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hederasgarden · 3 months ago

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Overcome

Summary: You soon discover that your husband is far from the cool, reserved man that you imagined him to be. Pairing: Friedrich Harding x F!Reader Word Count: 2.3K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU (the reader is Friedrich’s first and only wife), oral sex (f receiving), inappropriate use of a confessional booth, sex in church, inexperienced reader, and Friedrich being ravenous. A/N: Come join me in getting excommunicated from the Catholic church with this fic. I have not seen Nosferatu so I am working solely on vibes and TikTok edits regarding Friedrich’s character. Big thanks to @ryebecca and @otaku-girl-ao3 for their help with this! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist

From behind your veil, you watch your new husband gaze back at you. The light filtering through the stained glass of the church window casts an ethereal glow on Friedrich’s face, making his eyes seem impossibly blue. Your hands tremble in his, the warmth of his touch seeping through the delicate lace of your gloves, a steady heat that contrasts with the coolness of the air. As the priest drones on Friedrich’s thumbs move comfortingly over your knuckles.

In the front pew your father watches the two of you, a faint, pleased smile on his face. For years he’s sought a respectable match for you, even as each season passed and you grew older, your prospects narrowing the longer you remained unattached. Now, with Friedrich, he’s found more than he could have hoped for. This marriage will bring your family wealth and connection, elevating them further.

To have the love your parents share would be a blessing, but you know better than to expect it. From what little you know of your new husband, he seems reserved in both his opinions and actions. He has not grown his father’s shipping empire by giving into passion or whims, but from steady, calculated decisions. He is a man who will be a reliable provider for you and the children you will eventually share. Perhaps, in time, you will find the steady, calm companionship most of your peers have with their husbands.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest announces, bringing you back from your thoughts. "What God has joined, let no man put asunder."

Friedrich smiles, his lips curving beneath his thick mustache, and you return the gesture with a quiet, uncertain one of your own. He releases your hands and gently reaches for your veil, lifting it to reveal your face. His other hand rests lightly on your waist. Your throat tightens, and your lips part to draw an unsteady breath, bracing yourself for a quick press of his lips to yours. But instead, he cups the side of your face and kisses you deeply. His mouth lingers on yours, the feel of his velvety soft lips and the tickle of his mustache sending a rush of something hot under your skin. When he pulls back, his lips hover millimeters from yours for a beat before the slow, steady hum of the church’s organ swells and he straightens.

He takes your hand again, his grip firm and warm as he leads you away from the altar. As you step into the sunlight, white petals drift through the air, swirling around you in a soft, fragrant shower. The laughter and cheers of your friends and family fill the air as they shower you both with well wishes. You expect Friedrich to guide you toward the waiting carriage that will carry you to the reception, but instead, he turns, leading you back toward the cathedral. At your questioning look he gives your hand a comforting squeeze.

“The reception will be busy. I thought perhaps you might appreciate a moment for just the two of us.”

The thoughtful nature of the gesture makes your heart swell and you nod. He ushers you inside, ahead of him and your eyes strain to adjust to the dim light of the now-empty cathedral. Friedrich guides you down a narrow side aisle, leading you to a quiet corner where the old wooden confessional stands. When you turn to face him you're surprised to find him so close to you.

"Forgive my lie," he breathes, lifting his hand to gently brush the back of his fingers against your cheek. “I wish to have more than a moment alone with you.”

You take an automatic step back, unused to having a man so close. Friedrich glances over his shoulder before following, gently herding you toward the door.

“Herr Harding,” you say, your voice tinged with alarm.

“You are my wife,” he corrects, his tone firm but not unkind. “You should use my given name.”

“Friedrich…”

The sound of his name from your lips has him inhaling sharply, his gaze locking onto yours. You watch him run his tongue over the bottom of his lip, a gesture that makes your pulse quicken.

“I have thought of you often during our courtship. Perhaps more than I should admit,” he tells you quietly. “Your beauty, your piety… they have transfixed me. But I must know,” he pauses, the intensity in his expression startling, “have you thought of me?”

A flutter of shame tightens in your chest as his words stir memories of the thoughts that would come when it was late and you were alone. How they would wander to what lay beyond the carefully cultivated distance of formal courtship. Of what a man and wife might do together. Now, faced with his direct question, you find you can’t meet his gaze. Friedrich seems to sense the unspoken truth easily, his sharp eyes seeing everything you wish to hide.

“You have,” he says with a pleased smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Tell me, what have you thought about, little wife?”

It is difficult to compose yourself when he is so close and you find yourself staring at the fine lines of his coat. When the silence lingers too long he places a finger beneath your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Please do not make me…” you beg. “It is shameful."

“We are in God’s house,” Friedrich reminds you softly, his gaze briefly flicking to the crucifix hanging above. “To lie here...it would be a sin.”

You swallow hard and squeeze your eyes closed.

“I have thought…” you begin, the words feeling heavy on your tongue, your heart pounding in your chest, “of your lips. Of how they would feel on mine.”

The rustle of clothing tells you he’s stepped closer. His breath falls warmly across your brow, and the clean, powerful scent of his aftershave envelopes you until it feels as though he’s the only thing that exists.

“Were they as you imagined?” he asks.

You nod, hands twisting together as your body seeks a way to channel your anxious feelings.

“What else?” he prods.

Your breath hitches, and you look down, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. “Your hands…” you stammer, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Y-you have long, lean fingers.”

A heavy, pained sound escapes his chest, an almost imperceptible groan that makes you glance up, alarmed. His Adam's apple bobs with a visible swallow and he seems to struggle with himself before his hand moves slowly to rest lightly over the hollow of your throat. Your chest heaves as his fingers trail down to trace the delicate edge of your bodice, goosebumps following in the wake of his touch. A shuddery gasp leaves you when they dip beneath the lacy fabric of your wedding gown, touching you where no man has before.

“And how do you find them?” he asks, sounding strained.

You mean to answer him, to speak the words that are caught in your throat, but to your utter embarrassment, all that slips out is a wanton whimper you didn’t know you were capable of making. The answering sound Friedrich makes twists your insides pleasantly and you shake, hands curling into fists at your side.

“I am sorry, my love, but I fear I can resist you no longer."

The moment the words leave him, his lips are on yours, swallowing your quiet little gasp of surprise. You touch his chest, as if to push him away but then his tongue sweeps into the warmth of your mouth, and you freeze. The wood of the confessional creaks as he leans his weight against you, the back of your head cradled by his hand. His thumb presses into the soft skin beneath your jaw, urging you to lean back. When you submit, his lips trail down the side of your throat. A deep groan escapes his chest, its vibrations spreading across your skin.

Over his shoulder you stare at the status of the Virgin Mother, her solemn eyes seeing all as she stares down at you from her perch. A cold rush of guilt and shame sweeps through your body. You push at Friedrich’s shoulder, your voice growing thin as you try to recapture your husband’s attention.

“Please. We cannot,” you remind him, even as desire swirls inside your own body.

“You would not deny me this, would you?” he questions, drawing back. When you hesitate, his expression softens and his hands frame your waist. "We are married," he says, his voice steady and sure. "There can be no sin between a man and his wife."

You blink up at him, torn.

"Please," he implores, his gaze filled with such raw need and desire that it forces a single, jerky nod from you.

With a suddenness that startles you, he shifts, guiding you into the confessional itself until the back of your legs hits the seat, and you sink into it. The door rattles shut as he blindly reaches to close it. You've been here a hundred times before to confess your sins to God, but now it’s Friedrich who kneels before you. The touch of his hand at your ankle is electric, and even though every part of you knows this is wrong, you do nothing to stop his hand from climbing higher.

“I only wish for a taste,” he assures you, though you do not understand his meaning. “Will you deny your husband?”

You shake your head, the quiet "no" barely escaping your lips, yet it’s all the permission Friedrich needs. His hands guide yours to lift the heavy fabric of your skirt until your lower half is exposed to him. Cool air blankets your skin and you startle when his hands settle on your knees. He gently pries them apart, his head tilting to the side as he studies you intently. When you try to press your legs together he stops you with a tsking sound and heat floods your face. You have never been so exposed.

“My sweet wife,” he praises, “there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Friedrich urges you to move forward until you’re balanced precariously on the bench. On instinct, your hand falls to his shoulder to steady yourself. He watches you through dark lashes, his mouth parted as he takes slow, shallow breaths. Then he dips his head between your thighs and a warm puff of air washes over the most intimate part of you. Your eyes round as you come to understand his intent and he responds to your scandalized gasp with a chuckle, the vibrations sending a delicious curl of heat through your belly.

At the first touch of his tongue to your sex, the air in your lungs seems to evaporate. It’s all you can do to make a desperate little sound that seems to encourage him to repeat the action. Your fingers tighten around the bunched fabric of your dress and you whisper his name while he eagerly devours you. His tongue moves so relentlessly in its quest that you can’t help but squirm away.

To hold you in place, Friedrich wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you even closer to his face. Over the volume of your skirts, all you can see of him is the back of his head. You wonder how he can possibly breathe, especially with the way your thighs hug his head and your hips seem to move of their own accord. The thought lingers for only a moment before the beginning of a shaky feeling growing inside your chest eclipses it.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, your hand slapping against the wall of the confessional.

His attention shifts higher, circling some central point that makes your vision go hazy. The sweetest kind of pleasure rolls over you in waves, filling every part of you with warmth. Still, Friedrich keeps up the relentless movement of his tongue, an obscenely loud groan escaping between the wet sounds he draws from your body.

“Please, Friedrich, oh please,” you moan, unsure if you wish for him to continue or stop.

To your relief he makes the decision for you, drawing away, his chest heaving. Through half-lidded eyes, you see the flush his skin carries and the way his blue eyes remain firmly affixed between your splayed legs. You want to hide from his gaze but your thighs shake and you feel weak all over. Friedrich passes a trembling hand over his mouth and finally looks at you.

You stare back at him, caught between a rush of shame and an overwhelming, undeniable longing. Gently, he takes the fabric from your hands, draping it over your bare legs. Your fingers throb from how tightly you’ve clutched it.

"You did well, my darling," he murmurs.

His praise soothes your anxiety and you let him help you rise. You stand as still as you can, fighting an unexpected tremor in your legs as his steady hands ensure every detail of your appearance is returned to its proper state. Once he’s satisfied, Friedrich grasps your trembling hands and he smiles, bringing them to his lips.

"We should go greet our guests," he tells you. "Though..." He pauses, as if weighing his words, then shakes his head. "No. You deserve better."

“Better?” you question.

“Yes, my love. Because God forgive me, I want nothing more than to take you right here and now.”

His brazen words startle you and you don’t resist as he guides your hand to cup a hardness at the front of his breeches. Your fingers flex curiously and he groans, jerking into your touch. Through your lashes you watch him as you repeat the gesture, earning a breathy little moan from him that makes your stomach tingle pleasantly.

"We must go," he says, sounding strained.

"But…. we can do this again?" you ask hesitantly.

"Every night if you let me," he responds. He kisses you fiercely, an unfamiliar tartness lingering on your tongue as he pulls away. "Every morning. Every moment you allow it. I cannot resist you, my love."

♡

My inbox is open for any requests regarding Friedrich.

#friedrich harding x reader #Friedrich harding x you #Friedrich harding #nosferatu #aaron taylor johnson

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xhopelesslyromanticx · 1 year ago

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Delusional - Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader

Masterlist

summary: In which the internet once again is fooled by your slightly overdramatic side. Rumors about Lando dumping you circulate but luckily the Mclaren driver is just as delusional as you are. Social Media Au

y/nfewtrell

Home

liked by kellypiquet and 60‘797 others

y/nfewtrell in my feelings bruh

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maxfewtrell did you take my hoodie?

y/nstans what why????

user567 sense a breakupppp

f1islife stunning

arthur_leclerc *plays taylor swift

user345 arthur what do you know

y/nandlan Lando didn’t like?!

user567 see his post? he seems completely unbothered

user898 Landos too good for her anyw

f1gossip you sound bitter

user787 i just always had weird vibes from her

f1gossip we‘ve met y/n and she‘s literally an angel

y/nfewtrell thanks means a lot

landonorris

liked by maxfewtrell and 567‘897 others

landonorris how I try to entertain

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user687 such a hottie

f1fans someone say unbothered cough

georgerussell63 I thought you were on a diet?

alex_albon he‘s abt 4ft tall he doesn’t need a diet

mclaren next week we back to veggies

f1lover wheres the missus

user789 y/n doesn’t attend most gps she goes to university

f1fans yeah but so do Alex and Kika yet they seem to be way more supportive

user789 I‘m sure shes supportive just maybe also focused on her on career?

y/nstans y/n not liking landos post has me scaredddd

maxfewtrell looking smug

landonorris thanks bestieeee

maxfewtrell

Paris

liked by landonorris and 123‘890 others

maxfewtrell took the little nugget to paris @y/nfewtrell

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user578 she‘s so cute

f1lover peeping the papaya phone case

norrisandme yes also Lando liked! they goood

y/nfrance we met her yesterday and she seemed fine

arthur_leclerc the nugget in the big city

y/nfewtrell miss you archer

f1gossip my fave friendship

user787 why is she already flirting with guys when the rumors aren’t comfirmed

maxfewtrell oh god if you think y/n can flirt you‘re in for suprises

y/nfewtrell thanks maxie :) loved the trip

team_quadrant let’s go to Brazil!!!!

f1gossip

liked by user676 and 12‘899 others

f1gossip You guys know we normally don’t cover anything realitionship releated but it looks like Lando and Y/n are going through some crisis. She appeared on a tiktok crying after a series of mysterious tweets and instagram posts. Neither her or Lando have yet confirmed the rumors. But she has been absent from his likes and vice versa.

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user676 she’s making it obvious

f1fans cloutchaser?

y/nstans shut up

landonorris @y/nfewtrell care to explain missy

y/nfewtrell no i dont care to, peace out

user676 omg they commented

norrislove they clearly are clowing y‘all

maxfewtrell the woman cries like twelfe times a day and people still wonder?

landonorris twelfe is a little much, ten maybe eleven

y/nfewtrell I have my reasons this time!

y/nfewtrell

Austin Texas

liked by charlottesine and 234‘890 others

y/nfewtrell my lanlan. I formally apologize for being a lot to handle sometimes. I do love you more than words could even get close to explain. Thanks for being the best boyfriend and bestfriend. Thanks for pretending I‘m 21 forever.

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landonorris my world, anything for you 🧡

y/nfewtrell love youuu

maxfewtrell disgusting

maxfewtrell we all know she aint 21, plus he’s MY bestfriend

f1gossip we stan an overdramatic queen

charlottesine power couple

y/nfewtrell thanks chacha

user787 how annoying all that for such a petty reason

f1fans right i was relieved he had dumped her ass

y/nstans sad people you are, she clearly makes him happy

arthur_leclerc happy 21st I guess ;)

landonorris whats with the wink you twat

f1user y/n control your mans

landonorris

liked by f1 and 1‘124‘799 others

landonorris happy 21st birthday to the most beautiful 21 one year old I know. I love you so much eventhough your overdramatic soul makes people assume we broke up every couple of months. I love you my angel.

