#and because of that forget something or SOMEONE
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Clueless: Baby Bang
Bang Chan x fem!reader
Warnings: Reader is pregnant (just that, nothing deep)
Genre: established relationship, flufffff
Summary: You've been distant lately, and Chan can't understand why. Because this is very unusual for the two of you as you two are on each other all the time. And Chan panics as you guys are getting married in a few months, and this sudden change is unraveling him.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Chan paced the living room, a deep frown etched into his forehead. You hadn’t touched him in days. Weeks, actually. That alone was already a catastrophe, considering the fact that you two were basically like bunnies.
But now? Nothing. You were dodging his touches like he was contagious. He reached for your hand? Oh, look, you suddenly needed both hands to text someone. He tried for a kiss? Whoops, you conveniently yawned. Bedtime? You were already asleep.
And that diamond ring glittering on your ring finger? It made him wonder if you were regretting saying yes to him already.
He’d spent way too many nights staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe was punishing him for something he didn't even know he did.
Chan sighed and opened the group chat. This was bad. He needed to vent.
Chan: She’s avoiding me.
A rapid barrage of notifications followed, and Chan barely had time to process one before another arrived.
Minho: Y/N? The one who’s practically glued to your lap 24/7?
Hyunjin: LMAO. Not possible. I won't believe it.
Seungmin: You obviously did something.
Chan: NO, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!
Chan: She’s been acting weird for WEEKS. 2 weeks to be exact. No kisses. No hugs. No… anything.
Jisung: No sex? BRO. Are you okay?
Felix: What if she’s planning something? Like a surprise? Maybe a wedding thing?
---
Chan paused. That was… not unreasonable. But no. You’d never kept secrets from him before. Like you've given him enough surprises before so he knew this was different.
---
Minho: OR. She’s finally come to her senses about you seducing her into saying yes?
Chan: Minho. I will come to your house and end you.
Jeongin: But seriously, hyung. Did you say something? Do something? Forget an important date? You’re kind of a workaholic.
---
That hit a little too close to home. Chan frowned, scrolling back through his mental timeline of your relationship.
---
Chan: I didn’t forget anything. I swear. We were fine until a couple weeks ago, and now she’s avoiding me like the plague.
Changbin: Well. There’s only one logical explanation.
Changbin: She’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone.
Jisung: YES. I second this. The real Y/N would NEVER do this.
Felix: Omg guys!
Chan: GUYS.
Hyunjin: Okay. What if she’s mad because you’re not initiating? She’s waiting for you to grovel.
Seungmin: That makes no sense. If she’s mad, why not just say so?
Hyunjin: IDK, some people like drama.
Jeongin: That’s your toxic trait, Hyung.
Hyunjin: IS NOT!
---
Chan groaned, dropping his phone onto the couch. He missed you. Like, really missed you. Sure, he wanted to rip your clothes off 90% of the time, but he also missed the simple things - your cuddles, your soft laugh, the way you’d always need him by your side when you're stressed.
The cold shoulders and polite smiles were killing him.
---
Minho: Just confront her, idiot. Corner her in the kitchen and ask her what’s wrong.
Chan: You think I haven’t tried that?! Every time I ask, she changes the subject.
Jisung: Okay, hear me out. Seduction.
Chan: What?
Jisung: Set the mood. Candles. Sexy music. Flex those ridiculous arms. She won’t stand a chance.
Felix: Worth a try.
---
That night, Chan put the "seduction plan" into action. He dimmed the lights, skipped the candles, and put on a romantic playlist. He even went full drama, lounging on the couch with his shirt conveniently unbuttoned.
When you walked in, your eyebrows shot up as you asked, “What's up?”
Chan said nothing, just held held his hand out. You froze, guilt flashing across your face, and Chan knew he had you. You placed your hand on his and let him pull you close.
“Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me, and it’s driving me crazy. Did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked, and that set you off.
Your eyes filled with tears, and in an instant you were in his lap, clinging to him like your life depended on it.
“I’m sorry, Channie! I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Then why -”
“Shhh,” Chan fell silent as you pressed a finger to his lips. “Just know that I love you, Channie.”
Chan was suspicious. Because, well, you’d shut him up in the best way possible, last night - all he remembered was his shirt coming off and yeah.
You’d seduced him. Thoroughly. And while his brain had short-circuited at that time, he was now absolutely certain that you’d dodged his questions on purpose.
At least he can't complain about you not touching him anymore, right?
---
Chan: It didn't work.
Minho: WHAT didn't?
Chan: She kinda caught me off guard. And avoided my questions.
Jisung: I thought we agreed on YOU seducing her and you got seduced??
Felix: Soooo… you still don’t know what’s going on?
Chan: NO. She’s hiding something, I know it.
Hyunjin: Maybe you’re overthinking. Or, maybe she’s secretly a spy.
Changbin: She’s NOT a spy, Hyunjin. That’s ridiculous.
Hyunjin: And alien clones aren’t?
Minho: Why are we even helping you? You let her seduce you and then just… forgot your goal.
---
Chan groaned, flopping onto his back. It wasn’t his fault! He was weak when it came to you. All it took was a look, or a whisper of his name and his brain turned to mush.
Still, Minho had a point.
---
Chan: Okay, fine. What do I do now?
Felix: She’s probably just stressed? Weddings are a big deal. She might just need time to sort her thoughts.
That gave Chan pause. Weddings were stressful. Maybe that was it?
Hyunjin: My bet’s still on spy.
---
Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom, staring at the little plastic stick in your hand for the hundredth time now. You’d known for two weeks, but the reality hadn’t gotten any less terrifying.
You were pregnant. Pregnant. With Chan’s baby.
The thought sent your heart racing. You loved him more than anything, but… you’d never talked about kids. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he panics when you bring it up?
There were only a few months until the wedding. You didn’t want to dump this on him now and risk throwing him into a spiral.
---
That night, Chan decided to take Minho’s advice (for once). No more distractions. He was getting answers tonight.
When you walked into the living room and his eyes locked onto yours - you froze. He looked so handsome, and a little…worn out? You felt so guilty for doing this.
“Come sit,” he said, patting the couch beside him.
You hesitated, but complied, heart pounding.
“Baby, we need to talk,” Chan said, his voice soft but firm.
You swallowed hard as you murmured, “About what?”
“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. And you obviously don't trust me enough to talk it out. I’m worried. What's going on? Is it the wedding?” He was giving you that puppy eyed look, and your heart shattered.
“No, Channie, it's not like that...”
“Then what is it? Please, just tell me.”
You opened your mouth, ready to spill everything - but then you panicked. The words caught in your throat, and instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.
Here he was - caught off guard (again) but quickly melting into the kiss. You climbed into his lap, your hands tangling in his hair, and within seconds, all thoughts of questioning were gone.
---
Chan: SHE DID IT AGAIN.
Minho: You’re hopeless.
Seungmin: At this rate, she could rob a bank and get away with it.
Felix: Honestly, I’m impressed.
---
Chan sighed, glaring at the group chat before throwing his phone across the bed. Whatever you were hiding, it was big. And he was determined to find out, one way or another.
Little did he know, in the bathroom, you were rehearsing how to tell him the truth: that in just a few months, he wasn’t just going to be your husband.
He was going to be a dad.
Chan was officially losing it. His imagination had gone to some very dark places (thanks to Changbin’s clone theory and Hyunjin’s spy nonsense), but now he just felt defeated. What was so big and terrifying, that you felt like you couldn’t share it with him?
Chan: I give up. She’s unbreakable.
Jisung: Hey don't lose hope.
Minho: Pathetic.
Jeongin: Just sit her down and don’t let her leave until she talks.
Chan: I’VE TRIED THAT.
Chan was ready to lock himself and you in a room till you cracked, but unfortunately he was already cracking under the stress. And then a lightbulb went off in his head. There was just one person in the world who might be able to get through to you.
Felix.
---
Felix was, to put it lightly, concerned when Chan cornered him in his kitchen.
“Lix, you have to help me,” Chan said, his eyes wild and desperate.
“Help you how?” Felix asked cautiously.
“Can you please try to talk to her?” Chan literally begs. “She loves you, Lix. Maybe she’ll tell you if you ask?”
Felix hesitated, torn between loyalty to Chan, who was literally his brother and his friendship with you. But ultimately, his desire to help won anyway.
“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”
---
Later that afternoon, you opened the door to find Felix standing on your porch, holding a box of cookies and his sunniest smile.
“Lixie?” you asked, surprised. “So good to see you!”
“Just wanted to check on you, love,” he said, coming forward to hug you.
You stepped aside to let him in, and the two of you settled on the couch.
“I baked these for you,” he said, watching your reaction closely as you opened the box and munched on a cookie immediately. “You’ve been looking a little stressed lately.”
You stopped mid-chew, guilt gnawing at you.
“I’m fine, Lix. Just… wedding stuff, you know?” you said, carefully avoiding his eyes.
“Is it really just the wedding?” Felix tilted his head, unconvinced.
You froze, your hands tightening around the box.
“You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is, I won’t judge.” Felix said, reaching out and placing a gentle hand over yours.
Your eyes welled up with tears, and as you put the box aside gently. Felix scooted closer as he saw the tears fall, and before you knew it, the truth came spilling out.
“I’m pregnant, Felix,” you whispered. “And I don’t know how to tell Chan. We’ve never talked about kids, and I don’t even know if he wants them. And now the wedding’s so close, and I’m scared I’ll ruin everything. I already got my wedding dress and I don't think I'll fit into it anymore because by that time-”
Felix’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, he looked like he might burst into tears himself. But then he let out a strangled laugh.
“You’re… you’re pregnant?”
You nodded, sniffled and managed a soft, “Yeah.”
Felix threw his arms around you, nearly knocking you over.
“Oh my God, Y/N! I’m so happy for you! And for Chan! You’re gonna have the cutest baby in the world!” he gushed, his eyes sparkling with happy tears.
You couldn’t help but laugh through your own tears.
“You don't think this is a disaster?” you asked softly, wiping your tears away.
“Disaster?” Felix pulled back, shaking his head. “Of course not. This is amazing! But you have to tell Chan. He’s going insane trying to figure out what’s wrong.”
“I know,” you said softly. “I just… I’m scared.”
Felix gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Chan loves you more than anything. Trust me, he’s gonna be over the moon. And I'll always be here for you. Seriously, sweetheart, this is the best news ever.”
---
Hyunjin: Well? Did she tell you?
Jisung: SPILL, FELIX.
Chan: Felix? Please. I’m dying here.
Felix hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He couldn’t betray your trust, but he also couldn’t leave Chan hanging.
Felix: She’s okay. She’s just… working through something.
Minho: And you’re being suspiciously vague.
Seungmin: Should've known that sending her best friend to investigate wasn't your strongest idea… obviously he's gonna take her side!
Felix: I promised I wouldn’t say anything. But it’s nothing bad, I swear.
Chan: Seriously?? Nothing bad? Then why is she avoiding me?
Felix: Just… be patient with her, okay? She’ll tell you when she’s ready. I promise it's all ok. Trust me.
Chan frowned at the message, his heart twisting.
You had spent the whole night rehearsing what to say to Chan, your stomach churning with nerves. Morning came far too quickly, and as you watched him shuffle into the kitchen with his hair messy and his sleepy face, you nearly chickened out.
But Felix’s words echoed in your head. He’s gonna be over the moon.
“Channie,” you said softly, placing your mug of tea aside and taking a step towards him.
He looked up from the coffee maker, his sleepy eyes brightening instantly. You were trying to talk to him, and somehow that was enough. Anything was better than you avoiding him.
“Morning, baby.”
You smiled nervously, gesturing to the table. “Can we talk?”
His brow furrowed, worry flashing across his face as he nodded and sat down opposite you.
“Is everything okay?”
You took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you said, “You know how I’ve been… weird lately?”
Chan nodded, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and curiosity.
“Well,” you continued, “there’s a reason for that. And I’ve been scared to tell you because it’s big. Like, really big.”
“Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise, I’ll handle it.” Chan said, reaching across the table and taking your hand in his.
Your eyes filled with tears as you finally said it.
“I’m pregnant.”
Chan froze. Completely. His mouth hung open, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as his brain processed your words.
“You’re… pregnant?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
You nodded, tears spilling over.
“Yeah. I found out a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know if you’d be okay with it, or if it was too much with the wedding coming up -”
Chan cut you off by pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. His body shook as he let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and you realized he was crying.
“Channie, are you okay?” you asked nervously, your own voice shaking as you stroked his hair.
“Okay?” he choked out, pulling back to look at you with tear-streaked cheeks and the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “Baby, I’m better than okay. I’m… I’m gonna be a dad?”
You nodded, your heart swelling at the pure joy on his face.
Chan laughed, his tears flowing freely now.
“Holy crap. I don’t know what to say?! We’re having a baby. A baby!”
Before you could say anything else, Chan was peppering your face with kisses, squeezing you in the tightest hug ever.
“I love you so much. Baby, you’re…I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this on your own.” he said, cupping your cheeks with his hands.
“I didn’t want to stress you out,” you admitted, clinging to him as he pulled you onto his lap. “And…I've never been more scared about anything my entire life? I mean, I adore you, and I know I want this with you, our baby already means the world to me…but not knowing if you would want that too? It's been killing me, we've never even joked about this before, Channie… “
“You could’ve told me sooner, baby,” he said softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “I thought we were clear about this, with you, I'm ready for anything! But I get it. And I love you even more for worrying about me. But baby, we’re in this together. Always.”
---
Chan: GUYS. I HAVE NEWS. HUGE NEWS 🤩
Jisung: Finally!!
Hyunjin: I told you she's a spy!! No one ever listens to me!!
Minho: He’s too happy for that, you idiot.
Chan: WE’RE HAVING A BABY.
Jeongin: Excuse me, WHAT?
Changbin: STOP. Really?!
Seungmin: Wow, plot twist
Felix: Oh thank godddddd😭😭😭😭
Felix: I was dying here
Chan: SHE TOLD ME THIS MORNING. I’M GONNA BE A DAD. WE’RE GONNA BE PARENTS. OMG.
---
It felt like everytime he said it, it felt a little more real.
---
Jisung: Congratulations, bro. Wow.
Hyunjin: I AM CRYING. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE REPRODUCING.
Chan: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
Chan: MY BABYGIRL AND I ARE HAVING A BABY😭💖
Minho: Jokes aside, this is such great news!! Congrats. Now go take care of your pregnant fiancée instead of spamming us.
Chan: I think I'm gonna faint
Changbin: Congrats, bro. But also… HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE SHE WAS GOING THROUGH SOMETHING?
Chan: I NOTICED! I just didn't think she was, you know
Jisung: Avoiding you because she was growing your spawn, apparently.
Hyunjin: “Spawn” makes it sound like a little gremlin. Oh my Gawd 🤣
Felix: STOP. My baby’s gonna be so adorable I’ll CRY 😭
Minho: Okay, Felix, you’re suspiciously calm about this. Did you already know?
Felix: 👀
Hyunjin: YOU KNEW.
Chris: WHAT?? FELIX, YOU KNEW BEFORE ME?!
Felix: SHE TOLD ME FIRST, OKAY? SHE WAS NERVOUS, AND I PROMISED I WOULDN’T SAY ANYTHING.
Jisung: Wow. Betrayal.
Chan: SO YOU JUST LET ME SUFFER FOR WEEKS??
Felix: Yes. And? I'd do it again for her.
Changbin: LMAO savage.
Jeongin: Shame on you for trusting him when everyone knows he works for her
Chan: Thanks for being on her side, Lix
Felix: Anytime 💖
Hyunjin: Omg, imagine Baby Bang. Tiny curls, tiny dimples 😍
Chan: STOP I’M ALREADY CRYING AGAIN 😭
Jeongin: I've never been this excited for a baby really. You'd let us babysit won't you?
Changbin: Oh yeah. Group uncle duty.
Hyunjin: We're gonna be dancing before we can even walk Baby Bang 🤝
Felix: For sure!
Chan: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING EXCITED FOR US!
Jisung: Save your tears for the wedding, Daddy Bang.
Jeongin: When do we throw a baby shower? Felix?
Felix: Already planning it.
Hyunjin: This baby’s gonna be so loved.
Chan: THANK YOU, GUYS. I LOVE YOU ALL 😭
---
Chan added Y/N to the group chat.
Chan: SURPRISE, BABY! WELCOME TO THE CHAOS.
Jisung: AHHH THE QUEEN IS HERE!
Hyunjin: ALL HAIL THE BABY-MAKER 👑
Minho: Congrats on creating life and also tolerating Chan for this long.
Felix: YAYYYYYY YOU’RE HERE! 😭 We’ve been dying to have you here!!!
Jeongin: Thank you for gifting us Baby Bang. We promise to only slightly corrupt them.
Changbin: We’re all crying. I’m crying. Hyung is crying. Everyone’s crying.
Y/N:😂
Y/N: Oh my God, you guys.
Minho: This is us being tame.
Hyunjin: Soooo, what does it feel like, hm? Asking for research purposes, of course
Chan: Oh yeah, totally not gonna run off and impregnate someone 🙄
Hyunjin: What's it to you Christopher? You can do it, but I can't?!
Chan: Oh please
Minho: I told her to get a collar for this damn puppy and look who's here yapping
Y/N: Leave him alone guys!
Hyunjin: I respect you, Y/N. I respect you. So I'm gonna shut up (Mr Know, let's do this face to face huh)
Minho: Gladly.
Felix: Honestly, Y/N, we’re just honored to be part of this.
Y/N: Thanks guys, this means a lot to us.
Changbin: And we’re going to spoil them rotten.
Jeongin: Rotten is an understatement.
Y/N: 🤭🤭🤭
Minho: You won't even know what hit you for the next 18 years. Or 30.
Chan: GUYS. Stop scaring her. Baby, they’re joking.
Felix: We’re not.
Hyunjin: Nope.
Jisung: Absolutely not.
Y/N: I'm all in for that hehe
Chan: I love you guys
Jisung: Chan’s in his feels again.
Felix: We have a wedding and baby shower to plan!
Hyunjin: OMG. A pregnant bride. You’re gonna be so GLOWY.
Y/N: Thank you for being this excited for us. I love you guys 😭💖
Felix: We love you too!! 🥺💖
Divider: @saradika-graphics
Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8
#stray kids#skz#bang chan x reader#bang chan x y/n#bang chan x you#bang chan fluff#skz x reader#skz fluff#stray kids x reader#stray kids fluff
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The Maid - Part 2
Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*
Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*
18+ only, read at your own risk
Word count: 4705
Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.
AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.
*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.
Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.
The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.
“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.
“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.
“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”
Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.
Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.
“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”
“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.
“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.
“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”
“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”
“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip–”
“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”
You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.
The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.
The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes.
“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate.
Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.
While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.
It’s you.
“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”
Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.
“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.
“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.
“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out.
You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”
“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.
“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”
The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan.
“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.
“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”
Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.
But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.
“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”
“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.
“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.
“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.
“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.
When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”
“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”
“Good night, Natasha.”
She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.
***********************************************************************
Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.
“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.
“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”
“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.
“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”
“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.
“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.
“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”
Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?
“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”
“Enjoy!”
As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”
Less than a minute later, you respond.
Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.
Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you.
***********************************************************************
“Table for two, please.”
“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.
“No,” you respond.
