voices overlapping— some firm, some soft, but all unwavering.

Luna’s chest heaved. She could feel all their eyes on her— the members watching from the couches, quiet and tense, their expressions drawn with sympathy.

“I don’t wanna—” Luna’s voice came out so small, barely above a whisper, and that made it worse somehow.

The members exchanged glances, their faces softening at the way her shoulders curled inward, the way she was shrinking into Jeonghan like a child avoiding a doctor’s visit.

“It won’t hurt—” one of the medics attempted to reassure her.

But Luna shook her head vehemently, cutting them off before they could finish.

“It’s not the pain.”

Jeonghan’s voice came at the same time as hers, his understanding immediate.

“It’s not the pain,” he repeated softly.

He knew.

They all did.

Luna was terrified of getting stitches.

She had only gotten them twice in her life, and this was about to be the third.

The first time was when she was ten. She had broken her collarbone after falling during a ballet recital. But that time, she had been asleep during surgery, and when she woke up, the stitches were already there— just small, neat little lines held together with dissolvable thread.

That experience wasn’t traumatic.

But the second time?

The second time was different.

She had been twelve when it happened. She had cut herself with a pair of scissors, a deep gash along the side of her palm that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

And this time, she had been very much awake when they stitched her up.

That was the moment she realized she hated getting stitches.

It wasn’t about the pain— Luna had a high pain tolerance. She could handle pain. She had powered through sprains, bruises, even broken bones before.

No, it was the feeling that made her stomach churn. The sensation of a needle threading through her skin, the constant tugging and pulling as they sewed her back together— it made her head spin, made her skin crawl.

Some people didn’t understand why.

Luna had tattoos, after all.

But tattoos were different— very different.

A tattoo needle moved fast, penetrating the skin in rapid bursts, barely giving her time to register the sensation before the next movement came.

And getting her blood drawn? Shots? Cake. The needle went in, then out. Quick. Simple. Done.

But stitches?

Stitches made her feel like Frankenstein’s monster. Like she was being stitched together, piece by piece, with nothing to do but feel it all.

A deep, anxious breath shuddered through her as she turned toward Jeonghan, still encased in his arms. She tipped her head back against his shoulder, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Han,” she whispered. “I don’t want…”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened instantly. His fingers moved to stroke her arm, his touch featherlight.

“I know you don’t want stitches, my moon,” he murmured, his voice low, soothing, like a lullaby. He nodded slowly, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin. “But you need them.”

Luna opened her mouth to argue, but Jeonghan was already speaking again, his tone calm, steady— gentle, but leaving no room for negotiation.

“We know you— you’re going to want to perform tomorrow,” he said knowingly, brushing his fingers along her cheek to tuck away the strands of hair stuck to her damp skin. “Despite all of this.”

Luna blinked at him.

“And we won’t let you if you have an open wound.” His tone was patient but firm. “You know that.”

Her lips parted, ready to protest— but the words never came.

Instead, Jeonghan used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe away the dried tear stains from her cheeks, his touch careful and unhurried, like he was tending to something delicate. “It’s going to be okay,” he continued softly. “It’ll be over fast. I promise.”

Luna stared up at him, her breathing still uneven, her lips pressed into a hesitant line.

Jeonghan held her gaze, nodding ever so slightly. Then, after a beat—

“Do you want to lay on my lap?” he asked gently.

Luna hesitated, her mind warring with itself.

For a few long seconds, she just sat there, the weight of his words settling over her. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she gave a small nod.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked in understanding. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position, his hands warm and steady as he helped her maneuver onto his lap. It was a careful process— his fingers bracing her waist as she turned, his touch never rough, never rushed.

Eventually, Luna settled, laying sideways across the couch, her head resting on Jeonghan’s lap. Her injured ear was facing up, perfectly positioned for the medics to work.

Jeonghan’s hand found her hair again, fingers gliding through the strands in soft, rhythmic motions. A silent reassurance.

She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut.

This was the best she could do.

God— she’s gonna throw up.

The room buzzed with quiet shuffles as the medics began preparing their tools, the soft clinking of metal against metal mingling with the occasional rustle of gauze and sterile packaging being torn open. The scent of antiseptic grew stronger, sharp and clinical, contrasting the warmth of Jeonghan’s touch as he continued to run his fingers through Luna’s hair.

Though her eyes remained closed, she could hear everything— the sound of gloves being snapped onto hands, the shuffle of boots against the floor, and the faint murmur of instructions exchanged between the medical staff.

One of the medics, their voice calm yet firm, broke through the quiet preparation. “Before we begin, we’re going to need to give you a tetanus shot,” they informed her. “Since you were, in fact, cut by… unknown materials, it’s just a precaution.”

Luna exhaled through her nose. She knew it was coming, but it barely fazed her. The next thing she felt was a light squeeze on her shoulder— a silent reassurance— before a brief, sharp pinch as the needle entered her skin.

It was over in seconds, and Luna didn’t even flinch. Again, cake.

What she focused on instead was Jeonghan’s fingers still carding gently through her hair, his other hand tracing slow, absentminded circles on her waist, grounding her. It was comforting, something familiar amidst the severityof the situation. The medics continued working, methodically cleaning the dried blood from her ear and neck, the damp sensation of antiseptic wipes ghosting over her skin. The sting was mild compared to the deep, dull throbbing of her wound.

“We’re checking for any remaining shards now,” one of them said, the faint clatter of tweezers against a metal tray following soon after.

A few moments passed before another medic confirmed, “Looks like you’re clear. No remaining fragments.”

