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bvbygrl-writes · 11 months ago

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Wrong House

Pairing: Stu Macher x Nerdy!Reader x Billy Loomis

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: A step into wrong house leads to a night of the right fun.

A/N: I was not supposed to upload this tonight but I'm too excited about it. I'm not proof reading this long ass shit either so if something is spelled wrong use your imagination to fix it, mwuah! <3

Warnings: reader has afab anatomy breaking and entering, knife play, homoerotic themes (they kiss but nothing more than that), mentions of murder, eiffel towering, loss of virginity, coercion and ultimatums, rope bandage, panty kink, and panty sniffing.

THIS FIC IS 18+!!! MINORS / ACCOUNTS WITHOUT AGE DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED WITH NO WARNING BUT THIS ONE.

(Y/n) was naturally an anxious girl but, with her parents out of town and the string of murders happening, she was on edge. She had every single light on in the house, the downstairs tv on, anything to make it seem as though the house was full of life. The reporters on the radio had told people to stay together and while most of the students in school had that option, she didn’t. Nobody wanted to be friends with the quiet girl who still wore Care Bear sweaters and could recite Star Trek lines from memory.

Nibbling the end of her pencil, she let out an exasperated sigh. She had been staring at the same math problem in her textbook for a good 45 minutes. “Focus, (Y/n/n), focus. If you do end up living through all of this, you’ll want to get into a good college.If you fail, mom and dad will make you wish you were dead.” she said out loud to herself, a sad laugh falling from her lips. At that same moment, her stomach began to grumble. When was the last time she ate? Reaching for the phone, she dialed the number to her favorite chinese food place. She loved it because the food was cheap and they were one of the only places that delivered something other than pizza after 10PM.

“Alright, thank you!” she said, placing the phone back on the receiver. It’d be about a 20 minute wait, giving her time to focus more on her work. Sighing she sat back down in front of her textbook, staring at the page until the numbers started to blur together. “Well, that’s enough of that! I should get the money for the delivery driver seeing as it’ll be here in…” glancing at the clock on her wall she sighed, “Twenty minutes.” ignoring that face, she stood up, bunny slippers stomping over the carpeted floor to the piggy bank on her dresser. She pulled out a 10 dollar bill along with a 5 for the tip. But before (Y/n) could even get to her door, she heard a noise at the front door.

“Th-that’s weird. There’s still nineteen minutes an-” she shrieked at the sound of the door bursting open. Every anxiety filled thought she had had since being home by herself was coming true. The blood drained from her face, her body growing light at the sound of the voices coming from the living room. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes as she turned off the lights and closed her bedroom door. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs put in perspective just how real this all was. She silently cursed her dad for never fixing the damn lock on her window. She might’ve broken a few bones from jumping, but that’d be better than being completely dead! Looking around her room she made the decision to jump in her closet, closing the accordion door.

She became aware of how loudly she was breathing, clamping her hands over her mouth. Her body trembled with terror. ‘Is this how I die? Alone, never experiencing friendship or love?’ Was this really the time to be feeling sorry for her lack of social and love life? ‘Well to be fair, this may be one of the last times I’m able to feel anything whatsoever.’ The sound of her bedroom door opening instantly made her mind go blank. The girl felt as though she was having a heart attack and honestly? She would have preferred that to whatever death she was about to experience.

“Are you sure this is the right house? This doesn’t look like Chelsea’s room.” A male’s voice remarked, the lights flicking on. She could see through the small slots on the folding door that there were two men. One had dark hair and a knife in his hand. The other one was taller with blonde hair and a backpack with god knows what inside of it.

“Yeah, dude! This is 345 Avalee Lane.” the other one exclaimed, an almost sinister grin on his face. The dark hair one made a sound that was a mix of a growl and a sigh.

“You fucking idiot! Chelsea lives in 348, we’re in the wrong house!” he pinched the bridge of his nose, kicking over the little trash can near her desk across the room. (Y/n) relaxed a bit. Maybe since they weren’t looking for her they’d just leave?

“Well at least no one’s home, we can just get out of here.” The blonde one rasped out, eating a piece of candy off of her dresser before tossing the wrapper on the ground. ‘Rude’ she thought.

“The lights and the tv were on. Someone’s definitely in this house. I’m going to go check the other rooms and you look around this one a bit better. We can’t take any chances.” The brunette exited the room and in the distance he heard the sound of different doors being opened.

The blonde one began to hum, snooping around her room. He walked over to her dresser, opening up her panty drawer. A smile grew on his face as he held up a pair of white ones with a pink lace trim, shoving them in the back pocket of his baggy jeans. “Cute.” he said to himself (or so he thought). Walking over to her bed, he tossed the covers back before bending down to check under the bed as well. Next, he walked over to the cupboard of her collectable figurines, opening up the door. “Hm.” he shrugged before beginning to exit the room. She removed her hands from her mouth, placing them on the floor beside her as she let her body relax. However, before he could leave, she could see a lightbulb go off in his brain as he turned around walking towards the closet. The girl’s eyes went wide as she shook her head. As he opened the closet door, she couldn’t even manage to make a sound. A look of surprise made its way onto his face before he began to grin. “You’ve got cute little undies. Hey Billy!”

All (Y/n) could do was sit there in shock. She recognized this boy, he was in her art classes although he rarely showed up. Now that she could really see his face, he was quite attractive. Before she could delve into why she was letting herself think that, the other one (who she assumed was Billy) appeared right next to him. Although he had a scowl on his face, he was just as attractive. ‘Well, you always said you wanted a cute guy to notice you. There’s two! But you should’ve been more specific, huh (Y/n/n)?’

“She’s kind of cute in a dorky little way, ain’t she?” Stu commented as Billy used his knife to lift her chin. She didn’t dare stop making eye contact with Billy for fear of what he might do with that knife the second she did. He tilted her face around, examining it from all sorts of angles before he chuckled.

“She is. (Y/n), right? You’re the girl that’s always winning those sciences awards at school. We have AP English together.” he said in a calm tone. This was the strangest thing she had ever experienced. Why were they dragging this on so much when they could just kill her and get it over with?

“M-mmm-mhm!” she stuttered out, nodding her head ever so slightly so she didn’t cut herself on the blade.

“Although I agree with my friend here, you still find yourself to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. See, I’ve got a plan and if I let you live, there’s a big chance you’re going to blab and ruin it for me.” he said, his words coming out through gritted teeth towards the end. “So unfortunately, your time’s up.”

“No, no please! I-I-I won’t blab and tell! I don’t have any friends or anyone to tell I won’t tell please! I promise!” she sobbed, begging for her life as he pressed the knife against her neck harder. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, which would also explain the sensation happening between her legs. Fat tears continued to stream down her face. “I promise please there’s gotta be a way!” she continued to plead for her life, waiting for something, just anything to happen. Whatever it’d take for this situation to be over. However, she was surprised when the knife suddenly was no longer pressed to her neck. Looking up, she saw the blonde one’s hand had moved it away and he was whispering something into Billy’s ear. Their eyes kept flickering to parts of the room and then back to her before Billy gave a singular nod.

“It seems my friend Stu here has taken quite a liking to you so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a bit of fun with you and if we enjoy it, you live and we’ll be back to get you after we finish some…business. And if not, I’ll slit your throat right after we finish. Does that sound fair?” Billy said, tugging her from her sitting position to be in between the both of them. She nodded frantically, happy to have even a small chance of living. She knew they were probably going to kill her when they were done, but at least that moment was suspended for a bit longer.

“Wh-what do I need t-to do?” she asked, her heart racing as she looked up at the two of them. They were completely dwarfing her with their size, it was like being trapped between two incredibly hot trees. Stu grinned at her once again before stepping back a bit.

“Well you can start by stripping!” he instructed, phrasing it like a suggestion even though she knew it wasn’t. She nodded, taking off her cream colored sweater, sliding her Power Rangers pajama pants down right after. She began to hesitate slightly as now she was just in her slippers and underwear.

“Allow me.” Billy said, using his knife to snip off her bra. He started at the shoulder straps, taking a moment to stare at her breast before tearing the backband as well. She didn’t try to cover up, knowing her chances of survival would dwindle to none. He went to pull down her panties but Stu stopped him, shaking his head.

“Leave those on her.” he said, before getting down on his knees in front of her. Billy held her arms behind her back with one of his, peeking over the girl’s shoulders to see what his moronic friend had planned. What she didn’t expect was for him to bury his face into her underwear-clad pussy and sniff. Stu let out a low moan as he did, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He continued to sniff at her front, his nose nudging her clit through the fabric. “God that’s amazing. Looks like she’s enjoying it too.” he said, rubbing his finger on the wet spot forming on her panties. He gently pressed his fingers against the fabric causing (Y/n) to squirm a bit, a gentle moan falling from her mouth.

“Oh, that’s such a pretty noise.” Billy purrs lowly in her ear. Standing from the floor, Stu lifts his fingers up to Billy’s mouth and without thinking, he opens it. The girl watches in awe, her clit beginning to throb at the way the two men were interacting with one another. Stu slowly pulls his fingers from the man’s mouth, biting his lip as the other man licks his. “Did you want a taste?” he asks in a deep tone. At the same time, they both lean over and begin to share a passionate and heated open mouth kiss. Little moans and grunts fall from them, a gasp falling from her own lips as Stu grips at her waist, beginning to grind against her front, his bulge slotted between her slit. Billy mimics his actions, grinding his cock against her ass. She was glad the two were holding her up, because at the current moment she wasn’t sure if her legs would work. This was a whole new world for her. She had never been kissed or even touched by one man let alone two. The noises falling from her mouth were completely out of her control, the sensation of their rhythmic rubbing along with the scene of them kissing above her was all too much for her to handle.

As though they could hear her thoughts, they pulled away from their kiss, turning their attention back to her. She hadn’t even realized that the knife was completely gone now. If she wanted to, she could’ve ran and gotten away. If she wanted to. Billy gripped her arms once more, beginning to walk her over to the bed. She felt her face grow warm at the collection of stuffed animals, causing her to look at the ground. “They keep me warm at night.” she defended weakly. Stu laughed, cooing at her before picking one up and turning it to face the wall, repeating the action several times with the other one.

Billy groaned, annoyed. “Seriously?”

“What? I know how the girls get about that sort of thing.” As Stu continued with his antics, the brunette reached for his friend’s bag. (Y/n) eyed him curiously, thinking he had changed his mind on their deal but was relieved when all he pulled out was a bit of rope. Wait, rope? He tossed it up and down smirking at her before positioning himself behind her as he began to tie her hands together. ‘This is better than whatever they usually probably use this for.’ She tugged at the rope, the friction causing a mild irritation from the action. He pushed her a bit, causing her to fall forward onto the bed. Her ass was in the air while the upper part of her body fell down due to having no support. She listened to the sound of belts and pants clambering before feeling the bed dip down behind her. At that same time, a pair of legs kneeled in front of her as well. She felt as a hand carded it’s way through her hair before tightening, lifting her face to be eye level with a cock. Peering up, she saw that it was Billy.

“Are you gonna open up or am I going to have to do it for you?” he asked, causing a bit of panic to flash through the girl’s (e/c) eyes.

“S-sorry. I’ve never done any of this before.” she muttered, causing a whistle from behind her. She could imagine the grin on Stu's face.

“A cute virgin?! How lucky are we tonight? Oh this is going to be fun. I haven’t popped a cherry in quite a long time.” Stu gushed, rubbing his hands together. “I can barely contain myself!” her panties were then pulled to the side, long fingers beginning to rub all along her slick covered folds. She let out a whimper, her knees trembling as he began to rub circles on her clit. As he slid a finger in, her mouth fell open which Billy saw as the perfect opportunity. Gripping her hair a bit tighter, he began to slide his cock into her mouth slowly. He stared down at her face, watching as her mouth began to struggle with the girth of him, tears falling down her face.

“You better stop with all those tears, I really don’t wanna cum this early.” Billy teased, beginning to rock his hips back and forth. He hissed in pleasure at her tight and warm little mouth, tossing his head back as he let out a guttural moan. Behind her, Stu had managed to work the third finger in, stretching and scissoring them around.Gripping her hip with one hand, he used his other to glide his cock along her lips causing them to both moan. “Hurry up, I wanna pick up the pace but I’m trying to make it easier for you.”

“I’m going!” and with that, Stu slid his cock in with one swift motion. His grip on her hips tightened at the same time her walls did as he fell forward for a bit, head resting against the small of her back. “G-god, oh fuck! You’ve got a tight little pussy, huh?” he said through gritted teeth, beginning to pound into her at an almost animalistic pace. Her pussy drooled around his cock as she continued to moan around Billy, choking as he also picked up his pace. Their thrust were alternating. As Stu would pull his cock out some, Billy’s would enter her throat deep, barely giving her a chance to get used to anything. She had already came around his cock twice, the feeling being overwhelmingly pleasurable.

They were using her like a doll, holding her up and angling her just right. All she could do was sob and take it, the only thing on her mind was their cocks and her life. She didn’t even care if she was going to die after this, this was the best thing she had ever experienced in her life.

“You look so helpless when you cry. God, Stu I wish you could see her right now.” Billy moaned out, staring down into those wet (e/c) eyes. Picking up his pace, he gripped at her scalp, full on skull fucking her now. His thrust had grown sloppy and so had his counterpart’s.

“Tr-trust me, my view is just as good. I’m cl-close!” he whined out, reaching a finger down to rub at the girl's sensitive and swollen clit. (Y/n) screamed around Billy’s cock sending him over the edge. Pulling out, he coated her face and hair in a load of sticky white cum. Watching Billy stroke his cock over her face pushed Stu over the edge as well, causing him to bounce her back on his dick, whimpering as he came deep inside of her.

The room fell silent and as (Y/n) came to her senses, the question of the hour came back to haunt her. Was she going to live?

“Are you satisfied, Stu?”

“More than, man.”

“Well..” Billy trailed off, stepping off of the bed. As Stu pulled out, she felt cold and exposed. Both men stood behind her, staring as the load of cum began to roll down the back of her legs. The brunette reached forward, grabbing her wrist rather roughly before untying her. “I guess you live. We’ll be back. In the meantime, get cleaned up.” the sound of the doorbell ringing caused the two men to look out the window, thinking she had somehow managed to get in contact with help. However, they both relaxed at the sight of the delivery truck on the outside of the house.

“Make sure you save me some chow mein!” Stu said. The girl rolled over on her back, letting out a breathless laugh watching as the two quickly got dressed. Before they headed for the bedroom door, Stu took her panties off of her, sticking them in the front pocket of his jeans.

“For good luck!”

#scream #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x female reader #billy loomis x stu matcher #stu macher x reader #stu macher #stu macher x you #stu macher x y/n #stu macher x billy loomis #scream imagine #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy x reader x stu #stu macher x reader x billy loomis #stu x reader x billy

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kyracooneyx23 · 16 days ago

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Buffet

Leah Williamson

summary: Leah can't resist an all you can eat buffet, especially when your the main course.

warnings: smut, mdni, 18+

The big white block letters were already peeling over the black fabric and you'd only put them on a few minutes ago. They were uncomfortable, and not nearly half as nice as other pairs you owned, but the message made it all worth it: 'ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET'.

The ad for the thong had popped up when you were scrolling on instagram and it had been too good to resist. You'd ordered it immediately knowing that Leah always liked a good joke, but also liked a good meal.

You wear them beneath the little pajama shorts that drive Leah crazy, the ones that are loose enough so that she can always catch a glimpse of your underwear beneath them.

You're laying in bed, scrolling on your phone, as you waited for your girlfriend to come home. She'd messaged you a while ago, saying that the media team had kept her back and she'd be home later than planned.

It's only as the clock ticks to 9:30 that you finally hear your apartment door open and Leah's mumbles as she chucks her bags on the ground and pours herself a glass of water.

You put your phone down on the bedside table and tuck yourself beneath the covers, keeping your thighs purposefully visible. A small smirk falls on your face when your girlfriend walks through the door, running her hands through her hair and trying to muffle a yawn.

You're slightly taken aback when she refrains from making a comment about your choice of clothes. Usually she'd be all over you, and you have no doubt that she'll be nearly on top of you when you're both beneath the covers, but you can't believe that she manages to keep her mouth shut.

'Jonas wants me to go into the club earlier tomorrow to do a press conference for the Chelsea game,' she mumbles, clearly tired and slightly pissed off at her manager who you'd heard many rants about. 'Says I've got to be there an hour early, 7 I think? Which means I gotta haul my ass up before then.'

'Oh,' you sigh, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice, 'Sorry Le, we can sleep early tonight.'

She hums in agreement, getting changed before joining you underneath the covers, immediately reaching for you just as she does every single night. Her hands gravitate towards your waist, and even if she's too tired and committed to her job to think about sex tonight, her hands still snake into the waistband of your shorts just for safekeeping.

As soon as he feels the stiff, blocky, cool of the lettering on the front of your thong, you feel her brows furrow where her head is pressed into your shoulder. She lifts her head up and moves the blankets away from your body and pulls the waistband of your shorts down so she can see what your wearing in the dim lights neither of you made the effort to turn off.

'What-' she squints, trying to read upside-down without proper lighting, but it's a hopeless cause. Your dying from laughter and you shimmy out of your shorts so your sitting on your knees, close enough for her to see.

'All you can eat buffet,' she reads, murmuring the words while her face lights up and a hearty laugh escapes her throat, 'You naughty little girl, where did you get that?'

'I have my secrets,' You tease, and she braces a hand on your thigh to admire it. She studies you for a moment, still chuckling, and then she moves up, staring at you expectantly.

'Well lay down, baby.' She invites you, 'Let's see this buffet.'

'No, Leah, it's alright!' You insist, 'You have to be up early for the conference, it can wait, I'll wear them a time when your less busy.'

'No,' she whines, pulling at the waistband of the thong. 'Your terrible jokes and impulsive financial habits have turned me on. Plus, I didn't have dinner tonight and I don't see the point in wasting a perfectly good meal. On your back baby.'

'Leah, you don't-' You shake your head, knowing how important football, especially Arsenal, is to her. But she takes your face in her hands, pushing you down so your laying on your back, 'we don't have to do this, we can-'

'God, you make pussy eating sound like a chore.' She mumbles between kisses, her lips trailing down to your collar bone. 'Relax baby, All you can eats are my favourite, and I've just realised how hungry I am.'

You moan as Leah's hands reach under your shirt to play with your breasts. It's only been a matter of seconds and you've already turned to putty at her touch.

Her hands trail down your body, down to in between your thighs, her lips following as she kisses just above your waistband.

She rips the thong off chucking it behind her and her tongue slips into you, running a line along your slit. The sudden contact causing you to moan.

'Fuck Leah.' You cry out and trap her head with your legs, reaching down to pull on her hair which had fallen loose. She moans into your pussy from the feeling.

All you can hear is the sound of her tongue licking and sucking, and it's so fucking hot. Leah was way too good at this.

She adds a finger into you and flicks her tongue against your clit. She swirls her tongue around in circles, pumping her finger in and out of you as she does.

'Leah!' you yell out from the feeling, leaning up onto your elbows. You wanted to watch her eat you out, it's still dark but you can make out her blonde hair between your legs. That's all you need.

She continues to eat you out, and you grind on her face to feel her tongue deeper into you until you don't think you can take it anymore.

She moans loudly into your pussy, sensing that you were close by the way you clenched your thighs around her even tighter than before. You're so fucking close.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, body going rigid as you came onto her tongue. She keeps sucking making sure to get every last drop.

'Best dinner ever,' she breathes, a satisfied smile spreading across her face, prompting a laugh from you. 'But I think I’ve still got room for dessert.'

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson smut #leah williamson x you #leah williamson #lionesses x reader #lionesses #woso community #woso x reader #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #woso smut #woso fanfics #woso one shot

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meazalykov · 29 days ago

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open goals

lena oberdorf x bayern!reader

part one here - part two - part three here

summary: love wins at bayern munich

warnings: angst, one mention of childhood neglect, this part is very long too, enemies to lovers.

after some time, in february 2024, everything changed.

you get home after training one evening, still feeling the unease that you can’t quite place. you try to shake it off as you walk through the front door, tossing your bag to the side, and head straight for the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

your mind is still spinning with all the weird little moments from today, but you can’t quite put your finger on what’s bothering you.

everyone being so nice, so... attentive. well, your european teammates have always been the sweetest– sometimes clingy– but today feels different. your intuition tells you so.

your fingers drum against the counter as you stare off at nothing, you try to brush it off as paranoia. it was probably nothing, they’re being the best teammates that they are.

the pink iphone of yours buzzes just as you take a sip of water, and you glance down to see your national teammate’s name flashing on the screen.

relief floods you; it’s been a minute since you last talked to her, and you need some normalcy right now, something that feels comfortable and familiar. you quickly swipe to answer.