“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes.
Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.
“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”
“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”
You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases.
You turn and wink at her.
“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”
The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie.
“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”
“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.
“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”
“That’s very kind of you,” you say.
“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you.
“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha.
“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.
“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.
The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.
“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.
“Thanks, Tony.”
“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand.
The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her.
The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.
The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.
The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this.
She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”
“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you.
As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.
“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.
“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though.
The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.
The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.
“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.
“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.
“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”
“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.
“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.
You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”
There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.
“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.
“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.
***********************************************************************
A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.
She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.
“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”
“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn.
She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly.
“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”
“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.
“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.
But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor.
Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.
“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”
Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.
How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her.
“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”
A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration.
Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.
“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind.
“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”
You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.
Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue.
“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”
Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer.
“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”
Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”
“But there’s really only one place you belong.”
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”
Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours.
“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.
“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”
A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.
“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.
The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.
You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀
To be continued...(hopefully)
Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰
#natasha romanoff#black widow#natasha romanoff smut#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff smut#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x reader
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SORRY IF THIS IS TOO LONG EL forgeting about my last idea since its kind of generic (this one is also but whateverrrrrhahahsg)
so you know Starfire is an alien right?(tamaranean) how about something where reader is a sort of alien too? (x damian too bc im starting to hyper fixate on him) and like they meet as Damian does patrolling/a mission, kind of how Dick and Star met!!
ill leave if up to there and if you like it!! ANYWAY HI EL!!
—🦈
HI SHARKY.
I was gonna finish writing the vampire!Jason prompt but I saw this and immediately fell into a fugue state instead. When I came out, it was with this. I hope you like it 🩷
Flight of Fancy
Damian Wayne x Winged!Reader
Featuring: language barriers (gibberish), a shoulder wound, and a kiss.
It had started out as a routine track-and-report mission. Damian was supposed to investigate the suspicious cargo shipments in Gotham Harbor, try to figure out what was being delivered, and come back to the Cave with his findings.
Tim's bet was human trafficking. Dick's was illegal arms dealing. Jason's was drugs. Damian guessed poaching. Bruce wanted them to stop making bets about what horrible thing of the week was going on and please focus on getting the task done.
(Bruce was just upset that he wasn't allowed to bet anymore because he kept winning.)
As the night drags on and the boredom starts to creep in, Damian wonders if the ship sitting on the loading dock is actually conducting legal business for once. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened, and it would mean less follow-up work to do.
"Red Robin," Damian mutters into his comm, "there's been no activity for three hours. I'm about to declare this endeavor a wasted one and return to base."
"Copy," Tim says in his ear. "There's no spooky stuff happening on the computer, either. Give it ten more minutes and then come back."
"Understood." Damian shifts on his perch — an unsurveilled roof of a tailoring shop — and casts his gaze along the area for the thousandth time that night.
Cold, choppy waters, devoid of any suspicious activity. Dock workers walking around and doing their jobs as they chatter and whistle amongst each other, devoid of any suspicious activity. The cargo ship that docked an hour ago, devoid of any suspicious —
Well. It wasn't suspicious until he realized that the distant ringing he's heard all night wasn't interference from the dinky, little radio one of the workers has been using to blast old, jazzy tunes, but a shrill crying noise coming from the ship. A normal person wouldn't even be able to detect it, but years of training with the League taught Damian to filter and identify any and all noises he picks up automatically.
"Red Robin. I've identified a potential trafficking situation. Stand by."
"Copy. Standing by," Tim says. "Ready to dispatch EMTs on your word and receive that fifty bucks when you get back."
"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, grappling down the building and taking cover in the shadows, maneuvering his way around the harbor men and onto the ship without a sound.
The closer he gets, the louder the crying becomes. He can tell it's just one person making the sound, and that they seem to be locked in one of the titanium crates on the back of the ship. It's child's play to locate the right one and pop the lock open with the small hand laser from his tool bag.
The second it's gone the lid flies open, and Damian gets knocked down by someone he can only describe as ethereal.
You are a collection of stand-out features. Glowing, bright eyes. A wild mane of hair. Well-tailored, form fitting robes. And a huge, breathtaking pair of white wings, that unfurl from your back and shake out into their full width with barely a whisper of sound.
You're bleeding, Damian realizes belatedly. You're bleeding gold. It drips from a wound in your shoulder, running down the sleeve of your robe and soaking the fabric. Small beads trail down your fingertips and stain his chest where you're using your weight to pin him to the ground.
"Whoa," he mutters, because that's the only thing in his mind. Just. Whoa.
You furrow your brow and glare at him, muttering something in a dialect he doesn't understand. The confusion on his face must be evident, because you quickly become frustrated.
"Ira neshmi le-hyr!" You demand, waving the wrist of your other hand in his face, which has a LexCorp-branded tracking bracelet on it. There are faint scratch marks around the skin where you obviously tried to pry the device off.
"Robin? What's the situation? Am I dispatching EMT?" Tim's voice sounds in his ear, startling Damian into taking full stock of the situation again. He blinks a few times, picking up on bootsteps approaching his location, your increasing franticness from where you're knelt above him, and the riskiness of what he's about to do.
"No EMTs," Damian says, reaching for the handheld laser again. He holds it up for you to see, then gestures to your wrist.
You hesitate for only a moment, then offer him your arm and watch him slice the bracelet off and pocket it. With a quick sleight of band, he presses a tracker of his own into the sleeve of your robes, then urges you to get off him.
"Bad people are coming," he says, gesturing to the shadows of figures he can see getting closer. "You should come with me. I can get you somewhere safe."
You stare at him like you don't understand what he's saying. He lets out a frustrated sigh. There's no time for this.
"Me. You. Come with me. That way." He gestures to you, then himself, then points in the direction of the Bat Cave with urgency.
Your eyes dart to where he points, then you nod. He's about to try to figure out how to pantomime you tucking your wings in so you can sneak around better, but you stride forward, wrap your arms around his waist, and use them to take off into the air. Damian clings to you and yelps, drawing the attention of the men on the ship. There's a cacophony of shouting down below that quickly grows faint the farther away you fly.
"The package is escaping!! Someone call the boss!"
"Do we shoot it down?"
"No, you idiot! We need it alive! We'll track it down —"
The rest of their words are lost to the wind. Damian holds onto you with white knuckles and refuses to look down. It's too dark and too smoggy in Gotham to look up at the stars, so the only other thing to observe is you.
If he thought you were stunning on the ground, you're something else in the air. The wind pushes your hair around and out of your face, revealing small markings around your cheeks and eyes. The light your wings catch makes them almost glitter with every beat as you propel the two of you onward. Briefly, you travel over a more illuminated section of the city, which make your eyes look like little constellations.
He's utterly captivated.
"Nirr'm? Luola stesh?" You try to ask him, directing your gaze to him. Damian has no idea how to answer a question he can't understand, so he just points to the ground.
You scan around for a secluded spot to land and gently coast to the ground, setting him down. Damian locks his knees to keep them from buckling and takes several slow, deep breaths.
"I can't understand you," he says after a moment. You furrow your brows again. "And based on your expression, it's vice-versa."
"Robin, come in!" Tim says in his ear, and, oh, he'd forgotten that he stopped responding for ten minutes. "I'm tracking your location and it says you're four miles away from the harbor? What's your status? Do I need to send Batman in for backup?"
"Negative, do not send backup. Don't send EMTs, either."
"You said there was a trafficking situation?"
"Yeah," Damian says, "metahuman trafficking. Don't send anyone until I can figure out how to communicate that they wouldn't be a threat."
"Communicate? What, they don't speak any of the thousand languages you know?"
Damian doesn't respond.
"Oh, shit. Okay. Standing by."
While he'd been talking to Tim, you had inched your way closer and closer to Damian. When he focuses on you again, he almost flinches back after finding you less than a foot away. You perk up when you notice him give you attention and lift your hands up, curling them around his shoulders.
"Um," he mutters, "what are you doing?"
"De-ad'nin," you say, leaning closer. Your eyes don't leave his. "Hmnik?"
"I don't...I can't understand you," he says again. You're waiting for him to do something, he can tell that much. He just doesn't know what you want.
You lean in even more, practically sharing breath. Damian can feel his cheeks warming, but curiosity overwhelms the impropriety, so he doesn't move away. You seem to take this as some sort of permission.
Closing the gap, you press your mouth to his, and Damian freezes.
Soft, he thinks. Your lips are soft. His hands twitch at his sides as he fights the urge to grab your waist, but you have no such reservations as you press yourself practically flush against him and prod at the seam of his mouth with your tongue. A frankly embarrassing whine leaves him, but Damian relents and starts kissing you back with the same level of enthusiasm you show him. Even though his gloves, he can tell that your hair is ridiculously soft as he runs his fingers through it. He's briefly lost in a flurry of sensations, overwhelmed by you, and just when blood starts redirecting itself to other places, you pull away again and clear your throat.
"You helped me," you murmur, slowly and steadily, like you're testing out the words as you say them. "You set me free. Thank you."
"...you're...welcome?" Damian pants, his mind still a little gooey. "Wait, that's English. You're — did you kiss me to learn English?"
"I did," you smile. "I needed to convey my gratitude in your common tongue. I hope I didn't offend you."
Offend was definitely not the word to use. He gently pulls his hands from your hair, but you make no move to separate, so he settles them on your waist instead.
"You're wounded," he says, tipping his head in the direction of your shoulder. The bleeding has slowed, but not stopped. "Let me take you somewhere to get that wrapped."
"Take me where?" You ask. "Not back to the laboratory?"
"No." He doesn't know what lab you're talking about, but he knows he would never willingly put you back in Luthor's hands. "A cave. It has a medical ward where you can have that cut stitched closed."
You seem to give it some thought, idly playing with the hair at the nape of Damian's neck. It takes so much more effort than he anticipates not to melt into it. Your bare skin against his almost burns. You're exceptionally warm, near-feverish.
"Yes," you eventually agree. "You are..." You tilt your head as you search for the right words to use. "Trustworthy. I will go with you there."
Damian relaxes. He presses a finger to his comm.
"Red Robin, send the Batmobile to my location for extraction. I'm bringing the metahuman to the Batcave."
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Hey stepdad Nik gal here again, so my idea might be a little half baked but imagine if Nik decides it's finally time to settle down and meets a woman a little younger than him but not by a lot maybe max 4 years. He's mentioned having kids or adopting and she seemed on board with it if a bit disinterested but it's when they get married it goes downhill. He finds she was just really good at playing into what he wanted and changes a lot but not enough to leave her because well it's someone to keep the house and she's not terrible just not exactly what he thought she was. Until her daughter shows up. Her adult daughter in her last few years of college who's extremely surprised to find out she has a stepdad considering she was never even invited to the wedding, her mother's excuse? "Well you're just so busy!" And Nik expects at least a little bit of anger but his apparent stepdaughter just deflates a bit, nodding before turning to him with a sweet smile and introducing herself. He had no idea this girl existed, there's no photos of her in the house, no keepsakes, he honestly believed his wife had no children by her behavior. And he quickly sees why, his wife is fine on her own but seems to have a personal issue with her own daughter. Passive aggressive comments, piling chores on her, even restricting where she can go, in general treating her poorly. Meanwhile she's the sweetest thing he's ever met. Checks every single box of his, and she's so sweet when he does things for her like she cant fathom someone wanting to care for her or help her. He gathers from his sweet stepdaughter that she was an oops baby and that her mother never let her forget it either and had been like this her whole life and had kicked her out the night before her 18th birthday and only really demanded her home on holidays(for appearances) or when she needed money. Everything he learns makes him wish he'd rethought marrying this woman, but oh well, at least it led him to the sweetest thing he's ever met. Now he just has to go about winning her over while secretly getting things ready to divorce the mom. Stepdaughter for sure has a huge crush but doesn't wanna mess things up and that goes well until her and Nik are alone one day and somehow baking him something turns into him pressing her into the couch and fucking her stupid. I dont really know how he'd go about it or anything but my brain wouldn't let this leave. Sorry it's so long and probably not coherent but take this and do what you want with it lol <3 Love your writing, it's delicious thank you for feeding me <3 <3
I’ve been sitting on this one for a bit bc it’s SO GOOD and I wanted to come up with a halfway intelligent response
I think he’d play into your crush and just set up all of these tiny boundaries that you’ll beg him to cross. Like— we can cuddle, malýshka, but no kissing. Which moves to we can kiss, just not on the lips. We can touch— just keep it over the clothing.
Until eventually his cock is sliding against your slicked up panties, teasing your folds through the fabric until they’re soaked and sticky with a mix of your cum and his, his tongue in your mouth the whole time. And then you’re rutting against him bare— well… maybe just the tip? That would be okay, wouldn’t it? And of course you ask so sweetly— you’re never anything less than the sweetest thing to him— how can he say no?
#I’m unwell about this#writing#cw stepcest#cw incest#cw fauxcest#tagging just to be safe#Nikolai#nikolai x reader#Nikolai cod#cod fanfic#cod
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In love with the idea Wizards get so up their own ass about spells they forget basic physical concepts. Also love that Jacob is the sort of guy to sometimes solve problems by kicking or punching them and running away I love you Jacob.
But like... the concept that Wizards see Muggles as 'violent' because they need to use their hands and feet for so much? Cool. Jacob gets overwhelmed by Newt so he punches him in the face (i think with his briefcase?) and just... leaves. It's inelegant, the most brutalist way to solve his issue - surely that'd seem uncouth?
When you can use magic, the idea of mechanical machines or harnessing natural phenomena like electricity might seem base and inelegant, too. (Arthur doesn't but into this, he thinks it has its own elegance)
Wizards have a deep culture of not leaving a trace of themselves, yeah? Keeping things hidden, light, finger-print-less - not being able to see the mechanics of how something functions - is important is a sign of high skill. For Muggles it looks cooler if you can see physicality. Seeing the gears of a clock ticking against eachother, or the complex circuit board of a computer, is cooler than just having something 'work'. Does that make sense...?
To a Muggle, seeing Jacob kick in a door in the face of a Witch failing to unlock a complex spell is "Haha thats my boy B^) you're so cool and your thought process rational and logical." He isn't being needlessly complex, trying to fit a square into a circular hole - there's a form of elegance in just picking the circle.
But to a Magical person I doubt they'd see it like that? How would they see it... like... Naive? Short-sighted? Everyone will be able to tell the door was opened, the lock broken in a way they cannot fix. it ISN'T 'logical', it's being a haphazard moron.
It is fun to imagine what the Wizarding cultural viewpoint of things would be, and how that might affect how they see eachother.
Perhaps to Queenie, raised in a country that so highly values the hiding of magic - yet struggles with abilities she can't control - seeing someone brazenly solve problems not by the 'normal way' of trying to be subtle but simply letting loose is like... gratifying? I mean she's definitely into it. She likes when her natural magical prowess is openly gawked over, she likes when she doesn't have to hide anything and be seen as amazing. Shes so fucking weird, I like her
wizards 0 - 1 muggles
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MY BUMBLEBEE
Notes: Nothing just pure fluff and a lil jealousy, This is Miss Manager Junior btw:> And I got this idea from MemeSuga01's book titler "Blue Lock Specials" Special 18 in Wattpad! Please check out their books and account. They make really good stories!
"Bachira-san-"
"Y/N!!!!"
You were tackled with a hug that almost knocked the wind out of you. There were times like these where you remembered that Bachira was like the rest of the players in the facility, absolutely tall and built.
"Um...hi, how may I help you..?"
"Nothing! I just wanted to hug you!! You don't visit our stratum much anymore hmp!!"
He pouted, arms still around your neck as he happily cheered and tattled whatever was in his mind away. Seeing the excited look in Bachira's eyes made you quite happy and a bit guilty if you were to interrupt with whatever he was saying, so you nodded your head at whatever he was saying, even if it does not make sense at times.
As he talked, arms still around you, you started to let your eyes wonder about his features. You never noticed it, but the yellow in his hair was really bright and matched his pretty eyes. You think deep down that everyone has really pretty eyes, but the ones in the Blue Lock's facility take the cake, the variety of colors are all comparable to literal gems.
Bachira's looked like one of an amber, one preserved after so many years because of its shine and beauty. But it's not just beautiful but resilient as well, surviving whatever weather, temperature or disaster may occur around it. And it's not that far from Bachira's own story.
As you thought deeper, you then noticed how the black part of his hair mixed well with his yellow hair and eyes. He looks like a honeybee! Or even a-
"Bumblebee..." You ditzily whispered, not knowing you said it outloud, and unfortunately for you, Bachira heard it too.
"Eh? What did you say, Y/n-chan?" He tilted his head, his arms loosening a bit around your neck. Your ears and cheeks immediately flushed in embarrassment thay you said something so embarrassing out loud without a thought.
'Stupid Y/n...'
"Aww cmon Y/n-chan! What was it?"
"I..I said...you looked like a honeybee...I mean...I think you look closer to a bumblebee because of your personality! And because bumblebees are so chubby and cute and-" you covered your mouth, catching yourself talking too much again. There were moments like these where you would forget that you were talking to someone and you needed to filter out your words, and would instead talk their ears off with your unfiltered thoughts.
But, instead of being mad like you thought, Bachira's cheeks turned really pink before he hugged you even tighter than before.
"Aww Y/n-chan!! You're so cuteeee!! I like that nickname so much! I like it!" He cheered, jumping around as his arms were still around you making you a bit dizzy, before blinking at his words.
"Really? You don't mind I called you bumblebee?"
"Nope! I like it! Say, say, do you have nicknames like that for the others?" He asked, his smile still wide and the same but his eyes held some sort of hidden agenda. And he desperately wished that you only had a nickname for him and no one else.
"Uh nope! It just came out of me...!"
With that answer, his eyes became even brighter. He felt really special that you called him that, especially since bumblebee sounded so cute in his ears, giving him tingles on his heart.
"Sooo can you start calling me Bumblebee instead of Bachira-san?" He said excitedly, and you, being so oblivious at his hidden agenda immediately nodded at the idea. After all, you liked cute things and cute nicknames to your friends made you so happy and satisfied.
"Okay! You're my bumblebee from now on, Bachira-san!"
"Yay! I'm your bumblebee!!"
What you did not expect however was the reaction that the supposed innocent and cute nickname you gave the yellow and brown-haired striker.
You currently joined the boys in eating their lunch. Every Sunday, all the boys would share a cafeteria to eat lunch together for the sanitization of the other's they use everyday and for better bonding moments too (althoug Ego hides the latter reason). Picking your food tray, you tried to find a good spot to sit and enjoy your food. As always most of the tables had a vacant seat (which most would leave open in hopes you'd choose their table and sit with them).
But, before you can find a seat, you found Bachira entering the cafeteria and him being him, immediately ran to you and greeted you. He looked to be happier than he usually is, and he was. Deep down, Bachira was quite happy and flustered at the nickname you gave him. Even if a few hours had passed and training had done and went, he still could not keep it off his mind.
He really liked the way your tongue said his name, but the tone, the sheepish mutter of the word "bumblebee," calling to him and him alone made him feel so jittery and excited in a different way that he ever felt before.
"Hi Y/n-chan!!"
"Hi Bachira-san! Are you going to eat yet?"
"Awww...why did you call me that?"
