#They honestly just make my day feel better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scarletwinterxx · 2 days ago

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maybe maybe - jeon wonwoo imagine

hellooooo ~ i need to give myself a pat in the back for this bcs OH MY GOSH EVEN I WAS GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET WHILE WRITING THIS. the slooooow burn on this🫠 we love a nonchalant and oa combo (if u know u know)

also i was listening to maybe maybe by lola amour while writing this. give it a listen to get the maximum feels😅

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve liked Jeon Wonwoo for as long as you can remember. It’s not a fleeting crush or some shallow infatuation—it’s the kind of feeling that lingers, like a persistent shadow. He knows it; everyone does. But as much as your friends tease you about your obvious affection for him, Wonwoo has never acknowledged it.

Not once.

Wonwoo is the epitome of calm indifference. He’s polite, sure, but he never goes out of his way to engage with anyone outside of his tight-knit circle of friends, Vernon and Minghao. They’re always together, laughing at inside jokes and radiating an air of effortless cool that only makes him seem more unreachable.

And yet, you can’t help yourself. You’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame, even though he treats you no differently than anyone else.

Sometimes you wonder if he even notices the little things you do for him—the way you save him a seat in class when he’s running late, or how you always bring an extra drink to study group just in case he wants one. You tell yourself you’re just being nice, but Mimi, your best friend, sees right through you.

“This is ridiculous,” she tells you one afternoon, leaning back in her chair with an exasperated sigh.

The two of you are sitting outside on the campus lawn, the warm sunlight doing little to ease the frustration in her voice. “You’re bending over backward for a guy who can’t even spare you a second glance.”

“He’s not that bad,” you argue weakly, though even you know it’s a poor defense. Mimi raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Not that bad? Y/N, he’s like a brick wall with glasses. Sure, he’s good-looking, but you can’t build a relationship on eye contact alone.”

“I’m not trying to build a relationship!” you protest, though your cheeks heat at the lie. “I just… I like being around him, that’s all.”

Mimi rolls her eyes. “You like torturing yourself, is what you mean. Honestly, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you enjoy the challenge.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe there’s a part of you that holds onto this unrequited crush because it’s safer than the alternative. If you never confess, you can never be rejected. And as much as Wonwoo’s aloofness stings, it’s still better than the thought of him outright telling you he doesn’t feel the same.

But then there are moments—rare, fleeting moments—when you catch a glimpse of something softer beneath his exterior. Like the time you lent him your notes for a class he missed, and he returned them with a quiet “Thanks” and a small, almost imperceptible smile. Or the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer than usual when you bumped into him at the library last week.

It’s those moments that keep you hanging on, no matter how much Mimi scolds you for it.

“You’re hopeless,” she says with a shake of her head. But there’s no real malice in her words, just the weary affection of someone who’s watched you pine for too long. “I swear, one day you’re going to look back on this and laugh.”

You doubt it, but you don’t say that out loud. Instead, you change the subject, steering the conversation toward something less painful.

Later that day, you find yourself crossing paths with Wonwoo outside the campus café. He’s with Vernon and Minghao, as usual, but when he sees you, he slows his pace, letting his friends walk ahead without him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice as steady and unreadable as ever.

“Hi,” you manage, your heart doing its usual somersault at the sight of him.

For a moment, you stand there, unsure of what to say. But before the silence can stretch too long, Wonwoo speaks again.

“Thanks for the notes,” he says simply.

It’s not much, just two words, but the sincerity in his tone catches you off guard. For once, it feels like he’s really looking at you, not just through you. And in that moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, there’s hope after all.

It’s a small step, but it’s enough to keep you going.

Mimi is relentless, as she always is when it comes to your love life—or lack thereof. She’s leaning against your desk chair in your dorm room, scrolling through her phone with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m telling you, Y/N, this guy is perfect for you. He’s into photography, loves indie films, and he’s even in your lit class. Plus, he doesn’t act like he’s living in a perpetual state of indifference.” She shoves her phone in your face, showing you a photo of a guy you vaguely recognize from class. He’s cute, objectively speaking, with a kind smile and a soft, approachable vibe.

But you shake your head before Mimi can even finish her pitch. “I’m not interested.”

Mimi groans, tossing her phone onto your bed. “Why do you do this to yourself? It’s not like you’re dating Wonwoo, or that he’s even trying to date you. You’re wasting your time on a guy who can’t even bother to hold a real conversation with you.”

Her words hit harder than she probably intended, and for a moment, you feel the weight of the truth behind them. She’s right—nothing about your feelings for Wonwoo makes sense. You know it’s a losing game, but every time you even consider the idea of moving on, it feels wrong. Like you’d be betraying something you’ve held onto for so long.

“It’s not that simple,” you say finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Mimi softens at your tone, sinking onto the edge of your bed. “Then make it simple, Y/N. I get it—you like him. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You deserve someone who actually sees you.”

“I don’t know if I want someone else to see me,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

It’s frustrating—you’re frustrated with yourself.

Every time you see Wonwoo, it’s like all the logic and advice you’ve been given evaporates into thin air. All you see is him: the way his glasses slide down his nose when he’s reading, or the rare laugh that lights up his face when Vernon says something ridiculous. It’s like he’s carved a permanent space in your mind, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t make him leave.

Mimi looks at you like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re not even ready to like someone else, are you?”

You shake your head, a small, self-deprecating smile playing on your lips. “I don’t think so. It’s stupid, right? Holding onto feelings for someone who probably doesn’t even think about me.”

“It’s not stupid,” she says, surprising you. “It’s just… hard to watch. You’re one of the best people I know, Y/N, and it sucks to see you stuck on someone who doesn’t appreciate that.”

You’re about to respond when your phone buzzes on the desk. It’s a notification from the group chat for your literature project, and your heart skips a beat when you see Wonwoo’s name among the participants.

“Speak of the devil,” Mimi mutters when she notices your expression. She doesn’t need to ask who the message is from.

You open the chat to find a simple message from Wonwoo: I have some extra notes from class if anyone needs them. Just let me know.

It’s not directed at you specifically, but your heart still flutters at the thought of him offering to help. Mimi catches the way your lips twitch into a faint smile and groans dramatically, flopping back onto your bed.

“You’re hopeless,” she declares, though her tone is more resigned than annoyed.

You don’t argue with her this time. Maybe you are hopeless, but you’re not ready to give up just yet. Because even though it doesn’t make sense, even though it’s frustrating and irrational and probably a little pathetic, a part of you still believes there’s something worth holding onto.

The next day, you’re determined to take a small step forward.

Wonwoo’s message about the notes keeps replaying in your mind, like a sign you can’t ignore. It’s a flimsy excuse to talk to him, sure, but it’s enough to make you gather your courage and head toward the study hall where you know he likes to hang out.

You spot him right away, sitting at his usual corner table. His laptop is open, and a notebook lies beside it, his familiar neat handwriting filling the pages. But before you can take another step, you see her.

She’s sitting across from him, her dark hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. She’s gorgeous in a natural, effortless way that makes you want to disappear on the spot. And the way Wonwoo looks at her—it’s like someone punched you in the stomach. His smile is soft, easy, like he’s known her forever. He’s speaking to her with a comfort and warmth that he’s never shown you.

You freeze in place, your confidence evaporating in an instant. All the what-ifs and maybes that have kept you going suddenly feel childish and naive. You turn on your heel and leave before either of them can notice you.

The rest of the week feels like a blur. You don’t have the energy to pretend everything is fine, and Mimi is quick to notice.

“What’s wrong with you lately?” she asks on Thursday, her eyes narrowing in concern as she sits across from you in the campus café. “You’ve been moping around like someone stole your dog.”

You shrug, poking at your untouched sandwich. “It’s nothing.”

“Liar,” she says immediately. “Come on, spill.”

When you hesitate, she leans in closer, her voice softening. “Is it Wonwoo?”

The look on your face is answer enough.

Mimi lets out a groan, rubbing her temples. “Y/N, you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. If he’s making you feel like this—”

“It’s not his fault,” you cut in quickly. “He doesn’t even know how I feel.”

“Exactly,” she says, exasperated. “You’re tearing yourself apart over a guy who doesn’t even know what he’s doing to you.”

You don’t respond, and Mimi sighs. After a moment of silence, she leans forward with a determined look in her eyes.

“Alright, that’s it. I’m not letting you mope around all weekend. There’s a party on Saturday, and you’re coming with me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand to stop you.

“No excuses. You need a distraction, and I’m going to make sure you have fun whether you like it or not.”

True to her word, Saturday evening finds you standing in front of the mirror, dressed in an outfit Mimi picked out for you. It’s a little more daring than your usual style—an off-the-shoulder black dress that hugs your figure in all the right places—but Mimi insists it’s perfect.

“You look hot,” she declares, grinning as she adjusts the necklace around your neck. “Wonwoo who?”

You laugh despite yourself, though the sound feels hollow. Mimi doesn’t miss the way your smile falters, and she grabs your hands, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“Listen, Y/N. Tonight is about you. Forget about Wonwoo, forget about everything else, and just have fun. You deserve to feel good about yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmur, even though you’re not sure you believe it.

But as Mimi drags you out the door and toward the party, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’s right. Maybe it’s time to let go, even if just for one night.

The bass from the speakers reverberates through your chest the moment you step inside the party venue. It’s dimly lit, with neon lights flashing and a sea of people crowded around the dance floor and bar.

You feel out of place immediately, but Mimi, ever the extrovert, is in her element. She practically radiates confidence as she scans the room, her hand firmly gripping your wrist.

“This is going to be fun,” she says with a grin, already pulling you toward the bar.

“Mimi, wait—” you start to protest, but she’s not listening. Within moments, she’s ordering shots, her energy infectiously bold.

“Two tequila shots, please!” she calls out over the noise, turning to you with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Come on, Y/N. You said you’d let loose tonight!”

“I didn’t say I’d drink,” you mumble, eyeing the small glasses as they’re placed in front of you.

Mimi rolls her eyes. “One shot won’t kill you. It’s called liquid courage. You’ll thank me later.”

Before you can object again, she’s shoving one of the glasses into your hand. Everything feels like it’s happening too fast—the music, the lights, the crowd, and now this. You glance down at the clear liquid and then at Mimi, who’s already downed hers like a pro.

“Cheers to forgetting about all your worries!” she declares, clinking her empty glass against yours.

You sigh, realizing you have no way out, and tip the shot back. The alcohol burns as it goes down, and you cough slightly, grimacing at the taste. Mimi laughs and pats your back.

“There you go! See? That wasn’t so bad,” she says, already signaling for another round.

As Mimi orders more drinks, you glance around the room, trying to get your bearings.

You don’t notice the way heads turn in your direction, but Wonwoo does.

From his spot in the corner of the room, he’s watching you.

He’d seen you the moment you walked in, though he wasn’t the only one. It’s hard not to notice you tonight. You look stunning, completely different from your usual casual, understated style. The black dress you’re wearing accentuates your figure, and there’s a confidence in the way you carry yourself—even if you don’t feel it.

Vernon nudges him lightly, leaning in to murmur, “Isn’t that Y/N?”

Wonwoo doesn’t reply, his gaze fixed on you as you stand at the bar with Mimi. He’s used to seeing you in hoodies and jeans, always looking comfortable and approachable. But tonight, you’re turning heads left and right, and it’s clear you’re out of your element.

“She cleans up well,” Minghao comments casually, sipping his drink.

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, but his jaw tightens ever so slightly. He watches as Mimi drags you further into the chaos of the party, her energy pulling you along like a whirlwind. You seem hesitant, your eyes wide as you take in the unfamiliar environment, but there’s something endearing about it.

For a moment, Wonwoo feels a strange pang in his chest, though he can’t quite place it. Maybe it’s because he’s not used to seeing you like this, so far removed from the quiet kindness you usually exude. Or maybe it’s the way other people are looking at you—the guys whose eyes linger a little too long, the girls whispering behind their hands.

“Dude,” Vernon says, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You good?”

Wonwoo blinks, finally tearing his gaze away. “Yeah,” he mutters, though his voice lacks conviction.

But even as his friends return to their conversation, Wonwoo can’t help but glance back at you. There’s something about tonight that feels different, and for the first time in a long time, he wonders if he’s the one being left behind.

The alcohol was starting to buzz in your veins, making the room feel warmer and the noise more distant. Mimi was in her element, laughing and chatting with a group of students you vaguely recognized from campus. Somehow, you’d gotten swept up in their drinking games, and before you knew it, one shot had turned into two, then three.

Now, you were standing in a loose circle, your nerves on edge as you watched the current game unfold. Someone had explained it a moment ago: take the shot, then grab the lemon wedge held between another person’s lips. It was bold, far outside your comfort zone, but you didn’t want to be the odd one out.

“Your turn, Y/N!” someone called, handing you a small shot glass filled with tequila.

Your hands felt clammy as you accepted it, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t even look at the person who was supposed to hold the lemon for you—your nerves wouldn’t let you. All you could think about was how awkward this was going to be, and how much you wished you could disappear into the floor.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes briefly as you downed the shot in one go.

The burn of the alcohol hit first, followed by a rush of heat in your chest. When you opened your eyes and turned your head to face whoever had volunteered to hold the lemon, you froze.

Wonwoo didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but there you were, standing at the bar with a shot in hand, the challenge in your eyes as you glanced at the person next to you holding a lemon.

And then—before he even realized what he was doing—he found himself walking over.

You blinked, wondering if the tequila was playing tricks on you. But no—he was standing right in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face as if this was the most natural thing in the world. The room seemed to fall away, the noise and chaos fading into the background.

The lemon wedge was between his lips, his sharp gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Your heart felt like it might burst out of your chest as he leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. His touch was warm, steady, grounding you even as your mind spiraled.

Every nerve in your body was on high alert, the proximity making your head spin even more than the alcohol.

The way you looked at him when you saw him standing there, so close, made something stir in his chest. He was used to seeing you in passing, in casual greetings, but never like this.

Never with this... spark in your eyes, the nervous energy swirling between you two as if the whole room had faded into the background.

His hand found its way to your face without him thinking about it. It was like instinct, like he was meant to touch you, to make the moment real, to ground you in the present. He could feel your breath against his lips as he held the lemon between his teeth, his own heartbeat quickening as he leaned in. The closeness was intoxicating, and even though everything around you was chaotic, there was a stillness between you two—something unspoken that hummed in the air.

His lips brushed against yours, and for a split second, the world stopped moving. The taste of tequila, the sharpness of the lemon, it all blurred together, leaving just the feeling of your presence, warm and electric. It was over in an instant, but the memory lingered like an echo in his mind.

When he pulled away, he noticed the slight tremble in your breath, the flush creeping up your cheeks. His fingers lingered on your skin, just for a moment, before he let go and took a step back. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else that made him act on impulse, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

“Careful with those shots,” he said, his voice steady as he turned to leave, wanting to disappear into the crowd before he did something even more foolish.

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd.

You stood there, your heart racing and your mind spinning, wondering if what had just happened was real—or if it was just another tequila-induced dream.

The morning light is harsh, seeping through the blinds and hitting you like a freight train.

Your head pounds, your mouth is dry, and you feel like your body is made of lead. Every movement feels like a chore, and the only thing you want is to pull the covers over your head and pretend like the world doesn't exist.

But then you remember last night. Bits and pieces of the party flash through your foggy mind—Mimi dragging you into the chaos, the shots, the people... and then, the moment with Wonwoo.

You sit up, your stomach flipping at the thought of it.

What had happened? Was it real? Or just a tequila-fueled dream? Your heart sinks into your stomach as the hangover makes itself known in full force. You groan, leaning back against your pillow.

Mimi, ever the morning person, bursts into your room without knocking, as if she doesn’t notice the state you’re in.

“Morning!” she says brightly, a little too brightly, given your current condition. She’s holding a water bottle and some aspirin in her hand. “Here, drink this. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, taking the bottle gratefully, but your eyes are still squinting against the harsh light. “Mimi... what happened last night? What... what did I do?”

Mimi plops down on the edge of your bed, clearly already recovered from whatever wildness the night had thrown her way. She grins, almost too smugly for your current state.

“Let me think,” she says, tapping her chin like she’s in deep contemplation. “Well, first you got a little tipsy, then you got a lot tipsy... You were a little shy at first, but after a few shots, you really started to loosen up!”

You wince, already imagining how embarrassing you must have been. “And…?”

“Then,” she continues, barely able to contain her laughter, “you and Wonwoo had a moment.”

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. “Wait, what?”

“Oh yeah,” Mimi says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You two were definitely the talk of the night. You guys played that game, and then...” She pauses for dramatic effect, clearly enjoying every second of your discomfort. “...Well, let’s just say the lemon wedge wasn’t the only thing shared.”

Your brain stumbles over the words as the memory floods back. You and Wonwoo, so close, his hands on your face, the taste of tequila and lemon... And then the kiss, the soft brush of his lips against yours, lingering for just a heartbeat.

You feel your cheeks heat up, even as you cringe internally. “That wasn’t a kiss, was it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, it definitely was,” Mimi says with a teasing grin, clearly delighted by the reaction she’s getting from you. “A very brief one, but yeah. It happened.”

You bury your face in your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “Oh my god, I’m going to die.”

“No, no, no.” Mimi leans in, trying to comfort you—though her laughter is a little too apparent. “It wasn’t a big deal! You didn’t embarrass yourself too badly. Besides, from what I saw, he didn’t look like he minded.”

You look up at her, eyes wide. “What do you mean? Did he say anything?”

Mimi shrugs, her grin turning a little more thoughtful. “He didn’t say much”

Your heart skips a beat. You hadn’t even considered that. Did he... stay because he was just being polite? Or was there something else there?

"Did anything else happen after that?" you ask cautiously.

Mimi shakes her head. "No, you two went your separate ways pretty quickly after that. I mean, you were a little tipsy, so I didn't want to push you too much. But trust me, you're not imagining it. Something happened, even if you're too hungover to remember all the details.”

You lean back against the pillows, the weight of her words settling in your chest. Wonwoo. That moment. Had he really felt something too? Or was it just the alcohol making you think there was more to it than there actually was?

"Mimi..." you trail off, unsure how to even phrase your next question. "What do I do now?"

Mimi's expression softens slightly, though she still has that mischievous glint in her eye. "You let it play out. Don't overthink it. If something’s meant to happen, it will. If not, then at least you got a pretty wild story to tell."

You nod slowly, still unsure about everything. The hangover isn’t making things any easier, and your head feels like it’s full of unanswered questions.

But as you drink the water and swallow the aspirin she handed you, you can’t shake the feeling that this could be the beginning of something you’ve been waiting for. Even if you don’t have all the answers yet.

The next few days felt like an emotional rollercoaster, and you were stuck somewhere near the top, trying to keep your balance.

After last night’s chaos, you couldn’t bring yourself to face Wonwoo. You avoided him like the plague, keeping your distance whenever you saw him around campus. It wasn’t because you regretted what happened, but because... well, it felt like you were the only one who cared about it, and that made everything awkward.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge you or the kiss. He acted like it was nothing, like it was just some silly game, just like the other shots and the other people. But the longer you avoided him, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of it—aware of you. And that only made it worse.

His friends had caught on, too. Vernon had laughed it off, saying it was cute how you were avoiding Wonwoo. Minghao seemed amused. They didn’t think much of it, but you couldn’t ignore the tension that built up every time you crossed paths with them.

But it wasn’t just them noticing. Wonwoo was noticing too. You could feel his eyes on you whenever you went to class or sat in the library. His usual nonchalant demeanor didn’t give anything away, but there was something in the way he lingered a little longer, just enough to make you feel seen, even when you wanted to disappear.

Then, one afternoon, when you thought you were finally in the clear, it happened.

You were walking home, head down, lost in your thoughts as the weight of the last few days pressed heavily on your shoulders. You should’ve stayed in and avoided the outside world. But, no, you were out here, walking alone, hoping the fresh air would clear your head.

And then, you heard the familiar sound of an engine approaching. You looked up just in time to see Wonwoo’s car slowing beside you. Your heart skipped, and for a moment, everything inside you screamed to turn around and run. You were already panicking, your steps quickening, but before you could escape, the car came to a stop beside you.

Wonwoo rolled down the window, his expression as unreadable as ever, but his voice—his voice was what made you freeze.

“Y/N,” he called out, and your pulse quickened. You turn slowly to face him

"Hey, Wonwoo. Uh what's up?" you casually, trying to hide the fact that your face is burning because of him and not the cold winds

"Just got out of class, are you walking home?"

"Yea, on my way home too. Anyways, I better get going. See you... around" you wave goodbye and started to walk again.

You hear the car door open and steps behind you, "Are you avoiding me?" his question makes you stop on your tracks. Turning around to see him leaning against the passenger side of his car

“Uh... I... It’s just—” you stutter, and then you realize you can’t lie about it anymore. “It’s because of... the kiss.”

His face doesn’t shift, no surprise or confusion. He just looks at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours for a moment too long. And then, as if it’s nothing at all, he shrugs.

“It wasn’t even a kiss, Y/N,” he says coolly, as though it’s no big deal. “It was just... part of the game. Nothing to worry about.”

The words hit you like a bucket of ice water. You’re disappointed, though you try not to show it. You wanted something more. You wanted him to acknowledge the tension, the fact that there was something between you two, something real.

But of course, that was just how Wonwoo was—nonchalant, distant, and always acting like everything was just nothing.

You couldn’t help the slight sinking feeling in your chest. You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Right. Of course,” you mutter, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the disappointment you feel.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You feel awkward, standing there on the sidewalk, his car still idling beside you. But then he speaks again, his tone softening just slightly, though still with that signature aloofness.

“Get in. I’ll drive you home.” he opens the passenger door, waiting for you.

You hesitate. You should just say no, continue walking, put some distance between you. But you’re tired, emotionally drained, and there's something about his voice—something about the way he’s offering that makes it hard to refuse. You sigh, not knowing what to say but not wanting to make things worse. You step toward the car, sliding into the passenger seat without another word.

As he pulls away, the silence in the car is thick, and you can’t stop the thoughts that swirl in your head. You want to ask him, want to know if that kiss meant anything to him, or if he really did feel nothing about it.

But that’s just how Wonwoo was, wasn’t it? Always distant, always playing it cool, never letting anyone get too close.

The drive to your place feels like an eternity, but in the back of your mind, you know this silence between you two is only going to build the tension more. You just wish he would break it.

It wasn’t easy, but you were getting better at avoiding him. The subtle things you used to do for him—saving him a seat in the library, offering him drinks or homemade cookies—had all stopped. You still couldn’t bring yourself to fully confront your feelings for him, and honestly, it felt like the only way to protect yourself was to distance yourself from him as much as possible.

You told yourself it was for the best. You told yourself that the space you were creating would help you get over him. But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much time passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always watching, always noticing.

And, of course, he noticed. Wonwoo wasn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he was observant, maybe more so than he let on. He noticed that you stopped going out of your way to be kind to him. He noticed the absence of the small, thoughtful gestures you used to offer. At first, he didn’t say anything, uncertain of what was going on, or whether he even had the right to ask you about it.

But eventually, he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

It was late in the afternoon when you were walking alone on campus, heading toward the library to meet up with Mimi. The cool breeze made your hair dance around your face, and the noise of the campus life seemed distant, as if you were in your own little bubble.

As you passed by the gym, you saw him. Wonwoo. He had just finished his workout, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, his T-shirt sticking to his body in that way it always did after a session. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, but you quickly turned your attention elsewhere, pretending you hadn’t seen him.

But he saw you. Of course, he did.

“Y/N,” Wonwoo called out, his voice cutting through the ambient noise, his footsteps quickening to match yours. You tried not to flinch as you heard him approaching, but your pulse was racing.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him, hoping your expression didn’t betray the nervousness bubbling up inside you. “Wonwoo?” you said, keeping your voice steady even though it felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest.

He stopped in front of you, looking at you for a beat too long, like he was sizing you up. The look on his face was unreadable, but you could see the confusion in his eyes, the way his brows furrowed slightly as he took you in.

"Why did you stop?" he asked, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly.

"Stop?" You repeated, confused by his question. What was he even talking about?

"Yeah," he continued, his voice casual, but there was something different in it now. Something that made you feel like you were under a microscope. "You stopped... saving me seats, or bringing me stuff. You used to do that all the time."

You didn’t know how to respond. A part of you wanted to lie, to say it was no big deal, that you were just too busy or distracted with school, but something in his eyes made you hesitate. The truth, the real reason you were avoiding him, was too complicated. You couldn’t say it outright.

“I just… I guess I’ve been busy,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “Things just… changed, I guess.”

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, as though trying to understand, but he didn’t push. There was no challenge in his voice, no annoyance. It was just curiosity, genuine and unassuming.

"Okay," he said after a beat, his eyes still locked on you. “I just thought you were mad at me or something.”

You felt a pang of guilt at his words, but you brushed it aside. “I’m not mad, Wonwoo. I’m just... I don’t know." You shook your head, unsure of how to explain your feelings without making things even more awkward. “I guess I just needed space.”

There was a pause, and then, for the first time in a while, he looked almost... vulnerable. "Space? For what?"

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. You could hear the underlying question in his voice, even if he wasn’t asking it directly. Why had you pulled away from him? Why had you stopped the small things that used to come so naturally?

Before you could say anything else, Wonwoo let out a small sigh, and though his expression was still unreadable, there was something softer in his tone. “Alright. I just wanted to know.”

Without waiting for you to respond, he turned to leave, his steps slow but purposeful. For a moment, you just stood there, watching him walk away, the weight of his question lingering in the air between you.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment, though you weren’t sure what exactly you were disappointed in. Was it because he hadn’t pushed you to explain? Or was it because, deep down, you were still waiting for him to say something, anything, to make you feel like your feelings weren’t so one-sided after all?

But that was just how Wonwoo was, wasn’t it? Detached, distant, and never quite giving you the answers you needed.

And yet, even as you watched him disappear into the distance, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder—maybe he did want to know.