“heyyyy!” you greet, trying to sound casual as you lean back against the counter.

“hey girl,” she laughs, her voice bright and cheerful.

“god, it’s been forever since we last talked. i got bored and saw your contact so i figured i’d call you. i hope i am not interrupting?”

“you aren’t. i just got home.” you smile.

“okay cool! how are things? how’s training?”

“oh, you know, same old,” you say, forcing a smile even though she can’t see you.

“just finished up for the day like i said. bayern’s... good. how’s everything with you? i know you just transferred from lyon to chelsea last month. how is everything? you’ve been at lyon since forever.”

“forever as in a few years? ha i am doing good. the girls here are sweet.” your teammate says, you can hear the comfort in her voice.

“thats great! jess mentioned that you were getting comfortable.”

“yeah, yeah. honestly, the problem is getting used to a new routine,” she groans dramatically, and you laugh, feeling yourself relax a little.

“can’t wait to catch up with you when we’re back together at the national camp. what about you? how’s georgia doing? and the others?” your national teammate continues.

you feel a little warmth spread through your chest at the mention of your bayern teammates.

“oh, they’re great. georgia’s, well, being georgia as always. sydney’s loud and chaotic. nothing’s really changed, y’know? just the usual chaos.”

“sounds about right,” she says, chuckling.

“but hey, speaking of georgia... she told me that you were getting a new tattoo soon by her? something about matching with some of the bayern crew?”

“yeah, actually, later tonight,” you reply, glancing at the clock.

“heading over to georgia’s shop in a bit. i’m not getting one today, though—sam is. but... yeah, we’ll all be there.”

“oh, nice,” she says, and you can hear her moving around on the other end, probably putting dishes away or something.

“what’s sam getting?”

“not sure,” you admit with a shrug, even though she can’t see it.

“i think it’s a symbol or something. you know sam—always something meaningful.”

“classic sam,” she says with a fond chuckle, and for a moment, everything feels light and easy. just a normal catch-up between friends.

but then her tone shifts a bit, a hesitant edge creeping in.

“hey, uh... you’ve been good, right? like, with... everything going on?”

you blink, confused by the sudden change in topic.

“yeah, i mean... yeah, everything’s fine. why?”

she hesitates, and you can hear the hesitation in her voice.

“i just... i don’t know. i thought you might be, um, worried. about... well, about the rumors and stuff.”

“rumors?” you repeat, furrowing your brow. “what rumors?”

“about lena,” she says softly, like she’s not sure how you’re going to take it.

the smile on your face drops from the sound of her name.

“you know... her possibly transferring to bayern.”

you freeze, the air catching in your throat. “what?” you say, your voice coming out sharper than you intended.

“what do you mean… transferring? lena’s at wolfsburg. she’s been there forever and i remember lea mentioning something about her signing a renewal with them.”

there’s a pause, and you hear her take a deep breath.

“yeah, i know, but... haven’t you seen the news on social media? like, there’s a bunch of talk that she might be coming to bayern. i mean, it’s all just rumors right now, but... i figured someone would’ve mentioned it to you. i thought... i thought you knew.”

you shake your head even though she can’t see you, trying to process what she’s saying, but it feels like she’s speaking another language.

“no, no, i didn’t know. why would... why would lena come to bayern? that... that doesn’t make sense.”

“i mean, she’s one of the best players in germany,” your teammate points out, her voice still soft and cautious.

“it kinda makes sense for her to move to a big club like bayern... i’m sorry– i know you hate me for saying that–but i didn’t think you’d be finding out like this. shit shit shit, i’m sorry, y/n. i honestly thought you knew.”

“no,” you say quickly, trying to keep your voice steady even as your mind is racing. “no, i... i had no idea. i mean... lena and bayern, that’s... that’s not possible. it can’t be real.”

“it’s all just talk right now,” she reassures you, but you can hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“look, maybe it’s just rumors, you know how these things go. people are always saying players are going here and there. remember when the news said that you were leaving munich to go to new york?? that never happened! but... i dunno, i’ve been seeing it all over my timeline.”

you feel your heart pounding in your chest, and there’s a dull ringing in your ears as you try to make sense of everything.

“you’re... you’re joking, right?” you force out a laugh, but it sounds shaky.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i wish i was,” she says, and your stomach drops. “i can send you the links if you want to see for yourself.”

“fine,” you say, feeling like you’re on autopilot now, the panic starting to build in your chest.

“send them over.”

the moment the call ends, the links start coming through—one after the other, headlines that make your eyes blur with disbelief.

“wolfsburg star rumored to be signing with bayern…”

“lena oberdorf could be on the move…”

“bayern munich set to sign germany’s young talent…”

it’s like the words swim in front of your eyes, and your breath catches in your throat.

you stare at your phone, feeling the world shift beneath your feet. it feels like everything is closing in, like the room is getting smaller and smaller, and all you can do is sit there, trying to remember how to breathe.

lena. at bayern. in the same locker room as you. wearing the same crest as you. doing the same cheers and learning the handshakes. it feels like a nightmare, but you’re wide awake.

she’d never come here. she’d never... never follow you to bayern. not after everything. you told yourself.

but then again, lena was always one step ahead, always getting to you when you least expected it.

what if it’s true? what if she really is coming here?

you shakily text your teammate back—hey, i’ll call you later,—but you know you won’t. not now. not while your head is spinning like this.

you make it to georgia’s tattoo place, just about two minutes late but munich traffic during rush hour was busy. the bell above the door chimes as you step in, and the familiar smell of ink and antiseptic fills the air.

georgia’s setting up her tattoo gun for sam, who’s chatting animatedly with ana, lea, and sydney on the side. usually, you’d be joking around with them, too, but today you’re barely holding it together.

georgia looks up, smiling as you walk in. “hey, you made it! ready to watch the magic happen while sam panics the whole time?”

“shut up!” sam protests.

you force a smile, but it feels fake, plastered on. you can’t focus on anything but the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your head.

“yeah... yeah, sure,” you mumble, feeling like your voice is coming from someone else’s mouth.

sydney notices the look on your face and frowns.

“y/n? what’s up? you have the same face you made when we got knocked out of the champions league last month.”

you swallow hard, your voice wavering as you ask the question that’s been clawing at your mind the entire way over.

“did... did you guys know about lena? that she’s... coming to bayern?”

the room goes quiet, and you see the way georgia’s shoulders tense, the way sydney exchanges a look with ana.

no one speaks for a moment, and the silence feels like it’s crushing you.

lea is the one to break it, stepping forward and reaching out to touch your arm gently.

“y/n, we didn’t want to tell you until we knew for sure. it’s all rumors right now—lena hasn’t told me anything about that yet. nothing is confirmed, okay?”

“yeah,” sydney adds quickly, crossing her arms, her voice firm.

“look, lena’s a good player. if she’s coming to bayern, it’s not to make your life harder. she probably wants to be close to her friends, her family... you should know that this isn’t about you.”

“but it feels like it’s about me,” you admit, hating the tremor in your voice. “it’s like she’s... she’s invading my space, and i... i don’t know what to do about it. what if she comes here and makes everything... worse?”

you tell yourself you’re a professional, and lena is too. you tell yourself that maybe things will be okay. but the past still grips your chest tightly, reminding you of every moment of anger, every tackle, every taunt. and deep down, you know you’re not ready to let that go. not yet.

when lena confirms to the public that she will join bayern after this season ends, with the bayern pages itself posting pictures of lena signing the contract beside bianca-- you feel dread.

“what if she takes my spot? what if she bullies me in the locker room when you guys aren’t around?” you found yourself blurting out to pernille, magda, and tuva in the lounge room the following morning.

“what if she… i don’t know, what if she ruins everything and i’d have to move clubs?”

“süße erbse,” tuva said gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you really think we’d let that happen? lena’s good, but you’re y/n l/n. we love you here.”

“yeah,” pernille added with a grin, “you think lena can come in here and take away our süße erbse? not a chance.”

you wanted to believe them, but there was still a knot in your stomach. it wasn’t just about your spot on the team.

it was everything—years of being belittled by her, the way she made you feel like you were always playing catch-up. and now she was going to be…here. in your everyday life.

when july rolled around, the first day lena officially joins bayern, you’re tense before you even get to the training ground.

everyone– aka the girls from the german national team–have been buzzing about her arrival for weeks, and the news has followed you around like a shadow—reminding you every day that your former rival, the person who pushed you to your lowest, was now going to be your teammate.

it doesn't sit right, and as you step into the locker room that morning, you can’t shake the discomfort in your chest.

there she is, standing by her locker, looking...different. softer than the lena you’re used to seeing in the green and white of wolfsburg.

now, she’s wearing the same red bayern training kit as you, and it makes something twist inside your stomach. wrong. that’s what it feels like—just wrong.

you want to turn around and leave, just pretend you forgot something in the parking lot and stall for time, but she spots you before you can move.

her eyes light up, that familiar spark dancing in them—but it’s not taunting like before. it’s... welcoming. she gives you this big smile, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle at the edges, and suddenly it feels like the room is too hot, too small, like the walls are closing in on you.

“y/n, hey,” lena says, and her voice sounds...kind. friendly. nothing like the voice you remember yelling at you on the pitch, taunting you with every mistake.

she walks toward you, like she’s genuinely excited to see you, and you want to flinch away.

“i’m really glad to be here. i know we’ve had a past, but i hope we can leave all that behind and be teammates. put the rivalry aside, yeah?”

you force a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. “hi,” you manage to say, your voice cracking slightly.

you can barely meet her eyes, your gaze dropping to the floor because looking at her feels like staring straight into the past—the tackles, the taunts, the years of feeling like you were always playing catch-up.

“it’s nice to finally be on the same side, don’t you think?” she continues, still smiling, as if she’s trying to ease the tension.

“i’m looking forward to working with you. i’ve... always admired how you play.”

the words are so dissonant, so out of place coming from her, that you can’t help but scoff quietly.

admired you? this is the same woman who spent years making you feel like you were never enough, who relished in getting under your skin every chance she got. and now she was just going to act like that history never existed? like she never made you a joke, like you’re supposed to be grateful for her kindness now?

“right,” you say flatly, unable to keep the sarcasm from your voice. “well... welcome, then.”

you turn to walk away, unable to deal with the tightness in your chest, but the moment you take a step, lena calls after you, her voice softening.

“y/n, wait—I really mean it. i don’t want there to be... any bad blood between us. i want to start fresh.”

you pause, but don’t turn back to look at her. every muscle in your body feels tense, like you’re coiled to spring away, and your mind is racing with every bitter memory.

“yeah, well... some things aren’t that easy to forget,” you mutter before walking off, feeling like you’re practically running away towards the training grounds.

your heart hammers in your chest as you make your way to the pitch, trying to shake the feeling of discomfort that lingers.

you hate how your voice sounded, how nervous you were—like a little kid facing down a bully.

get it together, you're a twenty-one year old adult. you tell yourself, trying to block out the way she looked at you, like you were someone she actually cared about.

you don’t know this lena, and you’re not sure you want to.

as you head out to the pitch, you see sydney standing by the goalpost, and you practically breathe a sigh of relief.

your best friend on the team, your fiercest defender when it comes to lena, sydney notices immediately that something’s up when she sees your face.

“she talked to you, didn’t she?” sydney asks, her voice sharp. she’s always had your back when it comes to lena, never liked the way she treated you.

all of the other girls at bayern hated how lena treated you, but sydney was more vocal about it.

“what’d she say?”

“just... some bullshit about wanting to start over,” you say, shaking your head, your voice dripping with disbelief.

“like she thinks we’re just going to be best friends now or something. like all of the shit she put me through doesn’t matter.”

sydney’s expression hardens, and she glares over at lena, who’s standing off to the side of the pitch, looking a little lost and unsure as lea talks to tuva.

“what did she expect? that she’d walk in and everything would be fine and dandy?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“she’s got a nerve, acting like you’re just supposed to forgive her instantly.”

“yeah, well, i’m not,” you say, your jaw tightening. “not yet. maybe not ever.”

training starts, and as the drills go on, you feel lena’s eyes on you a few times—quick glances, like she’s gauging whether to approach you again.

but every time she makes a move, sydney is there, blocking her path or shooting her a look that says, not now. eventually, lena seems to get the hint, and she keeps her distance, sticking close to lea.

after training, as you’re cooling down, you see lena approach sydney, her expression uncertain but determined.

“hey, um... is y/n okay?” you hear her ask, her voice low. “i didn’t mean to... i don’t know, make her uncomfortable.”

sydney, to her credit, doesn’t sugarcoat anything. “look, lena,” she says firmly, crossing her arms.

“you know what happened between you two. you know what you did. don’t expect her to like you immediately just because you’re being nice now. give her space. she’s not... ready for this.”

lena nods slowly, looking over at you from across the pitch, her face falling slightly. “yeah... yeah, i get it. thanks.”

you don’t know how much she means it—you don’t know if she really understands how much damage she did, how much she’s hurt you over the years. and you’re not ready to find out, either. all you know is that seeing her in the same kit, wearing your club’s crest, feels like a betrayal. and it’s going to take a lot more than nice words and pretty smiles to change that.

throughout the preseason she tried to engage with you more, but every time, you shied away. it wasn’t that you couldn’t talk to her—it was that you didn’t want to.

not after how she made you feel.

lena, for her part, noticed. she wasn’t stupid. she saw how you avoided her, how you never quite met her eyes. so one day, after a particularly awkward training session, she turned to her best friend lea for advice.

“why does y/n hate me so much?” lena asked, frowning as they sat together after practice.

lea glanced at her, “obi, are you serious?”

lena sighed,

then lea sighed. “well, it’s pretty obvious, lena. you’ve been pushing her around and treating her like shit for years.”

lena blinked, clearly taken aback. “what do you mean?”

“i mean, you’ve made her life miserable on the pitch,” lea explained patiently, even though lena pretends like the last three years didn’t exist.

“people have been making jokes about her because of you, and you…you’ve entertained it. you’ve never let up, even when it wasn’t necessary. of course she’s going to resent you. you made her feel small.”

lena was quiet for a long moment, her brow furrowing. she hadn’t thought about it that way before.

she’d just always seen it as competition, as banter. but now… now it made sense. “i didn’t mean to,” she murmured.

“yeah, well,” lea said, “that doesn’t change how she feels.”

then, as if things couldn’t get more complicated, lena tore her acl before the olympics in the summer. it was brutal, seeing her go down like that. and even though you resented her, a part of you—deep down—felt sorry for her.

you knew what it was like to be sidelined for months due to the same injury, to watch everything you’ve worked for slip away.

so, you did something you didn’t think you’d ever do: you texted her through instagram.

*hey. i’m sorry to hear about your injury. i hope you have a smooth recovery.*

you stared at your phone for a long time after hitting send, unsure if you’d regret it. lena responded quickly, thanking you, and trying to start a conversation. but you didn’t give her much, keeping your replies short, not really engaging.

you weren’t ready to let your guard down yet, even if she is on the same team with your teammates protecting you.

over the next two months, lena tried again and again to reach out, but you kept her at arm’s length.

it wasn’t until one day, after a particularly long rehab session, that she finally cornered you, her eyes soft but determined.

“can we talk?” she asked, her voice gentler than you’d ever heard it.

you sighed but nodded, deciding it was time to hear her out. the two of you found a quiet spot in the training center, and she looked at you with something almost like regret in her eyes.

“i didn’t realize…how much i hurt you,” lena began.

“i thought it was just part of the game, you know? but lea explained it to me. and i finally get it now. i’m so sorry.”

you crossed your arms, looking down at your shoes.

“you made me a joke, lena. you acted like it was nothing, but i had to hear it from everyone. people comparing us, praising you, and making me feel like…like i wasn’t good enough. and you encouraged it. you made me feel small.”

lena’s face softened, and she stepped closer.

“that was never my intention. i never meant to make you feel like that. i admired you. you’re…goodness, y/n, you’re incredible on the pitch. you’re so fast, and the way you move with the ball—it’s like art. and off the pitch, you’re…you’re kind. you’re good to people. i didn’t realize how much that meant until lea pointed it out.”

you blinked, taken aback by her words. “what?”

lena sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“i’m saying i like you. i’ve liked you for a while now. i just didn’t know how to show it, so i acted like an idiot. i get it if you hate me. i probably deserve that.”

you stared at her, completely caught off guard.

“you’re joking, right? are you serious? you can’t just say something like that after everything. how can you feel that way after everything you’ve said and done to me?”

“i’m not joking,” lena said softly, her eyes meeting yours. “i like you, y/n. and i’m sorry. i really am. i know i hurt you, but if you give me a chance, i’d like to make it up to you.”

you swallowed hard, trying to process everything. part of you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the grudge you’d built up over the years. but another part of you—one that you didn’t want to admit existed—was intrigued.

was it possible that lena oberdorf, the girl who had made your life hell on the pitch, actually had feelings for you?

“i don’t know,” you said slowly, your voice tight. “you hurt me, lena. you pushed me around for years. you made me feel like i was less. i’m not just going to forget that because you have a crush.”

lena nodded, her expression serious. “i understand. i’m not asking you to forget. i’m just asking for a chance to prove that i’m not that person anymore.”

you hesitated, your walls still firmly in place. “if i even consider this,” you said carefully, “you need to apologize. really apologize, not just say it because you think it’s what i want to hear.”

lena met your eyes, her voice steady. “i’m sorry, y/n. i’m sorry for the way i treated you, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. you’re more than enough. you’ve always been.”

you felt something shift in your chest, a soft crack in the armor you’d built up over the years. maybe, just maybe, lena meant it.

“okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “we’ll see.”

after months of unease, things start to shift. lena is at bayern now, and even though you’re not thrilled about it, you’ve accepted that she’s not going anywhere.

she’s on the sidelines for every training session, every game, with that same determined look in her eyes, even though her acl injury keeps her off the pitch.

despite the resentment that still lingers, you can’t help but feel like you’re softening toward her, little by little.

you've been bayern’s top scorer so far this season. after every game, lena comes onto the pitch to congratulate everyone. she goes around, hugging your teammates, and when she gets to you, her arms open, but you freeze.

“um– can we do a handshake?” you suggest awkwardly, offering your hand instead of leaning in for the hug. lena hesitates but nods with a small smile, shaking your hand.

“good game,” she says quietly, eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“thanks,” you mumble, trying not to meet her gaze for too long.

it goes on like that for a while. lena is kind, trying to talk to you, but you keep your distance. until one night in the champions league group stage against brann.

you’re in form, dominating the game. after the final whistle, you feel unstoppable, and for once, when lena comes up to you, the usual wall you’ve put up doesn’t feel as necessary.

“that was an incredible performance,” lena says, her voice softer than you expected. “that goal of yours was fucking amazing!.”

something in her tone feels different, more genuine. you swallow, feeling a strange warmth in your chest.

“thank youu!” you say, and before you realize it, you’re leaning into her for a hug. it’s quick, but enough to catch lena off guard. when you pull back, you notice her slight smile, surprised but pleased.

lea sees it, of course. she catches your eye from across the pitch and raises an eyebrow, smirking as if to say, finally. you roll your eyes at her but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

the next game, however, things take a turn. you go down with a minor ankle injury—nothing serious, but enough to keep you out for a week. you’re frustrated, but during that time off, lena reaches out again.

"hey, do you wanna grab lunch?" she asks one afternoon after recovery workouts, catching you as you’re leaving the facility.

you hesitate, unsure.

“maybe... georgia can come too?” you suggest, hoping for a buffer.

lena raises an eyebrow, but she nods.

“sure, if that makes you more comfortable.”

later, georgia tells you, “sorry, luv, i can’t make it. i have some appointments at the tattoo shop today. you’ll be fine without me though.”

you groan, realizing you’re stuck going alone.

the lunch ends up going better than expected, despite your initial reluctance.

lena is... different. she talks about her recovery, how tough it’s been not being able to play, and how strange it’s been being around you in this new context.

