Hey. Your brain needs to de-frag. Literally it needs you to sit there and space out.
If you want your memory or executive function to improve, stare out a window at the skyline or sidewalk or trees or birds on the electrical wires for like 20+ minutes per day. (With no other stimulation like a podcast or TV if you can manage but hey baby steps innit). If you're fortunate enough to have safe outside with any bits of nature, go stare closely at a 1 meter square of grass and trip out on the bugs and shapes of grasses and stuff.
Literally this will make you smarter. Our brains HAVE TO HAVE this zone out time to do important stuff behind the scenes. This does not happen during sleep, it's something else.
That weird pressurized feeling you get sometimes might be your brain on no defrag.
Also, if you don't take the time regularly, your brain will do it for you. Usually when you're already stressed and it gets to be too much. You will zone out. And you can not control it. So regular maintenance will help
synopsis: you have been a sports influencer for years, focusing mostly on ufc and football content but when a wwe wrestler personally shouts you out on a podcast you fall head first through the wrestling rabbit hole with drew mcintyre waiting to catch you at the bottom.
liked by drewmcintyrewwe, santizap, rhearipley_wwe and 294,485 others
tagged: drewmcintyrewwe
chrisvanvilet: this week i was joined by the scottish psychopath. join us as speak about wrestling mount rushmore's, what it was like coming back to wwe and media outside of wrestling. this one is a must see. out now.
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user1: @.y/ninsta this is the man thirsting over you
user2: i can't get over the y/n mention
user3: drew ready to flip the table when chris said punk was in his mount rushmore
user4: omg to be y/n rn
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chris leaned forward in his chair, grinning the way he always did when he was about to dig into something good. across from him, drew mcintyre sat relaxed, one massive arm resting on the armrest, his other hand loosely clasped over his knee. the lights made the gold flecks in his eyes stand out, and the faintest curl played at his lips like he already knew the clip was going to end up everywhere.
"so drew" chris started, "we know you’ve got a packed schedule with wwe, training, appearances, the whole nine yards. but what about outside of wrestling? what’s your media diet? what do you watch when you’re not in the ring?"
drew tilted his head, considering, his accent thick as he answered. "honestly, i don’t really watch much television. a bit of sports, some movies here and there. and i don’t keep up with tiktok that much, really."
chris raised his eyebrows, leaning in just a little. "not a tiktok guy?"
drew chuckled, low and warm. "not really. but…" he paused, shaking his head as though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit it. his smile grew anyway, tugging at the corners of his mouth. "there is one account i follow. y/n y/ln. she’s bloody hilarious. i’ll sit there scrolling and suddenly her videos pop up, and i’m laughing like an idiot."
chris’s grin widened. "so you are a tiktok guy, just for y/n"
the big scot laughed again, rubbing at the back of his neck as if the confession had embarrassed him more than he’d expected. "aye, maybe. but come on, she’s brilliant. quick, clever, funny. damn, have you seen her?" his tone softened on that last bit, the compliment slipping out without the usual media polish.
chris laughed outright, the sound filling the studio. "so what you’re saying is: drew mcintyre is officially endorsing y/n as must watch content?"
drew gave a mock-serious nod, though his eyes still gleamed with amusement. "that’s exactly what i’m saying. everyone should check her out. top-tier entertainment right there."
the conversation flowed into other topics after that, but the damage had been done. that one moment, drew casually dropping your name, his easy praise, the way he leaned into the microphone when he said “have you seen her?” was destined to go viral before the podcast even hit youtube.
and you, completely unaware, had no idea your mentions were about to explode.
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y/ninsta
liked by drewmcintyrewwe, mclarenf1, netflix and 823,344 others
y/ninsta: mini photodump. wimbledon, f1 and trying on outfits in my childhood bedroom !
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user5: that skirt oh my god
user6: so this is the girl drew mcintyre was simping over
user7: girl wake up drew mcintyre knows who you are
user8: i do not blame drew for being obsessed with her
user9: it is so funny she is in the uk so she is defo asleep right now and has no idea any of this is happening
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your phone buzzed. then buzzed again. and again.
you groaned, rolling over in bed and dragging the blanket over your head. the vibration was relentless, like an angry bee that had somehow gotten trapped on your nightstand. it wasn’t until you cracked one eye open and saw the faint glow of your screen, dozens of unread notifications, that you frowned.
you hadn’t posted anything big last night. you hadn’t even gone live. why was your phone having a meltdown?
sitting up, you grabbed it, squinting at the avalanche of twitter mentions, instagram tags, and dms that seemed to be multiplying by the second. at first, you thought maybe one of your older clips had randomly gone viral again. it happened sometimes, an f1 reaction, or one of your rants about football refs. but as you scrolled, confusion shifted into complete bewilderment.
everywhere you looked, there was the same name.
drew mcintyre.
tweets screaming in all caps flooded your feed:
“DREW MCINTYRE SAID YOUR NAME. HE SAID YOUR NAME ON CHRIS VAN VLIET’S PODCAST???”
“THE SCOTTISH WARRIOR HAS TASTE 🔥🔥🔥”
“not drew mcintyre simping for y/n on MAIN someone check on her.”
your heart thudded. you clicked a link someone had tagged you in, and a thirty-second podcast clip loaded instantly.
there he was: tall, broad-shouldered, accent thick enough to melt butter, leaning toward the mic with a boyish grin.
"i don’t really watch tiktok that much… but y/n is so funny. and damn, have you seen her?"
you stared. rewound. played it again.
"what the fuck" you muttered into the empty room.
the internet, of course, had wasted no time. edits of you and drew side by side already existed, your reaction clips spliced next to his matches, his wwe entrance theme overlaid with your tiktoks. someone had even made a fancam of the two of you with the caption: “THE COLLISION WE DIDN’T KNOW WE NEEDED.”
your phone buzzed again, this time with a text from your best friend:
“girl. GIRL. open twitter. you’re married to a wrestler now.”
you dragged both hands over your face. you didn’t even watch wrestling. you knew it existed, obviously, but drew mcintyre? six-foot-something, beard, accent sharp enough to cut glass? you had no clue who he was until now, and apparently he knew exactly who you were.
and worse, so did the entire internet.
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y/ninsta posted a story
written: okay chat time to see what all the wwe fuss is about
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you hadn’t even finished your coffee before chat was demanding answers. the second you hit "go live" your screen flooded with messages scrolling faster than you could read them.
CHAT:
“SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE”
“bestie did you see the clip?? ”
“Y/N x drew endgame LET’S GOOO”
“pls watch his matches, you owe us”
you rubbed your temples dramatically, grinning despite yourself. "okay, first of all hi. second of all, what the hell did i wake up to? you guys have turned my mentions into an absolute warzone. and third" you took a sip from your mug, narrowing your eyes at the scrolling chaos "who exactly gave drew mcintyre permission to know who i am? huh? explain."
you nearly spat your coffee. "no, no, no, don’t call him that, oh my god."
of course, that only encouraged them.
somewhere between laughing at memes and pulling up the clip for your own stream, someone suggested watching one of his matches. Then fifty people spammed the same idea.
“DREW VS PUNK HELL IN A CELL”
“ICONIC pls pls pls”
“you have to. it’s lore.”
you raised a brow at your monitor. "alright, fine. i’ll watch one. but if it’s two dudes just punching each other for thirty minutes, that’s on you guys."
your viewers were vibrating with anticipation as you queued up the match. the screen filled with the towering steel cell, and then drew appeared, younger but already massive, that aura undeniable.
you leaned forward unconsciously, resting your chin in your palm. "okay wait, why does he look like he could just pick me up and throw me into the sun?"
chat went feral.
“YOU SEE IT TOO 👀”
“the sexual tension is unbearable and he’s not even in the room”
“GIRL U R GONE”
the match started, chaos in motion, and you found yourself yelling along with your viewers, half horrified, half amazed as drew slammed into the cage, took hits that made you wince, and then turned around and dished them out twice as hard.
"wait, wait, WAIT" you shouted, pointing at the screen. "he just got smashed into steel and now he’s? he’s getting up like it’s nothing?? how is he not dead??"
your laughter was still ringing when the unthinkable happened.
a small blue checkmark appeared in your chat.
drewmcintyre: It takes a lot more than that to keep me down 😉
you froze. absolutely froze.
"no way" you whispered. "no. no. that’s fake. that’s not—"
but the checkmark was real, and your chat instantly combusted.
“HE’S HERE HE’S HERE”
“DADDY IN THE CHAT”
“girl he WATCHING YOU rn”
“Y/N x drew canon confirmed”
your hands flew to your face as your ears burned. "this is not happening. this is, you’re telling me he’s watching me freak out at his old match? oh my god.”
the messages from drew kept coming, playful, self-aware, but never overstepping:
drewmcintyre: first of all, hello. second, i promise i’m not dead. third i’m flattered you’re giving me a proper reaction video.
you peeked at the camera through your fingers, half laughing, half mortified. "chat, i’m never going live again. ever. you’ve ruined my career. goodbye."
but your smile gave you away. and as the match roared on, so did your heart, thundering just a little louder than the crowd onscreen.
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y/ninsta posted a story
written: travel days h8 to see me coming
y/ninsta posted a story
written: fit for something so exciting tonight
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the noise of the arena was unreal. even from backstage, you could hear the bass thrum of the crowd chanting, cheering, roaring in unison. every sound rattled through the walls and made your chest buzz. you’d been to basketball games, football stadiums, even a few concerts, but this was different. Louder, heavier.
and more terrifying.
you tugged nervously at the vip badge that hung around your neck as a crew member led you down the hall. your sneakers squeaked faintly on the polished concrete, drowned out by the controlled chaos all around you: staff running with headsets, wrestlers stretching, lighting rigs humming overhead. everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing. everyone except you.
you weren’t here to work, not really. wwe had invited you out, flown you into florida, set you up in a hotel, all because drew had casually dropped your name on a podcast. it still didn’t feel real.
the crew member stopped near a heavy black curtain that led to the gorilla position. "he should be wrapping pre show training up soon" they said with a knowing little smile, like they were in on a secret you hadn’t admitted out loud yet.
your pulse jumped. "he?"
suddenly he was there. larger than life in person, every bit of his six-foot-five frame dominating the space. his chest rose and fell with exertion, hair damp, the faint shine of sweat catching the backstage lights. like instinct, his eyes found you.
time froze.
his expression softened instantly, a grin tugging at his lips as recognition lit his face. "y/n?" his voice was deeper in person, warm and accented, the kind of sound that wrapped around you.
you laughed awkwardly, lifting a hand in a little wave. "hi. um surprise, i guess."
drew chuckled, tossing the towel over his shoulder as he closed the distance between you. "i’ll be honest, i thought i was hearing things when they told me you were actually coming." he stopped a respectful step away, still somehow towering over you even when he dipped his head slightly to meet your gaze. "but you’re really here."
"i’m really here" you admitted, shifting on your feet. "although i feel like i’ve accidentally walked into a video game boss level or something. everyone’s huge. and loud. and" you gestured vaguely toward him, "you’re like this."
that made him laugh, a full-bodied, genuine sound that made your nerves ease just a little. "this" he repeated, flexing one arm with mock seriousness. "it’s just part of the job. don’t worry, i don’t bite."
"good" you said, before your brain could stop you. "because my manager didn’t pack a helmet."
drew tilted his head, that boyish grin still playing on his face. "you’re exactly as quick in person as you are online." he hesitated for a beat, eyes softening. "i meant what i said, you know. on the podcast."
your stomach flipped. "about me being funny?"
his gaze lingered on you, intent and a little shy at the same time. "that, and the rest of it."
for a moment, the backstage chaos melted away, the chatter in headsets, the thunder of the crowd, even the sharp scent of smoke machines and sweat. it was just you and him, standing in the narrow hallway like two people who’d been thrown together by fate and the internet.
you smiled despite yourself, cheeks warm. "well thanks for blowing up my notifications, i guess."
"anytime" drew said, and when he offered his hand, that massive, calloused hand, you took it without hesitation. his palm was warm, his grip careful, like he was very aware of just how much larger he was compared to you.
and in that second, with your hand in his and the arena still screaming his name just beyond the curtain, you had the dizzy realization that this was only the beginning.
drew’s hand lingered around yours for a second longer than necessary before he cleared his throat and let go, raking his damp hair back with his free hand. you noticed the faint flush along his cheekbones, though whether it was from the match or you being there, you couldn’t tell.
"you’re braver than most" he said, that lilt in his accent making the words sound almost like a tease.
you blinked. "what do you mean?"
"walking back here" drew explained, nodding toward the blur of crew members hurrying past. "it’s madness half the time. takes guts to step into our little circus without warning."
"i was led back here" you admitted with a laugh. "otherwise i’d still be lost by catering."
he smirked, eyes crinkling. "catering’s not a bad place to be lost. we’ve got good cookies."
you laughed, tension melting. for someone who looked like he could bench press a car, he had this way of disarming you, not with size or presence, but with humor, that easy scottish warmth.
"so" he said, shifting slightly so his massive frame blocked some of the foot traffic, giving you a bubble of space. "what do you think of wrestling so far?"
your eyes flicked toward the monitor showing replays from the ring. "it’s a lot. loud, chaotic, dramatic. but i kinda get it now." you shot him a sideways glance. "you look like a superhero out there. or, you know one of those video game bosses i mentioned."
drew chuckled, his chest rumbling. "i’ll take that as a compliment. though i’d like to think I’m a friendly boss. the kind that lets you win if you ask nicely."
for a moment, neither of you spoke, just standing side by side in the chaos of backstage. you found yourself acutely aware of how his shoulder nearly brushed yours, of how careful he seemed to angle his body so you wouldn’t feel crowded despite his size.
then drew asked, softly, "you sticking around the whole show?"
you nodded. "yeah. they gave me seats out front. which is wild, by the way."
something flickered across his face, pleased, maybe, but tempered with something gentler. "good. i’ll know where to look then."
the words hung between you, warm and unassuming, but they made your heart flip anyway.
you swallowed, forcing a grin. "careful, mcintyre. the internet’s already convinced we’re secretly married. don’t add fuel to the fire."
he laughed, shaking his head. "darling, the internet does what it wants. all we can do is enjoy the chaos."