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user676 21!?!?

f1gossip look at y/ns post

f1lover they have me dead

charles_leclerc isn’t she-

arthur_leclerc shut up charlie

maxfewtrell tell them!

y/nfewtrell thanks bean. I love you more.

maxfewtrell bean? cringe

kellypiquet such a beautiful girl

f1gossip so the whole drama reallly was bc she doesn’t wanna turn 22 hahaha

user67 she‘s truly overdramatic

f1 we love a supportive and delusional king

mclaren like a true gentleman Mr.Norris

maxfewtrell

Sao Paulo

liked by oscarpiastri and 123‘788 others

maxfewtrell happy 22nd second you LIAR, never thought Lando would go as delulu as you. Love you nugget.

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shizumi123yuki · 4 months ago

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“Tiktok Trend”

Simon “Ghost” Riley as your anonymous husband on social media.

Summary: You as a popular influencer shares the snippets of your life with your “mysterious” husband, Simon Riley, on TikTok.

—————

It started as a harmless hobby. Your TikToks, cute little glimpses of your life, had quickly turned into a whole vibe. Over 500K followers. You were in your element, and your fans loved the behind-the-scenes look at your life with Simon. Of course, Simon didn't know everything you posted. Some moments were just for you—and a bit for your followers, who were obsessed with your mysterious husband.

Simon wasn't the easiest person to get on camera, and you respected that. He worked in a world where anonymity was crucial. He'd warned you multiple times: "Don't post my face, love. You never know who's watching." You'd always agreed, filming around his face, never quite catching the glimpses you so desperately wanted to share. But his back muscles... his strong hands... his easy grace as he moved around the kitchen. Those were the things you had to share.

One of your most popular TikToks was of him cooking dinner, his back flexing with each motion, his strong shoulders shifting as he chopped vegetables. You weren't subtle, your focus clearly on the way the muscles of his back moved under his t-shirt.

"Look at him," you whispered to the camera, "I think i have a crush on my husband." You knew your followers were dying to know more about him, and you kept teasing them with bits and pieces—never too much, always keeping Simon's identity a mystery.

You knew he hated trends. But the “A boy who’s jacked and kind” trend had been all over your feed. It was cheesy, sure, but Simon had that perfect mix of strength and gentleness. His muscles were made for it, and his soft smile, the one he reserved for you, was nothing short of divine.

"Come on, Simon," you begged, sitting on the kitchen counter as he cooked. "Just once. Do it for me? Please?" You pouted, trying to force him.

He was stirring a pot, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over his shoulder at you. "What’s that supposed to be?" He raised an eyebrow.

"It’s a trend. You pick me up and I sit on your shoulder." You grinned, pushing your luck. "It’ll be cute, and your fans will love it."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You’re kidding, right? That’s cringe."

You tried to play it off, but inside you felt a little twinge of disappointment. “It’s not that bad,” you teased, but you could see he wasn’t having it.

He shook his head, muttering something about how ridiculous it all was. “You know what? Never mind.” You hopped off the counter, sulking, your mood deflating like a balloon.

——————

For the rest of the evening, you couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment. It wasn’t just about the trend. It was that Simon, your husband, the man who shared so much of his life with you—his quiet moments, his fierce protectiveness—was so closed off about this one thing. It was the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t understand why these little things mattered to you.

You wanted to show him off. Not in a superficial way, but because to you, he was perfect. The way he moved, the way his presence filled the room, the way he cared for you—it all felt special. You wanted to share it with the world, yes, but more than that, you wanted him to let you. You wanted him to feel comfortable enough with you, with the relationship, to just let go of his guard for a second. But when he shot down your request, it felt like another wall had gone up.

When you climbed into bed that night, you pulled the covers up to your chin, staring at the ceiling. You felt a pang in your chest that had nothing to do with the trend and everything to do with how distant he seemed, even though he was right there next to you. You could feel his warmth beside you, but the space between you felt too wide, too heavy.

Simon didn’t push you. He let you stew in silence for a while. You thought maybe he'd let it go—maybe it wasn’t that big a deal. But as you were drifting off, you felt the familiar pressure of his body against yours, his chest gently nudging your back.

His breath was warm on your neck as he whispered, "You mad at me?"

"Not mad," you mumbled, trying to sound unaffected. "Just... tired."

He didn’t buy it. "You are mad, love."

You tried to ignore the tightness in your throat, swallowing it down. "I’m not sulking."

But he knew better. He always did.

His hand reached for you, pulling you closer, his voice a little softer now. "Come on. Im sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you."

The way he said it made your heart ache. You could hear the frustration in his voice—the way he always wanted to fix things, to make things better. But in that moment, you didn’t need fixing. You needed him to see you, to understand why it stung so much when he brushed off something you’d thought would be fun, something you’d hoped would bring you closer.

"I know im being childish but..i just feel like..you don’t want to do things with me, i just want us to feel closer." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Simon paused, his hand going still on your waist. You felt his weight shift as he processed your words, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, he sighed, a low sound of frustration mixed with something else—regret?

"Alright, that’s it." His voice was firm, but there was tenderness to it too. Without another word, he pulled you up by your waist, gently but firmly, and before you could even react, you were standing in front of him.

"Hey!" you yelped, your feet barely touching the floor as he took your phone off the nightstand.

"Shh," he said, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Im gonna do this one for you. And I’m not asking you for anything in return." His voice softened, but there was determination behind it. "You’re not gonna give me that attitude anymore, yeah?”

You blinked up at him, confused and surprised as he turned the camera app on, angling it just right. He didn’t give you time to argue as he stood behind you, his big hands slipping to your waist and effortlessly lifting you into the air.

“Simon!” you squealed, your surprise morphing into laughter. But he didn’t even grunt, didn’t show any sign of exertion as he carried you, your legs hooked over his shoulder, his hands firm on your thighs. His arms were like iron, holding you in place without any strain.

“There,” he grumbled, his voice low and steady as he looked into the camera. “Happy now?”

The sight of him, so effortlessly strong, holding you in such an intimate yet playful way, made your heart flutter. But it wasn’t just the physical act—it was the fact that he was doing this for you, even when he thought it was cheesy. He was giving you that small piece of him that you’d wanted all along: his trust, his willingness to indulge you, even when it wasn’t his thing.

You couldn’t help but smile, a genuine smile this time, one that you hadn’t felt all day.

"You look cute when you’re being a softie," you teased, unable to hide the affection in your voice.

Simon didn’t respond with words—he just smiled to himself, a rare, soft smile that made your heart melt. “Yeah, yeah. But only for you.”

(URGHH THIS MADE ME SMILE WHILE WRITING THIS🥹‼️)

#simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #fem reader #simon riley x you

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wosospacegirl · 10 days ago

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Stuck with you - part 4

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: lesbians failing at normal conversation, one (1) suspicious ankle, and Y/n pretending she's fine when she is clearly not fine.

Word count: 6k

The morning after dinner came too fast. Y/n had barely slept, her brain stuck replaying every awkward second of dinner.

She wanted to cringe every time she remembered the whole flower episode–the way she had panicked when she thought the flowers were for her. How Olga kept glancing at Y/n and Kika with a knowing grin on her face.

Y/n hated how dinner had slipped out of her control. She hated even more that she… maybe liked it? Somehow?

It was nice having Kika over. She was easy to be around, even though both Kika and Y/n were still pretty much awkward as hell. It just felt…nice.

After dinner, Kika offered to help Y/n clean the dishes while Olga was taking care of Alexia’s wounded knee.

Y/n passed Kika a dish towel without looking. “You really don’t have to help, you know.”

Kika shrugged, taking the plate from her hands. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

They worked in silence for a bit–just the sound of running water and plates clinking.

“Dinner was good,” Kika said, a little shy. “I mean… the food. And the vibe.”

“The vibe? You mean Olga attacking Alexia’s bad knee or..?” Y/n raised an eyebrow at her, skeptical.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Kika said. “She seems very caring.”

Y/n glanced over. “Yeah, aggressively caring.”

Another pause. Kika was drying a fork that had already been dry for like, ten seconds too long. Y/n noticed but didn’t say anything.

“I still had fun,” Kika said after a beat, setting the fork down and leaning against the counter, suddenly very interested in the dish towel.

Y/n hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. Me too.”

They stood there for a second too long, not saying anything. Y/n opened her mouth like she might add something, then closed it again.

“Um, you make good pasta, by the way,” she said, looking down.

Y/n blinked, confused. “I… didn’t make the pasta.”

“Oh. I–Olga said you did.” Kika’s face immediately flushed.

They stared at each other for a second. The silence hung there, weird and uncertain, like neither of them knew what to do with it.

What the hell would Olga say something like that to Kika? Y/n wasn’t even aware that the dinner was happening? Y/n knew Olga was up to something.

Y/n finally shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Well, good to know I’m getting credit for things I didn’t do.”

“Still… It was really good.” Kika let out a quiet, nervous laugh

Y/n handed her another plate without looking. “Yeah. Olga’s like…annoyingly good at everything.”

Another beat of quiet passed.

“I liked it,” Kika added, softly.

Y/n didn’t say anything back. But her shoulders eased just a little.

Maybe dinner wasn’t bad for every member of the Putella’s household after all. Well… maybe just for Alexia. And possibly her kneecap.

Two days had passed, and Y/n and Kika shared a few polite interactions, just some shy greetings across the pitch, no ice cream date. Not that Y/n was actually expecting Kika and her to go out, of course not!

They didn’t even have the time for that. An El Clásico was coming– and it was Kika’s debut. Kika and Y/n were on the starting eleven. They didn’t have time to…eat ice cream.

Y/n could very well buy ice cream if she wanted to and eat in her room. But she wouldn't do that, it would be pathetic.

She kept quiet through breakfast, letting Alexia and Olga talk over her head about formations and press conferences, as Y/n usually did when it was match day.

Her body moved almost on autopilot: eating, packing, walking into the team bus, focused on the game ahead of them. Jana and Vicky called Y/n to sit with them in the back of the bus to film TikTok, but Kika was there too, smiling. Y/n knew she was going to get distracted.

She couldn't allow herself that.

She had a big day ahead of her. She needs to be great. And for that to happen, she needs a strong headspace. So that’s why she sat by Alexia's side.

It was good to sit with Alexia.

She didn't try to make small talk or give unsolicited advice, instead, she simply shared one of her earphones with Y/n, letting the music fill the silence between them.

It was like an unspoken moment between her and Y/n that showed that their bond–even if a little difficult sometimes–was still there. It grounded Y/n. It was one of the few occasions where Alexia’s presence felt calming.

Y/n was confident, really.

But as the bus neared the stadium, Y/n could already feel her chest tightening again. The vehicle stopped and the girls walked out of it, right into the chaos of the stadium tunnel, where the usual anxiety of a match crept in.

The energy before a clásico was always palpable.

There were reporters and journalists around, flashing their faces with their cameras and absurd questions. Fans who screamed loudly enough to give Y/n and the other girls a headache. And security guards that barked and shoved the players, trying to protect them from the most energized fans.

Y/n’s boots echoed off the floor as she made her way to the locker room. Her jaw tight, focus narrowing.

No one tried to talk to her. They used other more closed-off demeanor before any big games.

There was no room for distraction now. Not dinner. Not Kika. Not even Alexia’s watchful eyes.

Just the game and only the game.

Y/n stood in front of Kika as Barcelona’s team lined up in the tunnel, waiting to be called onto the pitch. She had her eyes pinned on the back of Aitana’s head, trying to focus.

Y/n didn’t like the ambiance of the tunnel.

Her mascot’s hand was far too sweaty. The Real Madrid players were puffing out their chests, trying to act tough, which only irritated Y/n.

Somewhere behind her, she could hear hushed whispers–probably Ona and Salma–carrying all the way to the front of the line.

There was too much going on.

It was always too much before a game. No matter how hard she tried to focus, the chaos around her felt overwhelming. She felt like she always had to put on a show whenever she stepped onto the pitch.

Estrella.

La princesa.

Mini Alexia.

The Barcelona fans always chanted when they saw her, screaming loudly as she ran across the pitch, ball at her feet, defenders left behind.

She couldn’t make mistakes.

Focus. She needed to focus.

Her heart was beating fast, and her breathing was uncomfortable, not enough air in her lungs.

That always happened. That uncomfortable feeling–the heaviness on her chest that made Y/n feel like she was slowly being crushed to the ground.

She held her fist tight, trying to ground herself, until a squeaky voice

made her snap out of it,

“Ouch! You’re hurting my hand!” said the little boy by her side–her mascot.

He had a pout on his face, almost like he’d just been betrayed because Y/n had held his hand a little too tight.

Y/n might have felt bad if he hadn’t practically announced it to the entire tunnel. Now all eyes were on them.

“Oh, perdó,” [Oh, I’m sorry] Y/n said, letting go of the boy's hand, feeling embarrassed for having all heads turned to them.

“I don’t wanna go with you anymore!” said the boy, half yelling–again.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Y/n said, lowering herself down just so she was the same height as the boy. “It won't happen again, nen [boy].”

Y/n reached for the boy’s hand again, but he quickly pulled away from her. “No! I had told my mami I wanted to go with Alexia, not you! And now you hu–”

“Hey little man, how are you?” Kika had knelt to the ground beside the boy, putting an arm around his shoulder. “Can I see your hand? Is it hurting?”

Y/n watched as Kika talked to the boy, almost as if soothing him. Kika did it so easily, like soothing a nervous kid wasn’t even a bother.

Y/n noticed that Kika, even though a little shy, was good at talking to others, at doing small talk and making people feel comfortable and reassured. Y/n wondered how she could do that.

It was just like dinner, a few days better. She answered all of Olga’s questions with ease, and didn't seem starstruck like most new girls were with Alexia.

But when it was just Y/n and Kika? It was like neither girl knew how to hold a conversation properly.

Still, Y/n admired Kika, she was good at socialising. It was a skill Y/n wished she had been born with, because she was surely not developing it well. People always called her cranky, even when she was still a kid; she just never had the patience for small talk and meaningless conversations.

Kika had just moved to a new country and she didn't speak the same language as her. She was about to debut for a big club…and yet she seemed calm.

While Y/n could barely breathe, standing in a familiar tunnel.

In the end, the boy refused to be Y/n’s mascot. Deciding to hold Kika's other hand. So Kika had two kids, and Y/n had zero. Zero mascots.

Maybe next time, she’d try not to crush a child’s bones.

“Sorry,” Kika whispered to Y/n, pointing her chin at the boy. “I tried to make him go with you, I even offered some candy”

“It’s alright,” Y/n smiled, for the first time that day, “I didn’t think he was very kind.”

“Hey, I’m right here, ma’am,” the boy said, sticking his tongue. “I’ll tell my mami you hurt my hand.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “You can tell your mami to s–”

A very sound ran through the tunnel.

The classical signal to the player to enter the pitch.

Y/n forgot the boy right away.

She was going to nail this game.

...

The match had been going on for 30 minutes. Kika had already been tackled three times. Three. And the ref had done absolutely nothing. Not even a warning.

But the moment Kika got too close to Madrid’s number 8? Straight yellow. No fouls before. No prior warnings. Just a card.

Y/n felt rage spiking in her chest. She hated injustice, especially now with Kika’s debut. She barely touched the girl and got a card? It's completely unfair.

So she started shadowing number 8. Not very subtly, Y/n wasn’t trying to hide her intention behind it; she was pressed against the girl, giving her light shovings whenever the ball was close to her.