The cool breeze of the evening felt nice against your skin as you walked through the quiet neighborhood, sipping on your banana milk. The streets were relatively empty, the soft hum of the evening a welcome relief after a busy week. You didn’t have a particular destination in mind—just wanted to clear your head and enjoy the peace for a while.

As you walked past the familiar basketball court, you spotted a figure out of the corner of your eye. At first, you didn’t think much of it, but then the silhouette registered in your mind. It was Wonwoo.

You stopped in your tracks, unsure whether to approach him or just keep walking. He didn’t seem to notice you at first, too focused on dribbling the ball and taking shots at the hoop. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the court, and for a moment, you found yourself just watching him. There was something about his movements that seemed different, something tight in the way he played—like he was working through something that was bothering him.

Maybe it was the way his jaw was clenched or the way his shoulders were hunched. He looked almost frustrated, the usual nonchalance replaced by something more intense. You stood there, quietly sipping your drink, lost in thought as you watched him.

You were so absorbed in the moment that you didn’t see the ball coming toward you. It hit you squarely on the head before you could react.

"Ouch!" you exclaimed, wincing as you staggered back a step.

Wonwoo’s head snapped toward you immediately, his eyes wide with concern. He jogged over, his long legs covering the distance quickly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice laced with worry. He stood in front of you, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of injury.

You rubbed your head, trying to play it off as no big deal. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t paying attention,” you muttered, but you could tell by the way Wonwoo was looking at you that he wasn’t convinced.

“Are you sure?” He reached up to gently touch the spot where the ball had hit you, his fingers lightly brushing the area. His touch was surprisingly soft, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest despite the situation.

“Really, I’m fine,” you said quickly, pulling back slightly. The last thing you needed was to be caught up in another one of these awkward moments with him.

But before you could brush it off entirely, something in you gave way. The distance you’d been trying to maintain, the walls you’d carefully built to protect yourself—suddenly, it felt so fragile. Maybe it was the way Wonwoo was looking at you so intently, or maybe it was the fact that it had been days since you last spoke. Whatever it was, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"I just thought I was being too much," you murmured, your gaze dropping to the ground. "And it’s not like you liked it."

Wonwoo froze, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed your words.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the awkwardness of the situation now mixed with something more vulnerable. You could feel your heart beating faster, the confession hanging in the air like a weight.

You regretted saying it the moment it left your lips, but it felt like the truth—no matter how painful it was. You didn’t want to keep putting yourself out there, offering him small gestures and favors if he wasn’t interested in them, or in you.

For a long moment, Wonwoo didn’t say anything. His gaze softened, and he seemed to be carefully considering his next words. It wasn’t the detached, nonchalant Wonwoo you were used to.

This time, he seemed almost... human.

"You’re not being too much," he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual coldness. He met your eyes, and for the first time in a while, you saw something different in his gaze—something that wasn’t easy to define. "And I didn’t think it was annoying or anything."

You weren’t sure if you believed him, but the sincerity in his voice made you hesitate. Was he really saying that? Did he mean it?

“I thought you wouldn’t want me to keep doing those things for you if you didn’t care.”

Wonwoo’s expression softened even more, and he let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that was far more human than the usual composed Wonwoo you knew.

“You’re not being too much, and I guess I see why you think I didn't care. I never said I didn't” he says, this time with more conviction. “I just…” He trailed off, like he was searching for the right words. “I just didn’t know what to make of it. You were doing all these things, and I didn’t know how to react.”

There it was. The reason for his distance. The reason for his coldness. He hadn’t known how to handle your kindness. He hadn’t known what to do with the way you made him feel, and so he had kept his distance, just as you had.

“I’m sorry,” he added after a beat, looking slightly embarrassed, as though the admission was a little difficult for him.

You didn’t know what to say, your mind swirling with a mix of emotions. Had you really been wrong all along? Had he cared, but just not known how to show it?

You were so taken aback by his answer that your mind couldn't keep up. The words he had said, so simple, yet so unexpected, rattled your thoughts. I never said I didn’t care. Had you misread everything? Had all your attempts to keep your distance been for nothing?

"But then the kiss..."

"That was me being stupid, I should've apologized for invading your space like that and you look really bothered by it. I was being dumb"

"Well you did say it was just a game" you mumble

"Like I said, I was being dumb and I apologize" he shoots you a quick apologetic smile

Before you could process anything more, your face heated up with embarrassment. You felt suddenly shy, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you, making it harder to breathe.

“I—” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt a nervous energy surge through you, a mix of confusion and the rush of emotions you were trying to keep hidden.

“I’m fine, really.” You managed to give him a small, flustered smile, hoping it would make him stop worrying about you.

But Wonwoo wasn’t convinced. He stepped a little closer, eyes scanning you with concern. “You don’t seem fine,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked you over. “You sure you’re not concussed or something? You hit your head pretty hard.”

Your heart raced at the proximity, and you could feel the overwhelming urge to escape before you made a bigger fool of yourself. He was too close.

“No, really, I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words coming out in a rush as you took a step back. You were panicking, trying to make sense of everything, but all you wanted in that moment was to get away from him. To breathe. To process what had just happened.

Before you knew it, your feet were already moving, backing away from him at a faster pace. You didn’t even think about it—your body just reacted, the instinct to escape taking over.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo called after you, his voice filled with concern, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t deal with this right now. Not with him standing there, looking so sincere and worried, when you were still trying to understand everything that had just happened.

“I’m sorry, I really have to go!” you shouted over your shoulder, not daring to look back.

You could hear him calling your name again, but you didn’t stop. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you turned down the nearby street, running as fast as you could without looking back.

You kept running, trying to outrun the mess of emotions that swirled inside you. The awkwardness, the guilt, the confusion—it was all too much. And you couldn’t deal with it now.

As you finally slowed down, your breath coming in heavy gasps, you leaned against a nearby wall, closing your eyes as you tried to steady your heartbeat. You’d never done anything like that before—just ran away from a conversation like it was nothing. But in that moment, it felt like the only thing you could do.

What had just happened? Why did his words make you feel like everything inside you was unraveling?

You were doing well—at least, you thought you were.

For the past few days, you had managed to avoid any direct interaction with Wonwoo. You kept your distance, keeping your head down whenever he was around, avoiding his gaze, and hiding whenever you could. It was easier that way. You convinced yourself it was better this way.

But then, on this particular day, as you were gathering your things at the end of class, preparing to leave, you felt a tug on the hood of your jacket. You froze, instinctively jerking away from the sudden contact.

"Y/N," a calm voice spoke, and you looked up to find Wonwoo standing there, looking down at you with a slightly amused, yet nonchalant expression. He didn’t seem angry, just... observing.

You felt your heart skip a beat, and before you could stop yourself, your cheeks began to heat up. His gaze was steady, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as if he was asking you, Are you really doing this?

You didn’t know how to respond. Every part of you wanted to turn away and just leave before things got any worse, but your feet felt rooted to the spot.

“I... I wasn’t... trying to hide,” you stammered, but your voice came out weaker than you’d intended.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, not saying anything at first. He didn’t need to. His gaze alone spoke volumes. He was just waiting for you to admit what was going on.

You shifted uncomfortably, biting your lower lip as you awkwardly tried to avoid his gaze. “I... didn’t know how to talk to you,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been... confusing. And I thought... maybe it was better to just keep my distance.”

Wonwoo didn’t seem angry. In fact, the amused look on his face lingered, but there was something else there, something softer that you weren’t used to seeing from him. “You’ve been avoiding me for days now,” he said in that same calm tone, his voice unbothered. “But running away won’t make this go away, you know.”

You winced at his words, feeling the weight of them more than you wanted to admit. But you couldn’t deny that he was right. It wasn’t going to disappear just because you ran away from it.

“I... I don’t know what to say to you,” you confessed, feeling all your anxiety bubbling up again. “I don’t want to make things awkward. I just...”

“Just what?” Wonwoo asked, his expression unreadable now, his voice still quiet but insistent. “You think I won’t understand?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know if you will,” you murmured, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I thought maybe... maybe it was easier to just pretend it didn’t matter.”

Wonwoo studied you for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “You think it doesn’t matter?” he asked, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “You’re the one who’s been giving me things, doing things for me. It matters.”

You felt your heart beat faster, unsure of how to handle this newfound vulnerability in his voice. It was unlike him, and it was making everything even more complicated.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you said quietly, your hands still fidgeting with the sleeves of your jacket. “I thought... maybe I was just being annoying.”

Wonwoo let out a soft sigh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Y/N... you weren’t being annoying. I just didn’t know how to respond to you, okay?” His voice softened further, a hint of frustration in it now, but not at you—at himself, maybe. "I didn't know what you wanted from me."

You stared at him, unsure what to say. His words were hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected, and the confusion that had been gnawing at you for so long started to ebb, replaced by a different kind of uncertainty.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He looked away for a moment, as if embarrassed by his own admission, but then his gaze returned to yours. “I didn’t know how to. It’s easier for me to just... not talk about these things." He paused, then gave you a small, almost hesitant smile. "But I’m trying, okay?”

The sincerity in his words made your chest ache, and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders, but at the same time, it was replaced by something new—something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

“So... what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid of the answer.

Wonwoo stepped closer, a subtle movement that somehow felt like the most intimate thing. His expression was still calm, but there was a softness in it now that made your heart race. “Now, we talk. No more running away.”

You didn’t know what that would mean for you, for him, for whatever this was between you. But right now, it felt like you might finally be able to stop avoiding the truth.

You find yourself sitting across him at a diner outside campus. The booth was cozy, the dim lighting giving the place a warm, inviting atmosphere. But despite the warmth of the surroundings, you felt cold. The walls you’d carefully built around yourself seemed to be crumbling, and the closer you got to Wonwoo, the more vulnerable you felt.

You hadn’t said much since you’d arrived, your gaze bouncing around the diner, avoiding his eyes whenever they found yours.

Wonwoo, however, was watching you with quiet amusement, his gaze flickering between you and the menu in his hands. He could tell you were uncomfortable, restlessly fiddling with your hands, your eyes constantly darting away whenever he caught you looking at him.

"Hey," he finally said, his voice calm but carrying a teasing edge. "You seem a little... tense."

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond, but before you could say anything, you noticed your own body language—a slight fidget, your shoulders stiff, your legs crossed tightly. You shifted in your seat, trying to make yourself comfortable, but it wasn’t working. You couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze on you.

“I... I just don’t like sitting across from people,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze still averted. “It’s too much pressure, I guess.”

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. Without saying a word, he slid out of the booth, shifting to the side next to you. The movement was casual, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. He wasn’t judging you for your discomfort. Instead, he was meeting you halfway, making you feel... seen.

He settled beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned back against the booth, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. He was so close now, and you felt a sudden rush of warmth flood your chest. Your heart skipped a beat, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from the unexpected comfort of his presence.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of unease.

You nodded, but this time, you didn’t shy away from meeting his gaze. The proximity made everything feel a little more real, a little more grounded. And, for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel the need to run away.

“Yeah,” you murmured, still a little flustered, but this time, the smile on your lips was more genuine, more relaxed. “This feels better.”

Wonwoo smirked, clearly pleased with your response, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest tighten. “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable around me.”

“So…” You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of how to navigate this new dynamic between you. “What now?”

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, and he shrugged casually, though his eyes held a certain sincerity. “Now, we eat, and we talk. You don’t have to worry about running away anymore.” He paused, then added with a small smile, “And no more avoiding me, okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. This wasn’t going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, you were ready to start figuring things out—with him, and with yourself.

You nodded slowly, the silence between you wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t easy, either. It felt like there were a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air, and neither of you knew how to address them.

Then, Wonwoo spoke, his voice calm and steady. “What’s your go-to drink order?”

You blinked, startled by the question. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, that wasn’t what you expected. “Uh…” You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before looking back down at your hands. “Probably... iced vanilla latte. Or banana milk,” you added with a nervous laugh, gesturing to the nearly empty carton in front of you, you pulled it out of your bag a few minutes ago.

Wonwoo nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I figured you liked banana milk. I see you drinking it a lot.”

Your cheeks heated up at his observation, and you ducked your head, suddenly very aware of how closely he paid attention to you. “Yeah, it’s kind of a comfort drink,” you admitted softly. “What about you?”

“Americano,” he replied easily. “No sugar.”

You scrunched your nose at that, and Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle at your reaction. “What?” he teased. “Not a fan of bitter drinks?”

“Not really,” you admitted, daring a quick glance at him before looking away again. “I like sweet things.”

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving you. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

You bit your lip, trying to think. The way he was watching you so intently made your brain feel foggy, and it was hard to focus. “Probably... cheesecake,” you finally said. “Strawberry cheesecake.”

He hummed thoughtfully, as if filing that piece of information away. “Strawberry cheesecake,” he repeated, his voice soft. “Noted.”

“Why are you asking me this?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Wonwoo shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just trying to get to know you better.”

That answer caught you off guard. You looked down at your lap, your hands twisting nervously. “But... why?”

He didn’t answer right away, and when you finally gathered the courage to look up at him, you found him watching you with a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache. “Because I want to,” he said simply, his voice quiet but certain.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you quickly looked away again, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Wonwoo didn’t push you to say anything else. He let the silence settle again, but it didn’t feel as heavy this time. It felt... different. Like he was giving you space to process, to breathe.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe he wasn’t as far out of reach as you’d always thought.

It's suppose to be another normal day. You're in class, sitting next to MImi still feeling sleepy but then something slides infront of you.

You stared at the banana milk on your desk like it had suddenly sprouted wings. Slowly, you turned back to look at Wonwoo, who was casually flipping through his notebook like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Mimi, sitting to your right, nudged your arm, her expression a mix of confusion and barely-contained glee. “What’s going on?” she whispered, her eyes darting between you and Wonwoo like she was trying to piece together a crime scene.

“I have no idea,” you whispered back

You leaned slightly toward Wonwoo, lowering your voice as much as possible. “What are you doing?”

“Attending class,” he replied, not even looking up from his notebook. His tone was so calm, so casual, that for a moment you thought you’d imagined him moving seats altogether.

“Here?” you pressed, glancing over your shoulder again to see his friends Vernon and Minghao, who were both watching the two of you with poorly hidden smirks. Minghao even gave you a small wave, which only made you more flustered.

Wonwoo finally looked at you, his expression as neutral as ever. “Why not?”

Before you could respond, he nudged the banana milk closer to you. “You like this, right?”

You blinked down at the carton, your brain short-circuiting. “I... yeah, but—”

“Then drink it.” His tone was soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.

Beside you, Mimi’s jaw was practically on the floor. “Okay, what is going on here?” she hissed under her breath, leaning closer to you. “Did you bribe him? Threaten him? Sell your soul to some matchmaking demon?”

“I don’t know!” you whispered back, your voice frantic as you stared at the banana milk like it held all the answers to life’s mysteries.

Wonwoo, clearly aware of the hushed conversation happening beside him, leaned back in his chair and glanced at Mimi. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his calm demeanor never faltering.

Mimi froze, her eyes wide as she realized he was addressing her directly. “Uh, no? Nothing’s wrong,” she stammered, clearly trying to play it cool. “Just... curious, that’s all.”

Wonwoo nodded, satisfied with her answer, and turned his attention back to his notebook, leaving you and Mimi to exchange bewildered looks.

The rest of the class passed in a blur. You were hyper-aware of Wonwoo’s presence beside you, the subtle sound of him turning pages, the occasional shift in his seat, even the faint scent of his cologne. You couldn’t focus on the lecture to save your life, and every time you caught Mimi looking at you, she wiggled her eyebrows in a way that made you want to crawl under the desk.

When the class finally ended, you quickly packed up your things, eager to escape before your brain completely melted. But as you stood up, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Walk with me,” he said, his tone more of a statement than a question.

You glanced at Mimi, who was watching the scene unfold with wide eyes and a grin that was far too smug for your liking. “Go ahead,” she said, waving you off. “I’ll meet you later.”

Before you could argue, Wonwoo gently tugged your wrist, guiding you toward the door. You followed him, your heart racing as you wondered what on earth he was up to now.

You were half jogging to keep up with Wonwoo’s long strides, his hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist as he led you through the campus. It wasn’t like he was walking that fast—it was just that his legs were ridiculously long compared to yours.

Your steps were hurried, almost clumsy, as you tried to keep up. “Wonwoo,” you huffed, glancing at his back, “can you slow down? Not all of us have tree trunks for legs, you know.”

He glanced back at you, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We’ll be late if I slow down,” he said simply, but his pace did ease up slightly.

It was almost cute—too cute, honestly. The height difference, the way you had to trudge along behind him like a kid trying to keep up. And then there was him: calm, composed, and acting like dragging you to your next class was just a normal, everyday occurrence.

By the time you reached the door of your classroom, you were slightly out of breath. Wonwoo, of course, looked as unbothered as ever. He gently let go of your wrist and gestured for you to go in.

“Go,” he said, his tone soft but firm.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Wait, where are you going?”

“To my class,” he replied, as though it was obvious.

You frowned, gesturing vaguely in the direction you had just come from. “Your class isn’t here?”

“Nope,” he said, already turning on his heel to walk away. “It’s on the other side of campus.”

You stared at him, your jaw dropping. “The opposite side?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder to meet your incredulous gaze. “Yeah,” he said nonchalantly.

“Then why did you—” You cut yourself off, not even sure how to finish the sentence.

Wonwoo just shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Felt like walking you,” he said simply, as though it was no big deal.

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing at the door of your classroom, completely flustered and at a loss for words.

What is he doing to me? you thought, burying your face in your hands. Whatever game Wonwoo was playing, it was definitely working.

This new routine had become so normal that you almost stopped questioning it—not that you were any less flustered every time Wonwoo waited for you after class or walked you across campus. It was just easier to let it happen, even if your heart constantly felt like it was doing somersaults. Mimi teased you endlessly about it, of course, but you’d stopped trying to defend yourself. What could you even say?

One afternoon, just as class was ending, Wonwoo approached you while you were packing up your things. You were expecting him to grab his bag and lead you out of the room like usual, but instead, he hesitated.

“I have something to do after class today,” he said, his voice soft yet direct, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. “I can’t drive you home.”

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Oh, that’s okay. I can just—”

“Wait,” he interrupted, giving you a look that made you freeze. “Are you going to walk home alone?”

You faltered, unsure how to answer. “I mean, it’s not that far...”

He frowned at that, clearly not liking your response. “I don’t like the idea of you walking home alone.”

Your heart did a little flip at his words, but you quickly brushed it off, waving your hand dismissively. “It’s really fine, Wonwoo. I’ve walked home alone before.”

“Not anymore,” he said firmly, pulling out his phone.

You raised an eyebrow as he started dialing, wondering what on earth he was doing. “What are you—”

“Hey,” he said into the phone, cutting you off. “Where are you right now? Can you drive someone home for me?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he really calling someone just to make sure you didn’t walk home alone?

A few moments later, he hung up and turned back to you. “Vernon and Minghao are nearby. They’ll drive you home.”

“Wait, what?” you asked, your voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Wonwoo, you don’t have to—”

“I already did,” he said simply, grabbing his bag. “They’ll meet you outside in five minutes. Just wait for them, okay?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look he gave you stopped you in your tracks. It wasn’t stern, exactly, but it was... serious. Protective. Like he genuinely wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you.

You sighed, realizing there was no point in arguing. “Fine,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He softened at that, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Good. I’ll text you later.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your mind reeling.

When you made your way outside, Vernon and Minghao were waiting by Vernon’s car, both of them looking far too amused for your liking.

“So,” Vernon said, leaning casually against the hood of the car, “you’re the one Wonwoo’s been babying lately.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Can we not talk about this?”

Minghao chuckled, opening the passenger door for you. “Don’t worry, we won’t tease you too much. Wonwoo’s been... different lately, though. It’s kind of interesting to watch.”

“Different how?” you asked, sliding into the car and buckling your seatbelt.

Vernon smirked as he started the engine. “Let’s just say you bring out a side of him we didn’t know existed.”

You couldn’t decide if that made you feel flattered or even more flustered. Either way, as they drove you home, you couldn’t stop thinking about the lengths Wonwoo had gone to just to make sure you were safe. And even though it was embarrassing, a small, shy smile found its way to your lips.

Later that night, just as you were about to settle into bed, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You blinked at the screen, momentarily stunned when you saw the name.

Wonwoo.

Your heart immediately started racing. He had texted you before, sure, but calling? This was new. Hesitantly, you picked up, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice was deep and smooth, laced with a certain warmth that made you grip your phone a little tighter. “Did you get home okay?”

You felt your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself. “Yeah, Vernon and Minghao dropped me off. You really didn’t have to go that far, you know.”

“I did,” he said simply. “I told you, I don’t like you walking alone.”

There was something about the way he said it—calm, steady, certain—that made your chest feel warm. You bit your lip, trying to ignore the giddy feeling bubbling inside you.

Instead, you changed the subject. “How was your thing after class? You never said what it was.”

“Just something for a group project,” he answered. “It took longer than I expected.”

You hummed in understanding. “That sucks.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah. Anyway, how was your day?”

At that, you perked up, launching into a detailed retelling of everything that had happened since class. You told him about Mimi’s latest antics, how she nearly got into an argument with a professor because she was convinced she turned in her assignment when she actually hadn’t. You talked about how Vernon and Minghao teased you the whole car ride home, about the new café you wanted to try, and even the silly little things that made you laugh that day.

Somewhere along the way, you noticed he had gone quiet.

“Wonwoo?” you called, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Are you still there?”

There was a pause, then his voice came through the speaker—soft, almost gentle.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

There was something different about the way he said it. He wasn’t just saying it to fill the silence. He meant it. He liked listening to you.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, but you pushed forward, finishing your story despite how shy you suddenly felt.

When you finally ran out of things to say, he let out a contented hum. “You should get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your heart melted at how soft his voice was. “Okay,” you said quietly.

“Goodnight,” he added, and you swore you could hear the smallest smile in his voice.

“Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

The call ended, and for a moment, you just sat there, staring at your phone. Then, all at once, the emotions hit you like a tidal wave.

You let out a loud groan, grabbed your pillow, and screamed into it.

“What are you doing to me, Jeon Wonwoo?!”

Your pillow, of course, had no answers. But one thing was clear—you were so doomed.

It's a few weeks later, you're at the cafe you frequently hang out when you have free time. The usual, you're on your yapping mode while Wonwoo listens. But then you said something you didn't mean to tell him.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze.

You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It was just one of those things you only ever admitted to Mimi—how you were so confused about what was going on between you and Wonwoo.

But now, you had just said it. Right in front of him.

Your heart stopped.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned to look at him.

Wonwoo was already staring at you, that small, amused smile still lingering on his lips—but his eyes held something else. Something unreadable.

For the first time, he didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t tease you, didn’t brush it off. He just watched you, as if he was carefully thinking about what to say.

You scrambled to fix it. “I-I mean—” you let out a nervous laugh, waving your hands. “Forget I said that! It was just, um, something stupid I told Mimi—”

Wonwoo tilted his head, his gaze still locked on you. “You’re confused?” he asked, his voice calm.

You swallowed. “I mean... yeah?”

Silence.

The tension was unbearable. Your heart was practically screaming in your chest.

Finally, he leaned back, eyes flickering to the coffee in front of him. Then, after a long pause, he spoke again.

“What do you want us to be?”

Your breath hitched.

You stared at him, unsure if you heard him correctly. Your mind raced, completely unprepared for the question.

“I—” you fumbled, gripping the edge of your sleeves. “I don’t know...”

Another pause. Then, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Liar.”

Your head snapped up. “Excuse me?!”

Wonwoo met your gaze again, eyes knowing, almost too knowing. He didn’t look mad. If anything, he looked fond—like he had already figured out the answer before you even realized it yourself.

Your face burned. “I’m not lying—”

“You’ve liked me for a long time.” His voice was so casual, so matter-of-fact, that it left you speechless.

Your entire body tensed.

Oh my god.

He knew.

Of course, he knew.

Everyone knew. You knew he knew. But hearing him say it so bluntly, with no hesitation—it made your stomach flip.

You wanted to disappear.

“I—” You swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at him. “Okay, so maybe that’s true, but—”

“But?” He was still watching you, waiting.

“But I don’t know what you want.” The words came out smaller than you intended, but they were honest. “You... you’re always around now, Wonwoo. You drive me home, you wait for me after class, you listen to me ramble all the time. I just—” You bit your lip. “I don’t know what that means to you.”

Another silence.

Wonwoo didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached for his coffee, taking a slow sip. Then, with the same infuriatingly calm expression, he set it back down, resting his chin against his palm as he gazed at you.

And then—

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your hands clenched under the table, heart pounding in your ears. You knew what he was implying, you felt what he was saying without words, but you still couldn’t believe it.

And Wonwoo—knowing you so well—could see that.

So, he leaned in slightly, his voice quieter this time.

“I wouldn’t do all of this if you weren’t special to me.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You felt like your heart had stopped entirely, like you had forgotten how to breathe.

Jeon Wonwoo—who had spent years acting nonchalant toward you—was now sitting here, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You didn’t know what to say.

So, naturally, you panicked.

“I—um—I need to go to the bathroom!” you blurted out, shoving your chair back as you stood up abruptly.

Wonwoo blinked, a bit startled, before letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re running away?”

“I am not running away!”

“You’re literally running away.”

“I need to pee!” you lied, voice high-pitched as you quickly turned toward the restroom.

Behind you, you heard Wonwoo laugh—actually laugh—before calling out, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

You groaned, covering your face as you rushed away.

This was too much.

Jeon Wonwoo was too much.

When you finally gathered the courage to come back, your heart was still hammering in your chest. You had taken extra minutes in the restroom just to stare at yourself in the mirror, mentally screaming and trying to convince yourself to act normal.

Except—how could you act normal after what just happened?

You cautiously made your way back to the booth, and there he was—Wonwoo, sitting comfortably with one arm draped over the back of the seat, sipping his drink as if he hadn't just dropped that bomb on you.

And then, when he noticed you, his lips curled into that teasing smile.