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wwe posted a story tagging y/ninsta
written: tonight we are joined by sport's influencer y/n y/ln
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the arena lights dimmed, the bass of drew’s entrance theme thundering through the stadium. You sat ringside, nerves buzzing like static, clutching your vip badge just to remind yourself this was real. the crowd was loud enough to shake the floor, half of them booing, half of them still cheering despite drew’s current heel run.
when he stepped through the curtain, sword in hand, his presence swallowed the room whole. he looked nothing like the man you’d bantered with backstage, no warmth, no shy smile. his jaw was set, eyes sharp, every line of his body carved into menace. he was drew mcintyre, the scottish psychopath, and the air shifted around him as he marched toward the ring.
damian priest was already inside, pacing like a predator. the two met in the middle, the ref struggling to keep them apart, and the bell rang.
the match was brutal, heavy slams, punishing strikes, drew playing it up for the boos, sneering at the crowd after every move. you found yourself flinching, shouting, caught up in the chaos without meaning to.
then, mid-match, drew hurled priest into the corner and grabbed the mic from the timekeeper, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his jaw.
"you think anyone here is on my level?!" he snarled, his voice echoing over the jeers. "damian? he’s just another name on my list. another fool who thought he could stand toe to toe with me."
he leaned over the ropes, glaring into the sea of faces, and then his eyes cut directly to where you sat ringside. you froze, the spotlight catching you just enough that the crowd noticed.
"and don’t think i don’t see her sitting right there" drew growled into the mic, pointing straight at you. the crowd roared, half shocked, half thrilled. your heart shot into your throat.
"she came all the way here to watch" he continued, smirking now, voice dripping with arrogance. "because when drew mcintyre speaks, the whole damn world listens. even her."
the crowd booed louder, some chanting your name, others jeering at drew for dragging you into it. he didn’t flinch, eyes locked on yours as if daring you to look away.
"she knows" he said, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. "just like every single one of you knows that no one can stop me. not priest. not this roster. no one."
then, as if nothing happened, he tossed the mic aside and went right back to dismantling damian, leaving you sitting there stunned, pulse hammering, the entire arena now buzzing with the moment you’d been thrown into the storyline.
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the show was over. damian priest had been left sprawled in the ring, drew’s music thundering as he stood victorious. but you barely registered the ending, your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the moment he pointed at you, his voice like a blade cutting straight through the crowd.
even after the cameras faded, fans still craned their necks toward you, whispering, cheering, recording on their phones. by the time security ushered you through the side barricade and back toward the tunnels, your face burned so hot it was a miracle you didn’t combust on the spot.
you barely had time to collect yourself before drew appeared, striding through the corridor, still dripping sweat, chest heaving from the fight. he was a storm in motion, all that controlled fury and confidence, his hair wild, his shoulders impossibly broad.
and then his eyes found you.
you crossed your arms tightly, partly to look composed, partly to keep your hands from shaking. "what was that?" you blurted before he could even speak.
drew slowed to a stop in front of you, looming but calm, a smirk playing on his lips. "what was what, darling?" his voice was teasing, low, that accent curling around every word.
you jabbed a finger toward him. "pointing me out. putting me on blast in front of all of that." you gestured vaguely toward the arena, still vibrating from the roar of the crowd. "do you have any idea what my phone’s going to look like now?"
he tilted his head, not looking the slightest bit guilty. If anything, he looked amused. "aye, i imagine it’ll be a mess. but then again, wasn’t it already? thanks to me?"
your jaw dropped. "unbelievable. you’re..."
"smart?" he offered.
"insufferable" you shot back, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward.
his grin widened, dangerous and devastating up close. he leaned in slightly, enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the faint scent of cologne cutting through sweat and adrenaline. "tell me you didn’t like it" he said quietly, voice meant for you alone.
your breath caught, and you hated how your pulse jumped. "i—" you swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was, how easily he could cage you in with those massive arms. "it was dramatic."
"dramatic" he repeated with a chuckle, his eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to your gaze. "that’s the business, sweetheart."
you rolled your eyes to cover the way your stomach flipped at the endearment. "you’re impossible."
"maybe." he straightened just enough to give you air again, though his presence still swallowed the space between you. "but you’re here. and you’re still talking to me. that tells me something."
you narrowed your eyes, trying not to let your blush give you away. "and what exactly does it tell you?"
"that you don’t mind being part of the chaos." his smile softened then, just barely, like the real drew slipped through the cracks of the character. "and maybe you don’t mind me, either."
for a moment, you couldn’t think of a single comeback. the air was heavy between you, thick with something electric, undeniable. romantic. dangerous.
you exhaled slowly, forcing a smirk to your lips. "if you keep talking like that, mcintyre, i might start thinking you’re actually charming."
he arched a brow, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your ear. "that’s the plan."
the hallway around you buzzed with movement, crew passing, voices in headsets, the faint echoes of the arena still rattling the walls. but in that pocket of space where drew stood with you, it felt strangely quiet, like the world had dimmed down to just the two of you.
his hand shifted as if he meant to gesture, but instead, his fingers brushed lightly against your arm. it was subtle, almost accidental, but the warmth of his touch lingered, sending a shiver racing down your spine. you glanced up at him, startled, only to find his eyes already locked on you.
he didn’t look away.
drew’s expression had softened, less of the smug warrior, more of the man you’d glimpsed backstage earlier, the one who’d laughed at your nervous jokes and offered his hand so carefully. slowly, almost tentatively, he lifted one big hand, brushing a damp strand of hair back from your face. his fingertips grazed your cheekbone, lingering a second too long before he dropped his hand again.
"sorry" he murmured, voice low, almost rough. "couldn’t help myself."
you swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your ears. "that’s fine." you tried to sound casual, but your voice wavered enough to betray you.
he gave a little smirk at that, but it wasn’t cocky, it was softer, more intimate, like he’d just confirmed something he’d already suspected. he leaned a fraction closer, his towering frame casting you in his shadow.
"when do you fly back?" he asked, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it.
"sunday" you said quietly, "back to london."
drew nodded slowly, thoughtful, then dipped his head just enough that his lips hovered closer to your ear. "are you free before then?"
your heart skipped. "why?"
his mouth curved into a half-smile, his accent wrapping around every word like velvet. "because i’d like to see you without the cameras, without the noise. just us. dinner, maybe. or whatever you’d like."
you stared up at him, caught between shock and the undeniable heat pooling low in your stomach. for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
"are you asking me out?" you managed, your voice somewhere between teasing and breathless.
he chuckled softly, eyes flicking over your face like he was memorizing it. "i suppose i am. unless you’d rather tell the internet they’re wrong about us."
you laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. "god, they’d never forgive me if i did."
"then say yes" drew said, the confidence returning to his tone, but his gaze still searching yours, waiting for your answer.
you exhaled slowly, fighting a smile. "yes."
the corner of his mouth tugged upward, a spark of satisfaction lighting his features. his hand brushed against yours, not quite holding it, but close enough to let you feel the promise of it.
"good" he said, his voice a low rumble that curled through you. "then tomorrow night, you’re mine."
your breath caught, and even as footsteps and chatter filled the corridor again, you knew this was the moment the line between chaos and something deeper had been crossed.
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y/ninsta posted a story
written: night out in florida
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you stood in front of the hotel mirror, adjusting the hem of your dress for what felt like the tenth time. the black fabric shimmered under the glow of the bedside lamp, flecks of glitter catching every movement you made. It was bold, you knew that. the kind of bold you usually reserved for club nights with friends or influencer events where you needed to outshine half a dozen ring lights. but tonight wasn’t just any night.
it was dinner with drew mcintyre.
the thought made you wince at your reflection, because the more you repeated it, the less real it sounded. a week ago, you hadn’t even known his name, now you were about to sit across from him, alone, with no cameras, no chat spamming emojis, no crew members hovering nearby. just him.
your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with twitter notifications. you sighed, grabbing it, only to be met with another wave of fancams someone had clipped from smackdown. a slow-mo of drew pointing at you, eyes locked like you were the only person in the arena. someone had even edited fire emojis exploding around you like you were a wwe storyline in the making.
"great" you muttered, tossing the phone onto the bed. "exactly what i need before dinner. no pressure at all."
still, your heart raced as you slid a delicate chain necklace into place, smoothing your hair down one last time. you weren’t sure if you were overdressed, underdressed, or just plain ridiculous. but the dress hugged your body like it had been waiting for this moment, and if nothing else, you knew you looked good.
a knock at the door snapped you out of your spiral. you froze for a beat, pulse hammering in your throat, before slowly crossing the room.
when you opened it, drew was standing there.
and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.
he wasn’t in his gear, wasn’t larger-than-life in an arena, just drew. dark jeans, a crisp button-down rolled at the sleeves, his long hair still damp from a shower, tied back loosely. somehow, that was worse. because without the spectacle of the ring, he was all sharp edges and quiet confidence, tall enough that he filled the doorway, his presence pulling the air right out of your chest.
his gaze dropped, just briefly, to the dress, and you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes before he dragged them back up to meet yours. a slow, crooked smile spread across his lips.
"you’re going to ruin me showing up like that" he said, voice low.
your breath hitched, and you clutched the doorknob a little tighter. "it’s just a dress."
"yeah" he murmured, eyes lingering a moment longer. "and i’ll never look at another dress the same way again."
heat climbed your cheeks, and you ducked your head, stepping aside to let him in. "we’re going to be late if you keep talking like that."
he chuckled, brushing past you, the faint scent of his cologne trailing with him. "then let’s not waste any more time, darling. dinner awaits."
and as you shut the door behind you, nerves buzzing like static in your veins, one thing became painfully clear, you were in trouble.
the ride was quiet, but not the uncomfortable kind. you sat in the passenger seat of drew’s car, the low hum of the engine filling the silence while streetlights washed his face in gold as he drove. every so often, his hand rested on the gearshift, close enough that your knee almost brushed his knuckles and you had to focus on breathing normally.
he didn’t try to fill the quiet with small talk. Instead, he’d glance over at you, just long enough to make your stomach twist, then look back to the road with the faintest smirk. like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
the restaurant he chose wasn’t flashy, tucked away on a quiet street, warm amber light glowing behind the windows. it looked like the kind of place people went when they wanted to be left alone. when he pulled into the small parking lot, you turned to him, curious.
"you’ve been here before?"
"yeah" he cut the engine and leaned back in his seat, turning to face you fully. "it’s quiet. no fans. no noise. just good food and better company."
the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you, made heat creep up your neck.
inside, the restaurant was just as intimate as it looked. soft lighting, rustic wood, the murmur of only a handful of other patrons. the hostess’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly when she saw drew, but she recovered quickly, leading you both to a booth tucked away in the back.
he let you slide in first, then sat opposite you. for someone who towered over almost everyone, he fit into the booth with surprising ease, leaning forward, resting one arm across the table as if he wanted to close the distance immediately.
"you look nervous, darling" he said softly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
your stomach flipped at the word. darling. casual, like he’d been calling you that forever.
"i’m not nervous" you lied, reaching for the menu like it was a lifeline.
"yeah, of course not." his voice dipped low, warm. "your hands are just trembling for no reason, then?"
you froze, then glared at him across the table, but it only made his grin widen.
"insufferable" you muttered, flipping open the menu.
"sweetheart" he countered easily, leaning back now, studying you with infuriating calm. "if i'm insufferable, you wouldn’t be here."
you peeked at him over the top of the menu, narrowing your eyes. "maybe i just wanted free food."
he laughed, a deep, rich sound that made your chest tighten. "if that’s the case, then i’ll make sure it’s the best meal you’ve had in a long time. can’t have you leaving disappointed."
something in his tone shifted then, still playful, but threaded with sincerity. he wasn’t just showing off. he wanted you to enjoy this. to enjoy him.
and as you set the menu down and met his gaze, you realized this was the first time all night you weren’t thinking about the internet, the fancams, or the chaos that had brought you here.
you were just thinking about him.
the waiter took your orders quickly, drew didn’t even glance at the menu, rattling off his choice with the ease of someone who had been here more than once. you, meanwhile, stumbled over your own because you could feel his eyes on you the entire time.
when the waiter left, drew leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, the candlelight catching in the sharp line of his jaw.
"so" he said, his accent curling warmly around the single syllable, "tell me, what’s it like being the internet’s sweetheart?"
you groaned, sinking into the booth. "don’t you start. my mentions are chaos because of you. people keep tagging me in edits of you suplexing someone with captions like, ‘he did this for her.’"
he chuckled, shaking his head. "they’re not entirely wrong."
your eyes snapped to his, heat rushing to your cheeks. "excuse me?"
his grin widened, devastatingly unbothered. "what, you thought i pointed you out in front of the world for no reason? sweetheart, i don’t waste my breath."
you stared at him, caught between exasperation and something far more dangerous curling low in your stomach. "you’re impossible."
"and yet" he said smoothly, "you’re still here, having dinner with me."
you tried to glare at him but failed, your lips tugging into a reluctant smile. to distract yourself, you reached for the breadbasket in the centre of the table, only for his hand to brush against yours at the exact same time.
the touch was brief but electric. warmth shot through your arm, and you pulled back a little too quickly, muttering, "sorry."