Luna let out a slow breath. Good. That was good.

And now… the hard part.

She kept her eyes closed, allowing herself to just exist in Jeonghan’s hold, listening to the soft rustling of the medics moving around her. But as the distinct sound of tools shifting on the tray reached her ears, her stomach twisted. Her heart pounded louder, beating erratically against her ribs.

She knew exactly what was coming next.

The stitching.

She didn’t need to see it to know, the second Jeonghan linked his fingers with hers it was almost a signal. It was the same hand that had been smeared with blood earlier but she hadn’t even noticed it had been cleaned. She was too out of it to care at the time.

Now, though, the warmth of Jeonghan’s grip around her own was all she could focus on.

And if that wasn’t enough of a sign, the quiet shuffling of the members confirmed it. They knew she was tense. They could see it, hear it in the sharp breath she inhaled.

Then, suddenly, she felt her legs— previously sprawled across the couch— being carefully lifted. Someone settled into the empty space before gently resting her legs on their lap, large hands smoothing over the fabric of her sweats before rubbing soft, reassuring circles over her shin.

Mingyu.

She knew it was him without even opening her eyes. Don’t ask her how, she just did— when it comes to the members, she always knows.

Dokyeom moved next, circling the couch to stand behind it, peering down at her with unspoken concern. She could feel the weight of his stare, watching her closely, making sure she was okay. Making sure she was distracted.

Luna exhaled shakily before blinking her eyes open, her blurry gaze immediately landing on Dokyeom’s face. His usual bright expression had been replaced with something softer, something worried. But the second he saw her looking at him, his lips stretched into a bright, dimpled smile, as if trying to will the tension away.

Without thinking, Luna lifted her free hand and did grabby hands in his direction.

Dokyeom let out a soft chuckle before instantly intertwining his fingers with hers, squeezing gently. But then, as if facing a grave dilemma, he whined dramatically, his brows furrowing. “Aigo… Jiyeonie, don’t look at me like that because I might actually tackle them away from you and drag them out.”

The joke was lighthearted, effortless, exactly the kind of thing he always said to make her laugh. And it worked. The medic team chuckled, the members around them letting out amused huffs. Even Luna, despite the looming dread sitting heavy in her chest, felt the corners of her lips twitch into a small, appreciative smile.

Dokyeom sighed, his grip on her hand tightening slightly as he looked down at her. His voice was softer this time, tinged with genuine sympathy as he gently whined, “I’m so sorry.”

And he meant it. Not just for the stitches, not just for the situation, but for the helplessness he felt in not being able to take her place.

Luna squeezed his hand in return.

Luna barely had time to brace herself before she felt the faintest brush of fingers against her injured ear.

Even though she knew it was coming, even though she knew they were being careful, the sudden touch still sent a sharp prickle of awareness up her spine. Instinctively, she clenched her jaw and squeezed both Jeonghan’s and Dokyeom’s hands tighter, her grip turning rigid with the kind of tension that refused to leave her body.

She screwed her eyes shut again. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to think about what was happening, only about getting through it. But the second the cool antiseptic swiped over her skin, a sharp, burning sensation igniting in its wake, she felt faint.

It was just a disinfectant, just numbing cream settling over her torn skin, yet her body reacted as if she were already in the thick of the stitching process. Her stomach churned. She swallowed hard, her breathing slowing, controlled, forcing herself not to focus on it, forcing herself to focus on the familiar warmth around her instead.

Jeonghan’s thumb ran over the back of her hand in soothing, lazy circles, his grip steadfast and unwavering. Dokyeom’s palm, slightly clammy with nervousness, squeezed hers gently, a silent reassurance that he was right there. And Mingyu, who had barely spoken since taking his place beside her, continued to rub slow, comforting patterns over her leg, his fingers pressing in just enough to ground her.

Then— she felt it.

The first prick of the needle.

It was supposed to be numb. And it was. Mostly. But there was still an occasional sting, a sharp reminder that her skin was being punctured, thread being pulled through, looped, secured.

The sensation was horrible. It wasn’t necessarily pain— it was something worse. The second she felt the thread glide through her skin, tight and unnatural, she wanted to claw at her own flesh, rip it away just to stop the feeling.

God, she hated this. She hated this so much. It made her feel like… like a piece of fabric, being sewn back together as if she weren’t human at all.

A flinch.

Luna barely noticed it at first, but her body reacted before she could stop it, her fingers twitching in Jeonghan and Dokyeom’s hands, her leg tensing in Mingyu’s lap.

Instantly, Mingyu’s hand slid from her shin to her knee, rubbing gentle, mindless strokes over it, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her pants. Dokyeom, who had been doing his absolute best to avoid looking at the process, tightened his grip on her hand, his thumb stroking over her knuckles as if to say, I know, I know, I hate this too.

Dokyeom’s face, when Luna dared to open her eyes for even a second, was slightly pale, a hint of queasiness lingering in his expression as he purposefully kept his gaze fixed on her and only her.

And then there was Jeonghan.

A soft, delicate “shh” left his lips, barely above a whisper, as he shifted closer. His free hand, the one that had been holding her waist, lifted to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight.

“You’re doing so well, angel,” he murmured, voice laced with warmth and something so heartbreakingly gentle it almost made her cry. He tilted his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her hand, his lips warm against her skin. “Just a little more, yeah? You’re okay. Almost over.”

His voice was a lifeline.

A thread tying her to reality, steady and unshakable, unlike the one currently being woven through her skin.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to focus on his words rather than the loopty-loop sensation of the thread moving through her ear.