“You good?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. “Took you a while.”

Your face heated.

“I had to—um, you know—actually pee.” You sat down stiffly, eyes fixed on the table.

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t look convinced at all.

You fidgeted, not knowing what to say. Now that you knew he felt something for you, you had no idea how to act around him. You weren’t prepared for this. You had spent so long assuming your feelings were one-sided that the moment he admitted otherwise, your brain completely shut down.

And Wonwoo—of course—noticed.

He watched you with that quiet amusement, letting the silence stretch between you. Then, after a beat, he spoke again.

“Are you still confused?”

Your breath caught.

You looked up at him—finally meeting his gaze—and you regretted it immediately because he was already staring at you.

His dark eyes, calm and steady, held a kind of certainty that made your stomach flip.

“I—” You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Wonwoo hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly. “I see.”

You thought that would be the end of it, that he would back off and give you time to process—but no.

Instead, he leaned in.

Not dramatically, not forcefully. Just enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, enough that your breath hitched and your hands curled into fists in your lap.

Then, in a voice so quiet that it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered,

“Then tell me…”

His eyes flickered to your lips before locking back onto yours.

“What do you want me to be?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Your body went completely still.

The weight of the question—the meaning behind it—hit you all at once, and suddenly, everything felt too real.

Wonwoo was still watching you, waiting, his face unfairly close to yours. He wasn’t teasing anymore. He wasn’t joking. He was giving you the choice—asking you to decide what this was between you.

And you…

You had no idea how to answer.

Because for the first time ever—

You realized that your silly little crush wasn’t so one-sided after all.

Your heart pounded so loudly in your chest that you were sure he could hear it.

What did you want him to be?

For so long, you had thought the answer was simple—you wanted him, you always had. But now that he was actually asking you, the words caught in your throat.

You were frozen, caught between the overwhelming weight of your long-time feelings and the terrifying reality of facing them head-on.

Wonwoo didn’t move. He was still leaning close, his dark eyes fixed on yours, waiting patiently. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing you to answer, but that only made it worse.

You wanted to say something, anything, but all that came out was a small, breathless,

“I—”

And then you panicked.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up—you quickly grabbed your drink and took the biggest gulp imaginable, as if that would somehow wash away the moment.

It didn’t.

Instead, Wonwoo let out a quiet chuckle, finally leaning back, giving you space.

“You’re cute when you panic.”

You almost choked.

“I’m not panicking,” you sputtered, setting your drink down with a little too much force.

His lips twitched, clearly not believing you. “So, what’s your answer?”

“I—” You exhaled, gripping the hem of your shirt. “This is a lot, okay? You just—you never made it seem like you liked me before, and now you’re—” You gestured vaguely at him. “—doing all this and it’s messing with my brain.”

Wonwoo tilted his head, looking at you with quiet curiosity. “I never made it seem like I liked you?”

You gave him a look.

He hummed, gaze flickering downward for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “That’s not true.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“I just… don’t show it the way you do.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-fact, as if it was something you should’ve known all along.

You stared at him, your brain struggling to process his words.

And then, as if to prove his point, Wonwoo reached out—his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment before he grabbed your wrist, gently pulling your hand closer to him.

Your breath hitched.

“Do you really think I would’ve let just anyone take care of me the way you did?” His voice was lower now, softer, as his thumb absentmindedly traced slow circles against the back of your hand. “I noticed, you know. Every time you saved me a seat, every time you gave me something without expecting anything in return.”

You swallowed thickly.

Wonwoo glanced down at your intertwined hands, as if realizing he was still holding you. But instead of letting go, he gave your fingers a small, almost hesitant squeeze.

“I didn’t ignore it because I didn’t care,” he admitted. “I just… didn’t know how to respond.”

The confession made something in your chest tighten.

Wonwoo had always been unreadable to you—his quiet, nonchalant demeanor making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. But now, sitting here with him, listening to him actually talk about his feelings, you realized that he wasn’t cold at all. He was just careful.

He let out a quiet sigh. “But when you stopped…” His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “I didn’t like that.”

You blinked. “You didn’t?”

He shook his head. “No.”

It was such a simple response, yet it made your heart race all over again.

There was a small beat of silence before he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I missed you.”

Your chest ached.

All this time, you had thought your feelings were a burden to him—that he barely noticed you, let alone missed you. But here he was, telling you otherwise, proving you wrong in the gentlest way possible.

Your fingers curled around his, gripping back.

“…I missed you too.”

Wonwoo smiled, the kind of small, rare smile that made your stomach flip.

“So,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, “are you still confused?”

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck. “…Maybe.”

He chuckled. “Then should I make it clearer?”

You sucked in a breath when he leaned in again, just close enough that you could see the soft curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes.

His gaze flickered to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“What do you want me to be?” he asked again, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do I have to answer now?"

Wonwoo just smiled at your question. That soft, knowing kind of smile that made your stomach do flips.

“Take your time,” he said simply, "You waited for me, without expecting anything. It's my turn now" he tells you.

You could barely meet his eyes, your fingers twitching against his. “I just—this is a lot, okay?”

“I know.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles in a soothing motion. “That’s why I’m letting you decide.”

That didn’t help at all.

You groaned internally, dropping your forehead onto the table in defeat. “You’re making this so much worse, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He chuckled, and you could feel his amusement. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the one blushing like crazy.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed again, and you hated how much you loved the sound.

After a moment, you hesitantly lifted your head, still unable to look at him directly. “…So, you’re not gonna, like, be weird about this?”

“Nope.”

“You’re not gonna pressure me?”

“No.”

“You’re just gonna… wait?”

Wonwoo leaned back against the booth, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours. “As long as you need me to, as long as you want me here”

Your breath hitched.

Oh.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart squeeze at his words.

“…Okay,” you mumbled.

“Okay?”

You nodded shyly, finally—finally—glancing up at him. “I’ll think about it.”

His lips twitched, amused. “Good.”

And then, like it was the easiest thing in the world, Wonwoo lifted your hand to his lips and pressed the lightest, softest kiss against your knuckles.

Your brain completely shut down.

“You—” You squeaked, yanking your hand back as if you had just been electrocuted.

Wonwoo just smirked.

“Take your time,” he repeated, looking way too satisfied with himself. “I’ll wait.”

And you knew—you knew—that no matter how much you tried to think about it, your heart had already decided.

#fic #au #fluff #svt #seventeen #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen fluff #svt imagine #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #svt fluff #svt slowburn #svt x readers #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo scenario #wonwoo x reader

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shy-writer-999 · 2 days ago

Text

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

#this may be my fave thing i've ever written idk why i just like it a lot #sanji smut #op sanji smut #op smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you

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thefrontmanscockwarmer · 1 day ago

Text

Enough

Player 001 x reader [SMUT]

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Brat reader, brat tamer Young il

“I fucking hate it here” you declared to the group of guys you hung with. Gi Hun looked at you, while Jung Bae voiced his agreement, Dae Ho… well, Dae Ho stuffed his face.

(Y/n), it’s honestly not as bad as it -“ young il began.

“Are you fucking stupid?” You looked at him in disbelief. His eyes widened as you spoke to him in such a disrespectful manner, “seriously, Young il? “Not as bad”?! We could’ve fucking died, last game… don’t you remember?” You tapped your temple.

“Well, we didn’t die” he said, his voice small. He didn’t know what to do; scold you for how you spoke, or kiss you for it.

“No maybe not. But seriously? What about next game, huh? What about the game after that?” You questioned him. You stood, getting in his face as he sat. “Are you dense?”

“That’s enough, (y/n)” he said calmly. He loved seeing you riled up, it excited him. You were a hot head, could be a problem, but he could handle problems quite well.

“Obviously not. Because your moronic ass thinks it’s “not as bad”” you mocked him. The other men had excused themselves, you were in the midst of an explosion and they didn’t want to get hit by the shrapnel.

“(Y/n)” he said again. “I said that’s enough.”

“You don’t understand what enough is” you replied, your voice escalating. “You seem to think that just because they feed up, and give us beds, and clothes, I’m wearing a 3 day old blood stained shirt” you tensed thinking about it.

“Enough!” he said, standing he got in your face. “You think I like being here? No. But I’m trying to make them beat of it. You think I don’t have something to go back to? I do. I have parents and a fucking brother. You think I don’t know how you fucking feel? I do. I don’t want to be in here either” he said. “But if you think for a single second I’ll sit down and let you talk to me like I’m a fucking idiot, you’re so fucking out of your mind.”

You were backed against the wall. Your lips just barely touching his. The air between you too was thick with sexual tension, as the air around you always was. You took a breath, gearing yourself up for more argument.

“Shut up” he said. “I don’t want to hear talk of it anymore” you obeyed quietly. You shrunk, the weight of his presence was heavy. You pouted and walked away, knocking his shoulder with yours. The PA system warned that you had 5 minutes before bed time. You chose to lay down as far from Young il as you could.

He looked at you, you were so mad at him. Yeah, everything was going according to plan but you were so fucking angry it turned him on.

He awaited the dead of night, when he was sure every player was asleep. He found his way to you.

“(Y/n)” he said quietly .

“Don’t fucking talk to me” you said. He smiled, his cock jumped. God how he loved a fucking challenge.

“Don’t give me attitude” he replied, moving your body to be in bed with you.

“Get out of my bed” you say. “Before I pummel your fucking face in”

“Wow, such fighting words for a princess” he answers, wrapping his arms around you.

“Young il”

“Yes, princess?”

“Get your dick off my ass” you spit. “I can feel it.”

“My god, you’re so sharp. What will make you feel better hm?” He pondered.

“Getting the fuck out of here” you answer curtly. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, the way he was diffusing you right now was intoxicating. Young il was intoxicating, he was like a drug. You loved fighting with him, always pushing buttons to get him to tower over you, just so you could weasel your way out. You knew exactly where this was going to go.

“No, you’re tense. I can feel it.” He remarked. “You’re so frustrated, aren’t you?” He coaxed. He knew he found your sweet spot as you leaned your body against him.

“Maybe.” You say, not willing to admit that you wanted him. His hand snaked down your pants, your breath getting caught in your throat. His fingers brushed your clit. “Please” you pleaded breathlessly.

“Oh? Do you want something from me?” He asked. You hummed your response. “Well, just as well, I need to know what you want, angel. I can’t read your mind”

“Touch me… please” you asked quietly. Arousal coating your voice.

“Aw, you said “please”” he chuckled. “I guess I have to give in since you’re being so sweet” he circled your clit softly with his fingers. “Such a sweet little girl” he whispered tauntingly in your ear.

“Shut up” you said. He motions stopped.

“I’m sorry, you said stop?” He asked, you groan in frustration, bucking your hips against his hand.

“No, i said “shut up”” you repeated, his hand stayed frozen in place as you moved against it, seeking friction. A wicked grin spread across his face.

“Oh, i see” he roughly inserted 2 fingers in side of you. You whimper quietly. “Is this what you wanted angel? To be wrapped around my fingers and whimpering like the little depraved girl i know you are?” You bit your tongue, any wrong words could stop this in an instance.

“Yes daddy” you breathe out heavily. He looked down on you, his cock straining in his pants.

“Can I use your pussy, please?” He asked, not really a question but more of a warning on what he’s going to do. You nodded feebly.

“I can’t hear you” he responded patiently.

“Yes. Please” With a swift, almost violent motion, he pulled out his cock and spun you around to face the wall, pressing your front against the railing surrounding your bed.

“Wait we have to be quiet” you exclaim

“Shh, no one will care. Now, bend over and present yourself to me like a good little slut." Young il replied. His hands roughly palmed your ass, spreading your cheeks wide as he aligned his rigid member with your dripping entrance once more. With a harsh thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you, his pubic bone grinding against your clit. “That's it, take my cock like you were made for it,"

A sinful moan slips from your lips as you take his cock gratefully

“Please Young il, use me” you begged. Young il's grip on your hips tightened as he began to piston in and out of you with brutal force, each savage thrust jolting you forward against the railing.

"You want it rough, huh? You want to be used like a cheap whore?" His words were punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin, the sound echoing through the quiet room. Young il reached around to fondle your breasts, pinching and tugging at your nipples as he drove into you relentlessly.

"Yeah, that's it, moan for me," he snarled, his pace increasing until the stairs creaked under the force of his thrusts.* "Let them hear what a filthy slut you are for me. Begging to be fucked, screaming my name..."

He brought his palm crashing down across your ass, the sharp sting making you yelp and arch your back into him. He repeated the blow again and again, each slap marking your ass with his possession.

“You like that, you dirty little cumslut?” He spat, he breathing ragged with lust. “You want Dady to claim every inch of you?” His fingers delved down between your thighs roughly circling your clit furiously at your clit as he continued to pound into you. The combined sensations sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Come on, (y/n), I can feel you tightening around me” Young il growled, his thrusts growing erratic. “Give it to me, let go and soak my cock with your juices” he begged.

“Oh, Young il, I’m going to cum.” I say as i try my best to keep quiet. My feeble attempt at not possibly drawing anymore attention to your bed. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he felt your inner muscle start to spasm around his cock. “That’s it, cum for Mr, (y/n). Milk my dick dry with that sweet little cunt”

His own release was imminent, the pressure building at the base of his spine. With a final and brutal thrust. Young il buried himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsating as he spilled his cum deep within your quivering depths.

“Fuuuck, (y/n)” he groaned. “Take it all” As the tremors of your orgasm subsided, Young il slowly withdrew from your spent body, his softening cock slipp`I``no free with a wet pop.

“Holy shit” you gasped as he collapsed beside you.

“Yeah?” He chuckled, cradling you in his arms. “I hope your attitude is gone now”

“Well, i think it’s subsided for now” i agree curling into him. Sighing with contentment. A big yawn left your tiny body.

Taglist

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @watasinekoru @player279achlys @galaxygurlll @angelofthorr

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therayofsonshine · 2 days ago

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was in a&e, so no better time to do this than now! (edit: missed the entirety of this as i was logged out. FUCK. so… um here is day 17 to 24. the very late version.)

day 17: my camera roll in my dr is.. honestly a vibe. but i have the weirdest shit going on over there. it’s tame to begin with: photos of england n my family. n then it just goes to shit: pics of our empty house with boxes everywhere and carnage from moving in and getting accustomed to a new environment. and tbh i can’t be arsed to delete anything 😭 so i’ve just left it and pray i can find the photos i need in time.

i wish i had a way to organise all of my camera roll into eras of my life and categories regarding photos. but.. that’s definitely something to add to my script.

day 18: i’ve scripted in a spontaneous drinking night for the reality show. i’m somewhat subscribed to the whole “drunk words are sober thoughts” thing so it would be really interesting to see what people think of certain topics/people on the show after a few games haha. this hasn’t happened yet but i’m really looking forward to how that one pans out!

day 19: i have a few hobbies in my dr! some are a work in progress whilst others i am confident + comfortable getting on with. they include and are not limited to: thrifting (my original occupation in this dr was a fashion student, but i changed my mind as it just happens randomly and i fear i would lose all love for it if forced to create), music (ironic as my boyfriend is literally an idol), crochet/knitting, and drawing.

i enjoy making things and making myself and others feel good whilst doing them. i have knitted my family/friends quite a lot of clothing (i am LITERALLY keeping the bills paid and lights on and providing clothes on the back’s of my family like damn!). if i’m not working i’m doing one of these things. n enjoying every bit of it.

day 20: i’ve recently discovered - in fact - my main love language is NOT words of affirmation (tho it is still one of them), but quality time (which actually makes more sense to me). so any date that revolves around me spending time with another person is quite literally the most romantic thing ever. FUCK romance!!!!!

for example, recently in my CR two of my friends watched the entirety of the hobbit trilogy with me in one sitting, into the early hours of the morning. and i am STILL telling people about it because it meant the world to me. those films are long too! so! yea, something like that.

day 21: WORKING. i work too much in my cr n now i have to do it in my dr as well????? damn it’s almost like i signed up for this! but i guess that’s one of the downsides of having a family business: i actually have to help out and do the work. yikes. no i’m kidding (kinda), but working in a café is not for the weak.

also, not really a downside - as again, signed up for it - but watching people want and like yunho before i go out with him. (context: this is a dating reality show dr, so people are going to fancy him alongside me. but can i blame them?). it doesn’t make me uncomfortable or awkward tbh, just a little like… oh! oh 😔.. oh 😏😏😏. you get me.

day 22: i scripted i can cook. (….yea.) i just cannot. i can make beans on toast but that’s as chef-like i get in the kitchen, unfortunately. and obviously having to work in a baking environment + serving customers food that may potentially poison them if it doesn’t agree with them, i need to know how to cook.

that’s as good as it gets i’m afraid!

day 23: MY FAMILY ARE SUCH LOSERS LMFAO. we do those matching pyjamas on Christmas Eve. we also make gingerbread houses! which is very fun!!!!

day 24: the vibes of this dr!!! it’s technically a dr for me to be on a reality dating show so a lot of it revolves around being in love (am not complaining yo…)

day 25 (FINALLY): i spend xmas with my family. my family always book the week off and we close the café for christmas because let’s be frank who tf is coming into our shop on christmas day????? nobody yo. we’re not even in korea anyways so the shop just sits dead - and collects dust - during that time of the month. it’s a fun game to place bets on the state of the building after we return - tho we do try to leave it spotless when we leave.

xmas is always chaotic with my family it’s so funny. someone always ends up drunk and singing - eventually roping the rest of the family into it (or most LMFAO).

𝟐𝟓 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒. ❆ ⋆⁺₊❅ .

a series of questions for the days leading up to christmas for shifters!! Some of these questions are Christmas specific and others aren’t, feel free to answer what you want and how you want, ex. moodboards, short answers, longs answers. And if you’d like, you can reblog so it reaches more shifters. Merry Christmas and Happy Shifting :) post tags are #shiftmas #shiftmas2024 tagged: @arishifter

⌗ 𝟏. christmas caroling ; What are a few songs that remind you of your dr? Why?

⌗ 𝟐. gingerbread houses ; What does your house look like in your dr? Who do you live with? What is your favorite aspect of your house?

⌗ 𝟑. eggnog ; What is some drama going on in your dr?

⌗ 𝟒. sledding ; What does a hang out with you friend group look like? Where do you go? Who is your friend group?

⌗ 𝟓. snowman ; What is your OOTD? (outfit of the day)

⌗ 𝟔. stockings ; What is your family like? What are your relationships with different members? Any extended family? Who is visiting for Christmas?

⌗ 𝟕. candy canes ; What gives you dr euphoria? (like gender euphoria but for your dr…)

⌗ 𝟖. mistletoe ; Who is your s/o? What is your dynamic and how do you spend time together? Are you two doing something special for the holiday?

⌗ 𝟗. snowflakes ; What are some headcannons you have about people in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟎. icicles ; What is your occupation in your dr? Your coworkers? (Or if student, your classmates?) What is your favorite and least favorite aspect of your occupation?

⌗ 𝟏𝟏. tree skirt ; How did you find out about shifting? What was your first dr and what is your main dr now?

⌗ 𝟏𝟐. ornaments ; What are some objects you have in your dr that you don’t in your cr? Why do you have them in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟑. sleigh bells ; Are there any priveleges you have in your dr that you don’t in your cr? What are they?

⌗ 𝟏𝟒. cookie cutters ; What are some smells that remind you of your dr? Why?

⌗ 𝟏𝟓. elf on the shelf ; who is your main wingman/women/person? What is your dynamic? What do you guys do when you hang out?

⌗ 𝟏𝟔. wrapping paper ; What is your favorite way to script? Why is it your favorite way?

⌗ 𝟏𝟕. gift tags ; What is your camera roll like in your dr? (photos or just describe it)

⌗ 𝟏𝟖. snowballs ; What is a silly scenario you are looking forward to in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟗. mittens ; What are your hobbies in your dr? How do you usually spend your down time?

⌗ 𝟐𝟎. ice skates ; What is your ideal date in your dr? (friends or s/o)

⌗ 𝟐𝟏. coal ; What is something unpleasant you have/have to experience in your dr? Why are you not looking forward to it?

⌗ 𝟐𝟐. tinsel ; What is something fun or random you have scripted? (ex. Thundersnow is more common, you have a ring that allows you to read minds, you have good luck with thrifting, you’re good at gambling.)

⌗ 𝟐𝟑. fir tree ; What are some traditions you have in your dr but not your cr? Why?

⌗ 𝟐𝟒. hot cocoa ; put together a moodboard of your dr or you in your dr

⌗ 𝟐𝟓. christmas ; How are you spending your christmas? Who with? What might be some gifts you are giving and to who?

divider credits.

#sonshineshares #bro this is like a whole month late #i’ve just been busy w work (yup..) and i flip back n forth between this acc n my regular one so #forgot it existed for a while im sorry #love you.. haha…#shiftblr #kpop shifting #reality shifting #shifters #shifting #shifting motivation #shift

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bapeach · 3 days ago

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Stolen kisses ~ Paige's version

Someone asked for a Paige version of Stolen kisses so here it is! If you're more of a Nika girl you can find the original fic here. Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader Word count: 3k+ Warnings: Timeline doesn’t make sense/underage drinking?, make out sessions, hickeys, no smut but suggestive scenes Summary: You break your "no dating teammates" rule for a certain blonde. Stolen moments between Paige and you just make life that much sweeter. ------------

When you first joined UConn, you had one rule. Never date your teammates. That rule quickly went out the window, however, when you met Paige Bueckers.

You two immediately clicked when you first met. You shared the same humor, loved teasing each other, weren’t afraid to speak your mind, and had each other’s backs. You’d only known each other for a few weeks when you two kissed for the first time. It was on the empty UConn court when everyone had already left. Paige had challenged you to a 1v1 to determine, once and for all, who the better player is.

While you loved seeing her smile and tease you about being better, you weren’t about to let her win. You played your heart out that day. It paid off too, you won by 2 points. Once the game was over, the both of you were panting as you walked up to her. You gave her a smirk as you took her hand and shook it. “Not bad, Bueckers, just not good enough,” you said with a wink. She looked up at you as she rolled her eyes, but you could see her eyes twinkle in amusement. You were standing close enough to feel the heat radiate off of each other. You were glad no one else was around to feel the tension between you two.

That’s when your resolve snapped, and you kissed her. You’d grabbed her hips and pulled her in, kissing her hard and full of emotion. She’d gasped against your mouth before bringing her hands to your face, kissing you back just as hard. As you pulled away to breathe, you’d stayed close enough that your forehead was touching hers.

That was the first of many kisses. Secret, stolen kisses behind closed doors.

The team was great, and you both trusted them with your life, but you wanted to keep your relationship just between the two of you for a little longer. Now, it was a few months later, and you were still sneaking around, stealing quiet moments with the blonde, away from the team. You were ready to tell them, knowing they’d be happy for you, but Paige was still hesitant. You were okay with that, though. You only cared about her, it didn’t matter who knew. You only wished the girls could know so you two could have more time together. Not wanting to push the Minnesotan girl, you didn’t bring it up a lot, but you still tried every so often.

In just one more week, Paige and you will have been dating for 6 months. And honestly, these have been the best months of your life.

You were currently on your way to the nearest café, having agreed to meet your team there for breakfast. You haven’t even made it outside of your dorm building when you see Nika, Paige, and Azzi walking in the hallway. You speed up a bit, trying not to make a sound as you get closer. When they’re about to turn a corner, you grip Paige’s wrist and pull her back, your other hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. She gasps against your hand before seeing it's you. Her wide eyes now squinting as she slaps you softly for scaring her. You send her a wink before leaning around the corner to see Nika and Azzi still walking, oblivious to the fact that Paige was no longer with them.

You push her against the wall and take your hand off her mouth. You regret it almost immediately. “You’re such an asshole! You scared the shit out of me!” She says in a hushed voice as she slaps your arm again. You chuckle as you try to avoid her hand. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You laugh, holding your hands up in surrender. She just rolls her eyes at you before asking, “What’s up?”

“I just wanted a moment alone with you… Needed to tell you something,” you hum as you grip her hips and push her against the wall a little harder as you lean in closer. Her breathing stutters for a moment. “Hmm, and what’s that?” She says, looking up at you, her pupils wide. “This,” you mutter before kissing her passionately. You pull back a little, “And this.” You kiss her again, one hand letting go of her hips as you bring it to her cheek. “And also this,” you pant slightly, bringing your lips together one last time as you kiss her deep and lovingly.

When you pull back, her pupils are so wide, you can barely still see her irises. Her cheeks are a beautiful rose, while her lips are a bright red from kissing you. You smile softly at her, still not believing that the prettiest girl in the world is yours. She finally breaks eye contact, looking down as she shakes her head a bit to get rid of the haze she’s in.

“We should get going, Niks and Azz are gonna send out a search party for me,” she mumbles. “Y’know, we could just tell them… Tell the whole team about us… Y’know they would be happy for us, and we wouldn’t have to sneak around so much,” you mumble, your thumb tracing circles on her hip. “We can’t. I… I’m not ready yet,” Paige says as her eyebrows furrow and her eyes become sad.

Your chest becomes a little heavier. You’re not sure if it’s from the fact that Paige doesn’t want to tell the team or if it’s because she looks so upset. You shake your head softly, sending her a tiny smile. “It’s okay, we don’t have to. We’ll wait until you’re ready, there’s no rush,” you whisper. You give her one last kiss on the corner of her mouth before you let her go.

“C’mon then,” you grin, trying to cheer her up as you pull her off of the wall and sling an arm around her shoulders. She lets you keep your arm there until you reach the lobby of the building. Azzi and Nika are already there waiting for her. “Where the hell did you go?” Nika asks the blonde as she gives you a hug. “Bumped into Y/N, so we started walking together, but she had to tie her shoelace,” she replies, lying with ease. Her cheeks become a little flushed again at the memory, but Nika and Azzi don’t notice, already walking towards the exit. You just send her a flirty wink and a grin before following your teammates.