“i just want to say i’m sorry again,” lena says halfway through the meal, catching you off guard. she’s picking at her food, avoiding your gaze. “i know i’ve apologized before, but... i was really awful to you for a long time.”

you blink, surprised at the sincerity in her voice. “yeah, you were,” you admit quietly, not really looking at her either. “but... i guess it’s not as bad now. you’re trying, at least.”

lena smiles at that, small but genuine. “i am. i mean it, y/n. i really... i really do like you.”

you stare at her, the words hanging in the air. “you’re serious about that? you’re not joking? you actually... like me?”

lena’s eyes flick up to meet yours, and she nods. “i do. i know i haven’t given you many reasons to believe me, but... it’s not a joke. not anymore.”

you don’t say anything for a moment, processing her words. later, you find yourself going to lea about it.

“is she serious?” you ask her, sitting on the edge of your bed one night after training. “like, does lena really have a crush on me or is she just... messing with me again?”

lea tilts her head, looking at you carefully. “she’s serious, y/n. i’ve known lena for years, and she’s not the same person you faced on the pitch. she’s not as bad as you think.”

“really?” you furrow your brow. “because all i’ve seen is her making my life hell.”

lea sighs, shaking her head. “yes, she’s my bestfriend y/n. you only saw her bad side because you were rivals. but back when we were at essen, or even with the national team, she’s... she’s kind. she was always the first one to help out, the one who looked out for the younger players. she just got competitive with you.”

“you’re saying she’s always been kind? because i’ve literally never seen it.”

lea nods, crossing her arms. “i’ve seen it. she’s not just this tough girl who wants to win everything. she’s actually really thoughtful. she’d always bring coffee to the team early in the morning. she once helped a teammate get to the airport when she missed her train... little things like that.”

you’re quiet for a moment, trying to imagine this version of lena. “huh. i never knew that.”

“you weren’t supposed to,” lea shrugs. “you guys were always butting heads, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t care. i think... i think she just didn’t know how to show it. especially around you.”

you chew on that for a while.

in november– it hits you suddenly one evening after training before the uwcl match against arsenal.

as you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, wearing comfy pajamas, your heart is pounding for no reason that you can explain.

it’s like a creeping realization that crawls up your spine and won’t let go: you’re developing feelings for lena.

you bury your face in your hands, groaning softly.

“god, i’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself. you can't believe it—lena, the girl who made you feel like absolute shit for years, the one who seemed to thrive on making you look bad on the pitch, the one who’d taunted and tackled you like you were nothing.

how could you possibly like her? how could you feel anything for someone who made you feel so stupid and worthless?

but now, things are different. ever since lena joined bayern, she’s been... well, kind. showing you this softer, gentler side that you never saw before. helping you during training, throwing out compliments here and there, catching you off guard with that stupid smile that makes you blush. and the more you see of this side of her, the more it eats away at you.

lena is genuinely sweet. she’s... attractive. and that scares you.

you need to talk to someone—someone who understands, someone who won’t judge you. so, you go to madga and pernille, the two adult players you trust most on the team.

they're like your mentors, the big sisters you never had, and when you knock on their door late that night, you’re practically shaking with nerves.

“y/n?” madga’s voice is gentle as she opens the door, concern immediately clouding her features.

“what’s wrong?”

“can... can i come in?” you ask, your voice wavering.

“of course,” pernille says, stepping aside to let you into their shared apartment. the space is cozy, a few blankets draped over the sofa, the faint smell of tea lingering in the air.

you sit down heavily on the couch, madga and pernille sitting on either side of you, giving you their full attention. “it’s about... lena,” you begin, hesitating, feeling your hands tremble in your lap.

madga and pernille exchange a look—one that you can’t read, but they don’t interrupt. they just nod, encouraging you to continue.

“i—i think i might... like her,” you finally confess, your voice cracking on the last words. “and i can’t believe it, because for so long i hated her. she made my life miserable on the pitch, and now she’s being all... nice, and i’m... i’m starting to see how... god, how attractive she is, and it’s terrifying.”

pernille reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “it’s okay, y/n. it’s okay to feel conflicted.”

“i’m just... i’m so angry at myself,” you admit, tears threatening to spill over. “she used to be so awful to me, you know? every time we played each other, she’d do whatever she could to make me feel like i was nothing, just... trash-talking, tackling me, all of it. and now... now i’m supposed to believe she’s this sweet, thoughtful person, like she’s always been? and the worst part is... i do believe it. and it’s like i’m losing control of how i feel.”

madga lets out a small sigh, nodding as she processes your words. “people are complicated, y/n. we all have different sides to us. it sounds like... maybe lena was just showing you one side back then—the competitor, the rival, someone who was tasked to throw you off of the game. but maybe that’s not all she is. you’re getting to see the real lena now.”

you shake your head, staring down at your hands. “but why now? why show me this side now? why couldn’t she have done it before? when i—when i actually hated her?”

“because it’s hard to show your softer side when you’re up against someone who you see as your biggest challenge,” pernille says softly.

“maybe she didn’t know how to show you who she really was. but that doesn’t mean it’s not real now.”

“i just don’t know what to do,” you whisper, feeling so lost.

“i don’t know how to feel about her. some days i want to push her away, pretend like she’s still that girl who used to treat me like crap. and then other days... i can’t stop thinking about her. about the way she smiles, how she looks at me. i stare at her arms too sometimes– gosh why am i saying that UGHH i don’t know if i can trust it. trust... her.”

madga wraps her arm around you, pulling you close in a gentle side hug. “it’s okay to be scared. it’s okay to feel all of this. but you don’t have to figure it out all at once. let it happen, y/n. let yourself feel what you feel.”

“but what if she hurts me again?” you say, your voice light.

“what if this is all just... a game to her? what if i’m just going to be a joke again?”

“noo way. if so, we will stop that,” pernille says, smiling softly. “whatever happens, we’ve got your back. but you have to let yourself feel it, even if it’s scary. if you’re really seeing a different side to lena, maybe that’s worth seeing. or... maybe not. but you won’t know unless you let yourself try.”

you nod slowly, letting their words wash over you. maybe they’re right—maybe you’re overthinking it. but the fear is still there, lingering, because falling for someone like lena means trusting her, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that.

but as you sit there, sandwiched between madga and pernille, you take a deep breath and let yourself relax. maybe, just maybe, it’ll be okay. maybe this could be something real. and if it’s not... at least you know you won’t be alone.

by now it’s december, and it’s nearing christmas. the bayern locker room is filled with excitement. everyone’s talking about their plans for the holidays—family gatherings, trips abroad, dinners with loved ones.

you sit in the corner, pulling off your ivory colored cleats slowly, hoping no one will ask you. you’ve always been good at hiding it, but this time it feels harder.

there’s no family waiting for you, no friends flying in from home. just you.

sam kerr is the first to bring it up, naturally. she’s sitting across from you, leaning back with her phone in hand, already talking about her plans.

“so, y/n,” she starts, her tone casual, but there’s a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

“what are you doing for christmas? heading home, or what?”

you freeze for a second, then plaster on your usual smile. “uh, yeah. i’ve got a friend visiting,” you lie, trying to keep your voice light, like it’s no big deal.

the entire locker room listens.

"oh?" georgia raises an eyebrow. “which friend? anyone we know?”

you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head. "nah, just an old friend from back home. you wouldn’t know her."

"that’s nice," ana chimes in from the other side of the room, clearly not sensing the tension behind your smile.

“i’m jealous. all my friends are still stuck at their parents’ houses in colombia. it's family overload." ana continues.

you nod along, trying to seem as normal as possible. “yeah, well, it’ll be nice to catch up.”

but then, tuva joins in, her usual sharp instincts picking up something. she looks at you, her eyes narrowing slightly. "you’ve never mentioned this friend before. how come?"

you feel your stomach tighten. "we... we don’t talk much. they’re in university. we are just, you know, catching up for the holidays."

tuva tilts her head, still studying you, but thankfully, she doesn’t push further. instead, the conversation shifts as the others talk about their own plans again. but you can feel the tightness in your chest, the weight of the lie sitting uncomfortably on your shoulders.

you can’t help but wonder if any of them can tell.

as you finish changing and start heading out, georgia catches up to you.

“hey, y/n,” she says softly, her voice just a bit quieter, as if sensing something’s off. “you good? you seemed... i don’t know, distracted earlier.”

you force a smile again. “yeah, just tired. it’s been a long week.”

georgia doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go, offering you a soft smile. “well, if you need anything over christmas, let me know, alright? we can always meet up if your plans fall through.”

“thank you,” you mumble, appreciating her kindness but knowing you’ll never take her up on that offer.

you’ve gotten used to spending the holidays alone, and this year will be no different.

christmas day arrives, and true to your word, you’re alone.

you walk to your favorite café, the one where the baristas know your order without you even having to ask.

the streets are quiet, the festive buzz from days prior now fading into a peaceful stillness. you’ve got your true crime book tucked under your arm, planning to spend the afternoon reading, just like every year.

as you step inside the café, you smile at the baristas, leaving a generous tip in their jar.

"merry christmas," you say, offering them a small nod before settling into your usual spot by the window.

outside of the team, outside of football, you consider yourself to be a loner. due to childhood trauma involving neglect, you don’t talk to your family. in fact, football was your escape from them.

you never made an effort to have friends outside of the clubs you played for. the hobbies you have never involved meeting other people. you’re aware that you shouldn’t have your life surrounded by football, but it was the thing that saved you.

even “she” couldn’t break you from playing football for those three years.

you’re halfway through the first chapter of your book when the door swings open. at first, you don’t pay much attention, too focused on the pages in front of you. but then you hear familiar footsteps, and out of habit, you glance up. your heart drops when you see who it is.

lena.

you immediately duck your head, trying to hide behind your book, but it’s too late. lena stops mid-step, her eyes widening in surprise as she spots you.

she pauses for a moment, clearly taken aback, before heading straight toward your table.

“y/n?” she asks, her voice carrying a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“what are you doing here?”

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to look up. “uh... just grabbing a coffee,” you reply, your voice stiff.

lena’s eyes flicker with suspicion as she pulls out the chair across from you and sits down backwards on the chair, her arms resting on top of the wood..

“where’s your friend? the one who was supposed to visit?”

your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you consider keeping up the lie.

but something about the way she’s looking at you, her brow furrowed with genuine concern, makes you crumble.

“they... they couldn’t make it,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “something came up.”

lena studies you for a moment, her gaze softening. “you’re lying,” she says gently, but there’s no malice in her voice.

“there was never a friend. you’re spending christmas alone, aren’t you?”

you sigh, dropping your gaze to the table. “yeah,” you finally admit, feeling the weight of the truth settle around you.

“i’ve always spent it alone. it’s... just how it is.”

lena’s expression softens even more, and she leans forward slightly, her voice quiet but firm.

“you don’t have to spend it alone, y/n. come with me. i’m not doing anything either, my parents are visiting my brother.”

you blink, surprised by the offer. “lena, you don’t have to—”

“i’m not letting you spend christmas in a cold café by yourself,” she interrupts, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“come on. i’ve got rookie at home, we’ll cook something, and i can put on some disney christmas movies. it’ll be fun.”

you hesitate, glancing around the empty café before looking back at her. “i don’t know, lena...”

“please,” she insists, her eyes searching yours. “it’s christmas. no one should be alone.”

after a long pause, you finally nod. “okay. but only because you said disney movies.”

lena grins, standing up and grabbing her coat. “deal.”

“also, what’s a rookie? you said you’ve got a rookie at home.” you question as lena holds the door open for you.

“you’ll see.” lena smirks.

in her apartment, the atmosphere is warm and cozy. rookie, her dog, greets you excitedly at the door, his tail wagging as he sniffs at your legs.

“awe who’s this?” you smile, going on your knees as you scratch the dog’s ears.

“this is rookie!” lena says, admiring you and rookie interacting.

“this is the rookie!!!” you squeak.

“he likes you,” lena says, smiling as she watches rookie lay in front of me.

“i’m a dog person, and a cat person too but rookie is so cute!!” you bend down to give rookie a scratch behind the ears.

as the afternoon goes on, you and lena fall into an easy rhythm.

you help her prepare dinner, chopping vegetables while she stirs the sauce on the stove.

it’s quiet, but not awkward—just peaceful. every now and then, she glances at you, and you catch her staring, but you pretend not to notice.

later, you’re both curled up on the couch, a disney movie playing in the background while rookie lies at your feet. you’re comfortable, your shoulder brushing against hers, and for the first time in a while, you feel... content.

“thanks for today,” you mumble, your head resting on the back of the couch as you glance over at her.

lena looks at you, her expression soft. “i’m just glad you didn’t have to be alone,” she says quietly.

“you don’t deserve that.”

you swallow, feeling a lump form in your throat. “i’ve been alone for so long, i guess i just got used to it.”

the taller german woman starts to feel an ache in her stomach. everyday she wishes that she could go back and treat you normally on the pitch instead of being a bully. if she knew that you went through this outside of football, she would’ve left you alone.

lena’s gaze lingers on you as she thinks, something unspoken passing between you.

“you don’t have to be,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

and in that moment, you realize it. the feelings you’ve been trying to push away for months, the ones you tried to convince yourself weren’t real—they’re there.

but you still have to ask her something, to find closure to the past.

still curled up on her couch with a blanket over your legs, rookie still sprawled out happily at your feet. you never thought you’d be spending christmas with the one person who used to make you burn with anger every time you saw her.

lena is relaxed, and you’re getting there, too, bit by bit. you’re comfortable now—actually comfortable—and you can feel her warmth beside you, feel the weight of how things have changed between you two. the silence is easy, broken only by the soft sound of the movie playing and rookie’s gentle snores.

“can i ask you something?” you say softly, turning to look at her. your voice is careful, not wanting to ruin the moment but needing to know.

lena glances at you, her eyes curious, a small smile playing on her lips. “of course.”

you take a breath, trying to find the right words.

“why... why did you hate me so much before? back when we were... rivals, i guess. you were so... aggressive, and it always felt like you had something against me. but now you’re... different. so what changed?”

lena looks away, biting her lip like she’s trying to decide how much to say. the tension of the moment makes your chest tighten, but you wait, giving her time.

after a long pause, she finally speaks.

“i never hated you like i said,” she admits quietly, her eyes focused on the christmas lights twinkling across the room.

“i know it felt like that, but... it wasn’t hate. it was... god, it was the opposite, really. i talked to lea and jill a lot back then, when i was at wolfsburg, and... i didn’t know how to deal with how i felt about you.”

you tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. “what do you mean?”

lena sighs, running a hand through her hair. “i... asked lea and jill for help. i didn’t know how to get your attention. it sounds stupid now, but... the only way i knew how was... being that way on the pitch. the aggression, the pushing—it was the only way i felt like i could have a piece of you.”

you blink, trying to process her words, the way they seem to pull back the curtain on everything you thought you knew.

“so, what... you acted like that just to get me to pay attention to you?”

“yeah,” lena says, her voice softening as she looks back at you, meeting your eyes.

“i was so focused on... being seen by you, even if it was just you being mad at me. it was selfish, and i’m sorry for all of it. it’s not fair that i treated you like that. i feel terrible about it actually”

you’re silent for a moment, and then you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “you know... we could’ve been friends from the start. we had so many mutual friends, lena. it’s not like you couldn’t have just... talked to me.”

lena’s smile turns sad, almost regretful. “but i never wanted to be just friends with you,” she says quietly, the words hanging in the air between you.

“i always wanted more. that’s why... i couldn’t just be nice and friendly like everyone else. it didn’t feel like enough.”

you nod slowly, her words settling into you like the last piece of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

it’s like understanding something you’ve been grappling with for so long. “i get that,” you whisper. “it was... a lot, though. for a long time, i didn’t know what to make of it. of you.”

“i know,” lena says, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your cheek as she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “but... i’m not that person anymore. i’ve changed. and i want to be better for you.”

you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past start to lift from your shoulders, piece by piece. you realize, in this quiet, cozy moment, that you’re ready to let it go.

“i finally feel like... like i’ve gotten over the past,” you say softly, your voice steady as you look into her eyes. “and... i forgive you, lena.”

the words are like a release, freeing both of you from everything that came before. lena’s eyes soften, and without thinking, you lean in, pressing your lips to hers in a gentle, tentative kiss.

it’s soft and sweet, like the world has slowed down around you. she holds your waist and lets you lay down on hers after you pull away. now you’re cuddling as rookie adjusted himself to sit on the other side of lena.

“i think...” you whisper, smiling as you finally let yourself say it out loud. “i think i’m catching feelings for you, too.”

lena’s eyes light up, and she pulls you closer, her lips finding yours again, this time deeper, more certain.

"merry christmas," lena whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple after you pulled away again.

"merry christmas," you reply, snuggling into her warmth, knowing that things have totally changed for the better.

part three

#lena oberdorf #lena oberdorf x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #gerwnt #bayern frauen #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson #lea schüller #sydney lohmann #georgia stanway

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masonmontz · 19 days ago

Text

notes: hellooo everyone :) so, recently i haven't been very inspired to write but i have a lot of unfinished things. i decided to post this story (which is not ready yet) in two parts and maybe with that i can get some inspiration to finish it

REMEMBER: english is not my first language

angst word count: 4,5k

PART 2 • BONUS

✦‎۟ ࣭ ⊹

2 years ago

“That was really good.” Mason said, laying down beside you, panting and sweaty. He still seemed a little drunk, and you were a little dizzy too, but you were panting just as much as he was.

“I know.” You spoke softly, closing your eyes and feeling sleepy. You and Mason had been in his hotel room for over three hours, you had met at a nightclub, you were with your friends and Mason was with some of his friends, friends you had never seen before. He came to you to talk, bought you drinks and before you knew it, you were kissing him in the hotel hallways, not caring if anyone would see you.

Mason came closer and pulled you against him, and you didn't care that you barely knew him, you were too tired to care, so when Mason caressed you, you slowly fell asleep without even realizing it.

You woke up scared and not knowing where you were, but when you heard breathing next to you, you remembered that you had met Mason and accepted his invitation for you to go to the hotel where he was staying. He was sleeping and you picked up your phone to check the time, and when you realized that if you didn't leave now you would be late for work, you found a notepad on the bedroom table and wrote down your number and name, hoping that Mason would contact you.

You put on your clothes and left, taking one last look at Mason before closing the door. You just didn't realize that when you closed the door, the wind made the paper fly away, where Mason would never find it.

⊹

Mason heard the alarm clock and woke up, putting his arm on the side of the bed, but only felt emptiness. He opened his eyes and saw that you were already gone, so he looked around the room to see if you had left anything, but he found nothing. Not even a phone number or your full name.

He had no idea how to get in touch with you, but now he needed to pack his things and go home, since Chelsea's party was at the hotel and the players got rooms and Mason and the lads had fun somewhere else that night.

Mason would really like to meet you again, but he was upset that you left after you had sex with him like it was nothing. It had been a while since Mason had met such a nice girl.

✦‎۟ ࣭ ⊹

“I'm dating someone.” Candice said when you took a sip of coffee, and you almost spat out what was in your mouth in shock.

“What? Since when?”

“I told you I was meeting someone, and I'm so in love with him, I think I found my person.” She said with sparkling eyes, and you smiled at her, knowing that Candice is a romantic and really wanted to find someone to share her life with. “His name is Woody, he is so kind and funny.”

“Woody? Is he a character from Toy Story?” You spoke and laughed, but soon stopped laughing when Candice looked at you seriously. “Sorry, I couldn't help it.”

“Yes, Chandler Bing, I know.” She ate some of the pie she had ordered, you were at the mall for an afternoon coffee after some shopping. You were on break from the bookstore where you worked and managed to enjoy it with your friend who you hadn't seen in a few days. “I want you to meet him. And his name is Nathan”

“I would love to, I'm happy for you.” You smiled and reached out your hand to hers, squeezing it lightly.

“He has some friends, I think I could introduce some of them to you.” You rolled your eyes, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop Candice from introducing you to someone. Candice likes to date, and she likes to see everyone in love.

“What's his friend's name? Buzz?” You asked, holding back a laugh, but you could tell Candice wanted to laugh too.

“Stop making jokes about this, it's not funny.” She scolded you. “Whatever, I met two of his friends and they're great, I think you'll get along with them too. Woody invited me to a party next week, so you're going with me and you'll meet him.”

“Do I have the option to say no?”

“No.”

✦‎۟ ࣭ ⊹

“First, can you tell me exactly what we're doing here?” You asked Candice as she took you to a place you hadn't been to in years ‘cause it was dirty, disorganized, and smelled bad. “This neighborhood smells like rotten food.”

You brought your hand to your nose, not wanting to smell the street.

“Please stop complaining for a minute.” Candice pulled you by the hand and made you take your hand off your nose. “We're going to a cool place, it's new and Woody and his friends love it.”