If Y/n could mark number 8, then Kika would have more freedom to run and make passes to the other girls. Y/n wasn’t worried about Kika herself, of course, she was worried about the team.

If it were any other girl being this marked up by other players, Y/n would definitely do the same thing…maybe just not with the same enthusiasm.

Y/n kept close to number 8, but when she turned around to get the ball and Ym tackled her, the referee gave Y/n a warning.

Y/n rolled her eyes and backed off slightly.

But she stayed very much alert. Watching for gaps. Watching Kika. Watching everyone.

As a defender, she needed to read the game better than anyone. Especially when the people in charge refused to play fair.

But of course, Y/n wasn’t the only player who had–as Alexia said a million times –an aggressive play style.

Ona had made a pass to Y/n–it was quick, sharp. Y/n was just there to redirect it to Vicky or Pina, who were a few meters away. Y/n didn’t even need to ruin it, just one touch would’ve been enough.

But another player, number 6 from Real Madrid–Whose name Y/n couldn’t be bothered to remember– tackled her. Hard.

The tackle wasn’t clean, and it was very much unnecessary as Y/n was standing still, very far away from Real Madrid goal. Number 6 took the ball with her, as well as Y/n's ankle.

Y/n hit the ground face-first, a hiss escaping her lips as her ankle throbbed. Her hands dug into the grass, jaw clenched as she heard the crowd–Real Madrid fans cheering, Barça fans booing.

“Hey, amiga,” Ona’s voice came through, calm but concerned. “That was dirty. Want me to call the medics? The ref blew the whistle already.”

Ona knelt beside her, placing a steady hand on Y/n’s back as she helped her turn over and sit up. Her ankle didn’t look injured. They never did right after an impact–the worst came after.

But the pain was growing, creeping up her leg and almost reaching her shin. She’d twisted it badly. One week off, minimum. But there was another Madrid match coming soon. She couldn’t miss it. So she breathed through it.

The other girls came over, Alexia, Irene, Aitana… and Kika.

They all looked at her the same way: worried. Like they didn’t think she’d be able to continue. Like they already knew it and were calculating how many weeks off she would get.

Y/n hated that. Hated being looked at like she was…fragile.

So she forced herself to stand. She bit down a whine as her foot hit the ground, hiding the tremble in her knee. Ona instinctively grabbed her arm, and Aitana caught the other, helping her stay upright.

“I’m calling the medics,” Alexia said, already waving toward the bench.

Y/n was faster. She dropped Alexia’s arm “No, Ale. I’m good.”

“Good?” Irene echoed, sounding incredulous. “Estrellita, she almost snapped your ankle in two. I saw it.”

“Guys, really,” Y/n said, pointing at her ankle as she moved it side to side. It hurt a lot, but she faked a confident smile. Then she took three shaky steps forward. “See? Fine.”

Alexia pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Nena, if you feel any pain, you ask to be subbed off. No…. heroics, ok?”

“Yes,” Y/n said quickly. “Don’t worry.”

“Let’s make it 3–0 for us, yeah?” Y/n added, eyes already locked on the scoreboard.

2–0 for Barça.

Her game face was back on, the player in her settling in neatly.

Y/n wasn’t sure if it was the placebo effect, the adrenaline, or if she was simply such a good liar that even she believed it, but the pain was gone. Or at least, it felt like it.

She didn’t feel any pain when she sprinted down the right side of the pit to make a pass to Alexia, who sent the ball shooting into the net. And definitely not when she passed to Ona, who sent the ball flying to Irene, who then set Patri up perfectly for another goal.

The locker room was completely buzzed with laughter and half-sung chants. The 4–0 win over Real Madrid felt like a party already, but somehow, the girls had more energy to burn.

Y/n was seated on the bench, unlacing her boots, when she glanced across the room and saw Kika.

Kika was leaning against her locker, eyes crinkled in a laugh at something Vicky said, her jersey sleeves pushed up as she tossed her hair back. She looked so at ease. Like the tension from the game had never happened.

For a second, Y/n thought Kika might turn around and look at her. Maybe smile.

But she didn’t, being too caught up in her conversation.

Y/n looked away before anyone noticed she was watching.

The girls kept talking, singing, happy about their victory.

That energy didn’t end after they gave interviews, or after they made some media content for Barcelona and, in the case of Vicky, Jane and Salma, filmed a TikTok.

So of course, the barça girls had to commemorate even more.

“Bar tonight!” Patri said, tugging her jersey over her head and putting on a clean t-shirt. “Who’s on?”

“Yes!” Irene said, phone already in hand. “Just gonna let Lucia know I’ll be late.”

Y/n, still seated on the bench, unlaced her boots slowly, as all the girls agreed to Patri’s idea.

Just one person didn’t say anything, and she could feel the bullying starting.

“I’m gonna skip,” Y/n said in a low voice, not even looking up, because she knew she was going to be met with a lot of hopeful eyes staring at her.

A chorus of groans followed immediately, and Y/n had to let a chuckle out. They were so dramatic whenever it came to ‘team bonding time’.

“Come on, that’s like the third time in a row,” Vicky whined from across the locker room, Jana nodding aggressively as she agreed with her. “You’re boring.”

“You never go out,” Ona added with an exaggerated pout. “We can’t just see each other on the pitch!”

“Sorry,” Y/n replied, her usual dry tone, the fake smile on her face making it even more sarcastic.

“You’re the lamest 19-year-old I know,” Pina chimed in, throwing in a towel at Y/n, who let it land on her hand before tossing it to the floor.

“You know you’re going to die one day and won’t have any stories to tell, right?” Jana said, more like a warning, pointing a finger at Y/n as if it were a prophecy.

“Oh, and what stories and memories are you guys creating tonight?” Y/n asked, lifting her eyebrows. “Because the last time I went out, Marta choked on the fries because someone,” Y/n gave Patri a judgmental look. “Challenged her to see how many fries she could chew at the same time.”

The girls tried to talk back, but they really didn’t have arguments, so they just rolled their eyes at Y/n while others just laughed it off.

One by one, the team started to leave. The buzz faded with the slamming of the locker room door, and soon, only Alexia and Y/n were left behind.

Y/n kept unlacing her second boot slowly, aware of the silence that was creeping in. She didn’t have to look up to know Alexia was still there.

"Nena, ets molt antisocial," Alexia’s voice came through–not stern, but amused. “You always say no.”

“I’m always socially tired,” Y/n replied, almost whining.

“They’re starting to take it personally,” Alexia said, grabbing her game bag.

“They’ll survive, I’m sure,” Y/n said, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

“They might not,” Alexia added, letting her hair down from the ponytail. “Well, Vicky might not–she looked like she was about to cry.”

That made Y/n roll her eyes, but she smiled. She missed that, those teasing moments with Alexia that felt like siblings messing around.

When Alexia wasn’t acting like her mom, or the strict team captain, she was actually cool and funny.

Though to be fair, Alexia’s captain persona never really turned off. And it didn’t know either.

Her gaze dropped, quick and instinctive, noticing the way Y/n’s hands were clamped tightly around her ankle. The way her foot was angled–awkward, tense, like she was trying to find a position that didn’t make her flinch.

She still had her right boot and sock on, so Alexia couldn’t see the swelling or the bruising that had already started to bloom. And Y/n was determined to keep it that way.

“You alright?” Alexia asked, her voice softer now.

“Yeah. Just sore.”

Alexia raised a brow. “Like, ‘sore I’ll be fine tomorrow,’ or ‘sore I don’t want the physios to see’?”

“Sore like I just need to ice it when I get home,” Y/n said, too casually.

“I think you should see the doctors,” Alexia pressed. “I’ll take you. They can do imaging just to be sure.”

“No, Ale.” Y/n shook her head. “I’m fine. I swear.”

“That player stepped on your ankle. I watched it happen—I can’t see how you’re ‘fine.’”

“The same way you were fine when you twisted yours two months ago!” Y/n snapped, then immediately regretted it.

Alexia deadpanned. “I was literally out for two weeks.”

“…Okay. So maybe not exactly the same way,” Y/n muttered, shifting her weight. “Now go. The girls are waiting for you.”

Alexia gave her a long look but let it drop. “Alright. I’m going. But Olga’s home–maybe you two can order something in for dinner”

“Will do.”

“And please put ice on it,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “Actually, I’m texting Olga to leave everything ready so you can prop your ankle up.”

“Ale–stop.” Y/n groaned.

“Is it a crime to care for you now?” Alexia asked, halfway teasing, but she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

“You are not ‘caring for me’,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes. “You’re hovering.”

“No estic,” Alexia said, a little too quickly. “Només estic... preocupada. Una mica.” [“I’m not. I’m just... worried. A bit.”]

“--But I’m trusting you not to be an idiot and downplay this,” she continued, more serious this time.

“I’m not! I won’t!” Y/n said, forcing a smile, trying to convince her.

Alexia lingered with her hand on the doorknob, her back to Y/n.

“You’re sure?” she asked, quieter now. “You’ll ice it? Real ice, not frozen peas like last time.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Yes. Promise.”

Alexia turned just enough to narrow her eyes at her, like she was this close to calling the physios behind her back. She took a breath.

“Okay. I’ll let you off this time,” she said. “But only because I know Olga will give you more shit about it than I ever could.”

The door shut behind her.

Y/n waited. Waited until she didn't hear Kika's shoes anymore, then peeled her sock down.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Her ankle was already swollen, a deep purple bruise creeping up the side. It throbbed with a dull ache now that the adrenaline had worn off. She hissed under her breath and grabbed her water bottle, pressing it to the skin in place of proper ice.

Just ice. Just rest. She’d be fine.

It was just sore. She could walk. Limping was still a form of walking. She had iced worse things.

She would just take some anti-inflammatories, smear some cream on it overnight. Tomorrow, she’d tape it up and keep going.

She was halfway through pulling her sock back up when—

“Whoa.”

Her heart jumped into her throat.

Kika stood frozen in the doorway, the same clothes she wore when they first got to the game. A grey sweater, white shirt underneath and baggy jeans.

“Sorry…I forgot my–” She trailed off, eyes glued to Y/n’s ankle.

“That looks… kind of bad.”

Y/n straightened instinctively, tugging her suck up too fast.

“It 's nothing.”

“It’s… purple.”

“I have poor blood circulation,” Y/n said dryly.

Kika blinked. “Right.”

Y/n looked away, busying herself with her bag. “It’s just a bruise. It’ll be fine by morning.”

Kika didn’t say anything right away. She stood there, shifting her weight awkwardly, clearly unsure if she should stay or go.

“It doesn’t look like anything,” she said eventually.. “But–I mean, maybe you know your body better.”

“Yes, I do,” Y/n clenched her jaw, not liking the sudden attention to her injury. “You can back off, no need to worry.”

Kika shifted her weight from one foot to the other, like she wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to.

Y/n sighed. “Sorry.”

Kika blinked, a little surprised.

She took a small step forward, then stopped again.

“I’m not trying to… I’m not judging or anything. I just saw it and–the other girls said it was minor, so I didn’t expect it to look…purple.”

“It’s just…” Y/n shook her head. “Long game.”

Kika gave a small nod. “Yeah. It was a big one.”

She hesitated. “Your first,” Y/n added quietly, eyes still on her sock. “You played well.”

Kika smiled, almost sheepish. “Thanks.”

She lingered a second longer. “And… Thank you for marking the players for me. I noticed it, and well…for tracking back when I lost the ball during the first half.”

She pressed her fingers into her ankle a little harder than necessary, just to distract herself from the warmth creeping up her neck.

“Yeah, of course. I’m a defender. That’s my, hm… job.” Y/n’s ears burned. She cleared her throat.

Kika’s smile widened a little. “Well… you’re very good at your job.”

Y/n glanced at her quickly, as if to see if she was being made fun of. But Kika

“Have you booked with the physio at the club yet?” Kika asked, gently, but with purpose. Her eyes flicked down to Y/n’s leg again. She clearly wasn’t ready to drop it.

“No. That won’t be necessary,” Y/n said, not looking at her. She slid her ankle behind her gym bag so Kika wouldn’t see it anymore. “It’s feeling better already.”

Kika clearly didn't believe Y/n.

“Is it because of the upcoming game? The other one against Madrid?”

Y/n watched Kika, her eyes soft, not with judgment, just concern. Y/n looked down at her poor ankle and nodded.

“I just wanna play–FIFA dates are coming up and I need to stay on the squad,” Y/n said, in a small voice, as if she didn’t like to admit it.

There were a lot of good Spain players who could easily fit her position on the squad, it was a very competitive selection. That’s why so many players with double nationality sometimes chose not to represent Spain, because their chances of getting in were slim.

Y/n didn’t have any other option, though, so she had to be good, excellent even. If she were out for a few weeks, there was a big chance of not getting called because of minutes.

She needed more minutes. More games. More experience. She needed to show them she was worthy of being called again.

Y/n had been in a few share of seniors games, but she always thought they were going to be their last, so she never slacked. Always gave her best,

“It looks bad, though,” Kika said again, pulling Y/n out of her thoughts.

Y/n’s jaw tensed, just slightly.

“It’ll get better,” Y/n said, too practiced as if she was saying it to herself, so she could believe it.

“Hm. If you say so.” Kika said hesitantly, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Y/n didn’t look at her, instead focusing on the zipper of her gym bag. “Yeah.”

“Can you keep it in between us, though?” Y/n asked, eyes on the floor still. “Just–while it heals…it won’t take long, two days max.”

Silent.

“I just don’t want Romeu to bench me now,” Y/n continued, blushing on her cheeks as she realised that she was asking Kika to do something that wasn't really nice. “Just…two days, Kika.”

There was silence again, this time way too long.

Y/n finally looked up.

Kika’s face had shifted slightly. Her eyebrows were drawn together, her lips were tight. Her eyes flicked down again to the ankle Y/n had tried to hide behind her gym bag. Then back to Y/n’s face.

Y/n didn’t say anything else. Didn’t push or soften the ask. She just waited, pretending she wasn’t watching Kika carefully.

Y/n hated to see how uncomfortable she looked, but it made sense; she had just been handed a secret she clearly didn’t want to hold.

They looked at each other, and Y/n felt her stomach twist.

Kika shouldn’t have walked in, not when her ankle was on full display; it looked okay-ish when her sock was covering it. A little swollen, but nothing more than this.

Kika finally gave a small nod–barely noticeable.

But her body language didn’t match. Her shoulders were very tense. She looked like she wanted to say she wasn’t sure. That she didn’t want to be put in this position. But she said nothing.

But Kika wasn’t like the other players. She still stood a little too straight sometimes, spoke a little too politely, like she wasn’t sure how far she was allowed to go yet., Like she was still trying to figure out her place on the team.

Y/n felt a flicker of guilt.

Y/n was feeling like the bad guy for asking a teammate not to snitch, and it felt worse because the teammate was Kika, and Kika was sweet and caring, and she didn’t deserve to be put in this situation.

But this was about her career. The next call-up, the next game, staying relevant. She needed the minutes.

Y/n pulled her hoodie over her head, trying to shake off the weird feeling creeping in her chest.

“I’ll be fine.” Her voice was low, firm, meant to end the conversation.

Kika fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

“I have to go,” she said finally.

Y/ne expected her voice to be snappier now, but it wasn’t, it was gentle, still soft.

“Jana and Vicky are waiting.” She continued, pointing at the door. “They said they want me to drink sangria.”