Once you reach the café and greet everyone, you sit down and order some breakfast. You’re seated between KK and Azzi, with Paige sitting right in front of you. You send her a smirk, chuckling as she rolls her eyes. When your food and drink arrive, you enjoy your meal as you laugh with the team. “We should go out tonight!” Paige exclaims loudly. “Practices start again tomorrow, and you wanna go and get drunk?” Azzi says, raising an eyebrow at the blonde. “Exactly! Our last free day! C’monnnn, you know you wanna,” Paige replies, sending puppy eyes at the whole team.

Everyone looks at each other hesitantly, trying to decide if it’s a good idea. “C’mon Y/N, back me up!” The girl begs, her eyes wide as she pouts slightly, knowing you could never say to her. You knew this wouldn’t be a good idea. Practice was going to be rough even without being hungover, so the right thing to do was to say no. But let’s be real, there was no way you were going to pass up the opportunity to see your girl all pretty and dressed up. Paige also was a flirty drunk, so you knew you were going to have fun.

A smirk forms on your face as you look at Paige. “Why the hell not?” You say. Your team starts nodding their heads in agreement, some of them mumbling about being screwed. Paige raises her arms as she cheers, only quieting down when getting a slap to the back of the head from Nika. She huffs as she crosses her arms and frowns dramatically, making everyone laugh. “Are you sure you’re old enough to go to a bar, you big baby?” Azzi teases as the blonde’s mouth drops open in offense. Nika slaps her hand to her mouth as she snorts from laughter. You look at Paige lovingly before starting a conversation with KK, not wanting anyone to catch your staring.

Once breakfast is over, everyone splits up to go do their own thing. Some girls invite you over to play Fortnite, but you decline. If you’re going out tonight, you should probably finish some of the schoolwork you had been shoving aside. You wave everyone goodbye, sending Paige one last wink before you leave. You walk with a pep in your step, excited about going out and seeing your girl all dolled up.

The rest of the day goes by pretty fast, and before you know it, it’s time to get ready. You hop in the shower after sending Paige a flirty invitation to join you, laughing as she sends you smirk faces back. Once you’re done, you quickly dry your hair before walking over to your closet. You pick out your favorite outfit, the one you know drives your girlfriend crazy, and put on your nicest perfume. You finish your look with a few rings and a necklace, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror. You grab your phone, keys, and wallet as you walk over to the door, texting the group chat to ask who were going to be the designated drivers and who’d be driving with whom.

To your dismay, Paige won’t be in the same car as you, so you won’t get to see her until you’re at the bar. You walk towards the dorm where you knew your group was meeting up, sending your girl a quick text to let her know you were leaving soon and would meet her there. She doesn’t reply immediately, letting you know she’s probably still getting ready. You’re the last to arrive to your group, so you all leave once you get there.

Reaching the bar, you find a table to sit at as you wait for the others. You’re laughing at KK doing a dramatic reenactment of something that happened in class when you hear the other girls greet each other. You look over, and for a moment your heart stops. There she is. Paige.

She’s wearing a black crop top that shows off her abs with some cargo pants that fit her just right. Her hair is wavy, while her light makeup somehow makes her look even more attractive. A dainty necklace is glistening on her chest, catching the dim bar light.

“Are you even listening?” KK whines in your ear before following your gaze. Thankfully, she gets distracted by the other girls arriving and doesn’t realize the heart eyes you were making at the blue-eyed girl. You swallow harshly as you catch her eye. She sends you a smug smirk, seeing the way she’s affecting you.

You get up to greet everyone before walking over to her and leaning closer. You mutter, “You look beautiful, baby,” in her ear, grinning as a shiver goes through her body.

You step back, announcing you’re going to get everyone some shots. You give Paige’s arm a soft squeeze as you walk past her, talking to Azzi as she follows you to help you out. You’re glad you’re not the designated driver today, knowing it would be pure torture to have to stay sober the whole evening and not be able to touch Paige.

It’s not long before most girls are tipsy, laughing at the stupidest things and blabbing about God knows what. You’re sipping your drink and laughing at KK’s weird dream when you feel someone tug your arm. You look up from your seat to see a flushed Paige in front of you. “Come dance with me,” she demands. You get up, giving the younger girl next to you a sheepish grin and a shrug.

The blonde leads you to the middle of the dance floor before she starts dancing with you. Her moves are sensual but still innocent enough to make it look like two good friends just having fun. You grab onto her, pulling her closer between the sea of bodies. You twist her around, breathing into her neck as she leans her back against you. She smells like her signature perfume mixed with the drinks she’s had tonight and a bit of sweat from all the dancing. You dance for a few songs until you can’t take it anymore. You grab her hand and pull her towards the bathroom. Once you’re in there and have made sure you’re alone, you push her against the wall and kiss her hungrily.

“So pretty for me,” you pant against her mouth. She responds by grabbing your face and pulling you into another breathtaking kiss. She leans back a little, trying to catch her breath as you start trailing kisses down her neck. You know you two had agreed to not leave marks, but you couldn’t help it. Not when she looked like an actual goddess and was eyeing you with those beautiful wide eyes. You leave a few red marks across her skin before you get interrupted by knocking on the door.

You pull back, breathing heavily and giving her a questioning look. “Let’s go home,” she breathes out, desperation clear in her voice. You let her pull you out of the bathroom and out of the bar as you order an Uber to take you back. You can hardly keep your hands off of her, but you know you can’t risk the team seeing you. You text Aaliyah that you’re leaving, while Paige texts Azzi, making sure it’s not too obvious that you’re leaving together.

Once you make it to your dorm, you barely have time to close the door before the blonde is kissing you again. You lead her to your bedroom, not letting her get farther than a few inches. You don’t go much further than making out that night, knowing you both have had quite a few drinks and don’t want to do anything while intoxicated. You don’t mind, though. Having her here in your arms as she dozes off, slightly snoring, is more than enough.

The next day, you wake up to your head pounding. You stay in bed a few extra minutes, enjoying the girl’s soft breathing against your chest, before you get up and get ready for the day. Once you feel more presentable, you take some painkillers with a glass of water. You grab some extra pills and water for Paige, placing them on her nightstand as you go to make breakfast.

15 minutes later, you’re almost done with the food. Hearing the soft patter of footsteps behind you, you turn around and smile softly. The blonde’s hair is a mess, she has a bit of drool dried in the corner of her mouth, and she has panda eyes from her leftover makeup. Yet she still manages to look gorgeous and make your heart skip a beat.

You hold your arms open as she falls into your hug. You kiss her forehead, muttering a good morning. You wish you could wake up like this every day. The love of your life tightly in your arms as you prepare to face the rest of the day. Once she pulls back, you rub your thumb gently against her mouth, wiping away the drool before giving her a soft kiss. You enjoy breakfast together before she goes to get ready, and you both split up to meet again at practice.

When you reach the locker room, the whole team is already there. Some girls are holding their heads and frowning in regret, while others are grinning widely and teasing the others. You’re glad your headache is gone as KK sings loudly, trying to annoy the other girls as much as possible. You make eye contact with Paige across the room as you send her a playful wink. Her face becomes a soft pink color as she smiles back.

Everything is normal when you start changing into your basketball uniform until you hear KK gasp loudly. You’re in the middle of pulling on your shirt when you hear Nika yell, “What’s that!” When you finally get your shirt on, you see KK pointing at Paige as both she and Nika stare at the star athlete with wide eyes. You try to hide your smile as you see the purple marks littered across the other girl’s neck.

“OOOHH, SOMEONE GOT LAIDDDDD!” KK cheers. Paige becomes a bright red as all the girls are now looking at her with smirks. “Oh my God, shut up,” she mumbles back as she puts her face in her hands. “C’mon twin, tell us, who was itttt?” Nika grins as she wiggles her eyebrows and shimmies her shoulders. Having realized that her team is going to bug her anyway, Paige sits up straighter, no longer being so embarrassed. “I don’t kiss and tell,” she smirks.

“Boooo,” KK groans as she throws her head back. You chuckle at her dramatics. You look back at Paige, who’s already eyeing you. Your staring gets interrupted as Nika loudly complains, “This is almost as bad as the time Y/N wouldn’t tell us who gave her those scratches on her back.” You smirk as you send everyone a shrug, not ashamed in the slightest. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Paige look away, her face blazing at the memory.

Your chest feels warm. Sure, you’d love to have everyone know that you managed to have the Paige Bueckers go out with you. But in moments like this, you didn’t really care. You loved hearing the team tease your girl, not knowing it was you who she was going out with. Loved the thrill of sneaking her looks without getting caught. So yeah, stolen kisses weren’t so bad when they brought you heaven on earth with the girl you were sure you’d marry some day.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers oneshot #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x you #oneshot #imagine #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #wlw fanfic #bapeach writes

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 20 hours ago

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Morning Kisses.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!!

authors note - happy birthday to my one true love, honestly, can’t put into words how much he, his music and just his being has had an effect on my life. here’s to thirty-one!! 🥂

word count - 700.

in which, it’s the morning of harry’s birthday and what better way to wake him up then with kisses.

The early morning light seeps through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. The world outside is still quiet, the city not yet stirring, but here, in the warmth of your shared bed, time feels suspended.

You wake first, your body instinctively curling closer to his before your eyes even open.

Harry lies beside you, his breathing slow and steady, his face softened in sleep. His curls are tousled against the pillow, a few stray strands falling over his forehead.

The faintest shadow of stubble dusts his jaw, and in the gentle light, you can see the way his lashes fan against his skin. His lips, slightly parted, hold the trace of a peaceful dream.

Thirty-one today.

A thought that lingers in your mind as you take him in, memorising every detail, as if you haven’t done this countless times before.

His bare shoulder peeks from beneath the duvet, the curve of it strong yet relaxed in slumber. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, reassuring. The warmth of him radiates beneath the covers, a familiar comfort that has long since become home.

You reach out, barely brushing your fingers over his arm, the heat of his skin meeting yours in a silent connection.

Carefully, you reach up and brush a stray curl away from his forehead, your touch featherlight, not wanting to wake him just yet. But you can’t help yourself—the quiet adoration swelling in your chest demands to be expressed.

Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his temple, lingering just a second before moving down to the bridge of his nose, then his cheek, your lips barely grazing his warm skin.

You’re just about to press a kiss to his lips when a deep, raspy voice interrupts you.

"Are my lips going to get a kiss as well?"

His voice is thick with sleep, slow and heavy, his words melting into the quiet of the morning. His lips curve slightly, eyes still closed, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, like he’s been awake just long enough to feel you moving against him, to soak in the affection you so freely give.

Your heart stirs at the sound of him, the warmth of him, the way his presence alone can make you feel like the safest, softest thing in the world. He shifts slightly, his body stretching beneath the duvet, muscles flexing as he sinks further into the pillows, waiting.

And, of course, you oblige.

There is a softness in your embrace, a tender interplay of delicate touches that transcends the need for words. The gentle rustle of sheets accompanies every subtle movement, as you press your lips against his ones.

The closeness of your bodies creates an intimate cocoon, where the only language is that of touch—a language that tells of love, adoration, and the beauty of shared vulnerability.

Time seems to dissolve in the cocoon of this quiet moment, as you explore the contours of his face with soft, lingering kisses.

The intimacy of the make-out session evolves naturally—a slow, meandering journey through the realms of affection and desire.

Every soft, deliberate caress of your lips, every tender press against his skin, feels like a silent vow to cherish him on this day and always.

In these moments, the world beyond the confines of your bed fades away. There is only the gentle interplay of warmth, the quiet murmur of your heartbeats, and the soft interplay of skin and breath.

The morning air, cool and crisp against the heat of your shared passion, lends a surreal quality to the experience, as if the very elements of nature have conspired to celebrate the love that fills the room.

As you lose yourself in the blissful intimacy of the moment, your heart overflows with gratitude for this shared life—a life where each birthday becomes a gentle reminder of the love and tenderness that defines you both.

With every kiss, every soft, lingering touch, you reaffirm the silent promise of devotion and the timeless beauty of being in each other’s arms on this, his special day.

“What do you want to do for your birthday, sweet boy?” You muse, pressing one last kiss to his lips.

He smirks at you. “— I have a few ideas.”

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iamquiantrelle · 2 days ago

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THE NEW WAG IN TOWN (chapter 1)──iamquaintrelle

# pairing: william saliba x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# wc: 11.2k

# tags: @formulafortyfour @kennasutopia @saleeba @anifffff @jessnotwiththemess @irishmanwhore @snowseasonmademe @oceanfanatic06 @ibouchouchou @haartemis @judectrl @peyiswriting @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @sucredreamer @eriks-girl

# summary: yasmin thought that dating wilo would stay private - until someone caught them at tesco and posted it online. now she's gone from quiet grad student to arsenal wag overnight, with thousands of new followers and wags begging her to join their brunches. all she wanted was to finish her degree and date her defender in peace, but as the spotlight grows brighter, she wonders if their private world can survive in this public circus. masterlist

Three days had passed since a Dairy Milk craving changed everything. Three days of Yas's phone vibrating itself into oblivion, of her twist-out staying in a messy pineapple because clinical rotations were kicking her ass, of trying to pretend she wasn't all over Arsenal Twitter because she'd dragged a sleepy Wilo to Tesco at midnight. The TikTok was everywhere now - her 5'5" frame drowning in his Arsenal hoodie while his 6'4" self reached for top-shelf chocolate, both of them clearly caught up in their own little world until a fan's "Can I get a picture?" turned into way more than they'd bargained for. The original tweet sharing the TikTok already had more than 50k likes: "SALIBA GOT A GIRL?? Caught at Tesco late night shopping 👀 Who is she??" and it was only getting worse.

At least she had Jamie, her clinical partner at King's College London's PT clinic, to keep her sane through it all. Jamie, who was currently failing to hide her grin while updating patient charts.

"Your boyfriend's coming in for his knee check today, right?"

"Stop calling him that at work," Yas hissed, but couldn't help smiling. The whole thing was still wild to her - meeting Wilo four months ago at Dishoom, that Indian spot all her classmates insisted she try when she first moved from Chicago. She'd been struggling with the menu (why were British-Indian portions so different from American ones?), and this tall guy with the deepest French accent she'd ever heard offered to help. She didn't even realize who he was until her friend kicked her under the table and frantically texted "THAT'S WILLIAM SALIBA" while Yas was busy trying to understand his accent.

She was checking her schedule when Wilo appeared in the doorway, and honestly, it should be illegal how he managed to make ducking through standard-sized doors look graceful. His training gear hung perfectly on his frame, and Yas had to remind herself that she was a professional who definitely wasn't thinking about how that same frame had been pressed against her in the Tesco snack aisle three nights ago.

"Bonjour," he said softly, his accent thick as honey as he sat on the treatment table, those long legs dangling. "Comment ça va?"

"English in the clinic, remember?" she teased, going through her standard range of motion checks. Her hands stayed steady even when his skin was warm under her touch. She'd practiced these movements hundreds of times, but somehow they felt different when it was Wilo watching her with those dark eyes. "How's the knee feeling after training?"

"Better with your exercises," he replied carefully, concentrating on each word in that way he did when he wanted to make sure she understood. His accent always got thicker when he was trying his hardest with English, and god help her, but it was adorable. "But you… are you okay? These past days…"

"I'm fine," she assured him, testing his knee stability and definitely not thinking about how her tiny hands looked against his leg. "Just focusing on my patients. And trying to keep up with your accent when you talk too fast."

"Me?" he laughed, the deep sound filling the small treatment room and making her fingers tingle where they pressed against his knee. "You are the one speaking like…" he paused, reaching for his phone to translate something, and she had to bite back a smile at how predictable he was.

"No phones during treatment," she reminded him, gently pushing his hand down. "Now tell me if you feel any discomfort here…"

Jamie wasn't even pretending not to watch them from the charting station anymore. Yas could feel her friend's amused gaze as she went through the motions - professional PT student Yasmin, definitely not thinking about how this same man had sleepily followed her to Tesco just because she'd played the girlfriend card. Her hands stayed clinical and precise while Wilo watched her with that soft look he got whenever she went into healthcare mode, the one that made her heart do stupid flips in her chest.

"Flex and extend for me," she instructed, her professional tone slipping when he purposely moved extra slow, those dark eyes twinkling. "Stop being difficult."

"I am following instructions," he protested, his accent getting thicker with amusement, wrapping around the words like warm chocolate. "You say slow and controlled, non?"

"I didn't say glacial," she muttered, but her hands were gentle as she checked his range of motion, careful with this man who could body strikers on the pitch but acted like her PT sessions were torture. "How was training this morning?"

"Arteta made us…" he paused, frowning as he searched for the words, and she had to resist the urge to smooth the crease between his brows. "Comment dit-on… extra drills? Because Luton Town this weekend."

"You better not be overworking this knee before a match," she warned, pressing slightly on a tender spot that made him wince. His leg was solid muscle under her hands, a reminder that for all their playful moments, he was still one of the Premier League's top defenders. "See? Still tight here."

Jamie's poorly hidden laugh echoed from the charting station. Everyone at the clinic had seen the TikTok by now but watching them here, you'd never guess they were trending. They were just... them. Yas with her clinical precision masking how her skin tingled wherever they touched, and Wilo with his accented teasing that got thicker whenever he was trying not to smile.

"Your stability's better," Yas noted, switching to her assessment voice even as his warmth seeped through her professional walls. "But you need to ice after training, I can tell you haven't been."

"Too cold," he complained, and the way his accent wrapped around those two simple words shouldn't make her stomach flip like that.

"Too bad. Doctor's orders."

"You're not doctor yet."

"Almost. Now do your hamstring stretches and stop arguing with your PT."

Jamie's pager went off like a lifeline through the tension that was building in the small room. She threw Yas a knowing look before heading out to help with exercises in the main room, leaving them alone with all their unspoken moments.

Wilo waited until the door closed, that heavy silence settling between them. "Gabriel keep asking about you. Want to know if you're coming to dinner at his place tomorrow."

"I have clinic notes to finish," Yas said, focusing on stretching his hamstring and not on how his muscles flexed under her touch. "And that thing with your knee isn't going to document itself."

"I tell him you're busy being smart," he smiled, then winced when she hit another tight spot. "Aïe! Doucement..."

"Baby," she teased, even as her hands gentled automatically. "And here I thought defenders were supposed to be tough."

"Only on pitch. Here?" He gestured to the treatment table, his dark eyes dancing. "I am delicate patient."

Before she could process it, his arm was around her waist, pulling her between his legs where he sat on the table. Even sitting, he was nearly at eye level with her standing. "You sure you okay though? No crazy people following you to work?"

"I'm fine," she said, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism even as his hands settled on her hips, warm through her scrubs. The clinic suddenly felt too small, too warm. "The school's pretty good about security."

"Mm," he hummed, accent getting thicker as he leaned closer, and god, he knew exactly what that did to her. "Maybe I should come to more... what you call them? Clinical hours?"

"Pretty sure that's not what you meant," Yas laughed, not needing any translation app to catch his tone. Her hands rested on his shoulders, forgetting all about PT protocols. "And you're supposed to be doing your exercises—"

Her words cut off in a yelp as he squeezed her ass, the sound hanging in the air just as Jamie walked back in.

"Dr. Morris wants us to– oh!" Jamie stopped short, fighting a grin as Yas jumped away from Wilo, her face burning. "She needs us to shadow her on a shoulder manipulation."

"Coming!" Yas said quickly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, straightening her scrubs with as much dignity as she could muster. "Behave yourself and ice that knee."

Wilo just grinned, all innocent eyes and devastating smile as he slid off the table. "Bye Jamie," he called out, throwing Yas one last look that promised this wasn't over before ducking out the door, taking all her professional composure with him.

"So," Jamie drawled as they headed down the corridor, her voice dripping with amusement. "That's what professional PT looks like these days?"

"Shut up," Yas muttered, adjusting her scrubs and trying to will away the heat in her cheeks. "We were just–"

"Just doing some hands-on therapy?" Jamie wiggled her eyebrows. "Very hands-on from what I saw."

"I'm not above tripping you in front of Dr. Morris."

"Worth it. Also, you've got a little…" Jamie gestured to her own lips, and Yas quickly wiped away the ghost of her goodbye kiss, shooting her friend a death glare that only made Jamie grin wider.

The rest of her clinical hours dragged by in a blur of patient assessments and charting, her phone occasionally buzzing with texts from Wilo - mostly French words she had to Google Translate, each one making her bite back a smile. By the time she finally finished her notes, the London evening had turned that particular shade of grey that meant rain was coming.

Her phone lit up just as she was packing up.

"You still at clinic?" Wilo's accent was somehow even deeper over the phone.

"Just finished. Why?"

"Look outside."

She peaked through the clinic windows to find him leaning against his Range Rover in the parking lot. A few students were trying (and failing) to subtly take photos, but he seemed focused only on watching the clinic door.

"You're supposed to be icing that knee," she said as she walked out, trying to sound stern even as her heart did that stupid flutter thing once more.

"I did ice." He pushed off the car, closing the distance between them in those long strides of his. "For ten whole minutes."

"That's not–" but her professional PT lecture was cut off as he pulled her into him, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other settled on her waist. She had to tilt her head all the way back to look at him, and his eyes were soft as they traced over her tired features.

"You look exhausted, mon cœur."

"Clinical hours are no joke." She let herself lean into him just a bit. "Not all of us get to play football all day."

His laugh rumbled through his chest where she was pressed against him. "Non? You want to try defending for Saka this weekend?"

"I'd rather do another eight hours of charting."

That earned her another laugh, and then he was bending down to press his lips to her forehead. "Come, I take you home. Maybe stop for more chocolate?"

"Don't even joke about Tesco runs right now," she groaned, but let him guide her to the passenger side, his hand warm on her lower back. "I still can't believe that girl posted the video."

"Mm," he hummed, helping her up into the seat even though they both knew she didn't need it. "But now I can do this whenever I want, non?" And he leaned in to kiss her properly, slow and sweet, before pulling back with a grin. "No more hiding in snack aisle."

"You're impossible," she muttered, but she was smiling as he closed her door and rounded the car to the driver's side.

The Range Rover hummed quietly through London's evening traffic, some French rap playing softly through the speakers. Yas had gotten used to Wilo's driving habits by now - how his huge frame somehow managed to look graceful even behind the wheel, one hand on it while the other alternated between the gear shift and her thigh. He drove like he played, confident and smooth, those long fingers tapping against the leather steering wheel to the beat.

She was half-dozing, lulled by the warmth of the heated seats and the familiar mix of his cologne with that fancy car freshener he used, when she realized they weren't heading toward her flat and was rounding the corner to his building.

"What are you doing?" She turned to find him wearing that particular expression she knew too well - the one he got when he thought he was being slick, the one that usually preceded with her scrubs ending up on his floor.

"Taking you home," he said innocently, but his accent had that particular thickness to it that had nothing to do with language barriers.

"I don't live here, Will." But they both knew she had more clothes in his drawer than she'd admit to, and her favorite coffee mug had somehow migrated to his kitchen cabinet.

"Sometimes you do…" he smirked as he pulled into his private parking spot. "And I figured we could… finish from what happened at clinic?"

"I'm still on my period, or did you forget the main reason we even visited Tesco in the first place?" The same Tesco run that had blown their private bubble wide open, though looking at him now, with that glint in his eye, she could almost laugh about it.

"A little blood–"

"Don't you even dare," she threatened, pointing her finger at him which he playfully tried to bite, earning himself a smack on the chest. "You're gross."

"I'll just put down a towel. The least I could do since you got the period," he huffed, and she realized with a start that he wasn't entirely joking. Ever since they'd made things official, he'd been more… careless. Dropping comments about knocking her up - which, okay, was hot as hell in the moment, but outside the bedroom? Major yikes.

"William, no babies until a ring is on this finger and I'm finished with my program." She waggled her bare ring finger in front of his face for emphasis, trying not to think about how his eyes tracked the movement. "We're too young to even talk about babies anyways. Like what is the reason?"

"We'll make pretty babies," he said with that devastating smile of his, the one that made her forget she was supposed to be the responsible one here.

"No shit."

"But?" His eyes were twinkling now as he killed the engine, the sudden silence making everything feel more intimate.

"But you know the rules. No more talk about this please. You're giving me a migraine."

"You know what could help with migraine?" He was fully grinning now, one hand already reaching for her seatbelt while the other played with the ends of her twist-out.

She couldn't help but scoff at him, even as her body betrayed her by leaning into his touch. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Impossible? Non," he murmured, his accent getting impossibly thicker as he leaned across the console. "Just... what you say? Determined?"

"That's one word for it," Yas muttered, but didn't pull away when his fingers traced down her jaw. "Will..."

"We don't have to do anything," he said softly, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. "Just... stay. Watch a film. Let me make you dinner."

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean let me watch you struggle with UberEats for twenty minutes?"

"So mean to me," he pouted, but his eyes were dancing.

"No I’m not."

"Come on, mon coeur." His hand had moved to the back of her neck now, playing with the hairs that had escaped her pineapple. "Your flat is cold and empty."

"Because someone keeps stealing my hoodies."

"You steal mine first!"

"That's different," she protested, even as she was already reaching for her bag. "I look cute in yours. You stretch mine out with your giant... everything."

His laugh was deep and warm in the confined space. "Giant everything, eh?"

"Don't make me hurt your knee again," she threatened, but they both knew she was going to follow him upstairs. She always did, especially when he looked at her with those soft eyes that made her forget about clinical hours and Twitter drama and everything else.

"You wouldn't," he said confidently, finally pulling back to get out of the car. "Who else let you practice your PT stuff?"

"I have other patients, you know."

"Oui, but are they as pretty as me?" He was already at her door, opening it with that stupidly charming grin of his.

"You're so–" but her words cut off as he helped her down, using their height difference to pull her flush against him. Even after months, it still made her breath catch, how easily he could maneuver her smaller frame.

"So what?" he whispered, bending down so his lips brushed her ear. "Tell me, docteur."

Yas immediately stepped away. "Annoying."

The private elevator ride to his penthouse was torture - not because of the height (though Yas still wasn't used to the way London sprawled out below those floor-to-ceiling windows), but because Wilo had her pressed against the mirrored wall, one huge hand spanning her waist while the other played with her edges.