"no need" drew said softly, his gaze lingering on your retreating hand before flicking back up to your face. "i like it."
you swallowed, trying desperately to steer the conversation back to safer waters. "so is this how you usually spend your saturday nights? dinner with strangers you embarrass on live television?"
he smirked. "not strangers. not anymore. i suppose this is unusual for me. i don’t often get to slow down."
something in his tone shifted then, the playfulness easing into something quieter, more sincere. you tilted your head, curious. "slow down from what?"
"from being drew mcintyre" he said simply. "the show, the traveling, the constant noise. don’t get me wrong, i love it. it’s who i am. but it’s not all i am."
the honesty caught you off guard. you hadn’t expected him to lower the armor so easily.
"and who are you" you asked gently, "when you’re not him?"
for a moment, his eyes softened, the weight of his gaze heavy but not overwhelming. "just drew" he said. "the lad who likes a quiet meal, good company, maybe a pint if i'm feeling indulgent."
the corner of your mouth lifted. "and here i thought you’d say you wrestle bears for fun or something."
that earned a laugh, full and unrestrained, his head tipping back. the sound made something flutter in your chest.
"i could, if you’d like to see it" he teased when he caught his breath.
"pass" you shot back quickly, though your smile betrayed you. "one overgrown scot is more than enough to handle."
he leaned closer across the table, his voice dropping to that low rumble again. "careful, darling. sounds like you’re admitting you want to handle me."
your mouth went dry, your brain short-circuiting for a beat before you managed to splutter, "that’s not what i said!"
his smirk told you he’d gotten exactly what he wanted out of your reaction.
and yet as the waiter returned with your meals, you couldn’t deny the way your pulse raced, or the fact that a part of you wondered what it would be like if you had meant it.
the plates were set down, but neither of you seemed particularly focused on the food. you picked at yours, sneaking glances at him between bites, while drew ate with the steady patience of someone who had all the time in the world.
at one point, you caught him watching you instead of his meal, his fork forgotten against the plate.
"what?" you asked, self-conscious. "do i have sauce on my face?"
he shook his head slowly, lips curving into that lazy, devastating smile. "no, sweetheart. just trying to figure out how someone like you wandered into my world."
the words knocked the air from your lungs. you laughed nervously, reaching for your glass of water. "someone like me?"
"yeah" he leaned forward, elbows on the table, his broad frame crowding the small space between you. "sharp, funny, stunning and not the least bit fazed by me throwing you into the fire last night. most would’ve run a mile."
you ducked your head, suddenly very interested in the condensation sliding down your glass. "i didn’t say i wasn’t fazed. i just didn’t want to give you the satisfaction."
drew chuckled, the sound low, intimate. "so you’re telling me you were fazed, darling?"
you groaned, covering your face with your hand. "you’re impossible."
"maybe" he said, his tone softening, "but i'd like to think i’m worth it."
the silence that followed was different this time. not awkward, not playful, heavy, charged. you felt his gaze on you, pulling at something you weren’t sure you could fight off much longer.
almost without thinking, your hand drifted across the table, brushing crumbs aside. drew’s larger hand moved at the same time, and this time, instead of retreating, his fingers slid deliberately over yours.
warmth spread through you at the contact, his calloused thumb tracing a slow circle against your knuckles. he didn’t grip too tightly, didn’t push. just held your hand there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
you stared down at your joined hands, your chest tight, before finally glancing up at him. his eyes were locked on you, intense but softer than you’d ever seen them.
"drew" you whispered, not even sure what you were about to say.
"yeah?" he prompted, his voice hushed, patient.
your pulse skipped. words tangled in your throat. "this feels dangerous"
the corner of his mouth tugged upward, but there was no mockery in it, just quiet certainty. "the best things usually are, sweetheart."
your breath caught, and for a moment, the clink of silverware and the murmur of other diners faded to nothing. it was just him, his hand wrapped around yours, the weight of his gaze burning through you.
if the waiter hadn’t reappeared to ask about dessert, you weren’t sure what would’ve happened.
dinner blurred after that. you ate, you talked, or at least, you tried to, though every word felt like it was undercut by the steady pressure of his thumb brushing against your hand across the table. you lost track of how many times you caught him watching you instead of his food, his blue eyes heavy with something that made your stomach twist into knots.
by the time the check came, your nerves were stretched thin in the best way. he paid without question, brushing off your half-hearted protest with a low, "darling, you can get the next one." the casual way he said it, the next one, like this was already the beginning of something, made your chest ache.
the ride back to the hotel was quiet again, but it wasn’t nerves this time. it was anticipation. His hand rested on the console, fingers drumming lightly, and every bump in the road brought your knee just close enough to his that you swore he was doing it on purpose.
when he pulled into the hotel lot and killed the engine, you sat there for a beat too long, staring at your hands in your lap.
"well" you said finally, trying to sound breezy, "thanks for dinner. It was not at all what i expected."
he turned to you, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. "and what did you expect?"
you smirked faintly. "i don’t know. maybe a little more chaos. more performance."
his mouth curved into that small, dangerous smile. "i said i wanted time without the noise. i meant it."
silence fell again, thicker now, heavy with the weight of what neither of you had said. slowly, drew shifted, reaching out with his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered against your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.
"sweetheart" he murmured, so soft it almost didn’t sound real, "tell me not to, and i won’t."
your heart slammed against your ribs. you could’ve said no. you could’ve laughed, played it off, walked away.
but instead, you whispered, "don’t stop."
that was all it took.
he leaned in, closing the distance in one unhurried movement, his lips brushing against yours with surprising gentleness for someone his size. the kiss was slow at first, exploratory, his hand cradling your jaw, yours gripping the front of his shirt. and then, like a dam breaking, it deepened, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that stole your breath.
when he finally pulled back, your lips tingled, your chest rising and falling like you’d just run a race. He rested his forehead against yours, his voice rough when he spoke.
"tomorrow you fly back, but don’t think for a second this is the last time.”
you swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. "you sound awfully sure of yourself."
he chuckled, low and certain. "darling, when it comes to you, i am."
and as you slipped out of the car and watched him drive off into the night, your lips still burning from the kiss, you knew he was right. this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.
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the airport goodbye wasn’t dramatic. no tears, no lingering kiss. just his hand pressed to the small of your back as you walked toward your gate, his voice low in your ear: "text me when you land, darling."
you hadn’t expected him to mean it. but hours later, your phone buzzed as you stepped off the plane in london:
drew: safe home? or should i come drag you back here myself?you: landed. exhausted. survived. don’t tempt me with dragging though, i'll start rumors.drew: lass, you ARE the rumor.
the days blurred, but the thread of him was constant.
a gym selfie at 7 a.m. his time, sweat dripping down his temples, the caption: "staying ready. don’t want you replacing me with someone scrawnier.”
your reply was a mirror selfie in your hoodie, hair a mess: "don’t worry, you’re safe. i'm too lazy to replace you.”
on stream, your chat was relentless.
“WHERE’S DREW??”
“react to his latest match!!!”
“HE CALLED YOU SWEETHEART ON TV AGAIN OMG”
you tried to laugh it off, but your phone buzzed midstream with a dm. drew, watching from somewhere in a locker room, had sent a photo of the screen: you, live, smiling awkwardly at your chat. the caption: "sweetheart, you’re glowing. don’t let them fluster you too much."
you nearly fell out of your chair.
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you were half-asleep when your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up your dark room. at first you thought it was a notification, but then you saw the name: drew mcintyre.
your heart gave a jolt. it wasn’t a text. it was a call.
you fumbled to answer, putting the phone to your ear with a groggy, "hello?"
"darling." his voice was deep, rough around the edges, like he’d just stepped out of the ring, or maybe just out of the shower. "did i wake you?"
you sat up straighter in bed, brushing hair out of your face. "kind of. but, you know, international calls from famous wrestlers aren’t exactly the worst alarm clock."
he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through the line. "famous, am i? glad you noticed."
"don’t push your luck." you smiled despite yourself, tucking your blanket tighter around your legs. "what’s up? shouldn’t you be wrestling or sleeping or lifting a car or something?"
"i did all that" he said lightly, and you could picture the little half-smile he wore when he was being cheeky. then his tone softened. "truth is i just wanted to hear your voice."
the words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the breath out of you.
"oh" you managed, suddenly very aware of your messy hair and your oversized hoodie. "well. here i am. voice and all."
he hummed low in his throat, like he was savoring the sound of you. "yeah, you are. been thinking about you since you left."
you chewed your lip, unsure what to do with that. "you barely know me."
"wrong." he didn’t miss a beat. "i know you laugh at your own jokes before you even finish them. i know you pretend you’re not fazed when you are. i know your chat adores you, even when they’re driving you mad. and" his voice dropped, lower, velvet-smooth. "i know i like the way i feel when i’m talking to you."
you swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming in your ears. "you’re ridiculous."
"maybe." he chuckled again, softer this time. "but it doesn’t make me wrong, sweetheart."
for a moment, neither of you spoke. just the sound of him breathing on the other end of the line, steady, grounding. it felt weirdly intimate, sitting there in the dark, holding onto his voice like it was something tangible.
"do you always do this?" you asked finally, breaking the silence. "call women across the ocean and say exactly what they want to hear?"
he laughed, warm and genuine. "no. just you."
your chest tightened in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
you shifted under the blanket, suddenly shy. "it’s late here. you should let me sleep.”
"yeah" is voice softened even more. "but promise you’ll answer next time i call."
"i will."
"good girl" he murmured, and you swear your whole body flushed at the words.
when you finally hung up, you lay awake staring at the ceiling, your heart racing, his voice still echoing in your ears.
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y/ninsta posted a story
written: fit check
drewmcintyrewwe replied to this story: how am i suppossed to wrestle knowing that you are the other side of the world looking like that.
y/ninsta: win for me
drewmcintyrewwe: yes boss lady
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you knew the second you woke up it wasn’t going to be a good one.
your inbox was full of emails you didn’t want to read, a brand deal had been delayed for the third time, and to top it all off, you’d scrolled through twitter only to find yourself trending, again, under "drew’s darling."
you tried to brush it off, tried to laugh like it was funny, but your mentions were a battlefield. some people adored you, some were convinced you were clout-chasing, and some were downright cruel. by the time you went live that night, your chest felt heavy.
"hey, guys" you greeted, forcing a smile as your stream lit up with chat.
but the energy wasn’t there. not in your voice, not in your movements. you fumbled through a game you usually excelled at, died in the first ten minutes, and let out a sharp sigh.
chat:you okay, y/n?
you seem off today.
don’t listen to the trolls, we love you.
she’s sad :( protect her!!
you laughed, but it came out brittle. "i’m fine, just tired."
but chat wasn’t buying it. every second message was someone checking in, sending hearts, spamming comfort emotes. you tried to keep playing, but your throat was tight, your chest even tighter, and the game over screen blinked back at you for the third time in a row.
you finally dropped the controller and leaned back in your chair with a groan. "okay, okay, maybe i'm not fine."
the confession slipped out before you could stop it. you weren’t the type to break down on camera, but tonight the mask cracked.
"it’s just a lot" you admitted quietly. "being online all the time. knowing people are picking apart everything you do, everything you say. sometimes it feels like i’m drowning, you know?"
the chat exploded in sympathy.
chat:
you don’t have to stream if you’re not feeling it <3
log off babe, self care first!!
we’ll still be here tomorrow!
DREW COME GET YOUR GIRL
that last one almost made you laugh, but instead, your throat caught, and suddenly the tears were threatening. you scrambled to end the stream before it showed.
"alright, guys, i think I’m gonna call it here" you said, forcing your voice steady. "thanks for hanging out. i’ll see you soon."
the second you hit "end stream" the room went silent, the glow of the monitors casting harsh light on your damp eyes. you buried your face in your hands, frustrated at yourself for cracking, for letting it get to you.
that’s when your phone buzzed. once. twice. then again.
you grabbed it, expecting messages from friends. but instead, the screen lit up with a notification that made your breath hitch:
incoming facetime call: drew mcintyre.
you hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over the green button. your hair was a mess, eyes red, makeup smudged. the last thing you wanted was to see yourself on camera right now, but the thought of ignoring him felt worse.
you swiped to answer.
"darling" drew’s voice filled your room before his face appeared. the connection cleared, and there he was: sprawled on a hotel bed, hair down around his shoulders, bare chest glinting under the lamp light. he looked devastatingly casual, but his eyes, those sharp blue eyes, softened immediately when he saw you.
"y/n" his voice dropped. "you’ve been crying."
you quickly tried to wipe your face, embarrassed. "it’s nothing. just been a long day."
his brows knit together, concern overtaking his usual teasing smirk. "don’t do that, sweetheart. don’t say nothing when your eyes are telling me otherwise."
you shook your head, curling up tighter under your blanket. "it’s stupid. the trolls, the pressure, the constant feeling that I’m one step away from messing everything up. and i don’t even know why I’m telling you this because you" your voice broke. "you don’t need to hear me falling apart."
there was a beat of silence, and then his voice came, steady and low. "darling, i want to hear it. i don’t just want the smiles on stream or the cheeky texts. i want all of it, the good, the bad, and the messy bits you hide from everyone else."
your throat tightened, tears threatening again. "why?" you whispered.
his gaze held yours through the screen, unwavering. "because you matter to me. more than you realize."
the words cracked something inside you. a small, shaky laugh escaped, even as tears slid down your cheeks. "you’re too good at this, you know. saying exactly what i need to hear."
"i’m not good at this at all" he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. "i’m a six foot five scot who spends his life throwing men around in a ring. but with you" his tone softened, almost reverent. "with you, it feels easy."
you pressed the blanket closer to your chin, heart racing. "i don’t want to keep falling apart like this."
"then don’t." his voice was firm, but not unkind. "let me take some of the weight. you don’t have to hold it all on your own anymore."
for a moment, you just stared at him, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak. he waited patiently, his expression so gentle it undid you. finally, you whispered, "i don’t know how to let someone do that."