Y/n forced a smile, but it barely made it to her eyes.

“Oh. Yeah.” Y/n’s voice was quieter now, trailing off into something smaller. “Have a good time… and don’t trust Jana with the sangria,” the corner of her mouth tugged up just a bit. “Vicky’s got better taste.”

Kika lingered at the door before offering Y/n a small smile, her gaze staying a second too long on Y/n.

And then she turned around, the door clicking shut behind her.

Y/n still felt the weight of Kika’s gaze. It wasn’t harsh or judgmental, it was concerned. The same one Alexia gave her, but more…tender.

Y/n exhaled, long and slow, and ran a hand down her face. This is what it felt like to be perceived? Y/n surely didn’t like it.

Y/n looked around and noticed Kika didn’t take whatever it was that she came back for.

She looked at the cubby to her left, a water bottle was there; the Portugal sticker gave it away about who it belonged to.

Y/n stared at it for a moment and bent over on the bench to pick it up. She turned it over in her hand, the water was warm now. The girl carefully placed it inside her gym bag.

Then she pushed herself up, only to suck in a sharp breath as pain ran through her ankle. Her fingers immediately reached for the bench again to steady herself.

Okay. Maybe she’d need more than just ice.

She changed slowly, trying to avoid putting pressure on the ankle as she took her gym bag and Kika’a water bottle.

Alexia probably still had some painkillers in her bedside drawer.

Hopefully, Olga had left the freezer stocked, too.

“Ai, la meva nena”, Olga said as soon as Y/n walked into the house. Alexia had really texted her about Y/n’s ankle because Olga had a pack of ice and a towel waiting for her. [Oh, my girl].

Y/n didn’t even have time to drop her bag before Olga was already there, arms open, the ice in one hand and the towel in the other.

Y/n accepted the hug stiffly. No matter how many years she had been living with Olga, she would never get used to her sudden moments of affection. Y/n only pretended she didn’t like it, though. Olga was a very good hugger.

Olga had probably taken what she called ‘premium shower’ because she smelt like strawberry, a body wash she only used on special occasions.

Y/n tried her hardest not to limp. Olga might not be a physio or a football expert, but even she knew that if someone was limping after hours of hurting their ankle, then it wasn’t a minor injury.

Olga was the snitchiest person ever. She would tell Alexia in a heartbeat. They were loyal to each other like that.

“Ale said a player stomped on your ankle? Sí?” Olga urged Y/n to sit on the sofa as she pulled her phone, probably letting Alexia know Y/n was home already.

Olga put her phone down on the coffee table while Y/n took off her shoes, but not her socks, even though the pressure made it worse. Olga couldn't see the state of her ankle, or else she would drive Y/n herself to the closest orthopedist.

The bruising had deepened. It was darker now, the swelling higher up the side.

“She didn’t stomp,” Y/n said casually, putting her shoes to the side and letting Olga put the ice over the towel on her ankle. “Alexia’s being dramatic.”

Y/n winces slightly when Olga rubbed the ice back against her ankle. But she tried to hide it with a yawn.

Olga looked at her, eyebrows raised, not buying it. But she didn’t push. Just sat next to her, tucking her legs beneath her,

“I don’t think I would use the word dramatic to describe Ale,” Olga said.

Y/n held the bundle to her ankle. The cold stung, and her toes curled instinctively.

“I would,” y/n mumbled, putting her head back against the sofa cushions. “She is a helicopter parent and she isn’t even a parent.”

Olga laughed, a soft snort. “She’s almost a parent,” she said, winking at her. “At least with you.”

Y/n scoffed, but it came out quieter than she meant it to.

She wasn’t annoyed. Not really. Not even at Alexia. The truth was– her chest felt warm at that.

Y/n would sometimes feel like the odd one out when it came to Alexia, Olga, and the whole Putellas family dynamic. Like she didn’t truly belong. As if she were just someone they kept around out of obligation or pity or… god knows what.

But here–now–feeling Olga’s gentle presence beside her on the couch, listening as she asked about the match, then about what they should order for dinner like it was the most natural thing in the world… Y/n felt like family.

The feeling only grew stronger when Alexia video called mid-conversation, her face appearing on Olga’s phone screen with a worried crease between her brows.

“Let me see it,” Alexia said without preamble. She was clearly at a bar, Y/n could barely see her face, and her voice came out muffled from the sound of the Catan music playing.

Y/n rolled her eyes and lifted the injured foot, sock still on, ice pack balanced over the top. She pointed the camera like it was a piece of evidence. “There. Happy now?”

Alexia smiled, clearly relieved. “I’ll be back in just over an hour.”

“Oh, please stay longer,” Y/n said, teasing. “Olga and I are finally getting a chance to watch TV–the one you’re always hogging and never let us touch?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “You have a TV in your room. And Olga and I have one in ours too. Don’t be dramatic.”

Y/n grinned. “Living room TV is different, though.”

Alexia tilted her head, amused. “How exactly?”

“It just is,” Y/n said with a shrug, sinking deeper into the couch. “Better sound. Cozier vibe. Feels more communal.”

“Okay, you two keep on watching your…communal TV” Alexia rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. “Text me if any of you need anything.”

She let her smile linger and nodded, but as the call ended, the tension in her shoulders didn’t.

There was a small, guilty part of her that hoped if she played it light enough–joking and teasing and casual–Alexia might not press further.

That maybe, just maybe, acting normal would keep things from Alexia noticing how much in pain she was.

And Y/n wasn’t ready for that.

Notes: Please tell me if you guys liked it <3

Tag list in the comments.

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #kika nazareth x yn #kika nazareth #kika nazareth x reader

325 notes · View notes

dixons-sunshine · 7 months ago

Note

If you’re taking requests: I saw an edit on TikTok of Daryl and Merle. It was Merle hitting on the reader and it uses the “would you look at the time, I’ve gotta get home and sleep with your brother” audio, I was wondering if you could do a fic, even a short one, with that kinda vibe / theme.

If your request aren’t open, just stopping by to say I love your page ❤️

The Great Escape | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Merle Dixon made no secret of his interest in you, making you aware of that with his vulgar comments. However, you had no interest in him, and he just couldn’t seem to accept that. Thankfully, Daryl was there to help you out, even if your accidental slip of the tongue could have potentially pissed the older Dixon off.

Genre: I don’t really know.

Era: Pre Apocalypse.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive innuendos towards the end.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/N: I love that sound on TikTok. It’s hilarious to me. I hope this is an okay attempt at that sort of vibe! This was written in under an hour so this could potentially not be that great. And thank you so much, my love 💜.

The need to escape increased with each second that ticked on the metaphorical clock. You continuously shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you prayed to whatever higher entity was listening that you could flee from the awkward predicament you were unwillingly partaking in. You kept checking the time on your watch, wishing that the small metal object that rested snuggly around your wrist could help you vanish from the comments Merle Dixon was making towards you.

It was no secret to the man in front of you that none of the women in the bar you worked at liked him. Each night, like clockwork, the Dixon brothers rolled into the bar, and as soon as the older one even lays an eye on one of the female bartenders, vulgar comments gets spewed left and right. And at that particular moment in time, you were the target of Merle’s objectification.

“M’tellin’ ya, girl. I ain’t never seen anyone with an ass that bounces like yers. S’enough to make any man hungry to see more,” Merle drunkenly slurred on, leisurely sipping on his beer as he leaned against the counter top. If he leaned any closer, he would be able to peer down your shirt, and that knowledge made you uncomfortable.

“Um... Thank you?” you ‘thanked’ him, your eyes nervously darting around as you hoped to lock eyes with those familiar cerulean ones you had grown to love looking at. Daryl Dixon had been your saviour from Merle countless times before, and you hoped to be able to have his help again. And you would be able to see that beautiful smile of his when he inevitably walks you to your car, so that was a nice plus.

“Yer welcome, sweet cheeks,” Merle laughed, doing what you had feared and leaned closer. However, you managed to back up just in time, preventing him from seeing what you didn’t want him to. You doubted that the man had intentionally wanted to look down your shirt, though, and your suspicions were proven correct when he had reached for the bowl of Doritos you kept behind the counter. Merle Dixon could be a nasty guy, but even he knew there were boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed with permission.

“Tell you what,” Merle began, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you, snapping you from your thoughts. “How ‘bout the two’a us ditch this joint and find a nice motel for the night? I promise ya won’t regret it.”

Your eyes widened at his innuendo. In a last ditch effort to free yourself from his advances, you looked around again to see if you could find Daryl. Thankfully, by some stroke of luck, you managed to find his eyes.

His eyes scanned over your face, and he could instantly read the distress on your features. His eyes darted to Merle, and then back to you, and he instantly realized what you meant. “Dinner?” he mouthed to you, like he always did whenever you needed to escape. Parking at the bar was practically nonexistent, so you always parked your car by this small diner down the street. More often than not, he’d buy you both a burger and fries, saving you the need to make dinner at two in the morning.

With one last glance at your watch, you noticed your shift had ended, just in time, too. “Um... I’m sorry. I can’t,” you told him, grabbing your bag from the floor and slinging it over your shoulder. Then, without even fully realizing what you said next, you began to walk away. “I’ve gotta go and sleep with your brother.”

Eat. You had fully intended to say eat. However, the damage was already done, and you had to stick with it. You scrambled to get away from Merle’s piercing glare, aware of the fact that you had just royally pissed him off.

“Yer gon’ fuckin’ what?!” he bellowed loudly. A few heads turned to look at the commotion, but you had already started making yourself scarce.

You practically sprinted towards Daryl, grabbing his hand and pulling him with you. You missed the way his cheeks flushed bright red at the feeling of your hand in his, too occupied with getting out of that place. Once outside, you let go of Daryl’s hand, though your pace didn’t falter.

Daryl jogged a few steps to fall into pace with you, and only then did he notice the embarrassed look on your face. “What’s wrong? What’d Merle do?”

You shook your head. “Nothing out of the usual. I’m fine.” You turned your head to look at Daryl, a sheepish smile on your face. “Although Merle might be pissed at you when you get home tonight?”

Daryl cocked an eyebrow at that. “Why? What’d I do?”

“It’s not anything you did. It’s what he thinks you did.” With a heavy sigh, you continued. “I might have accidentally told him I was gonna go sleep with you instead of eat...”

Daryl’s eyes widened at your statement, his heart beginning to gallop in his chest. However, he forced himself to appear nonchalant. He scoffed and turned his head away, thanking the night sky for its particular darkness that night, because it meant you wouldn’t be able to see how his cheeks burned with a heat that outranked that of the sun.

“Well, would ya look at that?” he began, his tone adapting a more playful one, both in an attempt to make you feel better and to lessen his own embarrassment. “Looks like Merle ain’t got nothin’ on me after all. I managed to snag a good-lookin’ one, too. M’damn lucky.”

You laughed at him, your pace slowing down when you noticed the diner coming into view. “Be sure to sing my praise to your brother. Let him know what he can’t have. Make him really jealous.” In a surge of confidence, you turned to him with a mischievous smile. “I’ve been told my head game is really good. Be sure to expand on that.”

“Christ almighty, girl,” he muttered to himself, his head ducking as a way to shield his blazing cheeks, and the curiosity in his eyes at your statement. Just how good was good? “Ya sure know how to make a man curious.”

You giggled softly at him. Cleverly sensing that any more teasing would have the man in front of you combusting from sheer embarrassment, you decided to change the topic. “How about I buy dinner tonight? It’s the least I can do to make up for the awkwardness you’re gonna experience once you get home.”

“More like a good yellin’ at,” Daryl told you, but he shrugged his shoulders and sent you a small, lopsided smile. “But sure.”

With that, the two of you walked into the diner. However, instead of getting takeout like you usually would, the two of you opted to take a seat in one of the booths, basking in the privacy that the late hour provided you. The two of you shared your meals over faint laughter, shared jokes, and even some flirting here and there, which was a stark difference from Daryl’s usually shy demeanour.

Daryl ended up going home with you, and he may or may not have gotten to expand on his curiosity at your earlier comment.

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scorpioriesling · 6 months ago

Text

TikTok Thirst Traps

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Featuring: Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, Eris, & Tamlin

Warning(s): none

Summary: Nothing much, just the ACOTAR males as TikTok stereotypes / thirst traps.

SR’s Note: Guys I’m soooo sorry I swear I’m working on Invisible String and THTH — I have so much personal life stuff going on too and it’s been hard finding time to write! Anyways, here’s a little sum sum in the meantime for you all. <3

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Rhysand

major businessman / entrepreneur vibes for rhys’ thirst traps

a man in a suit is just… *chef’s kiss*

he has money and he knows it and does not care to show it on social media

his page is definitely a dark colored theme, most of his attire is black, and he comes across super professional

however

he knows what the ladies like

occasionally his car will make an appearance, or what he would deem “risqué” (ahem, the middle inspiration photo)

doesn’t care too much about comments… he actually finds that the women who frequently spam his page are a bit annoying more than anything

regardless, he would never say anything rude to anyone

keeps his pages mostly professional to avoid conflict in the workplace; but lets be honest, everyone in his office is down bad for this man, he’s not getting in any kind of trouble

genuinely couldn’t find just one that was a perfect fit for rhys, but his page comes very close if it were a bit darker themed and more luxurious / CEO-ish? is that a word? more suit content? you get the gist

Cassian

i almost feel like it’s a given that his tik tok thirst traps would be the “gym bro” / hot guy workout videos

a lot of these are simply him working out, not necessarily trying to get girls attention or anything but simply provide content for his fitness account

to take this a step further— when the girlies start commenting on his posts with emojis and such, he gets a little flustered. he wasn’t expecting this… he just lifts, that’s all

but, he can’t complain

his page is chaotic; videos of him lifting, flexing, what he eats to stay in shape, and even some videos of self reflection

it’s the comments like, “let me come to the gym with you!” or “you could lift me instead” etc that he turns into videos of how to get into working out / body building… not realizing the girlies just like to look at him. lol

he would respond to just about every comment with something kind or positive, even if it was sexual / silly in nature he’d find a way to make light of it

best example i could find would be this man

Azriel

i think we already know modern!az is a biker boy. there. i rest my case. that’s all.

i’m kidding

he thrives off the attention from booktok ladies; he doesn’t respond much, but he secretly reads every comment / mention / dm and takes every suggestion seriously when considering new content to create

yes, he films a few with a scream mask on

again, i rest my case

of course he has a darker themed page, lots of slow bass music on his videos and many videos of him riding at night

he’s always in a tight tee to show off his body that he’s spend years honing — and yes, he knows the girls love his arms too

not too much humor online from this guy. no full face reveal either.

however, when he reveals his smile for the first time…

let’s say his followers just about loose their minds

there’s so many tik tok pages like this yall already know what im talking about… here’s an example in case you don’t

Lucien

at first, he didn’t follow trends or do any kind of thirst traps of any kind. he thought those were kind of dumb and mainly used the app to send funny videos to his friends

however

lucien is creative, and his outlet here is music

apparently being a sassy redhead wasn’t enough, so he started filming himself playing his guitar

shirtless… of course.

