#goalkeeper!reader

[avalentina]

Welcome To Football Baby Girl

NewDad!Christian x Goalkeeper!reader

Just a little thing I had the urge to type out while watching Serie A today and seeing another player carrying their little "player escort" out onto the pitch

This takes place in the Fiance!Christian x Goalkeeper!reader universe I'm writing currently.

Reader wears the No. 1 for the Inter Milan Women and the USWNT

Word count: 329 (it just made me smile ok)

ENJOY! -Ava

Warnings: None (I think), I guess implied p in v (they have a daughter), mild teasing (poking fun at Weston and Tim)

You and Christian welcomed your first child just over twelve weeks ago, a sweet baby girl and he is obsessed. Just as she is very much a ‘Daddy’s Girl’. You and him have been talking about doing her first major social appearance with each of you and after doing some looking into things Christian made a suggestion, “What about dressing her tiny little self up in a onesie version of a team's kit and having her be our escort? Theo did it with his son against Lecce and it was adorable. The press and fans on both sides loved it.”

“Don't you guys have a Juventus game coming up?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Then at least we can doll her up in a McKennie kit. She did cling to Wes when he came in to meet her. She wasn't a big fan of Tim though.”

“Poor Tim. Wes will get a kick out of that though and probably get her a new one every time she outgrows it. You know that right?”

“Yep. And when I battle AC next we'll put her in yours.”

Christian smiles wide, having an even better idea.

“We need to find infant keeper gloves. I've got the derby on the 22nd.”

“Fuck, that's right. But only the keeper's escort wears the keeper kit.”

“I’ll take care of it. I'll get myself maneuvered next to Mike and swap him for the anthem. He'll love it.”

“Let's put Pulisic on the back and see if anyone spots it.”

“I have to say, I'm so happy you decided to use it in matches.”

“Why wouldn't I tie myself to ‘Captain America' in yet another way?”

Christian gives a smiling “mhmm” before kissing you senseless and hoisting you up onto the counter, stepping between your legs and just starts sliding a hand lower when you're interrupted by the baby monitor app crackling to life.

“Looks like Chelsea's awake.” You say before heading upstairs to get her. Christian following close behind.

Feedback Appreciated. This is the first of hopefully many that will be posted for Christian. It technically takes place after they officially tie the knot so I hope you liked that little bit.

Hope you enjoyed!

-Ava

[wlwsoccerfics]

Bad Back(StephCatleyXArsenalReader)

Summary: during a Game you get a Back injury that leaves you with a back brace for a few months and your wife takes Care of you.

You and Daphne switched every other Game. Both sharing the Spot of Number one Goalkeeper on the Team. You liked that alot Sharing the Spot with your best friend and fellow dutchie.

Currently you were on the way to the Game at the emirates. Your wife Steph was driving. You didn't Drive with the team on the Bus cause you planned on visiting Manchester with Steph and Beth to see your sister Viv. She was your twin. You weren't identical but still had that Special twin bond. Vic was watching Myle and Calvin for you Guys so you could take the two later with you Guys to Manchester.

"i am excited to see Viv!" You told your wife. Steph laughed softly. Of course she wasn't surprised to hear that.

"i would be concerned If you weren't excited Babe. For real. I don't know who is more excited to see Vivi, you or Beffy!" Your wife answered.

"okay valid! I don't know either." You admitted and chuckled softly.

"are you excited about the game today? I know how much you enjoy Games against Manchester United." Your wife replied.

"Very excited." You let her know. "You?" You asked.

"very much." Steph said softly.

When you reached the Stadium you walked to the changing room together, Hand in Hand. Running into Kim & Leah on the way there.

"aww it's our newly weds!" Leah stated teasingly. You have been married for 3 years and have been together for almost 5. But it was no Secret that you still often acted like freshly in Love Teens. So the Team liked to tease you two about it.

"Jealous much, Williamson?" You asked just as teasingly. Leah was one of your best friends.

"Like she is any better with Elle!" Kim replied. Chuckling softly.

"Point for you, Kimmy!" Steph said and smiled. All of sudden you felt someone jump onto your back, quickly holding her.