"then i’ll teach you, sweetheart."
your breath hitched.
"close your eyes" he said softly.
confused, you obeyed, closing them tight. his voice washed over you, steady and calm. "breathe with me. in and out. slow. just like that. let the noise fade, aye? it’s just you and me now. nothing else."
you followed his words, tears slipping free but your chest loosening with every inhale. his voice anchored you, deep and warm, until the tension began to ebb.
by the time you opened your eyes again, your phone was slipping from your hand, exhaustion tugging at your body. drew smiled softly on the other end, watching you with something achingly tender.
"sleep now, darling," he murmured. "i’ll still be here when you wake."
the last thing you saw before drifting off was the glow of his face on your screen, his expression equal parts fierce and gentle, like he’d guard you even from your own thoughts.
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the morning sun leaked through your blinds far too early, pulling you out of the restless sleep you’d finally fallen into. your phone still sat on the pillow beside you, screen dark, the faint memory of drew’s voice echoing in your ears.
you shuffled into the kitchen in your oversized hoodie, hair a mess, barely awake. tea. you needed tea. that was the plan. nothing more complicated than boiling water and trying to shake off the heaviness of last night.
the doorbell rang.
you frowned, mug still in hand. it was too early for a delivery. you padded toward the door, dragging your feet, yawning as you pulled it open.
and then froze.
"morning, sweetheart."
drew stood there in the doorway, tall and broad and real, luggage at his feet, the faintest grin tugging at his lips. he wore a black hoodie, hood half-up, hair tucked behind his ears, but there was no mistaking him.
your jaw dropped. "you, you’re in london?"
"yep" he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "told you last night i wouldn’t let you drown."
you blinked at him, completely stunned, words failing. "you flew across the ocean, overnight?"
he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "didn’t much like the idea of you falling asleep upset without someone here to make it better. so here i am."
the absurdity of it hit you all at once, and you laughed, half in disbelief, half in relief, pressing a hand to your face. "you’re insane."
"maybe." he stepped forward, lowering his voice, his gaze fixed on yours. "but i couldn’t stand being just a voice on your phone, not when you needed me."
your throat tightened, tears threatening again, but this time they weren’t from sadness. you stepped aside without thinking, motioning him in. "well, come on then. before the neighbors think I’m harboring some giant fugitive."
he chuckled, dragging his suitcase in, ducking slightly under your doorway. and just like that, he was in your space, too big for your kitchen, too tall for your ceiling, too much in every way yet somehow exactly what you needed.
drew set his bag down and turned to you, his presence filling the room. he reached out, brushing a thumb gently under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall.
"there she is" he murmured. "my girl"
you swallowed hard, your heart thudding wildly, and managed a whisper: "tea?"
his laugh was low and warm. "tea sounds perfect. then maybe a nap. long flights, you know."
and just like that, the tension broke, replaced by something softer. domestic. real. he followed you into the kitchen, ridiculously large in your tiny space, watching with quiet amusement as you put the kettle on.
but every time your eyes met his, you felt it, the shift. this wasn’t just flirtation anymore. he was here. for you.
and that changed everything.
the kettle whistled, sharp in the quiet of your kitchen. you reached for two mismatched mugs from the cupboard, setting them on the counter and felt the weight of his presence behind you.
drew leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching you with a small smile. he looked impossibly out of place and yet perfectly at home, his broad frame dwarfing the tiny kitchen.
"you’ve got mugs fit for children" he teased, picking one up between his giant hands. "think i’ll need three of these just to wake up."
you rolled your eyes, snatching it back. "sorry my cupboards aren’t to your standard"
his chuckle rumbled low in his chest as he stepped closer, brushing by you to peek at the boiling kettle like he knew what he was doing. the closeness made your skin prickle, his heat seeping into you even through the layers of fabric.
you busied yourself with the teabags, trying not to stare at the way his hair fell loose around his face, still a little messy from travel. but when you reached past him for the sugar, his hand caught your wrist gently.
"darling."
you turned, heart thudding, and found him closer than you expected. his thumb traced idly along your pulse point, an anchoring touch that made the room shrink around you.
"you don’t have to fuss" he said softly. "just let me be here."
your breath hitched, words tangling in your throat. "i’m not fussing."
his smile deepened, fond and knowing. "you are. it’s sweet. but you don’t have to pretend, aye? not with me."
something in you gave way. you let out a shaky laugh, leaning back against the counter, your free hand still clutching the tiny mug. "this is surreal. you, in my kitchen, acting like this is normal."
"it is normal." his tone was firm, grounding. he shifted closer, bracing one hand on the counter beside you, boxing you in without pressure. "because it’s you and me. that’s all that matters."
you swallowed hard, every nerve buzzing under his steady gaze. "you’re very sure of yourself."
he tilted his head, blue eyes soft but intense. "when it comes to you? i am."
the mug slipped from your grip back onto the counter, forgotten. his hand slid to your waist, warm and steady, and before you could overthink it, you whispered, "kiss me."
he didn’t make you ask twice.
his mouth found yours in a kiss that was both gentle and claiming, a grounding press of lips that deepened when you curled your hands into his hoodie. he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, slow and unhurried, but the heat underneath was undeniable. when he finally pulled back, he kept his forehead against yours, thumb brushing over your hip.
"sweetheart" he murmured, voice low and rough, "if this is surreal, i don’t ever want to wake up."
you let out a breathless laugh, tugging him back down for another kiss. you realized you didn’t care about tea at all. you cared about him, here, now, anchoring you with every touch.
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the following morning smelled like coffee and rain. you woke to the sound of a pan clattering in the kitchen and the unmistakable mutter of a man who was too big for your apartment trying to move quietly.
when you padded out in your socks, drew was standing over your tiny stove in nothing but sweatpants and one of your aprons, flipping what looked suspiciously like burnt pancakes.
you leaned on the doorway, trying not to laugh.
"domestic god, are we?"
he turned, spatula in hand, pretending offence. "they’re rustic, sweetheart."
"they’re charcoal."
he grinned, came over, and kissed your temple. "then you’ll eat them out of pity for me."
you did, because you couldn’t say no to him when he looked so proud of the disaster.
the day unfolded easily.
you took him out through back streets to your favourite coffee shop, hoods up and sunglasses on. nobody seemed to notice the six-foot-five scot squeezed into a corner booth, listening like every word you said mattered.
in the afternoon, rain forced you home, so you streamed from the living room while he sprawled on the sofa behind the camera, half-watching, half-listening. your chat lit up when they caught a glimpse of his arm reaching across for tea.
“IS THAT DREW??”
“COUPLE GOALS OMG”
he whispered, "tell them i make good tea" and you nearly lost the game from laughing.
that evening, you showed him the parts of your life he’d only ever seen through a screen:
old photos, the stack of notebooks by your desk, the ridiculous collection of mugs you’d been teased for. he listened, really listened, tracing circles on your knee with his thumb while you talked.
when it grew late, you ended up side-by-side on the sofa, the city humming outside the window.
you rested your head against his shoulder; his arm came around you automatically, fingers threading through your hair.
"i’m meant to fly back tuesday" he said quietly.
you nodded, heart tightening. "i know."
he tilted his head until his nose brushed your hair. "don’t like the idea of leaving."
you smiled against his chest. "then don’t."
he laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "if only it were that easy."
you looked up at him, catching the flicker of something vulnerable behind the easy grin.
"i don’t need easy" you said. "just real."
he cupped your jaw, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth. "real’s exactly what this feels like, darling."
the kiss that followed wasn’t about heat this time; it was slow, deep, the kind that made your chest ache because it felt like a promise.
the rest of the weekend blurred into small, perfect moments,
pancakes that weren’t burnt, quiet jokes whispered under blankets, him stealing your hoodie, you tracing patterns across the scars on his arm while he talked about life on the road.
by the final night, you both knew. you didn’t have to say i love you yet; it hung there, warm and certain, in every touch.
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the drive to heathrow was quiet. rain tapped against the windows, and london blurred past in grey streaks.
you sat turned slightly toward him in the passenger seat, trying to memorise the small things: the way his fingers rested on the steering wheel, the soft hum he made when a song he liked played, the way the corner of his mouth twitched when you caught him glancing at you.
neither of you spoke much until the airport signs appeared.
he pulled into the drop-off lane and cut the engine. for a moment, neither of you moved. the world outside felt loud, trolleys clattering, engines starting, people rushing past but inside the car it was just the two of you and the steady rhythm of the rain.
"so" you said, forcing a smile, "back to body-slamming people for a living?"
drew huffed a laugh. "back to the circus."
his voice was fond, not bitter. still, his hand found yours on your knee, thumb drawing small circles against your jeans.
"doesn’t feel quite right leavin’, though."
you swallowed the lump in your throat. "it’s only a few weeks. you’ll be back before you know it."
he looked at you for a long moment. "you keep sayin’ that like you’re tryin’ to convince yourself, sweetheart."
you let out a shaky breath, then laughed softly. "maybe i am."
he squeezed your hand. "then let me convince you instead."
he reached up, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and the gesture undid you. you leaned forward before you even meant to, meeting him halfway.
the kiss was soft and sure, unhurried, the kind that left you with tears you didn’t realise were forming.
when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
"i love you" he said quietly, like a secret he’d been carrying for days.
for a moment, all you could do was breathe. then the words tumbled out of you, certain and steady.
"i love you too."
he smiled then, that slow, warm smile that always melted your nerves. "good. makes the next part a little easier."
you laughed through your tears. "does it?"
"no" he admitted, voice rough. "but i’ll hold onto it till i see you again."
he climbed out, lifted his bag from the boot, and turned back one last time. the rain had picked up, dark drops running down his hoodie.
you stepped forward, pressing your palm to his chest over the steady beat of his heart.
"text me when you land" you said.
he caught your hand, brought it to his lips. "every time."
then he was gone, through the doors, swallowed by the noise and the crowd.
you stood there until he disappeared from sight, the echo of his voice still in your ears, the words i love you looping over and over, not a goodbye at all but a promise.
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drewmcintyre_wwe posted a story
written: the grind never stops
y/ninsta replied to this story: i just woke up fucking hell drew
drewmcintyre_wwe: good that was the plan
y/ninsta: the plan?
drewmcintyre_wwe: get you flustered before you start the day
y/ninsta: well it fucking worked
drewmcintyre_wwe: good. can't have you forgetting about me sweetheart
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y/ninsta posted a story
written: date night
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y/ninsta posted a story
written: influencer event fit
drewmcintyre_wwe replied to this story: darling you look so good
y/ninsta: stop baby you are gonna make me blush
drewmcintyre_wwe: and you make me wanna fly back so i think we are even
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the flat was too quiet.
the kind of quiet that made every clock tick sound like a shout.
you sat cross-legged on the sofa with a half-finished mug of tea going cold beside you, the blue glow of the tv washing over your face.
smackdown played in the background, something you told yourself was research, but really it was just habit now.
you’d fallen into the routine: tune in every friday night, pretend it was coincidence, and hope that when drew’s music hit, your chest didn’t ache quite as much.
but when his entrance started, lights dropping, that low growl of the bagpipes cutting through the speakers, you felt the ache anyway.
he looked different on screen. sharper.
a little more intense than the man who’d tried (and failed) to flip pancakes in your kitchen.
the crowd booed him; he soaked it in.
you smiled despite yourself. He always said he liked the challenge.
then, after his match, they gave him the mic.
he was breathing hard, eyes blazing, the heavy belt glinting over his shoulder.
"you know what drives me?" he growled, pacing. "it’s not the noise, not the fame, not the title. it’s knowing i’ve got someone waiting for me when the lights go out. someone who reminds me what all this means."
your heart stopped.
you could tell no one else in the arena knew who he meant, but you did.
the flicker of something raw in his eyes, the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, that was for you.
the chat in your phone started to explode, notifications pouring in, but you didn’t even look.
you just stared at the screen, throat tight, feeling the pull in your chest.
he missed you.
and you missed him.
the decision came so fast it startled you.
you grabbed your phone, thumb flying across the keyboard.
you blinked at the screen, heart hammering.
then you laughed, really laughed, for the first time since he left.
you stood up, looked around your small living room, and whispered to yourself,
"alright, mcintyre. let’s see if you’re ready for this."
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the hallway behind the stage was half-lit, most of the crew already scattered to their call times. you followed cathy past the line of travel cases until she stopped outside a locker-room door marked mcintyre in block letters taped to the front.
she knocked once.
a deep voice from inside: "yeah?"
cathy winked at you, pulled the handle, and slipped the door open just far enough for you to step through before disappearing down the corridor.
the room smelled faintly of coffee and leather polish. drew stood with his back to you, zipping his gear bag. his hair was still damp from a pre-show shower, curling at the nape of his neck.
he turned at the sound of the door. for a second, confusion flickered across his face, then recognition crashed in.
he froze completely.
"darling?" he said, voice breaking on the word.
you laughed softly, nerves spilling over. "surprise."
he blinked once, twice, like he needed to make sure you weren’t a daydream, and then he moved.
one long stride, another, and you were in his arms before you could breathe.
he lifted you off your feet, burying his face in the side of your neck. the hug was crushing, perfect; you could feel his heart hammering through his chest. you clung to him just as tightly, laughing and crying all at once.
"you’re really here" he murmured against your skin. "how, why."
"i missed you" you said simply. "and cathy may have helped."
he huffed a small, incredulous laugh and set you down, his hands still framing your waist like he didn’t trust himself to let go. "you flew across the ocean just to see me before the show?"
he leaned in then, forehead resting against yours. the noise of the arena filtered faintly through the walls, crowd murmurs, a bassline of excitement but in the locker room it felt like the world had gone still.
"i don’t deserve you" he said quietly.