“They are men, they don't care about the dirt on the street, of course they like it.” You rolled your eyes, trying to balance yourself in your high heels as you walked alongside Candice, who was walking down the street as if she frequented that neighborhood every day. “Why didn't your boyfriend pick us up?”

“Oh, may I remind you that you said we should take an Uber?” You stayed quiet, knowing she was right and you were the one who didn't accept the ride. “We arrived.”

“How the fuck did they find this place?” Candice took a key out of her purse and opened the door, leaving you surprised that the door was locked. “Are you trying to kill me? I have to work early tomorrow, you know.”

“Shut up, Y/N.” Candice held the door for you and you could hear laughter and music, but it didn't sound like a party. “They are up there.”

“I feel like I'm not wearing the right clothes.” You spoke as you looked at the short skirt you were wearing and the heels, and Candice was wearing pants and heeled boots.

“You look beautiful, you need to show those tanned legs to the guys.” She said as you walked up the stairs. The sound got louder, and when you got there, you saw about fifteen people, some standing, some sitting on the couch, and… Well, the guy who never called you back.

You froze when you saw him leaning against a wall talking to a guy who looked like Candice's boyfriend and two other men, they were laughing about something the taller one was saying.

Candice looked around and said hi to a few people, pulling you with her to where Woody was. One of the guys nodded at you and her boyfriend turned around, as did Mason, who widened his eyes when he saw you, not caring about your friend in front of him.

Of course, he didn't expect to see the girl he just fucked and pretended didn't exist.

Asshole.

You were silent as Woody approached Candice and kissed her, hugging her and smiling, and you noticed that she melted like butter when he touched her.

“Hi, princess.” You heard him say and smiled, then Candice turned to you to introduce you to Woody.

“Babe, this is Y/N, my best friend.” Candice said and Woody looked at you, so you smiled at him and gave him a little hug.

“The famous one. I’m Woody, nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you too, I heard a lot about you.” You were aware that the three men behind Woody were looking at you, but you tried to ignore it.

“Candice already knows the guys, but I'll introduce you to them.” Woody didn't let go of Candice's hand, but he still pointed to the three men with him. “They are my best friends. This is Declan.”

You greeted him, who was the tallest, with a small hug as well. Then Ben and finally Mason. But you didn't hug him, who was also looking at you seriously, and just said a little hi to him. If you could, you would throw something at his head just for being an idiot.

“Hi.” You spoke and faked a smile, which Candice would definitely notice, because she knows you better than you know yourself. “Nice to meet you, Mason.”

You emphasized his name, and he barely smiled in your direction before faking a smile.

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N.” The tension was visible and Candice, Woody, Declan and Ben were staring at the two of you without saying anything, so you turned and smiled at your friend.

Candice shrugged and Woody led the two of you to the small bar, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for each of you. Candice pulled you to the side and grabbed your arm, making you stop in front of her.

“What was that? Why did you talk to Mason like that?”

“Oh, you know that jerk who never called me back and was the best sex I ever had? Well, let me introduce you, that man was Mason.”

“What? No way.” Her mouth was open. “But he is so nice, he would never do that. He is very kind.”

“Candice, I'm your friend, stop defending him.” You frowned when Candice complimented him.

“How did you not know who he was? He’s famous.”

“What?”

“He's a football player, and so is Declan and Ben. Mason plays for Chelsea FC.”

“I know as much about football as I know about chemistry, nothing.” You rolled your eyes, now it was explained why he never called you. “I was so stupid, oh my God. I really thought he would call me, we had sex like four times in one night.”

“Wow, I don’t wanna hear the details, please.”

“Whatever, he is an asshole, and I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Who’s an asshole?” Woody approached, and you got embarrassed ‘cause you were talking about his stupid friend.

“Just a guy I know from work.” You smiled at him.

“We're going to play beer pong, wanna join?”

“Sure.”

In fact, they were funny. There were three other girls present and they were also funny and joined in the game with you. You and Mason hadn't exchanged a word, and you were doing a pretty good job of pretending he wasn't there.

It had been more than ten months since you met, and to tell the truth, what irritated you about him not calling you was that he spent that night saying that you two would get along really well, that he wanted to see you again, and would take you out to dinner, but he ignored you as if you were nothing.

You weren't in love with him, but just a warning from him saying he wasn't interested would have been great.

When you got tired of the game, you walked back to the fridge and grabbed another beer, just to have something to hold in your hand. It was late and you need to go home soon, or you wouldn't be able to wake up for work tomorrow.

And unfortunately, Mason came close.

He didn't say anything, but he gave you a few looks that irritated you.

“What?” You asked.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, ironically.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Didn't you get tired of being an idiot once?”

“What? Was I an idiot? Can you remind me why, exactly?”

“Don't play dumb.”

“Why are you treating me like that?”

“The only thing I know is that you acted like a jerk, I'm sorry I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Fine by me, I don't need someone being rude to me for nothing.” Mason spoke and left, so you walked up to Candice and told her you were leaving.

✦‎۟ ࣭ ⊹

“So, do you know Y/N?” Declan asked Mason when they were leaving, and Mason locked the door behind him. It was a kind of shed that they decided to rent to create a space for games and fun, so they tried to meet there most of the time, away from people and cameras. It was a safe place for their circle of friends.

“Yes, remember that woman I told you I met at that party in Chelsea? She disappeared like a speck of dust, didn't leave a number, a name, nothing. And she was so fucking rude to me like I had done something wrong.”

“And can you understand women, bro? ‘Cause I can't.” Declan laughed. “Wait, was she the woman you had sex with “I don't know how many times” in one night?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she’s beautiful and I can understand why you got so upset because she didn't leave her number.” Mason shrugged, remembering how stupid you were to him. “You can ask Candice for her number.”

“Only if I lost my mind, Dec. That woman is crazy and I don't want anything to do with her.”

“Even though it was the best sex you've ever had?”

“Shut up.”

✦‎۟ ࣭ ⊹

Time passed and Candice and Woody's relationship became more and more serious, and it was great for them, but you had to see Mason more than you would have liked. Weekly meetings became common in their shed and you became friends with all of them, you loved to play and laugh and especially, you loved the days when Mason couldn't go because of the matches, so you didn't have to look at that beautiful and stupid face.

Whenever you were in the same place, you exchanged indirect messages and argued over silly reasons, making everyone tired of your fights, because you were both already adults and not two teenagers.

But every time you weren't arguing, you remembered the night you spent with Mason. It was so hot, so good, that you get goosebumps when you remember it. No man had ever managed to leave you the way he had, and that left you frustrated.

“Talk to him, you can work this out.”

“Talk to her, Mason, maybe she doesn't remember that she didn't leave her number.”

“He's cool, you guys can get along if you try.”

“She's your type Mason, you guys would make a great couple.”

And the answer is always no.

You pulled your coat tighter as you walked down the freezing street towards the shed, wanting to get there quickly to warm up. Candice said that she and Woody would be arriving later because they were going to the market to buy some things, so you decided to take an Uber there.

You didn't have the key, so you pressed the doorbell and waited for one of them to answer. It was almost December and very cold, and even with layers of clothing, you were still freezing.

The door opened and you rolled your eyes when Mason opened it. Of course.

“Hey.” You spoke and walked past him, quickly going up the stairs, but realizing that there was still no one there. “Where’s everybody?”

“Let me see… not here.” He spoke and pulled out his pants pocket to pretend he was looking for someone. “Let me look in the fridge.”

“Asshole.” You spoke and sat on the comfortable couch, and Mason sat on another couch in front of you, not paying attention to you. He was messing with his cell phone and that made you angry.

“Well, I see you have a phone.” You spoke and Mason looked at you bored.

“Yes, it is a new item in the 21st century.” He spoke mockingly.

“You must call several women, how do you feel about that?” You teased him, and it was fun because Mason always got mad at you.

“Well, I didn't call you.”

You deserved it. But this just showed that Mason is a jerk and the worst kind, the typical football player.

“How can you look in the mirror and not hate yourself?” You spoke softly, but Mason heard and that was the spark needed to explode.

“What’s wrong with you, Y/N? Don't you get tired of being a bitch?” Mason exploded and stood up, throwing his phone on the couch and glaring at you. “Grow up, you're not fifteen anymore.”

“Who do you think you are to tell me to grow up?” You yelled at Mason and walked up to him, facing him face to face. “You fuck a different women every day, aren't you ashamed of it? Of making them look like idiots?”

“You don't know anything about my life, you don't know anything about what I do and who I sleep with.” Mason put his hands on his face, nervous. You were just as angry as he was, ‘cause you couldn't deal with everything you felt for him. Anger, resentment, boredom.

“Good thing, because you think you're the center of the world and you think you have the right to treat others as if they were nothing.” Angrily, you turned away, but Mason grabbed your wrist, making you turn to him once more before he let go of you.

“Stop talking shit, you're crazy, Y/N.” Mason spoke and glared at you, and you were so angry that you just wanted to leave and leave him behind. You didn't say anything as you continued to stare at him, you were panting from the screams and... when you realized it you and Mason were kissing.

You don't know who took the first step, but everything happened so fast that you didn't understand anything anymore. You brought your hands to Mason's neck, pulling him against you, and Mason pulled you by the waist, pressing you against his body as his tongue slid across yours.

The kiss reminded you of the night you met, and you remembered how much you had enjoyed his kisses. You didn't walk away, and neither did Mason. You were so desperate, there were months of fights, indirect messages, tension, everything exploded in a single kiss.

You pushed Mason by the chest and he fell onto the couch, looking at you scared, but you climbed on top of him and fitted your hips against his, pulling him in for another kiss. It was just a kiss, what's wrong with that?

Mason sighed and reached behind his back, opening your coat and taking it off. You were still wearing your jeans and high-heeled boots, the tight, warm white blouse left Mason free to see your curves. Mason used to get annoyed that you were so pretty and so, so cheeky with him.

He was wearing a sweater, and Mason had his hair in a buzzcut so you hated that he was so attractive when he was such a jerk.

Mason brought a hand to your thigh and squeezed, and you sighed when you felt his bulge against you, and all the cold you were feeling disappeared. You put your hands under Mason's sweater and felt his warm abdomen, then you ran your nails down hard and felt Mason twitch.

“Don’t do that.” He spoke between the kiss, and you did it again, on purpose, and pushed his shirt up.

“You don’t tell me what to do.” You bit Mason's lip and grinded against his hips, sighing. It was crazy to want Mason so much, he drove you crazy and made you act like a sullen child. In fact, you didn't know you wanted him so much until now.

You heard a laugh and let go of Mason, then realized the others must have arrived. He looked at you in panic and you didn't know what to do, but you quickly got off Mason and ran to the small kitchen, trying to fix your face and hair. Mason got up quickly and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

As you sat down in a chair, Candice appeared with Woody behind her, then Reece, Ben, Lauren, Declan and Lily. You smiled at them and took a sip of water, hoping no one would notice anything.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Candice waved and walked over to you, hugging you. “How did you get in?”

“What? Uh, Mason is here.” You walked over to the fridge, grabbing some beers for them and trying to divert their attention away from you, but when you turned around, everyone was staring at you strangely. “What?”

“Did you kill him or something like that?” Woody asked, looking really worried.

“He's in the bathroom, idiot.” You rolled your eyes, and at the same moment the bathroom door opened and Mason came out smiling at everyone, who almost sighed in relief when they saw that you two didn't kill each other.

“Thank God.” Declan placed his hand on his chest and closed his eyes, and you shook your head at his reaction. “For a moment I thought my son would be left without a godfather.”

“What?” Mason asked blankly, but Declan shrugged.

Ben put the pizzas on the table and soon you were all eating, and for the first time you felt Mason's presence, unlike the other times when you ignored him.

Oh my God, you kissed Mason.

And because you wanted to.

And if no one else came, you would probably have fucked him.

You choked on a piece of pizza because of your own thoughts, you started coughing and before you knew it, Declan was patting your back for you to breathe again. When you managed to breathe, you glared at him.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.”

If they thought it was strange that you and Mason weren't fighting, no one said anything. After eating, you went to play some games as usual and chat. You got up to get water once more, and when you were coming back you passed behind the couch where Mason and Ben were sitting talking, but you weren't surprised to see Mason showing Ben a picture of a woman.

Once an asshole, always an asshole.

And you kissed him, you almost wanted to scream in anger at yourself.

“Let's play truth or dare?” Woody asked for everyone and Candice seemed the most excited. It was her favorite game. “C’mon c’mon.”

You sat in a circle on the carpet, Candice spun the bottle for the first time. Lauren asked Ben who the last woman he had sex with was (Someone called Rita). Lily asked Candice how many guys she's slept with (Woody wasn't happy with the question - the answer is eight). Mason asked Lily what's the weirdest place she's ever had sex (in the college bathroom).

“Y/N… Let me see…” Declan is thinking too much, to be honest. “Have you ever had sex with anyone from this group?”

You could jump on his neck and strangle him, but you'd go to jail and Jude would be left fatherless. He gave a fake smile, and then you realized he knew about you and Mason. Of course, Mason is his best friend.

“I would like to say no, but yes.” Declan smiled, Candice's eyes widened and the others realized that you and Mason had already had sex, because he was looking at you with a not so happy face.

You spun the bottle, and of course things didn't end there. It was Mason's turn to ask you a question. He gave you a mocking smile and thought before asking.

“Y/N… Why did you tell everyone that you didn't want to have sex with me when you screamed my name all night?”

It wasn't possible. He can't be that much of a jerk.

Tears came to your eyes, but not of sadness, but of anger.

“Wow Mason, why didn't I think of this before? Let me see… I only had sex with you because I didn't know you, but if I had known you I would never have done anything, ‘cause you are a trash person.”

You got up and grabbed your coat and cell phone, not paying attention to them, who were calling you to come back.

“Go, run away like you did the first time.” Mason snapped. “It's the only thing you know how to do well besides lying.” Mason walked past you and quickly down the stairs, leaving you standing there watching him go.

You followed him down the stairs.

“How can you be so stupid and not realize it? Am I lying? You're the one who pretended you never had sex with me.” You yelled, and Mason opened the door walking to the sidewalk, but you followed after him as he walked towards his car. “Don't be a coward, own up to what you did.”

Mason stopped walking and turned his back to you, and you could tell he was trying to control his breathing.

“I don't have the strength for this anymore, Y/N. Leave me alone.” He spoke, without turning around.

“Don’t. Be. A. Coward.”

Mason turned around, and his face was pure hatred.

“What do you want from me?” He yelled, and you backed away. Mason raised his hands, trying to understand why you were there. “You know how much I liked you when we first met and you never gave me a chance, now you think you have the right to call me a liar and say you never wanted to sleep with me and embarrass me in front of my friends? What the fuck is your problem?”

“You're my problem, Mason.” You yelled at him, feeling anger throughout your body. You pointed your finger at him. “You promised me a thousand things and never called me, you treated me as if I were any of the women you spent a night with, you deceived me and still laughed at me after that.”

“How am I supposed to call someone who never left a number or a full name?” He shouted, and you saw that some people passing by heard everything you were saying. “You went away and left me alone, don't treat me like the culprit since it was your choice.”

Mason turned his back and walked to his car, but you stood there, just watching him drive away.

“What?” Why couldn't you understand each other? Why did he keep lying? “I left my number and name on a piece of paper on the desk, stop lying to me for a minute, Mason.”

“You think I didn't want to call? I thought about it for weeks, months, until I finally accepted that you didn't leave your number because you didn't want to. I'm not a genius, I had no way of finding you.”

“But I did.” You insisted with him, and Mason huffed, putting his hand to his face, taking a deep breath. “I waited for your call for days, and you never called.”

“It doesn't matter now, Y/N. I don't want to have anything to do with you anymore after all the hell you put me through this year.”

“Mason…” You called out to him, but Mason got in the car and drove off, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, just you and your guilt.

✦‎۟ ࣭ ⊹

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vintagepomeranian · 2 years ago

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Chelsea the clock ⏰

So, don’t murder me for this, but I have this story in mind about this girl and her character (basically a sister of hers) who go to different kinds of cartoons to fend off some glitch demons (this is inspired by learning with pibby but minus the corruption and mutilation of character and instead characters becoming villains by joining the main villain for their own benefits) and one of them is soviet animation, so this commences the soviet animation arc. I think you know where I’m going with this considering my latest fixation.

Ofc, Chelsea (or her original name, Chassie) is a character in a soviet animated cartoon, and I would think she might be a character created by one of the animators in Kievnauchfilm (do not kill me pls) aka the company that produced 1988 treasure island and she was made for a tv show, she’s not the main character she’s the main sidekick in the show. She was awfully popular bc of her appearance and personality, but in spite of her appearance, Chelsea feels like she’s not beautiful enough, not much than another character (who in this story would’ve been known as a coworker since they were created and their cartoons were produced by the same company) who I think you know I might be referring to (hint: green). One day, while filming a scene, she got into a horrible accident that shattered her face (as seen here), not only damaging her physically, but also psychologically, which led to the show being on hiatus for a while since they don’t want to continue the show without their popular character. Chelsea was hidden in the darkness, until a blind man came…

See, this is a mess, ik, bare with me-

Bonus (the hint was obvious anyway, cuz I got this doodle already. Quoted from Twisted Alice from BATIM in Chapter 3):

(Her theme + HC voice, thought it might fit cuz the lyrics fitted her story later on)

#oc #original character #chelsea the clock #chassie the clock #treasure island #ostrov sokrovishch #return to treasure island #treasure island 1988 #doctor livesey #dr livesey #tooniverse #tooniverse: soviet cartoon arc

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semischarmed · 6 months ago

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River

River was a walking enigma.

Instagram, TikTok, Facebook- hell, I even tried looking for a yearbook. Nothing. I had nothing on the guy. Like an illusion, he merely appeared, did his work diligently and then promptly vanished. In fact, his most common phrase around the office was a “Sorry, I can’t- busy.” His distance seemed to put some people off. That only made me want him more.

When Chelsea threw a quitting party, he dropped in, chatted for a few minutes and then left without saying goodbye- except to Chelsea. He wasn’t rude by any means. I’ve only ever seen the guy be polite. I personally found it quite hot. His mysteriousness brought an allure about him.

During another quitting party- a dinner for Mark this time, I tried to make conversation, asking him why he was named River. I actually asked the question in a few roundabout ways. Most I ever got was a “just what my parents named me- they thought I’d have brown hair”. I tried to pry for his hobbies, asked what he did for fun and he only responded with a “I watch baseball, go to the gym, watch TV. I guess”, before asking me about mine. The conversation was cordial, and probably a little boring, but I was captivated. This had been the closest I ever sat next to him.

My breathing quickened, ever so slightly, as I watched his shirt struggle to contain the form within. I traced the vascularity in his hands, the craftsmanship in the sculpt of his neck, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut when he would reach to grab a napkin. There was a full plate of food in front of me but I was only salivating at one thing.

The conditions were not ideal- but what choice did I have? The guy was like a ghost. I laughed a bit at the irony. I sat right across, trying to filter the scents and the sounds of food and camaraderie to focus on him. This would take all my brain power. I steadied my breathing and sharpened my focus, as I continued to answer and ask mundane questions about some work projects we both had. I started my work, mimicking every microexpression, every slight movement. I tailored every word from my mouth- even my delivery to slowly match his. This had to be subtle, of course- I’ve found out the hard way in the past how creepy this process could look in public if done too quickly.

River’s eyes blinked slower, like a haze was forming in his mind. I followed suit, weaving my slight impersonation in and out of our conversation. Like a pulse, I felt our movements begin to sync. Almost there. Now came the tough part, slowly drawing him out and isolating him without lo-

“C’mon, let’s all get shots- uh… River you ok bro?” Mark asked.

He shook off his daze, surprised at himself before laughing off the weirdness.

I was pissed the rest of the night, forcing myself to hide the permanent glare I would have worn for Mark.

As the night drew on, River left early- of course, and I continued on, staying a bit longer to wish Mark well in one final toast for the night.

That would be the last time in a while I’d be so close to him. The following drought was unbearable. For the next few months, no one quit. No big holidays were coming up, and our office wasn’t much for parties. Instead, I had to satiate myself with glances and the occasional short conversation.

= = = =

“Does that work for you two?” My boss asked. I nodded readily, eyeing River’s response. Another nod.

Fuck. I practically jumped when the boss said those words. A presentation. A presentation with River. A chance.