"You're messing up my hair," she complained halfheartedly, tilting her head back against his chest.

"It's already messy," he murmured, accent thick with suggestion. The elevator dinged open to his floor before she could reply, and he guided her out with that hand still firmly on her waist.

His penthouse was exactly what you'd expect from a 23-year-old footballer - all clean lines and modern furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city lights coming alive in the dusk.

"You really need to do your dishes," she said, trying to maintain some semblance of responsibility even as he walked her backward toward that ridiculous couch.

"Later," he promised, those dark eyes fixed on her in a way that made her forget about dirty dishes and clinical notes and everything that wasn't his hands sliding down to her hips. "First..."

"Will," she warned, but her body was already betraying her, melting into his touch. "I told you–"

"Just kissing," he assured her, but that smirk said otherwise. "Unless..."

"Don't even finish that sentence."

Her warning lost some of its effect when he stepped closer, backing her up against the back of that massive sectional. The city lights sparkled behind him through those floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows across his features that made him look unfairly gorgeous. Sometimes she still couldn't believe this was her life now - Arsenal's star defender looking at her like she hung the moon, all because she couldn't figure out Indian food portions four months ago.

His hands found her waist again, and the height difference meant she had to tilt her head all the way back to maintain eye contact. That soft smile he reserved just for her played at his lips, and really, clinical notes could wait, right?

"Fuck," Yas breathed as his lips found that spot behind her ear, his hands steady on her hips. "Will, I swear to god–"

"What?" he murmured against her skin, all fake innocence even as he guided them down onto the sectional. "I'm being good."

"You're being something," she managed, but then he was kissing her properly, and honestly, clinical notes could wait. Her fingers found their way into his hair as he settled over her, careful to keep most of his weight on his forearms.

"Still have headache?" he teased between kisses, and she could feel his smile against her lips.

"Shut up," she groaned, tugging his hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying."

"Mm, but you like it."

"Sometimes I don't know why."

His laugh rumbled through his chest where it pressed against hers. "Because I'm your favorite patient."

"You're my most difficult patient," she corrected, but then his mouth was back on her neck and she lost whatever else she was going to say. Her nails scraped lightly against his scalp, earning a low sound that she felt more than heard.

"Will," she warned as his hands started wandering. "I told you–"

"I know, I know," he sighed, pulling back just enough to look at her with those dark eyes. "Just kissing. But tomorrow..."

"You're impossible."

"You keep saying this word. I don't think it means what you think it means."

She blinked up at him. "Did you just quote Princess Bride at me?"

His grin was devastating. "Maybe I pay attention when you make me watch your American films."

"Oh my god," she laughed, shoving at his chest. "Get off me, I can't believe you just–"

But he was kissing her again, swallowing her laughter, until she finally pulled back with a sigh. The look in his eyes was nearly enough to make her forget about her cramps. Nearly.

"Fine. Go get the towel."

His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Really?"

"Before I change my mind." She could already feel herself blushing at how eager he was about this whole situation.

"I can't wait to cum inside you," he breathed against her neck, and she actually had to pause, her hands frozen where they'd been playing with his hair.

"What the fuck, bro?" She squinted at him, torn between laughing and being genuinely concerned about his sudden breeding kink. But he was already jumping up from the couch with entirely too much enthusiasm, nearly tripping over his own long legs in his haste.

She could hear him rummaging through his linen closet, muttering in rapid French that she was pretty sure she didn't want translated. This man really was going to be the death of her - all 6'4" of pure ridiculousness, Arsenal's fearsome defender reduced to excitedly hunting for towels.

"I'm ready, sweetheart!" his voice called from somewhere down the hallway a few seconds later, accent thick with anticipation.

Yas shook her head, fighting a smile as she got up to follow him. These football boys really were something else. She started undoing her scrub top as she walked toward his bedroom, wondering how exactly this had become her life - sneaking around with William Saliba, letting him convince her into period sex just because he looked at her with those puppy dog eyes.

"The things I do for you," she muttered under her breath, but she was smiling as she pushed open his bedroom door.

The morning sun filtering through Wilo's floor-to-ceiling windows was entirely too bright, and Yas's lower back was complaining about last night's activities. She could hear him in the kitchen, his deep voice rapping along to some French song while pots clanked suspiciously.

"Never again," she groaned into his ridiculous Egyptian cotton pillows. Her scrubs from yesterday were scattered somewhere on his bedroom floor, mixed with the towel that was definitely going straight into the wash.

"Mon coeur?" His voice carried from the kitchen. "You want eggs?"

"I want ibuprofen," she called back, finally dragging herself out of bed. She pulled on the pajamas she'd left here last time after their little fun - one of his old Arsenal training shirts that hit mid-thigh and some shorts she'd had to tie extra tight to stay up.

The shower in his ensuite was heaven, hot water beating away the soreness while she tried not to think too hard about last night. The sound of Wilo's terrible singing mixed with the smell of what she hoped was breakfast and not another kitchen disaster.

His expensive body wash made her skin smell like him, and she couldn't help but smile at his array of hair products. For someone who kept his hair cropped short, he sure had a lot of opinions about conditioning.

"Is something burning?" she called out as she wrapped her hair in one of his towels.

"Non! Maybe. Come see!"

God help her, she actually loved this ridiculous man.

Yas padded into the kitchen after pulling on another one of his t-shirts and a pair of leggings, finding Wilo attempted to flip an omelette, his large frame making the spacious kitchen somehow feel smaller. He was shirtless, just wearing low-hanging sweats, still rapping along to whatever French artist was playing through his expensive sound system.

"You better not mess up my eggs," she warned, leaning against the counter.

"Non, non. I am professional." He turned to grin at her, and her breath definitely didn't catch at how his eyes darkened seeing her in his shirt. "Sleep good?"

"You're not slick. And we're never doing that again."

"But–"

"Never. Again." But she was fighting a smile as she stole a piece of bacon from the plate next to him. "I can't believe you convinced me."

"I am very convincing," he smirked, then cursed as some egg stuck to the pan. "Merde–"

"Move," she hip-checked him away from the stove. "How are you this bad at cooking when you live alone?"

"I have you now," he said simply, but the way his hands settled on her waist from behind made it sound like so much more. "And UberEats."

"William."

"Mm?" His chin rested on top of her head, and she could feel his smile.

"You're distracting me from saving your breakfast."

"Good. Maybe we can–"

"If you suggest what I think you're about to suggest, I'm burning your omelette on purpose."

"I was just going to say maybe we can have breakfast in bed," he protested, but his hands were wandering again.

"You're the worst liar." She expertly flipped the omelette with one hand while swatting his wandering fingers with the other. "Don't you have training?"

"Later." His lips found that spot behind her ear. "Arteta won't mind if I'm little late."

"Arteta absolutely will mind." But she was already tilting her head to give him better access. "Will, the eggs–"

"Let them burn."

"I'm literally holding a hot pan right now."

He reached around her to turn off the stove, then spun her to face him in one smooth motion. Sometimes she forgot how strong he actually was until moments like this.

"No more period sex," she said firmly, even as her hands settled on his chest.

"But–"

"But nothing. My back is killing me."

His grin was absolutely wicked. "Worth it."

"I hate you."

"Non, you don't." He bent down to kiss her, morning breath and all, and okay, maybe she didn't hate him that much. "You love me."

"I love when you're not burning breakfast," she corrected, pushing him away. "You're going to be late." Yas plated the rescued eggs while Wilo scrolled through his phone, still pressed against her back.

"Bukayo just texted. Practice pushed thirty minutes." His accent was muffled against her neck. "More time for–"

"More time for you to actually eat breakfast." She twisted out of his grip, grabbing both plates. "And I need to go home and change before clinicals."

"Skip them."

"Some of us can't just tell our boss we're taking a personal day." She settled at his massive kitchen island, watching him pout as he finally let her go. "Besides, don't you have that big Luton Town match this weekend?"

"Oui, which means I need my PT check today too…"

"Your knee is fine. Jamie can do your check."

The look of betrayal on his face was almost comical. "You would let another woman touch me?"

"I would let another PT student assess your perfectly healthy knee, yes." She took a bite of eggs, raising an eyebrow at him. "Unless you're saying you only come to the clinic to see me?"

"Maybe."

"That's unprofessional."

"Says girl wearing my shirt."

"Speaking of which," she glanced at her phone, "I really need to go home and change."

"Stay," he said, suddenly serious. "Just… five more minutes."

"Five minutes won't get me to clinic on time," she said softly, but shared her eggs with him anyway when he opened his mouth expectantly. "You're like a baby bird."

"Your baby bird," he grinned, then disappeared down the hall to deal with their mess from last night. She could hear him humming as he tossed the towel and her scrubs in his washer.

The drive to her flat was quiet, London morning traffic crawling by while some French podcast played softly through the speakers. His hand found its way to her thigh, thumb rubbing absent circles.

"About Gabriel's dinner…" he started.

"Will–"

"Just think about it? And maybe…" he glanced at her quickly before focusing back on traffic. "Come to match this weekend?"

"They'll take pictures," she said quietly. "I'll be all over Twitter again."

"So? Let them." His accent got thicker, more urgent. "I want you there. Want to see you in stands."

She played with his fingers on her thigh, considering. "Maybe. If I finish my coursework."

His smile was brilliant. "A year left, non? Then you're properly doctor."

"Doctor of Physical Therapy," she corrected automatically, but she was smiling too.

"Still doctor. Still proud of you." He lifted their joined hands to kiss her knuckles. "My smart girl."

The Range Rover purred to a stop outside her building, morning sun catching on the tinted windows. Wilo killed the engine but kept his hand on her thigh.

"Give daddy kiss," he grinned, waggling his eyebrows in that ridiculous way that shouldn't be attractive but somehow was.

"Don't get punched in the face today," she said, gathering her bag from where it had fallen between her feet. Her scrubs from yesterday were safely in his washing machine, which meant she'd have to see him again soon. Not that either of them was complaining.

"Kinky," he smirked, and the way his accent wrapped around the word made her cheeks heat.

She rolled her eyes but leaned over anyway, meaning to give him a quick goodbye peck. His hand caught the back of her neck though, fingers tangling in her hair as he tried to deepen the kiss. She could feel his smile against her lips when she pulled away laughing.

"Go to work, you menace."

His eyes stayed on her as she climbed out, that dark gaze following her all the way to her building's entrance. She could hear his music start up again - more French rap that she'd probably find herself humming later during clinic hours. Her face hurt from smiling as she headed inside, already thinking about his match this weekend and how public their little bubble was about to become.

The doorman pretended not to notice her obvious walk of shame, but she caught his knowing look. At least she wasn't in yesterday's scrubs - small mercies. Her phone buzzed just as she reached the elevator:

"Miss you already x"

Impossible man.

Her flat felt extra quiet after the morning at Wilo's. She pulled on her dark blue scrub set, the material still crisp from its last wash. Her hair was a mess from last night, so she opted for a slick bun, carefully laying her baby hairs with edge control before grabbing her white clinic shoes.

The kitchen was looking sad. She'd been putting off grocery shopping, caught between clinicals and trying to keep her relationship private. Fat lot of good that did now.

Her phone buzzed while she was staring into her empty fridge:

"Check your Monzo x"

She clicked the notification to find £500 from 'william s.' had landed in her account. They'd fought about this before - she hated feeling like a WAG, and he hated seeing her struggle when he could help. But right now, with three weeks until her next stipend…

"You don't have to do that," she texted back.

"Buy food. Doctor needs eat."

"*future doctor"

"Same thing. Get snacks too."

Her tube ride to the clinic was crowded as usual, London's morning rush pressing in. A teenager across the car was watching Arsenal highlights on his phone - there was Wilo, all graceful power as he tackled some striker. Hard to believe that was the same man who'd been whining about eggs this morning.

Another text:

"Think you wearing my shirt to clinic?"

"Think you should focus on training."

"Think about you instead."

Impossible man. But she was smiling as she swiped through to her grocery delivery app. Maybe she'd order something nice for dinner - she had the money now, after all.

The clinic was already buzzing when she arrived, her ID badge swinging against her dark blue scrubs as she made her way to the staff room. The dual-degree PT program at Northwestern University and King's College London was no joke - three years of intense study, clinical rotations, and practical exams. Sometimes she still couldn't believe how perfectly everything had aligned. A PT student specializing in sports medicine dating a Premier League defender? It was practically cheating when it came to understanding athletic performance and injury prevention.

Wilo's knee might be technically fine, but having access to an elite athlete's biomechanics was invaluable for her studies. She'd basically written her last case study about his post-match recovery routine (anonymized, of course). Her professors had been impressed with her detailed analysis of high-level football injuries - if only they knew she'd gathered that data between kisses and training sessions.

Her phone kept lighting up with Instagram notifications. She'd always kept her account private, just study updates and occasional selfies documenting her natural hair journey. The few photos she had with Wilo were deliberately subtle - his hand in frame during dinner, maybe, or just their shadows on a walk. Most of her posts were about PT school: her notes laid out perfectly, advocacy for more Black women in sports medicine, the occasional stress-relief dance video in her scrubs. But now everyone wanted in, wanted to see Saliba's girl, wanted to analyze every post for hints about their relationship.

"Ready for rounds?" Jamie appeared at her elbow, already pulling up their patient list on the clinic's tablet. "You look tired. Late night with tall, dark, and French?"

"Long night of studying," Yas lied, ignoring another wave of follow requests. An Arsenal fan account had somehow found her private profile and shared her handle. Her follower count was still at 900 but there was nearly 15,000 pending requests in just three days.

The Luton Town match loomed in her mind as she checked their first patient's chart. Wilo wanted her there, and part of her wanted to go - wanted to support him properly, not just catch highlights on her phone between patients. But the cameras, the attention, the scrutiny… she hadn't signed up for that part. Being a WAG meant being perceived, being judged. Her entire career could get overshadowed by who she was dating. One wrong outfit choice and she'd end up on some Daily Mail sidebar.

Her phone buzzed again - another text from Wilo, this time a photo of him pouting at training. Arteta's tactics board was visible in the background, and she quickly typed back: "Delete that before you leak the whole game plan."

His response was immediate: "Only leaking my heart to you x"

God, this man was going to be the death of her professional reputation, but as she slipped her phone away and grabbed her first patient's file, she couldn't help but smile. Let them talk - she had clinicals to focus on and a doctorate to finish.

Her first patient was an elderly man recovering from hip replacement. As Yas guided him through his exercises, she caught glimpses of people walking past the clinic windows, phones raised. Word must have gotten out about where Arsenal's new WAG worked.

"My granddaughter says you're dating that French boy," Mr. Peters said as she supported his weight during gait training. His knowing smile reminded her of her grandfather back in Chicago. "The tall one who plays defense?"

"Focus on your steps, Mr. Peters," she managed, grateful her dark skin hid most of her blush. The last thing she needed was her patients gossiping about her love life.

Jamie appeared like an angel in blue scrubs, tablet in hand. "Dr. Morris wants us in Room 3. ACL reconstruction needs assessment."

In the quiet of the hallway, her phone lit up with Wilo's name:

"Gabriel asking if you vegetarian. For dinner."

"Focus on training," she typed back, trying to ignore how her stomach flipped at the thought of meeting his teammates properly.

"Focus on answering question. He cooking."

She paused at the supply cabinet, fingers hovering over her phone. Going to Gabriel's meant officially entering the WAG circle. Dinner parties, couple photos, Sunday brunches - the whole circus she'd been avoiding. No more hiding in Wilo's kitchen or sneaking kisses in PT rooms.

"Tell him I eat anything," she finally replied, then added, "But I haven't said yes yet."

"But you will," came his immediate response, followed by that damn smirking emoji that she could picture perfectly on his actual face.

Room 3's patient was already waiting, and she tucked her phone away with a sigh. Time to be Dr. Robinson (almost), even if her Instagram kept lighting up with notification after notification.

The ACL patient turned out to be a Chelsea fan, which was almost a relief. He was more focused on his knee than trying to get Arsenal gossip, and Yas lost herself in the familiar rhythm of assessment and treatment. This was her world - proper form, careful touches, the satisfaction of watching someone heal under her guidance.

Her phone stayed quiet through lunch, which meant Wilo was probably actually focusing on training for once. She picked at her sad vending machine snacks in the break room while Jamie scrolled through Twitter.

"Oh my god," Jamie snorted, turning her phone screen. "They're trying to figure out where you got your scrubs from. Apparently you're starting a WAG fashion revolution."

"They're literally standard issue scrubs."

"Tell that to ArsenalWAGStyle. They want to know if the color is 'midnight navy' or 'classical blue'."

Yas dropped her head onto the break room table with a groan. "I have three more sets exactly like this one. They're just… blue."

"Wait till they see you at the Luton Town match."

"Who says I'm going?"

Jamie just looked at her. "Girl, your man just got exposed. You really think you can keep hiding?"

Her phone chose that moment to light up again:

"Miss your hands on my knee x"

"That's so unprofessional," she typed back, but she was smiling.

"Come inspect it at Gabriel's tonight?"

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Jamie was right - she couldn't keep hiding. And maybe… maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being properly part of his world.

******************************************************

Gabriel Magalhães' townhouse sat in one of those stupidly expensive London neighborhoods where every building looked like it belonged in a period drama. Yas had done her best with what she had - her curls were actually cooperating for once, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and the Meshki jumpsuit she'd scored on sale hugged her curves in all the right places. The square neckline showed just enough skin to be dinner-appropriate while still letting her feel like herself.

Clearly Wilo approved, given how his hand hadn't left her ass since they'd stepped out of his car. His fingers kneaded appreciatively as they waited at Gabriel's door.

"Mon coeur, tu es si belle ce soir," he murmured in her ear, voice dropping low. "Je veux te baiser… si serrée pour moi… faire te jouir…"

She only caught 'fuck', 'cum', and 'tight' in that string of French, and honestly, she was grateful her language skills weren't better. But before he could get any filthier, the door swung open.

Gabriel stood there grinning, all six foot three of him making Yas feel even tinier than usual. The boys did that complicated handshake thing all footballers seemed to know instinctively.

"Ayy, my brother!" Gabriel pulled Wilo in for a quick hug before his eyes landed on Yas. "She's so short!"

Yas frowned. Of course, that would be the first thing another giant footballer noticed.

"But good job Wilo, she's pretty," Gabriel continued with a wide smile. "Nice to meet you, Yasmin." He extended his hand.

"Yas is fine," she said, shaking it and trying not to feel like she was being assessed.

The living room was filled with the sound of multiple conversations in various accents - Portuguese, French, English all mixing together. Bukayo was sprawled on one of Gabriel's expensive armchairs, his girlfriend Tolami perched comfortably in his lap. She brightened when she saw Yas.

"Finally! Another normal-sized person," Tolami called out, extracting herself from Bukayo to come say hi. She was wearing the kind of outfit that probably cost more than Yas's rent, but her smile was genuine. "I'm Tolami. Please tell me you're as tired of looking up at these giants as I am."

"God, yes," Yas laughed, instantly warming to her. "My neck hurts half the time."

"You get used to it," Tolami grinned, then dropped her voice. "Saw that Tesco video. Welcome to the madness."

Wilo's hand was still possessively on her lower back as more introductions were made. Gabriel's wife kissed both her cheeks, speaking rapid Portuguese that Gabriel had to translate. Ben White's wife, Milly, gave her a knowing look that said 'we'll talk later.'

It was surreal, standing here in her sale-rack jumpsuit while these women wore designer everything. But Tolami grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the kitchen.

"Come on, help me get drinks. These boys can entertain themselves for five minutes."

Wilo's protests were drowned out by Bukayo's laugh. "Let them bond, bro. You can survive without touching her for two seconds."

Gabriel's kitchen was all sleek marble and stainless steel. Tolami hopped onto the counter like she'd done it a hundred times before, watching Yas look for wine glasses.

"Other cabinet," she pointed. "So, PT student? That's different. Most WAGs are like… influencers or something."

"I'm not a WAG," Yas said automatically, then caught Tolami's raised eyebrow. "I mean–"

"Girl, your man's hand hasn't left your ass at all. You're a WAG." She grinned. "But like, a cool one. With an actual career."

"Trying to have one, anyway." Yas found the glasses. "How do you deal with all the attention? The Tesco thing is driving me crazy."

"You get used to it. Plus, Bukayo's worth it." Her smile went soft. "Like how Wilo looks at you when you're not watching. Man's got it bad."

"We've only been together four months–"

"Please. I saw him checking his phone all through training today. Saka says he won't shut up about you."

From the living room, they could hear the boys arguing about the Luton Town match. Wilo's deep laugh carried through, followed by what sounded like Bukayo doing an impression of him.

"They're like children," Tolami rolled her eyes fondly. "But they're our children. Speaking of…" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Heard Wilo's got baby fever?"

Yas nearly dropped the wine bottle. "How do you know about that?"

"Bukayo says Wilo's been googling baby names during team lunch." Tolami swung her legs, designer heels clicking against the cabinets. "Like, French-American baby names specifically."

"I'm going to kill him."

"It's cute! Saka's the same way sometimes. Think it's the age - they're all getting to that settling down phase."

"We've barely settled into dating publicly," Yas muttered, pouring the wine maybe a little too generously. "I've got a year left of my program, I can't be thinking about–"

"Ma chérie!" Wilo's voice carried from the living room. "You get lost?"

"Your man's getting separation anxiety," Tolami grinned. "But seriously, stick with me. These WAG events can get intense, but we normal girls have to stick together."

"I heard there's like… brunches? And stuff?"

"Oh honey." Tolami hopped down, grabbing the other wine glasses. "Wait till you see the group chat. But don't worry - I'll help you navigate. Just… maybe wear something Arsenal-colored to the Luton match? The fans eat that shit up."

"I haven't said I'm going yet–"

"Your man's starting defender and you just got exposed. Trust me, you're going." She started toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and heads up - some of the other WAGs might be a bit… much. But they mean well. Usually."

They walked back into a heated debate about the Luton Town lineup, Wilo and Bukayo arguing in that mix of English and French they seemed to slip into during training. His eyes found her immediately though, that soft look crossing his face before he made grabby hands for both her and the wine.

"Come, mon coeur," he said, pulling her down next to him on the couch. She ended up practically in his lap, his arm curling possessively around her waist while Tolami resumed her position with Bukayo.

"You good?" Wilo murmured against her hair, somehow making those two words sound filthy in his accent.

"Behave," she whispered back, very aware of how his fingers were playing with the hem of her jumpsuit.

"Never."

Gabriel emerged from somewhere with plates of food that actually looked edible, his wife trailing behind him with more wine. Ben White was telling some story about training that had everyone laughing, but Yas was distracted by the way Wilo's thumb was drawing circles on her hip.

"You're not subtle," she muttered as everyone else focused on serving food.

"Don't want to be," he replied, pressing a kiss below her ear that definitely wasn't dinner-appropriate. "Want everyone to know–"

"If you two are done being horny in my living room," Gabriel called out, "food's getting cold."

Yas felt her face heat as everyone laughed, but Wilo just grinned, completely unashamed. "Can you blame me? Look at her."

"Oh my god," she groaned, hiding her face in his shoulder while Bukayo made gagging noises.

"Young love," Milly sighed dramatically. "Remember when we were that bad?"

"We still are," Ben winked, and everyone groaned.

Dinner with footballers was apparently a loud affair. Gabriel's food was surprisingly good - some Brazilian dish he'd learned from his mom - and the conversation flowed easily between match tactics and relationship gossip. Yas found herself relaxing despite Wilo's wandering hands.

"Yo Yas," Gabriel grinned over his wine glass, "did Wilo tell you how hard he was stalking your Instagram after you accepted his follow request?"

Wilo stopped mid-bite, shooting his friend a betrayed look.

"We caught him during training," Saka added. "Looking at videos of you bending people at the clinic."

"I was... researching," Wilo defended, accent thicker with embarrassment.

"Researching for what?" Tolami teased.

"For... football reasons," he muttered.

Yas raised an eyebrow at him. "Football reasons?"

"Your form is very... professional," he tried, but his hand was creeping up her thigh under the table.

"You're such a stalker," she said, but she was fighting a smile.

"Only for you, mon coeur."

"If you two start making out at my dinner table," Gabriel warned, "I'm spraying you with water like cats."

"Speaking of clinic videos," Tolami smirked, "there's a new one of you circulating."

Yas froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"Some patient recorded you doing his knee assessment," Bukayo explained, scrolling through his phone. "Got like fifty thousand views already."

"That's literally against HIPAA," Yas groaned, but Wilo was already leaning over to look at Bukayo's screen.

"You look cute in this one," he said, then pouted. "But why you never touch my knee like that?"

"Because you're not actually injured."

"Could get injured. Just for you."

"William Saliba, if you deliberately hurt yourself–"

"There they go again," Gabriel sighed dramatically to his wife. "This is why I seated them at the end of the table."

"It's sweet," Milly argued. "Remember when you used to get all possessive like that?"

"I still am," Ben protested. "Just last week–"

"No sex stories at dinner!" Gabriel threw a napkin at him. "We have rules!"

"Rich coming from Mr. 'Let Me Show Everyone My New Hickey' last season," Bukayo called out.

"That was different–"

"How many strikes is that for the swear jar?" Tolami asked innocently. "Because I'm pretty sure talking about hickeys counts."

"There's a swear jar?" Yas whispered to Wilo.

"Oui. Gabriel's wife’s idea. I owe…" he paused, counting in French under his breath. "Maybe two hundred pounds?"

"How–"

"You make me curse a lot, mon coeur."

By the time they said their goodbyes, Yas had three new numbers in her phone and an invite to the WAG group chat. Tolami hugged her tight, whispering something about shopping for the next match that made Wilo's wallet probably cry in advance.

"That wasn't so bad," she admitted as they walked to his car, his hand somehow finding its way back to her ass.

"Non? Ready for more then?" His voice had that dangerous edge to it. "Starting with getting you out of this jumpsuit..."

"Will, I told you - no more period sex."