"Hoi beste vriendin." You heard Daphne say. You smiled and held her up on your back with one arm. ( hi bestie. )

"Hoi Daphne." You replied and smiled softly.

"Je gaat het vandaag geweldig doen! Dat weet ik zeker!" Daphne let you know, which made you smile even more. ( you gonna do amazing today! i just know it! )

"Bedankt." You replied. Your little group made it's way into the changing rooms.

You sat down and put on your Football cleats after greeting everyone.

"i am excited to Play against Tooney!" Alessia admitted.

"we gonna kick Manchester Uniteds Asses!" Katie stated.

"i am looking forward to this Match too!" You hear Codi say.

The Game was going great for you Guys. Arsenal was in the lead right now. 2-0 was the Score. You did some great saves. It was almost half time when Manchester United was awarded a Corner kick. You jump towards the ball. So did Leah and Millie Turner. The two didn't only knock eachother down but also made you lose your Balance when you went back down from the jump and fell hard against the Goalpost. Whimpering in pain.

"y/n!" Steph yelled out. Your wife kneeled in front of you. Millie and Leah back on their feet. Thankfully they weren't Hurt. You on the other hand.

"don't move, y/n! The medics are coming over." Katie said.

"my back, it feels weird." You admitted. Tears streaming down your face.

"i am right by your side, Babe!" Your wife answered. The medics made sure to be really careful. They put on a Neck brace just in case. Steph was allowed to Go to the hospital with you.

Your twin has watched the Scene on TV in Horror and was trying to call Steph now. Viv felt sick to her stomach.

"Steph, thank god! I was freaking out because i thought you wouldn't answer my call. And i saw what happened on tv. How is y/n?" Your sister wanted to know.

"she is getting a Check up right now. I am in the waiting room!" Your wife let your sister know. Your sister was currently on the way to London. In fact she was calling from the Car.

A little while later Steph was back by your side. Holding your Hand. You sat on your back with a back brace on.

"you have a fractured back bone. So the brace has to stay on. Apart from when you shower of course. There is no surgery needed but the healing process can take Up to 12 weeks." The doctor told you.

"when can i go home?" You wanted to know.

"in two days. We just want to Help you adjust to what's going on right now with your Body and then you are allowed to go home. Cause i know your Club is gonna make sure you gonna be okay!" The doctor answered. He happened to be a big Fan so you and Steph signed a picture for him.

Viv looked at you. She was quite glad to see that you didn't look as fragile anymore. Because on tv that looked alot different.

"i am glad you will be fine after the twelve weeks! Cause i was super freaked out." Your twin said and took your hand gently. Giving it a small squeeze.

"i am glad about that too. Especially cause i have Plans with my wife!" You answered.

"i don't need to know about my best friend and my sister in law having Sex!" Beth stated when she walked into your Hospital room.

"that's Not what i was talking about!" You told her and playfully rolled your eyes.

"my Love was actually talking about trying for a Baby!" Steph admitted. Viv and Beth both looked surprised but Happy.

"oh my god! I am excited when that happens!" Daphne happily said, when she walked into the room.

"you will be one of the First ones to know!" You told your best friend.

Two weeks later you really have gotten used to the back brace. As much as one can. Your wife did alot to help you and made things alot easier for you.

"thank you Babe. For everything, i mean it!" You replied after she handed you a Plate with cut Up strawberries and a cheese Sandwich.

" i married you and promised through the good and the Bad. What Kind of wife would i be If i didn't help you?" Steph asked and kissed your head softly. You smiled at her.

"i still appreciate you and i am very thankful. Promise i will always be there for you as well Babe! You are stuck with me!" You let her know. Smiling even more now. She smiled back at you.

"stuck with you? Best News ever!" Steph answered.

It was a hard and exhausting time but you fought your way back onto the pitch and Steph was always with you. Just like your sister and your entire Team. And your Bestie Daphne of course.