the jump in followers may have prompted him to continue filming such content… or maybe the types of comments he was getting to boost that ego of his HAHA

anyways, his vibe is more acoustic / beachy / peaceful and light, very beach boy vibes with him but he will dabble in the electric guitar all the same once he gets used to playing it

per mentioned previously, he used to not make many videos, but now that he does, he finds himself being very real on this app and a lot of times recording small snippets of his own songs and talking into the camera

he enjoys the comments that show he is clearly capable of snagging the attention of the ladies; however, he responds to a lot of the ones that pertain to his talent and are interested in more than just his pretty face <3

i like this example best, with a lighter / more beachy and acoustic aesthetic … this may be more accurate

Eris

i’m really hoping you guys understand what i’m going for with this one… eris cooks.

like, very handsome, very demure, very good looking, cooking alone, but also… he knows what he’s doing and likes to play with his food, so to speak.

walk with me here.

he knows that a man with expensive taste already gets the ladies going. but a man with expensive taste AND in the kitchen? sir-

he will show every skill he has. baking, cooking, mixology…

and of course, some implied skills as well

he reads his comments — especially the ones where the girlypops are horny on main. he doesn’t give af; he loves that shit. in fact, keep it coming

sensual music, low lighting, expensive clothes… he’s a man that gets it. he could get it. and he knows that.

i think his videos would be a combo of this page and this page if you can use your imagination

Tamlin

tamlin is a hot ass, gentlemanly, mothafuckin cowboy and i will die on that hill — don’t play with me

while some videos are very pg, very church-boy, very homegrown… there are also the shirtless, sweaty, pickup-truck ones

don’t lie. you know exactly what i’m talking about.

he is a built dude. he works all day in the sun, he’s very caring for his land and the animals that live on it, and when he realized the attention he got from filming himself doing simple things around the ranch…

boy oh boy.

it started with simple things — throwing hay bales, riding horseback, etc…

but then he read his comments. people wanted more. the pretty ladies on the tik tok wanted more.

so he yanked off his shirt and jumped on the trends.

did he particularly like it? no. he didn’t like filming himself walking around his oversized pickup in just his jeans and boots, the sun kissing his skin over the rim of his hat…

but what he did enjoy was the cuties in his DMs and all their sweet messages for him.

he was a countryman at heart, so naturally his page was filled with images of the great outdoors and him in it — though many of his comments went unanswered. he was a bit shy, as social media wasn’t something he liked to use regularly

nonetheless, he did enjoy reading positive feedback after a long hard day of work

his feed would look a lil like this or THIS

ﾟ:* ✧

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velvetsainz · 1 year ago

Text

summary: [ cl16 x fem!reader ] charles is in maranello but that doesn't mean he can't help. part one.

word count: 1.3k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), porn with a dash of plot, use of explicit language, phone/skype sex, masturbation, toys, overstimulation, praise kink, google-translated french (kay strikes again), fluff, i still really like em dashes

a/n: part twooooooooo! (you can totally read this before part i—this is just a sister smutlet ;) ) i've been really pleased with the response to part i, so i was super duper motivated to get this cranked out for you guys. there's mentions to previous encounters, and i'm very tempted to flesh those out in the future along with the allusions to future events. anyways, eat up! enjoy, loves! xx

You could be a tease, but Charles Leclerc was a bigger one.

“Charles, I swear to God that—”

“That what, chérie? Hm?,” he asked as he quirked an eyebrow to you, waiting for you to answer as he watched over the Skype call. You let out a frustrated sigh, sinking back into the bed and allowing your thighs to relax once more.

“So impatient, mon ange…,” he chided, hand working slowly, lazily over his length. You were on the doorstep of your climax when he’d suddenly cut the power to the delicious little bullet in your hand. He’d been teasing you for a solid thirty minutes now, listening to soft moans and needy whines as he built you up before allowing your orgasm to recede away once more.

You scoffed, brow furrowing and lid heavy with need. “Well yes, but-but–,” you stammered as you tried to think of some good reason why you just needed to come. You couldn’t—no reason that would be particularly compelling when he was like this.

As much as you enjoyed your games with your fiancé, your thighs were beginning to cramp and you swore you were going to have to change the sheets now, too.

You’d gotten on your usual Wednesday night call, mood worse than usual. It’d been a long day and you were just ready to put it all behind you, bury yourself in the fluffy duvet of your shared bed, and scroll TikTok aimlessly for a few hours to allow yourself the time to rot in peace.

Charles, on the other hand, had other ideas. If he’d been there, he’d have happily buried his head between your legs until you couldn’t put together a coherent thought and the tension had melted from your shoulders and jaw. Seeing as he was in Maranello, though, he had to find another way to get you in a better headspace.

Enter: the vibrator.

Well, a remote-controlled bullet. One that he could control with an app on his phone, the bastard. Some men found toys in the bedroom to be a competitor, but the Monégasque saw them as an accomplice of sorts; they were friends, not enemies.

In the moment, though, the little fucker sure as hell seemed like an enemy to you.

“Please, baby,” you whined for him, pouting with glossy eyes to the camera, “you already know it’s been a long day.”

Charles hummed, taking pity on you as he turned the vibe on once more to a low-power setting. You took a stunted breath, eyes closing as pleasure rolled through you once again. The sound went straight to his cock, angry red in his hand as precum leaked over the vice grip he held it in.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” you whimpered fervently as the toy kicked up another speed, sending you careening towards your climax.

“I wish I could be there, chérie,” he coaxed as he watched you start panting once again, breaths coming in stuttering bursts with whines trapped in the back of your throat. “J'adore entendre tous ces jolis sons, ma jolie,” Charles purred, pulling a particularly pitiful moan from you. He laughed as he ticked the power up another notch, “Oui—juste comme ça, chérie.”

You could feel your orgasm coming at you hot and fast, mouth falling open as your hips dug into the soft material of the mattress. A tear spilled from the corner of your eye at the sheer sting of need coming into full view, one of your hands planting hard into the bed beside you as your eyes rolled back in reflex.

“Charles, please, I-I-I—”

“C’est bon, minette,” he soothed, his own desire starting to rear its head, “Let go—let it all go for me, mm?” He set the devilish little toy onto full blast, and you didn’t wait for him to rethink his offer.

You babbled half-coherently as something melted in the pit of your belly, washing over your senses until your ears rang and your legs buzzed. You could feel your sweat pooling in the small of your back as loose strands of hair stuck to your forehead and neck from the matching sheen that covered them, and your partner had turned the bullet to its lowest power setting to nurse you through the aftershocks that rocked your hips. You were well and truly dripping at this point, a small wet spot forming under you on the white sheets. You really should have put down a towel before you got yourself into this mess.

But with no warning, as you basked in the afterglow of a much-needed orgasm, the toy went into full power once more. Your eyes shot open and hips jolted away from the sensation as you looked to the screen after a moment of realization. “Baby, no, I–t-too sensiti—,” you started to whimper to Charles as you heard the sounds of his own pleasure growing more prominent.

“Yes, mon ange,” he said firmly, hazel eyes dark with pleasure, “Just one more—I know you can.” He watches as your brow furrows once more and your hand disappears between your legs once again. Never did he ever think he could be so jealous of a fucking hand.

You mewled as you fought the stuttering of your hips each time you pressed the toy to your already-aching clit. Still, in no time you were there once again, and Charles cursed and muttered under his breath as he watched the show you put on for him.

“Merde—”

“Such a good girl, yes—”

“Going to fuck you so good—”

“Fuck…fuck—”

He grunted your name once more and came with a growl, jaw slack as he spilled over the fist that held him so tightly. Meanwhile, you were coming down with glazed eyes and parted lips, breathing hard as you let out a quiet “fuck.”

“Oui,” Charles agreed teasingly as his head dropped back behind him lazily.

Toy discarded onto the bed next to you, you rolled onto your side to face him on the video call. “Why do you have to work so far away sometimes?,” you grumbled rhetorically, pouting as your body pooled in one of his old t-shirts and your breathing started to match something more normal. Your body had lost the tension it had been carrying, those dual orgasms working to relieve the stress you’d felt when you’d started the call. Still, a toy was a poor replacement for the man on the other side of the call, and you wanted him there with you more than you’d wanted that first orgasm. You hated making him feel bad about being away, but damn did you need to be fucked within an inch of your life right about now.

He tsked softly, lifting his head once more to see your pout. “I know, mon cœur,” he nodded, adjusting the lid of his laptop to angle more towards his face, “but if I didn’t come to Maranello, I wouldn’t get anything done. We’d be like bunny rabbits—like Corsica.”

Memories of that trip came back, causing your tummy to flip at thought. You really had fucked like rabbits on that trip, and no surface was safe from the fury of your shared lust. Nothing was sacred and anywhere that had just enough privacy was good enough for one to start tormenting the other with their fingers…their lips…their—

“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” you teased back, smile finding your lips once more as you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. One elbow helped prop your head up while the other hand rested between the soft skin of your thighs.

“My sunburn disagreed,” Charles chuckled as you found yourself laughing with him. “I looked like a…a—what’s the word? Homard?”

“Lobster?,” you chimed in with a smirk as you remembered just how red he’d been. You swore you‘d slather a metric shit ton of aloe on him during that holiday. The way he’d keep you warm in the cold showers, though…

“Yes, a lobster,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands at the thought. “Chérie, it hurt so bad—and Carlos wouldn’t wouldn’t stop laughing at me in the paddock in Spa!”

“But you would taste wonderful dipped in butter!”

“You are an idiot, chérie.”

“And knowing that, you still wanted me to be your wife. So who’s the bigger idiot in this equation, baby?”

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quin-ns · 2 years ago

Text

Fake Blood (Ethan Landry x Reader)

Word count: 5.6K

Summary: spoiler: the blood isn’t fake. alone in your apartment after your friends had been attacked, you ask ethan to stop by. he does in an unexpected way and you get more than you bargained for

Tags: (18+), friends to lovers, minor violence, knife tw, flirting, making out, virgin!ethan, virgin!reader, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, the ghostface robe stays on during sex, denial ab ethan being a murderer :) (if bad why hot?)

A/N: just watched scream 6 for the first time only a few days ago and couldn’t get this psycho out of my brain (tiktok edits didn’t help lol). timeline might be a little wonky but tbh it’s not relevant. also this follows the theory that ethan did the big apartment attack. I really wasn’t expecting this to be this long but it’s worth it yall I promise

Misc masterlist + main masterlist

As much as you liked Mindy, if you knew becoming friends with her would lead to you being integrated into her friend group of past and present serial killer victims, you might’ve thought about asking someone else to partner up with you for a presentation in your film studies class.

When you’d asked her, it was mostly to avoid having to accept an offer from a guy named Jason, who had always stared at you during that class and brought up the ‘Stab’ movies whenever he could (this was before you knew your friends knew him, but you still got a weird vibe from the guy).

She’d been excited to hang out with you after you two gave your presentation, and that’s how you wound up spending most days with her and her tight knit group of friends.

You were probably closest with Mindy, but you liked her brother too. For a guy named Chad, he was actually pretty chill. You got along with Tara as well, who was in a bit of a rebellious phase after being attacked and nearly killed, which you only learned about once they trusted you enough. Her older sister Sam was mostly cool too, but a bit overprotective. There was a gloomy aspect to her, but you supposed it made sense given that she was betrayed by her murderous boyfriend and now the internet peddled theories that blamed her for a series of killings in their home town of Woodsboro.

They had a tight bond, and even though you grew close with each of them, you knew you’d be an outsider. Like Tara and Sam’s roommate Quinn, Mindy’s girlfriend Anika, and Chad’s roommate Ethan. You all had shared multiple conversations about their trust issues. It must’ve been hard to even start to trust people after all that.

Out of all of the other “newcomers” as Mindy once put it, you got along with Ethan the best. He was a little quiet and sorta dorky (which your friends would tease him about a little—all friendly, of course) but he was fun to talk to. You guys liked a lot of the same stuff, including horror movies, and it didn’t hurt that he was cute.

In your opinion, with his curly dark hair and eyes to compliment, the whole “shy guy” thing was part of the appeal.

You wondered if he’d ever make a move, or if he even knew you were curious about him in that way. You wouldn’t go so far to say it was a crush for your ego’s sake, but you wouldn’t send him running off with his tail between his legs like you did with most guys.

Like that guy Jason from film class, who, just before Halloween, was killed alongside his roommate by a masked killer.

“Didn’t he have a thing for you?” Mindy asked you as you were all gathered around the TV, finding out the news together.

You were sitting crammed in a chair next to Ethan since the others had all taken up the couch space. He didn’t seem to mind, but it did unfortunately make it easy for them all to look your way and stare. You didn’t like the attention.

You were in shock at the news, especially when the anchor revealed Jason had also killed your film professor. Ethan pointed that out, saying if the guy was crazy enough to do that he might’ve even gone after you.

“Maybe the killer who killed him did you a favor,” Quinn suggested in response to Ethan.

The thought terrified you. You looked around the group. “Do you guys think he really would’ve hurt me? He seemed weird, not psycho.”

“We talked not that long ago, nothing seemed off,” Tara revealed with a grim look. “He asked if you and Sam were gonna come to the party.”

You hadn’t planned on going—what the hell would’ve happened if you had?

You exchanged a look with Sam, who seemed to have the wheels in her head turning.

You zoned back into the news as the reporter explained the mask found was a ghostface mask—like from the Stab movies. And of course, the actual Woodsboro killings.

“Pack a bag,” Sam told her sister, springing up to move around the apartment building.

Sam and Tara argued, which was a little weird to witness. You tried to sink back into the chair, while Ethan looked at you like he wanted to say something.

Hopefully it wasn’t “get out of the chair” because you didn’t think you could move.

The night ended with you going back to your little apartment alone. Your roommate was out of town and so your anxiety was on high alert.

A lot had happened that night apparently, including Sam and Tara getting attacked in a convenience store and them being questioned by the cops.

As much as you cared about them, you feared what would happen if you were with them.

That’s why the next night when you were invited over, you had been hesitant. A government paper was the perfect excuse, but you had FaceTimed with them so you all could keep an eye on each other.

You sat at your little desk, your laptop opened to work on your paper, and your phone propped up on your cup so you could talk to them hands free.

Apparently everyone was together at the apartment except Ethan, who told you he was studying in the library when you texted to ask him. You responded that you were working on a paper and that if he wanted to come over to keep you company, he could.

You’d spent some time alone with him, but not a lot when you really thought about it. It was always in the group—who were all murder suspects, according to Mindy’s movie rules.

You knew you weren’t the killer, and you had absolutely no motive. The others were still suspicious of you so that hurt a little (maybe that was another reason why you were keeping to yourself), but you did your best to understand that they weren’t just suspicious of you.

Everyone was a suspect, and no one was safe.

You felt even less safe when Mindy said she’d call you back. You didn’t know why she had to hang up so urgently, but you had a feeling it had to do with the emotional conversation Tara and Sam had been having in the background. You couldn’t make out most of it clear so you avoided mentioning it.

You sighed and checked your chat with Ethan. He hasn’t responded to your text. You were getting nervous now that you weren’t video chatting with your other friends anymore and the thought of being home alone didn’t bring you much ease.

You thought about just going over to the Carpenter’s (and Quinn’s) apartment, not wanting to bother Ethan further. Maybe he was ignoring you on purpose.

However, it was a far walk there. You didn’t feel safe making it alone at night—especially with a killer on the loose, likely targeting your friends. If you had a car, maybe, but you were a broke college student who could barely afford a place to live.

You sucked it up and double texted Ethan, this time asking if he could come over and that you were worried.