The look he gave her screamed 'challenge accepted' more than any words could, and she knew she was in trouble.

*******************************************************

Saturday felt surreal. Yas stood in front of her mirror, heart racing as she adjusted the Arsenal jersey with SALIBA stretched across her shoulders. The black jeans hugged her curves perfectly, and the heeled boots added enough height that maybe she wouldn't feel completely tiny next to the other WAGs. But her hands wouldn't stop shaking as she touched up her edges, making sure they laid just right.

Being at the Luton Town match meant no more hiding. No more pretending she was just another PT student. Everyone would know exactly who she was - William Saliba's girl. The thought made her stomach lurch. Her phone had been blowing up since she posted a mirror selfie that morning - her first public acknowledgment of dating Wilo. The comments were mostly supportive, but she'd already muted her notifications twice.

A knock at her door made her jump. "Ready babe?" Tolami's voice called through. "Car's waiting!"

Just seeing Tolami's familiar face helped settle her nerves. She looked effortlessly gorgeous in her own Saka jersey, designer bag hanging from her arm.

"The first match is always the scariest," Tolami assured her, linking their arms together as they headed toward the car. "Wait till you see how many blogs analyze your outfit tomorrow."

"That's not helping."

"Just wait - you'll be getting free clothes offers by Monday. Though that jersey..." Tolami grinned wickedly. "Wilo's definitely going to lose focus during warm-ups when he sees you in that."

They made their way through the VIP entrance at Emirates Stadium, past security and up to the family section. Phones turned their way, whispers following their path. Yas caught fragments of conversation - "Saliba's girlfriend" and "the one from the Tesco video" - but Tolami kept her moving, chattering about some drama with another WAG's Instagram story.

The family box was intimidatingly posh, all plush seats and champagne service. But as they found their spots, Yas couldn't help but smile at the mix of accents around them - Portuguese, French, English all blending together just like at Gabriel's dinner.

"Think it's too much?" Yas tugged at the jersey hem nervously. "The whole... branded girlfriend thing?"

"Girl, please. Watch - he's going to spot you during warm-up and completely forget about football. Plus," Tolami lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Saka says he's been insufferable all morning, checking his phone to see if you'd posted any hints about coming."

Below them, the players were starting to file out for warm-ups. Yas's heart definitely didn't skip when she spotted number 2 jogging onto the pitch, his tall frame unmistakable even from this distance.

It happened during stretches. Wilo's head turned toward the family section like he could sense her presence, and even from this distance, she could see the moment he spotted her. His whole body froze mid-stretch, those dark eyes locked on her in his jersey.

"Told you," Tolami whispered, nudging her ribs. "Look at his face."

Wilo had completely forgotten about his warm-up routine, earning a shove from Gabriel to keep moving. But his eyes kept finding her between drills, that devastating smile making her cheeks heat even from fifty yards away.

Her phone buzzed:

"You wearing my name."

"Focus on your warm-up."

"Can't. Too busy thinking about taking that jersey off later."

"Saliba!" They could hear Arteta's voice carrying across the pitch. "Less texting, more running!"

But Wilo was still grinning, jogging backward so he could keep looking up at her. He pressed his hand to his heart, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like 'mon coeur' before Gabriel physically turned him around.

"God, you two are disgusting," Tolami laughed. "I love it."

The stadium hummed with energy as Yas tried to focus on breathing. From the family section, everything felt more immediate - each tackle, each sprint, each time Wilo went up for a header. She'd watched plenty of matches on her phone between patients, but this was different. This was real.

Ben White's wife - Milly, she'd learned at dinner - leaned over during a water break. "The first match is the worst. I threw up before mine."

"I almost did," Tolami agreed, squeezing Yas's hand. "But look at our boys now."

Ødegaard broke through in the thirty-fifth minute, a beautiful shot that had the stadium exploding. She spotted Wilo lifting their captain in celebration, his smile brighter than the stadium lights.

During halftime, she checked her phone to find she'd gained another ten thousand follow requests. The camera had caught her a few times, apparently - her in Wilo's jersey, cheering with Tolami. Twitter was already analyzing her outfit, her hair, her friendship with Saka's girlfriend.

"Ignore it," Tolami advised, passing her a water bottle. "Focus on the match. Though that clip of Wilo staring at you during warm-ups is kind of cute."

When Daiki slotted in the second goal after halftime, Yas was ready for it. She screamed with Tolami as the Japanese midfielder was swarmed by his teammates. The rest of the match was a defensive masterclass - Wilo and Gabriel keeping Luton from any real chances. Her PT brain couldn't help but admire his form, the way he used his height to his advantage.

2-0. Her first match as an official WAG, and they'd won. The final whistle had barely blown before her phone started buzzing with notifications.

"He's looking for you," Tolami nudged her, and sure enough, Wilo's eyes were already on their section. That soft smile spread across his face as he tapped his heart.

Milly was saying something about celebration dinner plans, but Yas was distracted by her phone lighting up:

"Dinner to celebrate? Or straight home to take that jersey off?"

"Behave," she typed back. "You have press duties."

"Worth being late to see you in my name."

"Your man's whipped," Tolami laughed, reading over her shoulder. "But seriously, you coming to dinner? Traditional after home wins."

Before Yas could answer, another text:

"Please come? Want to show you off properly. My girl in my jersey x"

*******************************************************

The restaurant in Mayfair screamed old money, all crystal chandeliers and waiters. She felt slightly underdressed in Wilo's jersey, even after tucking it into her jeans, but the team had a regular private room here after home wins, somewhere they could be loud without bothering other diners.

Wilo hadn't stopped touching her since they sat down - hand on her thigh, playing with her curls, finding any excuse to lean into her space. The win had him buzzing with energy, though his eyes kept dropping to his name stretched across her chest.

"To clean sheets!" Gabriel raised his champagne glass, and everyone cheered. The conversation flowed between match analysis and relationship gossip, but Yas noticed Wilo getting more restless with each passing minute.

His hand crept higher on her thigh under the table. "You look so good in my jersey," he murmured in her ear, low enough that only she could hear. "Can't stop thinking about–"

"If you finish that sentence in public, I'm never wearing it again."

Across the table, Bukayo was telling some story about training, but Wilo wasn't even pretending to listen anymore. His fingers traced patterns on her leg that made it hard to focus on her own food.

"You're not even listening," Bukayo laughed, throwing a napkin at him. "Bro's too busy staring at his jersey."

"Can you blame me?" Wilo didn't even look away from Yas, his accent getting thicker the way it did when he was worked up. "Think we'll skip dessert. Need to see how that jersey looks on my floor."

The boys erupted in whistles and catcalls, Gabriel yelling something in Portuguese that made his wife laugh. Even the other WAGs were giggling now, used to these displays of footballer dramatics.

"William," Yas hissed, mortified but also fighting a smile. "I swear to god–"

But before she could finish, he'd scooped her up and thrown her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing, one hand firmly on her calf to keep her steady. The champagne was definitely hitting her now, blood rushing to her head as she dangled over his shoulder.

"Put me down!"

"Non." His satisfaction was clear in his voice as the team hooted louder. She could feel his laugh rumbling through his chest where she was pressed against him.

"Go make that baby, Wilo!" Saka called out, earning himself a smack in the arm from Tolami.

"I hate all of you," Yas declared to the upside-down crowd, catching glimpses of amused faces and raised champagne glasses as Wilo headed for the exit.

"No you don't," he said cheerfully, not even slightly winded from carrying her. "You're wearing my name."

The last thing she heard before they left the private room was Tolami's voice: "Twenty pounds says she's pregnant by Christmas."

Wilo finally put her down when they reached his car, but kept her pressed against the passenger door. The London night was cool against her flushed skin, his jersey riding up where his hands gripped her waist.

"You're impossible," she breathed, but tilted her face up to his anyway.

"Says girl wearing my name." His accent was thick, wrapping around the words like honey. "Know what that does to me?"

"The whole restaurant knows what it does to you."

His laugh was warm against her neck. "Don't care. Want everyone to see."

The drive back to his place was torture - his free hand on her thigh, her body still buzzing from champagne and victory celebrations. London streets blurred past as he took corners maybe a little faster than usual.

"Careful," she warned when he nearly missed a light. "I need you in one piece for your next match."

"Then stop looking like that in my jersey."

"It's just a shirt, Will."

The look he gave her clearly said it wasn't just a shirt, but he managed to get them back to his building without breaking any traffic laws. Barely.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, he had her backed against the mirrored wall, hands reverent on the number 2 stretched across her chest.

"My girl," he murmured. "In my name."

"Your girl needs to breathe," she laughed, pushing him back slightly. "And a shower."

His grin was devastating. "Can I shower with you?"

"Impossible man."

Wilo just smirked, because they both knew the answer. The elevator dinged when they got to his floor and when he unlocked his front door, he didn’t even let her step away, hands already slipping beneath the hem of his jersey to help her out of it. She let him, raising her arms so he could strip it off, leaving her in just her underwear. His fingers traced over her skin, his gaze darkening as he drank her in.

"You gonna stare all night or actually help me get clean?" she teased, though the way her breath hitched betrayed her.

"Can’t help it," he murmured, tossing the shirt aside before unclasping her bra. "You’re too damn pretty."

Her stomach fluttered at the way he said it, so effortlessly, like it was just a fact. His hands were warm as they skimmed her sides, down to her hips to pull off her underwear before he guided her toward the bathroom.

"Still on your period?" he asked, voice casual as he reached for the light.

She hummed. "Barely. It’s light."

"Great." His eyes flashed as he grinned.

The way he said it sent a rush of heat through her, but before she could respond, he was already reaching for his own clothes, stripping off his hoodie and t-shirt in one smooth motion. She had to take a second to just… appreciate.

Because, damn.

She would never get used to how fine her man was. The way his muscles flexed as he unbuckled his jeans, the sharp cut of his abs — it was almost unfair.

He caught her staring as he stepped out of his boxers, smirking as he grabbed a shower cap and pulled it over her head with practiced ease. "Like what you see?"

"Obviously," she shot back, rolling her eyes but smiling.

The shower steamed up around them as he turned on the water, the low hum of the spray filling the space. He kissed her then, slow and deep, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. A quiet moan slipped past her lips as he squeezed, kneading them like he had all the time in the world.

"Come on," he murmured, guiding her under the stream. "Let me take care of you."

The warm spray cascaded down their bodies, steam curling around them as Wilo ran his hands down her back, over the curve of her hips, before gripping her ass. He pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her neck, his breath hot against her damp skin.

"Been thinking about this all night," he murmured, voice thick with want.

She shivered as his hands spread her apart, his fingers trailing between her thighs, teasing her entrance. Even with the shower running, she could hear how wet she was for him.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his other hand coming up to grip her waist.

"Yes," she breathed, pushing back against him, her body aching for more.

A low groan rumbled from his chest. "Yeah? Then bend over for me."

She let him guide her, turning her around, her hands pressing against the cool tile wall as he nudged her legs wider. The marble bench was just the right height, and when he ran his fingers through her folds, she gasped, arching into his touch.

"Still so tight," he muttered, positioning himself at her entrance. He dragged the tip along her slit, teasing, making her squirm. "Always so good for me."

"Will," she whined, trying to push back onto him.

"Patience, love." His voice was deep, teasing, but when he finally pushed in, it was anything but gentle.

The stretch of him burned in the best way, and her mouth fell open on a moan as he bottomed out, filling her completely. He gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, holding her in place as he pulled back just enough before slamming back in.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel perfect, always so perfect for me."

Her nails scraped against the wall as he set a relentless pace, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through her spine. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the shower, mixing with their heavy breathing, her soft cries, his low grunts.

"Regarde-toi, bébé," he rasped, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. "Tu aimes ça, hein? You love it when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes — fuck, yes," she gasped, her thighs shaking, struggling to keep herself up as the pleasure built inside her.

Wilo let out a low, dark chuckle, his large hands gripping her hips before delivering a sharp slap to her ass. The sting sent a shudder through her, making her clench around him.

"Merde," he groaned, squeezing the flesh before giving it another slap. "Throw that ass back on me, bébé. Show me how bad you want it."

She obeyed, pressing back against him, meeting each of his thrusts with desperation. His grip tightened, one hand slipping up to wrap lightly around her throat, tilting her head back so he could press a messy kiss to her cheek.

"Look at you," he murmured, his breath ragged. "Taking all of me, like a good girl, like this pussy was made for me."

Her walls fluttered around him, and he hissed through his teeth. "Fuck — you gonna cum for me?"

She nodded frantically, moaning as he reached between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight circles that sent her spiraling.

"Come on," he urged, his thrusts turning erratic. "Cum for me."

With a sharp cry, she shattered, her body clenching around him, dragging him into his own release. He groaned, spilling into her, his forehead pressing against the back of her shoulder as he shuddered through the aftershocks.

For a moment, the only sound was the steady stream of the shower and their ragged breathing.

Then, Wilo chuckled, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Tolami might be onto something, you know."

She let out a breathless laugh, still coming down from the high as Wilo slipped out of her, his hands smoothing over her hips before giving her ass a playful squeeze.

"And what exactly is she onto?" she asked, turning her head slightly to look at him.

His grin was all mischief as he spun her around, pulling her into his arms. "That you might be carrying my baby by Christmas."

She rolled her eyes, resting her palms against his chest. "You really think you're that good?"

He smirked, pressing a kiss to her temple before trailing his lips down to her neck. "Babe, I just fucked you so good you didn't even care if I had a condom on."

Her breath caught. He was right.

"We need—"

"Relax," he murmured, nipping at her jawline. "I'll get you Plan B later tonight."

That didn’t stop the tiny flare of panic from creeping up her spine, but when his lips found hers, soft and slow this time, it melted away just as quickly.

"I wouldn’t mind it though," he admitted against her lips. "Getting you pregnant."

Her heart stuttered at the confession, at the way he was looking at her — like he could already see it.

"Wilo, we cannot—" she started, but he just kissed her again, deep and lingering, as if sealing the thought between them.

"We can talk about it later," he said, reaching for the body wash. "For now, let me clean my girl up."

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully but let him lather her up anyway, his hands gentle as they roamed her body. His fingers traced over the bite marks on her shoulder, the bruises forming on her hips from his grip.

"Did I go too hard?" he asked, voice softer now, more careful.

She shook her head. "No. It was perfect."

His smirk returned, a little smug, a lot satisfied. "Damn right it was."

She swatted at his chest, and he just laughed, wrapping her up in his arms again as the hot water cascaded over them.

..................tbd

#quainwritings #quain’s masterlist #william saliba x black oc #william saliba fanfic #william saliba x reader #william saliba #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #arsenal x reader #arsenal fanfic

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notebooks-and-laptops · 3 days ago

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Honestly sick of the way that capitalism, profit, shareholders, execs and every other little thing in that branch comes in-between good (often queer) art again and again and again.

I've seen this recently in more than a few of my favourite things; and every time it happens creators fight to give us am ending, any they can, and then that ending ends up being rushed because it can't be anything else which makes the story feel weaker and it's just a mess. This happened to Sense8 years ago. It happened to Our Flag Means Death. And now Veilguard too.

I have problems with Veilguard; and I'll continue to talk about them I'm sure but laying off the entire creative team behind Dragon Age the franchise?? On the same day Bioware is sending me emails about their 'fun products in the Bioware store'???? Making a game stripped of anything objectable to appeal to a mass marketplace despite game writer wishes??? Consistently pushing writers to write quicker and simpler and what not and then when the art isn't as good as the last one because how COULD IT be when they're forcing all the lose strands of lore into a single game while also having to deal with all the development hell...

It's really fucking sad.

Dragon age writers ALL deserved better, they've deserved better since DA2 crunch, DAI crunch and they certainly deserved better throughout the entire process of DA4. their mental health was not prioritised, their skills were not prioritised, EA couldn't even be bothered to give them proper severance packages. I know they fought for a conclusion to this franchise and im grateful even if it wasn't what I wanted.

Dragon age will always, always, always be a part of me. I'm still planning my huge big post DAI fic and will continue to play the games over and over again and continue to be in this fandom for years to come. So even tho I don't always like their choices, a huge heart goes out to the team behind DATV and all the other DA games. I hope a better studio who cares about their input more takes them in and we can see their names credited on more fun art in the future.

#datv #dragon age #bioware #fuck bioware

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grifffins · 2 days ago

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🔮 The Fool’s Journey (Into Trouble) 🔮 | Ch. 5

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

summary: A matchmaking event, a reckless plan, and a game that cuts a little too deep—because playing with fire always has consequences

wc: 8.3k (Chapter 5/?)

a/n: I'm reading all the reviews you're leaving, and it's filling me with so much joy, seriously, thank you so much! I promise I'll eventually get around to replying to them all, but for now, just know that I've seen them, I appreciate every single one, and they are absolutely fuelling me to get these chapters out faster. If I had to stare at this chapter any longer, I was genuinely going to throw myself off a cliff, so here it is before I lose my mind. I don’t know, I hope you like it!

And just a heads-up—ratings have officially gone up 🔥 y'all better handle this with care.

Ch. 4 ch. 6

also on ao3

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The next few weeks flew by in a blur of routine and mild frustration. I’d gotten used to maneuvering on crutches though not without my fair share of near-disasters and before long, I was downgraded to a boot. A clunky, annoying boot, but it was better than nothing. And now, I was almost out of it, counting down the days until I could finally move like a normal person again.

Lilia had been... Lilia. Ever present, always hovering just enough to make sure I wasn’t doing anything too reckless, but never crossing the line into anything that could be considered more. There were lingering touches, soft smiles, and the occasional meaningful glance, but nothing had really progressed.

And, honestly? That was fine.

Mostly.

Between the shop being surprisingly busy and my friends constantly roping me into their latest schemes, fundraisers, work drama, and questionable life choices. I barely had time to dwell on it. I liked keeping busy, helping where I could, and throwing myself into distraction after distraction. It was easier than thinking about how much I wanted Lilia but didn’t know how to move things forward.

Some days, it felt like we were stuck in this comfortable, frustrating limbo. We'd laugh, we’d bicker, we'd work side by side in the shop, but there was always this invisible line neither of us was willing to cross.

Still, things were good.

Lilia was still a mystery I was determined to solve, even if she sometimes acted like an impenetrable fortress. But there were moments, tiny cracks in the walls she put up. The way she’d refill my tea without asking, or how she’d linger at the end of my shift, pretending to read while really just making sure I got home safely. The way she’d watch me when she thought I wasn’t looking, like she was thinking about something.

And those moments? They were enough to keep me going. For now.

One afternoon, as I hobbled around the shop stocking shelves, I sighed dramatically. "Lilia, please, I cannot wait to be out of this boot. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster."

Lilia smirked from behind the counter, flipping through an old grimoire. "You only have to wait till this afternoon."

I shot her a glare. "Rude."

She chuckled, but there was that usual softness behind it, the kind that made my heart skip a little. "You'll be back to your reckless self soon enough. I'm sure I'll regret it."

I grinned. "Oh, you will. First thing I'm doing is dancing barefoot on the counter just to spite you."

Lilia rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she just said, "I'll keep the first aid kit ready."

I snorted, limping toward the register. "You should always have that thing on standby with me around."

"Trust me," she said dryly. "I do."

The bell above the shop door jingled, and before I could process it, Jen and Agatha waltzed in like they owned the place.

"Y/n!" Jen beamed. "Still hobbling around, I see."

Agatha leaned on the counter, eyeing Lilia with that devilish glint in her eye. "And, you're still under Lilia's watchful eye, huh?"

Lilia arched a brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Jen smirked at me. "Oh, it's not a bad thing at all."

I groaned. "Guys, please."

Agatha ignored me, grinning. "Anyway, y/n, you up for helping me with something later?"

I sighed, already knowing I was about to get roped into something ridiculous. "What is it this time?"

Jen wiggled her brows. "Oh, you know, just a little... matchmaking event."

I blinked. "No."

Lilia, to my absolute horror, looked very interested. "Matchmaking?"

Agatha smirked. "Yeah. You in?"

Lilia, without missing a beat, looked directly at me and said, "I think y/n should go."

My jaw dropped. "What?!"

Lilia’s lips curled into that maddening smirk. "It could be... fun."

I groaned, slamming my head onto the counter. "I hate all of you."

Lilia just sipped her tea, looking far too pleased with herself. "You'll survive, baby."

“What exactly is a matchmaking event?”

Jen leaned against the counter, grinning like the devil she clearly was. "Oh, y/n," she purred, eyes sparkling with mischief. "A matchmaking event is exactly what it sounds like."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "And why, exactly, do you think I need to attend one?"

Agatha smirked, completely ignoring my very valid concern. "It's a charity event, actually. Think of it like speed dating, but fancier, cocktails, music, a little light mingling." She waved a hand dramatically. "People will bid on dates, there'll be matchmaking games, the whole romantic shebang."

I groaned. "You have to be kidding me."

Billy, who had apparently appeared out of thin air (or just snuck in without me noticing), clapped his hands together. "Oh no, she's not kidding, and I am so excited for this."

Lilia, who had been sipping her tea silently this whole time, finally spoke up, eyes fixed on me in that infuriatingly calm way she had. "I think it’s an excellent idea."

I gaped at her. "Et tu, Lilia?!"

She shrugged, setting her cup down with a smirk. "You did say you were bored."

Agatha nodded sagely. "Exactly! And what better way to pass the time than by meeting some... interesting people?"

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Oh my God, no. I am not getting auctioned off to the highest bidder like a damn prize goat."

Jen laughed. "Oh, come on. It’s for charity! Think of it as... networking."

Billy wiggled his brows. "With benefits."

Lilia quirked an eyebrow, but there was something sharp in her eyes now, something that made my stomach flip. "You never know, y/n," she said smoothly, "maybe you'll find someone... intriguing."

I stared at her, heat rising to my cheeks. Was she actually encouraging this?

I pointed an accusing finger at the coven. "You’re all just doing this to watch me suffer, aren’t you?"

Agatha grinned. "Absolutely."

Billy winked. "One hundred percent."

Jen shrugged. "You should be used to it by now."

I sighed, sinking onto the nearest chair. "This is actually my worst nightmare."

Lilia, standing far too composed and far too smug, leaned against the counter. "You'll do fine, baby."

And the way she said it, soft, teasing, but with just enough of an edge, made me wonder if she was enjoying this a little too much.

I stared at Lilia for a long moment, watching the way she casually sipped her tea, completely unbothered by the absolute chaos the coven was throwing at me. Mixed signals? Oh, she was full of them. She’d spent weeks hovering, making sure I didn’t overdo it, looking after me with a quiet protectiveness, and now she was totally fine with me flirting with other people?

Okay, Lilia.

Fine. If she wanted to play it cool, I could play it colder.

With a wicked smirk, I crossed my arms and leaned back into my chair. "Alright," I said, shrugging. "I'll do it."

The coven exploded.

"YES!" Billy practically fist-pumped.

Jen beamed. "Oh, this is going to be so good."

Agatha cackled. "I knew you'd come around."

But I didn’t take my eyes off Lilia, watching for any flicker of emotion behind that carefully composed exterior of hers. She raised a brow, looking mildly impressed but ultimately unfazed. “Good for you,” she said, nodding. “You’ll enjoy yourself.”

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I smiled sweetly. “Yeah, maybe I’ll meet someone intriguing, like you said.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “Perhaps.”

Ugh.

I was going to do this. Not because I wanted to, but because if Lilia was going to keep up this whole mysterious and unattainable older woman thing, then I was going to make her watch me flirt with someone else.

By the time I got back from the hospital that evening, boot-free and feeling like I had reclaimed my dignity, I was on a mission.

I went all out.

I pulled out one of my best dresses, the kind that hugged in all the right places, paired it with strappy low heels— I wasn’t about to push my luck after just recovering from a broken leg — and topped it all off with red lipstick. My hair was styled to perfection.

I looked in the mirror and grinned. Damn, I missed dressing up.

Before I left, I snapped a quick selfie and sent it to the group chat.

Me: Ready to break hearts tonight.

Billy responded instantly.

Billy: BABE. I AM DEAD.

Jen: GIRL, THEY WON'T SURVIVE YOU.

Agatha: Show Lilia. Right now.

I rolled my eyes, typing back.

Me: No way. Let her suffer.

I grabbed my clutch, took one last glance in the mirror, and smirked.

Lilia Calderu had no idea what she was in for.

I arrived at the venue, the heels clicking confidently against the pavement as I made my way inside. The place was fancier than I expected, soft lighting, elegant decor, and the kind of crowd that screamed money meets desperation.

I spotted Agatha immediately, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, watching me approach with an impressed smirk. Her eyes swept over me from head to toe, and she let out a low whistle. “Damn, y/n. If I weren’t rooting for Lilia, I’d bid on you myself.”

I rolled my eyes, planting myself in front of her. “Alright, what do I need to do?” I asked, folding my arms.

Agatha grinned wickedly. “Eager, are we?”

I sighed, eyeing the bustling room. “Let’s just say I’ve been encouraged.”

She chuckled, handing me a glass of champagne like she hadn’t practically dragged me here. “Alright, here’s how it works. There are three... let’s call them options.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Go on.”

Agatha held up a perfectly manicured finger. “Option one—the bidding auction. People bid for a date with you.”

I groaned. “Hard pass.”

Ignoring me, she lifted a second finger. “Option two—the matchmaking questionnaire. You fill it out, they set you up with someone they think is compatible.”

I stared at her. “Do I look like someone who’s here for a deep connection?”

Agatha smirked. “No, you look like someone here to make a certain divination witch jealous as hell.”

I didn’t deny it. “And option three?”

Agatha smirked, holding up the final finger. “And then there’s option three... mingling, flirting, working the room.” She gestured grandly at the crowd. “And, honestly, that’s where you shine.”

I sighed, taking a slow sip of champagne. “And which one exactly do you want me to do?”

Agatha’s grin stretched impossibly wider. “Oh, baby, I didn’t bring you here to find your soulmate.” She winked. “I brought you here to make Lilia Calderu jealous as hell. So, option three it is.”