"you do" you whispered back. "every bit of this."
His thumb brushed along your jaw, slow and tender. "when i said on the mic i had someone waitin’ for me i meant it. didn’t think you’d actually be here."
you smiled, eyes glassy. "well. now you don’t have to imagine."
he kissed you then, slow and certain, like a man who had been holding that breath for weeks. It wasn’t a show; it was home. when he finally pulled back, he kept his hand against your cheek.
"stay through the night?" he asked. "we’ll grab dinner after. just be normal for a bit."
"i’d like that" you said.
he kissed your forehead once more before reaching for his jacket, still smiling in disbelief.
as he turned to leave for pre-show meetings, he looked back over his shoulder and said, softer than before"
"thanks for coming, sweetheart. you’ve no idea what that means."
the door shut behind him with a quiet click.
you sat on the bench he’d just left, heart still racing, and realised that somewhere between the flights and the missed calls and the chaos, this was what the whole story had been leading to, not the arena, not the cameras, just this: the quiet, real moment where you belonged.
"alright, mcintyre. let’s see if you’re ready for this."
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the locker room was quieter now, the chaos of the show fading into muffled echoes down the hall. drew sat slouched on the bench, hair damp, chest still rising and falling from the adrenaline of the match.
you leaned against the doorframe for a moment, just watching him, the way his shoulders finally relaxed when he saw you, the way his mouth curved into that slow smile that was only ever yours.
"hey" you said softly, stepping inside.
"hey" he echoed, voice rough but warm. he reached out without hesitation, pulling you down beside him. his arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you against him.
for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t heavy, just full, full of everything you’d both been carrying these past weeks apart.
finally, drew broke it. "i hate this part" he admitted, his thumb brushing circles against your hip. "the leaving. the airports. the nights where i’m here and you’re there."
you swallowed, resting your head against his shoulder. "i hate it too. but i don’t hate us. and that’s what matters."
he turned, pressing his forehead to yours. his voice was low, almost a whisper. "i want you to know, no matter the miles, no matter the schedule, i’m yours. always. i’ll make it work. we’ll make it work."
your chest tightened, tears threatening, but you smiled through them. "we already are. every text, every call, every stupid instagram reply, it’s proof. we’re stronger than the distance."
he laughed softly, the sound rumbling against you. "you’re right. still, i want more than just screens and airports. i want you. properly. in my life, every day, even if it means juggling flights and time zones."
you lifted your hand to his jaw, tracing the line of his beard. "then we’ll juggle. we’ll figure it out. because i don’t care where you are, drew. i care that it’s you."
his eyes softened, glassy with emotion. "god, i love you" he said, the words spilling out like they’d been waiting all night.
"i love you too" you whispered back, steady and sure.
he kissed you then, not rushed, not desperate, but deep and certain, the kind of kiss that sealed promises. when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again, smiling.
"from now on" he said, voice thick with conviction, "it’s not about the distance. it’s about us. and we’ll make it work. every time."
you nodded, heart swelling. "every time."
the echoes of the crowd still faint beyond the walls, but none of it mattered. in that quiet room, it was just the two of you, no miles, no schedules, no goodbyes. just love, steady and unshakable, a promise you both knew you’d keep.
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drewmcintyre_wwe
liked by y/ninsta, chrisvanvilet, rhearipleywwe and 923,934 comments
tagged: y/ninsta
drewmcintyre_wwe: maybe the internet is the biggest dating app out there
view all 27,293 comments
y/ninsta: love you forever
drewmcintyre_wwe: and always
chrisvanvilet: i'm taking all the credit for this couple
user11: he went from thirsting over her to dating her wtf
Please can I request more mentor Vettel?? What if reader’s car begins to malfunction around a dangerous corner and she begins to panic, an Vettel gets on the radio trying to help her navigate the situation while trying to hide how scared he is for her? Thanks!
I'm Here, It's OK - Sebastian Vettel
<word count - 3100>
You couldn't tell if pre-season testing was your most or least favourite part of the season. It often gave a pretty good indicator of how the season was going to do and could either give you immense hope or dread.
For the past few years, you had been driving some of the worst cars on the grid and testing was just another slap in the face. It was just a precursor of the horrific, sometimes point-less season that you had ahead of you.
This year was finally different. After a miracle drive at Monza, getting a P4 in a car that was destined for P11 and below, Ferrari had seen something in you. Well, they had seen enough in you to want to put you in the HAAS. You had to prove yourself so that maybe, just maybe, they would want to put you in the Ferrari at some point in time.
Being part of the Ferrari sphere had already been some of the best days in your career, even if the season hadn't already started. The team was lovely, the car was one of the better ones you had driven, and you often spent time with the Ferrari personnel since you drove with their engines.
You also got to spend a lot of time with Kevin, Seb and Charles. Of course, you spent most of your time with Kevin since he was your teammate, but it was really Seb that you learned the most from.
You had never had anyone that had such great knowledge of the sport and who was able to give you such useful advice. No matter what, Seb was always there for you. If you got a good time in the sim, he'd tell you what you'd done really well. If you didn't have a great run, then he'd still tell you what you did well and what you could do to improve on next time.
He was often at the HAAS factory when you were testing the car at home, or when you were doing press over the winter. The guy was everywhere with you, but you were grateful for it. If he didn't help you out, you wouldn't have improved as much over you did over such a short amount of time.
As usual, he had come to visit your garage before you went out to do some test laps. No one else was gearing up to go out onto the track yet, and the team wanted you to get some clean air and not have to worry about other cars around you.
"Just get a feel for it, OK? Warm yourself up a bit, then go for some fast laps when you and the tyres are ready to go." he told you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. As you pulled your helmet on, Seb took it upon himself to fasten up the buckles for you.
Hopping in the car, you quickly pulled out and took a few slow laps around the track. You let yourself just enjoy driving and have a few moments of peace. It was just you, the car and the tarmac under your wheels.
It was times like these where you really loved your job. Even amongst the usual chaos and organised madness, there was still some respite in the mayhem. After two warm-up laps, you decided to try and put in a fast one.
You were more careful on the corners than usual, just because you had been out of proper practice for a few months and you weren't sure what the car was like to handle going full throttle. You decelerated earlier than you normally would on the corners, but still went flat out down the long straights of the Bahrain circuit.
"That's a really good start, Y/N. Take a slow lap then go for it again." you heard your race engineer over the radio. It was small bits of encouragements like these that really made you feel at home in the team.
As instructed, you took a slow lap then properly went for it. You drove that lap like you were fighting for pole position of the most important race of your life. You took the corners hard, you pushed the car to its limits down the straights, you took the tightest lines that you could possibly come up with.
It was one of the best times that you had ever set in your career, even if you knew it would be easily outdone by one of the top teams. But, that didn't matter to you. This was the best that you and the car could do. "Now that's what I'm talking about! Absolutely smashed it. Just one more fast lap then you can come in, Y/N. We'll get you out with Seb so we can see how fast you'll go with a tow and see if you need any setup changes." your race engineer enthusiastically praised over the radio.
"Will do, but I don't know how much we can change. This setup is already pretty damn good," you beamed, rolling around the track. Both teams knew how well you and Seb got along. Little did you know, Seb was the one who suggested going out to give you a tow during the testing days.
He knew that your confidence wasn't great after spending so long in bottom tier teams with little to no support, so he wanted to show that he was there 100% to help you through your journey. Even if you'd never get to be proper teammates, Seb was glad that you had a very high chance of getting a Ferrari seat one day.
And, if the Scuderia didn't want you, then he was certain that one of the other better teams would. You just needed an opportunity to show off your potential. He was grinning from ear to ear as he watched your fast lap, eagerly waiting for the next.
The broadcast was purely focused on you since there were no other cars out on track, apart from flicking over to the McLarens that were getting ready to come out. You were hurtling down the main straight to pick up some speed for the start of the lap, and some of the sounds that the car was making were... questionable.
There was some clinking and grinding, but you weren't seeing anything come up on your console, the performance wasn't noticeably changing and the team wasn't saying anything over the radio. So, you just assumed that everything was fine.
But, it quickly became apparent that everything was not indeed fine. You went through the first 3 turns without a hitch, but down the next straight, things started changing. You put your foot down and went full throttle down the next straight, and the noises got even louder.
"Guys? What is that?" you shouted through the radio, only to be met by silence. Going into turn 4, you found that you weren't able to slow down. You were pushing your brake pedal and nothing was happening. No matter how hard your foot pressed it, you didn't slow down.
"Guys what the fuck is happening?!" you shouted again, and finally, someone replied.
"Your brakes have failed," they said, and it was far too calmly for your liking.
"What do you mean my brakes have fucking failed?!" you yelled, the panic surging through you. How the hell were you going to slow the car down? You had turn 4, then the sloping curves of 5, 6 and 7, and then one of the tightest turns on track: turn 8.
As Seb watched on the TV and heard you through his headphones, his heart sunk. Never in his entire career had his brakes failed, and he could only imagine how scared you were. You were going hundreds of kilometers an hour and had no way of slowing down while going into sharp turns.
He had to do something. There was no way in hell that he was just going to sit by and watch this happen. He was scared as hell and he wouldn't ever forgive himself if he didn't at least try to do something to help you.
He ran out to the pit wall, plucking the headphones with the microphone off of someone sitting there and placing them over his own ears. "Y/N? Sweetheart, it's me, OK? You're fine," he said over the radio, not believing a word he had said. This was far from fine.
"This isn't fine, Seb!" you shouted back, taking the outermost line you could and throwing the car around turn 4 at a speed that no one ever should. You were centimetres away from the wall, barely slowing down. This wasn't going to end well.
"I know, I know. Just listen to me. Your front brakes are still working, even if your brakes feel spongy. There's a small incline round 5, 6 and 7, so you should slow down from there. It might not feel like it's working, but keep your foot on the break, OK?" he tried to explain calmly, not wanting to panic you even more than he was by showing that he was worried.
If he seemed like it was all going to be fine, then it might help you have some faith. "OK," you agreed, your voice cracking as you barreled around the shallow curves. Seb was beyond terrified for you, but he was going to make sure that you were OK. He had to make sure that you were.
"You're doing really well, liebling. You're doing so so well," he rambled, trying to find any way that he could keep you calm while you were going through the ordeal. It felt like there was no way out as you were approaching turn 8. You had slowed down, but not by a lot.
The hydraulic system that was supposed to kick in when events like this happened weren't for whatever soul destroying reason, and your front brakes were also faulty in some regards. Hearing Seb's voice through the chaos was like a beacon of hope through the darkness, even if there didn't seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel.
"Y/N, take your foot off the brake and slam it back down for me, OK?" he asked. This was his last resort as everyone was stilled and watching the monitors in horror. The engineers were visibly calculating every last part that they had built on the car, wondering how it had gone so wrong.
The car had passed all of the necessary safety testing, so how the hell had it failed the second that you had gotten in the cockpit? The entire pitlane of the Bahrain circuit was silent, everyone from drivers to media personnel watching the TV screens with baited breath. This could be one of the worst accidents in motorsport, and you were at the heart of it.
"Seb... I can't... I fucking can't..." you sobbed, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks through your helmet. Your life was flashing before your eyes, everything you could have done different all coming to the fore as the corner approached. It felt like there was a hand around your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you could barely breathe.
"Sweetheart, listen to me. You can, OK? It's OK, I'm here, you're going to be OK. Trust me," he said, and you didn't have anything left to lose. Taking your foot up, you slammed it back down on the brake pedal as you started to turn around corner number 8.
Your front tyres locked up due to the sudden braking force, the back ones squealing against the tarmac as they still tried to move with the momentum that they had mustered. Before you knew it, you were spinning down the track and had no idea where you were going. You had no control as you tried to turn into the spin, as if that would give you any sort of help.
You saw the smoke from the friction between the tyres and the track as you span around and around for what felt like hours, even when it was only a few seconds in reality. Suddenly, the world stopped with a sudden and forceful jolt as you heard metal crack and bend as you hit something.
It was more than likely to be the barrier, but you felt pretty trapped in. As per your training, you turned the engine off and sat there, winded. You were finding it hard to catch your breath, but you were sure that that was on account of being winded as well as nearly suffering a panic attack. That was when everything went dark and your neck went limp, your head lolling over to the side as your body succumbed to the sudden spike in adrenaline.
Seb watched as your car spun out until it collided with the barrier, and he couldn't see you through the smoke. As it cleared, he just saw your helmet. There was no movement, no sign that you were conscious. "Talk to me, tell me you're alright," he said through the radio. He was met with no response, and his heart rate spiked.
"Liebling, come on. Talk to me. Are you hurt?" he near on pleaded, begging the universe for any sort of sign that you were OK. If you were hurt, then you could deal with it together. "Please..." he whispered.
You didn't know how long you were out for, but you assumed that it wasn't long. When you awoke, you were still sitting in your car. The dust had cleared, and you could quite clearly see that you were in the barrier, even if your vision was blurry with a probable concussion.
"C'mon, sweetheart, you've gotta be fine." you heard in your ears, and it took your groggy brain a few moments to piece together who it was.
"Seb?" you hoarsely said, unsure of whether he could even hear you due to how weak your voice was.
"I'm here, yeah, it's me. Medical are right with you, I'll be right there." he told you. "Are you hurt?"
There was a dull throbbing in your head, and a lot of sharp pain whenever you moved your left arm. "Yeah..." you mumbled out, the mixture of the pain and exhaustion in your body making it hard to stay awake.
"Stay with me, medical is nearly there." Seb urged, hearing the faintness in your voice. "I'll be there as soon as I can." he told you as he saw medical arrive to your location on the broadcast. The second they had gotten you out of the car, he hopped in the usual medical car and demanded that he rode with them.