When he didn’t respond right away, you gave it a few minutes.

A little while longer passed and since you now couldn’t focus on your paper, you tried to call Mindy back. Then Tara. Then Chad. Then Sam. Then Quinn. Then Anika.

Not a single one of them answered.

You took a deep breath. Then, you went to double check that your door was locked.

You tried to call Ethan, but his phone went immediately to voicemail. It must’ve been dead or powered off.

That left no one else to call, and you felt more alone than ever.

You sat down at your desk and tried to focus.

You ended up going to your bedroom, putting on sleep clothes, and watching a comfort show under all your blankets instead, paper completely forgotten.

Your phone dinged from your bedside table and when you looked at it, you saw a message from Ethan. Only a few hours late, but he said he was on his way up.

That was sudden. You tried to not overthink being alone with Ethan too much.

A few moments later, there was a knock at your front door.

You climbed out of bed, not really caring that you were wearing sleep shorts and a baggy shirt. Your friends had seen you go to class in about the same when you had all night study sessions.

When you got to the door, you got a little nervous. But you knew it had to be Ethan, so you tried to push the anxiety aside and unlocked then opened the door.

You were met with shock and horror.

Towering over you in your doorway stood a figure in a black robe… and a ghostface mask.

You tried to slam the door, but the person caught it. You choked on a scream when they shoved their way in, holding a knife. There was a small stain of red on the metal blade and a darker, bigger mass on the robe.

Blood. Blood was red.

You scrambled back and tried to think of where to go. None of the doors in your apartment locked, not even the bathroom door.

Your heart and mind raced and suddenly you were spewing words.

“I don’t know what to say to make you not kill me, but I please don’t,” you rushed out.

The person—the killer—moved closer to you after shutting and locking your front door.

You ran, but there was really nowhere to go. The killer ran too. You tried to lure them to the bathroom and shove them in, but they dodged and had you almost within their grasp.

They didn’t slash the knife, though.

You ran for the front door, but the killer grabbed you by the arm. You were shoved back against your hallway wall and pinned. Your back slammed against the wall, but not hard. They held the knife to your throat—not too close, but it was still there and still kept you frozen.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

The words came out before you could stop them. You internally scolded yourself. That’s the kinda shit the girls who got murdered asked.

There was a laugh, and then a familiar voice.

“I’d never do that.”

By the time the killer reached for the mask and pulled it off, you still hadn’t processed your shock.

“Ethan?” you gawked up at him while he gave you a cheeky smile. He let the mask drop and the hand holding the knife fell to his side.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said through a smile, excited eyes scanning your face for realization.

“Is this… is this a fucking prank?” you questioned, finally comprehending. “Ethan, what the fuck!?” You shoved him back by his shoulder, admittedly a little pissed. “You’re covered in blood!”

He stayed standing in front of you.

“It’s fake, I promise. It was just a joke,” he reasoned, looking a little guilty. “Y’know, cause Halloween and… alright, maybe my timing isn’t great.”

You scoffed out a laugh at that. “It’s terrible timing. There really is someone after us.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Ethan apologized with a small, apologetic smile. You stared at him, still surprised. He looked so innocent for someone that could pull off, let alone come up with, such a messed up prank.

“Is this where you’ve been? Dressing up to mess with me while there really is a killer after us?” You questioned, raising your brows and crossing your arms.

“Y’know, if there really is a killer after us, we probably shouldn’t let each other die virgins,” Ethan stated in a flirtatious way he easily could’ve played off as a joke. Maybe it was entirely a joke, but you played along in a different direction.

You scoffed. “And you’re just assuming I’m a virgin?”

He shrugged, the long fabric of his costume rustling. “I see how you are with guys. They want you, you never want them.”

“So what, I’m a tease?” you guessed, used to hearing that but a little disappointed to think it would come from him.

“No,” he clarified quickly. “But they’re just never good enough for you and you know that. Like that jerk Jason.”

You cringed a little at the mention of him, and then felt bad about that. The guy had been murdered, after all.

“Don’t say that, he’s dead.”

“So what?” Ethan asked plainly, surprising you a little. “He was a killer too. He could’ve gone after you, you should be grateful to whoever did it.”

You furrowed your brows. He was starting to sound like someone else. “Grateful?”

“It’s okay, you’re allowed to be.” Ethan’s expression as he spoke was one of reassurance. “You could’ve been next, you never know. He was one of those guys who couldn’t take a hint that he was beneath you.”

You had no idea he thought that way about you—that there were men he deemed unworthy. It was enough to distract you from the shift in his demeanor.

“And what? You’re saying you’re one of the guys who’s good enough for me?” you couldn’t help but wonder. You never thought about your dating history (or lack of) like that.

“Hell no,” he said, surprising you yet again. You were expecting a ‘yes’ with the way he was coming onto you all of the sudden, but what he said carried even more of a self-depreciating brand of charm. “But I’m hoping maybe you’ll pity the loser who’s had a hopeless crush on you for a while now and give him a chance.”

“You’re not a loser,” you said before you registered the rest of his words. When you did, you were taken aback at the confession. “But you’re not usually this… bold, Ethan.”

You wanted to ask him if something was wrong, but there was a lot wrong these past few hours.

“What can I say? I’ve been feeling more confident recently.”

You hummed, understanding that in a way.

“Maybe it’s the whole ‘we could die any second’ thing,” you ventured a guess.

He smiled to himself, like you’d just referenced an inside joke you weren’t a part of.

“Could be,” he agreed. He laughed a little and looked down at himself, then met your eyes again. “Sorry about scaring you. It was in poor taste. We both like horror movies… I don’t know, it was stupid.”

You scoffed, but you weren’t really mad anymore.

“I like horror movies, I don’t want to be in one,” you told him, eyeing the knife he held loosely in his right hand. “Is the knife real?”

“What?” Ethan asked, feigning confusion. He lifted the knife and examined it. “This knife?”

“Yeah, that knife,” you parroted back his playful tone. “You said the blood is fake, but is the knife real?”

A devious look crossed Ethan’s face. He held it to your throat slowly, holding it horizontally. You didn’t flinch, much to his pleasure. He seemed almost impressed.

“Gotta be authentic, right?” he mused, eyes flicking to your parted lips as you breathed steadily. “Can I kiss you?”

When his curious eyes looked back at yours, you couldn’t help but notice he still held the knife. The rush of excitement you felt scared you more than the fear of him letting it slip forward.

“What’s the knife for?” you asked with a surge of confidence, taunting him a little. “If I say no?”

Ethan laughed at that. He pulled it back and let it drop to the floor. It clattered against the wood, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. But it wasn’t from fear—it was from anticipation. Maybe your curiosity was a little more than that after all.

“You’re safe with me,” he assured. “Promise.”

His words felt layered, but in a way you couldn’t define.

Perhaps it was his way of saying he’d protect you. Maybe it was strange, especially given his entrance, but you found yourself feeling exactly that with Ethan. Safe.

Nothing was going to hurt you, certainly not him.

“About that kiss…” you started, giving him the indication that he was looking for.

Ethan took the hint and ran with it, lips crashing into yours in the blink of an eye.

His lips were soft, but the kiss was needy and hungry. You tried to move your lips in sync with his, but he was much more dominant.

A joke that you’d never say flashed by about him practicing.

It was easy not to laugh when Ethan’s hand threaded into your hair and his tongue began to explore your mouth.

The leather glove felt strange. It made you pull back a little, which you almost couldn’t do with the way Ethan eagerly chased your swollen lips with his own.

You glanced over his costume again. It looked really legit—when did he have time to get it? Was he actually gonna wear this for Halloween? You swore you remembered him and Chad talking about some other costume he made out of cardboard for the frat party.

Before you could spiral down that path, Ethan pulled the leather gloves off quickly and cast them aside. It was like he could read your mind. Both hands went to your face, pulling you to meet him halfway in another searing kiss.

You didn’t know what was coming over you, but whatever it was was causing arousal to stir in your belly.

You figured out the answer to that pretty quickly.

It was want. You wanted Ethan.

“Is the other offer still on the table?” you uttered softly when you and Ethan had to part for air.

He grinned, unable to contain it.

“Thought there was no way in hell that would work,” Ethan admitted a little breathlessly. “Thought I never stood a chance with you, but I liked you anyway.”

Ethan had a boyish charm about him usually, but now that was combined with a streak of deviance that you finally now noticed.

You weren’t expecting to be as intrigued by it as you were.

“Give yourself a little more credit,” you told Ethan, raising your hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch a little. One hand rested on your shoulder and the other fell to hold your hip, tucking under your baggy shirt and rubbing your skin beneath. “You are pretty cute.”

Ethan’s smile only grew, but when you leaned in to kiss him again his lips met yours.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and guided the two of you to the ground with your back leaning against the wall. He was in front of you, on his knees, with you in his lap.

You ran a hand through his curly hair and you guided his lips back to yours. From what he’d revealed, Ethan hadn’t had a lot of experience with girls. It was a damn shame, because the boy was a great kisser.

His hand caressed your thigh as he trailed upward. You gave him a soft sound of encouragement when his fingers found their way to the waistband of your shorts.

“Is this okay?” Ethan asked, which made you want to grab him and kiss him again.

“Yeah.”

His hand slid into your shorts and your underwear.

One finger—you guessed middle—pushed inside of you. A small gasp escaped you at the intrusion and he watched your face.

Ethan was making sure the sound wasn’t of pain, which it wasn’t, and you appreciated that.

He withdrew the digit, then pushed in again. He repeated the motion a few more times before adding his index finger.

Ethan’s breathing grew heavy as he felt you squeeze around his fingers. He thrust and curled them inside you with rhythm. He managed to find one pretty quickly. That plus his thumb rubbing at your clit, you were falling apart in mere minutes.

Your brief orgasm rocked your whole body, leaving you clenching his fingers and quivering.

Ethan muttered things to you, but you could hardly hear over the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears.

Your head rested back against the wall as you caught your breath, still trembling from the aftershocks. Ethan withdrew his hand from between your legs and out of your shorts.

Your eyelids felt heavy, but in between slow blinks you saw him lift his fingers to his lips. You watched breathlessly as he placed them into his mouth and moaned at the taste of you.

No words would come out of your mouth, but he took rendering you speechless as a compliment.

“I’ve thought about that,” Ethan started, voice a little ragged. He was watching you, but his hand had moved off to the side. “What you’d look like… what you’d sound like… what you’d taste like.” The awe in his eyes as he spoke left you swooning.

“And?” you managed, sitting up a little straighter.

With the change in your angle, you could feel the bulge in his pants, even though the added layer of the costume he had yet to remove.

“You’re better than I ever imagined,” Ethan finished.

A scrape against the floor alarmed you. You looked to the sound and saw Ethan grabbing the knife off of the floor.

You watched as he brought it between your bodies. He first tucked it through the leg of your shorts, the cold metal sliding against your skin as it caught under your underwear as well. Then, he pointed the sharp side facing out. Finally, he sliced up through the fabric. You gasped a little as the cold air of the room hit your newly exposed skin. He did the same with the other leg, then pulled the tattered material away from your body.

You did the honors of pulling off your shirt. You didn’t have a bra underneath and you almost laughed at the way Ethan gawked at your fully naked body when you cast it aside.

“Your turn,” you told him. You were completely undressed, while he still wore the long, black disguise.

“Actually,” Ethan said a little eerily. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I was thinking I could leave it on?”

It was a question, there was room for you to say no. Maybe you should’ve, it was a little weird. But you weren’t really thinking about that. You were more focused on how badly you wanted Ethan to fuck you, and that clouded your brain.

“As long as you don’t put the mask back on,” you relented in a joking tone.

“You’re so fucking cool,” Ethan rushed out before slamming his lips into yours. The knife was cast aside again—you didn’t see it happen, but both of his hands were on your face.

You laughed a little against his lips, dazed and drunk on arousal. You didn’t really care about the logistics of it.

His hands moved down, but you were distracted by his lips dominating yours.

You heard the sound of his zipper being undone and he moved a little—you guessed shoving his pants down his thighs.

There was no time to look down because in a rush, Ethan was pinning you back against the wall with his body. One hand gripped your waist, holding you in place for him. The other was presumably guiding his cock to your entrance.

You gasped a little against his lips when he started to press forward while simultaneously pulling you down into his lap. The fabric of the costume draped over your thighs, blocking your view.

The stretch of his cock pushing into you was more intense than you could’ve predicted, but your whole body trembled with pleasure at the feel.

Finally, he either got too excited or lost his patience, and guided you down the rest of the way until he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ethan cursed to himself, body straining to keep from moving. His head dropped to your shoulder, heavy breaths hitting your neck. He leaned against you, forcing you against the wall.

His cock twitched inside of you and his body tensed, trying to hold back.

You panted slightly, trying to get your breath back. You ran a hand up his back and you felt him shiver. Your hand moved up the back of his neck and into his mess of curls.

You always liked Ethan’s hair.

You gave a small, barely qualifiable tug, but it had an effect. His body jerked, causing him to move inside of you. You gasped a little, but the motion felt good.

He lifted his head to look at you. His face was a little flushed and the lust blown look in his eyes made you quiver.

“You can move,” you whispered out, not trusting your voice.

Ethan didn’t need to be told twice. He secured the arm around your waist a little tighter and he put the other hand on the wall, giving himself leverage.

The slow drag of him moving out of you made you gasp for breath. The thrust back in knocked the air out of your lungs.

He set a quick pace after that, hips slamming eagerly into yours as the pleasure and excitement overwhelmed him.

It felt good, really fucking good.

Neither of you knew exactly what you were doing, but you were sure you’d figured it out because your whole body tingled with pleasure.

You cried out his name, which only spurred him on.

In a jarring movement you could hardly track, Ethan dragged you from the wall to the floor. He put himself on top of you, never once withdrawing from inside of you.

He watched your face as he pounded into you. Ethan had more leverage this way, able to grip your hip in one hand while the other held the top half of him off of you by being planted on the floor near your head.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, which you couldn’t see because the bottom half of your body was covered by the black costume. You hardly paid any attention to that aspect. You didn’t care that he wore it, not when you were this caught up in pleasure.

(In hindsight, you should’ve).

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Ethan breathed out, hips starting the stutter with every thrust.

The knot in your belly started to tighten as he buried himself into you over and over.

You couldn’t speak, your breathing was so labored as you reached to cling to him.

His head dropped down to your shoulder as he allowed more of his body weight to fall onto you. You found yourself enjoying the feel of him truly being on top of you.

You hardly noticed the fake blood smearing onto your bare skin. When you did, you were too gone to care.

You bucked your hips, meeting his stuttering thrusts. He was getting close to his edge and so were you. You moaned beneath him as his forceful thrusts sparked pleasure through your entire body.

“I’m close,” you managed to moan out against his ear.

“Oh, fuck,” Ethan groaned out, cock pulsing inside of you at the thought. He lifted his head enough to be able to watch your face. “Come again for me, please,” he panted out, nearly falling over the edge at the mere anticipation.

The begging was hot, and your body was already ready to give him what he wanted.

You noticed his eyes flicking down your body, seeing the red stains on your skin. That was quickly forgotten by you when your whole body began to tense and quiver. You held onto him tight as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

You didn’t see his eyes linger.

Ethan couldn’t hold it together, not with the way your body tightened around him as your orgasm rocked you.