[kxsagi]

AHHHHH ur isagi bday story made my heart do a little thing NAKDKAMSKALA

can you write smth about isagi being really good with ur younger sibling ( i just learnt he wanted a little sibling after watching my neighbour totoro 🥺)

“𝐠𝐨𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭”

a/n: due to it being april 1st and isagi’s b-day, i will be completing mainly isagi requests today! don’t worry, i promise that other requests will be completed as soon as i can, but i want to do something special and different for my man

(art credits go to louvbon on twt)

it started with my neighbor totoro. 

you and isagi were curled up on the couch, a cozy blanket draped over the both of you as the movie played. it was at the part where satsuki was running around taking care of mei, tying her shoes, holding her hand, making sure she didn’t wander off, when isagi suddenly mumbled, 

"i think i’d be a good big brother."

you turned your head, raising a brow. "since when did you want a younger sibling?"

"since just now," he admitted easily, his gaze still on the screen. "or maybe since forever, but this movie just made me realize it." 

you chuckled, nudging him. "so you just wanna be totoro, huh?" 

"well, yeah," he grinned. "but i also think it’d be kinda nice to have a little brother or sister to look out for." 

you hummed, tucking the thought away. it wasn’t until a few days later, when isagi came over to your place and met your younger siblings, that you realized just how serious he was about it. 

as soon as you opened the door, your little brother peeked from behind you, staring up at isagi with big, curious eyes. your younger sister, on the other hand, had no hesitation, running right up to isagi and grabbing his hand like he was already part of the family. 

"are you really a pro soccer player?" she asked, eyes sparkling. 

isagi crouched down to her level, smiling. "yup. you wanna see a cool trick?" 

she nodded enthusiastically, and your little brother, who had been trying to act too cool to care, ended up inching closer, curiosity getting the better of him. 

isagi pulled a ball out of his bag, casually rolling it under his foot before flicking it up to his knee, then his shoulder, before catching it neatly in his hands. 

"whoa!" your sister gasped, tugging on your arm. "did you see that?" 

"that was so cool," your brother mumbled, eyes wide. 

"you guys wanna learn?" isagi grinned. 

and just like that, he was roped into playing soccer in the backyard. 

it started simple, just some passing drills and little tricks to impress them, but soon, it turned into an all-out game. your sister clung to isagi’s side, giggling as he gently guided her foot to kick the ball, while your brother took it way too seriously, determined to score on him. 

"i’m not going easy on you," your brother warned. 

isagi smirked. "bring it on, then." 

you watched as they ran around, laughing and chasing after the ball. your sister cheered for both of them, caught up in the excitement, while your brother fought tooth and nail to get past isagi’s defense. 

eventually, isagi let him win, dramatically diving to the ground as the ball rolled past him. 

"goal!" your brother shouted, pumping his fist in the air. 

"ahh, you got me," isagi groaned, sprawled out like he had just lost the world cup. 

your sister giggled, running over to him. "are you okay?" 

"not sure," he sighed. "might need a hug to recover." 

she immediately wrapped her tiny arms around him, squeezing tight. your brother huffed but plopped down next to him anyway, panting from all the running. 

you sat beside isagi, watching as he sat up and ruffled both their hair, grinning. 

"you’re really good at this," you murmured. 

he glanced at you, tilting his head. "at what?" 

"being an older brother." 

his expression softened. he turned back to your siblings, who were now arguing about who got to keep the soccer ball he brought. 

"yeah," he said quietly, a small smile on his lips. "i think i really would’ve liked having one." 

you leaned against him, squeezing his hand. "well, i think they just adopted you as theirs." 

he chuckled, giving your hand a squeeze back. "guess that makes me the honorary big brother, huh?" 

your sister suddenly tugged on his sleeve. "can you come over every day?" 

your brother nodded. "yeah. you’re cool. you should just live here." 

isagi laughed, throwing an arm around them. "hmm… i don’t know. i do have soccer practice, but…" he glanced at you, eyes twinkling. "maybe i’ll be around a lot more." 

your heart fluttered. your siblings cheered. 

and you had a feeling isagi really, truly meant it.

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[prettydaisygirl]

Feel free to tell me to stop whenever...

James, Athlete (Goalkeeper), 🌹SFW JLQ!