I think I deserved an Oscar for my acting in the few weeks after we were both tasked with the presentation. A wrong font here, corrupted save there, a missed chart. I “worked” tirelessly on the presentation with River, making sure to leave enough mistakes and gaps to drag the process out.

The guy was too polite, and I knew I had to use that against him. I ran the clock, watching the days progress into weeks and his brow furrow as stress deepened. Of course, I had to play my part, acting innocent at every step. A quick “sorry” for every mistake I planted was enough to ease suspicion. I even faked a confession about roommate drama causing my decline in performance. I thanked how private he was in that moment- I lived alone. Ever the hero, River was quick to take on the responsibility- even covering for me on few occasions. I knew I had to get inside this man.

Then came the day before the big presentation.

“I- uh… okay. Maybe we can finish this at my apartment,” He stated, clearly uncomfortable. I held back a moan.

= = = =

“You can set your stuff down there”.

It was a bit boring compared to what I expected. He was definitely put together at work, so it was a bit surprising to see some mess littering his apartment.

A few posters dotted the walls. Some basketball guy, I guess. An action movie. A generic college banner. His furniture boxy and grey, and the carpets running through the floors were in need of cleaning. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his kitchen was pristine, practically sparkling, aside from a small collection of protein powders and supplements.

“Uh.. sorry I don’t really have any snacks.”

He sheepishly opened the near-empty fridge and offered me a choice in drink. Some kind of pre-workout beverage and water. I took the water.

“Okay, I need to head to the gym for a bit. You still have a few slides you wanted to add, right?” A Hoodie-wearing, duffel-toting River asked. I nodded, trying not to look too eager and straining to keep my eyes from staring at his well-defined legs.

And then, there I was. Alone in River’s apartment. Alone with River’s apartment. I ran to his dirty laundry pile.

“Mmmphhhh” My eyes rolled back as I took the deepest inhale of my life. These were River’s boxer briefs. The same ones he had just worn. Doused in the scent of a day’s work. It was damp- guess River was a sweaty guy, though the long walk and couple flights of stairs to get to his apartment may have also been culprit. I was paralyzed in bliss, as I took in every note of his natural musk.

It reverberated deep in my chest as I continued to circulate every ounce of River I could inside me. The underwear was practically glued to my nose and mouth before I finally relented and drew them away, gasping for air. Exquisite.

My dick jumped at the sight of a single strand of his pubic hair, like flickering flame. A perverse smile planted itself on my face as I gingerly pulled my clothes off. I shivered as the cold, damp fabric that had just touched his bare flesh was now touching mine. I felt his hair on my flesh, now caked in his sweat. The elastic snapped around my waist as I released, a bit tight. My breaths fell shallow, ragged as I sat there basking in his cold embrace.

Next came the tank top. I mentally hit myself for not putting it on first, as it was a significantly less erotic experience. Still, as I slipped my arms through the holes that his once filled, my dick couldn’t help but twitch in approval.

I ran to his bed, gripped his sheets, and stifled another moan with his pillow. This man had, until today, been a full on mystery to me. And now, here I was- deep in the recesses of his apartment, nestled in the indent on his bed, buried in fabric stained with traces his scent and natural grime. I was drowning in the all aspects of his daily life. It was an intimacy with River previously unheard of and practically a miracle I hadn’t cummed yet.

The next few moments were sluggish, mind hazy and drunk in pleasure, as I wore my jacket and pants over the River clothes I had already had on me. I mentally thanked myself for wearing tighter clothing earlier today, as I felt them compress River’s undergarments tighter on my flesh. I walked back, sitting on the dining table and pretending to work.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open and a panting River waved. He no longer had a hoodie on and left nothing to imagination. I eyed the feast before me.

I fucking knew it. This kid was ripped.

I salivated as my eyes followed every contour of the body that would soon be mine. His flesh was flush and glistening with sweat.

“M-must have been some workout,” I mumbled. I couldn’t stop myself from staring.

“Yeah, fucking kicked my ass today,” River said with a short laugh. My dick twitched. River never swore, never gave off a jockish vibe at work, but here he was, beaten tired and unable to contain his natural state behind a facade of politeness.

My lip quivered when his post-workout scent wafted into my nose. It was divine. True to his name, River had an earthy, deep musk about him. A delayed, almost sour afternote followed, the kind that clings to the nose. It riled me up, knowing this offensive, raw blast of testosterone had been working next to me for the past two years, hidden by layers of work clothes and pleasantries. River was cleaned, masked and sanitized for corporate America. And now I had a private showing to it. I was feral. I wanted-no, needed to be piloting this hunk for myself.

My trance was broken when River dropped to his couch, laughing slightly. This wasn’t his normal laugh- it dropped all pretense and I recoiled out of reflex, thinking back to that same laugh that emanated from the football jocks back in high school.

A lazy pair of eyes drifted up to meet me. “Sorry bro, just new a few minutes.”

I gulped. This was my chance. No need for precision, no need for focus. River was vulnerable. In any other circumstance, I’d be syncing to his movements, slowly, imperceptibly altering his as he would start following mine. Then I could pull him into my trance, lead him to a safe area as I continued the process. This was different. River served himself up on a platter for me, beaten to near immobility by his workout. No way was I gonna miss this. I stripped quickly, abandoning my original plan.

Without a word, I walked closer to him, grabbing his wrists.

“W-what are you”. In that instant, i jumped on top of him, allowing my body to follow the contours of his.

He grunted in defiance while I began to grind in pleasure. “Ughhh! Fuck bro. I can’t! I can’t wait. I can’t wait to be River!”

The process was quick- his drenched, energy drained flesh practically grabbed at mine, drawn by my own energy into itself. It was osmosis. I moaned as I saw the process start, and River’ meaty form encapsulate my own. His arms and legs splayed as he screamed at the intrusion. “What the fuck are you-“ He grunted in pain as he felt our two forms begin to meld. I laughed a perverted laugh, eyeing how deep I was inside him. His lack of energy had been his downfall.

I licked the inside of his head, feeling him shiver and whimper at the intrusion. I whispered venomously. “What am I doing?” I thrusted myself deeper into his muscled form, “I’m becoming River. I’m gonna wear you like a fine red suit.” I felt my facial muscles match his and pulled him into a smile he did not intend to make. “You boring prude. This body was built for sex. You’re starving this poor thing. I bet it’s backed up.” I whined in half-whispers. “Let me take you for a ride.” River moaned in horror, kicking his legs into the sofa in discomfort as his muscled back began to close over me. Possessing the ginger felt like a warm, dank hug. “You feel that?” I teased, this time his voice mimicking mine. He could no longer respond as it had become my mouthpiece. Instead, his head repeatedly slammed the sofa in resistance, forced to wear a smile that was not his own.

I laughed, feeling our combined chest heave in deep pleasure as I jammed my fingers deep into each bicep. I drilled into each arm, relishing in feeling his muscle fibers slip past me. Power. He shook as he tried in vain to resist my fingers filling into his. Putting on those vascular hands like well-fitted gloves. “Fuck yeah bro… that’s the stuff. Dominate me. Command me. Control my every move. My nerves are itching for their owner. Put this ginger meatsuit on…” I mock in his voice. Tears welled in my eyes, as I felt him continue to slam our slowly merging head into the sofa. I purse our lips before moaning further. “Wear my clothes…” My legs wove into his, twisting and binding into one. “Wear my personality…” the bottom half of our merged face laughs, while my new eyes blink away angered tears. I felt his memories begin to flow and surround mine. His rage and desperation flowed through me. The slamming slowed, coming to a complete halt as a reborn River’s eyes blinked into a lewd, sinful glee. “Wear my life.”

I stood up, piloting my new body towards the mirror. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” River’s outward defiance no longer showed over his perfect flesh but his mind was a raging storm. “Good.” His body lit in searing pain, sore muscle tendon and fiber forced to flex. I felt the storm calm as he was stunned. I myself winced slightly before my arousal imprinted itself through River’s face. This was my pain now. I could feel every fiber of his musculature tearing and repairing themselves. Building back stronger with the pre-workout mix he had drunken earlier. Building back with me embedded deep inside. Our leg wobbled in pain, before I slapped it back into submission, forcing it to flex. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff.”

I roared and patted my new chest and abs. “YEEAAAH!” Just one last piece of me was left. An intentional dessert I had left not internally bonded with River.

I let his normally stoic face relay the erotic pleasure I felt in wearing this flesh. I then pulled a “serious” face, bringing pained biceps into a flex. “We gotta live up to our name bro… gotta let the river flow”. A greedy tongue licked the dripping sweat hanging off ginger hairs of his armpit. I wanted to savor this. The tangy, salty nectar lingered in our shared tongue before I began to make out with my new reflection. With a grunt, I slammed River’s pelvis into the mirror, groaning as my growing hard-on began to fill into his dick. At first contact, I felt our senses mingle and the cold metal of the mirror. I grunted, trying to reign in the lust. With our linked sensitivity, I could feel my original body’s dick worming itself into my soon to be River-flavored cock. I thrusted my rod up, relishing in the soothing bare metal beneath the perverse cock and cock sleeve combination.

I grabbed at my new rod with one hand, while the other greedily dragged across my new body, feeling every new muscle and crevice and damp piece of the hunk. River thrashed inside me, disgusted at feeling his own flesh violate itself. At watching this new carnal entity that wore his face and name.

“S-someone’s gonna find out. Someone will fix this” He threatened in my mind.

“No bro… you’re the perfect host. No one at work knows a thing about you”. I cooed in his voice. “When we quit, when I take this thick ginger cock for a joy ride-“ tug “No one…” tug “No one will know.” I groaned as the last of his dick bonded to mine. We were complete. “I’m River now!” I shouted before devolving into whimpers of pleasure as I felt River’s warm seed stream out of me.

River’s softening, sore wood was forced back into full mast as I eyed the full extent of my- now his- depravity. Not wanting to waste a drop, I smeared my new lotion onto my new flesh, caking in layers of his drying sweat with layers of drying semen. I could only hear gagging in my mind as River was forced to taste his own produce. It’s my body now anyways, why shouldn’t it reek of sex and his natural musk?

#male possession #male merge #male corruption #male skinsuit

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flemingsfreckles · 8 months ago

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Be a Good Teammate

Jessie Fleming x USWNT!Reader

Words: 3.4k

Preview: After Jessie misses her penalty in the Gold Cup semi final, she’s found practicing kicks by her old friend and college teammate.

Warnings: some cursing, a little angst, but nothing else too crazy.

A/N: I haven’t written anything in maybe 4-5 years. Recently fallen back into reading and then watching the Canada/US game sparked some inspiration and here we are writing again.

You could hear her before you saw her. You had come out of the dressing room well after the rest of your teammates. They hardly showered just throwing on fresh clothes in a rush to begin their celebration for moving on to the finals of the Gold Cup. The stadium had fallen silent with the exception of a faint noise coming from the far end of the tunnel toward the pitch.

It was the repetitive sound of a ball being kicked followed shortly by the swish of the net. One after the next, boot on ball, swish of the net, boot on ball swish of the net. Working like a clock, a perfect machine, that was until the sound of the net was replaced by the ringing of the crossbar and the frustration of the kicker.

“Stupid fucking penalty” a frustrated voice rang out. The sound of the voice halted your steps, you knew that voice. Jessie. You quickly recognize the voice as your former best friend and UCLA teammate. Once you hear her, you quickly realized what was happening.

You’d seen her do this when you played together, anything from missed headers, missed passes, missed shots, and now with missed penalties. Jessie was known for being a hard worker, her focus and determination was admirable by her teammates and led her to earning the right to wear the captain's armband. She pushed herself to be better and while it was that mentality that turned her into one of Canada’s best, it also came with a whole other side.

She was hard on herself, more so than anyone else, and she took it to extremes. You had watched in college as she would spend hours watching film of her mistakes, tearing her performances apart, nitpicking every step she took. Criticizing every mistake to the point of obsession. One bad touch or one missed scoring opportunity would cloud her brain, unable to focus on anything else until she could fix that mistake, that mistake was all that would matter to Jessie.

“Be a good teammate to yourself Jessie.” Those were the words you told her constantly in college when you’d find her overworking herself. Running extra laps after an already grueling practice. Taking extra shots after a game, refusing to stop the repetitions until they were in her eyes, perfect. “Treat yourself how you treat all your other teammates, you support us, you provide positive corrections, you're kind. Talk to yourself the same way you talk with me or anyone else on this team, be a good teammate to yourself.”

And that’s how you knew exactly what Jessie was doing out on that field. She was retaking her penalty from earlier in the game, the one she had kicked into the arms of your team’s goalkeeper, letting you and your teammates erupt in celebration behind her as she walked with her head down to her team’s bench.

Now you are stuck with your brain telling you to let her be, she’s not going to want to see you, especially on a night like tonight. Just go celebrate with your teammates, you thought.

You and Jessie had been close in college, so close most of your teammates were convinced you two were secretly dating. And to be fair to them, you wish you’d made a move on Jessie but you didn’t. Too worried about losing your friend and still trying to figure out yourself in the process. Now your college days were years behind you and you both moved away after graduation to play professionally, her with Chelsea and now in Portland and you with Bayren Munich and more recently with Seattle.

Your communication with your former best friend had rapidly declined over the years, you both got caught up in your new lives, new clubs, and Jessie had gotten a girlfriend. It wasn’t public information at the time but you were close enough that she shared the news, gushing about the girl over one of your nightly phone call. You knew deep down that girl is what pushed you away. Even though you knew it was never going to work out between you and Jessie, it didn’t make hearing about her new girl any less painful.

So you pulled back, with going from long facetime calls, to short catch ups, to texts. It seemed mutual as Jessie followed suit reaching out less frequently. She figured you were busy and had forgotten about her, seeing you make new friends in your new teams. These days you were lucky if you saw a “nice game” “congrats on the win” or even “happy birthday” come across your phone from the Canadian.

No bad blood stood between you two that she was aware of, except for maybe right now as you stood wearing the crest of the team that had just ended her tournament hopes.

While your brain was telling you to head for the parking lot and leave, forgetting you heard her taking the shots, your heart refused to let your feet move in any direction but toward the pitch. As you turned the corner she came into view. The bright white 17 with FLEMING printed neatly across the back of her red jersey became visible as you watched her set up her next round of shots.

Now you were frozen again, standing just inside the edge of the pitch, only your eyes moving, watching as she placed a ball, moved backward, took a deep breath and took the shot. It sailed into the upper left of the net. You watched as Jessie once again stepped back to ready herself, having already placed the next ball while you were watching her first one go in the net. Again she took a breath and fired into the net. She continued just as you had heard her before, booting the ball into the net. Over and over and over.

The stadium that had previously been filled with fans shouting, coaches calling out, music, liveliness was now eerily silent, just the sound of Jessie methodical work taking place. You weren’t even sure how long you had been standing there watching her, you’d maybe seen her take 10 or 12 shots, all screaming into the back of the net. The systematic movement and sound had lulled you into zoning out, only snapped back into reality when you realized the noise had stopped.

Jessie was moving toward the goal, collecting all the balls she had kicked, only now you could hear her mumbling to herself. Unable to make out what she was saying, you watched as she continued moving all the balls back to start her drill once again. She had turned around, her face more visible to you, eyes still down looking at the balls she was kicking. You could see her cheeks were still bright red and her skin was shiny with sweat, or maybe it was rain. Her mumbling had turned into her regular voice, allowing you to make out every couple of words.

“idiot…if I just made it… don’t deserve this…” You watched her rip the captain's armband from her bicep, throwing it aside.

You felt your chest grow tight, seeing and hearing Jessie so angry at herself was painful. She was the kindest soul, she had been your first friend at school and one of the only ones who stuck around through all 4 years. the only thing she didn’t deserve is to feel this way about her performance.

Maybe i should leave, you thought, let her work through this, she’ll be okay with some time, how much can you really help at this point, it’s over, there’s no point in making her more upset and,

“FUCK” Jessie’s voice intrudes into your thoughts as she punts the last ball with such anger that instead of landing just outside the box like the rest, she sends it sailing, landing only a couple of feet from you. You look at the ball rolling toward your feet, being slowed greatly by the wet grass.

“Sorry,” Jessie hollers with a wave and a different, more polite tone in her voice. She begins jogging over to you, “I didn’t realize they were coming to do pitch maintenance already, I’ll pack up and go-“ she starts to ramble as you realize she hasn’t noticed that it’s you who is standing in front of her.

You move your eyes down at the grass, kicking some up unsure of what to do now while you wait for her to reach you and realize you’re in fact not the maintenance crew.

“What are you doing here?” Her accusatory tone returns and you look up to meet her eyes. Just as you’d seen from across the field her cheeks remained bright red, a layer of sweat making her whole face shine. Her lips are slightly parted and her breathing is quick. Her brown eyes that you used to stare at everyday are now puffy, as though she shed some tears following the game and you can’t help but stare for a second at her black eye. She cocks her head at you and you realize she’s waiting for an answer.

“Um, I just… I heard you. And I just wanted to check on you,” you realize you should’ve spent some of the time you were watching her kick thinking of what to say to her.

“I don’t need your pity party,” Jessie scoffs at you “don’t you have some celebrating to do?”

“I’m not here to pity you,” her change in tone makes you get defensive.

“Then what? You’re here to tell me it’s okay? That it’s fine it’s just a penalty, and maybe it feels that way to you,” she stabs her index finger into your chest, her touch surprises you. Both being midfielders you had contact during the game but that was different.

Before you were just the opponent in the same way she was yours, you were aware of her but in that moment she was just Jessie Fleming, a Canada’s midfielder who you needed to get the ball from. Now she was Jess, the girl you were roommates with, the girl whose shoulder you fell asleep on during a long travel day, the girl who you tutored in calculus while she in return tutored you in physics. Her whole face now just inches from yours. You share a similar height with the midfielder, leaving you eye to eye. You can feel her breath as she continues.

“You made your penalty, and you don’t have to wear the armband, you don’t have to sit with the expectation of never missing a penalty, but I do. And you didn’t let your whole team down, I did. So maybe it seems like not a big deal to you because you’re not the one going home!”

You feel like sinking into one of the puddles on the grass, this was a bad idea, you shouldn’t have bothered her. Before you can think of something to say Jessie starts again.

“Nothing? You have nothing to say to me? Then again, why did you come out here? To gloat? Because last time I checked, we’re not even friends anymore and that’s no fault of mine, that was all you, you ignored me, so why even bother? Just leave me alone, go away.”

Her words telling you that she doesn’t even consider you a friend anymore, sting. Sure it was nowhere near like it was before but you still would classify Jessie as a friend. You have every urge to tell her the truth, that you couldn’t stand seeing her with someone else and to protect yourself you took a step back. You wanted to tell her you never meant for it to silence your relationship, you just wanted to respect hers and that meant distancing yourself. Instead, you opted with the easy way out, “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” her brown eyes roll as she turns away from you.

“Jess, wait,” the short form of her name falling out of your mouth on accident. Hoping she’ll stay, you reach out grabbing her wrist preventing her from turning all the way away from you.

“I promise I didn’t come here to give you pity, honestly I’m not sure what I’m doing here.” You feel her shake your grasp from her wrist but instead of leaving she turns back facing you. “I just, I heard you and, I,” You try looking into her eyes but she’s staring at her hands that are fidgeting with the hem of her jersey.

“You already said that.” Jessie cuts you off

“I know, I know, I just,” you bring your hands up to cover your eyes rubbing your fingers along your forehead, hoping you’ll be able to squeeze the right words out of your brain. “I think I wanted to see you.” You admit finally, hoping it’s not too much at the moment.

“We just played 120 minutes against each other, you had plenty of chances to see me.” She throws back at you, her brown eyes still avoiding yours.

You begin to feel a tightness in your throat, a feeling all too familiar to you, making it harder to breathe, you start blinking away the tears that are trying to surface. You’re grateful she isn’t looking at your face. you recognize the same emotions that you felt when she had told you she was in a relationship.

Jessie had been so excited to tell you, and you tried your best to act excited for her, you really did. You had forced yourself to ask questions you really didn’t want to know the answers to. Asking about their first date, first kiss, other firsts, what Jessie liked about her, providing the typical best friend interrogation. What Jessie didn’t know was when she had hung up the phone, telling you she had to go as she was going to spend the night at her girlfriend’s, the tightness had taken over and you burst into tears.

In the moment it didn’t make sense to you, you summed it up to missing her and missing spending time with her. It took a couple months to realize your feelings were ones of jealousy. You wanted to be the girl she spent her nights with. You wanted Jessie to call up Janine and gush about you, not some other girl. And that’s when you started to pull away.