He collapsed on top of you, holding you against him as his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were clenched shut as he frantically shoved his hips against yours, burying himself deep. His cock twitched, his whole body shivering as he spilled himself inside of you with a moan.

The sound of him alone was enough to prolong your pleasure as you rode it out, but the extra movement and the feeling of him filling you was an added bonus.

He kissed you hard on the lips, effectively pulling the air from your lungs.

After a moment, he found the strength to roll off of you, only to then drag you to his side.

“I can die a happy man, now,” he joked morbidly.

You shoved him a little by the shoulder like you had before, but not enough to actually make him go anywhere.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you argued weakly.

He flashed you a brief grin. “I meant it as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes and did you best to laugh it off.

You lost track of how long it took you to move from the floor to your couch. The same thing happened between the time it took for you to get from the couch to your shower.

It was a tiny shower that couldn’t fit two people, so you rinsed off as quick as you could. You were tired, and your legs felt weak, and you knew you’d be sore in a way that would make it hard to keep calm tomorrow.

Whatever he had used for the blood, at least it washed off fast. You were able to finish up in a matter of minutes.

You threw on new pajamas and crawled into your bed, managing to tell Ethan to take however long he wanted and that he could stay over if he wanted.

You found yourself hoping he would.

You were nearly asleep when the shower shut off and Ethan finally joined you in bed. He was only in his boxers and a black t-shirt, which he must’ve been wearing under the costume robe.

A thought nagged at the back of your mind about the costume, wondering why he’d gone through all of that just to mess with you for a minute—albeit a terrifying minute. It didn’t seem like him, but then you remembered you’d only met him a few months ago.

You were so exhausted you fell asleep in his arms, not awake enough to care about all of the weird details. In fact, the only thing you could think about was how much you liked falling asleep with Ethan’s arms around you.

In the morning, you found out your friends had all been attacked.

You showed up with Ethan after the feed on your college’s chat app blew up with images of cops swarming and ambulances outside of Sam, Tara, and Quinn’s apartment.

Mindy seemed relieved to see you, but not so much when she realized Ethan was with you. Maybe she’d cleared you as a suspect in her head.

She yelled at him to stay back, accusing him of being the killer. Nobody was taking Quinn’s death well, but Mindy was especially heartbroken over Anika.

“Stay back!” Mindy yelled at Ethan, who did as she commanded.

Everyone turned on him then, even Chad. Everyone except you. They demanded his alibi.

“How do I know you’re not the killer, roomie,” Chad spit at him, amped up.

“I was with Y/N last night,” Ethan defended, holding his hands up in a small show of innocence, before you could say a word. “We were… preoccupied, alright?”

You wanted to elbow him for how he worded it, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he tried. It might’ve been on purpose, you weren’t sure.

He wasn’t close enough to do that, though, and now all eyes were on you.

“Yeah, he was with me,” you backed Ethan up.

You weren’t going to leave him hanging because it was the truth, but you knew what that implied, and so did your friends. They all shared subtle—but not unnoticeable—looks. Your face felt warm, while Ethan bit back a prideful smile.

“So you guys, um…”

“Chad, stop,” Tara scolded him before he could point out the obvious.

“Point is, we had nothing to do with this,” Ethan stated.

We?

They were suspicious of him, and now he was lumping the two of you together. There were always two killers in the movies—you began to doubt if the alibi would ease their anxiety or only spike it.

You thought back to when he had showed up to your apartment in that costume. He’d scared you, but you accepted it when he told you it was a joke that he mistakenly took too far.

It made you wonder. What if it was him?

If he wanted to hurt you, he easily could’ve. That didn’t seem to be his intention. What was? Seeing how much he could scare you? Get your heart rate up? Seeing if you wouldn’t believe him?

Or was it seeing if he could put the evidence right in front of you and have you ignore it because of a crush?

Fuck. Maybe it was some weird combination of all. Were you that gullible? Or were you overthinking it now?

Your brain struggled to come up with a conclusion.

You wanted to believe Ethan was innocent. You really, really did.

It was easier than believing you had slept with a killer. Or potentially worse, that you had feelings for one.

Ethan gave you a slight, assuring smile.

Your head told you one thing, but your heart told you another.

Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you kept your mouth shut and gave him one back.

#quin-ns writing #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #scream #scream 6 #ethan landry smut

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reneesghostinthelivingroom · 6 months ago

Note

Part 2 of "Sorry I can't tonight" Where plastics take care of reader?

Sorry, I Can't Tonight part 2

part 1 ||

|| poly!plastics x fem!reader

|| Warnings; short drabble, fluffy, little swearing, brief hints of smut, no dialogue

|| Summary; the girls bring reader to Regina's place and take care of her for the night.

Requests open!