I arched a brow. “And if she doesn’t show up?”

Agatha shrugged. “Then at least you’ll have some fun and free champagne.”

I sighed, finishing my drink. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Agatha grinned, looping her arm through mine. “That’s the spirit. Now, go mingle. And remember, eye contact, light touches, and laugh at everything.”

I groaned but let her pull me toward the crowd. This was going to be... interesting.

I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back and putting on my most dazzling smile. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.

Armed with another glass of champagne and Agatha’s ridiculous advice bouncing around in my head, I stepped into the crowd, letting myself glide from conversation to conversation. I laughed, I touched arms lightly, I made just enough eye contact to keep people interested without giving too much away.

And through it all, one thought lingered in the back of my mind.

Please show up, Lilia.

I scanned the room subtly, pretending to be fully invested in whatever some guy in a ridiculous suit was rambling about, but my heart wasn’t in it. I could feel the absence of her. Could feel the weight of her not being here.

The evening dragged on, and despite the flattering attention I was getting, more than I knew what to do with, there was an ache in my chest that wouldn’t quite go away.

I found myself standing near a group of women, effortlessly charming my way through another conversation, when I caught myself staring toward the entrance for the millionth time.

Nothing.

I sighed internally, feeling my excitement wane just a little.

But just as I turned back to my conversation, I caught a shift in the air. A presence.

And then I saw her.

Lilia Calderu, standing in the doorway like she owned the place, dressed in a simple but devastatingly effective black dress, nothing overly elegant, just effortlessly put together, the fabric skimming her figure in a way that made my mouth go dry. Her dark curls were loosely pinned up, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and those brown eyes of hers scanned the room with sharp intent, missing nothing.

My heart stopped.

She looked... incredible.

Her gaze locked onto me almost instantly, and I saw the way her eyes flickered over my dress, my posture, the easy way I was leaning against the table with a glass of champagne in hand and a smile that may have been a little too smug.

For a second, I thought she might turn around and leave, but instead, she walked in with the kind of calm, deliberate grace that made my stomach twist into knots.

Agatha, appearing by my side out of nowhere, whispered, “And there she is.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I thought she wasn’t coming.”

Agatha smirked. “She didn’t think she was coming. But then she realised she couldn’t let you have all the fun without her.”

I watched as Lilia made her way through the crowd, her expression unreadable, but her eyes, her eyes, never left me.

I forced myself to smirk, turning back to the group I was talking to, making a show of tossing my hair over my shoulder and laughing lightly at something someone said. But my heart was pounding.

Lilia Calderu was here. And she was watching me.

Game on.

I took a slow sip of my champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue as I kept my posture relaxed, my smile effortlessly charming. I could feel her gaze burning into me from across the room, sharp and assessing, but I didn’t look her way, not yet.

If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a damn show.

“So, y/n,” the woman beside me purred, leaning in just a little too close. “You never told me what you do for a living.”

I smiled, tilting my head coyly. “Oh, you know... a little bit of everything,” I said smoothly, trailing a finger along the rim of my glass. “Keeps life interesting.”

I swore I could hear Lilia’s scoff from across the room, and it took everything in me not to grin.

Agatha, who was lingering nearby, nudged me under the table with her foot. “Subtle,” she whispered, her tone practically dripping with glee. “She’s watching you like a hawk.”

I shrugged, pretending to be unaffected. “Let her.”

I felt her familiar presence before I even saw her. Lilia’s energy was intense, heavy and magnetic, drawing people in without her even trying. And then, just as I was laughing at something unremarkable, I saw her appear at the edge of my vision, standing beside the group with her arms crossed, a neutral expression on her face.

But her eyes? Her eyes told an entirely different story.

They flicked from the woman leaning too close to me, to my lips, and then, finally, locked onto mine.

I arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Lilia,” I greeted, taking another slow sip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into that maddeningly subtle smirk. “Neither did I.”

Agatha, not missing a beat, grinned and chimed in. “Lilia! Finally decided to join the fun?”

Lilia’s gaze didn’t leave mine as she responded, “I suppose someone had to keep an eye on y/n.”

“Oh, I think I’m doing just fine on my own,” I shot back, playful but pointed.

Lilia’s lips twitched. “So I see.” Her gaze dragged over me, slowly, taking in every inch of my dress, my posture, the way I was standing just close enough to the woman next to me to imply interest.

I held her gaze, my heart racing. “You know, you could’ve just stayed home,” I teased, my voice dropping just a bit. “No need to check up on me.”

Lilia stepped closer, leaning in just enough that I could catch the faint scent of her perfume. “Maybe I just wanted to watch?”

I swallowed, my bravado slipping just slightly.

Agatha, watching the exchange like it was the best thing to ever happen to her, nudged me again and whispered, just for me to hear, “You’re losing, babe.”

I straightened up, regaining my composure, and smirked at Lilia. “Well, since you’re here... maybe I should introduce you to some people.” I gestured to the woman beside me, who looked suddenly very interested in this new development. “This is—”

But before I could finish, Lilia reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering a second too long. The touch sent a shiver down my spine.

“Enjoy yourself, baby,” she murmured, her voice low and full of something I couldn’t quite place. “Don’t let me stop you.”

And with that, she stepped back, leaving me absolutely reeling.

Agatha burst into laughter. “Oh my God, she is so playing you.”

I clenched my jaw, staring at Lilia’s retreating figure as she casually wandered toward the bar, looking as cool and composed as ever.

Oh, hell no.

I was not about to let Lilia Calderu waltz in here, throw me off my game with a well-timed smirk and a touch that lingered just enough to make my brain short-circuit. If she thought she could walk away with the upper hand, she had another thing coming.

I plastered on my best grin and turned back to the woman next to me, who was still watching the whole exchange with keen interest. “Sorry about that,” I said smoothly, letting my fingers graze lightly over the rim of my glass. “Old friend.”

Lilia, who had just reached the bar, tilted her head slightly at my words, clearly listening in.

The woman smiled, intrigued. “Old friends who stare at you like they’d rather eat you alive?”

I laughed, but it wasn’t entirely fake. “She’s... complicated.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lilia's shoulders tense slightly. Gotcha.

Agatha, still lingering with a devilish glint in her eye, whispered in my ear, “Atta girl. Make her work for it.”

With renewed confidence, I turned my full attention to my current company, leaning in just enough to make it seem like I was entirely absorbed in our conversation. I laughed at all the right moments, let my hand casually brush against hers, and even threw in a little coy lip bite for good measure.

And Lilia saw every second of it.

I could practically feel her eyes on me, dark and heavy, her carefully composed façade slipping by degrees.

When I dared a glance her way, I caught her watching with that unreadable expression, cool, detached, but with a flicker of something darker beneath. Jealousy? Annoyance? I wasn’t sure, but I liked it.

Still, she didn’t approach.

Fine. If she wanted to play it that way, I’d push a little harder.

I tilted my head back, laughing at something the woman said, making sure my posture screamed confidence, my neck arched just enough to be noticeable. And then, as casually as I could manage, I said loudly enough for Lilia to hear, “You know, I was a little nervous about coming tonight, but... I think I’m really enjoying myself.”

From across the room, I saw Lilia’s grip tighten around her glass.

Agatha, ever the enabler, had appeared at the bar, bit back a grin and leaned against the bar near Lilia. “So, Lilia,” she said innocently, “what brings you here tonight? Surely not jealousy?”

Lilia’s eyes flickered with something sharp, but she simply took a sip of her drink, her voice smooth as silk. “Just making sure y/n doesn’t get herself into too much trouble.”

“Oh, I think she’s handling herself just fine,” Agatha teased, shooting me a wink.

I smirked, running a hand down my hip and throwing Lilia a pointed glance before turning back to my conversation.

But before I could say another word, Lilia appeared at my side, moving silently and suddenly. Her presence was commanding, and I felt it in every nerve of my body.

“Y/n,” she said smoothly, her voice velvety and low. “A word?”

The woman next to me raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said, clearly amused. “I think I’ll leave you to it.”

I swallowed, my heart pounding, but I kept my smirk firmly in place. “Of course, Lilia.”

She led me away from the crowd, her hand resting lightly on my lower back, just enough to own the situation, just enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with.

Once we were in a quieter corner, she turned to face me, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “Having fun?”

I shrugged, playing it cool. “I was.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but her gaze sharpened, laced with something I couldn’t quite place. “You’re walking a fine line, baby.”

I tilted my head, stepping closer, pushing just enough. “Maybe I like the edge.”

Her eyes darkened, and for the first time all night, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. But instead of pulling away, she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, sending shivers straight down my spine.

“Careful,” she murmured, voice low and dangerously smooth. “You might find yourself wanting something you can’t have.”

I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my cool. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting.”

Lilia’s expression remained unreadable, her head tilting just slightly. “Getting ahead of yourself, baby.”

I exhaled sharply, biting back the urge to roll my eyes. “And you love dragging this out, don’t you?”

She made a soft, thoughtful sound, her gaze sweeping over me like she was deciding just how much she wanted to let me have. “Mmm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re seeing something that isn’t there.”

Heat curled in my stomach, frustration and want tangled together, her eyes flicked down to my lips for half a second, just long enough for me to notice, but before I could say anything, she let out a slow, almost teasing sigh and stepped back, putting space between us. “Go on, baby. Enjoy your night.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me reeling.

Agatha appeared at my side almost immediately. “So... that looked intense.”

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. “I think I might be losing.”

And honestly? I didn’t want to play this game anymore.

Agatha grinned. “No, babe. You’re both losing.”

I groaned. “Great.”

I huffed, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as I watched Lilia disappear back into the crowd with that same frustrating grace she always carried. I turned to Agatha, my lips pursed in irritation. “You know what? I don’t want to do this matchmaking thing.”

Agatha, ever perceptive, didn’t even argue. She just sipped her drink and gave me a knowing nod. “Of course, no problem.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

She smirked, leaning against the bar. “I know when you’ve had enough, y/n. And right now, you look like you're two seconds away from murdering someone.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me. “Yeah, I think I just... I need to go home.”

Agatha nodded, patting my arm. “Good call. Go home, take a bubble bath, and—”

“Eat my feelings?”

Agatha grinned. “Exactly.”

I gave her a small smile, grateful she wasn’t pushing. “Thanks, Aggie.”

She winked. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll gossip later.”

I nodded, weaving my way through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances and the lingering presence of Lilia somewhere in the room.

By the time I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, and I let out a long breath. The tension that had been building inside me all evening eased slightly, but the frustration was still simmering beneath the surface.

Because despite everything, the flirting, the teasing, the stupid mixed signals, Lilia still managed to keep me at arm's length. And I was tired of playing the waiting game.

As I made my way home, heels clicking against the pavement, I couldn't help but feel like I had just walked away from a fight I wasn't even sure I wanted to win anymore.

I made it home, kicking off my heels the second I stepped through the door. The silence of my apartment felt jarring after the noise and chaos of the event, but it was exactly what I needed. No prying eyes, no teasing coven, and most importantly, no Lilia.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and downing it in one go. The adrenaline from earlier was fading, leaving me feeling tired, annoyed, and... a little disappointed.

The evening had started off fun, with the whole “make Lilia jealous” plan in full swing. But somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about teasing her and started feeling like something else. Something heavier.

I wanted her to chase me. I wanted her to want me.

But instead, she just kept pulling back, staying in that frustrating space of almost.

I flopped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling, letting my thoughts spiral.

Maybe she really doesn’t feel the same way.

Maybe the age gap is too much for her.

Maybe I’m just a fun distraction to her.

I groaned, tossing a pillow over my face. “Ugh, stupid.”

Just as I was debating whether to text Agatha and unload my feelings, my phone buzzed against my thigh.

I grabbed it, half expecting it to be one of my friends checking in, but my breath caught when I saw the name on the screen.

Lilia.

I stared at it for a beat, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Was she going to scold me for leaving early? Check on me? Or just... toy with me some more?

Taking a deep breath, I swiped to answer. “Hello?”

There was a pause, then Lilia’s voice, soft and measured. “You left.”

I blinked, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, I did. I wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

Another pause. “I see.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you call just to state the obvious, Lilia?”

She hummed, and I could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Maybe.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Lilia.”

She sighed, and for a moment, I thought she might actually say something real. But then—

“I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

My heart did that stupid little flutter thing, but I pushed it down, forcing a casual tone. “I’m fine. I always am.”

There was silence on the other end, and for a second, I thought maybe she’d hung up. But then—

“I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go,” she admitted quietly.

I swallowed, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. “Why did you?”

She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, it was softer than I expected. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling frustration bubble up again. “And? Did you enjoy the show?”

Lilia exhaled, something close to a chuckle, but there was an edge to it. “More than I should have.”

My grip tightened on the phone. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Another pause. “So I’ve been told.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Go to bed, Lilia.”

“You too, baby,” she murmured, and before I could come up with a snarky response, the call ended.

My heart pounding, frustration and something else, something deeper, swirling in my chest.

I stared at my phone for all of ten seconds before I muttered, "No, fuck this." Without thinking any further, I tapped Lilia’s number and called her back.

She answered almost immediately, her voice a little softer, maybe a little surprised. “y/n?”

“You’re confusing,” I blurted out, pacing back and forth in my living room, frustration bubbling over. “You are so confusing, Lilia.”

Silence.

I didn’t care, I was on a roll now. “You flirt with me, you pull away, you get all soft and caring, and then you act like none of it happened. And I keep trying to play it cool, keep waiting for you to make up your damn mind, but you never do.”

She didn’t say a word, and I wasn’t stopping.

“And fuck you and this whole age gap excuse, because that’s what it is now, Lilia. It’s an excuse. You keep telling yourself that’s the problem, but it’s not. You flirt with me, you want me, and then you shut me out like it never happened. I’m tired, Lilia. I’m so tired.”

I paused, breathing hard, and then it hit me. My eyes widened as I blurted, “And you never even gave me my underwear back!”

I was hysterical.

I could hear Lilia inhale sharply on the other end, and for a second, I thought she might say something, anything. But all I got was silence.

And that silence was worse than if she’d yelled at me.

I swallowed hard, my anger deflating into something... heavier. More raw. My voice softened, and I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you.”

Still, she said nothing, and it was starting to hurt more than I thought it could.

I took a shaky breath. “I’m done, Lilia. I can’t take any more.” My throat tightened, and I blinked back the sting in my eyes. “It hurts too much.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of my breathing and the faint static of the line. Then, finally, Lilia’s voice came through, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

“Y/n...”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Don’t.”

Another pause. Then she sighed, long and slow, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well... you did.”

Silence again, and I could almost imagine her, standing in her shop, looking down at the floor with that troubled frown she always wore when she was thinking too hard.

After another beat, she said, “I—” but she cut herself off, like she couldn’t finish the sentence.

I shook my head, wiping at my eyes. “Lilia, I can’t do this anymore. Not unless you actually want me. Not unless you’re willing to admit it.”

There was a pause. Then, finally, so quietly it nearly shattered me, she said, “I do.”

I froze, my heart slamming in my chest. “What?”

“I do,” Lilia repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I didn’t know how to.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “Then why are you pushing me away?”

There was a long silence before she finally admitted, “Because I’m scared.”

I felt something shift inside me, my anger melting into something softer. “Scared of what?”

Lilia sighed again, and this time, she sounded... tired. Vulnerable. “Of how much I want you.”

My lips parted, my throat suddenly dry. “Then stop running,” I said softly. “Please, Lilia. Just... stop.”

She was quiet for another long moment, and then— “Come over.”

My breath hitched. “What?”

“Come over,” she said again, a little stronger this time. “Now.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding. “Lilia, are you sure—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Please.”

And just like that, I didn’t even hesitate. I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into my shoes, and bolted out the door, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The night air was cool against my skin, but I barely registered it, I was too focused on getting to Lilia.

The drive to her shop felt endless, every red light an eternity, every turn slower than I wanted. My fingers tapped anxiously against the wheel, my thoughts racing.

She admitted it.

She finally admitted it.

But what did that mean? What was waiting for me when I got there?

By the time I pulled up outside her shop, I was a mess of nerves, my stomach churning with anticipation and something I couldn’t quite name. I parked and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to collect myself.

Come over, she’d said. Not “we need to talk,” not “I need to explain.” Just... come over.

I swallowed, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car. The street was quiet this time of night, the shop windows dark except for the faint glow of a single light inside.

I knocked, and almost immediately, the door creaked open.

Lilia stood there, looking... different. Her usual confidence wasn’t as sharp around the edges tonight. Her hair was loose, curling naturally around her face, and she had changed into casual wear, soft sweater and leggings, barefoot.

Her dark eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

I exhaled shakily. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied softly, stepping aside to let me in.

The familiar scent of her shop, incense, old books, and something distinctly her washed over me as I walked inside. She closed the door behind me, and the quiet settled around us like a heavy weight.

I turned to face her, my heart still racing. “I meant what I said, Lilia. I can’t do this anymore if you don’t—”

“I know,” she interrupted, her voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “I know, baby.”

The sound of her calling me that made my knees weak.

I swallowed. “Then why—”

Lilia took a slow step forward, her eyes locked onto mine. “Because I’ve spent a long time being careful, y/n. Too careful.”

I didn’t move, didn’t speak. I just let her talk.

“I told myself I couldn’t do this,” she continued, her voice quiet but sure. “That you deserved someone... younger. Someone with fewer complications. Someone who wouldn’t keep you waiting.”

I blinked, my throat tightening. “Lilia...”

She stepped closer, and this time, she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over my wrist. “But you’re right. The age gap, the excuses... they’re just that. Excuses.”

I felt something break inside me, my breath hitching. “Then stop making them.”

Lilia looked at me, really looked at me, and I could see the struggle in her eyes, the hesitation, the longing, the fear. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she cupped my face in her hands, her thumb grazing lightly over my cheek.

“I’m done,” she whispered. “No more excuses.”

I barely had time to react before she kissed me.

Soft at first, hesitant, but then I melted into it, my hands gripping her waist as I kissed her back with everything I’d been holding in for weeks, months.

Lilia pressed closer, her body warm against mine, and I felt her exhale shakily into my mouth, like she was finally letting go of all the barriers she’d built between us. Like she wanted this just as badly as I did.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my forehead resting against hers. “Took you long enough,” I whispered, my lips curling into a smile.

Lilia chuckled, her fingers still ghosting over my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip. “I know, baby. I know.”

And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could finally breathe.

But Lilia barely gives me a second to recover before she’s grabbing my hand and pulling me through the shop, her grip firm, her steps hurried, almost reckless. I can barely keep up, my heart racing, my body already aching for her before we even make it to her bedroom.

And then I’m there, being pushed back onto the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me as I look up at her, chest rising and falling rapidly.

She’s standing over me, eyes dark and burning with something dangerous, something I’ve been craving for so long.

I moan, unabashedly, because fuck, she’s so hot. The way she looks at me like she’s about to devour me whole, like she’s going to ruin me, like I’m something she’s been starving for.

And then she starts stripping, slowly, painfully slow, slowly, deliberately, eyes locked onto mine the entire time. Teasing me with every inch of skin she reveals. She peels her sweater over her head, her curls tumbling loose, and I watch, breathless, as she undoes the clasp of her bra with deliberate precision, letting it fall to the floor, her smirk growing the longer I stare. Her hands move lower, hooking into the waistband of her leggings, sliding them down her hips with an agonising pace. She steps out of them with ease. My pulse pounds in my ears as she takes her time, dragging it out, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me, letting the last of her clothes slip from her body until she’s completely bare, standing before me in nothing but those dark eyes and the wicked smirk playing on her lips, and I’m left staring, aching.

I can’t take it.

I stand up, lurch forward, hands reaching for her, closing the space between us, my hands immediately on her body, kissing every inch of skin I can reach her collarbone, her shoulders, the curve of her neck. My hands roam over her bare back, pressing her closer, needing to feel her. My teeth scrape over the pulse hammering at her throat, and I hear her breath hitch.

Lilia moans, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me even closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off her. I trail kisses down, across her chest, down her stomach, dragging my nails lightly, down her ribs just to make her gasp, desperate to taste her, to make up for all the time we’ve wasted.

I want her. I want to wreck her, hear her fall apart beneath me.

But Lilia has other plans.

With a low growl, she shoves me back onto the bed, straddling me before I can even react. Her body pins mine against the mattress, a delicious weight that has me gasping. She tugs my dress up, her hands rough and impatient as she drags it over my head and tosses it aside. A shiver runs through me as her fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, and without thinking, my hips lift to help her slip them off.

And then she does the same to me. Lilia’s lips are everywhere, hot, demanding, claiming me in a way that’s anything but soft. It’s hard, it’s raw, it’s pent up tension that’s been building for weeks, and it’s so damn good, and I can feel it in every press of her teeth, every bite of her nails against my thighs.

She kisses me like she’s making up for lost time, her hands gripping my hips tightly, grinding down against me, slow and deliberate, teasing me with the friction, with enough force to leave bruises in the morning. My nails rake down her back, desperate, needy, and she loves it, moaning into my mouth as she deepens the kiss.

We don’t stop.

There’s no hesitation, no second guessing, just heat and need and the overwhelming feeling of finally having what we both wanted.

I gasp as Lilia's hands roam lower, her touch possessive, her mouth following her hands, unrelenting, claiming every inch of me. She grips my thighs, spreading me open, pressing teasing kisses along my inner thigh, slow, deliberate, making me squirm.

She pauses just above where I need her, her breath warm against me, teasing, torturous. And when she finally looks up at me, her lips just barely brushing my skin, her eyes are dark, lips slick, pupils blown wide with hunger. She smirks.

“Took me long enough, huh?” she murmurs against my skin.

I can’t even answer, just nod breathlessly.

Lilia’s mouth is on me before I can even process it, her hands pressing my thighs apart with a hunger that makes my head spin. She doesn’t tease. She doesn’t drag it out. She takes.

She devours me like she’s starving, like she’s been holding back for too long and refuses to do it a second longer. Her tongue moves with precision, slow at first, savoring, before she licks deeper, pressing her mouth against me with a hunger that has my head spinning. She flicks her tongue, dragging it over me just right, and I sob, my body jerking beneath her.

Her fingers slide through slick heat, teasing, testing, until—

I gasp, my back arching off the bed as she pushes in, stretching me, filling me in a way that has me gasping for air.

She’s ruthless, curling her fingers just right, stroking deep, pushing, pulling, setting a pace that leaves no room for mercy.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me, baby?” she moans against me, the vibrations sending a shiver up my spine. Her fingers don’t slow, thrusting into me hard, fast, each stroke deliberate and punishing. “The things I’ve thought about... every time you walked into the shop in those little skirts, every time you teased me?”

I whimper, my hands clutching the sheets, head thrown back in pure bliss.

She bites the inside of my thigh, and I cry out. “Those panties you left behind,” she breathes, her voice thick with lust, “I couldn’t stop thinking about them. About you. About what it’d feel like to have you.”

A desperate moan rips from my throat, my body trembling under her touch. “Lilia... please.” My hips lifting, chasing her, needing more. She hums, low and indulgent, before finally sliding another finger inside me, stretching me open, pushing deeper, pressing her palm against me just enough to make me whine. My hands clutch at the sheets, my body burning, every nerve ending sparking.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” her tongue circling me in slow, teasing strokes, drawing me apart piece by piece. “Had you like this ages ago. Been wanting to hear these sounds from you for weeks”

Her fingers press against that perfect spot inside me, and I choke out a sob.

She licks deeper, pressing her tongue flat against me before sucking lightly, and I jerk, crying out.

“Want to hear you cum for me,” Lilia purrs, her voice dark and commanding, before she sucks harder, her fingers thrusting into me faster, curling deep, coaxing me higher. “Come on, baby. Let me hear it.”

And I do.

The pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave, my body shaking, moaning her name over and over as I fall apart beneath her touch. Lilia doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until I’m completely wrecked, panting, and twitching from the aftershocks.

She finally pulls back, pressing a final, lingering kiss against me, her breath warm and heavy.

“Good girl,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach, her voice full of praise that makes me shiver all over again. “You did so well for me.”

I can barely respond, my limbs boneless, my mind hazy. But I know one thing for sure, I want more.

It takes me a moment to come back down, my body still trembling, my breaths ragged and uneven. Lilia watches me with dark, satisfied eyes, her smirk smug and dripping with confidence. Her fingers still teasing lazy circles on my thigh like she’s enjoying the way I twitch under her touch.

But I’m not done with her, not by a long shot.

Before she can even process it, I flip us over, pressing her into the mattress with a wicked grin. Her eyes widen, but there’s no surprise, just anticipation, hunger.

“Fuck.” The word comes out in a breath, barely a sound, but enough for her to hear.

She hums, amused, her nails skimming over my arms as if daring me to continue.

My fingers trail lower, slipping between her thighs, and I pause, my breath catching as I feel how absolutely soaked she is. The realisation sends a shiver through me, and I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips.

I pull back slightly, looking at her properly now, taking in the way her lips are parted, her pupils blown wide, her body already straining toward me.

“Oh,” I breathe, teasing my fingers against her, dragging them slowly to feel every bit of her need. “You don’t need any help, do you?”

Lilia’s breath hitches, her hips twitching beneath my touch, but she doesn’t answer, just watches me with dark, half-lidded eyes, her lips parted in anticipation. Fixes me with a look that makes my stomach flip.

It’s daring. A challenge. Like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

“Fuck,” I say again, letting out another slow breath, pressing a little firmer, feeling how she responds so easily. “You really have been waiting for this,” I murmur, my voice dark, satisfied. “Haven’t you?”

She parts her lips to respond, but I don’t give her the chance.

I sink my fingers into her, slow at first, teasing, stretching her open, feeling the way her body clenches around me.

And then I push in deeper, hard, and she gasps, her back arching, her fingers digging into my shoulders..

I don’t go slow. I don’t tease. I take her hard and rough, my fingers moving with purpose, curling inside her in a way that has her moaning instantly.