He pouted at you, a little disappointed that you did not call him the nickname you gave him. Mostly because he really did like it and wanted you to call him that always, but also because he knew that the rest of the boys were listening and wanted you to call him thay in front of them to indirectly tell them that he was really special to you.
Tilting your head, you were a little confused as to what he was talking about until you remembered the conversation you had with him earlier. Your eyes brightened at the memory and looked a bit apologetic for forgeting.
"Oh, I forgot...'m so sorry, Bachira-san- I mean, my bumblebee!"
Crickets and silence.
That was all that was heard in the cafeteria the moment you called Bachira the nickname. The conviction and softness in your voice when you called him along with the sweet meaning that the nickname held, with the addition of the 'my' in the beginning made it feel so personal and possessive.
It can even be a nickname one gives to their significant other. And that did not sit right with them.
"Eh..? Did I say something wrong?" You wondered as you sat beside Bachira in the large table most of your friends sat in, yes even people like Rin, Barou and Kunigami who didn't think they were 'friends.'
"No fair, why does he get a nickname, while I don't Y/n-chan?" Nagi said from the other side of your chair as he rested his head on your shoulder, looking up at you with his sleepy eyes that held some sort of hidden conviction and annoyance.
"Yeah, Nagi's right, Y/n-chan! I want a nickname too!" Hiori raised his hand.
"Me too! Me too!" Kurona pitched softly.
"When did you even start calling Bachira that, Y/n-chan?" Isagi asked, feeling the familiar green face of jealousy. The question made you smile softly, because you thought that the nickname was just for friends, finding it absolutely adorable.
"I was talking with Bachira-san earlier this morning, and I kinda uttered how he looked like a bumblebee because bumblebees are so cute, fuzzy and chubby and his personality feels like one! So we agreed his nickname from me will be bumblebee from now on. Isn't it cute?" The happy and satisfied look in your face lessened the annoyance they felt to the brunette striker who just ate happily beside you.
"Yeah, cute." Rin said, his tone hid a sassy and annoyed tone.
"Can I still get a nickname, Y/n-chan?" Nagi asked, his stubbornness shining through at such a trivial thing. But to him, it was less than trivial. He wanted a personalize nickname from you, one that felt special to him especially because it was coming from you.
"Eh really? Um okay...uh you can be Ice Bear from We Bare Bears! You remind me of him, Nagi-san!" You offered with a bright smile. Finding his snow white hair, tall build and lazy personality mirroring the cute bear character.
Nagi seemee satisfied enough with the nickname, finding it endearing, but most especially because it came from you.
"Yay...I'm your Ice Bear."
Everyone else frowned at that, even Bachira who wanted to be the only one who had a nickname. But, hey he was not selfish like thay so he just continued eating.
And with that, the rest of the guys on the table started to ask you for nicknames too. But instead of feeling overwhelmed, you felt so happy and excited in giving them the silliest and cutest nicknames your mind can think of. You feel like your inner kid (that you lack) was brought out by the moment, and well, you loved your friends so you were more than happy to give each of them a nickname!
"Um...Rin-san can be Keroppi...!"
The rest of the boys laughed at the comparison between Keroppi and Rin.
"Rin-chan is not cute at all like Keroppi!" Bachira laughed as the rest agreed, pissing Rin off.
"Hmm, I don't know why I called Rin-san Keroppi, but it just sounds right to me! My Keroppi!" At the final sentence, Rin's full cheeks from his food turned red in a snap, almost choking on his food due to being so flustered and shocked at the nickname.
"Um, and this is ashi which means leg!"
You were currently holding a newspaper that Loki tried reading and explained what some of the worrd meant, since he was curious. But to your suprise, all the foreign players crowded next to you to listen to the explanation. Sure, they were not really thay ready to learn another language altogether, but they were curious and spending time with you at the same time was not exactly a bad combo.
On the field sat Lorenzo, Ness, Charles, Loki and Kaiser around you as you pointed at the words that was foreign to all of them as you slowly explained each of the symbol and what it meant. They were listening, well until Rin entered the field to look for you. And well, you made a mistake in acknowledging him in the new nickname you gave to them infront of the foreign players.
"Oh um sorry, my Keroppi! I'll start doing the laundry later!" As if clockwork anytime you used that word, Rin turned a bright red before leaving the field to try and cool off and try to find a way to not get flustered like a damn fuse everytime you use that nickname.
But, the rest of the players noticed the rather cute nickname and well, they were less than pleased and more envious.
"Ehhh why does Rin-Rin have a cute nickname from you but I don't? Y/n-chaaannn please give me one too!!" Charles said as he clung to your arm.
"Eh..?"
"I agree with the kid, Y/n." Michael said with a smirk. You felt like a trapped mouse under the expecting gaze of the players. Loki noticed this and sighed before hitting Charles's head which made the midfielder let out an 'ow.'
"Don't harass her, you fools. If she wants, she'll give us one. Geez."
"Uh thank you, Loki-san. But it's really fine! I'll give you guys nicknames too!" You started to think for one as they all watched you, then you looked at Charles and fangs when a genius strike hit your head.
"Charles-san can be Meowth from Pokemon!"
"Yey! I'm fine with that! Thank you, Y/n-chan!"
He said as he hugged you even tighter which just made you smile, but when you turned to Kaiser, you remembered a memory about the time Isagi was ranting to you about Kaiser.
"Yeah, and he even has that annoying rat-hair! I hate him SO much, Y/n-chan!"
The word rat repeated in your head, and a character appeared in your head, but before you can filter your thoughts into words, you said what you thought out loud.
"Jaq-jaq from Cinderella."
And well, the entire field ended up in laughter. Loud and hard laughter. Even Ness could not help the chuckle that left his mouth, remembering the familiar mouse character.
And well, that pissed Kaiser a bit. Which made you panic a bit.
"Oh, I'm so sorry Kaiser-san! I just remember Isagi-san calling you a rat and well...it ran in my mind..."
"HAHAHHAA IT FITS! HOLY SHIT IT FITS!" Lorenzo laughed and hugged his stomach which made Kaiser even angrier.
"Shut up! You are more of a rat than I am!"
"I'm sorry! Pfftt-" Loki said as he continued laughing, meanwhile Charles had tears in his eyes from laughter. Was it just from the nickname? Or even from the way you said it with such seriousness and conviction that made them laugh?
"Ehhh 'm so sorry, Kaiser-san..." you said, animated tears running down your face because, well an angry Kaiser was a scary Kaiser.
"Its fine, dear...but if just some of you will shut up!" He said with pointed looks at Lorenzo and Charles.
In the end, you settled with Kaiser being Cinnamoroll in your eyes. Finding his aesthetic and his hair color similar to the color scheme of the cute character.
ADDITIONAL TIME!
BLUE LOCK TV COMMENT SECTION:
User01: Awww but Kaiser fits the first nickname better🥺
Reply:
-> user02: right?! My favourite part of today's episode AHAHHAHA
User03: I want more behind the scenes moment wth?! Cmon editors and directors! I wanna see more of these moments lmao
User04: I don't think the Blue Lockers themselves, the directors and even the editors can deny that theyre all whipped for Miss Manager
-> User06: I super agree! Like, anyone with eyes can see that Miss Manager built herself a reverse harem in that place
User05: Nagi as Ice Bear is actually a really good nickname for him, but the Keroppi with Rin took me out for a bit LMAO maybe his behind the scenes personality is a bit more different to be guaranteed that nickname?
LMAO THIS ONE TOOK ME OUT but like help me out here, I wanna use these nicknames in the futhre so please do comment what you think the nicknames for the other Blue Lock players can be because I legit ran out of brainjuice just to think about it. But also, in the future Additional times I wiuld be putting the Blue Lock TV commment section buuut as a twist, I would be using some of my followers' username (if thats fine with you guys huhu) as the usernames, it would be used as some sort of shoutout and all, but also as a small thank you for all of you!
Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.
#aninipanin1#bllk#blue lock#blue lock x manager!reader#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#bluelockxreader#reverse harem x reader#reverse harem#isagi x reader#bachira x reader#nagi x reader#reo x reader#kaiser x reader#ness x reader#bllk loki x reader#charles chevalier x reader#don lorenzo x reader#itoshi rin x readed#kurona x reader
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Wolves Mate for Life
Fandom: House of Dragon
Summary: You and Cregan have been married for years, ruling Winterfell together. On your anniversary, he surprises you with a rare display of affection, proving that even the stern Lord of Winterfell can be a romantic at heart.
Pairing: Reader/Cregan Stark
Winterfell’s stone walls stood tall and unwavering, a fortress of strength against the harsh northern winds. Snowflakes drifted gently from the sky, settling on the castle’s towers and battlements, blanketing the world in a quiet, serene stillness. But within those ancient walls, warmth and love thrived—a testament to the bond you shared with Cregan Stark.
You had ruled Winterfell by his side for years, enduring both harsh winters and fleeting summers. Your marriage, like the North itself, was built on resilience and loyalty. Though Cregan was known to the realm as a stern and formidable lord, to you, he was something more. He was your partner, your love, your home.
Tonight marked your anniversary—another year spent together as husband and wife, as Lord and Lady of Winterfell. The day had passed quietly, as most days in Winterfell did. But as evening fell, you noticed Cregan’s absence from the hall, a rare occurrence given his unwavering sense of duty.
Curiosity piqued, you wrapped yourself in a thick cloak and ventured through the winding corridors of the castle. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and snow. The flickering torchlight cast shadows on the stone walls as you made your way to the courtyard, where you finally found him.
Cregan stood near the training yard, his broad shoulders dusted with snow. He turned at the sound of your footsteps, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes met yours.
“You’re supposed to be inside,” you chided gently, stepping closer. “It’s freezing out here.”
“And yet you came looking for me,” he teased, his voice low and warm. “Couldn’t bear to be without me for long, could you?”
You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Someone has to make sure you don’t catch your death out here.”
Cregan chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. His cloak smelled of woodsmoke and the wild northern air, a scent that had become as comforting to you as the warmth of a hearth.
“Do you know what today is?” he asked softly, his breath misting in the cold air.
“Of course,” you replied, resting your head against his chest. “How could I forget?”
“I’ve been thinking about something,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful. “About wolves.”
You pulled back slightly to look up at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. “Wolves?”
He nodded, his gaze steady and intense. “Do you know why wolves mate for life?”
The question caught you off guard, but you shook your head. “Tell me.”
Cregan’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Because they know that loyalty is the foundation of everything. They find their mate, and they never let go. They fight for each other, protect each other, and build a future together. It’s in their nature.”
Your heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through you despite the cold night air. “Do wolves mate for life?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
“Aye,” Cregan said, his gaze never wavering. “And so do I.”
Tears pricked at your eyes, and you reached up to press a kiss to his lips. “Then you’re stuck with me forever,” you whispered against his mouth.
“Gladly,” he murmured, kissing you deeply, his arms tightening around you as though he never wanted to let go.
When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Cregan took your hand and led you toward the kennels. “Come. There’s something I want to show you.”
Your curiosity grew with each step, and when he opened the door to the kennels, you were met with the soft sounds of pups yipping and the scent of fresh straw. But it was one pup in particular that caught your eye.
A small direwolf, its fur as white as freshly fallen snow, padded toward you on unsteady legs. Its bright, intelligent eyes locked onto yours, and you knelt down, your heart melting at the sight.
“She’s beautiful,” you breathed, reaching out to let the pup sniff your hand. The little wolf nuzzled your fingers, her tail wagging happily.
“She’s yours,” Cregan said softly. “A symbol of our future. Of the family we’re building together. She’ll grow alongside us, protect us, just as we protect each other.”
Tears filled your eyes as you scooped the pup into your arms, cradling her against your chest. “She’s perfect.”
Cregan smiled, his expression softening as he watched you with the pup. “I thought it was time to show you that I can be more than the stern lord everyone sees. You’ve always seen the man behind the title. I wanted to give you something to show how much you mean to me.”
“You do, every day,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But this… this means everything.”
He stepped closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve given me everything. You’ve given me love, a home, a family. This is just a small way of showing you that I’ll spend the rest of my life giving that back to you.”
You smiled through your tears, leaning into his embrace. “I love you, Cregan.”
“And I love you,” he replied, his voice steady and sure. “Always.”
The next morning, you woke to find the little direwolf pup curled at your feet, her soft fur blending in with the blankets. Cregan was already up, standing by the window as he gazed out at the snow-covered lands of the North. The sight of him bathed in the morning light made your heart swell with love.
“You’re awake,” he said, turning to you with a soft smile.
“I am,” you replied, stretching your arms above your head. “And so is she.”
Cregan chuckled as the pup yawned and padded over to him, her tiny paws making soft sounds against the floor. He bent down to scoop her up, holding her close to his chest. “She’s a fighter, just like you.”
You got out of bed and walked over to them, wrapping your arms around Cregan from behind. “We’ll raise her well. She’ll be strong and loyal, just like her pack.”
He turned in your embrace, his gaze locking onto yours. “Our pack.”
The words sent a shiver down your spine, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of his love. In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. You and Cregan were bound by something stronger than any vow or promise. You were bound by the same loyalty that wolves carried in their blood.
Days turned into weeks, and the little direwolf grew quickly. She followed you everywhere, her bright eyes always alert, her presence a constant reminder of the bond you shared with Cregan. The people of Winterfell took notice, murmuring about the direwolf pup that never left the side of her lady.
One evening, as you sat by the hearth with Cregan, the pup curled at your feet, he took your hand in his. “I’ve been thinking about our future.”
You tilted your head, curiosity lighting your gaze. “Oh?”
Cregan nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I want to ensure that Winterfell thrives long after we’re gone. Our legacy, our children—they’ll carry on our name and our strength.”
Your heart swelled at his words. “And they’ll have the loyalty of a wolf’s pack.”
“Aye,” Cregan said with a smile. “Wolves mate for life, and so do we.”
As the years passed, your love only grew stronger. The direwolf pup became a fierce protector, a symbol of your enduring bond. And no matter what storms came your way, you faced them together, knowing that your love was as unbreakable as the pack you had built.
Because like the wolves of the North, you and Cregan were meant to be together forever. Wolves mate for life—and so did you.
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#hotd cregan#cregan fanfiction#cregan x you#cregan x y/n#cregan x reader#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark#hotd#house stark#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#cregan hotd#hotd imagine#house of the dragon imagine#hotd fanfic
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Chase After You
masterlist! | part 2 | part 3
synopsis: vi swears she doesn't have a soulmate, you swear that your soulmate is a masochist. Turns out you do exist, and turns out Vi plays hockey
pairings: vi x reader, lowkey ellie x dina
Your soulmate must have been an absolute idiot.
Caitlyn said that he “or she, I don’t discriminate,” was probably a masochist because every day it seemed you woke up with another bruise or another cut. You couldn’t even count the amount of times you had woken up in the morning with a concussion—it was a miracle your soulmate was even alive at this point.
“I’m just saying,” Caitlyn continued as she leaned against the counter of the campus coffee shop where the two of you had made it a ritual to meet after your clinical rotations. “Whoever they are, they’ve got to have the worst luck—or they’re actively looking for trouble.”
You sipped your coffee, wincing as the hot liquid hit the tender inside of your lip. A split lip, courtesy of your soulmate, who had clearly been in some kind of fight last night. Again.
“Maybe they’re a professional fighter,” you mused, though you were only half-serious. “That would explain all the bruises.”
Caitlyn snorted. “Or just clumsy.”
“Clumsy doesn’t explain the frequency, Caitlyn” you countered, setting your coffee down. “If they’re not in some sort of contact sport, then they’re probably fighting for their life every day. Literally.”
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure you didn’t end up with some sort of action hero? Like, next thing you know, they’ll show up at your rotations bleeding everywhere, and your soulmate bond will suddenly light up in a dramatic fashion.”
“Very funny,” you muttered, though the thought lingered. You were in your second year of nursing school, constantly surrounded by patients—maybe Caitlyn wasn’t too far off. But the soulmate connection was supposed to be this once-in-a-lifetime, world-shaking thing, and you’d never felt anything remotely close to that.
The coffee shop door chimed, and a gust of cold air swept through as someone stumbled in. You didn’t look up at first, too focused on scrawling notes in your planner about your upcoming rotations. But then Caitlyn’s voice dropped into a low, surprising whisper.
“Uh, okay. Forget clumsy. I think your soulmate might actually be a hockey player.”
You glanced up, curious, and froze.
Standing at the counter, looking half-dead but still smirking like they’d just won the lottery, was Vi, the captain of Piltover University’s Women’s Hockey Team. You didn’t know her personally, but you knew of her—how could you not? Every gay girl within a twenty mile radius knew of her. She was hot. From her cocky grin to her colorful undercut, which always seemed to peek out from beneath her helmet, there was no doubt about it.
But that wasn’t what made your breath catch. It was the way your chest tightened, how everything in the room seemed to quiet for a split second.
Then the pain hit.
You instinctively touched your ribs, feeling a sharp ache that hadn’t been there before. At the same time, Vi winced, her hand going to the exact same spot. Her gaze flickered toward you after searching the coffee shop, her blue eyes narrowing slightly, like she was trying to figure something out.
You felt Caitlyn’s hand on your arm. “Oh my god,” she hissed. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
“No!” You bit back, immediately averting your eyes. “No way.”
If you don’t see her, she doesn’t exist.
—-------------------------------------------
Vi was convinced she didn’t have a soulmate.
She had no visible soulmate mark, no timer and—besides her own—no tattoo. She didn’t see in black and white, didn’t have a red string of fate. It didn’t make any sense, the only explanation being that she doesn’t have one.
Her friend on the hockey team—Ellie—had suggested that maybe it was a feeling soulmate mark. Maybe she was supposed to feel sick when you got sick, or maybe she was supposed to feel hurt when she got hurt. But she never felt… anything.
That is, until the migraines started.
It had been two weeks of relentless, skull-splitting pain, and Vi was on the verge of losing her mind. She’d never been the type to care much about school, but even hockey practice was becoming unbearable. The bright lights of the rink made her head pound, and the noise of her teammates shouting felt like nails being driven into her skull. She didn’t dare tell Coach—she had enough to deal with trying to keep her captaincy without giving them a reason to bench her.
But she couldn’t hide it from Ellie.
“You’re rubbing your temples again,” Ellie said as she sprawled on the locker room bench, laving up her skates. “What, you suddenly got old-person headaches or something?”
Vi shot her a glare. “They’re migraines. And it’s not funny.”
Ellie’s smirk faltered, replaced by a frown. “Okay, but, like… you don’t just start getting migraines out of nowhere. You stressed or something? Got some secret essays piling up that I don’t know about?”
Vi let out a frustrated groan, dropping her helmet onto the bench with a clatter. “I don’t know, Ellie! It’s not stress, okay? They just came out of nowhere, and I can’t get rid of them. I’ve tried everything—water, sleep, painkillers—nothing works.”
Ellie tilted her head, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Well…” Ellie dragged the word out as she tied a perfect knot. “You don’t think this could be, like… soulmate related, do you?”
Vi scoffed, folding her arms. “What? No. I don’t even have a soulmate.”
Ellie gave her a pointed look. “You don’t know that. Just because you don’t have a mark or whatever doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. There are, like, a million different types of soulmate connections. Feeling someone else’s pain is totally one of them.”