Another sharp sting, another flinch, another press of Jeonghan’s lips against her hand.

“You’re okay, Nana-ya. You’re so strong,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her wrist. “I’m so proud of you.”

Luna barely had the energy to react, but deep down, his words settled over her like a warm blanket, softening the jagged edges of her discomfort.

Around them, the other members sat silently on the sofas, watching her carefully.

They didn’t speak, didn’t disrupt the moment, but their presence alone was enough. They were her silent support system, steady and constant.

Luna didn’t need them to say anything— just knowing they were there was enough.

And then there was Seungcheol.

He hadn’t moved.

Not once.

Still standing exactly where he had been earlier, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it looked like he might snap in half. His sharp, scrutinizing gaze remained locked on the medics, watching their every move like a hawk.

Every time the needle so much as twitched, every time Luna so much as winced, his jaw clenched tighter, his eyes darkening as if he were committing every detail to memory.

As if the second something went wrong, he would bolt out that room and sue for malpractice and personally ensure someone lost their medical license that night.

God, Luna loved them.

Soon, it was finally over.

Luna didn’t know how long she had been lying there with her eyes closed, but she was grateful it was finally over.

The moment she felt the soft press of gauze being placed over her upper ear, a deep breath slipped past her lips, her body finally— finally— releasing the tension it had been holding onto so fiercely. Every muscle that had been locked in stiffness slowly uncoiled, her shoulders slumping as the reality of it being done settled into her bones.

Now came the aftermath.

The adrenaline was already starting to drain from her system, leaving behind an exhaustion so deep it nearly swallowed her whole. It was creeping up on her faster than she expected, the sharp clarity she had maintained throughout the process now slipping away like sand through her fingers.

Luna could hear her doctor speaking, the sound of her voice reaching her ears, but the words themselves barely registered.

Something about changing the bandage.

Something about taking the painkillers she was going to be given.

Something about not getting the area wet.

Something about how Luna was cleared to perform tomorrow.

She barely caught any of it.

Thankfully, the rest of the members were listening for her, nodding along with rapt attention, their expressions set in the same serious concentration they wore during meetings, as if they were students listening to a lecture.

They would remember. They always remembered.

They had her covered.

She just wanted to go back to the hotel, crawl into bed, and watch something mindless until she inevitably passed out.

Once all instructions were settled and the medics packed up to leave, Luna finally made the effort to move. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself up, her body feeling heavier than it should, her hair slipping forward to frame her face in soft waves.

The reaction was immediate.

“Slowly, noona—”

“Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?”

“Wait, don’t move too fast—”

“Careful with your ear, please—”

Questions and reminders came at her from every direction, overlapping and blurring together as the members crowded around, fussing over her like an entire flock of worried mother hens.

A soft smile tugged at Luna’s lips as she listened to them, their concern seeping into every syllable they spoke. Before she could say anything, she felt arms carefully wrap around her, a gentle but firm presence pressing into her side.

“Noona…”

Seungkwan’s voice was quiet, filled with something tender and unspoken as he held her close, mindful of her injury.

Luna melted into his embrace, her hand coming up to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “I’m okay, Boo.”

That didn’t seem to convince him, but he didn’t say anything else. He just held her for a few more seconds before finally letting go, though his hand lingered on her arm as if making sure she was really there.

As the others continued fussing, Jeonghan moved behind her. Without a word, she felt his fingers gently gathering her hair, brushing it away from her face with careful precision. His movements were slow, patient, almost habitual, as he reached for the hair tie he always kept around his wrist. Within seconds, he secured her hair into a loose ponytail, mindful not to tug too much, ensuring nothing disturbed her bandage.

She didn’t even need to ask— he just knew.

Then, for the first time since the stitches started, Seungcheol finally moved.

Luna barely had time to react before she was being pulled into another hug, this one a bit firmer, warmer, grounding her completely. His arms wrapped securely around her, his chin resting lightly atop her head.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and weighed down with guilt.

Luna turned her head slightly, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Not your fault, Cheollie,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“I—”

“Don’t argue with me, please,” she cut him off before he could even try.

And he didn’t.

He only sighed, nodded once, and squeezed her a little tighter before finally pulling away. His gaze flickered downward, and the next second, he was pointing at her collar.

“You need to change,” he said, nodding toward the small bloodstain marring the fabric. “Then we can go to the hotel and rest. We are done for the day.”

Luna glanced down at her shirt, barely registering the stain before she felt Jeonghan’s hand gently rubbing soothing circles over her back, his touch steady and comforting.

“You want my help?” Her boyfriend asked, already knowing the answer.

Luna turned to face him, exhaustion evident in her features as she nodded.

“Please, Han.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes softening as he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear— the uninjured one. “Alright.”

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, warm and reassuring, before gently guiding her toward the bathroom so she could change.

Once everything was done— clothes changed, things packed, and the last of the lingering worries soothed— the members finally made their way out of the venue, exhaustion weighing heavily on their shoulders.

The adrenaline from earlier had long since faded, leaving behind only the telltale signs of weariness in their steps and the occasional heavy sighs that filled the quiet of their car ride back to the hotel.

They needed this rest.

Luna most specially.

After everything that had happened, after the stress, the panic, and the sheer emotional rollercoaster they had just endured, they needed this moment of peace before tomorrow’s show.

Luna barely remembered walking into the hotel, barely registered the soft murmurs of goodnights exchanged between the members as they each retired to their respective rooms.