I literally just can't get enough of your stuff! 🤣

girl i'm not going to tell you to stop lmaooo send as many as you want!! it's a celebration for a reason haha go wild

🌹 rose (love, admiration, respect): Pick a character and an AU from the lists above, then choose 1-3 letters from the SFW or NSFW alphabet & I will answer them for you

daisy's 500 follower celebration bouquet

James Potter, Athlete, and JLQ (SFW)

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh boy is athlete!James jealous. He wants everyone to know you belong to him. You wear his jersey at every game, and of course there is no question it's his because he's the goalkeeper, his jersey is unique. He arrives to every game with his arm around you, and ends every game with his lips on yours, win or lose.

So, how anyone can think you're single is beyond him. But, it does happen. One day before a game, James is searching for you after warmups, already hot and breathing heavy. He sees you, and his heart soars like it always does. But then, his steps falter. One of the new cameramen is talking to you. You're smiling politely, hands clasped in front of you. You nod at whatever the man says, and James' jaw clenches when he watches the other man lean closer to you. He doesn't need to see his face or read his lips to know what he's saying. 'you know, doll, you're absolutely stunning.' or 'your eyes are gorgeous, love, did you know that?" The same lines James used.

James puffs up his chest, pushing his shoulders back and readjusting his headband. His eyes, normally more of a honeyed brown, are now like dark chocolate, hard as he slides up behind you and wraps his arm around your middle. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, hand rubbing circles over your stomach. "Hey, baby..." he'd say, and you'd instantly understand what was happening. He only calls you baby in the dead of night when the two of you are tangled in the sheets. The other man at least has the decency to look sheepish when James flashes his signature smile.

"Make sure you have your cameras on me tonight, yeah? I'm winning this one." James would say, and give the other man a cheeky wink. The cameraman would nod and instantly dash away. James would be smug and extra touchy/clingy for the rest of the night.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Children ADORE athlete!James. Not only have they likely seen him on TV, so they obviously idolize him, but James has this aura about him that kids love. That bright, sunny disposition of his leaves children feeling comfortable and safe around him, and James doesn't mind at all. In fact, it's not odd to find children climbing all over him like he's a very handsome piece of playground equipment.

And can you imagine him holding a baby??? swoon. His big arms and toned muscles from years of training are perfect for holding and cuddling little kids. Your baby fever acts up every time James presses a kiss to a little cheek.

PS: athlete!James wants a LOT of kids. Like... enough to have a team of his own.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Let's be so real, athlete!James is a bit of a himbo. He focused on athletics in his childhood, and he's had enough concussions for it to be worrisome (especially as goalie). So as much as I'd want to say he remembers everything about you, he definitely doesn't.

He'll forget things you'd expect him to remember, like your takeout order or which brand of tea you like. But he'll also remember things you definitely don't expect, like a purse you'd mentioned liking once in passing while the two of you walked through a shop, or your favorite childhood movie.

James loves you, and you know his selective memory isn't a reflection of how much love he has for you. Because even if he doesn't remember something (or even if he does), he asks. About everything. Sometimes it can get annoying but James wants to make sure he gets everything right always.

And if he messes something up? He's SO apologetic, showering you with affection for days even if you tell him that it isn't a huge deal.

He just loves you a lot, okay?

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[misettemisette]

Chapter 11 ➺ Not a cloud in sight

Starting over In Madrid

Summary: After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players? WC: 6K words TW: sexual content +18 PS: French writer, the players's pairings are based on rumors or invented. Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clásico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and Peaks Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique Chapter 7 ➺ In the Haze Chapter 8 ➺ Confusion and directions Chapter 9 ➺ The same struggle Chapter 10 ➺ A place for words

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated and buckled during takeoff.”

The plane accelerated, and Misa released a soft whine of pain. I was crushing her hand, my grip tightening in vain as I tried to focus on a magazine cover stored in the back of the seat in front of me. “Relax and simply enjoy your flight!” the title said provocatively. I was nowhere close to relaxed right now, Misa’s poor hand being the collateral damage of my fear of flying. 