Vi blinked, the idea sinking in despite her best efforts to shrug it off. “So what? You think my soulmate is walking around with migraines 24/7? Who the hell stays up late enough or is dumb enough to dehydrate themselves this much?”
Ellie grinned. “Exactly the kind of person you’d be soulmates with. You’re a trainwreck magnet.”
Vi rolled her eyes, but the knot of worry in her chest didn’t go away. “Even if you’re right—which you’re not—I don’t know who it is. How am I supposed to fix this? Walk around asking random people if their head hurts every time mine does?”
Ellie snickered. “You could start with that cute girl from the coffee shop. The one who was staring at you like you were some kind of mythical creature last week.”
Vi stiffened. “What girl?”
“You know. Black sweater, big eyes, looked like she wanted to crawl under the table when you caught her staring.” Ellie’s smirk widened. “She bolted so fast, I thought she might leave a cartoon dust cloud behind.”
Vi groaned, her hands dragging down her face. “You’re impossible.”
Ellie shrugged, grabbing her stick and standing up. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’ve got migraines, she looked like she was about to faint—sounds like a soulmate connection to me.”
“Ellie, drop it.”
“Fine, fine.” Ellie paused by the door, grinning back over her shoulder. “But if she shows up at your next game, you owe me a drink.”
Vi glared after her, her headache suddenly feeling worse.
————————
Your day had started out pleasant.
You woke up on time, didn’t have a splitting headache or a new bruise, and had your fresh and folded laundry waiting for you from the day before as you finally pulled yourself out of bed. Even Jayce and Caitlyn seemed to get the ‘good day’ memo—the two of them swinging by your apartment with coffee before the three of you headed off to class.
It was nice, until it wasn’t. It all went downhill when the throbbing started.
It wasn’t your usual soulmate-related ache—no split lip, no bruised knuckles, no sudden stab in your ribs. This was different. Familiar, but different no less. A dull, creeping pressure that started behind your eyes and spread through your skull like a slow wave. By the time your second lecture had started, it was unbearable.
“Are you okay?” Caitlyn asked, leaning over from her seat. Her voice was low enough not to draw the professor’s attention, but the concern was evident. “You look pale.”
You pressed your fingers to your temples, trying to will the pain away. “Migraines,” you muttered. “Really bad one.”
Caitlyn frowned. “You went to bed early last night.”
“Apparently, that doesn’t do anything for me anymore.”
You barely made it through the rest of the lecture. By the time you were packing up your things, Caitlyn was hovering like a worried mother hen.
“Are you sure you don’t want to skip clinicals today? Jayce can take your rotation, you look like you’re about to pass out.”
“No, I’m fine,” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. “I’ll just grab some water and take something for the pain.”
Caitlyn didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push further as the two of you made your way out of the lecture hall.
You thought you were doing a decent job of toughing it out until you practically walked right into Jayce in the hallway as he excited his pathophysiology lecture.
“Whoa, you good?” he asked, steadying you when you stumbled slightly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Migraines again,” you mumbled again, brushing him off. “I’m fine.”
Jayce gave Caitlyn a questioning look, but she just shrugged.
The rest of the day was a blur. The pain didn’t ease up—it never did until you went to sleep—and every bright light or loud noise seemed to stab through your skull. By the time you reached the coffee shop for your usual post-clinical ritual, you were barely holding it together.
Caitlyn was mid-sentence when the door chimed.
“Do you think it could be stress? Your migraines never used to be so bad—”
Her words trailed off, her expression shifting to one of disbelief.
“What now?” you groaned, not bothering to look up.
Caitlyn’s hand gripped your arm. “Don’t freak out, but she’s here.”
“Who?”
“Don’t be an idiot. You know who.”
You blinked up at her, confused, before following her gaze toward the counter.
There she was again—Vi. This time, she looked even rougher than before, with dark circles under her eyes and a visible bandage peeking out from under her sleeve. She had her fingers pressed to her temples as she leaned against the counter, waiting for her friend to finish ordering.
And then it happened.
Your headache, which had been a steady, unrelenting pressure all day, suddenly spiked. A sharp, blinding pain shot through your temples, and you let out a quiet gasp, clutching your head.
Across the room, Vi froze, and her friend immediately snapped up.
Her gaze hit yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The pain in your head mirrored the way her hand shot up to press against her temple, and her eyes widened in recognition.
“Oh, no,” you whispered, panic setting in.
Caitlyn’s eyes darted between you and Vi, her mouth falling open. “It’s her. It’s definitely her.”
You scrambled to your feet, heart racing. “Nope. Not happening.”
You bolted.
“Hey! Y/N!” Caitlyn hissed after you, but you didn’t stop.
The door slammed shut behind you, and the crisp evening air hit your face like a slap. Your heart was pounding, your migraine screaming in protest at your sudden movement, but the overwhelming panic drowned it out. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to get away. Far away.
Unfortunately, the universe—or more specifically, Vi—had other plans.
“Wait!”
Her voice was rough, loud enough to cut through the noise of the street and send a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You didn’t look back, breaking into a full sprint.
Behind you, you heard heavy, determined footsteps.
“Oh, come on!” Vi groaned. “You’re really gonna make me chase you?”
You didn’t answer, too focused on not tripping over your own feet. The ache in your legs spread quickly, your lungs burning as you pushed yourself harder.
“Damn it,” you heard her mutter, closer this time. “You’re not even good at running!”
“No one asked you!” you shouted over your shoulder, breathless and desperate.
Vi let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re serious? You’re yelling at me while running away?”
“Yes!”
She groaned, and her footsteps quickened. “You can’t outrun me, you know. You might as well stop before you pass out!”
Her voice was closer now, and you risked a glance back. Bad idea.
Vi was gaining fast, her long legs eating up the distance between you with ease. She wasn’t even winded. Meanwhile, you were gasping for air, feeling like your legs might give out any second.
“Leave me alone!” you shouted, panic edging into your voice.
“Can’t do that!” she called back, her tone surprisingly light for someone who was literally chasing you down. “You’re my soulmate, remember?”
Those words sent a jolt through you, and you stumbled slightly, your pace faltering. That split-second mistake was all she needed.
Vi caught up in a flash, one strong hand wrapping gently around your wrist as she slowed to a stop. You tried to pull away, but she held firm, her grip steady but not painful.
“Let me go!” you gasped, twisting in her grasp.
“Hey, hey!” Vi said quickly, holding up her free hand in a gesture of surrender. “Relax, okay? I’m not here to hurt you!”
You glared up at her, chest heaving, and she met your gaze with an almost apologetic smile. Up close, she looked even rougher—dark circles under her eyes, a fresh cut on her lip, and that same bandage on her arm.
“Look,” she said, her voice softer now. “I get it. This is… a lot. Trust me, I wasn’t expecting to meet you today either. But running away? Not the best idea.”
“Why not?” you snapped, still trying to catch your breath.
Vi smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “Because I’m an elite athlete, so now you’re even more exhausted, and I’m still here.”
You glared at her, unsure if you wanted to scream or cry. “What do you want from me?”
She blinked, her expression softening. For a moment, she looked almost shy, which was wildly unfair given how confident she’d been five seconds ago.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, I didn’t even think I had a soulmate until, like, two weeks ago. And then today, bam, migraines, and here you are.”
Yuo stared at her, dumfounded, and still too overwhelmed to make sense of her words. “That’s not an answer.”
Vi sighed, releasing your wrist but saying close enough that you couldn’t just bolt against. “Okay, fine. I guess I want to… figure this out. I mean, we’re soulmates, right? So maybe we could just… start there?”
“Start there?” you repeated, incredulous. “You don’t even know me.”
“Exactly.” her lips curved into a small, lopsided smile. “Let’s change that.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the way she was looking at you—earnest, a little nervous, but stubborn enough not to let you push her away—made the words catch in your throat.
Caitlyn’s voice rang in your mind: Whoever they are, they’re probably a masochist.
Vi seemed to read your hesitation as a crack in the wall you’d been trying so hard to keep up. She tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes locking onto yours with unnerving intensity.
“Look,” she said, her tone gentler now. “I’m not asking you to, like, fall into my arms or anything. I just want to get to know you. No pressure, no expectations. What do you say? Coffee after your next rotation? My treat.”
You hesitated, your heart still racing. “Why should I trust you?”
Her smile faltered, and for a split second, you saw something raw in her expression—something that made your chest tighten. She winced slightly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Honestly? I don’t know how much longer I can handle these migraines, so we need to find a cure or something.”
That earned a startled laugh from you, despite yourself. “So, this is selfish.”
“Totally,” she admitted, grinning now. “But if it gets me a chance to spend some time with you, I’ll take it.”
You studied her for a long moment, torn between wariness and the tiniest flicker of curiosity. Finally, you sighed, crossing your arms. “Fine. One coffee. After my next rotation. That’s it.”
Vi’s grin widened, and for a moment, you were struck by how bright it was—how it softened the sharp edges of her features. “Deal.”
As she stepped back to give you space, you realized something strange: your headache was already starting to fade. Grabbing a random business card from her pocket and a pen from another, she scribbled down her number and lightly shoved it into your hands.
“See you around,” Vi said, giving you a little wave before turning and jogging off down the street.
You watched her go, still unsure if you’d just made a huge mistake, or taken the first step toward something you couldn’t even begin to understand.
this is the first part in a three part series! read part 2 here! reader part 3 here!
If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!
#vi x fem reader#arcane vi x reader#vi x you#vi arcane#vi x reader#vi x y/n#arcane x reader#arcane x female reader#arcane x y/n#arcane x you#arcane#arcane season 2#arcane s2#piltover's gayest#dina tlou#ellie williams#ellie x dina
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I have a 50-50 memory, I can remember stuff from 3 years ago perfectly, but if I'm asked to remember when my parent-teeacher confrence is I will forget.
But generaly my memory is pretty good, where as most of my family's is not. So I am often times asked to remember for them.
We ALL make memory jokes, and we all make it CLEAR that we are only joking. One of the common jokes we make is that I stole all the good memory genes (I am the oldest).
Being rude to someone with memory issues for no reason and making jokes about it when they clearly don't like it, is the exact same thing as being racist or homophobic. Because you are still bullying someone for something THEY CANNOT CONTROL.
And if you do that THEN YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE.
we are so ableist about memory. people with good memory take for granted the fact that they can recall as much as they can, and use that to taunt, guilt and threaten people with memory issues. many neurotypes and mental illnesses cause memory lapses. traumatic brain injuries can cause memory lapses. brain cancer can cause memory lapses.
even if your memory is good, it's not right to guilt someone because they can't remember something. trust me, people with memory problems are desperately trying to remember: it's just that we literally can't. it is a very literal "i can't remember".
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the parent trap (remake) | CS 55
cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader
warn: 100% fiction & remake
chap 1, chap 2, chap 3, chap 4, chap 5, chap 6, chap 7, chap 8, chap 9
PART 8 MEETING DAD
As Mattia stepped off the plane, the warmth of Spain hit him like a wave. He felt both excited and nervous, his heart pounding in his chest. Clutching his suitcase, he scanned the crowd, and then, he saw him.
“Dad...” he whispered, trying to hold back the emotions welling up inside him.
Carlos Sainz Jr. appeared, effortlessly cool in a Cowboy outfit, looking every bit the part. As soon as he spotted Mattia, his face broke into a huge smile. He took off his sunglasses, eyes sparkling. “Hey, Matheo! Welcome home!”
Without a second thought, Mattia sprinted toward him, and as soon as he was close enough, Carlos crouched down and spread his arms wide. “Come here and give me a hug!”
Mattia’s eyes filled with tears as he flung himself into his father’s strong arms. “Finally… It’s you!” he said through his tears, smiling so widely his cheeks hurt.
Carlos picked him up while he was spinning around, with his son in his arms, after that he looked him in the eyes, laughing. “How was camp? Hope it was awful, ‘cause you’re not going back! I missed you too much.”
Mattia wiped his tears with the back of his hand, smiling up at his dad. “I missed you more.”
Carlos ruffled his hair, but looked at him strangely, when he remained somewhat silent. He always remembered that his son was quite expressive when telling stories. “Is something wrong, Chilli?” looking at him curiously. “Hold on... Is it just me, or are you getting taller?”
Mattia blinked in surprise. “What? No, it’s nothing, Dad! I just missed you,” he said quickly, trying to hide his nervousness.
Carlos just give him a warm smile. “Me too. Chilli.”
Mattia couldn’t help but smile. “Dad, how are Chessy and the others?” Mattia asked between the half hug and his way to the car, “Oh, they’re at home, anxiously waiting for you. A Chessy living in hysteria has ended her days. She miss you so much.”
Carlos looked at his son, who was looking at him strangely. “What's wrong? Did I shave too much? I didn't mean to cut off all my beard.”
“It's nothing dad, you really look good, even though you look like a cool cowboy" Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Well, seeing you for the first time is... well, I mean seeing you for the first time after the a month that passed.”
Mattia was nervous and didn't want to ruin the plan. Carlos kept looking at him and the boy felt more nervous. “Suddenly I feel like you're taller, dad.”
Carlos chuckled, patting him on the back. “Well, let's get home, little Chilli. Chessy and Sammy are waiting for you.”
****
Once in the car, it was a long drive for Mattia. But he loves the beautiful view outside, it was really great for him.
Carlos glanced over at his son, who sat beside him in the car, “So, how’s everything going, Chilli?” Carlos asked, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “I remember someone promising me letters... but nothing ever showed up.”
“I am glad that I give you that chilli keychains, so you will never forget me” He continued.
God, Mattia didn’t know if his twins had promised to send Dad some letters, because they’re busy planning everything to go perfectly. Mattia scratched the back of his head, a nervous grin on his face. “Well, we were really busy Dad...,” he stammered, his voice trailing off as he tried to think of an excuse.
“Were we?” Carlos repeated curiously.
“I mean, me and my friends with camp and all, Dad. Oh, and I met this nice boy there. We got along so well—just... we kinda like brother’s”
Carlos chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Since when are you so polite, Matheo?” He finished with a smile as he remembered his twin brother.
Mattia shot his dad a playful look. "What? I’m polite! You know, ... it's all part of growing up."
Carlos was about to say something more when he noticed Mattia nervously chewing on his nails. He reached over, lightly grabbing his hand. “You still biting your nails, huh?”
Mattia blinked, taken by surprise. “How did you notice that, Dad?”
Carlos grinned. “How could I not? You’ve been doing it for 9 years.”
“Ugh, yeah! But I’ll stop! It’s a horrible habit, I swear,” Mattia groaned, feeling a bit embarrassed.
Carlos laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Nice boy, a horrible habit. Seriously, what camp did I send you to? A finishing school?”
Mattia burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Sorry, Dad, it’s just... I didn't realize I was doing it.”
Carlos smirked. “So, why do you keep saying 'Dad' at the end of every sentence, huh?”
Mattia’s face softened as he glanced out the window. “Ugh I... I don’t realize that, Dad" he admitted, his voice quieter.
Carlos looked at him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to laugh,
“But Dad, do you want to know why I say ‘Dad’ all the time?”
Carlos made a sly smile at that “Because you missed your old man so much, right?”
Mattia looking at his dad, with his smile and his big brown eyes like his dad eyes. “Exactly. It's because in my whole life, I mean, you know, for the past month, I was never able to say the word Dad. Never. Not once. And if you ask me, I mean, a dad is an irreplaceable person in a boy’s life. Think about it. There’s a whole day devoted to celebrating fathers. Just imagine someone's life without a father. Never buying a Father’s Day card, never sitting on their father’s lap, never being able to say, hi, Dad, or what's up, Dad, or catch you later, Dad. I mean, a baby’s first words are always, Dada, Dad, aren't they?
Carlos’s expression shifted as he processed Mattia's words. “Let me see if I get this. You miss being able to call me Dad?”
"Yeah," Mattia said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I really do, Dad." Carlos’s heart swelled with warmth as he tried not to show his emotion.
Okay now he like wanted to cry, but when Mattia noticed his dad gaze, “God, God, don't make things up!" he said when he saw the large estate in he said when he saw the large estate in the distance.
"Now you're the same Mattia as before," Carlos said, amused.
*****
The sun shine brightly over the sprawling estate, casting a warm glow on the vibrant gardens that surrounded it. Mattia, stepped out of the car, her heart racing with excitement. The estate was even more beautiful than the photos. Right at the entrance appeared a woman, who was coming towards him in a very cheerful manner. She was his babysitter, Chessy.
"Matheo, you're finally back!" The brown-haired woman greeted Mattia with great emotion and went to hug him and lift him up. Chessy put him back on the floor and looked at him.
"You're taller, Matheo! Tell your old man that you're not a kid anymore and you're ready for real action."
Mattia laughed a little at this "Okay, Cheesy." She replied with smile, then asked him. "Are you hungry? I made some Tortilla! Your favorites!"
Mattia smiled, he wasn't that hungry "Great!"
"Am I missing something?" Carlos asked, holding Mattia's suitcases. "Were you talking about Tortilla?"
"Yes, they're in the dining room," Cheesy told him.
"Good, because I'm hungry.” Carlos smiled before going inside the house.
Chessy tilted his head, seeing Mattia “You look different. Something’s... weird.”
“You sure you’re okay? You’ve got this... weird.”
“I’m fine!” Mattia said, a little too quickly, forcing a grin. “Just tired from the flight.”
Chessy squinted suspiciously but let it go, draping an arm around Mattia’s shoulders as they followed Carlos inside. Just then, a loud bark interrupted them. A Golden Retriever dog came skidding into the room, tail wagging wildly.
“Sammy!” Mattia grinned, crouching down. But instead of greeting him, the dog barked, tilting its head in confusion.
Chessy frowned, crossing her arms. “What’s the matter, Sammy? Don’t you recognize your brother?”
Mattia scratched his head awkwardly. “Maybe it’s because I smell like the camps?”
Chesssy chuckled, kneeling to pat the dog. “He’ll back soon. Right, Sammy?” Sammy barked again, but this time his tail wagged just a little.
Mattia straightened up, glancing around the room. The mansion was breathtaking, bright walls, wooden beams, and giant windows flooding the space with sunlight. “It’s even prettier than I imagined,” he murmured.
Chessy clapped his hands together. “Alright, little chilli, what’s the plan? Eat first? Unpack? Or eat while you unpack?”
Mattia’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re saying I can eat in my room?”
“Why not?” Chessy grinned.
“Super!” Mattia exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes.
****
Then, on the other side of the room, which was like a door, his father appeared with a plate in his hand that had many Tortilla on it. "Hey Math! If you’re done come out to the terrace, I want you to meet someone," he said.
Mattia smiled “Okay dad”
“Okay Chilli” Carlos said walking to the other end of the terrace.
Mattia heard someone and came a little closer to get a better view. There was someone, it wasn't just someone, it was a young woman with her back turned, wearing a sexy dress and a hat.
“Will there ever be a day when I won't see you eating Sainz?” the young woman asked his father.
"I don't think so" She seemed to approach his Father and whispered.
"Have you told him yet?" Carlos swallowed his food. "Slow down Mer, not yet. He just arrived."
"Oh, Carlitos..." the young woman said in a baby voice.
Mattia frowned at what he witnessed from his room, his disbelief already at its peak. “Who is that woman?” He asked through gritted teeth, he could hear Chessy sighing tiredly behind him.