They didn't have time to kick him out, so they brought him with them. The medical team had extracted you, as well as taken your helmet off. Seeing you lying on the stretcher while you struggled to keep your eyes open absolutely broke his heart, and he was going to be there every step of the way through your recovery.
Someone so young with so much potential shouldn't have gone through an accident that was completely unavoidable. Accidents like this could ruin careers and take lives, and no driver should ever have to suffer through that like you had. You were unbelievably lucky.
As Seb reached your side, he heard you complaining to the medics about dizziness and a lot of pain, so they decided it would be better to put you under while they got you to hospital. Seb was forced to wait in the waiting room while they diagnosed you with multiple cracked ribs, a broken arm a fractured collar bone and a concussion.
Once they had bandaged you up and given you a lot of time to rest, Seb was finally allowed in. It had taken hospital security to shoo away reporters, as well as the team getting mad at Sebastian for refusing to go back to the track for testing. There was no way that he was driving while he was waiting to know if you were alright.
It had taken them a long time to clean up the track, and the FIA had been forced to extend testing by a day due to how much time had been lost from the crash. There was 1 hour worth of testing for the rest of the day, and your time was still number 2 on the leaderboard from before the accident.
He walked into the room, taking in your hospital room. The curtains and blinds were drawn, and you had casts on pretty much the entirety of your left side that he could see. Seb sat down beside your bed, running a hand over his face.
"Seb?" a quiet voice said, and he couldn't help but smile as he heard your voice.
"Hey, liebling. How are you feeling?" he asked, knowing it was a pretty silly question. He gently took your hand, not wanting to hurt you any further.
"Groggy. Not too sore though, drugged up on painkillers," you chuckled before wincing, forgetting about your broken ribs.
"You were really brave out there," Seb praised, swiping his thumb over the back of your hand.
"No I wasn't. I would have died if it weren't for you." you countered. If Seb hadn't been there to tell you what to do, you were certain that this would have been a hell of a lot worse than just a few broken bones and a concussion.
"I don't care about that, I'm just glad that you're OK." Seb said, and there was pause in the conversation. Sebastian didn't let go of your hand like he feared that you'd slip away if he broke the contact.
"That's me out for the season..." you trailed off, trying to stop the tears welling up in your eyes. Just when you had gotten a decent drive and the car was feeling good, it had all been ripped away from you like a rug from under your feet.
"I know, sweetheart. I know. But, it'll be fine. You just need to focus on recovering." he told you, not wanting you to dwell on the fact that your season was over. "You did so so so well. I am so proud of you," he praised again.
He would never forget what happened today, and neither would you. But you were so grateful for having Seb there to save your life, and he was glad that he knew someone so courageous. The road ahead looked rocky, but Sebastian would be there every step of the way for you, no matter what.
A/N - Definitely not sure that I can get the Lando thing out for Friday, but I have started it! Suggestions are open, love this one! 💖
an: for fanfic purposes, sebastian won a championship with ferrari let me be delusional sorry lewis
2015
A new season of formula 1 had started and with it came the arrival of Sebastian to Ferrari. While Sebastian was dominating the track with Red Bull, you stayed with the red team and in 2014, you were declared the new team principal. Of course the news made headlines. A woman as team principal for one of the top teams in formula 1? Would Enzo Ferrari approve of this?
But you were determined to prove you belong with the team. That was something Sebastian admired about you.
Race after race, Kimi and Sebastian finished in the points. It was clear that the season was Ferrari’s season. After each race, you always made sure to watch Kimi and Sebastian on the podium. Each podium, Sebastian made sure to wink at you. Sometimes he would even mouth a few loving words towards you.
After Sebastian’s victory in Singapore, the German had asked you to meet him for a celebratory dinner. Thinking he had asked Kimi and others from the team, you didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until he knocked on your hotel door that you finally figured it out.
“So is this a date?” You asked.
“Only if you want it to be.” Sebastian replied.
“You are such a flirt, Sebastian Vettel.” You playfully rolled your eyes.
“I’ve been told that, but it sounds so much better coming from you.”
Soon, you and Sebastian were on your way to a restaurant that he thought you would love. It wasn’t too fancy, but it was perfect for you two.
Sebastian, being the gentleman he is, made sure you felt comfortable at all times. Instead of talking about work, he wanted to get to know you better. He learned that you always loved the color red, about your siblings and that when you were younger you had a massive crush on Patrick Swayze. When your food came to the table, Sebastian took the opportunity to ask something he’s been dying to know.
“Do you think we can go on another date soon?” Sebastian asked.
“I want to, but what if the FIA thinks what we’re doing is inappropriate?”
You enjoyed being around Sebastian. Not only was he a great driver, but he was an even greater person. He always made you laugh and comforted you when you needed it. It was hard not to fall in love with Sebastian Vettel.
“Sebastian, I don’t want either of us to get fired.” You told him.
“I guess we’ll have to sneak around. God, you make me feel like a teenager again.”
So that’s what you did. Before every race, you would sneak into his driver’s room and give him a good luck kiss. He insisted on getting one from you every race, you didn’t kind of course.
It was the last race of the 2015 season and Sebastian was fighting Lewis for the championship. You were nervous, but confident that Sebastian would bring home the title. It felt like a dream come true seeing Sebastian come in first while Lewis came in third.
“Sebastian Vettel, you’re the world champion! You did it, Seb!” Sebastian heard you on the radio.
“This one’s for you!” His message warmed your heart. If only you could truly celebrate as a couple without hiding.
At the podium, Sebastian was all smiles. Who wouldn’t? He had just one his first championship with Ferrari. It was a dream come true. While you stayed with the team, Sebastian celebrated on the podium with Kimi and Lewis.
“Y/n, you’ve been called to the stewards.” Sebastian’s race engineer, Riccardo, told you. “Have we been given a penalty just now? Do you know something?”
“No . . . If Sebastian asks, tell him I’ll see him later. We have no penalty, I’m sure of that. This is probably not serious.” You tried to play it off, but he wasn’t buying it.
“Okay, if you say so.” Riccardo gave you a hug before you left.
As you walk to the stewards, people around you called your name followed by congratulations or a hug. At the moment, you didn’t even feel like celebrating. All you felt was the nerves going through your body.
Finally, you made it to the stewards office ready to face what was coming. Would you be fired for being in a relationship with one of your drivers? You hoped not.
You entered the office and saw the FIA president, Jean Todt, looking over race footage. When he noticed you, he smiled. You weren’t told he would be attending the race.
“Y/n, congratulations to you and Ferrari. You have done a great job. I hope I didn’t interrupt any celebrations yet.” Jean told you.
“No, Sebastian was still celebrating on the podium when i was called here.” You tried your best to look fine, but deep down you were scared.
“Speaking of Sebastian, he’s a great driver, isn’t he?” Oh no, here it comes.
“Yes, Ferrari is honored to have him and Kimi as well. They’re both incredible drivers”
“But what do you think about Sebastian?”
Suddenly you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Jean, you know I respect you and Ferrari and Formula one so much. I don’t want to lose my job. I love this team to death. I understand what I did was inappropriate and it will never happen again, I swear by it. But if I’m no longer the team principal, I understand.” You blurted out.
All Jean did was chuckle. What?
“You think you’re fired? Y/n, Ferrari just won another championship and you think I’m going to fire you? The team would be crazy to let you go.” Jean spoke.
“Can I ask why I’m here then? Did Sebastian get a penalty?” You gasped. It would absolutely crush you if Sebastian got a penalty and he got his championship taken away.
“No, no! You’re here because I wanted to congratulate you and Sebastian on your engagement.”
What?
“I’m sorry?” You stood there more confused than ever.
“Marriage is a beautiful thing. I’m not yet married, but i know it is. I’m sure you and Sebastian will be very happy with each other.” Jean said. “I don’t want to hold you here for much longer. I don’t want Sebastian thinking you were kidnapped. Congratulations.” Jean gave you a hug.
Again, you were so confused. Did he know something? As you left the office, you saw Sebastian waiting outside with a concerned look on his face.
“What happened? Hey, talk to me.” Sebastian grabbed your hand. He was surprised you didn’t pinch or gave him a look for grabbing your hand in public.
“Did you say something to Jean about me?” You ask him.
“Like what? You know I always talk about you.” Sebastian replied. It was true. He took any opportunity to talk about you.
“Well he congratulated us on our engagement, which I didn’t know about. When were you going to tell me we were engaged?”
Oh shit, thought Sebastian.
“I might’ve told Jean that I loved you so much that I would marry you as soon as possible. To be fair, i was drunk! But that doesn’t mean it’s a lie!”
All you could do was laugh. At least he wasn’t the type of drunk to cause problems. You found it cute that he said that when he was drunk actually.
“You’re unbelievable, Seb.” You smiled at him.
“So you think we should do that? Get married?” He placed a kiss on your hand.
“When the time comes around. Come on, champ, let’s celebrate.” You finally kissed him not caring that others were around you. You were done hiding.
is it okay if… we get more of bear!nik and reader… if thats okay… i love how you wrote them my heart has been melting over it 🥹
just them being warm cuddle buddies, and some tooth rottin’ fluff if that suits your fancy, bunny… #needthat >:}c
Nikolai was in a foul mood, and no one could figure out why. He was pacing around the base, ducking his head into rooms, huffing in annoyance before he continued on.
"You should be in your den, hibernating, Nik." Price scolds when he sees his old partner for a third time that day. He could see the exhaustion seeping through the man, wondering why he'd dragged himself out.
"Where is Y/N." He growls, ears flicking angrily as he looks past Price to find you. Price bites back a chuckle, head dropping as he hides his smile.
"Is that what this is about? Nik, they can't spend all winter with you. They have training." Price insists, but Nik just growls at him and lumbers towards the gym. Nikolai finds you fresh out of the shower, instincts screaming even louder. Simon and Johnny notice him before you do, backing up when they see how angry the hybrid looked.
"Cub. Come. Now." He orders, which makes you jump slightly in surprise. You come over to him, looking anxious as you approach. "Why are you out of the nest? You're too skinny to be on your own." He huffs, picking you up and laying you down on his chest.
You giggle quietly, leaning back to look up at him. "I'm okay, Nik. I promise." You insist, which makes him rumble queitly. Back inside of his den, he lays you down on the bed before he circles you a few times and lays down.
"Are you hungry?" Nik asks in concern, nuzzling your hair as he watches you get comfortable. You shake your head sleepily, yawning as you lounge on his furry belly. "Eat when you wake up, cub." He hums queitly as he watches you drift to sleep, safe and warm in his den.
The first time soap asks what your holiday plans are, you make a joke and successfully avoid the question.
The second time soap asks, you give some on the spot lie about going to a friend's house. It's a shitty lie at best, and a downright obvious one to an SAS soldier. Apparently sorting their papers haven't gifted you with the same skills they have.
The third time...soap doesn't ask. Instead, ha hands you a piece of paper with an address and date scrawled on it, and promises "if yer not here by six, ahm' finding you and taking you myself."
The house in front of you is unremarkable, and you look between the silver numbers on the mailbox and the scrap of paper in your hand. Yes, that's right. There's lights up outside, but beyond that there's no extra decorations.
"Ah, You made it, kid! Come in, stay out o' the kitchen." The door swings open, and captain price greets you. You stare at him for a long moment, shocked to see your boss when soap didn't mention anyone...actually, he didn't tell you anything.
You sigh and walk in, a bit confused.
The interior has much more decorations. Hand-made paper chains, garland, and little ornaments travel from one room to the other. Warm light, and the smell of cooking fill your senses. "The kid's here!" Price announces to the house, closing the door.
"About fuckin' time!" Comes a voice deeper in and...is that lieutenant riley? Sure enough, you follow the voice to the kitchen, and see ghost.
He's standing over the stove, every burner being used as he seamlessly switches between pans. He's wearing a frilly 'kiss the cook' apron, and you realize this is the first time you've seen him without the mask. Ghost looks up, expression blank except for the squint of his eyes "glad you could make it."
...huh? Before you can really ponder why anyone would be glad you made it, a hand grabs you by the shoulders and gaz comes into view.
"C'mon, tables set, we were waitin' for you." He grins, leading you to a dinner table filled with various dishes. This room, like all of them, is decorated.
Kyle sits you down next to soap, and you watch dumbly as ghost brings out more dishes to the table. The others find their seats, and that's when it hits you "...you...you're celebrating with me? Like...intentionally?"
Soap smiles warmly at you, already filling up his plate and yours when you don't move "yeah, kid. Yer family, aye?"
"...oh." you reply quietly, tears welling slightly. Everyone pretends to be too focused on the food to see how you wipe your eyes.
heyy, i had couple of rough days when I couldn't even look at myself in mirror without crying or feeling disgusted, and I could use some comfort with either ln or poly op and lily, if it's not much to ask. i completely understand if you are not comfortable with it or something, but regardless thank you
little things — op81 & lily!
written blurbs
oscar piastri x reader x lily zneimer
oscar and lily love everything about you…even just little things you’d never think of. and they intend to let you know every single one of them.
(a/n) : hey angel, i’m really sorry you’ve been feeling that way. i started writing this as soon as i saw your message. i just want you to know you’re not alone, and there’s nothing wrong with having those moments. your feelings are valid, but they don’t define your worth. you are so loved, even when it’s hard to love yourself. please be gentle with you—you deserve kindness, especially from yourself. just know that you are oh so beautiful to me and i love you to the moon and back. i’m here if you ever need someone to talk to 🤍
―୨♡୧―
―୨♡୧―
You hear the door open before you feel anything at all.
You’ve been wrapped in the same blanket for most of the day—maybe longer, you’ve lost track. The room is still dark despite the afternoon sun pushing through the curtains. You didn’t bother opening them. Didn’t bother moving, really. Just you, this bed, and the weight sitting heavy on your chest like something that might never let up.