Started; october 27th

Finished; october 27th

~~~

The girls got you to Regina's home, Gretchen took you over to the couch with Karen happily skipping over. The two of them sat down on either side of you, Gretchen had her arms wrapped comfortably around you while Karen laid across both of your laps.

Regina however made her way to the kitchen. Digging through the cupboards to see what kind of comfort snacks her mom had gotten recently. She remembered what yours was and was silently relieved when she found it. That was probably the first time in a long time she'd ever actually thanked her mom for something. But it stayed in her head because she would never say that out loud.

She walked over to the three of you and handed you your snack, your eyes lit up the moment you saw it. You looked at Regina, making grabby hands at her. Wanting to give her a kiss. Regina rolled her eyes, trying to seem unbothered and neutral. Internally she thought it was the cutest thing. She leaned down, letting you pull her into a kiss as her hand came up and cupped your cheek.

Gretchen made a small 'aw' sound as she watched the two of you. She loved the softer side of Regina. It was proof that no matter how snappy or bitchy she could be, deep down.. there was a part of her that did care. Even if she tried really hard not to show it.

Regina sat down on the couch next to you, letting Karen rest her legs on her as she now sprawled across the three of you. Your hand absentmindedly played with Karen's fingers while you and the girls chatted. Gretchen going on about latest drama and pop culture moments, Regina would put in her not so kind opinions about it all. You occasionally tossed in a few one liners or your own pop culture moments you'd seen on tiktok recently. Karen kind of just vibed, watching Gretchen for the most part. It was nice. A much needed change in atmosphere from the intense study sessions you'd been doing all week. This was what you would have liked to have done more. Take the breaks you needed to spend time with your girlfriends. Listening to them reminded you of just how much you loved them.

As the night got later, the four of you switched up spots and went up to Regina's room. Getting your nightly routines done. Showering, brushing teeth, drinks of water, last checks on phones, etc. Whatever it is you normally do. Then you all got settled into Regina's bed once pjs were on and Regina grabbed her remote. Putting a movie on the TV. Though you all only watched the first bit of it, getting distracted by each other the rest of the night.

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whisperturnedecho · 8 days ago

Text

Holding it together

Joe Weller x fem reader / full on angst and some fluff

Summary: You return from a photoshoot with Joe, when a dramatic event unfolds

You and Joe hop on the train to Brighton, ready for another YoungLA shoot. The carriage is almost empty, and your boyfriend flops down into a seat with his signature manspread—like he owns the space. A tap on the seat opposite him says it all: sit here.

Before settling in, you slide the window shut, blocking out the breeze. The train hasn't even made it out of the station before Joe's off, passionately talking about Wrestlemania in Vegas. You don't mind.

Your thoughts are wandering to who-knows-where, while Joe rambles on. He doesn't seem to notice (or care) that you're not exactly an expert on the subject. You're too busy anyway, appreciating how great he looks in his YoungLA gear, so you let him. At some point, he starts scrolling through his phone, leaving you in peace with your thoughts.

[ several minutes pass ]

"Hey, can you get me my foldable hairbrush?" you ask, not fully tuned in. Joe raises an eyebrow. "Y/N, seriously? Check your handbag. Pretty sure you’ve got a better shot at finding it than I do."

"Don't look puzzled, "you mumble. "I put it in your pocket because my bag was full." Joe groans, his phone pinned against his shoulder as he digs into his pocket. "Why do women always have so much stuff?"

You reach over to squeeze his knee. "Because it’s a man’s world, Joe, and carrying the essentials is what keeps it running."

"Hey, get over here you." Joe pulls you close. He smells amazing, like Dior Homme Sport. He kisses you softly, his hand on the back of your neck. You playfully bite on his lip. "Love you," he whispers. You smile and nod. If only you could keep kissing.

By the time you step onto the set, Joe has already disappeared; immersed in transformation mode. The make-up artist and stylist are hard at work, turning him into the flawless version of himself. With nothing else to do, you keep one eye on the camera and the other on the buzz around him.

They dress him up with outfit after outfit, and somehow, he looks killer in all of them. Seeing him in action, you get that can't-stop-smiling kind of pride. Your already handsome boyfriend just levelled up (if that is even possible). When you catch his eye and flash him a thumbs-up, he winks back.

As you watch the photo shoot unfold, you sneak a glance at your phone, scrolling through TikTok to catch up on updates from your favourite creators. Knowing Joe, it won't be long before he posts something from the set to hype the project. You wonder how the fans will react, sharing and reposting the content is a key part of spreading the word.

After the shoot wraps, you and Joe hit up a nearby bar for a drink. He seems pleased with how it went; his confidence is up. "You're a pro now," you say, passing him a beer. "You've got the vibe down, and people can't get enough of it. But don’t forget, I'm the only one who sees every side of you. Even the ones no one else could handle."

Joe smirks, like he’s daring you to keep going. You lean back. "Don’t worry, I still think you’re worth the trouble." He just shakes his head.

[ an hour passes ]

The drinks are starting to hit, and you notice Joe's gone unusually quiet. When you take a closer look, his face looks a little pale. "Are you okay?" you ask, nudging him lightly. He doesn't look up, "Yeah, just give me a sec," while his thumb flies over his phone screen.

There's something about the way he's hunched over, the tension in his shoulders, which feels… off.

Joe suddenly gasps; his breathing is shallow. Your heart jumps into your throat. "Joe, seriously, what’s wrong?" you ask. He presses a hand to his chest, grimacing. "I've got this pain... it's in my chest, and it's moving up to my chin," he manages to say. You grab his arm, holding him steady as you lean in. "Alright, just breathe with me, slow and steady, okay?"

Joe's eyes widen in panic, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "I can't do this. I can’t breathe. Do you think it's a panic attack?" he stammers. "I don't know, babe," you say, before darting over to the barman. Without hesitation, he grabs his phone, already dialling for help. "Your boyfriend might be having a heart attack," he says, dead serious.

You hurry back to Joe, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "They're getting you an ambulance, okay?" Tears sting in your eyes, but you push it down, focusing on him instead. Your hand moves in slow circles on his back. The bar empties out in record time, clearing space for the paramedics. Joe sits there, barely saying a word. "Take my phone, I don't want to lose it," he says right before they take him.

One of the bar staff offers to drive you to the hospital once Joe is in the ambulance. Your heart is pounding, each beat heavier than the last, and suddenly it feels like you’re the one struggling to breathe. Joe was fine just an hour ago, but now everything feels like it's unravelling.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," the kind woman says who offered to take you to the hospital. Easier said than done, you think, clutching your hands around your handbag.

After getting there, you find yourself stuck in a big waiting room, and the whole thing has this surreal vibe. Your only instinct is to search for Joe and not let him go for anything. The fact that he stayed conscious has to be a good thing, right?

Your phone feels heavy in your hand as you wonder who to message first. His mom needs to know, but she's on holiday right now with his sister in Mallorca. His friends Theo Baker and ChrisMD also come to mind. You shoot out the texts, your fingers trembling, praying the nurse comes soon.

By now, tears are pouring down your face, and you dig out a tissue from your bag. The memory of him telling you he loves you on the train washes over you. You didn’t say it back. What if you'll never get the chance to? It's too much to think about.

Notifications keep flooding your phone, but you’re stuck without anything to reply. Chris and Theo text saying they're rushing over, and then his mum calls. You realise that you should have called her, but you had no idea what you were doing. She's barely able to keep it together, and now you're crying even harder. Sitting in the hospital without Joe feels lonely—you love him so much, it hurts.

After a long wait, the door swings open and a nurse approaches you, "Are you Mr. Weller's girlfriend?" she asks, and you nod. "He's going to be okay," she says, and you almost collapse with relief. You can go see him in A&E.

When you see Joe sitting in a chair, you rush over and hug him. "Joe, I was so scared!" you say, and you can tell he's been anxious as well. "I'm sorry love. They ran an ECG and some other tests," he explains. "The chest pain is gone now. They think it was angina. It's caused by a reduced blood flow to my heart. They gave me beta blockers and I have to get in touch with my GP. I need to come back here for a check up soon."

You look worried. Joe is still so young; you find it hard to believe he could have heart problems.

"So, it wasn't a heart attack?" you ask. "No sweetheart, it wasn't," he replies, sounding relieved. "There was probably anxiety in the mix as well. I felt something that I never felt before." Damn it, you can't help but wish he never has to feel it again.

"You’ve got to call your mum and sister and tell them that you are okay," you say. "They are really worried." Joe nods. "Yeah, gimme my phone. I'll call her," he says as he pulls you onto his lap.

You quickly text Theo and Chris to let them know Joe's okay. They're at the hospital, and now you're just waiting for the nurse to stop by. She finally comes in and says you guys can leave. "Take it easy for the next few days and stay in touch with your doctor," she warns.

Arm in arm, you walk through the hospital corridor. "I was so scared," you repeat to him. This definitely wasn't how you pictured the photo shoot day turning out. When you make your way into another waiting room, you see Theo and Chris, waiting for their friend.

"Bro, what the hell? What are you doing to us?" Theo calls out, pulling Joe into a tight, emotional hug. "We were so worried about you. Y/N was a wreck when he texted me," Chris chimes in, shaking his head. Joe manages a faint smile. "I'll be alright, I promise. Just gotta keep an eye on my heart from now on," he says softly. "We can talk more about it on the way back."

Chris turns to you and says, "Let’s get you guys home, yeah? Bet you were scared out of your mind."

Chris' comment hits you hard, and before you know it, the tears are flowing. You try to hold it together, but it's no use. You completely break down.

Joe’s arms are around you in an instant, pulling you against his chest. "It’s all good now, love. I promise," he whispers, placing a soft kiss on your cheek, tears and all. He looks at Theo and says, "I've got the best girlfriend in the world."

Back home, you're looking after Joe even though he stresses that it's not really necessary. You bring him food and give him a foot rub. He's low on energy, so you guys soon end up in bed under the covers. Your head is on his shoulder. "So, are you going to buy a nurse's outfit?" he asks, "and before you tell me off, the doctor told me it's fine to have sex."

"I can tell you're already bouncing back " you laugh. "I love you so much, Joe." You look up at him. "Sorry I didn't say it back on the train."

'Love you too, babe, but I’m not dead yet!"

"Wait until I get that nurse's uniform."

----------

If you enjoyed reading, let me know. It will encourage me to write more. ❤️

#Joe weller #ukyt

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joeys-babe · 1 year ago

Text

Joey B Blurbs: Can’t Help Falling in Love

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Summary: You surprise Joe when he gets home from practice by putting on your wedding dress from your wedding back in March of 2022.

Warnings: Fluff

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine universe: Into The Mystic

A/N: Joe isn't injured.

————————————————————————-

*December 30th, 2023 - 22 weeks pregnant*

(y/n’s pov)

Joe was currently away at an early morning practice, preparing for the Chief’s game tomorrow.

The team would be getting on a plane for Kansas City tonight, and Zac called an ‘emergency’ practice this morning.

Since Joe was away, I was doing some seriously needed deep cleaning in the house.

Tyson and Miles’s room would have to be last to be cleaned since they wouldn't be up for a while.

I will never take for granted the fact that the terrible twos don't seem to be a thing to the twins. They're closer to three and have remained their happy selves.

The reason I mention this is because when they do wake up, they'll happily help me clean their room without being asked.

My heart warmed when I walked into what will be our baby girl’s nursery once she's born and old enough to be moved out of Joe and I’s room.

The walls were painted a cream color with an accent wall of vintage floral wallpaper.

Joe was the one who approached me with the idea, and I loved it.

Her name had a vintage feel, so her nursery having the same vibe was perfect.

One thing about our baby girl is that she was already 100% a daddy’s girl.

She loved it when Joe talked to my stomach, as she would kick after every sentence that left his mouth.

Joe ate every bit of it up, already taking his girl-dad role very seriously. He was so involved in my pregnancy, making sure to be there for his wife and beloved baby girl.

He just loved her so much.

My thoughts made me smile to myself as I looked around her unfurnished room and absentmindedly rubbed my bump.

Soon, I snapped out of my thoughts and remembered my cleaning.

——

After getting Joe and I’s bedroom and bathroom cleaned, it was time to move onto the closet.

I saved it for last because I knew it was going to be a doozy.

With constant packages of clothing items arriving at the house for Joe’s game-day fits, there was always a huge stack of boxes in here.

Usually, after the stack reaches a certain height, Joe would take them out to the dumpster.

Lately, though, he's fallen behind on his duties, and the stack was huge.

After clearing that out, I started going through my side of the closet, knowing Joe wouldn't exactly be happy if I moved his stuff around.

I knew I'd find some gems, doing a deep clean in my closet, but I didn't expect to find my wedding dress.

It looked just as beautiful as I remembered and it took my breath away.

Joe and I’s wedding back in March of 2022 was an absolute dream. We were so happy, nothing could sour our moods.

We looked back at our wedding photos all of the time, watching the videos of our vows being one of our favorite things.

I remembered a video I'd seen on TikTok last night of a wife putting on her wedding dress to surprise her husband, and I immediately decided to do it.

That is if the baby bump and growing boobs allow this dress to fit me.

It wouldn't necessarily be a prank or the usual trends that I've tried in him, so it would be a good change.

——

A few hours later, Tyson and Miles had been awake for a while, and we all got their room cleaned.

Joe would be home soon because he told me what time practice ended before he left this morning.

That being said, I was now upstairs trying to slip my wedding dress on.

Thankfully, the bodice part of the dress didn't quite reach my belly, so it was perfectly hidden under the skirt. I was a little surprised that my growing chest was able to stay contained under the fabric since I'd had to buy bigger bras since getting pregnant.

I didn't even attempt to try to zip the back of the dress up, though.

Moments later I could hear my phone ringing in the bedroom, and I had to practically waddle my way over there to get it.

It was Joe calling, probably telling me that he was on his way.

“Hey, Joey.” - you

“Hey, Mama. Just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving practice right now. I should be home in a bit.” - Joe

“Oh okay, how was practice?” - you

“As good as practice can be, I guess.” - Joe chuckled

I laughed along with him before he started talking again.

“How’s your day been? The boys and baby girl doing good?” - Joe

“We’re perfect. Just miss you. Princess has been a little restless today, probably wanting to talk to her daddy.” - you

“I miss you guys too, Imma be home soon. I promise to be with you till I have to leave tonight.” - Joe

“Okay. I love you, Joe. Be safe.” - you

“I will be. I love you too, so much. See you soon, my love.” - Joe

“See you soon. Bye.” - you

“Bye, baby.” - Joe hung up

Now I just have to wait.

——

I sat on the couch to the best of my ability, waiting for Joe to get home when I heard the garage door opening.

Tyson and Miles jumped off of the couch to go greet their dad, and soon I could hear that deep voice coming from the mud room.

“Where's your momma at?” - Joe

“Couch.” - Miles

A few moments later Joe’s heavy footsteps got louder and his tall frame was in my view.

His eyes lit up, and he stopped in his tracks when he saw me. Joe’s mouth dropped open into a taken-aback huge grin.

“Baby… woah. You look... woah.” - Joe

I stood up and walked closer to him, his eyes never once leaving me.

“y/n, you look so beautiful. I don't even know what to say.” - Joe

Standing on my tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips, Joe wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Where’d your bump go?” - Joe laughed

I turned to the side and flattened my hands around it, causing Joe to laugh and reach for it.

Joe rubbed over my bump for a second before pulling his hand back to take in everything.

“I’m not even gonna lie though, I will need your help taking this thing off.” - you

“Wouldn't be the first time.” - Joe smirked

“Joseph Lee!” - you playfully hit his arm

“I’m not lying though!” - Joe

——

Later, after Joe helped me out of my dress, he gave me something that he had brought home but forgot to give me because he got distracted by me in my dress.

It was some Mexican food that he had picked up pm his way home from practice since I had told him this morning that I was craving it.

Now, we were sitting on the couch together as I ate.

“Thank you for this.” - you took a bite of your chimichanga

“You’re so welcome, Mama.” - Joe kissed your cheek

A few seconds of silence went by as Joe stole a bite of my chimichanga.

“Did my wedding dress look good on me still? After having twins and currently being pregnant, I don't even want to know how different it looks on me.” - you

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joe giving me a stank face, and I couldn't help but laugh when I turned my head to face him.

“What’s that look for?” - you laughed

“You’re fucking with me, right? Like you're joking?” - Joe

“No?” - you

“y/n. No matter how many changes your body has gone through you are as beautiful as the girl I dated in high school, all through college, and the girl I said I do to. Wanna know why?” - Joe

“Why?” - you

“Because you're the same girl you were before you had our babies. And to be completely honest with you, those changes make you even more gorgeous than before. To me, you don't have any imperfections because I love every part of your body. Those little stretch marks you complain about? They are a reminder of your body growing to accommodate your babies. Your belly getting bigger? That's home to our princess. I say all that to say this. y/n you are the most beautiful woman on this planet, and I love you so much.” - Joe

Joe wiped the tears that were dripping down my cheeks. They were happy tears time ten.

“I didn't mean to make you cry on your chimichanga.” - Joe

I laughed and leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his skin against mine.

“They're happy tears, Joe, and thank you for the pep talk… I needed that.” - you

“I know you did, baby. Now finish your food, Imma talk to the baby.” - Joe leaned down and looked at you, asking for permission to lift your shirt

“Go ahead.” - you grinned

What would I do without him?

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Authors note: more of an imagine than a blurb but whatevs

Request for this fic;

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #cincinnati bengals #joey b #joe burrow fan fic

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heartbrkr · 2 years ago

Text

a hindrance to peace

SUMMARY You remembered at an inconvenient moment that you weren’t your boyfriend’s first kiss, nor lover.

PAIRING kim sunwoo x gender neutral!reader

GENRE idolverse!au, established relationship, fluff, slight attempt at humor

WORD COUNT 1.6k

WARNINGS a jealous reader and an even more jealous sunwoo, they have a playful argument, two swear words, sunwoo is reader's first bf, nct's haechan mention (you'll see LOL), dialogue heavy

AUTHOR’S NOTE my first tbz/sunwoo fic inspired by this tiktok.. honestly, i'm a bit nervous to post this, but i loved writing it! feedback is greatly appreciated! ☻

MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN!

In between the adrenaline-filled moments with Sunwoo comes its fair share of soft and lingering ones that remind the memory of each other’s outline. Tonight was time for the latter, finding peace in the way your bodies intertwined on the sofa and words exchanged about anything and everything. At least, that was the initial plan.

He was talking about his latest project, accepting an offer to produce another group’s track. You were trying so hard to listen to him describe the vibe of the comeback, but the only thing you could feel was your overflowing pride for him. As a perfectionist, your boyfriend works very hard. You’re beyond delighted to find out that his talents and efforts have been paying off.

Out of excitement, you grab his face with the intention of giving him a congratulatory kiss. You both lean in, prepared to stop talking for the next few minutes, when all of a sudden, a revelation pops into your head:

Remember when he kissed people who weren’t you?

Your eyes are now wide open; you won’t let that slide. Though, you wonder why you’re only realizing it at this very moment.

Sunwoo’s parted lips hover over yours, but they never meet. Your palms no longer squish his cheeks. Simultaneously, you glare down at his mouth.

“What? What’s wrong?” You see his lips move, but his words don’t process for you.

One of your eyes involuntarily twitches, vividly imagining how Sunwoo’s perfect, plush lips have moulded against ones that aren’t yours, sighed names that don't belong to you, caressed others’ skin with his bare hands. Held his past lovers closer with the intent of never letting go (he eventually did, though, obviously).

He can so clearly see your face morphing deeper in distress with every unpleasant thought that makes its way into your brain; hiding your facial expressions wasn’t exactly your best suit.

“Hey.” He sternly tries to call out, yet you’re still stuck in your sulk. For about a minute, he thought you were pulling a prank on him. But with every passing beat that you don’t acknowledge his attempts to pull you out of your state, he starts to feel dread seep into his body.

Gradually losing his cool, he pats the side of your thighs, face, and eventually finds his hands in your own. He shuts his eyes briefly in relief when he feels you return his touch. However, you still aren’t verbally responding.

You’re trying, though, and Sunwoo catches your mouth opening, only to release a deep breath. As you look for the words to verbalize what’s plaguing your mind, you don’t think you can do it without sounding stupid and petty. You know exactly how he’ll react, and you’re unsure if you’re mentally ready to handle that.

Fuck it, you think to yourself after a bit. Might as well say it now than let it get bigger than it actually is.

“Nothing.”

…Is what you weren’t supposed to say.

As you hesitantly look at his face, his features start to grow with impatience, one of the many things you were avoiding. He cuts you off before you could even sound a letter out of defense.

Sunwoo sighs out exaggeratedly. “Well, it must be so unimportant that you deprived me of a makeout, hm?”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at his tone. “What I meant to say was, I remembered something,” he hums back at you rather impatiently, but you dismiss it, merely raising an eyebrow at him, “that I’m not the only person you’ve kissed.”

“Well, yeah. We have talked about this before. Why are you thinking about my exes when we’re about to kiss?” The plural term he uses only adds a prick to your already agitated nerves.

“But you’re all my firsts. Like, we were made for each other, and you were out there fucking around with people who weren’t me? It isn’t fair.” As you say each word aloud, you’re slowly realizing how unserious this was, but you’ll keep stringing the problem along. That’s what he gets for kissing other girls.

He laughs at you in disbelief with his eyebrows furrowed, just as you expected. “You aren’t serious, are you? Sounds like a you problem that you have zero game.”

Sunwoo tries to steal a teasing peck, but you’re faster to block him with a throw pillow, halfheartedly offended by his comment. “But when I bring up the fact that you shoved Changmin just because I said he was attractive before we were dating…”

Pushing the cushion away from his face and to the floor, he looks back at you with the biggest pout you have ever seen. If it weren’t for the context of your current banter, you would’ve already whipped out your phone to take a photo. “That’s because you aren’t supposed to look at men— and women— who aren’t me!”

“Why are you allowed to get jealous and I’m not?”

The raccoon-resembling man in front of you pauses for half a second, lacking a logical argument to counter you. So he says whatever comes to his mind next: “...Because!”

“Changmin didn’t deserve that, by the way.” “Stop that!”

“Not before you tell me why.”

He shakes his head violently and laughs, which eventually turns into a series of cut-off whines. “‘Cause my eyes are only on you! You’re the one I think about, no one else. The only time I talked about my exes was ‘cause you brought the topic up, not me!”

Ignoring the fluttering in your stomach, today marked the day that you decided egging a jealous Sunwoo was the best form of personal entertainment. “But if you hid them any longer, wouldn’t you have been lying to me?”

Your boyfriend rubs his hands over his face and dramatically reclines over the sofa’s armrest, his torso gone from your sight. “Yah! You’re insufferable.”

“Someone has to keep up with you somehow.” You tell him before rising from your once comfortable spot. He feels the couch shift when you stand up to get away from him, only furthering the playful argument the both of you are having.

You purposefully pass his line of vision, but it backfires when his hand latches on your ankle, making you jolt in surprise. “No… Get back here…” Trails out of his mouth breathily from the awkward position he’s in.

A few forceful jerks of your leg isn’t enough for him to release you, so you resort to squatting to pinch his arm, which surprisingly works. However, you don’t get far when running away to a Sunwoo-free area, because he’s already right behind you.

He grabs you from your waist, dragging you back to the sofa. You resist his grip but the warmth of his arms is too comfortable to get out of. Intentionally, you make a weak attempt to escape. “Let me go!”

“No.”

“Okay, what if I told you Haechan from NCT was also handsome?”

That was enough for Sunwoo to loosen his hold and turn you around to face him by the doorway of the kitchen, no expression present. You try hard not to laugh at his face, but at the same time contemplating if you were taking this too far.

With the flattest tone he could muster, Sunwoo says to you, “Be serious.”

You couldn’t hold in your laughter any longer, your arms wrapping around him due to cute aggression caused by the man himself. He hugs you back tightly after failing to keep his arms to himself, pretending he’s still upset. Not being able to see his face due to your position, you could only imagine the sulkiest expression gracing his features.

When you pull away from the long embrace, you see the pouty face you visioned. With his cheeks back into your palms, he leans into your touch and you guiltily smile at him. “I’m sorry! I love you, my Sunwoo.”

He smirks at the emphasis on my, feeling the pace of his heart quicken. Of course, nothing gets past you, deciding that a simple mouth twitch was enough to bring up your fresh “fight”.

“Now you apologize. And don’t ask what for, unless you want another round of me pestering you?” His hand flies up to the back of your neck and lays your head on his shoulder, forcing you into another hug. “Nope, no more talking about exes and how you find my friends attractive.”

There’s a pause between his first and next statement, leaving you patiently (loosely used) waiting for the apology that was asked for. To your surprise, his words were spoken sincerely instead of the sarcasm you anticipated.

“I’m sorry for not taking your existence into consideration when I had other partners before you. Won’t happen again. I love you, I promise you’re it for me.”

Your fondness for him multiplies by the thousands, so you show it by squeezing and swaying him to the fullest. Eventually, you start littering pecks all over his face and Sunwoo catches a glimpse of how your eyes are brimming bright with love. He indulges in the feeling, thanking everything and anything that he has you all to himself.

But you abruptly stop to look at him with an undecipherable expression and he resists letting out an irritated groan, thinking you still haven’t dropped the bickering from a few minutes ago.

Faux confusion appears on your face as you look up to the ceiling, index finger rhythmically tapping your chin. “Actually, I can’t really tell that you like me. Could you show me?” You make eye contact with him again, tilting your head with a pout.

Oh. He can do more than that.

#the boyz #tbz #tbz sunwoo #sunwoo x reader #sunwoo x you #sunwoo x y/n #kim sunwoo x reader #kim sunwoo x you #kim sunwoo x y/n #sunwoo fluff #sunwoo x gn!reader #sunwoo imagine #tbz imagine #tbz x reader #the boyz x reader

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