Its mean she was used to by seeing his reaction. He looked at the young woman again who still had her back to him, he couldn't ignore the feeling that something bad was coming from her.
#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz x reader#f1 fanfiction#f1 fluff#carlos sainz#carlos sainz jr#f1 fic#cs55#f1 imagine#f1 x reader
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Hi!! Hope ur having a good day! Could I ask u to write something abt caitvi x fem!reader who forgets to take care of herself (bonus points if she's a workaholic)
hi i’m SO late i’m so sorry baby
(reader is a student because i’m an overworked student and this is self-indulgent like everything else i write also this is nsfw sorry if that’s not what you wanted anon! no use of y/n)
it’s not new for you to work yourself to the bone. whether it’s pulling more than one consecutive all nighter to get papers finished on time, or spending full twelve hour shifts in the library pouring over your books and notes, you slip easily into an all-work and absolutely no play mindset (not that showering or hey, eating, counts as ‘play,’ but anyways)
usually, nobody notices. so what, you disappear sometimes (for weeks), but you always pop back up looking normal, so it doesn’t draw attention. everyone knew that you were a dedicated student. the only reason caitlyn notices you’ve stopped caring for yourself is because she sees the trait of obsessively working until you drop reflected in herself
you started dating caitlyn and vi in the early summer, so they had ever seen you in your element. when the academy starts back up in the fall, your girlfriends are excited to see the sparkle in your eyes when you tell them about your passion, hands moving animatedly as you talk at a rapid pace. vi often teases you for being a nerd, but cait is much the same, so it’s two against one there
anyways
i think cait would bring it up to vi first, asking if she’s noticed how you’re starting to pull away a little, and when they do get to see you, you’re not yourself. usually, you keep your appearance well put together, hair down and outfit chosen to bolster your look-good feel-good attitude. lately though, the bags under your eyes have become prominent, and some nights you don’t come home, saying you’re gonna work late at the academy, but then not going home at all
at first, vi is just super proud of you, for working hard at what you love. she understands what it’s like to want something so bad that you can’t help but “stay in the grind.” she sends you texts in the group chat often throughout your busy days, pictures of her at the gym or a gif of little cat, always with a message saying she’s so proud of her girl, that she loves you
after cait mentions how worried she is, vi starts to notice that you’re not as cheery as before, on top of the eye bags an disheveled appearance that is starting to become your staple look. she’s frustrated with herself for not noticing and taking care of you, and with you a little for not taking care of yourself. cait convinces her to let her try and help first, as someone with a more similar academic experience
caitlyn starts showing up at the academy, at least once every day. she brings food, and coffee, and sometimes she gets jayce, but more often viktor, out of the lab to accompany you. she always takes your hand, dragging you from what you’re doing to sit with her and just talk. she’s subtle about her worry, not wanting you to feel guilty, but wanting to change your habits slowly without you noticing (cait is so conniving i love her)
as the semester continues, you only seem to get worse, despite cait’s best efforts. cait is consistently holding vi back from saying something blunt, because she doesn’t want to upset you, or to cause you to give up on what you love all together out of guilt. in the end, you end up coming to them, having completely exhausted yourself and tilting your last straw
it’s late when you get to the kirraman household, knowing you girlfriends are there. you don’t know what time it is, the sun having set some uncounted number of hours earlier. you knock on the door (even though you know you can just walk in), embarrassed about how bad you’ve let yourself get. cait opens the door and envelops you in a long hug after taking one look at you, standing on her porch in a big sweatshirt, sniffling a bit, unwashed hair piled onto the top of your head
“oh my darling, come inside”
she’s warm and so soft with you, and you’re already feeling better. cait shushes every attempt you make to apologize, for showing up out of nowhere after not really showing up at all for a little while. she brings you up into her room, where vi sits on the end of the bed
vi nearly knocks you to the floor with the force of her hug. she’s strong, and she’s whispering to you about how much she loves you, and how proud she is of you for coming to them for help when you need it, for recognizing that in yourself. her words bring you to tears, and her arms wrap tighter around your torso. you feel cait join in on the hug, tucking you and vi under her chin and squeezing her arms around you both
they bring you to take a bath, and vi gets in first, hissing at the hot temperature of the water. you sit between her thighs, and she wraps her arms around your torso, calloused hands covering your entire stomach. cait sits on the edge of the tub, asking you about your work, and sternly but lovingly detailing how much time you’re allowed to spend at the academy from now on, until you find an appropriate balance between your work and your life. vi hums in agreement with everything cait says, punctuating every particularly harsh sentence with a soft kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder
they leave you in the bathroom to wash your hair in he shower, and when you come out of the bathroom, you’re wearing one of vi’s hoodies from her gym, and cait’s too long pyjama pants, and you look more refreshed than you have since the summer. you look so cuddly and cute that cait starts cooing at you, and you giggle, batting her hands away when she squishes your face
vi is sitting on the bed, manspreading in that way that she does, and she’s smiling softly at her two girls
(NSFW NOW BTW)
“c’mere baby”
and you do, standing between vi’s legs as she wraps her hands around your waist. you lean down to kiss her, and soon enough her tongue is licking at our b otto’s lip, and you’re opening your mouth to let her in, your hands draped loosely around her neck. you sigh into the kiss when vi’s hands starting palming at your hips, your waist
vi pulls you into her, lifting you effortlessly into her lap so you’re straddling her. the kiss gets deeper, and you whine when vi pulls back. she smiles at you, and tilts her head towards the top of the bed
“how pretty is our girlfriend, huh baby?”
you turn to look, and there’s cait, wearing your favourite set of pink lingerie and sitting up against the headboard, hair down and legs spread open only slightly. you flush a bright red when you see her, mouthing parting slightly when you lick your lips. vi bounces you on her lap for a moment when you don’t say anything
“tell her baby”
“cait, you’re gorgeous”
vi leans into mouth at your neck, murmuring to you about keeping your eyes on caitlyn, and you do. you’re still blushing, silly in your position, but you can’t help it, with how caitlyn is staring at you while vi sucks marks into our soft skin. vi shimmies further onto the bed with you, and hooks her hands under your thigh to lay your down softly on the bed, your back pressed to cait’s chest
cait is immediately sweeping your hair to the side and digging her teeth into the side of your neck, causing a sweet little noise to slip out of your mouth. vi groans at the sound, pressing a strong thigh up against you as your hands make purchase on her biceps. cait’s mouth on your neck is teasing, a nip followed by soothing kitten lick, and vi is holding herself up above you, her free hand hooking under your knee to bring your leg up over her hip as she pushes her leg against you more firmly
eventually, you’re getting desperate and whiny, and vi gives in as soon as she hears the first “vi, please,” slip from your beautiful mouth. she pulls your (cait’s) pyjama pants down, panties too, and your immediately rucking your hips into nothing, searching for some friction to help you out. normally, vi is a lot more teasing, but not today
“vi is gonna take care of you, okay sweet girl?”
and vi does. she presses her hands onto the backs of your thighs, pushing them open and up. without any prelude, she gets to it, licking through your wetness and groaning at the taste. you’re arching away from cait, whose one hand has taken to holding your hips in place to help vi, the other tucking itself underneath your (vi’s) hoodie to pluck at your nipples
it takes no time at all for your girlfriends to have you a whimpering, squirming mess, begging to cum. cait is whispering softly to you, hot breath slipping over the shell of your ear, shushing you and telling you how good you’re being for them, how much you deserve to feel good, and could you cum for them, please?
you do, of course. it cracks through you, hips stuttering on vi’s mouth, legs trying to clamp shut but stopped by vi’s strong hands. vi works you through it until you’re whining and pushing at her head, overstimulated. you collapse in heavy breaths, thoroughly sated and exhausted
caitlyn is instantly tugging at you to turn around, head resting on her chest. she pulls you tight to her with a hand on your waist after readjusting your sweatshirt to be comfy. her spare hand comes up to run through your still-damp hair. vi slides your panties back on but abandons the pj pants, kissing her way up your bare legs and rewinding you of how well you’ve done, and again how proud she is
vi tucks herself up behind you, spooning you, arm thrown over both you and cait. that’s how you fall asleep, pressed tightly between the two of them. you drift off instantly, and over your head, vi and caitlyn smile at each other
you don’t overwork yourself again
#anon ask#anon answered#caitvi arcane#caitvi x reader#caitvi x you#caitvi x reader smut#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn kirraman x reader#vi x reader#vi x you#vi x reader smut
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Request where fem!reader was a winner of the games and helps Jun-ho’s search in season two. He’s very respectful/cautious with her because of her trauma. After a certain point they both like each other but he’s still trying to be professional (?)/and a gentleman until the reader gets so fed up and is just like bro?? Kiss me 🤨 I’ll even throw in a snickers bar if there’s smut
𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader
summary | the request
warnings | post trauma themes, smut, explicit content, fingering (reader!receives), oral sex (jun-ho!receives), p in v, unprotected sex
word count | 3.8 k
author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩
The sea breeze blows gently as you walk alongside Jun-ho. The tension between you is palpable, though the silence remains. The ocean seems endless, just like the memories you carry since you survived the Games. Here, in this unfamiliar place, the answers you seek feel increasingly distant. But you can’t stop. You won’t.
"Are you ready?" Jun-ho’s voice is deep, almost as if he’s hoping you’ll say no.
You glance at him sideways. Always so serious, so controlled. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since surviving the Games, it’s that you can’t fully trust anyone—not yet. But Jun-ho, he’s different. His respect for you is clear, and though his professional demeanor keeps him distant, you know that, somehow, he cares.
"Yes," you reply firmly, though deep down, an unease grows. It’s not just the island that frightens you, but everything that might have been left behind. Everything you’ll never know.
Jun-ho approaches but keeps his distance, as he always does. He’s not one to touch you or show affection, and though you appreciate it, something inside you yearns for him to break that barrier. To see you as more than just a survivor, as someone with feelings.
The boat ride feels long, but the worst is yet to come. The island remains out of reach, a shadow on the horizon that seems to shift with the wind. Each time you look at it, anxiety grows within you.
Once on solid ground, you head into the island’s interior. The dense vegetation and towering trees seem to swallow every step you take. The air is heavy, and every sound, every crack, feels threatening. The tension rises as you navigate the terrain, but there’s no sign of what you’re looking for.
Time passes, and though you don’t want to admit it, discouragement begins to seep into your bones. Jun-ho says nothing. He knows you won’t find anything here—he knows it as well as you do. But he keeps searching, as if his footsteps could force the island to reveal its darkest secret.
You stop, staring at the horizon. The island is empty. The memory of what happened here drowns in the stillness of the landscape, but that doesn’t change how you feel: a sense of emptiness, of something missing, something you’ll never complete.
Jun-ho stops beside you, his breathing steady, though his posture is tense. He doesn’t look at you directly, as if waiting for a signal that it’s over, that you can both leave.
"We tried," he says finally, his voice calm yet slightly broken. As if he already knew but needed you to accept it. "But it’s not here."
Silence settles between you. Frustration consumes you, but there’s something else, something you can’t name. The way his voice falters, how he shows vulnerability in front of you, is something you’ve never seen before.
"And now what?" you ask, your tone laced with frustration. "Is that it? We just leave and forget what happened?"
Jun-ho takes a moment before answering, looking into the distance as if hoping the scenery might inspire some kind of answer.
"No, this isn’t everything. But maybe the answers aren’t here," he says, and at the end of his words, his tone changes—something more personal. He steps closer to you, and though he doesn’t touch you, you feel the space between you shrink.
His presence feels more tangible, and for a moment, forgetting everything else, you wonder if you can truly trust him. Not just as an ally, but as someone who might understand you beyond the Games, beyond survival.
"What will you do now?" you ask, this time your voice tinged with uncertainty, with an emotion you don’t know how to handle.
Jun-ho watches you closely. The way he does, as if measuring every word, unsettles you. You can’t read what’s going on in his head, but there’s something in his eyes that seems to say more than his voice could. As if he’s inviting you to step closer, to seek something between you both that neither of you has dared to name.
The tension between you is undeniable. The silence, though heavy, is a witness to the unspoken emotions. For a moment, the distance between you feels like an abyss, but in his gaze, there’s something inviting you to bridge it.
You don’t know what to do. Confusion, exhaustion, and anxiety swirl within you, and the desire for him to make a decision consumes you. But Jun-ho doesn’t take the step, doesn’t touch you, doesn’t say anything more.
Finally, frustration takes over. You’ve stayed strong for so long, but this… this is breaking you. You need something more, something to make you feel whole again. And for some reason, you seek it in him, in someone you’ve come to respect deeply.
Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him. A quick, impulsive kiss, but filled with everything you’ve kept inside: the pain, the fear, the need for something more. You don’t know why you do it, but in that instant, everything seems to overflow.
Jun-ho freezes at first, surprised by your action, but he quickly responds. His hands settle on your waist, and the contact, though unexpected, sparks something between you both. The tension that had built for so long finally erupts in a single gesture.
When you pull away, both of you are breathing heavily. His expression is hard to read, but he doesn’t look upset—not at all. There’s a mix of astonishment and something else, something that makes you wonder if this tension has been there all along.
"Why didn’t we say anything before?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
Jun-ho doesn’t answer immediately. He takes a moment, as if carefully choosing his words. Finally, he leans closer, his face so near to yours that you can feel his breath.
"Because I don’t want you to regret it," he replies softly.
...
The boat ride back is marked by a heavy silence, but not for lack of words. Everything has changed since you kissed him on the island. Jun-ho sits across from you, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. You can see how his hands rest on his knees, tense, as if he’s making a monumental effort to keep his composure.
You’re not any better. The closeness in that moment, the way his lips responded to yours, still burns in your mind. Your skin seems to remember every place where he touched you, his warmth, the way his body leaned into yours. And now, the tension you’d both ignored for days feels like it’s finally spilled over.
Eventually, the rocking of the waves forces you to steady yourself. You lean on the ship’s railing, and when you do, you feel his hand brush against yours. It’s an accidental touch, you know, but it sends a shiver down your spine. You look at him, and his eyes are fixed on you.
No words are needed. You lean toward him, and this time there’s no hesitation. Jun-ho pulls you into his arms and kisses you with an intensity you never imagined. His lips are firm, desperate, as if he’s held back all that desire for days, weeks, maybe months.
The sound of the sea and the sway of the boat fade away. There’s only him, his body close to yours, his hands finding their way to your waist. You can’t stop him, and you don’t want to. Every time you try to pull back to breathe, his lips find yours again, hungry, eager, as if you both know this moment can’t be enough.
"This isn’t professional," he murmurs against your mouth, though he makes no effort to pull away.
"Then stop doing it," you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair, forcing him to continue.
He laughs against your lips, a low, rough sound, before surrendering completely. What started as a kiss ends in desperate caresses, his hands exploring your body with a mix of tenderness and restrained passion. Every touch ignites a fire inside you that you didn’t know existed.
Finally, you both separate as the boat reaches the dock. The return to reality is abrupt, but the heat between you doesn’t dissipate. You walk to your house in silence, though your fingers graze his as you move forward, as if neither of you can bear the idea of being too far apart.
When you finally open your front door, the initial awkwardness returns. Jun-ho seems hesitant, as if debating whether to stay or not.
"Do you want to come in?" you ask, though the answer is evident in his eyes.
"Only if you’re sure," he replies, his tone low but full of emotion.
You don’t give him time to think. You take his hand and guide him inside, closing the door behind you.
The atmosphere changes immediately. The intimacy of your home seems to amplify what’s already happening between you. You barely have time to turn toward him before Jun-ho takes your waist and gently presses you against the wall. His lips find yours again, this time with more urgency, as if everything he held back during the journey is spilling out.
His hands explore your body with a perfect mix of softness and determination. You feel alive under his touch, every caress sending waves of heat through your skin. Your hands also explore, sliding over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath his clothes.
Her breath quickens, her eyes shining with contained desire.
The moment he moves away from you a little, you can see the effort he makes to control himself.
"I promise you won't want this to end," he whispers, as if waiting for your response.
You don't wait. Your mouth finds his again, and this time the kiss transforms into something hungrier, more intense. His lips part just enough to allow his hand to remove your blouse, his gaze resting on your bare breasts with a mix of admiration and lust.
The feeling of being naked in front of him is exciting, and although a part of you feels the temptation to cover yourself, the look in his eyes stops you. You had never seen him like this, as someone who surrenders to passion. He is so different from what you expected, and yet, he is as real as the man who accompanies him.
A second later, Jun-ho kneels and begins to kiss your chest gently, as if it were your first encounter. Your breath quickens as his lips travel across your skin, kissing and caressing your breasts. His fingers glide over your shoulders to the waistband of your pants, unbuttoning them with a skill that makes you feel like a novice.
You don't protest. You don't want him to stop, although you don't want him to undress you completely just yet. There is still something you hope will happen, something you feel you can't lose.
A moment later, your pants are on the floor and his hands are sliding up your thighs, reaching the edge of your panties. You look him in the eyes, seeing how his pupils dilate as his fingers slide under the cotton.
Her touch is light, but it makes you shiver, as if you had never been touched like this before. Her fingers continue exploring, finding your clitoris with a gentle yet determined touch. The sensation is so good that you can't hold back a moan.
"Do you like it?" he asks in a low voice, although his gaze shines with the answer.
You nod your head, although your response seems insufficient for him. His fingers begin to caress your lips with a skill you didn't expect. His rhythm is fast at first, then it slows down, as if he were waiting for you to get used to his touch.
The pleasure is overwhelming. His fingers seem to know exactly what you need to feel to surrender. The rhythm picks up again, and you can feel something inside you approaching the edge.
"Jun-ho" you moan, your hips starting to move in search of more.
He smiles against your mouth, his fingers increasing their pace once more. The feeling that you're going to explode is getting stronger, but you can't stop. You don't want to stop.
Finally, a wave of pleasure consumes you, making you moan his name. His fingers don't stop until you feel exhausted, your breath ragged, your body trembling.
But the pleasure doesn't end there. Jun-ho continues caressing you while kissing you softly on the mouth, on the neck, on your shoulders. His fingers reach your clitoris again, this time faster, more determined.
"God!" you moan when the pleasure returns, as if you hadn't been on the verge of exploding just minutes before.
Jun-ho smiles again, but his eyes shine with a lustful desire. His fingers continue to caress you mercilessly, as if he expects to push you to the limit once more.
"How many times can you?" he asks, his breath quickening, his lips on your neck.
You can't respond. Your body trembles with pleasure, but somehow, you feel you can go on longer. Jun-ho smiles once more, and a second later, his fingers caress your clitoris again, this time with demonic skill.
You moan his name when the sensation of orgasm returns, although this time it is stronger. The pleasure is overwhelming, so intense that you might feel yourself collapse into his arms.
Finally, his fingers stop and you take a moment to catch your breath. But the tension remains, palpable between the two of you.
"How do you feel?" Jun-ho whispers softly, his breath on your neck.
Your fingers tangle in her hair, and you catch her to kiss her mouth. Her response is instantaneous, her tongue finding yours as she presses you against her body.
"I don't feel complete" you reply softly, looking directly at him. "Not yet".
Jun-ho nods, and a second later his mouth meets yours once again. His fingers touch you everywhere, roaming your body with desire. Finally, you feel his fingers searching for the zipper of his pants, and an emotion consumes you as you realize what is about to happen.