“That’s not the same, I, I just wanted to see you,” you let out a shaky breath, trying to relax before tears spill over, “I miss you.” The words come out as a whisper, almost quiet enough that you hope Jessie didn’t hear and you can move on.

A silence falls between the two of you, Jessie’s fingers are still playing with the hem of her shirt, her eyes glued to them. You look up, staring at what would be a starry night had it not been for the rain clouds covering the sky. It feels like time stops, neither of you moving, no one says anything. You stand there, looking up, while Jessie stands, looking down.

“Why now?” Jessie’s voice cracks, you can’t tell for a second if she’s looking for an answer but she continues on, “You could’ve called, or at least texted.”

“It takes you 3 to 5 business days to respond to a text.” A small laugh comes out as you say the sentence, hoping it’ll lighten the mood.

“I know, but for you,” she pauses slightly, “I would’ve answered in a heartbeat.”

Her words catch you off guard and you swing your head down. You unexpectedly meet Jessie's eyes. She’s got one hand running through her damp hair, the other resting by her side. Her stare feels intense, being under her watch gives you a feeling that sits somewhere between comfort and cowardice.

You’re lost for words, racking your brain for the right thing to say. Part of you says fuck it, tell her you love her, that you want her in every way, tell her you were jealous, you couldn’t stand seeing her with another girl, you want her to be yours and only yours.

The other and far more logical part of you says push it down, you don’t want to scare her off, you want your friend back, even if it means hearing about her girlfriend.

You’re saved from having to make a choice between the angel and devil that split your brain as your phone buzzed and a slew of texts from Lynn and Midge came in. You quickly grab your phone from your sweatpant pocket, turning the ringer off to silence the tone from going off again. You quickly skim the texts which consist of variations of ‘where are you’. You catch the time at the top of your screen realizing the game had ended nearly 2 hours ago. Sure, you had done some media, showered, and changed, but you hadn’t realized how late it was and just how long you had been standing around either watching or talking with Jessie.

“You should probably join them.” Jessie says, almost as if she could see your texts from your teammates asking when you were going to be at the bar.

“Yeah I probably should, I didn’t realize the time. The last thing I need is them sending a search party and finding me with the enemy.” You nudge her with your elbow. She gives you a quick tight lipped smile.

“I’ll uh, I’ll see you around?” You add in a raise in your voice in hopes she takes that as an invitation.

“I don’t know,” Jessie pauses, eyebrows creasing as she thinks of what to say next. “It’s just, I’m dealing with a lot right now, moving, captain responsibilities, some personal things. I just don’t know if I can add another thing on my plate right now. Maybe give me some time?” Her response isn’t the one you wanted, but you realize it’s better than a complete shutdown on her end. At least some small part of her was open to letting you back in.

“Of course, I understand the moving countries part, I mean. The rest of your stuff I don’t know about, I mean the personal stuff, and then the captain part.” You find yourself rambling at her. “But yeah that’s fine. I’ll be going.” You point your thumb in the direction of the tunnel.

She turns away, this time you let her walk away. You watch her for a moment before turning yourself and heading back to the tunnel toward your car. Just when you reach the start of the tunnel you hear it again. The sound of Jessie’s boot kicking the ball and the sound of the ball hitting the net. You turn around watching as she grabs another ball between her hands, rolls it around and then bends down to place it.

“Hey Fleming,” you call to her as she releases the ball on the ground and starts to map out her steps. You watch as she turns back over her shoulder locking eyes with you, raising her eyebrows nonverbally acknowledging your call, “Be a good teammate to yourself.”

You carry on to the parking lot, picking up your phone and calling Lynn to let her know you were leaving the stadium now. While you were too distracted on the phone, what you didn’t realize was the absence of the sound of Jessie kicking the ball.

Your words had caught her off guard, she hadn’t heard it in a few years, you last said it to her after she had a rough game at Chelsea. The simple phrase brought back feelings surrounding you that she had pushed down for a while now. She stood, staring at the ball she had just placed, taking a deep breath like she did before every penalty. Only this time, instead of stepping toward the ball with force, she simple walked toward it, picked it up and headed to grab the bag and clean up. She realized she had punished herself enough, the loss still hurt, but with your words and the smile on your face as you said it fresh in her mind, it hurt a little less.

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #canwnt #portland thorns #canxnt #woso x reader #woso imagine

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seafarersdream · 1 month ago

Text

Campaign Trail | Modern AU! (Gwayne Hightower x Y/N)

Strap in for the wild ride of Gwayne Hightower’s political rise, as seen through the eyes of his campaign manager, Y/N. From clueless debates to dodging scandalous tabloids and pretending he knows the price of a pint, Gwayne is your classic posh boy gone rogue running as a Lib Dem candidate. And it’s Y/N’s job to keep his ego in check, his speeches on point, and, occasionally, his pants on. Welcome to the Gwayne Hightower campaign. Expect chaos. Word count: 12k

TW // Strong language and profanities, characters frequently consume alcohol (including scenes of heavy drinking), boss/employee romantic trope, power dynamics, sexual and crass humor, depictions of extreme wealth and privilege (rich assholes basically).

“Bloody hell, Gwayne, are you even listening to me?” Y/N slammed her pen down on the table, the clatter echoing through the dimly lit campaign office. It was well past midnight, and the stale smell of cold pizza mixed with the faint scent of Gwayne’s overpriced cologne was starting to make her head spin.

Gwayne Hightower, the posh prat in question, barely looked up from his phone. He was lounging back in his chair, long legs stretched out like he owned the place — which, to be fair, he probably did in some indirect, old-money, nepotistic kind of way. “I am listening,” he drawled, though his thumb kept scrolling. “Something about, uh, housing and healthcare. Right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard she could’ve seen the back of her skull. “Yeah, mate, just the minor detail of your whole bloody platform,” she shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, the stuff that actually makes people vote for you?”

Gwayne’s lips curled into that infuriatingly perfect smirk, the kind that belonged more to a model, not on some would-be politician. “You mean the bit where I pretend to care?”

She let out a frustrated sigh and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, the pretending bit. But let’s make it convincing this time, yeah?”

The office was a mess of coffee cups, crumpled notes, and campaign leaflets. A lone desk lamp threw a harsh yellow light across the room, casting long shadows on the wall. Outside, the rain battered against the windows, the only sound in the quiet street below. The clock ticked loudly, reminding them of every minute they were wasting.

Y/N picked up a sheet of paper, waving it in his face. “Look, you need to hit them where it matters. People care about the NHS. They care about whether they can afford to put a roof over their heads. Not about… whatever posh nonsense you were going on about last week.”

Gwayne finally put down his phone, leaning forward with a feigned look of interest. “What was wrong with what I said?”

She snorted. “Mate, you can’t promise a home for every hardworking Brit when your idea of a starter home is a bloody Georgian townhouse in Chelsea.”

Gwayne chuckled, and for a second, she hated how charming he could be when he wasn’t being an absolute prat. “Fair point. Alright, Ms. Campaign Manager, what do we say?”

Y/N leaned in, their faces just inches apart, and she could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. “You say,” she whispered, “that you’re going to make housing affordable, that you’ll protect the NHS like it’s the crown jewels, and that you actually give a damn about people who don’t have trust funds or daddy’s money to fall back on.”

He stared at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You think they’ll buy it?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Not if you keep looking like you’re about to laugh every time you say it. You need to mean it, Gwayne. Or at least act like you do. Think of it like… theatre.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that surprised her. “Theatre, is it? So what, am I Olivier or just a bloke in a bad panto?”

Y/N grinned. “Depends. You reckon you can handle a bit of method acting? Maybe imagine you’re someone who doesn’t have everything handed to them on a silver platter?”

Gwayne leaned back, still watching her, and she felt a strange tension crackle between them, something electric, something unspoken. “You’ve got a smart mouth, Y/N. That why I hired you?”

She shrugged, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck. “Nah. You hired me because I’m the only one who’ll call you out on your bullshit.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You like calling me out, don’t you?”

Her breath hitched for just a second, and she cursed herself for letting him get to her. “Someone has to,” she said, her voice steady. “And you clearly love it.”

His smirk grew. “Maybe I do.”

She felt her face flush and decided to change the subject before she ended up doing something stupid. Like kissing that smug grin right off his face. “Right, back to work. We need a slogan that sticks. Something the punters will remember. Something that makes them think you’re the real deal.”

Gwayne leaned back, eyes still locked on hers, a challenge glinting in them. “You mean something like, Vote for me or I’ll bloody well buy your house myself?”

Y/N snorted, and for a moment, the tension eased. “Yeah, that’ll go down a treat in Hackney.”

“Alright,” he said, leaning closer again, his voice softer now, more serious. “Help me, then. What do I say?”

She felt that pull again, that magnetic draw that made her want to slap him and snog him in equal measure. She shook her head, trying to focus. “You say,” she murmured, leaning in so close their noses almost touched, “that you’re going to fight for them like you’d fight for your own bloody life. That every day you’re in office, you’re not just some posh tosser playing politics. You’re there because you bloody care.”

Gwayne’s breath brushed against her lips, and she swore she saw his eyes flicker to her mouth. “And you think they’ll believe me?”

She felt her heart race, her pulse quickening. “They’ll believe it,” she whispered, “if you say it like you bloody well mean it.”

For a second, everything hung in the air between them, the rain pounding against the window like a drumbeat, their breaths mingling in the space between. And then he moved back, breaking the spell, his grin back in place.

“Alright,” he said, voice light again. “Let’s do this, then. Make me sound like a bloody hero.”

Y/N smiled, picking up her pen. “Oh, I will. And you better not cock it up.”

He winked. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips. She will either kill this campaign, or it kills her first. Which she is not sure yet.

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“Remember, Gwayne,” Y/N muttered as she straightened his tie, fingers brushing against his collar for a moment too long, “Stick to the message. Focus on the solutions, not the problems. You’re not just some arse in a suit; you’re the bloke who’s going to fix this mess.”

Gwayne’s grin was too confident for her liking. “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he replied, eyes twinkling with that familiar arrogance. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Right, because you’ve handled so many housing crises in your plush penthouse.”

He chuckled. “Come on, love. Give me a bit of credit. I’ve been prepping for this all week.”

“Yeah, and it shows,” Y/N shot back, sarcasm sharp enough to cut glass. “Now, get in there, charm their pants off, but for God’s sake, don’t let him corner you on the numbers.”

The studio lights were blinding, hot enough to feel like the sun itself had decided to join them inside. Across from Gwayne sat Martin Caldwell, a journalist infamous for his pitbull tactics and never letting a politician off the hook. Caldwell looked like a vulture in a cheap suit, his eyes narrowed and mouth twitching as if he could already smell the blood.

Gwayne settled into his chair, flashing that perfect smile. “Thanks for having me, Martin,” he said smoothly.

Martin didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Gwayne?” he said, leaning forward, voice like a scalpel. “Housing crisis. The capital’s got over 60,000 homeless households, more than 80,000 children living in temporary accommodation. And that number’s only climbing. Now, you’re here, all clean and polished, talking about affordable housing, but let’s be real — what’s your plan, really? Because people out there, they’re struggling. They’re angry.”

Gwayne didn’t flinch, kept his smile steady. “Look, Martin, the housing crisis is a massive issue, no question. It’s about more than just numbers; it’s about people, families—”

“But let’s talk about numbers, Gwayne,” Martin cut him off, eyes gleaming. “Since 2010, there’s been a 70% increase in households in temporary accommodation. 70%! That’s a bloody lot, isn’t it? How do you plan to fix that with just more of the same?”

Y/N watched from the sidelines, her heart thudding against her ribs. This wasn’t going to be easy. She’d told him to stick to the message, keep it simple, but she could already see Caldwell trying to lure him into a trap. Gwayne’s jaw tightened — just a fraction, but she saw it. And so did Caldwell.

“Look, the current policies clearly haven’t worked,” Gwayne replied, leaning in, voice steady. “What we need is a radical overhaul. A commitment to building a new generation of affordable homes, partnerships between government and private sectors, and a serious plan to cut down the bureaucratic red tape that—”

Caldwell pounced. “Right, but where’s the money coming from, Gwayne? You’re talking about a ‘radical overhaul,’ but that means a radical budget. Are you going to raise taxes? Cut other services? Let’s hear it, Gwayne. What’s the actual plan?”

Gwayne hesitated, just for a second, and Y/N felt her stomach drop. That was all Caldwell needed. The interviewer leaned in further, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Or is this just another politician’s promise? More hot air while kids sleep in shelters?”

Gwayne’s smile faltered, just a flicker, but it was enough. He could feel the pressure mounting, the audience’s eyes on him, waiting for a stumble. “Look,” he started, but his voice wasn’t quite as strong now, “it’s a complex issue, and we’re working—”

Caldwell cut him off again, like a shark sensing blood in the water. “Working on what, Gwayne? A plan that doesn't exist?”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears. Damn it, this was spiraling, and fast. She moved closer to the stage manager, whispering frantically. “I need to get on his earpiece. Now.”

Seconds later, Gwayne heard her voice, calm and clear through his earpiece. “Stop defending. Go on the attack. Talk about the real culprits — landlords, greedy developers, government failures. Take control, Gwayne, before he buries you.”

Gwayne’s eyes flicked to the camera, and his posture straightened. He smiled, but this time there was steel behind it. “Alright, Martin, let’s talk about the real issue here,” he said, his voice steadying. “The housing crisis didn’t happen overnight, and it didn’t happen because of the people living in temporary accommodation. It happened because of decades of government inaction, because landlords were given free reign to hike rents, because developers were allowed to build luxury flats while people can’t afford a basic home.”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow, surprised by the shift. “So, you’re blaming the private sector now?”

“I’m blaming a system that’s rigged, Martin,” Gwayne shot back, finding his stride. “A system where a handful of people get rich while everyone else suffers. And that’s what I’m here to change. To fight for a fair deal, not just for the few, but for everyone.”

Y/N could see Caldwell’s eyes narrow. He wasn’t expecting this. Good. Keep him off balance.

Caldwell pressed again, but now there was a hint of frustration. “But specifics, Gwayne. People want to know how—”

“I’ll give you specifics,” Gwayne cut in sharply, leaning forward. “First, we cap rents to stop people being priced out of their own communities. We fund social housing properly, no more of these half-hearted measures. We build homes people can actually afford, and we crack down on empty properties left to rot while families go homeless. And yeah, Martin, if that means stepping on a few toes in the private sector, so be it. Because this isn’t about comfort. It’s about doing what’s right.”

There was a pause. Caldwell seemed momentarily lost for words, and that was all Y/N needed. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Gwayne finished strong. “I’m not here to make friends with the developers or the landlords, Martin. I’m here to make sure that every child in this country has a safe place to call home.”

Caldwell recovered, trying to regain control. “Strong words, Gwayne. But can you deliver?”

Gwayne smiled, this time without hesitation. “Watch me.”

The interview wrapped up, and Y/N could feel the tension slowly ease out of her shoulders. As Gwayne walked off set, she met him in the wings, her expression a mix of frustration and begrudging admiration.

“Nice save,” she said, crossing her arms.

Gwayne grinned, a bit of the cockiness back. “Thanks to you. You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a smile. “You were one misstep away from a bloody train wreck, you know that?”

He stepped closer, his voice low, teasing. “Maybe I like a bit of danger. Keeps things interesting.”

She felt that familiar heat rise between them, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Well, next time, try not to give me a heart attack on live TV, yeah?”

Gwayne chuckled. “No promises. But… thanks, Y/N. Really.”

She gave him a nod. “Just doing my job. Now let’s go. We’ve got a lot of damage control to do.”

He watched her walk away, a smile tugging at his lips. “And here I thought we just saved the day.”

Y/N looked back over her shoulder, grinning. “Maybe. But the day’s not over yet, Hightower.”

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“This place is bloody ridiculous, Gwayne.” Y/N muttered as she wandered through the lavish rooms of his Belgravia townhouse, glass of absinthe in hand. The place screamed money — old money, the kind that people like her never saw outside of films or the pages of Tatler. She ran her fingers along the gilded edge of a massive mirror, its frame probably worth more than her yearly salary.

Gwayne, sprawled comfortably on a deep leather sofa, shot her a lopsided grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She rolled her eyes and took a swig of her drink, the bitter taste burning down her throat. “I mean, look at this,” she said, gesturing around with her glass. “A townhouse in Belgravia? You’ve got Raphaels hanging on your walls, for fuck’s sake. You collect rare artwork like most people collect fridge magnets.”

He glanced at the painting she was pointing to — a delicate Madonna in blues and golds, her serene face glowing softly in the low light of the room. “Not just any Raphaels. The best ones. Acquired at private auctions, if you must know,” he replied with a lazy smirk. “It’s not a crime to have taste.”

Y/N snorted. “Yeah, because that’s what everyone does with their disposable income. Attend auctions with the world’s elite and outbid some oligarch for a Bernini bust.”

He grinned wider. “It was a spirited bidding war, I’ll give you that. Oligarchs can be quite tenacious.”

She laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re something else, Hightower.”

The townhouse was ridiculously opulent. The kind of place that would feature in a glossy spread titled London’s Most Exclusive Homes. Velvet drapes framed enormous windows that looked out onto pristine, manicured gardens. The walls were adorned with priceless works of art, paintings that most people would only see behind thick glass in a museum. A faint scent of rich leather and wood polish filled the air, mingling with the sharper notes of absinthe.

Gwayne had insisted on pouring her a drink the moment they got in, promising her it would “take the edge off.” And she had to admit, it was doing the trick.

“Alright, you’ve buttered me up with the fancy booze,” Y/N said, plopping herself into a chair that felt like sinking into a cloud. “Now spill. Why the bloody hell are you running as a Liberal Democrat?”

Gwayne blinked, surprised by the bluntness of her question. Then he chuckled. “You’ve been dying to ask me that, haven’t you?”

“Are you kidding? It’s been killing me,” she shot back, leaning forward. “I mean, look at you. Everything about you screams Tory. The suits, the townhouse, the art collection that could fund a small country. And yet here you are, waving the Lib Dem flag. It doesn’t add up.”

He took a slow sip of his own absinthe, letting her words hang in the air. “Maybe I like a challenge,” he finally said, a hint of mischief in his tone.

She snorted again. “Oh, come off it. You’re not in this for a challenge. You’re in it for… hell, I don’t know, but it’s not because you’re a bleeding heart liberal. So why?”

Gwayne’s smile faded slightly, his blue eyes studying her carefully. “Maybe I actually believe in something, Y/N. Did you ever think of that?”

She held his gaze, not backing down. “Sure. I just thought that something would involve tax cuts for the rich and a couple of fox hunts on the weekends.”

He laughed, a real laugh this time, not the polished, practiced chuckle he usually gave to the cameras. “Alright, fair play. I can see why you’d think that.”

“So…?” she pressed.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, swirling the emerald liquid in his glass. “Alright, you want the truth?”

“That’s why I asked,” she replied, her tone softer now.

He hesitated, just for a moment, before speaking again. “I was supposed to be Tory. God, was I ever. Family’s a line of them. Granddad, Dad, every bloody Hightower since time began, probably. I was raised for it, groomed for it. Eton, Oxford, the whole bloody conveyor belt to Westminster.”

She nodded. “I’m with you so far. Still not seeing where the Lib Dem part comes in.”

Gwayne leaned forward, his voice lower, more serious. “It was all set up. Tory membership card practically in my cradle. Then one day, I actually took a look at what was happening around me. Went to a few dinners, talked to the ‘right’ people. Listened to them… talk. And, Christ, Y/N, it made me sick.”

She blinked, surprised. “You? Sick? You love a posh dinner as much as the next trust fund baby.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t the dinners, love. It was the people at them. The entitlement. The utter lack of care for anyone outside their bubble. I realized I didn’t want to be part of that. Not if it meant towing the line on policies that only protect the people who’ve already got everything. The way they talked about people… like they were numbers, not lives. I couldn’t do it.”

She leaned back, considering his words. “So, you’re telling me you had some grand epiphany?”

He shrugged. “Something like that. I figured, if I was going to get into politics, I’d do it to actually make a difference. The Lib Dems… they’re not perfect, but they’re about giving a damn about everyone, not just the privileged few.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “And you’re not one of the privileged few?”

He laughed. “Oh, I am. Born and bloody bred. But that doesn’t mean I have to play by their rules. Maybe I want to rewrite them.”

She stared at him, her heart unexpectedly softening. Maybe this privileged prat actually believed what he was saying. “So, what’s the endgame then? 10 Downing Street?”