I had never been an air person, afraid of heights, of planes, and even of kites when I was young. My two feet always felt right on the spot, firmly on the ground or at least less than ten feet above it. I hated small, closed spaces too, so traveling in a plane was close to a nightmare. Flying with the team was always a stressful moment, especially takeoff and landing. I hadn’t found any tip to calm me, except closing my eyes and muttering some vain prayer to myself. 

This time, I could at least get the comfort of my girlfriend. We never sat next to each other when traveling with the team. This was a first. A first experience I wasn’t sure Misa was truly enjoying now. Her fingers were turning white under my anxious grasp, and I couldn’t do anything else but hold my breath as the plane took off toward the sky at full speed. 

“Respira, cariño. Estoy aquí,” I heard her soft voice in my ear.

I closed my eyes and tried hard to concentrate on the warm, large hand under mine. My grip loosened slightly. My palm was sweating and stuck to hers. Her fingertips attempted soothing motions on the back of my hand and succeeded at making me lose focus on the speed, the height, and the feeling of being trapped. Misa’s fingers were always distracting.

The plane stabilized, and the familiar “seatbelt is no longer required” sound rang out. My eyes flew open. 

“Is it always like that, cariño?” Misa asked with a light chuckle. 

I nodded, breathing deeply. 

The young brunette pulled up the armrest and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. Her other hand found my chin, lifted it, and I could do nothing but dive into her brown eyes. 

“I’m here. We’re going to be alright, I promise,” she said, and she leaned her face closer until her plump lips pressed lightly onto my cheek. 

My eyes fluttered shut again, trying to let her cute kisses take me away from the plane. The feel of her lips ghosting all over my face sent shivers through my body, followed by the first itches of desire. Those damned lips! It was just too easy for Misa to work me up. The tiniest contact of her lips always made me want more, and I snuggled up to her, breathing in her sweet perfume. Her whole presence enveloped me and helped me relax a bit, finally. 

“I bet it’s not obvious right now, but I’m really, really, really happy we’re going on holiday together, Mis’,” I murmured against her. 

“Ah… I was precisely thinking I should have left you at the airport…” she joked. 

“I don’t believe you, nasty girl..."

The young woman rested her head against the back of the seat. 

“En verdad, I’m stressing out…”

“Oh, are you? About what?“ I asked, straightening up. 

“Jenni and Codi are going to rib me day and night. Maybe even Ale will join them.“

“Why?”

She smiled shyly. “It’s been a while since they saw me with someone…”

“Oh…” I glanced down at my lap. “I hope… I mean, I hope you didn’t feel obligated to invite me after Jenni…”

“Shhhh, cállate Nicky. Don’t start with your nonsense! Of course I want you with me. Plus, you’re perfectly loca like us. You’ll blend in in no time!” 

I laughed, reassured, until a turbulence sent the plane shaking madly, making me whine in terror as I buried myself back into the goalie’s arms. 

***

The taxi parked in front of a large modern villa with the biggest bay windows I’d ever seen. The house was above one of the many beaches of Formentera island, framed by pine trees and colorful flowery bushes. The hard sun of noon was perfecting the chic summer decor.

We picked up our luggage and went to the front door. Misa rang the doorbell while I twisted my fingers nervously, intimidated. The prospect of meeting her closest friends was imminent.

"Están aquí, ya voy!" I heard from behind the door. I stepped aside, half hiding behind the goalie, as the door opened in front of us.

Jennifer Hermoso was one hell of a woman. No, it was more than that, it felt like a hurricane was about to sweep us both away when Jenni discovered us waiting by the front door. She flung herself at her friend, words of excitement buzzing all around.

After they parted, Jenni faced me, so tall and muscled she could have been really intimidating if it wasn’t for her large, warm smile.

"Nicky, por fin nos conocemos!" she said, pulling me into a friendly embrace.

Two other faces appeared in the doorway.

"Jenni, acaba de llegar, déjala respirar", said a blond sturdy woman who could be no one but the charismatic, famous Alexia Putellas.

The third one, Laia Codina, added, "La estás ahogando, Jenni."