By the time she finally found herself where she wanted to be— curled up in bed, dressed in her softest pajamas, and tucked safely against Jeonghan—her body felt like it had melted into the sheets.

This was exactly what she had been craving.

Jeonghan, after finally finishing his endless fussing over her, had settled down beside her, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders as he idly scrolled through Netflix on the TV. His fingers absentmindedly traced slow, lazy patterns against her arm, his touch featherlight and soothing, as if he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

Then, as he continued scrolling, his voice broke the comfortable silence.

“They have Harry Potter.”

Luna tilted her head slightly to look up at him, immediately perking up at the mention of one of her all-time favorite movies.

“You always know how to make me happy,” she said playfully, the corners of her lips twitching upward as she nudged him lightly.

Jeonghan smirked, his thumb still moving lazily over the remote as he glanced down at her. “I am your happiness, aren’t I?” he teased, his voice smooth, effortless, dripping with that familiar charm he wielded so easily.

Luna rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “Wow. You really think highly of yourself, huh?”

Jeonghan hummed, shifting slightly so that his face was closer to hers, his gaze dark and teasing. “Isn’t that one of the things you love about me, Nana-ya?”

Luna scoffed, but she couldn’t deny the warmth creeping up her neck at the way he was looking at her.

Smug.

Charming.

Absolutely full of himself.

But God, did it work on her every single time.

“I tolerate it,” she replied coolly, lifting her chin in mock indifference.

Jeonghan chuckled, clearly entertained. “Right. Tolerate.”

He let the word roll off his tongue like he didn’t quite believe her, like he was daring her to take it back. But instead of pressing further, he simply returned his attention to the TV, resuming his scroll through the Harry Potter movies.

Luna watched him for a moment before furrowing her brows.

“There are only eight movies… What are you looking for? The first one is right there.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he clicked on Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1.

Luna’s confusion deepened.

“This isn’t Star Wars… why are we starting there?”

Jeonghan, completely unbothered, simply leaned back against the pillows, his smirk widening. “It has that scene.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him. “What scene?”

His smirk remained, unwavering, filled with that all-too-familiar mischief she had seen countless times before.

“You know that scene.”

Luna scoffed, shaking her head. “No, I don’t know.” She let out a chuckle, amused by whatever nonsense he was trying to pull now.

Jeonghan’s eyes gleamed. “You know… This is the movie where one of the twins loses an ear.”

Silence.

For a brief second, Luna just stared at him, her brain processing the words he had just so casually thrown at her.

Then—

Without hesitation, she reached for the nearest pillow and whacked him square in the face.

Jeonghan burst into laughter, his body shaking against hers as he clutched his stomach, absolutely delighted with himself. His laughter was loud, unapologetic, completely unrestrained, and despite herself, Luna felt the corners of her lips twitching upward.

“Yoon Jeonghan!” she yelled, hitting him once more for good measure.

He was crying from laughing at this point, barely able to contain himself as he dodged her next attempt. “What? Too soon?” he managed between fits of laughter.

Luna huffed, but the amusement in her eyes betrayed her. “You’re terrible.”

Jeonghan wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “Aren’t the twins your favorite characters?” He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Now you can twin with one of them.”

Luna could only laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I still have an ear!” she shot back.

Jeonghan shrugged, leaning in close once more, his smirk never fading. “Technicality.”

Luna rolled her eyes, but as she looked at him— really looked at him— she felt something warm settle in her chest.

This.

This was one of the main things she loved about him.

She knew how much the others cared. She knew their concern was genuine, and she was grateful for it. But sometimes, the weight of their worry, the endless “Are you okay?” the pity in their eyes— it could be exhausting.

Luna appreciated the concern and being taken care of by the members but— she hated being fussed over for too long. She didn’t want to dwell on what happened, didn’t want to let it dampen the mood for everyone.

And Jeonghan knew that.

He always did.

So instead of treating her like she was fragile, instead of letting things become too tense or too serious, he made sure to give her exactly what she needed.

And right now, what she needed was to laugh.

He was doing a damn good job.

Luna playfully pouted at Jeonghan, her lips pushed forward in exaggerated offense as she stared at him with wide, betrayed eyes.

“You’re so mean,” she mumbled, huffing for added effect.

Jeonghan, in return, gasped dramatically before cooing at her like she was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his life. “Aww, is my baby upset?” he crooned, shifting closer and cupping her cheeks in his warm hands. His thumbs stroked against her skin, his voice dripping with faux sympathy as he pouted right back at her. “I love you, my pretty baby. Even if you don’t have an ear— even if you didn’t have two ears, I’d still love you.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him, the corners of her lips twitching. “Oh, how kind of you.”

Jeonghan chuckled before continuing, his tone light but his grin mischievous. “Actually, I’d still love you even if you had Dumbo-sized ears. Imagine that.” He made a wide motion with his hands next to his head as if demonstrating. “You’d be so cute flapping them around.”

Luna gasped, swatting at his chest. “Yoon Jeonghan!”

Jeonghan only laughed, dodging her weak attempt at retaliation before capturing her hands in his. “I’m serious! I’d still love you. Would you still love me if I had Dumbo ears?”

Luna scoffed. “No.”

His mouth dropped open in exaggerated shock. “Wow.”

“I’m kidding,” she giggled, then dramatically sighed. “I would still love you. Even if you looked like an elf or something.”

“Oh, that’s generous of you,” he teased, his hands still holding hers.

Luna hummed in thought before her eyes twinkled with a new idea. “Would you still love me if I had no eyebrows?”