When his fingers reach the zipper, a second of indecision floods you. You haven't seen him like this, naked and vulnerable in front of you. How will he feel?
You don't have time to ask yourself anything else. His fingers release his erection, and surprise floods you as you see how big it is. You didn't know what to expect, but this is much more than you imagined.
His fingers caress her, as if she were offering herself to you.
"Do you want to taste" he whispers in a low voice, and something in his tone makes you understand that he doesn't have much experience with this.
You nod your head. It's your opportunity to touch, to feel, to do something more than just feel.
You bend down and touch his erection. It's hard, but soft at the same time. Your fingers caress her skin, feeling it pulse beneath your touch.
"Do you want me to do it?" you ask in a low voice, your gaze meeting theirs.
Jun-ho nods, his eyes shining with desire. The way he looks at you makes you feel strong, as if nothing can stop you.
You move a little closer and gently kiss the tip of his erection. The sensation is strange but pleasant. His fingers rest on your shoulders as he watches you, as if he can't believe what's happening.
Even though you are not a virgin, Jun-ho's size is intimidating, but you don't stop. You take his erection into your mouth and gently touch it with the tip of your tongue.
Jun-ho moans when he feels your touch. His gaze pierces you, his breath ragged. His fingers search for your hair and cradle you as you kiss his erection with more passion.
Finally, his erection begins to enter your mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, but you don't stop, feeling every inch that enters you. Jun-ho moans again when you feel his testicles against your lips.
Her breathing becomes erratic, her fingers tightening in your hair.
"No, I can't take it anymore!" he screams, gently pulling you out of her body.
You look at him in surprise, but his fingers pull you closer and he kisses you desperately. The need between the two of you is palpable.
"Are you sure?" he asks a moment later, his breath still ragged.
"Yes" you respond in a low voice. "Yes, I want to do it".
Jun-ho nods a moment later, and his fingers take you by the waist. A second later, you find yourself in your bed, with him between your legs.
"Do you mind if this is quick?" he asks, his fingers brushing your inner lips gently.
"No" you respond quickly. You can't wait any longer.
You feel him brushing against your entrance with his member. His fingers continue to caress your clitoris as he slowly enters you. The sensation is incredible, his erection so big that you can feel it throbbing in your body.
The penetration is slow and painful, but it is also exciting. Finally, his erection enters you completely, and Jun-ho pauses for a moment to let you get used to his size.
"You're so tight" he whispers very softly, his lips brushing against yours.
"So perfect".
"Don't stop" you moan.
Jun-ho laughs for a second before he starts to move, his rhythm initially slow but then quick and desperate. The sound of their bodies joining is audible in the room, sweat covering their bodies as they move with desperation.
The feeling is overwhelming. You didn't expect something like this, something so intense, but here it is. Everything comes down to this moment, to his body inside yours.
Pleasure takes hold of you once again. His fingers caress your clitoris once more as he moves inside you, and you can feel something within you starting to grow.
Finally, a third orgasm consumes you. You moan his name as his body tightens around you, the sensation that he also reaches climax.
"God... " shouts Jun-ho, his breath very agitated as he collapses onto you.
Your arms wrap around his body, feeling his fingers gently touch your back. You can't stop looking at him, the expression of pleasure on his face is incredible. You didn't expect it to be like this.
#squid game smut#jun ho squid game#squid game 2#squid games#squid game#squid game x fem!reader#squid game x reader smut#squid game x reader#hwang jun ho x reader#hwang jun ho#jun ho x reader#hwang junho#hwang jun ho smut
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saw u asking for different shows to write abt and if you like squid games i’d love ANYTHING abt player 388🥰 kang dae-ho ml
FOREVER — kang dae ho x fem!reader.
tw: idk if there is any, mentions of debt, mentions of pregnancy, a kiss
FLUFF!
wc: 2.3k
ask and you shall receive! heres a fluff on kang dae-ho, a turn from what i usually write lol! request for any show and any character! i write fluff, smut, angst, etc. :)
۫ ꣑ৎ 。°‧⭑.ᐟ
The moment you discovered her pregnancy after the first game, a primal instinct surged through you—sisterly protection, fierce and unwavering. She reminded you of your own sister back home—quiet, yet impulsive, and always acting without thinking. In that, you felt an overwhelming need to protect her the way you would your own blood.
But it was more than that. The man who had impregnated her, the crypto scammer, lingered in the back of your mind. You couldn’t forget that he, too, was in the game. The weight of your circumstances hit you all over again—the crushing debt, the loan sharks breathing down your neck, the money you borrowed to send your sister to school, to keep food on the table, all while you had no means of repayment. The reason you were in this game, a nightmare you hadn't asked for, was in part because of him.
And yet, as much as your mind raged, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him—not when you, too, were desperate. Not when you, too, were fighting just to survive.
So you stayed by Jun-hee’s side as she stubbornly refused to join Myung-gi’s team, even though his group was probably the safest option. Safety didn’t matter when it came to her. Not now.
You walked the room together, rejection after rejection from every team you approached. The ticking clock was an ever-present reminder of how little time you had. Doubt gnawed at you, an icy presence. Hope was slipping away, like water through your fingers.
Then, a voice broke through the haze of your thoughts.
“Do you... need a group?”
You turned, startled, and saw a group of three men standing just behind you. The one who had spoken seemed almost nervous, his voice shaking slightly, as if asking felt like an intrusion. But there was something in his eyes, something hesitant but sincere.
You glanced at his companions—two men who looked just as cautious. One of them, a wild-eyed figure, looked as if he might burst at any moment. He had the air of someone who had lived through madness before, someone whose grip on reality was tenuous at best. You, like everyone else, had assumed he was crazy, his mind lost in withdrawal from the lack of drugs in his system.
But in that instant, you didn’t have the luxury to second-guess. There was no time to analyze the situation or consider the risks. The clock was ticking down, the seconds slipping by like sand through an hourglass.
You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, with a tight breath, you nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
The two other men, though clearly wary, shared the same understanding. There was no choice. You had to make it through the next round, together.
The game blurred into a haze of frantic movements, strategy, and quick reflexes. You barely remembered the moments between each challenge, each game feeling like a blur of adrenaline and fear. For a brief moment, you stumbled in the jegi game, your foot missing the ball—but somehow, with a burst of luck and panic-fueled desperation, you made it through.
When dinner time arrived, the weight of exhaustion settled on you. You found a quiet corner with the rest of your group, trying to make yourself small and invisible as you huddled together with your new team. A man named Young-il joined you, his eyes fixed on Gi-hun with an almost religious intensity. You couldn’t quite understand the fascination, but there was something about Gi-hun—his calm demeanor, his quiet strength—that seemed to draw people in.
You handed Jun-hee your drink and half of your food, your heart heavy with concern.
“You’re eating for two,” you said, pressing the plate into her hands, despite the reluctant frown she gave. “You need a second meal.”
Her protest was immediate, but you only shook your head, ignoring her discomfort. You couldn't bear the thought of her going hungry—not now, not when she was carrying so much more than herself. Even if she resisted, you had made your choice. And if you had to fight the whole world to keep her safe, you would.
The others followed suit, and you couldn’t help but smile at their quiet initiative. Their willingness to stick together, despite the madness around them, felt like a small spark of hope in the midst of all the darkness.
But before you could indulge in the rare moment of peace, a tap on your shoulder broke the spell. You turned, and there was Dae-ho, his eyes carrying a weight of something you couldn’t quite name—longing, maybe? Admiration? He extended the last half of his food toward you, a silent offering.
"Oh, I couldn’t," you said, shaking your head and gently pushing the food back toward him, placing it in his lap.
"No man should ever let a woman go hungry," Dae-ho said firmly, his words simple yet filled with something tender that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. His voice was steady, but there was a softness there that made your heart beat a little faster.
You offered him a gentle smile, your fingers brushing the side of his hand as you took the half-split food. Without another word, you broke it into two pieces and handed him one. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental in the suffocating silence that surrounded you.
You ate in quiet company, the weight of the game pressing down on each of you in different ways. As the minutes slipped by, you noticed how your body seemed to inch toward Dae-ho, as though the space between you two had silently shrunk. There was a warmth in his presence, something comforting amidst all the chaos.
The night was thick with silence, the occasional sound of heavy breaths or the muffled snores of the others filling the otherwise still air. Sleep was evasive. You lay awake, the anxiety of the next game gnawing at you, a constant buzz in your mind. It was like trying to guess the next wave of disaster, only to have it keep you from ever truly resting.
"Can’t sleep either?" A voice whispered from the bed to your left, low and soft.
You jumped, your heart racing as you instinctively slapped a hand to your chest. "Gosh, Dae-ho, don’t scare me like that," you sighed, the words half-teasing, half-serious.
He gave an apologetic grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement even in the dim light. Then, raising an eyebrow toward your bed, he gestured to the space next to you. You nodded, the corner of your lips curling into a small smile as you scooched over to make room. Without another word, he climbed down from his ladder, then up to yours, settling beside you with quiet grace.
You both sat in the dark, knees drawn to your chest, your backs leaning against the cold, unforgiving brick wall. You felt lucky to have a bed at the back of the bunks—it offered the illusion of safety, a small semblance of control in a world that had none.
“I have a sister,” you murmured, your voice softer than usual, almost as if you were telling a secret. "She’s 18."
Dae-ho nodded, his gaze drifting down to the worn-out uniform issued shoes he was still wearing. “I have sisters too. Four of them. All older than me. That’s why my dad made me join the Marines. Wanted me to... ‘toughen up,’ I suppose.”
You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. The sound of your breaths seemed to echo louder than usual, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was shared, almost intimate.
Slowly, your knee brushed against his. You paused, waiting for a shift, a moment of awkwardness. But it never came. Instead, his shoulder gently brushed yours, and the small, simple connection felt like a quiet promise. Your head tilted slightly, resting on his shoulder. You felt the tension leave his body, felt him relax just a fraction as his hand came to rest lightly on your knee.
"I... wish we could stay like this," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.
You smiled, the softest of sounds escaping your lips as you nodded, your forehead resting against him for just a moment longer. “Forever.”
He repeated the word softly, a quiet reverence in his voice. “Forever.”
You noticed then, in the stillness, that his finger had started to tap gently against your knee, the rhythm slow but deliberate. A subtle pattern. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. "Is that... morse code?"
His movements stilled instantly, and when he turned to look at you, there was a flicker of something you couldn’t place—a hint of nervousness, maybe even fear.
"Do... do you know morse code?" he asked, his voice suddenly smaller, like he was worried you might somehow decipher it.
You glanced at him, then back at his hand. The simple, almost childish rhythm of the taps seemed so out of place, yet so perfectly in sync with the quiet moments you shared.
You hesitated, feeling the weight of his words, before a teasing smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "No," you said, your voice soft but jovial. "Why?"
He looked down for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were weighing his next words carefully. Then, with a soft exhale, he stared at your knee, his finger resuming its rhythm.
“I,” he began again, tapping the first letter with deliberate slowness, “love,” he continued, each tap resonating against your skin like a heartbeat.
You could feel the weight of each letter as it sank into you, each tap bringing you closer to an unspoken truth. He paused, his fingers lingering for a moment before finishing the final word, and you already knew—knew what he was saying before the last tap even landed.
In this place, bonds were formed quickly, forged under pressure, either becoming unbreakable or twisted into something dark and dangerous. But this... this bond, you could already sense, was different.
You took a deep breath and, with a steady hand, completed the final sequence of taps on his knee. The air around you seemed to hold its breath as you finished, your finger resting softly against his skin.
His gaze was fixed on you, his mouth slightly parted, waiting for your response. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you looked into his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you felt far away. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and despite everything, you allowed it to settle into place.
"You."
You move closer, each subtle shift in position drawing you nearer, the air between you thick with anticipation. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his gaze, the unspoken tension palpable as your breaths mingle in the silence.
With every inch you close, the world around you seems to fall away, leaving only the soft beat of your hearts, echoing the unacknowledged yearning between you. His lips brush lightly against yours, the contact so delicate it almost feels like a dream, a teasing promise that hangs just out of reach.
You hover there, the barest touch igniting a fire you didn’t expect, as if the very act of waiting, of drawing this moment out, makes it all the more meaningful. Finally, with a quiet exhale, you close the distance, your lips pressing against his in a slow, deliberate kiss. It isn’t rushed, but filled with intention—a tenderness that speaks of everything you’ve yet to say.
The kiss deepens, slow and unhurried, each movement charged with a quiet intensity, as if your souls are speaking through the press of your lips, exchanging words you don’t need to say aloud. In that kiss, time seems to stretch, each second more profound than the last, a connection that is as much about the pause as it is about the embrace.
You slowly pull away, the warmth of the moment still lingering on your lips, but the quiet space between you now feels just as intimate. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to hold onto the softness of what just passed, before you gently settle back, your head finding its place once more on his shoulder.
You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, the solid presence of him grounding you in a way nothing else can. The tension in your body begins to melt, replaced by a sense of calm you hadn’t realized you were missing. You let out a soft sigh, the weight of everything you’ve been holding onto slipping away.
“Yeah, forever,” you whisper, the words feeling like a promise, a quiet certainty that somehow fills all the empty spaces in between.
He chuckles softly, the sound like a soft breath of relief, and you can hear the smile in his voice as it washes over you. The sound pulls a faint smile from your own lips as you close your eyes, and for a moment, there’s nothing left to do but just be.
The world around you seems to fade, the worries, the fears, the uncertainties, all slipping away with each steady breath you take. You both close your eyes, drifting back into the comforting quiet of sleep, the closeness between you settling into something deeper than you can quite explain.
The unsureness that had clouded your mind before feels distant now, replaced by a quiet peace that only he could bring. As long as you have each other, nothing else matters. In the soft cocoon of his arms, you let yourself fall into the safety of the moment, the weight of the world no longer pressing down on you.
You fall asleep with a heart full of quiet certainty, knowing you’re not alone in this, that the world can wait, as long as you have him by your side.
#squid games smut#squid game fluff#squid game#squid games#squid game season 2#squid game s2#squid game 2 spoilers#squid game netflix#kang dae ho#squid game x reader#gi hun#seong gi hun#young il#the salesman smut#the front man#hwang in ho#player 001#player 456#player 230#player 388#jun hee#myung gi#front man#in ho x reader#in ho squid game#in ho x gi hun#squid game front man
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you think often of how nurses should speak and relate to patients, and i highly appreciate knowing you put this kind of thought in and share it with other nurses. but as someone who often occupies the patient position, i'm curious if you have any thoughts on ways for patients to interact with nurses, when we are in decent enough control of our faculties to make choices about that. i would like this knowledge from both an altruistic perspective in recognizing nursing is difficult and not wanting to voluntarily make it difficulter, and a wholly self interested position of knowing nurses who like interacting with me give better care. what helps as a professional and as a person?
I'm surprised how much I had to think about this question. What do I want patients to do? I don't know. A lot of it is basic human decency, some of it is specific to my nursing workflow, but overall I find it complicated saying what patients "should" do. I cut out about 500 words of navel gazing from this post explaining why. Here are answers I've come up, in no order and not of equal importance.
--a lot of it is basic "polite interaction with another person in a professional setting." If you're asking this question, you probably care about treating people well in general. If you wouldn't say it to a barista, would you say it to your nursing tech?
--don't do joke answers to basic orientation questions like "what's your name" and "where are you right now", because it's annoying to have to clarify if you're actually confused or if you're fucking with me. I know they're annoying. Just answer correctly so we can move on.
--have some flexibility and patience. Hospitals have a lot of moving parts, and each person interacting with you has other patients that also need care. My hospital and state has mandated nursing ratios. The maximum amount of patients I've had in one assignment is five. Other hospitals have far less protection, and nurses may have six, eight, twelve other patients. Our respiratory therapists each cover multiple units. One CNA might cover the entire floor. I know if melatonin is the difference between you sleeping or not sleeping, it is very frustrating for someone to bring it late. I just ask you keep in mind that there's dozens of reasons that might happen besides someone ignoring you.
--help us help you. If you can lift your arm up for me to put a blood pressure cuff on, why are you holding your arm completely limp so it's like putting pants on a toddler than doesn't want to get dressed? If you can help roll yourself in bed, help us roll you. If your IV is beeping, hit the call light so someone can come turn it off. If you don't have urgency issues and you can tell you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon, call before it's an emergency. If your IV hurts when I give you medication at 8 pm, tell me then, not when I'm trying to give you your midnight antibiotic and all the evening staff have already gone home.
--if you don't understand how something works in the hospital (what happens when you hit the call light, how often are people going to take your vital signs, why can't I get up and walk around the room), just ask. It's really easy for people who work in a hospital every day to forget other people aren't familiar with it.
--don't treat doctors noticeably better than you treat everyone else.
--pet peeve number one: if I give you pills in a med cup, you can just use the med cup to get the pills to your mouth. You don't need to pour the pills into the palm of your hand and then pop them into your mouth. You're gonna drop the pills, and I'm gonna end up on the floor looking for a tiny tablet of dilaudid.
--bundle requests, especially low-importance ones. If you ask for crackers and you know crackers make you thirsty, just request your drink at the same time. Don't make me walk to your room, the nutrition room, and your room again ten minutes later.
--I don't expect people in the hospital to be pleasant all the time, and I don't take snappiness personally, but I always really appreciate the patients who apologize or even just acknowledge their behavior.
--I love patients who acknowledge my work. I don't need effusive praise or a thousand thank yous. It means a lot for someone to just be like "hey, thanks for your help tonight."
--have patience with repeating yourself. If you've got something important and complicated to convey, practice a quick understandable blurb that takes no brain power from you. There may be something that you've told the staff a dozen times, and it may be documented in your chart, but in the hospital you see many people who have never worked with you before and for whatever reason didn't read that info in your chart. For example, I'm a float pool nurse which means I almost never see the same patients twice. I can get sent to a different unit and a different patient load at literally any time. I can't familiarize myself with complicated documentation or read every nursing note. Especially not for patients I know I will only have for four hours. I know repeating yourself is annoying, I know it sucks to have to explain your bathroom routine or your preferred pain med or when you like to get pills or whatever every shift. And it's great when people make that information very easy to find! But if you just accept the reality you'll be repeating yourself a lot anyway, it makes doing so less frustrating.
--pet peeve number two: don't exaggerate to make a point. This is such a human thing to do, and god knows I catch myself doing it all the time, but you can raise objections in a way that's factually true. I've got a lot of concrete data that people are very often wrong when they say they're been "waiting for hours" after hitting a call light. The computer has a time stamp of the last time I was in your room. I know it was 45 minutes ago. There's a timer by the call light. I know you called twenty minutes ago. And I know it feels much longer when you are waiting for basic cares or pain control or anything pressing. Things can be unacceptable without needing to be exaggerated. When the exaggeration is the base of your complaint, it undercuts your credibility. Honestly I find it really irritating when I spend a disproportionate amount of my shift with one patient only for that patient to tell another staff member that I've been neglecting them. Just say I did a bad job, don't pretend I wasn't there at all.
--don't ask me to pull my mask down so you can see my face. like cmon dude.
--I'm not saying you have to send all your visitors out of the room when I'm there, I'm just saying have some sympathy for how nerve-wracking it can be to do your job while being intensely watched by five other deeply invested people with limited context for your actions.