You hear footsteps. Two sets—one lighter, one careful. Oscar and Lily.
You didn’t go to the race this time. Told them it was just too much. Too loud, too far, too many eyes. They didn’t question it, didn’t guilt you. Just kissed your forehead and told you they’d miss you.
They’re back now.
You want to sit up, to meet them at the door with some version of a smile, to pretend you haven’t spent the last however many hours avoiding your reflection and staring at nothing—but you can’t. You stay where you are. Blanketed, buried, hollowed out.
The footsteps stop at the doorway. You don’t even look. You can’t.
You hear Lily’s voice first. Soft. “Hi, love.”
Oscar’s just behind her. “We’re home.”
Something cracks in you, but you still don’t move.
They don’t come in all at once. They give it a breath. Then another. Then you feel the bed dip slightly near your feet as Lily sits down. You still haven’t looked at her.
“Did you eat today?” she asks gently. No judgment, just concern.
You shake your head, barely.
Oscar doesn’t speak. He sits beside you slowly, his hand hovering just above your blanket-wrapped form, not touching—waiting. “Can I…?” he asks softly.
You nod. Barely again.
His hand rests gently on your arm through the blanket. Warm. Grounding.
No one says anything for a while. The silence stretches but it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels like safety.
“I missed you,” Lily says after a few moments. Her fingers find a loose strand of your hair and tuck it behind your ear. “We both did.”
You swallow hard, throat dry from crying earlier—or maybe from not speaking all day.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Oscar’s hand tightens just slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Lily murmurs. “You’re allowed to feel this way.”
“I just… I feel like I’m sinking. And I don’t even want to look at myself. Like I don’t recognize me anymore.”
The words fall out in a quiet tumble, and suddenly there are tears again. Hot. Exhausting. You curl tighter under the blanket, ashamed of the mess you feel like you’ve become.
Neither of them flinch.
Lily climbs fully onto the bed, settling behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you gently against her chest. She smells like travel and perfume and home.
Oscar shifts to face you, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You don’t have to recognize yourself right now,” he says, eyes warm and honest. “Let us recognize you for a while. Let us hold onto you until you can again.”
That’s what breaks you.
You sob, finally letting it out. And they don’t ask you to stop. Lily presses soft kisses to the back of your neck, whispering over and over, “We’ve got you, we’ve got you, we’ve got you.” Oscar stays in front of you, brushing the hair from your face, wiping your tears with the sleeve of his hoodie.
They don’t try to fix you. Don’t rush you out of the dark.
They just stay.
And for the first time in days, you feel the tiniest flicker of something like relief.
―୨♡୧―
Later that night, the air in your chest still feels heavy, but it no longer aches with loneliness. You’ve cried enough to feel hollow—but not in the same way as earlier. This emptiness feels like the clearing of a storm, like maybe there’s room for something better now. Or at least something softer.
Lily hasn’t left your side once.
She lies curled against your back, her breath warm and steady against your skin. She’s been whispering little nothings—some words of love, some words of presence. Just so you don’t feel like you’re fading again.
Then there’s movement. Oscar stands from the bed and presses a kiss to your forehead before quietly disappearing down the hall. You almost ask where he’s going, but Lily kisses the spot just behind your ear and says, “He’ll be right back. Just trust us.”
Time blurs again. You drift a little. And then you hear the soft running of water.
Lily sits up behind you, fingers trailing down your arm. “Come with me?”
You hesitate, unsure if you even have the energy to move. But then she’s helping you up so gently you barely have to do it yourself, her arms wrapping around your waist as she guides you toward the bathroom like you’re something precious. Like you’re breakable, but not broken.
The door is open, and the moment you cross the threshold, you stop.
Oscar is crouched beside the bathtub, now full with warm, gently steaming water. The surface is scattered with rose petals in soft pink and ivory, and candles flicker low on the counter. The room smells like lavender and honey and something safe.
He looks up and gives you the softest smile. “Just for you.”
You almost cry again, but Lily holds your hand tighter.
They help you undress slowly—not in a rushed or performative way, but with so much care you could shatter from it. Oscar brushes your hair back, undoing the tangles gently with his fingers, and Lily kisses your bare shoulder once you step out of your clothes.
Then you sink into the bath.
It feels like being held. The warmth, the scent, the way the petals move gently around your arms like you’re being cradled by the water itself. For the first time in days, you feel clean. Not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually. Like some part of the shame is washing away.
Oscar sits down on the floor beside the tub, arm propped on the rim, eyes on you with that same quiet admiration he’s always had when he looks at you like this—like you’re a masterpiece, not a mess.
Lily kneels behind you, her hands in your hair, slowly massaging shampoo into your scalp. She leans down, her cheek pressing against your temple, and whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”
You almost shake your head, but Oscar speaks before you can.
“I love how your nose scrunches when you try not to laugh,” he says softly, like he’s naming a secret. “Even when you’re sad. You still do it sometimes.”
“I love your voice in the morning,” Lily adds, “when it’s all sleepy and warm and you don’t even know you’re being sweet.”
Oscar takes your hand in his. “I love the way you organize your books by color but pretend it’s alphabetical. And how you get grumpy when we mess it up.”
You laugh—just a little. Barely there. But it’s real. It slips out like it forgot how to hide.
Lily kisses the crown of your head. “I love how you take care of us even when you don’t feel okay. I see it. We both do.”
“I love your laugh,” Oscar says quietly. “Even when it’s gone quiet like now, I remember it. And I miss it. But it’s still you. We still love you.”
Tears fall again, but not the same kind. These ones are warm, gentle. Soft like the petals brushing against your skin.
“I’m trying,” you whisper. “I’m sorry I haven’t been myself.”
Oscar squeezes your hand. “You don’t have to apologize for struggling.”
“You’re not a burden,” Lily says, with a certainty that anchors you.
And then the two of them just sit with you. Oscar’s hand in yours. Lily behind you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders from behind the tub. No one is rushing you to feel better. No one is asking for more than you can give.
They’re just there. Loving you as you are. Loving the you who can’t look in the mirror. Loving the you who cries for no reason. Loving the you who isn’t sure who she is right now.
And for the first time in a long time, you believe maybe you are still worth loving. Even like this.
Especially like this.
―୨♡୧―
The water has gone warm by the time Lily brushes a soft kiss to the side of your face and whispers, “Let’s get you cozy, love.”
You nod, barely, your body heavy with warmth and fatigue. Not just from the bath—but from everything. The crying. The effort it took to let them in. The sheer weight of being. But there’s something lighter in it now. Like maybe it’s okay to let yourself be carried for a little while.
Oscar’s already there with a fluffy towel, holding it open with both arms. He helps you stand, careful not to let the cool air bite at your skin too quickly. Lily stays behind you, steadying your back, whispering sweet nothings as Oscar wraps the towel around you and presses a kiss to your temple.
“There we go,” he murmurs. “Warm again.”
You barely speak, but your hand finds his, and he squeezes it, gently, like a promise.
They help you into one of Oscar’s soft shirts—the oversized one you always steal when you’re feeling low. It smells like him. Like home. Lily slips your arms through the sleeves while Oscar pulls the blankets back on the bed and smooths them out like he’s preparing a nest just for you.
When you’re tucked in between the sheets, the cool cotton brushing against your skin, you feel something like safety. Oscar climbs in on your left, Lily on your right. They sandwich you without overwhelming you, both of them molding their bodies around yours, fitting into the curves of your sadness like they were always meant to be there.
Lily rests her hand over your stomach, her thumb brushing small circles into the fabric of your shirt. “You don’t have to say anything,” she whispers. “You’ve done so much today just by letting us in.”
Oscar shifts closer, his chest pressed to your back, one arm draped over your waist beneath the covers. “We’re proud of you,” he murmurs, the words barely a breath against your ear. “You’re still here. You let yourself be loved today. That’s everything.”
You feel Lily’s lips on your forehead.
Then Oscar’s hand, gently brushing your hair from your face.
“I love you like this,” Lily says quietly. “Not just when you’re bright and smiling and full of light. But like this. Soft. Sad. Honest.”
Oscar’s voice joins hers, low and sure. “We love every version of you. Even the one who doesn’t believe that right now.”
You turn your face into Lily’s shoulder, unable to stop the tears that come—not painful ones this time. Just release. Just the ache of being seen and not having to perform.
Oscar kisses the back of your neck.
Lily rubs her nose against your temple.
And in the dark, wrapped in their warmth, their words, their quiet, unwavering love—you begin to fall asleep.
Not with dread in your chest. Not with shame clawing at your ribs.
But with the soft, slow realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re not broken.
You’re just human.
And they’re still here. Loving you through it.
―୨♡୧―
You wake up slowly.
The light is gentle, filtering through the curtains in quiet golden streaks that warm your face and chest. For a moment, you think you’re still dreaming—there’s a kind of stillness in your body you haven’t felt in days. No dread, no tightness in your lungs. Just… quiet.
You blink your eyes open. You’re alone in the bed, but the blankets are still warm beside you, and the soft hum of a song playing from the kitchen lets you know you’re not really alone.
You stretch. The air doesn’t feel so heavy now.
And then the door creaks open.
Oscar appears first, carrying a tray like it’s some sacred offering—your favorite breakfast, arranged neatly with a folded napkin and a glass of fresh juice. Toast, fruit, eggs, something sweet on the side. You blink again, overwhelmed by the simple act of being taken care of.
“Good morning,” he says, smiling. That slow, quiet smile that’s only ever meant for you. “Still okay?”
You nod. It’s not a loud yes, but it’s honest. “Yeah. I think so.”
Oscar sets the tray on your lap and sits at the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers gently down your arm. “No pressure to finish it,” he says. “Just… wanted you to know we’re still here.”
As if on cue, Lily enters behind him.
She’s holding flowers.
A little wild-looking bouquet—nothing store-bought or too polished. It looks like she picked them herself. Soft pinks and purples, tangled with green. It’s imperfect and beautiful, just like this morning.
And in her other hand is a small, folded piece of paper.
“I wrote you something,” she says shyly, crawling into the bed beside you. She kisses your cheek before slipping the paper into your hand. “Don’t laugh. I haven’t written poetry since I was, like, fourteen.”
You unfold it. The writing is a little messy, but familiar. Each word soft and certain, like she meant every syllable.
you don’t need to glow to be golden,
don’t need to bloom to be loved.
i see you in your quiet,
and still, you are enough.
not just the sunlit version—
i love the storm in you too.
every silence, every shadow,
every ache still belongs to you.
Your vision blurs before you even finish.
Oscar wraps an arm around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. Lily leans into your side and wipes the tear slipping down your cheek with the sleeve of her hoodie.
“You don’t have to be okay today,” she whispers. “But you’re allowed to feel a little lighter.”
“And we’ll be here for all of it,” Oscar adds. “Every morning after. Every version of you.”
You nod again, because you can’t speak just yet. You press the paper to your chest and look down at the tray in your lap. The toast is warm. The fruit is fresh. You take a small bite and feel a quiet comfort settle into your bones.
―୨♡୧―
It’s been a few days.
Things aren’t perfect—you’re not magically healed or whole again. Some mornings you still wake up with that heaviness pressed behind your ribs. But other mornings, like today, the air feels a little easier to breathe. Your limbs don’t feel quite as weighed down. You even manage to brush your hair, wash your face, and pull on a hoodie that actually smells clean.
You’re getting there. Slowly. Quietly.
And they see it.
This morning, Oscar and Lily have to leave early—just a day trip, a handful of meetings and commitments they couldn’t move. You offered to go with them, said you felt well enough, but they only smiled and said, “We’ll be back before dinner. You deserve a gentle day.”
So they leave you at home. But not really alone.
It starts in the kitchen.
You stumble out in your socks, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and find a plate of fresh croissants on the table. Next to it is a little yellow sticky note in Lily’s familiar cursive—
eat at least one or we’re fighting.
-lilz
You laugh softly—really laugh—and sit down to eat one, warmed just slightly in the oven.
Then the bathroom.
You go to wash your hands and find another note stuck to the mirror, written in Oscar’s handwriting this time—blocky, careful letters—
look at yourself today. even for a second.
you should see someone worth loving.
we definitely do
— osc
You hesitate, but you do it. Just for a second.
Your eyes are tired. Your cheeks are a little puffy. But you’re still here. Still trying.
On the counter is a tiny bottle of Lily’s favorite perfume with a tag tied around the neck that simply reads—“borrow this today. feel soft.”
Your heart aches—in the good way.
You head out to run a quick errand, tugging on a hoodie and sliding into the driver’s seat of your car. When you pull down the sun visor, a small folded note flutters into your lap. It’s written on the back of an old receipt. You recognize the handwriting immediately.
you don’t have to be okay to be loved.
but we’re so proud of the way you’re trying.
you’re our favorite person.
come home soon.
we miss you already.
— O & L
You press the note to your chest and rest your forehead against the steering wheel for a moment.
They didn’t leave you alone today.
They never really do.
You take a deep breath. The kind that fills your chest a little more than yesterday.
And you drive off into your slow, quiet day with love tucked into every corner of your world—written in ink, baked into breakfast, lingering in the scent of your skin.
―୨♡୧―
You’re curled up on the couch in Oscar’s hoodie, a book open but unread in your lap when you hear the front door open. Their voices filter in softly—low, laughing about something you can’t quite catch.
You smile before you even realize it.
It’s become easier, now. The smile. The warmth. It still comes in waves, but the sharp edges have softened, and you don’t flinch as much when you catch your own reflection in the window. You’re still on the mend, still unsure of your footing, but you’re not lost anymore.
You hear Lily call your name.
“Baby? Come here for a second?”
You set the book down and pad barefoot down the hall toward the back room—the one they’ve kept closed for weeks, casually brushing off your curiosity with vague excuses like “Oscar’s mess” or “Lily’s chaotic nonsense.”