He chuckled. “Maybe. But that’s for another day. Right now, I just want to make some noise and see if anyone’s listening.”

She took another sip of her absinthe, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. “Well, you’ve got my attention, at least.”

He leaned closer, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, I noticed.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t let it go to your head, Hightower. I’m still here to make sure you don’t bollocks this up.”

He grinned. “I’d be lost without you, Y/N.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah, you would.”

For a moment, the room seemed smaller, the space between them charged, and Y/N felt that familiar pull again — the magnetic tension that always seemed to hang in the air whenever they were close. She tore her gaze away, looking around at the paintings instead.

“This absinthe’s going straight to my head,” she muttered.

He chuckled, watching her closely. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Gwayne. I’m still your campaign manager. You need me sober enough to make sure you don’t say something stupid again.”

He leaned back, his smile still in place. “Fair enough. But maybe just for tonight, we can forget about campaigns and crises. Just… be two people having a drink.”

Y/N met his eyes, and for once, she couldn’t find a quick comeback. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe just for tonight.”

And for a brief, quiet moment, neither of them spoke. The townhouse, with all its ridiculous wealth and art, seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them, caught in the electric tension of what might be.

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The rain was coming down in sheets, turning the streets of Hackney into a grey, slick mess. Puddles formed in the cracks of the pavements, and the smell of wet concrete hung in the air. Y/N was soaked to the bone, her coat heavy with rain, but she didn’t care. She was too busy making sure Gwayne didn’t make an utter arse of himself.

They were in the heart of Hackney, one of the neighborhoods hardest hit by the housing crisis. Rundown council flats lined the streets, their brick facades crumbling, windows boarded up or patched with mismatched panes of glass. Gwayne’s designer shoes were caked in mud, and she couldn’t help but smirk as he tried to navigate the uneven pavement, clearly out of his comfort zone.

“Careful, mate,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. “Wouldn’t want to scuff those fancy loafers of yours.”

Gwayne shot her a look, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I’ll have you know these are perfectly sensible shoes.”

“Sensible?” she scoffed. “For what? A yacht party in Monaco?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just focus on the job, yeah?”

The rain showed no sign of letting up, but the community center up ahead was buzzing with activity. Inside, a group of local residents, activists, and a few journalists had gathered. The room was crowded, the air thick with the smell of damp coats and instant coffee. There was a mix of skepticism and curiosity on the faces of the people, and Y/N knew this was their chance to make an impression.

She turned to Gwayne, lowering her voice. “Alright, here’s the plan. Listen more than you speak. They don’t need another politician giving them empty promises. They need to feel like you’re actually listening to their problems.”

Gwayne nodded, adjusting his jacket. “Got it. No posh nonsense.”

She gave him a small, approving smile. “And for the love of God, don’t mention your townhouse.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

As they stepped inside, all eyes turned to them. The chatter quieted down, replaced by the soft hum of whispered conversations. Y/N could feel the tension in the air, the weight of expectation. Gwayne moved forward, shaking hands, offering polite nods and warm smiles, and to his credit, he seemed genuinely interested.

But she could sense the underlying wariness from the crowd. These were people who had been promised a lot by politicians, only to be disappointed time and again. They weren’t going to be won over by a posh accent and a well-tailored suit.

She nudged him toward a group of women huddled in the corner, each with tired eyes and worn faces. “Start here,” she murmured. “Single mothers. Most of them on the housing waiting list for years.”

Gwayne approached them with a disarming smile. “Hello ladies, I’m Gwayne Hightower,” he began, reaching out to shake their hands. “I’m here to listen to your concerns and see how we can work together to make things better.”

One of the women, a middle-aged lady with a mane of curly hair and an accent as thick as the rain outside, crossed her arms, eyeing him suspiciously. “You a politician, then?” she asked, her tone laced with skepticism.

Gwayne nodded. “Yes, I’m running for Parliament—”

She cut him off, snorting. “Figures. Another posh boy with promises, eh? What makes you different from the rest?”

Y/N held her breath. This was it. Make or break. She watched as Gwayne took a breath, steadying himself. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m here because I want to change things. I know I come from a different background, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what’s happening here.”

The woman eyed him for a moment, then turned to Y/N. “And you? You believe him?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah,” the woman pressed. “You look like you’ve got a brain in your head. Why you working for him?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Gwayne. For a second, she wasn’t sure how to answer. But then she decided to be honest. “Because I think he actually gives a damn. As much as it pains me to admit it.”

The woman’s eyes softened a fraction. “A posh boy who cares, eh? That’s a new one.”

Gwayne chuckled, relaxing a bit. “I promise you, I’m full of surprises.”

Before the woman could respond, a young man in his twenties stepped forward, anger flashing in his eyes. “What are you going to do about the housing crisis?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “I’ve been stuck in a hostel for two years with my daughter. No council house, no help. You lot don’t care about us. You don’t have to live like we do.”

Gwayne met his gaze, a serious expression crossing his face. “You’re right. I don’t live like you do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t fight to change it.”

The man scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You’ll go back to your fancy house tonight, yeah? What do you know about struggling?”

Y/N felt a surge of defensiveness on Gwayne’s behalf, but before she could speak, Gwayne raised a hand, his voice calm. “I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes. But I’m here because I want to learn, and I want to do something about it. I want to make sure that people like you don’t have to go through this.”

The young man seemed taken aback by the directness of his answer. “Yeah? And how are you going to do that?”

Gwayne looked him straight in the eye. “By building more affordable homes, by fighting for rent controls, by holding landlords accountable, and by putting pressure on the government to prioritize housing over profits.”

Y/N watched the young man, his expression slowly shifting from anger to something closer to consideration. Maybe even hope. She felt a flicker of something in her chest — pride? Maybe.

But then, the conversation was interrupted by an older woman, her face lined with years of hardship. “Talk is cheap, love,” she said quietly. “We’ve heard it all before.”

Gwayne nodded, not shying away from the hard truth. “You’re right. It is. But I’m here because I want to prove I’m different. And if I’m not, then hold me accountable. Make sure I deliver.”

The older woman studied him for a moment, then gave a small, reluctant nod. “Alright, then. We’ll see.”

Y/N turned away from Gwayne for a moment and spotted an elderly man sitting in the corner, his hands trembling as he held onto a cane. She approached him, crouching down. “Hello,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”

“Frank,” he replied, his voice raspy. “I’m here every week… watchin’… listening.”

Y/N smiled gently. “What do you think of all this, Frank?”

He chuckled, a dry, weary sound. “Think he’s different, your lad. Might even mean it. But they all mean it at first, don’t they?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I suppose they do.”

Frank’s eyes twinkled. “But he’s got fire. And fire’s what we need. Someone to burn the whole bloody system down and start fresh.”

Y/N glanced back at Gwayne, who was deep in conversation, genuinely listening, and she felt something stir inside her. Maybe Frank was right. Maybe Gwayne wasn’t just a posh boy with a fancy townhouse and a taste for absinthe. Maybe he was something more.

She turned back to Frank and smiled. “Yeah, maybe he is.”

Frank nodded, then winked. “You make sure he don’t lose that fire, eh?”

Y/N grinned. “Oh, I will, Frank. I will.”

Y/N could feel the crowd’s eyes on her, a mix of doubt, curiosity, and frustration etched into their faces. This was her moment. If they were going to stand a chance of winning over Hackney, she had to make them believe. Not just in Gwayne, but in what they could actually do together.

She stepped forward, hands raised in a gesture of openness. “Alright, listen up,” she called, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the room. “I know what you’re all thinking. Who’s this posh boy, swanning in here with his fancy shoes, telling us he’s going to solve our problems?”

A few people in the crowd nodded, some even chuckling in agreement. Gwayne shot her a wary look, but she ignored it, pressing on.

“You’re right,” she continued. “He’s got a swanky townhouse, he collects art worth more than most of us will see in our lifetimes, and he probably can’t tell a Greggs pasty from a bloody foie gras. But wouldn’t you rather have one of these posh boys on your side for once?”

The crowd was listening now, intrigued. She could see the skepticism starting to crack just a little.

“Think about it,” she went on, her voice gaining strength. “He’s got money. He’s got connections. He knows the people who pull the strings, the ones who make decisions about your lives while sipping champagne in Mayfair. He’s got the kind of influence that actually moves things along. Don’t you want someone like that fighting in your corner instead of against you?”

A few heads nodded slowly. She caught the eye of the young man from earlier, still frowning but clearly considering her words.

“And before you write me off as just another one of his people,” she added, raising her chin, “I’m not like him. Not by a long shot. I’m from Manchester — Manny born and bred. My dad owns a power tool shop, and my mum’s been working as a caterer for as long as I can remember. I worked my arse off to get into university, full ride scholarship because that was the only way I was getting in.”

She saw a few faces in the crowd soften, nodding in recognition. They knew what it meant to work for everything you had.

“And now here I am,” she continued, with a hint of defiance in her voice, “standing next to this posh, pretty boy. Not because I believe in his money or his connections, but because I believe he actually wants to do some good. Because for once, we’ve got one of these guys willing to take a stand, to fight for something other than his own bloody bank account.”

There was a murmur of approval now, a few people nodding, even clapping. She saw Frank in the corner, grinning like he’d just won a bet.

“So yeah,” Y/N said, letting her voice ring out strong, “I’m all in with him. And if you give him a chance, he’ll show you that he’s all in with you too. What have you got to lose? Another empty promise? Another politician who forgets about you the second they get to Westminster?”

Gwayne looked at her, a new appreciation in his eyes. He hadn’t expected her to go all in like that, to put herself on the line for him in front of these people. She had just thrown her whole story out there, her whole self, and it was resonating.

Y/N turned back to the crowd. “We know how this works, don’t we? We know the system’s rigged, and we know it’s not built for people like us. But here’s the thing — we can’t fight it alone. We need someone who can get into the room, sit at the table, and make some noise. Someone who’s willing to push the boundaries and shake things up.”

She took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline pumping through her veins. “I’m putting my money where my mouth is. I’m working with him, and I’m going to make damn sure he doesn’t just talk a good game. And if he tries to slack off, I’ll be the first to give him a kick up the arse.”

The crowd chuckled, a few cheers going up, and Y/N felt a surge of relief. They were starting to come around.

“So what do you say?” she finished, raising her voice. “Give us a chance. Hold us accountable. Make us prove it to you. Because I promise you, he’s not perfect — far from it — but he’s got fire, and he’s got the guts to use it.”

A small cheer went up, and Y/N felt a smile break across her face. The woman from before nodded approvingly, the young man seemed to relax a little, and even Frank was clapping slowly, his grin widening.

Gwayne stepped forward, taking his cue from her. “I know I’ve got a lot to prove,” he said, voice steady. “But with Y/N by my side — and with your support — I’m going to fight like hell for this community. For every single one of you.”

A louder cheer erupted this time, and Y/N felt her chest swell with a mix of pride and something else she wasn’t quite ready to name. She caught Gwayne’s eye, and he mouthed a silent “thank you,” a look of awe on his face.

She nodded, just a small dip of her head, but she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her lips. “Don’t thank me yet,” she whispered as he turned back to the crowd, her voice low enough only for him to hear. “We’ve still got a long way to go, posh boy.”

He chuckled, that infectious grin back on his face.

And as they continued to work the room, shaking hands and listening to stories, Y/N felt something shift.

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“This place doesn’t even have a bloody sign,” Y/N muttered, peering up at the unmarked black door set into a pristine brick facade. She shot Gwayne a sidelong glance as they stood on the dimly lit Mayfair street. “Is this one of those places where they judge you if you ask for ketchup?”

Gwayne smirked, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit. “Only if you pronounce it wrong.”

She rolled her eyes, but her nerves were starting to kick in. “And you’re sure I’m dressed alright for this? I’m feeling a bit like Bridget Jones at a state dinner.”

Gwayne gave her a quick once-over, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “You look perfect,” he said, a bit softer than usual. “Better than perfect. Trust me, they’ll be too busy being themselves to notice.”

She snorted, trying to shake off the unease creeping up her spine. “Well, that’s reassuring. So, remind me again why I’m here?”

Gwayne’s grin widened. “Because I want you to meet my father. And my sister. And because I’m tired of them assuming I’m completely useless.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “So, I’m your human shield, then?”

“More like my secret weapon,” he replied, flashing that grin again, and she felt a flicker of warmth despite herself.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” she muttered, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The restaurant was beyond posh. It was the sort of place you didn’t even know existed unless you were born into a world where five-course meals were standard Tuesday fare. Dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and tables spaced so far apart that you’d need a map and a compass to navigate. A sommelier in a suit that probably cost more than Y/N’s rent stood by the door, giving them a nod as they entered.

“Mr. Hightower,” he murmured with a deferential nod. “Your party is already seated.”

“Cheers, mate,” Gwayne replied, slipping the guy a tip that was probably equivalent to a week’s worth of groceries for her.

They were led to a private alcove, tucked away behind a velvet curtain. At the table sat Sir Otto Hightower, the very picture of an aristocratic patriarch, his white hair immaculately styled, a pin on his lapel glinting in the low light — the insignia of a Knight Grand Cross of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. Because, of course, he bloody was.

Next to him sat Alicent Hightower, Gwayne’s sister, her auburn hair twisted into a perfect chignon, a string of pearls draped around her neck. Alicent was the epitome of a British socialite — impeccably dressed, with that strange air of religious guilt that seemed to cling to her like perfume. Y/N knew the type: all sweetness and light on the surface, but beneath… God only knew.

“Father, Alicent,” Gwayne said, his tone a bit too cheerful. “This is Y/N, my campaign manager.”

Sir Otto’s eyes flicked to Y/N, appraising her with a cold, calculating stare. “Ah, the one steering my son’s misguided adventure,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk but with a sharp edge.

Y/N offered her hand, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you, Sir Otto. Though I prefer to think of it as a ‘guided’ adventure.”

Otto’s lips twitched slightly, a half-smile. “Quite. And what brings a… Manchester girl to this peculiar position?” He spoke ‘Manchester’ like it was a foreign concept.

Y/N bristled slightly but kept her composure. “Good old-fashioned hard work, Sir Otto. That, and a full scholarship to UCL.”

Alicent, who had been sipping her wine in silence, finally looked up. Her green eyes were bright, inquisitive. “UCL, how… admirable,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Tell me, Y/N, do you believe in God?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Er, not the best topic for a first dinner, is it?” she replied with a grin. “But sure, I’d say I’m more spiritual than religious.”

Alicent smiled, but there was something unsettling in it. “Oh, how lovely,” she cooed. “Spiritual… but not tethered to the truth of the Lord’s word.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself. “Well, I suppose the Lord’s word didn’t help much with the housing crisis, did it?”

Gwayne’s eyes widened slightly, and he hid a smirk behind his hand. Sir Otto, however, leaned back, an amused glint in his eyes. “I see you’ve brought a firecracker, Gwayne.”

Gwayne grinned.

Sir Otto’s expression shifted, serious now. “Gwayne, I’m concerned about this… campaign of yours. It’s one thing to indulge in some youthful rebellion, quite another to throw away your future in politics for a party that, frankly, doesn’t hold much weight.”

Y/N decided to jump in. “With all due respect, Sir Otto, that’s precisely why he’s running with the Lib Dems. Because they don’t have the same old baggage, because he wants to make a difference, not just go along with the same tired rhetoric.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp and assessing. “And you believe he can do that, Miss…?”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “L/N. Y/N L/N,” she replied with a slight tilt of her head, James Bond style. Her tone was cool, collected, and a bit cheeky. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her, not tonight.

Sir Otto chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound, as he scooped a bite of beluga caviar onto his spoon. “What’s in it for you, Miss L/N?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity as he placed the expensive delicacy into his mouth.

Y/N smiled, her expression nonchalant, and met his gaze without flinching. “Well, money, sir,” she said bluntly. “Can’t say no to a decent paycheck, can I?”

Otto laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that seemed to surprise even him. “Ah, honesty. A rare trait in politics. Refreshing.”

Alicent, who had been quiet for a moment, leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “She is quite pretty, isn’t she?” she said with a small, mischievous smile. “Tell me, Y/N, any boyfriend? Fiancé? Surely someone must have snatched you up by now.”

Y/N kept her smile, though she felt the sting of the question, the way Alicent’s words seemed to pry at her personal life like a needle. She decided to answer truthfully, but with a touch of humor. “Well,” she began with a dry smile, “the last one ended because he cheated on me with his co-worker.”

Alicent’s eyebrows shot up, and even Otto paused mid-sip of his wine, surprised. Gwayne’s head whipped around so fast he nearly knocked over his water glass.

“Seriously?” Gwayne blurted out, before catching himself. “I mean… sorry, that’s… that’s bloody awful.”

Y/N shrugged, as if it were nothing more than an amusing anecdote. “Yeah, well, it makes for a good story at dinner parties, doesn’t it?”

Otto chuckled, clearly impressed. “You’ve got a tough skin, Miss L/N. You might just be what my son needs after all.”

Y/N grinned, raising her glass slightly. “Cheers to that, Sir Otto. Here’s to tough skins and thicker wallets.”

Alicent smiled, though her eyes were still studying Y/N carefully. “You certainly are… interesting, Y/N. Different from the usual lot Gwayne brings around.”

Y/N met her gaze without flinching. “Good. Because I’m not here to impress anyone, just to get the job done.”

Gwayne couldn’t hide his grin. “And that’s why she’s the best, Father. She’s real. And she’s not afraid to tell me when I’m being an idiot.”

Otto leaned back in his chair, still smiling. “Well, she’s got her work cut out for her then, doesn’t she?”

Alicent laughed softly. “Indeed. I rather like you, Y/N. And believe me, that’s not something I say often.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

As the dinner continued, the conversation flowed a bit more easily, a bit more openly. Y/N felt the tension easing just a little, but she knew better than to let her guard down completely. This was still the Hightowers, after all. They were never off-duty, never fully relaxed.

As they walked out of the restaurant into the crisp night air, Gwayne turned to her, an amused smile on his lips. “You were bloody brilliant back there. I think you might have actually impressed them.”

Y/N shrugged, her face breaking into a grin. “Well, it’s about time someone shook things up around here, don’t you think?”

He laughed, slipping his hands into his pockets. “God, I really do need you, Y/N.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “Yeah, well, don’t go getting too soppy on me now, Hightower.”

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The campaign office was buzzing with a nervous, almost frantic energy. The air was thick with the scent of coffee, sweat, and anticipation. Papers were scattered across desks, phones were ringing off the hook, and the TV in the corner was blaring the election coverage at full volume.

The room was packed with volunteers, team members, and every random person who had decided they wanted a front-row seat to Gwayne Hightower’s political gamble.

Y/N stood by the window, staring out at the rain-slicked streets of Hackney. Her arms were crossed, her foot tapping against the floor in a steady rhythm that betrayed her nerves. She could feel the tension building in the room like a pressure cooker about to blow. This was it. Months of work, endless nights, arguments, laughter, and more cups of coffee than she could count — all leading up to this moment.

She glanced over at Gwayne, who was sitting in the center of the room, gripping a bright orange stress ball in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. His hair was slightly disheveled, his tie loosened, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. For the first time in weeks, he looked genuinely worried.

“Jesus, Gwayne, if you squeeze that thing any harder, it’s going to explode,” Y/N teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He gave a tight smile, his fingers tightening around the stress ball even more. “What, this?” he muttered. “This is keeping me from climbing out of the window and legging it down the street.”

She chuckled, walking over and plucking the glass of scotch out of his other hand. “And this?” she asked, taking a sip. “Liquid courage?”

“Something like that,” he muttered. “How’re we doing?”

Y/N glanced at the TV, where the talking heads were dissecting the election results, constituency by constituency. “Early counts look good,” she said, though her voice was steadier than she felt. “But it’s still too close to call.”

Gwayne nodded, his eyes flicking nervously to the screen. “Bloody hell. I haven’t felt this nervous since that time I accidentally set fire to the old headmaster’s garden at Eton.”

Y/N snorted. “You did what?”

“Long story,” he muttered, squeezing the stress ball again. “Involved fireworks and far too much brandy.”

She shook her head, laughing despite herself. “Remind me never to leave you alone with flammable objects.”

Across the room, one of the volunteers called out, “Turn it up! They’re about to announce something!”

Everyone fell silent, their eyes glued to the screen as the anchor shuffled his papers, looking far too pleased with himself. Y/N felt her stomach twist into knots. She glanced at Gwayne, who was sitting on the edge of his seat, knuckles white around the stress ball.