Jeonghan burst into laughter. “What happened to your eyebrows?”

“I don’t know, maybe they got burned off in by accident.”

His laughter didn’t falter. “Then of course, pretty girl, I would still love you.”

Luna wasn’t done. “Would you still love me if I had scales instead of skin?”

Jeonghan squinted at her before nodding solemnly. “I mean… it depends. Are you a mermaid or a lizard?”

Luna snorted. “Why does that matter?”

“Well, one is mystical and the other is just… concerning,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes but was unable to hide her smile. “Okay, okay. What if I turned into a fish?”

Jeonghan pretended to think for a moment before responding, “I’d get you a really nice tank.”

Luna gasped, smacking his arm. “Jeonghan!”

“What?! You’d be a fish! What am I supposed to do, take you on a date to a restaurant?”

“I’m leaving you.”

“No, you’re not,” he said easily, and before she could argue, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. When he pulled back, he had that smug, knowing smile that she hated to admit was justified. “See?”

Luna sighed dramatically, shaking her head as if put upon. “Fine. But last one— would you still love me if you woke up one day and turned to see that I was a horse?”

Jeonghan’s grin faltered as he blinked at her, as if genuinely processing the absurdity of the question. Then, he leaned back against the pillows, crossing his arms. “You know what? If I woke up one day and turned to see a horse, the first question in my head is not if I would love you. It’s ‘how did you turn into a horse?’”

Luna let out a laugh, but he wasn’t finished.

“Or worse,” he added, pointing at her. “I’d probably just turn to the horse and go, ‘Did you eat my girlfriend?’”

That was it.

Luna burst out laughing, her whole body shaking as she collapsed against his chest. Jeonghan joined her, his laughter intertwining with hers as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.

“You’re an idiot,” she managed between giggles.

“But I’m your idiot,” he said smoothly, grinning as he placed another kiss to her forehead.

Still chuckling, Luna shook her head. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement and reached for the remote, but just as he was about to press play, Luna swiftly took it from his hands and exited the movie he had chosen.

Jeonghan blinked in confusion as he watched her navigate back to the first Harry Potter movie instead. “Nana-ya, what are you doing?”

She glanced at him with innocent eyes. “Starting from the beginning.”

Jeonghan squinted. “We were literally about to watch the seventh one.”

“And?”

“And we can’t watch all the movies tonight.” His voice was serious now, as if he was explaining something incredibly obvious.

“But why not?” Luna pouted, knowing damn well why not.

Jeonghan gave her an incredulous look. “Because you need sleep, I need sleep, and we have a show tomorrow.”

Luna sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “But it wouldn’t make sense to just watch one.”

Jeonghan exhaled through his nose, amused but firm. “How about we just sleep?”

She frowned but couldn’t deny that exhaustion was settling into her bones. Begrudgingly, she nodded. “Fine.”

Jeonghan smiled in victory before turning off the TV, then reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp. The room was cast into darkness, the only light coming from the faint city glow outside.

Settling back into his arms, Luna let out a content sigh as Jeonghan pulled her closer, his warmth surrounding her.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Jeonghan murmured, “Don’t turn into a horse.”

Luna giggled. “I can’t promise you that… but I thought you’d still love me no matter what?”

Jeonghan smirked. “Fine. As long as I turn into a horse as well.”

Luna chuckled softly. “Why?”

“So that we can live our horsey lives together,” he said, completely serious.

She giggled again. “Okay.”

Jeonghan pressed one last kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Hannie.”

There was no such thing as a perfect day.

Luna realized that.

Because it wasn’t the fact that she woke up energized that made today perfect. What made it perfect was waking up next to Jeonghan, who was just as energized, his sleepy voice teasing her the moment her eyes fluttered open.

It wasn’t the food they ate this morning that made it perfect. What made it perfect was eating with Jeonghan, their conversations stretching endlessly about everything and nothing at the same time.

It wasn’t the flight itself to Bangkok that made it perfect. What made it perfect was the members who she was with, filling the space with laughter and lighthearted chaos.

Just like how the rehearsal earlier wasn’t perfect because of itself. What made it perfect was the shared excitement, the inside jokes, the way they hyped each other up and eased the nerves that threatened to creep in.

There was no such thing as a perfect day.

Just people who made it perfect.

[part two: the aftermath - She Will Be Loved]

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theunsinkableship1 · 2 months ago

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FRIENDSHIP never looked SO GOOD...

All I see is WIN WIN WIN no matter what.

After months of separate public appearances, the SAG Awards 2025 have gifted us with a long-awaited sight, Nicola and Luke, together again. After eight long months without a single candid moment, just one pre-planned picture, a few scattered crumbs, tonight at the SAG Awards 2025 gave us everything. All the speculation, all the doubts? Gone in an instant. Because tonight, we saw it with our own eyes. A reunion that feels less like a moment and more like a confirmation of what we’ve always known: their chemistry is unmatched, incomparable, and entirely real, whether as friends or something more.

Luke couldn’t control himself on the red carpet. He was 100% the Luke we love. Beaming, buzzing, brimming with affection. And Nicola? She wasn’t much better. That huge smile, the one that reaches her eyes, the Nicola we saw on tour, the Nicola who radiates pure joy in his presence. The micro-expressions, the inside jokes, the way Luke physically gravitates toward her, it's not just affection; it's instinct. Even when they aren’t touching, their body language leans into one another, as if the space between them is meant to be filled.

Let’s talk about that yank-in, that bear hug, that almost-handhold. Because let’s be real, they saw each other last night. Last night. He said so himself. And yet? He’s still that excited to see her.