--this is a nebulous and difficult one. You might have a lot of emotion that you don't know what to do with. What you shouldn't do with it is channel it into every interaction you have with a healthcare worker. If you feel guilty about how you haven't visited your mother in a while and now she's in the hospital, you gotta find ways to deal that don't involve getting extremely passive aggressive at your mother's night nurse.
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(via @aq2003)
I do generally agree with op’s point about queercoding villains in media; it hasn’t stood the test of time because with growing acceptance we’ve just come to see those characters as cunty or whatever. it kind of devalues what actually made that character a villain. however I have to lean more toward aq’s point here; I don’t think “taking the gay out of” richard would really work in this instance… because he’s not a villain?
I mean, he was a shitty king and an asshole, but the whole play kind of revolves around the fact that they humanized him by the end.
I’ve said it enough times and so has aq2003 here, but “the point” is that richard goes from unsympathetic to extremely sympathetic. not because he does some righteous action to warrant this change of heart, but due to the way shakespeare frames the narrative. he purposefully gives you an obnoxious bitch you should hate, but then doesn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing his downfall. instead, by the end, you’re left feeling sad for him.
I think it’s interesting to consider how that puts the queercoding in a slightly different perspective. shakespeare baits in the stereotypers with the stereotype, and once he’s got them where he wants them, hits them in the face with these raw displays of humanity. he forces them to confront the fact that, gasp, they are sympathizing with the queer character.
in a social climate (england ~400 years ago) where queerness was seen as nothing but sinful, richard ii subtly made the audience sympathize with a queercoded character!
the whole switch up also makes you stop and confront how you actually feel about the guy. all those reasons you thought you hated him, whether it be his arrogance, his pettiness, his fail twink swag; they don’t actually matter. after all, he didn’t get more sympathetic because he stopped being a gay little freak. he got more sympathetic as he lost power. the real problem was power.
while I agree that this doesn’t work as well for modern audiences because we probably like him a little too much right from the get go, I don’t think the modernized equivalent would be to make him a nepo baby, or a tory, or whatever. I don’t know about you, but if I saw a play that had the objective of making me feel bad for a tory, I would gift the playwright a box of my own shit in the mail. the play needs you to hate him at first, yes, but also to have the ability to sympathize with him by the end. and I feel like in this social climate, no one’s getting sympathetic for a republican.
am I making sense??? do you get what I mean?????
also there is something to be said about the fact that half the reason they deposed him in the first place was because he was too “queer”!! that’s a whole other angle of analysis in which him being queercoded is literally essential to the plot. but I’ll leave that analysis to someone else.
one last thing, though: let’s not forget, this is a historical play at the end of the day. you can’t really take queerness out of this story, because, drum roll, the real richard was probably a bit fruity! robert de vere is often named as a potential lover of his. this is still kind of debated, but even if it isn’t true, him being deposed for being too “queer” very much is. they literally didn’t like him back then because he was too “effeminate.” he tried to stop the war. he prioritized the arts in his court. he was born in france.
so I guess the real fail twink swag… was in our history books all along…
I know that Richard2Shakespeare is played as an obnoxious little twink for political and drama reasons (you’re telling me a queer coded this tragedy etc) and to let the actors chew the scenery a bit, and the indecisiveness is a tragic flaw that sets him apart from the clear penetrating masculinity of eg Bolingbroke etc etc. it’s great that there is a whole play about “the deserved downfall of cunty little maximalist who changes his Starbucks order 3 times with a huge line behind him.” However, I have forgotten what I was great revelation I was going to write here, so here are some richard2shakespeares I found while trying to remember
#i adore the terminology in this post#cunty little maximalist#little gay freak#fail twink swag#the subversive spookiness of the twink in torment#also#would you believe me if i said it’s 3 am and i’ve been writing and rewriting this post for 2 and a half hours#special interest is special interesting tonight#shakespeare#richard ii#shakespeare richard ii#queer coding#long post#shakespeare analysis#david tennant richard ii
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Hexes and Heartbeats (Ollie Bearman) ִ🪄 ࣪𖤐ִ ࣪
“Don’t flatter yourself, Bearman,”🔮 〜 ⁺ ̥ *
Synopsis: Y/N Browning, Slytherin’s top student, and Ollie Bearman, Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain, have always clashed. But when McGonagall pairs them up for a project, their rivalry turns into something unexpected. As they spend more time together, Y/N learns that letting someone in might not be so bad after all.
Genre: Slowburn, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers
AU: Hogwarts!au
Pairing: Ollie Bearman x Fem!Reader
Warnings: If being an asshole is a warning I’m putting that in.
Note: To be completely honest this was a random idea that came up because I was looking for F1 x Harry Potter fics and couldn’t find any, so I made my own? Anyways, I hope you guys nerd out to this because I miss the Hogwarts rabbit hole I used to go through in 2020. As always, don’t forget to like + reblog if you enjoyed!
The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as the Gryffindor Quidditch team entered for dinner, their victorious faces beaming from yet another win.
You couldn’t stop the sneer that tugged at your lips when your eyes landed on Ollie Bearman, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
Of course, he was the first to stand up and wave at the crowd, soaking in their adoration like a smug, self-satisfied lion.
Ollie Bearman. The perfect Gryffindor.
Everything about him annoyed you—from his flawless posture to the way he casually tossed his messy brown hair as though it were some kind of trademark move.
He wasn’t just a Quidditch captain, he was the golden boy, the darling of every Gryffindor. His confidence was unshakable, and it rubbed you the wrong way more than you cared to admit.
You rolled your eyes and turned back to your dinner, not sparing him another glance. But it wasn’t enough to escape the sound of his laughter as he shared a joke with his teammates, their boisterous voices filling the room.
You hated it.
You hated how effortlessly he commanded attention, how everyone just adored him for no reason other than the fact that he was a Gryffindor. You hated how he walked around like he owned the place.
That was when your friend, Isla, nudged you.
"He's looking at you," she whispered with a mischievous grin.
You narrowed your eyes, knowing exactly who she meant.
Ollie Bearman, no doubt enjoying the fact that you were sitting there fuming over his mere existence.
You didn’t even have to look up—he was probably grinning that cocky grin of his.
“I don’t care,” you muttered, stabbing your fork into your food. “He’s just some Quidditch-obsessed Gryffindor who thinks the world revolves around him.”
“Careful, Y/n," Isla teased, her tone mocking. "You wouldn't want to lose your cool in front of the Quidditch King."
You scoffed, too irritated to respond. Ollie Bearman had somehow managed to turn Quidditch into his entire identity.
He had that perfect, shiny Gryffindor arrogance—an arrogance that made you sick.
Later that evening, you found yourself at the Three Broomsticks with a few friends, attempting to unwind after a long week of academic stress.
You hadn’t expected to see him here. But of course, Ollie Bearman and his teammates stormed in, laughing and talking too loudly for your liking.
They sat at a table near yours, and you had no choice but to overhear the conversation. Ollie’s voice carried through the air, boasting about his latest victory.
“You should’ve seen the look on their faces,” Ollie said, grinning ear to ear. “We were unbeatable today. Another win for Gryffindor!”
The table around him laughed, and your irritation bubbled over. You couldn’t take it anymore.
"Must be nice, winning at a game that involves no real strategy," you called out, your voice cutting through the room.
Isla shot you a look of warning, but it was too late. The challenge had been thrown down.
Ollie’s gaze shifted to you, that familiar, infuriating smirk spreading across his face.
“Well, if it isn’t the Slytherin genius,” he drawled, his voice dripping with that all-too-familiar arrogance. “What’s the matter, couldn’t handle being in second place in the academic race?”
A flare of heat rose to your cheeks, but you didn’t back down.
“At least I don’t think winning a game with a broom makes me important,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair with a challenge in your eyes.
“Perhaps if you spent a little more time in the library and less time with your broomstick, you’d understand how real success works.”
A few of his teammates snickered, but Ollie didn’t miss a beat. He stood up, crossing the room toward you with a confident swagger.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure books are very important in your world,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned casually against your table.
“But in the real world, we have to do things to prove our worth. Not just sit around and read about them.”
You clenched your jaw, your eyes narrowing. “I’d rather be doing something productive than pretending a game about flying on a stick matters. You’d never understand the importance of intellect, Bearman.”
His eyes flashed with amusement, but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite place.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we, Browning?”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of sharp words, unspoken challenges, and ever-present tension between you and Ollie.
The rivalry was no longer just about House pride—it had become personal, a battle between two personalities that seemed destined to clash.
The days after the confrontation at the Three Broomsticks felt like a storm was brewing. Every time you crossed paths with Ollie Bearman, that same, infuriating smirk was plastered on his face.
As if you hadn’t already made it clear you couldn’t stand his presence.
You tried your best to ignore him, to focus on your studies and maintaining your position as the top student of your year. But every time you heard his laugh or saw his arrogant grin, the heat of frustration flared up again.
It was a cold afternoon when you found yourself once again in a situation where you had no choice but to deal with Ollie.
Professor McGonagall had just announced that the students of your year were being assigned to work together for an extra-credit project on magical creatures.
The task? Track down and document a rare and dangerous magical beast deep in the Forbidden Forest. The catch? Every pair had to be carefully chosen by the professors—and, of course, in their infinite wisdom, McGonagall had paired you with none other than Ollie Bearman.
You had tried to argue, but McGonagall had simply raised an eyebrow and told you, “This will help you learn how to work with someone outside your usual circle, Miss Browning.”
You had to bite back the sarcastic remark that was already forming on your tongue.
It wasn’t the first time you’d had to work with someone you didn’t like, but it was the first time you’d been forced into a group with Ollie.
When you met him at the edge of the Forbidden Forest the next morning, he was already waiting, leaning casually against a tree, looking like he had absolutely no concerns in the world.
His Gryffindor confidence was on full display, and you could already feel the annoyance bubbling in your stomach.
"Finally decided to show up, Browning?" he teased, pushing off from the tree and smiling like he knew he had won some small victory just by getting there first.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Bearman,” you snapped back, brushing past him without making eye contact. “Let’s just get this over with.”
He smirked, but for once, it wasn’t filled with that usual arrogance. There was something else in his eyes—something more playful, like he was daring you to rise to the challenge.
“I’m just here for the creature,” he said, “but I have to admit, working with you might make this a little more interesting.”
You turned to face him, glaring. “Let’s just get one thing clear. If you get in my way, Bearman, I will leave you here. I don’t need some Quidditch-obsessed Gryffindor to get this job done.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your defiance.
“You sure about that? I seem to recall your strategy didn’t go so well in the last encounter with a magical creature. Maybe you could use my help after all.”
Your teeth clenched. You remembered that disastrous incident in the classroom last week when Ollie had pointed out, in front of the whole class, that your spell had backfired, causing your potion to explode. He had never let you forget it, using it as ammunition in every argument ever since.
“You really are full of yourself,” you muttered under your breath, but Ollie seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons.
“Only because I know I’m better than you,” he shot back, his grin widening as you shot him a glare.
With no other choice, you set off into the woods, Ollie following closely behind, still full of his usual swagger.
As you ventured deeper into the forest, the atmosphere grew more oppressive, the shadows from the tall trees stretching across the path, thickening with every step.
You could hear the distant rustling of magical creatures in the underbrush, but Ollie seemed oblivious, happily whistling as though he was on a leisurely walk in the park.
“Stay focused,” you snapped, reaching for your wand. “This isn’t a game, Ollie.”
He finally stopped whistling, giving you a mock salute. “Aye, captain.”
You bit back a retort, knowing that any attempt to argue would only fuel his insufferable attitude. But despite your frustration, there was a small part of you that begrudgingly admired how easily he navigated the forest.
It was clear he had an innate sense of bravery, charging forward with little fear of the dangers lurking behind every tree.
Suddenly, a rustling sound interrupted your thoughts. You immediately raised your wand, ready for whatever creature might appear. But Ollie’s reaction was even quicker.
He darted ahead, using his quick reflexes to grab something darting out of the brush before you could cast a spell.
In a fluid motion, he captured a small, silver-winged creature in his hand, holding it out to you with a grin.
“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You blinked, stunned for a moment.
The creature he held was delicate, shimmering with magical energy. It was a rare species you had studied in class, but had never seen in person.
For a brief moment, you felt something other than annoyance toward Ollie. He had done something impressive. Something that actually required skill.
It wasn’t enough to erase all the bitterness you felt toward him, but it was a crack in the armor of your dislike.
“You’re not as useless as I thought,” you muttered, lowering your wand, though your tone was still clipped.
Ollie gave a soft laugh. “I can be more than just a Quidditch captain, you know. I do have a bit of brain in this head.”
You shot him a skeptical glance, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “Don’t get cocky, Bearman. We still have a long way to go.”
The journey continued with more shared silences and subtle exchanges of respect. Neither of you was willing to admit it, but something was shifting—an uneasy truce beginning to form as you ventured deeper into the forest, side by side.
As the day stretched on, and the deeper you and Ollie ventured into the Forbidden Forest, the more you realized just how much you were beginning to notice him.
Every sharp turn he made, every instinctual move to keep you safe—whether it was spotting a dangerous creature or grabbing your arm to pull you out of harm’s way—you couldn’t deny that there was more to Ollie Bearman than the smug Gryffindor captain you had loathed for years.
It made you uncomfortable, to be honest. You had built an entire narrative in your head about who Ollie was: arrogant, reckless, and obsessed with Quidditch.
But seeing him here, out in the wild, working as a team with you—granted, begrudgingly—you realized that you hadn’t really seen him at all.
“So,” Ollie began, breaking the silence, “what do you actually think of Quidditch, then? I know you think it’s pointless, but I’m curious. If you were the captain, what would you change?”
You turned to look at him, surprised at the question. It wasn’t like Ollie to ask about your opinion unless it involved him somehow proving he was better than you.
Still, you could see a shift in the way he looked at you—a more curious, thoughtful gaze.
“I think Quidditch is just a distraction,” you said, your voice guarded.
“It’s just... a game. People treat it like it’s the most important thing in the world, but at the end of the day, it’s just about winning and losing. There’s no real value in it beyond that.”
Ollie’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t seem angry. Instead, there was a spark of interest in his expression.
“So you think there’s no skill involved? That I’m just some distracted player?”
“No,” you corrected quickly, shaking your head.
“I didn’t say that. There’s skill, of course, but I don’t think it’s worth putting everything into. There’s more to life than flying on a broomstick and chasing a ball around.”
Ollie stopped walking, and for a moment, he was silent, almost as if he was processing your words.
You glanced over your shoulder, but his eyes were fixed on the ground, a thoughtful expression on his face.
The forest felt strangely still around you, the usual rustling of leaves replaced by the weight of the moment.
“You know,” Ollie finally said, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “sometimes I think you’re a little bit too serious for your own good. But I get it. You’re a Slytherin. You’re supposed to think everything else is beneath you.”
You bristled at his words. “I don’t think anything is beneath me. I just know what I want, and I don’t waste time on things that won’t get me anywhere.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your defensiveness. “Is that why you’re so... intense? So determined to always be the best at everything?”
The question hit a little too close to home.
You frowned, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
Ollie chuckled, that easy, carefree laugh that always seemed to get under your skin.
“Fine, fine. But you know, if you ever decided to relax a little... maybe you’d see there’s more to life than books and grades.”
You shot him a sharp look. “And maybe if you focused on something other than Quidditch, you’d realize there’s more to the world than winning games.”
Ollie’s smile faltered just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. He took a deep breath, eyes scanning the forest around you, and then gave you a sideways glance.
“Well, I guess we’re both just trying to prove we’re right about something,” he said softly, his tone a little less playful than before.
“Maybe that’s what makes us so similar.”
You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, still walking, but there was an odd sense of understanding in the way he held himself now.
“We both care too much about proving ourselves. You do it with your studies, I do it with Quidditch. We both put so much into what we’re passionate about... maybe that’s why we clash so much.”
You didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of you wanted to argue, to maintain the rivalry that had always defined your relationship, but another part of you—the part that had seen Ollie’s vulnerability for the first time—wanted to admit that maybe, just maybe, he was right.
Before you could say anything, a loud, eerie screech echoed from deeper within the forest.
The sound was enough to make your heart skip a beat, and Ollie’s expression shifted instantly into something more serious, more focused.
“That’s our cue,” he said, his voice now all business. “Stay close. It sounds like the creature we’re after.”
The next few hours passed in a blur of action. You and Ollie worked seamlessly together, your skills complementing each other in ways you hadn’t expected.
He was quick on his feet, fearless in the face of danger, while you used your knowledge of magical creatures to help guide your strategy.
There was a trust that had developed between you during the hunt, one that neither of you would acknowledge aloud, but it was there all the same.
When you finally managed to capture the rare creature and return to the castle, both of you were exhausted but victorious.
It was a rare moment of quiet between the two of you, standing just outside the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, the last of the evening light filtering through the trees.
Ollie turned to you, his gaze softer than you were used to. “Not bad, Browning. You might not be as insufferable as I thought.”
You smirked, still unwilling to admit how much you had come to respect him.
“You were all right too, Bearman. For a Gryffindor.”
He chuckled, that mischievous glint back in his eyes. “Guess you’ll just have to keep finding out how much more all right I can be.”
Your heart skipped in spite of yourself. It was infuriating, how easily Ollie seemed to get under your skin now.
You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the strange warmth in his voice, but something had shifted between the two of you.
And for the first time, you found yourself wondering—just for a second—if there was more to Ollie Bearman than just a Quidditch captain.
It had been a week since the Forbidden Forest trip, and the dynamic between you and Ollie had changed in ways you couldn’t quite explain.
While you were still far from friends, there was an undeniable shift. The tension that had once been a sharp, uncomfortable friction had softened into something that, though still fiery, was less about animosity and more about... understanding.
You found yourself meeting Ollie’s gaze more often than you cared to admit, and not in the usual confrontational way.
It was as if there was a silent acknowledgment between the two of you—the rivalry was still there, but it was starting to feel more like a game than a battle. And while you hated to admit it, you found yourself appreciating his quick reflexes, his unwavering determination.
He was more than just a Quidditch captain. He was actually... smart. Annoyingly smart.
But your thoughts were interrupted when Isla, your closest friend, cornered you in the library one afternoon, her eyes gleaming with the kind of curiosity you knew all too well.
"So," she began, a mischievous smile spreading across her face, "I’ve noticed something."
You looked up from your textbook, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "What are you talking about?"
"Don’t play coy with me," Isla teased, leaning in conspiratorially. "You and Ollie Bearman. Something’s... happening, isn’t it?"
You froze, the quill in your hand suddenly still. "What? No. I—" You stammered, trying to find an excuse.
"He’s just—he’s a Gryffindor. We’re working on a project together. That’s it."
Isla raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Sure. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other during dinner. You can cut the tension with a knife."
You leaned back in your chair, trying to collect yourself. "Isla, you’re imagining things. There’s nothing happening between us."
“Nothing, huh?” Isla’s grin widened, and she sat down beside you. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re not exactly hating him as much as you used to.”
You glanced around the library nervously. What if someone overheard? What if Ollie had been talking about the trip? What if your friends noticed the shift in your dynamic?
"Fine," you muttered, a bit too defensively. "Maybe he’s... not as bad as I thought."