The anchor spoke, his voice calm and measured, “And now, the latest results coming in from Hackney South and Shoreditch…”

Y/N held her breath. This was it. The moment of truth.

Gwayne muttered something under his breath, his eyes wide, and she could feel the tension radiating off him like heat. “Come on, come on,” he whispered.

The anchor continued, “It appears we’re seeing a significant swing tonight. Early numbers suggest that the Liberal Democrat candidate, Gwayne Hightower, is making a strong showing in what was expected to be a closely contested race…”

A cheer went up from the room, and Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. But she knew better than to celebrate too early. “Still just early numbers,” she called out over the noise. “We’re not done yet!”

Gwayne turned to her, his face a mix of disbelief and hope. “We might actually pull this off,” he breathed.

She smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Might? Don’t you dare start doubting now. We’ve come too bloody far for that.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and squeezed the stress ball once more. “Alright, alright. Deep breaths.”

Y/N chuckled. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack. Maybe lay off the scotch for a bit, yeah?”

He laughed, but it was a nervous sound. “Can’t promise that.”

Another volunteer rushed over, holding a phone up to Y/N. “Call for you,” they said breathlessly. “Someone from the party headquarters.”

Y/N took the phone, pressing it to her ear. “Yeah? What’s the news?”

She listened for a moment, her expression hard to read, and Gwayne felt his heart leap into his throat. “Y/N?” he asked, voice tinged with panic. “What is it?”

She hung up, turning back to him with a grin. “They’re saying it’s looking even better. We’ve got a real chance here, Gwayne.”

He exhaled sharply, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “God, I hope so.”

Y/N nudged him gently. “You’ve done the work, Gwayne. You’ve talked to people, you’ve listened. Now it’s in their hands.”

He nodded, looking around the room at all the people who had put their faith in him, who had worked tirelessly by his side. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

They both turned back to the TV, watching as the coverage continued, the tension building with every passing second.

GWAYNE HIGHTOWER HAS WON HACKNEY SOUTH AND SHOREDITCH.

The words flashed across the screen, and for a heartbeat, the entire room fell silent. The anchor’s voice echoed in the stillness, confirming the impossible — Gwayne Hightower had won. He was going to Westminster.

And then, the room exploded. Cheers erupted, people jumped from their chairs, and the air filled with the sound of shouting, laughing, and the popping of champagne corks. Y/N felt a wave of exhilaration rush through her as she was engulfed by a sea of hugs and high-fives from the volunteers, their faces lit up with joy and disbelief.

“WE BLOODY DID IT!” someone shouted, and another cheer went up, even louder this time.

Y/N turned to Gwayne, who was standing in the middle of the chaos, his mouth hanging open in shock. He still had the stress ball in one hand, but his grip had slackened, and the glass of scotch dangled precariously in the other. Slowly, a grin spread across his face, growing wider and wider until it seemed to take over his whole expression.

“We won!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “We actually fucking won!”

Before Y/N could react, Gwayne grabbed her and pulled her into a bear hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. She laughed, breathless, feeling the pure, unfiltered joy radiating from him. “Put me down, you idiot!” she shouted, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

He finally set her down, his eyes bright, his face flushed with excitement. “We did it, Y/N! We actually did it!”

She grinned back at him, her heart pounding with pride. “You bloody well did, Hightower. I told you you could.”

He took a deep breath, looking around at the crowd of volunteers, staffers, and supporters, all of them hugging, toasting, and celebrating like there was no tomorrow. “Right,” he announced, raising his voice above the noise. “This calls for a proper celebration.”

He made his way to the corner of the room, where a large cabinet stood. Y/N watched as he pulled open the doors to reveal a stash of bottles that looked like they’d been imported from some long-forgotten royal cellar. “Alright, who wants a drink?” he called out, holding up a bottle of whisky so rare it probably had its own pedigree.

A cheer went up, and Y/N laughed as Gwayne began pouring glasses of the finest whisky she’d ever seen. “I thought you were saving that for… I don’t know, the King’s visit or something,” she teased, accepting a glass.

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Forget the King. This is better.”

The glasses were passed around, and Gwayne raised his own high, a look of pure triumph on his face. “To everyone in this room,” he began, his voice strong, clear, “to every single person who believed in this campaign when no one else did, who knocked on doors, who made phone calls, who put up with my bollocks day in and day out… thank you. This isn’t my victory. It’s our victory. Ours. And I promise you, I’m going to make every single one of you proud.”

Another roar of approval filled the room, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a lump rise in her throat. She watched Gwayne, standing there with his messy hair, his loosened tie, and that damned expensive whisky in his hand.

“To Gwayne!” she shouted, raising her glass high.

“To Gwayne!” the room echoed back, and they all drank, the whisky burning a warm path down her throat. She felt Gwayne’s arm slide around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, feeling a sense of relief and joy wash over her.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he murmured in her ear, his voice soft, almost lost in the noise of the celebration. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She turned to look at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “Oh, please,” she replied with a grin. “You did all the hard work. I just yelled at you a lot.”

He laughed, a deep, happy sound, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them, standing in the middle of that chaotic, jubilant room. “Well, keep yelling at me,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “Because I’ve got a feeling we’re just getting started.”

She smiled, a warm, genuine smile, and clinked her glass against his. “To Westminster,” she said.

“To Westminster,” he echoed.

But then, “Gwayne, it’s your father.”

Gwayne looked down at his phone, the name “Otto Hightower” flashing on the screen like a warning sign. He shot a glance at Y/N, who was still grinning from ear to ear, surrounded by the celebrating team. With a sigh, he swiped to answer the call.

“Father,” he said, raising his voice above the noise of the room, “calling to congratulate me, are you?”

Otto’s voice crackled through the phone, formal and clipped. “Of course, son. It’s a remarkable achievement. The family is very… proud. Your mother insisted we call. We’d like you to drop by the estate at Kew so we can celebrate properly.”

Gwayne’s face flickered with something Y/N couldn’t quite read. He glanced at her, then back at the phone. “Tonight?” he asked, a slight hesitation in his voice.

“Yes, tonight,” Otto replied. “Your sister is already on her way. It’s only right that we toast your success together, as a family. You’ve done well, Gwayne. It’s time to show the world that we stand united.”

Y/N caught his eye, sensing his indecision. She smiled, trying to keep it light. “Go on, Gwayne. They’re your family. Go celebrate with them.”

But Gwayne’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening on his phone. “Yeah, but…” he started, then turned away slightly, lowering his voice. “Look, Father, I appreciate it, really. But I think I might stay here, with my team. With the people who made this happen.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, then a slight huff of breath. “Gwayne,” Otto said, a touch of impatience creeping into his tone, “these are the optics you have to consider now. Come to Kew. Show your face. You’ve won a political seat, but don’t forget your roots. You’re a Hightower. It’s time to act like one.”

Gwayne closed his eyes, his jaw tensing. “I know,” he muttered. “I just… I need to think about it, alright?”

Otto’s voice softened just a fraction. “Just think about what this means for all of us, Gwayne. We’re waiting.”

The call ended with a click, and Gwayne stared at the screen for a moment before slipping the phone into his pocket. He turned to find Y/N watching him, an eyebrow raised.

“So?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual. “You off to the family estate then? Sounds like a big deal.”

Gwayne frowned, his expression conflicted. “I don’t know, Y/N,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, they want me to, but…”

Y/N gave him a playful nudge. “Go on, posh boy. It’s your moment. Go drink champagne in a fancy mansion, eat some ridiculous hors d’oeuvres, bask in the glory of finally being the golden child.”

But Gwayne shook his head, his eyes still fixed on hers. “It’s just… that’s not where I want to be tonight.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? They’re your family. This is huge for them too.”

He sighed, leaning against the table, his gaze never wavering. “Yeah, but they weren’t the ones who stood by me through this whole bloody mess. They weren’t the ones knocking on doors, calming me down when I thought I was going to blow it, or making sure I didn’t look like a total prat on TV.”

Her grin softened, a bit of warmth creeping into her voice. “Gwayne…”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping low, just for her. “You’re the one I want to celebrate with, Y/N. You’re the one who I owe all of this to.”

She felt her breath hitch, her heart racing in her chest. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, trying to laugh it off, but her voice came out a little too shaky. “You did this, Gwayne. You won.”

Gwayne shook his head, determination in his eyes. “No, we won. Together. And I don’t want to go to some stuffy dinner with my family when I could be here, celebrating with you. With the people who actually matter.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a grin, a teasing light dancing in her eyes. “Alright then, MP,” she replied, leaning back with her arms crossed. “But if we’re going to celebrate, we’re going to do this right.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what does right look like to you?”

“No posh nonsense,” she declared with a smirk. “I’m in the mood for a proper drink. None of this ‘hand-picked by the King’s personal sommelier’ rubbish. We’re going to my favorite pub in Camden.”

Gwayne chuckled, clearly amused. “Camden? Really?”

“Yeah, really,” she shot back, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m talking Guinness, maybe some Negronis if we’re feeling fancy. Real drinks, in real glasses, in a place where they don’t care what your last name is or whether you’ve got a seat in Parliament.”

He laughed, already feeling a sense of relief wash over him. “Alright, alright, Camden it is. I’m game.”

She grinned, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door. “Come on, MP. Time to show you how the other half celebrates.”

Thirty minutes later, they walked into a well-worn pub in the heart of Camden, the sort of place where the tables were sticky, the music was too loud, and everyone shouted over it anyway. It was packed, warm, and smelled faintly of spilled beer and fried food. Perfect.

Y/N pushed through the crowd, leading the way with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where they were going. “Oi, Derek!” she called to the barman, a burly man with a thick beard and a friendly grin. “Two pints of Guinness, and keep them coming!”

Derek gave her a knowing nod. “Y/N, love! Been a while. You brought a friend?”

Y/N grinned back. “Something like that. This is Gwayne. Gwayne, Derek. Derek, meet Gwayne, our newest MP.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “MP, eh? Well, blimey, look at that! In my pub? Must be a special occasion.” He winked at Y/N. “What’s he doing slumming it here with the likes of us?”

Gwayne laughed, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. “Trying to remember what real people are like,” he said, and Derek let out a hearty laugh, clapping him on the back.

“Good on you, mate. First round’s on me,” Derek declared, pouring their pints with a flourish.

Y/N grabbed the pints and handed one to Gwayne. “Cheers,” she said, clinking her glass against his.

“Cheers,” he echoed, taking a long, satisfying sip. The Guinness was cold and smooth, and he let out a contented sigh. “God, that’s good. I see why you like this place.”

She smirked, leaning against the bar. “Told you. No frills, just fun. And now, we celebrate properly.”

Gwayne’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Alright, then. Let’s have it. What’s next?”

She grinned. “Next, we toast. To winning. To not being a total prat. And to more nights like this.”

He laughed, raising his pint high. “To more nights like this,” he agreed, his voice filled with a happiness he hadn’t felt in ages.

They drank, they laughed, and they joked, and for once, Gwayne felt like he could actually breathe, like the weight of the election had finally lifted. He didn’t have to be the polished, perfect politician tonight. He could just be… himself.

Y/N leaned in, her voice low over the din of the pub. “See? Isn’t this better than some stuffy dinner with your dad?”

He smiled, his eyes locked on hers. “Much better,” he admitted, “though I think it has more to do with the company than the location.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere, MP.”

“Good,” he replied with a wink, “because I’m just getting started.”

They spent the rest of the night laughing and drinking, sharing stories and toasting to every little victory. By the time they were onto their third round of Negronis — and perhaps more than a little tipsy — Gwayne realized he hadn’t felt this free in years.

As the night wore on, the pub became louder, rowdier, and Gwayne found himself leaning closer to Y/N, his shoulder brushing against hers, her laughter in his ear. He looked at her, really looked at her, and wondered how he’d managed to get so lucky.

“So, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “if I’ve got any shot at making it in this crazy world of politics… it’s because of you. You know that, right?”

She smiled, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, her eyes bright. “I think you’re doing just fine, Gwayne. But I’m glad to have helped knock a bit of sense into you.”

He laughed, reaching out to clink his glass against hers again. “To knocking some sense into me,” he agreed, his voice soft.

She grinned, and as their glasses met with a gentle clink, he felt that same familiar spark — the one that had been simmering between them for weeks. And tonight, with the pub alive around them and her laughter in his ear, he felt like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

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A few hours later.

Y/N stumbled out of the pub, her head spinning from the pints of Guinness and the Negronis they’d downed. Gwayne was beside her, his arm draped lazily around her shoulder, his laughter echoing in the cool Camden air.

“Alright, MP,” she slurred slightly, flagging down a cab that seemed to materialize from nowhere. “Time to get you back to Belgravia before you pass out on the pavement.”

Gwayne pouted, a tipsy grin spreading across his face. “But I’m not done celebrating,” he protested, swaying slightly.

She chuckled, tugging him towards the cab. “Mate, you’re done. Trust me. Come on, get in.”

She pushed him gently into the backseat and climbed in after him, giving the driver Gwayne’s address. The cabbie nodded, pulling away from the curb.

Gwayne leaned his head back, staring at her with a goofy smile. “You’re a bossy one, aren’t you?” he slurred, his eyes half-lidded.

“Someone’s got to keep your posh arse in line,” she shot back, smirking.

He laughed, the sound warm and careless, like he’d never had a worry in his life. “S’true,” he murmured, leaning his head against the window, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “You’re my rock, Y/N.”

She chuckled, feeling the warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Alright, Shakespeare, save it for when you’re sober.”

The cab wound its way through the quiet London streets, the lights blurring past them. Y/N’s head buzzed pleasantly, and she kept sneaking glances at Gwayne, who was still grinning like a fool.

Finally, they pulled up outside his townhouse, and the cabbie turned to look back at them. “Here we are, mate,” he said. “You alright getting out?”

Gwayne blinked, looking around like he’d just woken up. “Yeah, yeah, this is me,” he mumbled, fumbling with the door handle. He managed to push it open, but instead of getting out, he reached for Y/N’s hand, pulling her along with him.

“Oi, what are you doing?” she laughed, stumbling out after him. “You’re home. Get inside and sleep it off.”

He turned to her, his eyes wide and a bit desperate. “Wait, wait,” he said, his words slurring together. “I need you to… to punch in the code for me.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “You’ve forgotten the bloody code to your own house?”

He nodded with all the seriousness of a drunk man trying to seem responsible. “I need your help,” he insisted, tugging at her arm. “Can’t… can’t do it without you.”

Y/N sighed, but she couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Fine, fine. Come on, let’s get you inside.”

He beamed, still holding onto her arm like she was the only thing keeping him upright. “Knew I could count on you,” he said, leading her up the steps to the front door.

She punched in the code he mumbled under his breath, shaking her head in amusement. “Honestly, Gwayne, you’re hopeless.”

The door clicked open, and she nudged him inside, making sure he didn’t trip over the threshold. “Alright, you’re in,” she said, hands on her hips. “Now go upstairs and sleep, before you do something stupid.”

But he didn’t let go of her arm. Instead, he turned to face her, his expression suddenly serious, almost vulnerable. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “Just… for a bit. I don’t wanna be alone.”

Y/N’s heart did a weird little flip, and she swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “Gwayne, you’re pissed. You need to sleep it off.”

He shook his head, his grip on her arm tightening just a little. “Please,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers. “Just… just for a minute. I don’t want this night to end.”

She hesitated. “Gwayne, I…”

But his eyes were so earnest, so genuinely pleading, that she found herself nodding, unable to resist. “Alright,” she sighed, trying to sound annoyed but failing. “Just for a minute.”

He smiled, that boyish grin that made her insides twist, and he led her inside, closing the door behind them. The grand entrance hall was dimly lit, the soft glow of antique lamps casting shadows on the walls.

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and she could feel her heart racing in her chest. “Okay, you’re in,” she repeated, a bit breathless now. “Now what?”

He stepped closer, his hand still on her arm, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “For everything. For… believing in me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, and she looked away, suddenly feeling very sober. “Yeah, well,” she muttered, “someone had to.”

He laughed softly, his thumb brushing against her arm. “I think… I think it had to be you.”

She met his gaze again, and for a second, she forgot where they were, forgot everything but the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Gwayne,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Stay,” he repeated, his eyes dark, serious.

Y/N sighed then she left Gwayne sprawled out on the leather couch, one arm dangling off the side, his head leaning back with that drunken, lopsided grin still on his face.

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered to herself, looking around his ridiculously posh townhouse. “Just for a bit, and somehow I’m now in charge of making sure you don’t choke on your own tongue tonight.”

She glanced at him one more time. “Stay put, alright? I’m getting you some water.”

Gwayne gave a lazy thumbs-up, eyes half-closed. “Water… perfect idea. You’re brilliant, Y/N. Absolutely… magnificent,” he mumbled, slurring his words, his grin widening as if he’d just had the most profound thought.

She shook her head, smirking. “You’ll thank me in the morning, trust me.”

Y/N made her way toward the kitchen, weaving slightly as the room swayed around her. She was definitely feeling the effects of those Negronis. “Right,” she muttered under her breath, “just need to get some water. How hard can it be?”

She turned the corner and entered what could only be described as a space-age kitchen — all sleek chrome and glossy surfaces, like it had been designed by some avant-garde architect who’d clearly never boiled an egg in his life. She blinked at the sight of a state-of-the-art water system built into the counter, with more buttons and screens than the bloody cockpit of a plane.

“What the hell is this?” she muttered, frowning at the contraption. “It’s a water tap, not the bloody TARDIS.”

She poked at one of the buttons, and the display lit up with a series of choices: Still. Sparkling. Ice Cold. Room Temperature. Mineral Infused. pH Balanced. Alkaline. There was even an option for Artisanal Mountain Spring, which she was pretty sure was taking the piss.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, rubbing her temples. “Why does he need this much choice for a glass of water?”

She jabbed at the Still button, but nothing happened. She tried Room Temperature. Still nothing. The machine made a faint, mocking beeping sound that she swore was laughing at her. “Come on, you fancy piece of crap,” she growled, slapping the side of it. “Give me some bloody water!”

She pressed another button, and a small panel opened up, revealing even more buttons. “Are you kidding me?” she muttered, leaning closer, trying to make sense of the digital display that was now flashing at her like she’d accidentally triggered the launch codes for a nuclear missile.

“Alright, let’s try this…” she muttered, tapping another button labeled Dispense.

The machine hummed for a moment, then spat out a single drop of water. A single, mocking drop.

“You have got to be joking,” Y/N muttered, staring at the droplet like it had personally insulted her. “Come on, work, damn you!”

She tried again, this time holding the button down longer, and finally, a stream of water began to flow — freezing cold and spraying out far too fast, splashing over the side of the glass and onto her shirt.

“Bloody hell!” she yelped, jumping back and nearly slipping on the pristine marble floor. “Why is it so complicated to get a drink in this bloody house?”

Gwayne’s voice floated in from the living room, a lazy, amused drawl. “Y’alright in there, Y/N?”

She shot a glare in his direction, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, fine!” she called back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just wrestling with your bloody spaceship tap!”

She finally managed to fill the glass without any more incidents and turned off the tap, which thankfully didn’t require any further button-pressing. Taking a deep breath, she made her way back to the living room, where Gwayne was now lying sideways on the couch, humming some Beatles tune to himself.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the glass into his hand. “Drink. You need water, or you’re going to wake up tomorrow feeling like a truck hit you. And I’m not in the mood to deal with your whining.”

He blinked up at her, his eyes glassy but grateful. “Thanks, Y/N,” he murmured, taking a sip. “You’re… amazing. Like, really. You know that?”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, yeah. Drink up.”

He chuckled softly, downing the water like he hadn’t had a drink in days. “Seriously, though,” he continued, setting the glass on the coffee table, “don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She felt a flutter in her chest, but she kept her tone light. “Probably end up dehydrated on your fancy couch, for starters.”

He grinned, his eyelids drooping as the alcohol started to catch up with him. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d just… still be lost.”

Y/N’s breath hitched for a second, but she brushed it off with a chuckle. “Alright, enough with the confessions. Time for you to sleep.”

He nodded, his head lolling to the side. “Yeah… sleep sounds good,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

Y/N watched him for a moment, making sure he was actually dozing off and not about to get up and start another drunken adventure. “Goodnight, Gwayne,” she whispered, almost too softly to hear.

He mumbled something in his sleep, a smile still on his lips, and Y/N turned to leave, shaking her head. She’d gotten him home, hydrated, and onto his couch. Mission accomplished for now.

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