Mans goes full golden retriever around that goddess, I don’t know what to tell you.

And then there’s this: "Your dress matches your eyes."

Luke to Nicola. On the red carpet. With cameras rolling. Because if he doesn’t say something soft and devastatingly sweet at least once, is it even a real interaction?

They’ve spent months filming together, days upon days in each other’s company. They literally had drinks the night before. And yet? The way they acted tonight, you’d think they hadn’t seen each other in ages

Individually, they shine. Together, they radiate. There’s an unspoken energy between them that no other pairing quite matches. We’ve seen them separately, and sure, they look good, but this? This is different. There’s an ease, a joy, a familiarity that makes their interactions feel magnetic. Love, warmth, ease, an effortless connection that makes everything else pale in comparison. It’s a blessing and a curse because, let’s be honest, no other dynamic quite measures up. No one else quite measures up. Their chemistry is so effortless, so electric, that it makes everything else feel just a little dimmer. It’s not even about shipping; it’s about the simple fact that this is what natural, unforced, undeniable connection looks like. Their interactions have never been friendly, not in 2022, not now. They’ve always been friendly. But since 2022, it’s been different. More intense. More palpable. More moments of closeness, more handholding, more quiet intimacy. And tonight? It wasn’t just a continuation; it was confirmation. The closeness, the instinctive pulls toward each other, the handholding, the lingering eye contact, the playful compliments, it’s all there, as vivid as ever.

And then there’s Luke. The way his demeanor changes in her presence, brighter, lighter, freer. More at ease than he’s been in months, as though something finally clicked back into place.

The skeptics will call it PR. They always do. But some things can’t be manufactured. Some things transcend labels, headlines, and strategic narratives. This was the moment to let the world see, it almost feels like a carefully placed reminder. A way of saying, “You thought something had changed? You thought wrong.”

They may have lost awards tonight, but in the grander scheme of things? Love always wins.

#lukola #lukolaland

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burrowswomen · 2 months ago

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❥ LOVER ━━━━━ JOE BURROW

: ̗̀➛ word count: 3.3k

: ̗̀➛ warnings: pure fluff

: ̗̀➛ noor speaks: i had a week off from school so i wrote this😋 (even tho i lowk hate it) anyways really want some in n out. reader and joe met at lsu; hope you guys enjoy!!!

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

december 2022

the scent of the road trip still lingers as you and joe step through the front door after spending christmas with his family in athens.

as you both enter through the garage door, you’re met with the soft glow of christmas lights still twinkling from every corner. the tree stands proudly in the corner, wrapped in its array of ornaments and twinkling lights, the stockings hanging on the fireplace. the garlands and wreaths are all still up, some of them fading a little from being up for weeks, but it’s all so festive and cozy.

you and joe share a glance, both of you silently acknowledging the holiday decor. neither of you says a word for a moment, but the sight of it feels almost surreal after the quiet, slower pace of the holiday with his family. you both walk past it, heading straight for the bedroom, both of you eager to unwind after the long trip.

the door closes softly behind you, and the noise from the world outside fades away. you kick off your shoes and throw yourself onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress with a deep sigh. joe joins you a moment later, settling next to you on the mattress.

it’s now december 29th, a couple of days later, and as you’re lying on the couch, you glance at the christmas lights still twinkling in the living room, feeling the weight of the holiday finally starting to lift.

“you know,” you say, shifting your position on the couch, “we should really take all of this down. i mean, it’s a little late, right?”

joe, who’s sitting with his head resting against the back of the couch, gives you a lazy smile and a shrug. “we might as well leave them up ’til january.”

you give him a look, amused at his casual response. “really? january?”

he looks at you, eyebrows raised, his lips curling into a playful grin. “why not? it’s our place, no parents around to tell us what to do. we can make the rules, baby.” he pulls you closer with a lazy arm, draping it over your shoulder as he cuddles you into his side.

you sigh, rolling your eyes but not resisting as you settle into his embrace. “i guess the christmas decor stays up then,” you say, half-amused, half-resigned. there was no arguing with joe when he got like this—playful, determined, and utterly charming.

he hums in satisfaction, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your arm as he gazes down at you. then, his voice softens, and there’s a seriousness to it that makes you glance up at him.

“you know,” he starts, his voice almost quiet, “i’ve only known you for like... four years now.”

you raise an eyebrow, feeling a soft smile tug at your lips. “and?”

he shifts his position slightly so he’s looking at you more directly, his eyes searching yours. “i can’t even remember what my life was like before you,” he says with a quiet intensity that makes your heart race.

your smile deepens, and you sit up a little more, feeling a mix of emotions wash over you. “is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, even though your heart is pounding in your chest.

joe doesn’t hesitate. his eyes soften as he leans forward, his lips brushing against your forehead before he looks down at you with that familiar warmth. “oh, it’s a very good thing,” he says, his voice low and earnest, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

before you can respond, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss, warm and slow, like he has all the time in the world for you. you melt into it, feeling the gentle press of his lips against yours, the faint taste of his cologne still lingering on your skin. the kiss deepens, and you feel his hands move gently beneath your hoodie, tracing the smoothness of your skin as he pulls you even closer.