Now, the door is slightly ajar. There’s a trail of soft yellow post-its on the floor leading you toward it, each one with a little heart or an inside joke scribbled across it.
You push the door open and immediately freeze.
The room has been transformed.
The overhead lights are dimmed, replaced by the soft flicker of candles on windowsills and side tables. And on the walls—dozens of paintings and sketches and delicate portraits—of you.
Of your laugh. Your side profile. The curve of your neck while you sleep. Your eyes when you’re caught off guard. Your hand wrapped in Oscar’s. Your face buried in Lily’s shoulder. Your silhouette against a kitchen window. You in motion. You in stillness.
Every one of them crafted with intention, with awe. With love.
Some are realistic, down to the tiniest freckle. Some are more abstract—just swirls of color that somehow still feel like you. Like your warmth. Like the way you move through the world when you’re being gentle with yourself.
You step in slowly, mouth parted slightly in shock, your chest tight with a different kind of ache—one that says I didn’t know I was this seen. I didn’t know I was this loved.
Oscar’s beside you first, his hand brushing against yours before he laces your fingers together.
“We’ve been working on these for months,” he says quietly. “Long before you started feeling low.”
“We didn’t know when or how we’d show you,” Lily adds, coming to your other side. “But when things got hard… we realized maybe this was exactly when you needed it most.”
Your throat tightens. “These are all… me?”
Lily nods. “They’re you. The way we see you. The way we love you.”
Oscar squeezes your hand. “Not the polished versions. Not just the happy ones. All of you. The real you.”
You step closer to one of the paintings—an oil piece that catches the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, your head thrown back in a moment of joy you barely remember. It makes your chest ache in the best way.
There’s a sticky note at the base of it.
you lit up the room that day and didn’t even notice. — L
You move to the next one—a pencil sketch of you curled up on the couch in a hoodie, messy hair and tired eyes, a mug clutched in both hands.
Another note.
still the most beautiful person in the world. — O
You go silent. Overwhelmed. Stunned. And then, slowly, the tears come.
But not the same kind as before.
Not the kind that say I’m broken. The kind that say I am held. I am known. I am loved.
Lily wraps her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. Oscar pulls you gently into his chest. The three of you stand there, breathing together.
You wipe your cheek with the back of your hand and turn to them, your voice quiet and thick with emotion.
“Thank you. For not giving up on me. For seeing me even when I couldn’t.”
Oscar leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll always see you.”
“Especially when you don’t,” Lily whispers, brushing a tear from your cheek.
And in that quiet, candlelit room filled with pieces of you—painted, drawn, and remembered—you finally feel it.
Interviewer, to Charles: How is it dating someone wayyy out of your league?
Charles:
Max, pushing Charles out of the way: Amazing. I never thought I would be this happy!
Max: Good night, I love you.
Charles: I love you too.
Max:
Charles:
Max: We love you too, Lewis.
Lewis, who was supposed to be sharing the Hotel room with just Charles: Thanks, I was honestly feeling a little left out.
blocking tip: you don't have to wait to have a negative interaction with someone to block them. you can block them without ever interacting with them. I can't tell you how many times I've seen someone being rude to someone else and preemptively blocked them
Gecko shifter!reader who came from a pretty hot place, never really experienced snow or weather that warranted more than a thick jacket.
So when your first winter on base rolls around, you are fucking miserable. Lethargic, irritable, and overall miserable enough to do anything for warmth. Heating pads are nice, so are blankets and warm clothes. But more than anything, you love body heat.
Thus, your teammates come in.
Ghost is actually the first to do it, after watching you hiss and lie on the mess table like a corpse. He just...picked you up and put you in his hoodie pocket. Price was mortified, but then you sunk your claws in and refused to leave the warm little den.
From there, kyle and soap picked it up. Gaz likes keeping you in the little inside pockets of his coat, so you can fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body. He's always extra careful with you there, and tries to avoid loud places so you can rest.
Soap prefers the hood of his jacket, where you can cling comfortably. If he chooses to lift it, you just shift to wrap around his shoulder. He always has snacks on hand for you, and keeps those hand warming packets on him just in case you get really cold.
Price, too, takes care of you. Not that anyone realized for the longest time. He doesn't keep you in any pockets, or in his hands, or his plate carrier. No, he keeps you...under his hat. Yes, seriously. Usually you come and find him on particularly bad days, and he just lets you sleep there and avoid everything, because no ones gonna start shit with him around.
You manage to survive winter, and if you still snuggle up with them sometimes...no one comments on it.
Not a heavy rain, but that constant drizzle, almost annoying, that makes the air heavy and humid, as if the sky itself was caught in a silence filled with unshed tears. Yeon Si-eun was waiting, his back against the worn wall of the school's annex. He wasn't supposed to be there, but he had volunteered for the tutoring program. Not out of altruism. He had simply thought it would fill the void in a useful way.
Then she entered the room. Y/n. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves covering her hands, and her bag seemed to almost slide off her shoulder. She didn't say anything, just nodded, her eyes avoiding his. But Si-eun had already noticed the slight tension in her fingers, the careful handling of her notebook, the way she stood between presence and erasure.
That was his way of observing.
The first sessions were silent, almost cold. He explained, she nodded. Sometimes she asked a question, her voice soft but firm, never looking at him for too long. He pretended it didn't bother him, but his mind, usually as orderly as a strategy game, began to fall apart.
He didn't understand. Why, when his eyes met y/n's, did he feel as if he was truly seen for the first time? Not as a smart or distant boy, nor as a tool for knowledge or controlled violence, but simply as a boy. Just a boy.
And that was the beginning of the obsession.
He began to look forward to these sessions like a starving animal. He noted everything: the way y/n paused to think, the way she switched pens while nibbling on the old one, the little smile she allowed herself when she understood something. He even started to hang around the community center where she sometimes came with her younger siblings.
He watched her take care of them with a tenderness almost fierce. They pulled at her arms, climbed on her back, knocked over her bag. And she, instead of getting annoyed, laughed softly. A laugh so discreet, yet so alive, that it took his breath away.
Si-eun, on the other hand, had never been held in loving arms.
Not even by his mother. Especially not by her.
The rare times she was around, she would stand in the kitchen, looking at her phone. She would nod when he spoke, but her eyes were always elsewhere. He remembered, as a child, tugging at his mother's sleeve to get a glance, a word, a gesture. But she was always too busy. Too absent. And eventually, he had stopped asking. What was the point?
So, when y/n occasionally brushed against him without thinking – a light touch of an arm, a hand brushing – it felt like a soft burn, an unbearable warmth he longed to replicate.
And he did.
One day, he pretended to have a headache. He staggered as he sat down. Y/n, concerned, placed her hand on his arm, then gently on his forehead.
He closed his eyes.
He wanted time to stop.
When he opened them, she was looking at him. And there was no fear. No pity. Just sincere concern.
Then, little by little, he allowed himself. One day, he leaned in, testing the waters. Another, he asked if she liked kids, feigning indifference. Then he dared more: he stayed after class longer. He walked her to the bus stop. He got into the habit of waiting for her.
Then, one night, he cracked.
It was raining again. Still that fine rain.
She had offered him an umbrella, and without really knowing why, he stepped closer. Too close. She smelled like soap and wind. And he held her. Against him. Against his chest. Barely, just enough.
He didn't say anything. He couldn't.
But his hands were shaking. He buried his face against her, like a lost child. And she didn't push him away. She even held him tighter.
That night, he cried.
Not loudly. Not sobbing. But those silent tears, almost shameful, that come from too far. From too deep. The ones that never find their way except in a moment when everything breaks just a little.
Y/n didn't say anything. She just kept her arms around him. Like a port. Like a refuge. And Yeon Si-eun thought: is this love?
Or was it simply the desperate need to finally feel loved?
Sometimes, when she laughed, he felt a hole in his chest. As if something wanted to get out, but he didn't know how. He wanted to tell her everything: the loneliness, the silences at home, the lack of attention. But he couldn't. So he just looked at her. With his sad eyes, those that silently said: love me. See me. Welcome me.
And she did.
He became dependent. On her arms. On her presence. He loved lying against her when he could. Once, she had run her fingers through his hair, thinking he was asleep. He wasn't asleep. He carved that moment into him like a promise.
But a persistent fear remained.
What if she left? What if she looked at him one day the way his mother looked at him? Without really seeing him?
So he became a little colder, a little more distant. To protect himself. But she, she didn't give up. She held on. She came back. Again and again. Each time.
And little by little, he thawed. Not like in the movies. Not all at once. But over time. With her.
He loved her. No, he was crazy about her.
It wasn't a loud love. It was a feline, gnawing, vital love. She was everything he had never received. Everything he had never dared ask for.
And every day, he silently prayed: let her stay.
Let her keep looking at him.
Let her keep loving him.
Because in her arms, for the first time, Yeon Si-eun was a loved son, a protected boy, a young man in love.
Finally alive.
---
Si-eun found himself in a place that, once upon a time, would have seemed nonsensical to him. A place that had no place in his cold, controlled world. At y/n's house. He never thought this could happen. Not him, the forgotten child of a constantly absent father, the cold silhouette of a rejected son. But reality was there. In her arms. In her breath against his. In the familiar sounds of the evening, the soft light of the entrance to her home.
He had never wanted to go, but she had invited him, insisting with a tone that allowed no objection. "You deserve to relax. You don’t come enough." And so, he had come, the first time. He stayed. He left. But his mind never left that place.
y/n lived in a house full of children's laughter, hurried footsteps, and voices that never stopped. She had two younger brothers and a sister. Every time he came, they greeted him with raw enthusiasm. He remembered their first glance. They had studied him, this strange boy who seemed so different from their older sister. But they had become attached to him, like children do with a protective figure. He, who had never had that.
y/n’s parents were rarely around. Often gone for work or other obligations, like invisible shadows in y/n's life. This left a void that she filled with her kindness, her patience. Si-eun had once seen her take care of her siblings after a long school day, her hands constantly moving, her gaze always gentle and reassuring. But when she saw him, she became something else, calmer. She didn't need words to express how she felt about him. And him... he no longer needed to pretend.
The first time he had nestled against her, he hadn’t thought. He had simply given into the warmth, this warmth he had never known. She was lying on the couch, her legs curled up, and he had sat next to her, then slowly, like a child seeking protection, he had leaned in until their bodies were almost touching. y/n hadn’t said anything, but her arms had surrounded him. And, suddenly, the world stopped spinning for him. All that mattered was the beat of her heart against his own. This connection, silent but meaningful.
It became a silent ritual. After school, he spent more and more time at her place. Sometimes, he just came to be in the same room as her. Sometimes, he lay beside her, closing his eyes. Their conversations were simple, but so full of unspoken words. Talks about trivial things that, somehow, seemed to resonate with a depth he had never known.
One evening, after playing a game with her siblings, he sat next to y/n on the couch. She was reading a book, but her fingers barely touched the pages. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face. A slight smile played on her lips. "You have tired eyes." She looked at him, a little surprised, but didn’t say anything. Then she turned toward him. "It's because I worry about you."
Her words struck his mind like a cold wind, piercing the barrier he had built. Why would she worry about him? Her, the light in his life? Her, who knew how to give without asking? Why would she have empathy for him, a boy no one wanted to see?
She felt his silence. "You know, Si-eun, I’m not that naive. I see what you’re hiding. I see that you’re tired, that you carry all of this alone." She placed a light hand on his thigh. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."
It was strange. Her words, simple, hit him with such force that it hurt. She wasn’t rejecting him. She wasn’t fleeing from that dark side of him. She accepted him. She accepted him as he was. For him, it was nothing short of a revolution. No one had ever accepted him. Not even his mother. He looked up at her, his lips trembling slightly. "I... I don’t know how to be... the person you want."
She shook her head gently, her hair swaying slightly. "I don’t want anything from you, Si-eun. I just want you. All of you."
He swallowed. She didn’t understand. Or maybe she understood more than he thought. He pulled back slightly, embarrassed. But she didn’t let him go. She gently pulled him back toward her. And, without a word, she held him in her arms. This time, he didn’t pull away. He nestled against her, tighter, longer. He let her hold him. Her arms around him were a silent promise of protection. He allowed it. He had never had this feeling of being at home, of being truly at home, in someone else’s arms.
She rocked him gently, almost as if she had known him forever. She blew softly in his hair, her hands sliding slowly over his back, soothing. "I’m not going anywhere, Si-eun. You are my home. I’ll always be here."
He felt the warmth of her breath. His heart raced in his chest. He closed his eyes, a weight on his shoulders slowly dissipating. He didn’t need words. This contact, this simple embrace, was more than anything he could have asked for. The fear of abandonment, of rejection, melted into the air. He was no longer afraid. Because y/n was there.
A kiss. Soft, light. But everything changed. Her lips met his, at first timidly, like a question with no immediate answer. Then the kiss became more urgent, more essential, as if they had both been waiting for this moment without ever daring to say it. He gave himself to her, to this warmth that had always been missing in his life.
They stayed there, in that gentle silence, in that refuge. Si-eun had never wanted to be loved. But he had needed it so much. And there, in y/n's arms, he was no longer that cold and distant boy. He was just a man, a man in love, who had found his home.
She stroked the back of his neck, slowly, without haste. He didn’t move, enjoying every second. No need for more. Just to be here, with her. She kissed him again, her lips brushing his. A kiss to tell him he wasn’t alone. A kiss to tell him he was loved.
That night, he slept in her arms. Not out of desire, but to hear her breath, to feel her warmth. He had never wanted to sleep anywhere but here, in this place where he was welcomed, loved. He didn’t have to be anyone else. He could just be himself. And he knew, deep down, that he would always be with her.