Lilia’s hands grasp at my shoulders, her nails scratching, dragging down my back, and I lower my mouth to her breasts, sucking one of her nipples between my lips. I swirl my tongue around it, biting down just enough to make her cry out, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, y/n,” she moans, her hips bucking up against my hand, her thighs trembling around me.

I smirk against her skin, flicking my tongue over the hardened peak before moving to the other, lavishing it with the same rough attention while my fingers pump into her relentlessly.

She’s so wet, so tight around my fingers, and it doesn’t take much before I feel her start to tighten around me, her walls fluttering, her breath coming out in broken gasps.

“So, you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” I murmur against her chest, my voice dripping with satisfaction. “Thinking about how I’d feel inside you?”

She groans, her back arching as she gasps, “Yes... yes... fuck.”

I grin wickedly, increasing the pace, curling my fingers just right until she’s on the edge, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Come on, Lilia,” I whisper against her skin, sucking hard on her nipple as I thrust into her with delicious precision.

“Let me hear you.”

And she does.

Lilia spasms around me, her moan breaking apart into something raw and desperate, her entire body trembling beneath me as she comes undone, gasping my name like it’s the only thing she knows.

I watch her fall apart, mesmerised, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, every sharp intake of breath, and it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen.

My fingers slow, riding out her high as I press soft kisses along her collarbone.

Her breathing is ragged, a deep flush crawling up her chest, sweat slicking her skin, and she lets out a soft, breathy laugh, pulling me against her, her fingers tangling in my hair. “I should hate how smug you look right now,” she murmurs, voice thick and shaky.

I smirk, kissing along her jaw. “You love it.”

She hums, her lips ghosting over my temple as her breath steadies, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.

After the intensity of it all, after the heat, the moans, and the desperate need finally sated, we collapse into the sheets, bodies still humming with the aftershocks.

Lilia sighs softly against my hair, her arm draped lazily over my waist, her chest rising and falling steadily beneath me, and I feel her hand lazily tracing circles on my back.

I shift slightly, my leg sliding between hers, my fingers still ghosting over her skin, unable to stop touching her even in the aftermath.

Her skin is warm, still damp from sweat, her breathing slow and steady.

“Comfortable?” she murmurs, voice low and raspy, and I can hear the lingering amusement in it.

I nuzzle against her neck, pressing a lazy kiss to her collarbone. “Very.” My voice is heavy with sleep, and I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, but I don’t want to move. “You?”

She hums, her lips pressing against my temple in a slow, lingering kiss. “Mm. I could get used to this.”

My heart stutters at that, but I don’t say anything, just smile against her skin, letting myself bask in the warmth of her.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, time feels irrelevant when I’m wrapped around her like this. Lilia strokes her fingers through my hair absentmindedly, and I can feel her breathing slowing, the tension that always seems to cling to her finally easing away.

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter shut, my body melting against hers. “Don’t retreat in the morning,” I mumble sleepily, barely coherent, but needing to say it.

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. “I won’t, baby.”

And that’s enough for me. With her promise lingering in the air between us, I drift off, feeling safe, sated, and completely tangled in her. Tangled in her warmth, in her scent, in the quiet hum of her presence.

#lilia calderu x reader #lilia calderu #patti lupone #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic

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partoffantasy · 3 days ago

Text

Between Heartbeats - Liam Mairi

summary: reader has always had Liam by her side, but it takes almost losing him for her to realize what he truly means to her. As she fights to keep him alive, she’s forced to face her own feelings—before time runs out for both of them.

pairing: liam mairi x fem!reader warnings: angst, blood word count: 4.6k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

After six relentless hours of flying, our bodies aching from the strain, Xaden finally orders us to take a break. Sgaeyl leads us downward, her massive wings cutting through the air with effortless precision. We descend into a clearing where a small lake shimmers between thick clusters of emerald trees, the water a cool, inviting shade of blue. The moment we land, the dragons waste no time lowering their heads to drink, their massive forms shifting as they settle in for a well-earned rest.

Caelan touches down beside Deigh, his scales glinting in the fading sunlight. As I slide down his leg, my fingers briefly press against his warm hide in silent gratitude.

“Stay close. It’s not safe.” His deep voice rumbles through my mind like distant thunder.

I nod. “Will do. Take a break.” My lips curve into a small smile, knowing full well he’ll remain alert despite my words.

The others scatter across the area, stretching their sore limbs, relishing the momentary respite. Xaden and Violet move slightly away from the group, seeking a rare sliver of privacy. I shake my head, an amused smile tugging at my lips before I reach for my waterskin.

“You good?”

I turn to see Garrick walking toward me, his usual easy confidence evident in his stride. He settles beside me as I take in our surroundings—lush greenery, vibrant wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze, the lake so impossibly clear it looks like melted ice. It’s beautiful. Almost peaceful.

“I am,” I answer honestly. “And you?”

He exhales a chuckle, stretching his legs out as we sit beneath the shade of a massive tree. “Looking forward to getting back. My ass is numb from all that flying.”

A smirk tugs at my lips. “Tell me about it.”

We fall into easy conversation, his presence grounding me. But even as we talk, my eyes betray me, seeking out someone else.

Liam.

The sound of laughter draws my gaze to the water, where Liam, Rhi, and Ridoc are splashing around like carefree children. He peels his shirt off, the golden glow of the sun catching on his damp skin as he kicks off his boots and dives in. I barely notice Garrick falling silent beside me as my entire world narrows down to him.

Liam.

His name echoes in my mind, my breath catching as I watch him resurface, water streaking down his face, his soaked blond hair falling across his forehead. The sharp angles of his cheekbones and jawline, once softened by youth, now speak of a man fully grown. I swallow hard, heat rising to my cheeks as my eyes trace the defined lines of his chest, the sculpted ridges of his stomach.

But it’s not just his body that has my heart stuttering in my chest. It’s his smile—the same one he’s given me for years, the one that feels like warmth on a cold day, like safety when the world is crumbling.

Home.

Liam is home.

And for the first time, I realize I’ve been blind.

He was always there. When I stumbled, when I fell, when I broke—he was there, steady and unwavering. So why didn’t my heart race before? Why didn’t I see what was right in front of me?

Now, the fear grips me. Did I wait too long? Did my indifference push him away? Has he realized he deserves better than someone who only now understands what he means to her?

A lump forms in my throat. I force my gaze away, trying to collect myself, but it’s too late—Xaden is already beside me, his knowing eyes following my line of sight before resting on my face.

I don’t even hesitate when I lean my head against his shoulder, exhaling shakily. “I love him, Xaden.”

The words barely make it past my lips, so quiet, so fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering.

Xaden hums, a soft chuckle rumbling through him as he drapes an arm around me. “I know.”

I close my eyes, his reassurance both comforting and terrifying. “I’m scared.”

“Why?”

I sigh, my fingers tightening around my waterskin. “I’m scared I waited too long. That my hesitation made him realize he can have better.”

Xaden shakes his head, his grip on my shoulder firm, anchoring me. “I don’t believe that for a second. But you need to tell him, Y/N. And yeah, he’s going to be shocked—because believe me, he doesn’t expect this—but he will be with you. He’s always wanted to be with you. He has loved you for so long.”

Tears prick at my eyes. “I hope you’re right,” I murmur. “I’ll tell him when we get back.”

I have to. Because losing him would be worse than rejection. Losing him would be losing everything.

I glance back toward the lake. Liam is watching us now, his expression unreadable. Our eyes lock, and for a heartbeat, time ceases to exist. It wasn’t my signet—it was him. He’s the first to break the moment, looking away, and my heart clenches in my chest.

I will fix this.

I have to.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I turn to Xaden. “How’s Violet?”

“She’s pissed, as always.” He smirks, rubbing a hand over his face. “But she understands. Or she will.”

“She always comes back to you,” I remind him. “You’re bonded for life. She’ll understand why.”

He nods, exhaling slowly. “Thanks for always having my back, Y/N.”

I meet his gaze, sincerity shining in his dark eyes. “Always.”

We hug, and unexpectedly, I laugh. The sound morphs into a quiet sob, my emotions tumbling over themselves.

Xaden smiles knowingly. “You don’t always have to be tough.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You think I belong here?”

His expression softens. “Y/N, you deserve to be a rider. You always did.”

The words settle deep, warming something inside me. “I’m glad you’re back,” I admit, thinking of the years that stretched between us.

“You had Liam,” Xaden reminds me.

“It’s not the same,” I whisper. “You’re my brother.”

We look back toward the water, where Liam still lingers, his gaze heavy. I meet it, offering a soft smile. Slowly, his lips curve in response, but there’s something distant in his expression. A hesitation.

And for the first time, I truly understand what people mean when they say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

I just hope I haven’t lost him already.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

And then, all hell breaks loose.

"Caelan?" My voice is edged with worry as a sharp pang of unease races down my spine.

"Hurry! You need to get off the ground!" His voice is a thunderous roar in my mind, vibrating with urgency.

I spin, my eyes darting through the trees, heart hammering against my ribs. And then I see it.

A figure lurks in the shadows between the trunks. Pale—deathly so—its skin is almost translucent, veins red as blood spidering down its face. But its eyes—gods, its eyes—are pools of crimson hunger, glinting with something both intelligent and monstrous.

Shock anchors me to the ground.

"Y/N!" Xaden's voice is a raw command, slicing through my paralysis. "We have to go! Now!"

Before I can process it, he's shoving me toward Caelan, his grip bruising, fueled by sheer desperation. My legs finally obey, and I sprint, throwing myself onto Caelan's back just as he leaps into the sky. The moment we ascend, the others follow, wings beating frantically against the night. Below, the creature crouches low, pressing a skeletal hand to the earth. A sickly gray circle pulses outward from his palm, spreading across the ground like a living disease.

"What the hell is that?!" My stomach lurches at the sight.

"A venin. They drain the life from everything around them," Caelan answers, voice razor-sharp with loathing. "They feed from the ground itself."

Then a sound pierces the night—an ear-splitting, inhuman screech. My blood turns to ice.

Wyvern. Six of them, dark shadows slicing through the sky.

"Alloy daggers only!" Xaden bellows from my left, his voice steady despite the chaos. We all carry them—black-hilted blades forged with the only metal capable of cutting through the unnatural flesh of these creatures. I tighten my grip around mine, bracing for the inevitable.

Then Caelan snarls, his voice vibrating through my bones. "Deigh needs help."

My stomach plummets. I snap my gaze toward the left flank just in time to see two wyverns closing in on Deigh and Liam. My pulse stutters, fear gripping my throat like a vice. No. No, no, no.

"Let’s go! Hurry!" I cry, and Caelan veers sharply, wings slicing through the air as we dive. But we’re still too far. Too slow.

A wyvern lunges. Its jagged teeth sink deep into Deigh’s leg, a sickening crunch echoing through the night. Deigh screams, the sound raw and agonized. The second wyvern strikes from the other side, sending them both careening toward the earth.

"Liam!" His name rips from my throat, raw with terror. My power thrums beneath my skin, a violent force begging to be unleashed. Do something. Do something now.

I throw open the doors to my power—Caelan’s power—and reach. My fingers stretch out toward Liam, toward Deigh, toward the descending wyvern. Time bends to my will.

And stops.

The world stills. The night is silent. The wyvern are frozen mid-air, their wings locked in unnatural stiffness. Deigh, Liam—trapped in the moment before impact.

My chest burns. My head pounds. Caelan’s voice is distant, pleading. "We’re almost there."

I can’t hold it. Every second shreds through me like fire in my veins. But if I let go now, Liam will die.

"You need to release it, or you’ll die." Caelan’s voice is pained, but firm.

"No!" Tears blur my vision. "I can’t—I won’t let them—"

Agony rips through me, molten and unbearable. My breath turns ragged, each inhale molten lead in my throat. The edges of my vision darken, tunneling to nothing.

Not yet. Just a little longer—

We’re close. Almost there. Just—

I let go.

Time slams back into motion. The fall resumes. Deigh plummets, his agonized roar tearing through the night. The wyvern shriek as gravity claims them again. I have seconds.

Caelan collides with the first wyvern, tearing through it with ruthless precision. Blood arcs across the sky as he rips its head clean from its body. I don’t stop to watch. I jump.

The wind whips against me as I plummet toward the second wyvern. Its teeth are embedded in Deigh’s shoulder—and Liam’s abdomen.

I scream, fury and fear coiling into something visceral, something deadly. My daggers flash in the moonlight as I plunge them into the beast’s skull. It shrieks, releasing its grip on Deigh, its body convulsing as it falls lifeless.

But so does Liam.

I reach, fingers grasping, catching his tunic just as he starts to slip. "No! Liam!"

Deigh is barely conscious, wings faltering. We’re too low, too close to the mountains. His body collides with the rocky terrain, momentum sending Liam and me flying into a jagged cliffside. Pain explodes through me as we slam into stone, tumbling to the ground below.

Silence.

Pain.

I can barely breathe. My ribs scream in protest. Every part of me aches, but none of it matters.

Liam.

I force myself to move, crawling toward him with shaking hands. He’s deathly still, his tunic soaked in red. Three puncture wounds mar his abdomen, each leaking life with every passing second.

"No, no, no—Liam!" My hands press desperately against his wounds, but the blood keeps coming, spilling between my fingers. "Stay with me. Stay with me."

He groans, lids fluttering open. And then—he smiles.

A broken, dazed smile. "Y/N… you look like an angel."

I sob, my forehead pressing against his. "I love you, Liam. Please stay with me. Please."

He blinks sluggishly. "I… love…" His voice fades.

His body stills.

"Liam?" My breath catches. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t respond. "LIAM!"

I break. Raw, shattering sobs wrack my body as I press myself to him. But then—a flicker of something. A tingling beneath my fingers.

I glance down. The blood—

Frozen. Suspended in midair, locked in time. His wounds are no longer leaking, the flow halted by an unseen force.

My force.

I press my ear against his chest. A heartbeat. Weak, but still there.

"Xaden is coming!" Caelan’s voice is sharp, cutting through my haze.

I’m trembling, exhausted. I can’t hold on much longer. Xaden lands hard, his expression a mask of worry and barely contained fear.

"I think I stopped the blood," I say, voice thin with exhaustion. "But I can’t move. If I let go, he’ll die."

Xaden doesn’t hesitate. "Then we fly."

I nod weakly. "I won’t let go."

Even if it kills me.

Even if I don’t make it.

Because losing Liam would be worse than death itself.

“I don’t know how to do this. I can’t move. I can’t fly with Liam like this.” My voice is raw, trembling, as I fight the overwhelming weight pressing down on me. My energy is slipping away, seeping from my body like sand through my fingers. My vision blurs at the edges, and I clutch Liam tighter, as if sheer will alone can keep him tethered to this world.

“We need to be quick,” Xaden says, his voice urgent. “You’re losing energy. The longer you hold time, the faster you fade.”

Deigh lets out a labored breath from where he lays on the ground. He can’t fly, not with those wounds, but he’s alive—for now.

“Tairn agreed to carry Deigh back,” Violet says suddenly, appearing next to Xaden. Her usually steady voice wavers, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Liam isn’t just another rider to her. He’s her friend, her shadow. Losing him isn’t an option.

“We can use parts of Violet’s saddle to strap you and Liam to Caelan—if he agrees,” Xaden says. His tone is firm, but I don’t miss the way his gaze flickers over me, assessing, calculating. “But it’s dangerous, Y/N. If you lose consciousness mid-flight, you and Liam will fall.”

I nod. “There’s no other way. I will not let go of him.”

Xaden’s jaw tightens, his eyes dark with something I can’t quite name. “Think about this,” Caelan pleads through our bond. “You might die. I can feel you slipping.”

Tears spill freely down my face, my body trembling from exhaustion and pain. “I will not let him die!” I scream, my voice cracking with desperation. My heart is thundering, my entire being thrumming with defiance, and Caelan—my soul, my partner—understands. He bows his massive head in silent agreement.

“Then we move,” Xaden says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “We’re going to Aretia. It’s a two-hour flight. Basgiath is too far. You wouldn’t make it.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry as I meet his gaze. “Are you sure?” I whisper. We both know what this means—Violet will see her brother. The brother she thought was dead for six years.

Xaden doesn’t hesitate. “I will not let you both die.”

The others move quickly. Bodhi, Ridoc, and Garrick lift Liam’s and my body, careful, reverent, while Xaden secures the saddle straps. My muscles scream in protest as they settle me against Liam’s unmoving form, fastening us tightly to Caelan’s back. The moment we’re secure, the dragons launch into the sky. The ground disappears beneath us, and I clutch Liam closer, bracing against the icy wind.

His face is pale—too pale. His light hair whips around, strands tangling over his closed eyes. He looks peaceful, but I know better. He is slipping.

Tears spill onto his chest as I press my forehead against him. “Please stay with me,” I whisper. My voice is nothing more than a fragile breath against the storm.

The minutes stretch into eternity. Time loses meaning. My breaths grow shallow, my limbs numb. Every fiber of my being is focused on one thing—holding on.

“I’m so tired, Caelan,” I murmur through the bond, my consciousness wavering.

“Don’t fall asleep, timeless one,” he urges.

He tells me stories. About the first time he saw me. The moment I touched his mind during Presentation. The way he knew, instantly, that I was his during Threshing. His voice keeps me tethered, even as darkness claws at my edges.

Then, a voice cuts through the haze. “Aretia ahead!”

I blink sluggishly, my vision barely registering the outlines of the hidden outpost. The world around me is distant, muffled, like I’m underwater. My lips are numb, my fingers frozen. I can’t stop shivering.

Caelan lands with a jarring impact, pain lancing through my body. Hands reach for us—urgent voices shouting commands, but I can’t understand them. My thoughts are sluggish, fragmented.

“Alert him! Get them inside, now!”

The hands pulling at me are too warm. The heat burns against my frozen skin, yet I can’t seem to stop trembling. My soul feels hollow, drained of everything I am.

Then, a touch—soft, almost reverent—on my shoulders. A voice, a whisper, slips through the veil of exhaustion.

“Let go, Y/N.”

“N-no…”

“You’re dying. You need to let go.”

“I can’t let him die,” I sob, my voice barely audible.

The voice soothes, a presence wrapping around me like a phantom embrace. “It’s okay. I’ve got him.”

A cold dread pools in my stomach. Is it death speaking? Is he here to take Liam?

Then a sharp voice cuts through my haze, grounding me. “Y/N! It’s Brennan! He can mend Liam—but only if you stop your powers!”

Brennan.

Hope flickers, weak but still burning. My lips part in something like a smile, my body surrendering at last. I let go. My arms fall limp at my sides, and the world fades to black.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

—Xaden’s POV—

Y/N’s body sags, her arms slipping away from Liam. And suddenly, fresh blood blooms, pouring from the wounds she had held frozen in time.

“Shit! Take her to the side—I need space!” Brennan shouts, his hands already moving over Liam’s abdomen. Power crackles through the air as he chants, his hands glowing with healing energy.

My gaze snaps to Y/N.

My heart stops.

She’s too still. Her skin is ghostly pale, her lips an unnatural shade of purple. Dark bruises stain beneath her closed eyes. Blood coats her in streaks and splatters.

“Y/N?” My voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. I stumble toward her. She doesn’t move.

She doesn’t breathe.

“Y/N!” I roar, shaking her lifeless body.

Frantic, I press two fingers against her throat.

Nothing.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” My hands fist in her tunic. I drop to my knees and start CPR, my movements desperate. “Brennan! What do I do?” My voice cracks, panic clawing at my chest.

“I can’t help them both.” Brennan’s voice is tight, full of impossible choices. “You have to decide. I finish healing Liam, or I start on her.”

My world splinters. A sob rips from my throat.

Y/N would never forgive me. She’d never forgive herself.

“Help him first,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

Minutes stretch into eternity before Brennan rushes to my side. “What happened?” he demands, his hands already pressing against Y/N’s unmoving form.

“She’s a time-stopper,” I manage, barely holding myself together. “She froze his blood flow—but it drained her too fast.”

Brennan exhales sharply, understanding washing over his features. Then, without another word, he begins to mend her.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

—Y/N's POV—

When I open my eyes, everything hurts. A dull, aching pain thrums through every part of my body, heavy and unrelenting. My limbs feel like they’re weighed down with lead, my head pounding as if I’ve been thrown through the sky and slammed into the earth.

The first thing I notice is warmth. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, illuminating the room in a soft, golden glow. Birds flit outside, their wings casting fleeting shadows across the floor. The air is still, carrying the faint scent of herbs and clean linen.

I inhale shakily, lifting a trembling hand to my face, fingertips brushing against my temple before tangling in my hair. A groan escapes my lips as I try to stretch, my muscles protesting the movement. My body feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore, like I’m borrowing a shell that’s been through hell and barely pieced back together.

I take a slow, measured breath and force myself to sit up. The room around me blurs for a moment before steadying, revealing what looks like a medical ward. My feet touch the cool floor, sending a shiver up my spine. I’m dressed only in a loose shirt, the fabric brushing against my skin just above my knees. Every movement takes effort, but I push forward, step by step, drawn by something deeper than thought.

Then I see him.

Liam.

A curtain separates our beds, but I round it, and there he is—lying still, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. His face is pale but peaceful, his blond hair tousled, his lips slightly parted as if caught in a dream. He looks so serene, as though he’s untouched by the nightmare that brought us here.

My breath catches in my throat, my vision blurring with tears. I reach out before I can stop myself, my fingers ghosting over his cheek. He’s warm—so warm—and the relief that floods my veins is almost unbearable. A sob rises in my chest, my fingers trembling as they brush his skin.

“I thought I’d lost you,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

I pull a chair close, not willing to put any distance between us. My hand finds his, our fingers intertwining as if they were always meant to fit together. I stroke the back of his hand absentmindedly, pushing away strands of hair that fall across his forehead. Just looking at him, being close to him, grounds me in a way I didn’t know I needed. My exhaustion takes hold, pulling me under, and before I know it, I drift into sleep.

A murmur of voices pulls me back into awareness.

“Looks uncomfortable,” Garrick whispers.

“Well, we couldn’t just put them in one bed, now could we?” Xaden replies dryly.

“I mean…” Bodhi shrugs.

A smack echoes through the air. “They haven’t talked about it yet,” Xaden sighs.

“It’s so obvious,” Garrick mutters.

“It’s between them,” Xaden finishes firmly.

A groggy voice cuts through their hushed conversation. “You’re being loud.”

Liam.

His blue eyes blink open slowly, his expression hazy with pain. His lips part as he exhales a ragged breath. “I feel like shit.”

Xaden lets out a breath of relief. “Man, we thought you died…”

“You nearly did,” Garrick adds solemnly.

Liam frowns slightly, confusion creasing his brow. “What happened?” His gaze flickers around the room before landing on me. He stills, eyes widening slightly as he takes in the way my head rests against his arm, my fingers wrapped tightly around his hand.

His lips part again, and this time his voice is a little sharper. “What happened?”

My head shoots up and I realize I’m still holding him. The moment our eyes meet, my fingers unclasp from his like I’ve been burned. My face heats, my pulse racing.

Xaden clears his throat. “Okay, we’ll leave you two alone.” He shoves Garrick and Bodhi toward the door, muttering under his breath. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving an unbearable silence in their wake.

“Hi,” Liam says softly.

I swallow hard. “Hi.”

My throat constricts, my emotions tightening into a painful knot. I don’t know how to hold back the tears that well up again, spilling over before I can stop them. My shoulders shake, my breath hitching. “I thought I lost you, Li,” I whisper brokenly.

His expression softens instantly. “I’m here.”

The moment he opens his arms, I fall into him, my body wracked with sobs. His arms tighten around me, anchoring me, and I grip his shirt as if he’ll disappear if I let go. “I tried to be there faster,” I cry, my words tumbling out between ragged breaths. “I tried, but I was too far away. I saw Deigh, and the wyverns, and then you—oh god, Liam, there was so much blood. You weren’t breathing, and I didn’t know what to do. I stopped time in your wounds, but your heart—your heart was barely beating, and I thought—I thought—”

“Y/N.” His hands find my face, cradling it gently. His thumbs brush away my tears, his gaze steady, grounding. “I live because of you. You saved my life.”

I shake my head fiercely. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” he whispers. “You did everything. And I’m here. Because of you.”

I let out a shuddering breath, my forehead resting against his. The warmth of him, the steadiness of him, makes my chest ache with something too big to name.

His voice is softer now, almost hesitant. “I remember one thing before everything went black.”

I pull back slightly, blinking away the remaining tears. “What?”

Liam’s eyes search mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. “You told me you loved me.”

The breath is stolen from my lungs. My heart stutters.

I could pretend I don’t remember. I could laugh it off, say it was delirium or desperation. But why would I? Why would I waste another second pretending I don’t know exactly what my heart wants?

“I did,” I whisper, my voice trembling. "And I’m sorry it took nearly losing you for me to realize it. I don’t understand how I never saw it before—how I never saw you. Liam, you have the most beautiful soul I’ve ever known. You have this way of making even the darkest days seem a little brighter, of making the impossible feel possible. You’ve always been there—without hesitation, without expecting anything in return. Every time I doubted myself, you reminded me who I was. Every time I stumbled, you caught me. You believed in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself.

You were the one who made me laugh when I thought I’d forgotten how. The one who stayed up with me on those endless nights when my past wouldn’t let me sleep, holding me, keeping me tethered when I felt like I was slipping away. You listened when no one else did, and you saw parts of me I didn’t even realize I was showing. You never turned away—not from my fears, not from my flaws, not even from the parts of me that I thought were too broken to love.

You are everything, Liam. The best thing that has ever happened to me. And I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t ever want to know. I love you, Liam. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything in this world."

His hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer. “I love you too, Y/N.”

Then his lips are on mine.

It’s soft at first—hesitant, as if neither of us believes this moment is real. But then it deepens, and warmth spreads through every inch of me. His fingers tighten in my hair, and I melt against him, pouring every ounce of feeling into the kiss.

When we finally pull apart, his forehead presses against mine, both of us breathless, both of us smiling softly.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispers.

“You would have done the same.”

And then I kiss him again.

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