"very good thing," he murmurs quietly against your lips, his hands now resting at the small of your back as he slowly pulls you even closer. his fingers slip under the edge of your hoodie, sending a shiver down your spine as he gently caresses your back.

your breath catches as his lips move from yours, trailing kisses down your neck, his lips soft but sure against your skin. his touch is tender, but there’s an undeniable hunger to it, as if he can’t get enough of you. you tilt your head back slightly, allowing him more room, your body instinctively leaning into his touch.

joe’s voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks, his breath warm against your skin. “i don’t ever want to forget what it was like before you came into my life,” he murmurs, his hands continuing their gentle exploration of your skin, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment.

and in that soft, quiet space, with the christmas lights still twinkling in the distance and the world outside fading away, you know that everything is just right.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

january 2023

it was the first monday after new year’s, and you were determined to start the year on the right foot. you stood in the kitchen, filling up your water bottle as you got ready to head out for your morning pilates class. the january sun streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow in the kitchen, the air still crisp from winter. dressed in an alo pink set, your hair pulled into a high ponytail, you adjusted your grip on your bottle as you filled it and checked the time. after filling up your bottle, you went and grabbed a glass from the cabinet so you could also drink some water before leaving.

most days, you worked from home, so you tried your best to stay active, making pilates part of your routine. it helped clear your mind—and, if you were being honest, you loved the way it made you feel.

the sound of feet padding into the kitchen broke the quiet hum of the house. you glanced over your shoulder to see joe, still in his sweats, lazily searching for something to eat. his hair was a mess, evidence that he had just rolled out of bed, but there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at you. a slow smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned against the fridge next to you.

“where are you going?” he asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and amusement.

you take a sip of your water, walking to stand next to the sink, grinning at him as you playfully drag out the answer. “pilates,” you say casually, still not quite looking at him, trying to hide the smile that’s tugging at the corners of your mouth. you finish drinking your water, then turn around to put the glass in the sink.

joe’s eyes widen slightly, and without skipping a beat, he walks over to you, standing behind you. “can i go?” he asks, his voice light but sincere.

you turn to face him, your eyes full of disbelief. you can’t help but laugh as you stare up at him. “you, joseph lee burrow, wanna go to pilates?” you tease, a playful glint in your eye.

joe doesn’t falter. he shrugs nonchalantly, a grin tugging at his lips. “yeah. i always wanna go where you go.”

he steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind. you lean back into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his breath is soft against your ear as he murmurs, “i always wanna be close with you.”

you can’t help but giggle, the sound bubbling up from deep within as you feel his arms tighten around you.

later, as you both climbed into the car after the class, you bit back a laugh, watching joe run a hand through his sweaty hair, still catching his breath.

“how the fuck do you do this almost every day, baby?” he muttered, leaning his head against the seat, his chest still rising and falling a little heavier than usual. he turned his head toward you, eyes filled with a mix of admiration and disbelief. “i thought football was hard, but this… this is on another level.”

you glanced at him, smirking. “so much for being a football player, huh?” you teased, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers through his.

joe exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “i might stick to football from now on.” but the way he looked at you—like he’d do

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

later that week on friday, ja'marr and your best friend, emma had decided to come over.

the night had started off innocently enough—board games, pizza, a few rounds of playful bickering over who was cheating at uno. you’d spent the first half of the evening curled up next to joe on the couch, watching as ja’marr and emma teamed up in monopoly, taking the game way too seriously.

then, somewhere between trading properties and fighting over who got to be the banker, the unopened bottle of tequila on the counter became the center of attention. and that’s when everything started to spiral.

at first, it was just ja’marr taking a shot after landing on boardwalk with emma grinning beside him, egging him on. then emma took one for “moral support.” soon enough, losing a round of uno became a drinking penalty, and suddenly, the game night turned into something else entirely.

you had opted out, choosing to stay sober, and joe—being joe—only had a drink or two before shaking his head at ja’marr and emma’s antics. now, a while later, the two of them were sprawled out on the couch, laughing at things that weren’t even remotely funny, completely out of it.

you and joe exchanged a glance from across the room, trying not to laugh.

“welp,” joe muttered, picking up an almost-empty bottle of tequila from the floor, giving it a scrutinizing look. “i don’t even wanna go near ja’marr. he stinks.”

he stood up, shaking his head, and made his way toward the kitchen. you followed, both of you leaving the chaos of the living room behind.

from the couch, ja’marr groggily lifted his head. “hey—I heard that, burrow!” he slurred, blinking blearily.

emma, her head resting against the back of the couch, giggled uncontrollably. “he’s right, though,” she said, playfully nudging ja’marr’s shoulder before promptly dozing off.

you sighed, shaking your head as you pulled a blanket over her. “guess they can crash here tonight,” you murmured before stepping away, leaving them to their inevitable hangovers in the morning.

the living room, once filled with loud voices and laughter, had quieted to a soft hum of breathing and the occasional sound of ja’marr shifting in his sleep.

you turned toward the kitchen, where joe leaned against the counter, the cold marble pressing through the thin fabric of his shirt. he stood there for a moment, just watching you, his blue eyes steady and unreadable.

then, out of nowhere, he murmured, “you have a very pretty neck.”

you blinked at him, caught completely off guard. “uh… thanks, joey?” you said, tilting your head slightly in amusement.

he pushed off the counter and took a step closer, reaching up to cup your face with both hands, his touch warm against your skin. his fingers gently tilted your chin up, and his eyes traced over the curve of your neck with quiet curiosity, as if seeing it for the first time.

your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected intimacy. you swallowed, your hands instinctively wrapping around his wrists. “you have a very pretty neck too,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

joe huffed out a quiet laugh, his thumbs stroking lightly against your jaw. “thanks,” he said, the amusement clear in his voice.