Isla’s eyes lit up, and she leaned in even closer. "Ah, so there is something going on. I knew it!"
You scowled, pushing your book aside. "There’s nothing going on," you repeated firmly, though your tone lacked the conviction you had hoped for.
Before she could push any further, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind you.
You turned just in time to see Ollie himself walking through the library doors, his usual grin plastered across his face as he waved at you.
“Hey, Browning,” he called out in his typical teasing tone, strolling up to your table. “You surviving this mind-numbing assignment?”
Your heart skipped a beat. It had only been a few minutes since you had been talking about him with Isla, and now here he was, acting like everything was perfectly normal.
You glared at him, but there was a strange warmth behind your annoyance.
“I was,” you said coolly, “until you interrupted me. What do you want?”
Ollie smirked, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.
“Just thought I’d remind you that we’re meeting for the next part of our project later. Don’t forget. You know, it’s important to show up on time if you want to get the extra credit.”
You rolled your eyes, but something in his tone made you want to snap back with a witty retort.
"I won’t forget, Bearman. I’m not the one who’s too busy playing Quidditch to focus on anything else."
Ollie chuckled, clearly amused, and winked at you before turning to leave. "See you later, Browning. Try not to fall asleep on me, yeah?"
As soon as he was out of earshot, Isla grinned at you like a Cheshire cat. "Oh, it’s definitely happening."
You groaned and dropped your head onto your arms. “Can’t you just drop it already?”
Isla just laughed, her voice barely a whisper.
“I know you better than anyone, and something’s definitely changed. The way you two talk to each other? It’s not the same as before. Trust me, you’re not fooling anyone.”
The rest of the week seemed to drag on. You couldn’t shake the feeling that Ollie was always just a little too close—whether it was in the library, during classes, or even in the hallways after dinner.
It was as if your interactions with him were becoming less about the rivalry and more about something else entirely. Something confusing and... undeniably thrilling.
Then came the day when everything started to unravel.
You were heading to the Quidditch pitch with Isla after lunch when you ran into a couple of Ollie’s teammates, and much to your surprise, they didn’t give you the usual hostile treatment they reserved for Slytherins. Instead, they greeted you with an odd mixture of curiosity and amusement.
“Hey, Y/N,” one of them, Emma, said with a smile. “How’s the project going with Ollie? We’ve been hearing rumors that you two are getting along better than expected.”
You froze, unsure how to respond. Rumors?
“Yeah,” another teammate, Alex, chimed in. “It’s kind of hard to ignore how you two have been looking at each other lately. You two might actually make a decent team after all.”
Before you could stop yourself, your face flushed bright red, and Isla’s snicker didn’t help.
“What exactly are you all implying?” you demanded, though your voice trembled slightly.
Emma raised her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no need to bite our heads off. We’re just saying, you two don’t hate each other as much as you used to. You’re practically friends now. Or whatever this is.”
You couldn’t meet their eyes as you quickly excused yourself, your mind racing with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.
Were people really starting to notice? Were you actually starting to... like Ollie Bearman?
Isla shot you a knowing look as you walked away, and you knew you couldn’t hide the truth from her—or yourself—any longer.
The days after the encounter with Ollie’s teammates were a blur. It felt like everyone in school had caught wind of the fact that you and Ollie were spending more time together.
Even though it wasn’t true that you two were “friends,” it was starting to feel like something was changing.
The constant teasing from Isla and your classmates was starting to wear on you, but what bothered you the most was how often Ollie seemed to pop into your thoughts when you weren’t expecting it.
You could handle Isla’s teasing. She was your friend, after all. But it was Ollie’s subtle hints, the small gestures that seemed almost too thoughtful, that kept you off-balance.
Like when he saved you a seat at the Gryffindor table during dinner because your houses table was full or when he offered you his notes after class, claiming he had taken "extra care" to write neatly because he knew you’d appreciate it.
But you didn’t need to think about it. You had a reputation to maintain, and Ollie Bearman wasn’t someone you needed to be distracted by.
Still, every time you crossed paths with him, you couldn’t help but feel that strange flutter in your chest.
One evening, as the hectic exam season drew to a close, you found yourself walking down the hall toward the Slytherin dungeons, your mind occupied with thoughts of an upcoming project.
You hadn’t expected to run into Ollie that night. The hallways were unusually quiet, the only sound being the faint echo of footsteps on stone. But then you saw him.
Ollie was leaning against the wall just outside the entrance of your common room, his eyes scanning the hall with a kind of distracted look.
When he noticed you, though, his face lit up, and that familiar grin appeared.
“Y/N,” he greeted casually, though there was something different in the way he said your name this time. More familiar, less teasing.
You paused for a second, almost instinctively pushing your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” he replied without skipping a beat, his tone light but his eyes earnest.
“I was hoping we could talk.” You raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “Talk? About what?”
“About... us, I guess,” Ollie said, shifting slightly as though trying to find the right words.
“You’ve been avoiding me lately despite us being partners, and I get it. We’re not exactly the best of friends, but... well, I’m starting to think there’s something here.”
Your breath caught in your throat. “Something here? What are you talking about?”
Ollie pushed off the wall and took a step closer. You felt your pulse quicken, but you weren’t sure if it was from irritation or something else entirely.
“I don’t know, Y/N,” he continued, the words spilling out more earnestly now.
“For the longest time, I thought you were just some Slytherin who hated everything I stood for—Quidditch, Gryffindor pride, all of it. But recently, I’ve started to see... I’ve started to see you differently.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your mind raced. See you differently? What did that mean?
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Ollie continued, his gaze not leaving yours.
“How we’ve spent all this time bickering, but when it comes down to it, you’re actually—” he paused, searching for the words “—you’re actually kind of incredible. You’re clever, driven, and... I don’t know, I can’t stop thinking about how you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
You could feel your heart beating in your throat, but you weren’t ready to admit anything.
Not yet. Not with Ollie Bearman, of all people.
“You’re just saying that because you think I’ll help you pass the next exam, right?” you tried, your voice betraying more uncertainty than you wanted.
But Ollie shook his head, his expression serious now, and you could see the honesty in his eyes.
“No, that’s not it. This is... this is me. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I realized that I like being around you. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I think I’ve started to care about you in a way I didn’t expect.”
Your chest tightened. “Ollie...”
“I don’t know what this is, Y/N,” Ollie said, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I don’t want to pretend it’s not there anymore. I’m tired of pretending you’re just some annoying Slytherin I have to tolerate.”
You blinked, caught in the weight of his words. It felt like your world had shifted under your feet.
You had spent so much time hating him, convincing yourself that nothing could ever come of your rivalry. But now, standing in front of him, you realized how much of that was self-preservation.
How much of it was denial.
“Are you... saying what I think you’re saying?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Ollie stepped closer, his voice low. “I don’t know what you think I’m saying, but I think I’m saying that I want to find out what could happen between us. If you’re willing to take the chance.”
The hallway felt suddenly smaller, the walls closing in on you as your thoughts collided with each other.
You wanted to resist. You wanted to shout at him and remind him that nothing could ever happen between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. That your lives had always been dictated by competition, by rivalry.
But as you looked into Ollie’s eyes, the one thing that was undeniable was how real the emotion was in his gaze. How much he meant it.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you asked, finally breaking the silence.
“I am,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving yours.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The tension hung heavy between you, neither of you daring to break the silence, yet somehow it felt like everything was finally coming into focus.
You took a deep breath, swallowing the uncertainty. Maybe it was time to let go of all the reasons you had built up to keep him at arm’s length. Maybe there was something worth exploring here after all.
“Alright,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “I’m willing to see where this goes. But you have to understand something, Ollie. I’m not going to make this easy for you.”
Ollie grinned, his playful side creeping back into his expression. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
You took another breath, feeling the weight of the decision settle on your shoulders. But for the first time in weeks, you felt a strange sense of anticipation, a spark of something that had been there all along but was only now beginning to surface.
Something had shifted since Ollie’s confession, and while nothing had officially been said about your “status,” there was a new air of familiarity between you.
He no longer teased you with the same sharp edges, and his glances felt warmer, less challenging.
You couldn’t deny it: there was something comforting about the way he had started treating you—not like an opponent, but like someone he genuinely cared about.
Still, the adjustment wasn’t easy for you.
Slytherins weren’t exactly known for public displays of affection, and Gryffindors like Ollie seemed to have no problem making their intentions known to the entire school.
Which was why, when Ollie showed up outside your Potions class one afternoon, leaning casually against the wall in his Quidditch robes, you nearly froze in your tracks.
“What are you doing here?” You hissed, keeping your voice low as your classmates filtered out of the classroom, all of them throwing curious looks your way.
Isla, walking beside you, stifled a laugh behind her hand.
“Waiting for you, obviously,” Ollie said with that signature grin of his. “I thought we could walk to lunch together.”
You glanced around nervously, painfully aware of how many eyes were on you.
“Ollie, this is a Slytherin corridor. You’re not exactly... welcome, here.”
“Good thing I’m not afraid of Slytherins,” he replied breezily. “Come on, Y/N, it’s just lunch.”
Isla shot you a knowing look. “Oh, I don’t mind. This is fascinating. Please, by all means, walk her to lunch, Gryffindor hero.”
You shot her a glare before turning back to Ollie. “Fine. But don’t expect this to become a habit.”
Ollie’s grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As the two of you walked side by side through the bustling hallways, the whispers were impossible to ignore.
It wasn’t every day that the Gryffindor Quidditch captain was seen escorting the top Slytherin student through the castle.
You could feel your face heat up with every passing glance.
By the time you reached the Great Hall, you were ready to sprint to your table just to escape the scrutiny. But Ollie, completely unbothered, placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.
“Relax, Y/N,” he said softly. “They’ll get over it.”
“You don’t get it,” you muttered, your voice barely audible. “People are going to talk. They’ll think I’ve gone soft. I’m not used to... this.”
Ollie stopped walking, turning to face you. His hazel eyes were calm, steady.
“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle. “I know this is new. I know it’s not easy for you. But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to your friends, not to your house, not to me. Just... be yourself. That’s all I want.”
You hesitated, his words sinking in. For someone so brash and confident, he had a way of making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected. Slowly, you nodded.
“Alright. But if anyone asks, I’m still your rival.”
Ollie chuckled. “Deal.”
At that moment, a familiar voice interrupted. “What’s this?”
You turned to see Arvid Lindblad and Kimi Antonelli approaching, both wearing amused expressions.
Arvid, a Hufflepuff with a mischievous streak, crossed his arms. “Bearman, are you seriously ditching us for your Slytherin rival?”
Kimi, a Ravenclaw whose sharp mind matched his dry sense of humor, raised an eyebrow. “This is... unexpected.”
Ollie grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders with zero hesitation. “What can I say? She’s growing on me.”
You immediately ducked out from under his arm, your face burning. “Don’t push it, Bearman.”
Arvid burst out laughing. “Oh, this is great. I can’t wait to tell the rest of the team.”
“Don’t you dare,” Ollie warned, though he was still smiling.
From the Slytherin table, your friends, Isla and Hayley watched the scene unfold, their faces split into identical grins.
“You owe me five Galleons,” Hayley said smugly.
Isla groaned, fishing the coins out of her pocket. “Fine, but I still say she’s going to hex him eventually.”
By the time you and Ollie reached the Gryffindor table, you were convinced that everyone in the castle had seen you together. But as Ollie sat down beside you, his easy confidence never faltering, you realized something: you didn’t mind as much as you thought you would.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
After a few months of seeing Ollie, the day of the highly anticipated Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match arrived, and the castle buzzed with excitement.
The rivalry between the houses was infamous, and the stands were packed with students decked out in their respective house colors.
Green and silver banners clashed with scarlet and gold as chants echoed through the stadium.
You sat in the Slytherin stands, arms crossed, trying to ignore the pang of nerves bubbling in your chest.
Isla nudged you, smirking. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re rooting for Gryffindor today.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you snapped, though your eyes couldn’t help but wander to the field where Ollie was leading his team through warm-ups. His movements were precise, commanding, and frustratingly confident.
Focus, you told yourself. He’s your rival, and Gryffindor needs to lose.
As Madam Hooch blew the whistle, the match began in a frenzy of motion.
The Gryffindor Chasers darted through the air, their passes quick and seamless, but Slytherin’s Keeper was on form, blocking their shots with ease.
You found yourself gripping the edge of your seat, every play pulling you further into the match.
It wasn’t until halfway through the game that the tension really exploded.
Ollie, playing as Gryffindor’s Seeker, was locked in a tight race with the Slytherin Seeker, each of them diving after the Snitch.
The crowd roared as the two streaked through the sky, narrowly avoiding collisions with the other players.
“Come on, Ollie!” Arvid’s voice carried from the Hufflepuff stands, and you winced despite yourself. Don’t mess this up, you thought.
Then it happened. A Slytherin Beater sent a Bludger hurtling toward Ollie at a dangerous speed.
You watched in horror as he barely managed to dodge, his broom wobbling for a moment before he righted himself. But the distraction was enough—the Slytherin Seeker had gained the upper hand.
“No!” you gasped, earning a smirk from Isla.
“Interesting reaction for someone who’s supposed to be cheering for Slytherin,” she teased.
You scowled, but before you could reply, the Snitch was spotted again. This time, Ollie was faster.
He leaned forward on his broom, the determination on his face clear even from your spot in the stands.
The Slytherin Seeker was close behind, but Ollie’s outstretched hand closed around the Snitch just seconds before they collided.
The stadium erupted in cheers and groans.
Gryffindor had won.
As the teams landed, the Gryffindor players rushed to Ollie, lifting him onto their shoulders in celebration.
You stayed seated, watching as he grinned and held the Snitch aloft. The sight filled you with equal parts annoyance and something you couldn’t quite name.
When the crowd began to disperse, you made your way back toward the castle, hoping to avoid the inevitable gloating. But before you could slip away, a familiar voice called out behind you.
“Y/N! Wait up!”
You turned to see Ollie jogging toward you, still in his Quidditch robes and looking infuriatingly triumphant.
“What do you want, Bearman?” You asked, crossing your arms.
“To talk,” he said, falling into step beside you. “You don’t look too happy for someone who just witnessed an incredible game.”
“Why would I be happy? My house lost,” you pointed out, though your tone lacked its usual bite.
Ollie smirked. “Come on, I saw you watching me. You can admit it—I was pretty impressive out there.”
“You were reckless,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “That Bludger nearly took you out.”
He shrugged. “Part of the game. Besides, I knew you’d be worried about me.”
“I wasn’t worried about you,” you lied, your cheeks heating up.
Ollie stopped walking, turning to face you with that annoyingly confident smile. “You’re a terrible liar, Y/N.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but his expression softened, and he stepped closer.
“Look, I know this whole... thing between us is new. And I know you’re still figuring it out. But for what it’s worth, having you there today? It meant something. Even if you were secretly hoping I’d lose.”
You hesitated, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.
“I wasn’t hoping you’d lose,” you admitted quietly. “I just... didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it melted into a warm smile. “See? You do care.”
“Don’t push it, Bearman,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.
Ollie grinned, falling back into step beside you. “Alright, I won’t. For now.”
As the two of you walked toward the castle, the tension of the match faded into the background, replaced by something softer, something that felt almost... natural. And though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you were starting to think that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind having Ollie Bearman by your side.
Epilogue:
The days when you and Ollie were sworn rivals felt like a lifetime ago, though the memory of your endless bickering still brought a smirk to your face.
Somehow, against all odds, you’d gone from exchanging biting remarks in the hallways to sharing late-night conversations by the fire.
It wasn’t a change you’d ever expected—or even wanted—but it was one you couldn’t imagine undoing.
Your dynamic hadn’t exactly mellowed.
You were still Y/N Browning, Slytherin’s top student, sharp-tongued and fiercely independent. And Ollie was still Ollie Bearman, Gryffindor’s golden boy with that infuriatingly confident grin.
The difference now was that the teasing carried a warmth it never had before, and the rivalry had softened into something that only strengthened your bond.
Take today, for example.
The castle was buzzing with activity as students bustled through the corridors, preparing for their final exams.
You were perched at a table in the library, surrounded by stacks of books and meticulously written notes.
The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink, a comforting sort of chaos that you thrived in.
“Still studying?” Ollie’s voice broke through the quiet, his tone laced with mock exasperation.
You glanced up to see him leaning against a nearby bookshelf, his Gryffindor scarf askew and his hair as messy as ever.
“What does it look like, Bearman?” you quipped, returning your attention to your notes. “Not all of us can wing it and still pass.”
“Hey, I don’t wing it,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from you. “I’m just naturally brilliant.”
You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re naturally lucky, which is not the same thing.”
“And you’re naturally stubborn,” he countered, reaching across the table to pluck one of your notes from the pile. “Come on, Y/N. Take a break. You’ve been at this for hours.”
“I can’t afford to take a break,” you said firmly, snatching the note back. “Unlike you, I have standards to maintain.”
Ollie chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I know. That’s one of the things I like about you. But you’re allowed to breathe, you know. Even Slytherin’s top student can take fifteen minutes to eat a chocolate frog.”
You sighed, finally setting your quill down and meeting his gaze.
His hazel eyes were steady, the teasing light in them replaced with something softer. You hated how easily he could do that—disarm you with a look.
“Fine,” you relented. “Fifteen minutes. But if my grades suffer, I’m blaming you.”
“I’ll take the risk,” he said with a grin, pulling a small package from his bag and sliding it across the table. It was a chocolate frog, just as he’d promised.
You took it reluctantly, your lips twitching upward despite yourself. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“I’ve been told,” he said, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you open the wrapper.
Moments like these had become your new normal. He knew when to push and when to step back, and you were learning to let your guard down—at least for him.
You were still fiercely independent, still determined to prove yourself to the world. But with Ollie, you didn’t feel the need to constantly defend your place.
He saw you, respected you, and never tried to change you.
It wasn’t always easy. There were still moments when you snapped at him or bristled at his easygoing nature, and there were times when his relentless optimism made you want to scream. But somehow, those differences only made your connection stronger.
He challenged you in a way no one else could, and you liked to think you kept him grounded.
Your friends had grown used to the sight of you two together, though the teasing hadn’t stopped.
Isla called him your “Gryffindor puppy,” and Arvid had taken to mimicking Ollie’s voice whenever you defended him.
Even Kimi, with his usual deadpan humor, had joked about how the universe might implode from the sheer improbability of your relationship.
But you didn’t mind. Because at the end of the day, when the library emptied and the castle grew quiet, it was Ollie who walked you back to the Slytherin common room.
It was Ollie who stayed up with you during late-night study sessions, bringing snacks and pretending to care about your advanced Arithmancy notes.
It was Ollie who, somehow, had become the one person you didn’t mind letting in. And as you sat across from him now, watching him steal one of your notes and grin when you scolded him, you realized something important.
You hadn’t changed for Ollie Bearman. You were still yourself—strong, driven, and fiercely Slytherin.
But you had softened for him, in a way that felt like growing rather than shrinking. And for once, you didn’t mind letting someone see the cracks in your armor.
“Alright, Bearman,” you said, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “You win. I’ll take a break.”
Ollie’s grin widened. “Finally. I thought I’d have to resort to drastic measures.”
“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, though your voice was lighter now.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his gaze warm.
And just like that, the world felt a little brighter.
© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.
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