you let your fingers trail over his forearm, your touch light and playful. “you know,” you mused, “i’m highly suspicious that not all your fangirls know you’re spoken for.”

joe raised a brow, intrigued. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you gave him a knowing look. “you know exactly what that means.”

at that, joe let out a deep laugh, his head dropping onto your shoulder as his body shook with amusement. his breath fanned over your collarbone, warm and familiar, as he tried to compose himself.

you grinned, tracing absentminded patterns against the back of his hands. “i need to start marking my territory,” you teased.

joe lifted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he smirked. “i’m pretty sure all of my ‘fangirls’”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“know i’m spoken for. if anything, they love you more than me.”

your eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “really?”

joe leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his voice low and certain. “really.”

you stared at him for a moment, taking in the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his hands never stopped moving—thumbs ghosting over your jawline, fingertips pressing the smallest bit tighter like he wanted to commit this moment to memory.

it was one of those rare quiet moments, the kind where time seemed to slow down just enough for you to feel every single thing—the warmth of his touch, the slight rasp in his voice, the way he exhaled so softly like he was afraid to break the moment.

before you could say anything else, a loud thump from the living room shattered the silence.

both of you turned toward the noise, your heads snapping in the direction of the couch. a second later, there was a groggy, confused groan.

joe sighed, already exasperated. “i swear to god…”

you stifled a laugh as you peeked into the living room. ja’marr, in his half-asleep state, had knocked over a lamp while trying to roll onto his side. the lamp wobbled precariously before finally falling over with a dull thud.

joe ran a hand down his face. “i guess we’re not getting any more alone time tonight,” he muttered.

you laughed, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “it’s okay,” you teased. “we can make up for it later.”

joe smirked, his grip on your waist tightening briefly. “damn straight.”

with that, he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours. “c’mon,” he said, tugging you toward the living room. “let’s make sure those two don’t burn down the place while we’re cleaning up.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

the reception hall was glowing, soft golden lights casting a warm ambiance over the room. laughter and music filled the air, blending with the clinking of glasses and the shuffle of feet on the dance floor. you had just finished catching up with the bride—one of your college friends, lauren—congratulating her and her husband, connor, before making your way back to your seat.

as you approached, you could feel joe’s eyes on you, burning with admiration.

you had chosen a gorgeous dress for the occasion: a light pink number that hugged your figure perfectly, flowing just enough to give it an effortless elegance. every time you turned your head to look at joe, his eyes widened, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

you gave him a look, trying to keep your composure. “what?” you mouthed silently, but you could already tell from his smirk what he was thinking.

joe leaned in, his lips brushing your ear just as you sat down next to him. his voice was low and smooth, his words teasing and dirty. “god, you’re so stunning tonight. if i didn’t know better, i’d say i’m the luckiest guy in the room,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

you rolled your eyes playfully but smiled. “did you go talk to connor already?” you asked, referencing the groom, joe’s lsu teammate, whose wedding it was.

joe barely hesitated. “of course, i did,” he said confidently.

you glanced over at ja'marr, who was sitting next to joe. the second your eyes met, he suddenly avoided eye contact, looking anywhere but at you.

“go now,” you said, giving joe a knowing look.

joe sighed, leaning back in his chair. “is it a crime that i just want to compliment my girlfriend?” he asked, smirking.

you couldn’t help but smile, placing a hand on his cheek and rubbing it softly. “of course not,” you murmured. “but i just went and talked to lauren, and connor was asking where you were.”

joe groaned, knowing he was caught. “alright, alright. i’ll go.”

you grinned, watching as he reluctantly got up, shaking his head as he walked off toward connor. ja'marr let out a quiet chuckle, finally daring to look at you again.

“man’s got it bad,” he muttered, and you just laughed, sipping your drink as you watched joe go.

soon after joe returned, he was back to whispering something filthy into your ear every time you turned to look at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. the attention was flattering, of course, but you were trying so hard to ignore it.

every subtle brush of his hand, every lingering glance, every quiet chuckle in your ear—it was like he was determined to keep you flustered. and it was working.

eventually, you decided to take a breather, standing up to go catch up with some of your friends at the bar. as you walked away, you could still feel his eyes on you, like a magnetic pull, and you tried not to let the heat creep up your neck.

the bar was lined with guests chatting and laughing, drinks in hand, the atmosphere buzzing with warmth and celebration. you leaned against the counter, ordering a cocktail as you fell into conversation with a few familiar faces, the occasional burst of laughter spilling from your lips.

despite the distraction, you felt it—joe’s presence, even from across the room.

when you returned a few minutes later, the scene in front of you was a bit of a shock. ja'marr had taken your seat—your spot next to joe—leaving you standing awkwardly.

joe, a bit tipsy and clearly pleased with himself, looked up at you with a grin. “don’t worry, baby,” he said, his voice slightly slurred, “i saved you a seat.” he patted his lap, the gesture both sweet and possessive.

you gave him an incredulous look, but he didn’t seem to mind, instead pulling you toward him by your hips with a soft chuckle. “come on, don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

you bit back a laugh and let him guide you down into his lap, feeling the warmth of his embrace as he wrapped his arms around you. he seemed satisfied with his plan, his hand resting comfortably on your side.

and just like that, with the music still playing softly around you and the laughter of friends and family filling the room, you knew that this was exactly where you were meant to be: beside joe, his hand on your hip, sharing private jokes and moments like no one else existed. you didn’t need to be anywhere else. you didn’t need anything else.

it was just you and your lover.

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