But Misa interrupted the chatty women.

"Hey… chicas, hablad inglés porfi, Nicky entiende unas frases pero no habla correctamente español."

Misa’s friends nodded in agreement and we followed them inside the villa.

Three other women were waiting. After a quick presentation, I learnt that they were Olga, Kyra and Norma, the girlfriends of respectively Alexia, Laia and Jenni.

So it’s couple holidays, I thought, getting why Jenni insisted on me coming.

"Nicky!" Jenni led me to the kitchen bar. "So you snatched the heart of our bromista Misa!"

She pulled a bottle of tequila from the cupboard. The other women joined us and began fetching the different cocktail ingredients.

I drew a nervous smile. "Yeah, it’s me. What does bromista mean?"

"It means prankster!" Kyra exclaimed from across the kitchen.

Laia went on, "Chicas, do you realize Misa la malota has found a girl? How do you stand her, Nicky? Everybody here knows she’s disreputable."

With a little smile on her lips, Misa huffed and rolled her eyes as she aligned five glasses in front of the striker, who was pouring tequila into a big shaker.

"I’m keeping an eye on her", I said, looking proudly at the goalie leaning on the bar beside me, and I patted the top of her head.

The three friends simultaneously released a tenderized "Ohhhhh."

"She’s the good one for you, Misa", said Alexia.

"Yes, she hasn’t even argued with the fact that you’re a mean girl", Jenni pointed out.

"She’s got what you need, I say you should marry her now", concluded Laia.

That made me laugh, the nonsense of her friends, but especially the goalkeeper’s exasperated pout.

"I knew it was going to be like this…", Misa sighed, resigned.

"Exprime las limas, porfa", Jenni handed Misa a few limes, a knife and a juicer, "We wouldn’t let you get away without checking Nicky’s alright, we know you, hermanita", she said before turning to me, "Nickita, swimming pool or city tour this afternoon?"

"Pool’s great", I answered, too tired from the flight to really enjoy a long walk in town.

I couldn’t suppress a yawn.

"You want to take a nap? There is no rush", Misa asked me while putting the freshly pressed lime juice into the shaker.

"I’m okay, Mis'", I replied, looking at her tenderly.

Laia and Alexia leant onto the bar and whispered to each other as they watched us mischievously.

"She’s so soft when she’s talking to her."

"Look at her sparkling eyes!"

"Lover Misa is back on board!"

"Basta, chicas!" Misa grumbled, "It’s getting annoying!"

Everybody laughed, especially Jenni. "Eres imposible! You’d be doing ten times worse if you were in our position!"

The goalie shrugged and smiled naughtily and Jenni went to hug her again. "Te heché de menos, mi vaca!" she said affectionately, sending Misa softening in her arms.

"Ay! Y yo!" the goalie replied, hugging back Jenni like crazy.

In the meantime, Laia and Kyra had precisely divided the shaken beverage between the waiting glasses, and they handed each woman a cocktail.

Jenni spoke again, lifting her glass, her voice filled with cheerfulness. "Salud chicas! To love, to friendship, and to fucking great holidays together!"

We joined her in a profusion of joyful exclamations.

***

I had taken a nap after all. We had dropped our stuff in our room and I had lied down on the bed, mostly to test its comfort, but sleep had taken me swiftly a few minutes later.

I woke up after what felt like hours. The bedroom was dark and quiet. Misa had pulled the curtains, but she was nowhere to be seen. I stretched, feeling better, although a bit dehydrated, and got out of bed. I checked my phone and figured out I had only slept around forty minutes. That left plenty of time to enjoy the day.

The goalie’s clothes were resting on the armchair, her trunk had been opened, and I deduced she had gone to the pool with the other girls. I opened my own trunk and rummaged through my stuff until I found my bikini. A funny thought crossed my mind as I undressed. Olga and I were the only non-footballers in the villa. Putting my bikini on, I wondered if I felt confident about that. Probably not. Self-confidence wasn’t something that really defined me, and that was partly why Misa impressed me so much. She had the strength of someone dealing with pressure on a daily basis, someone you could rely on. Of course, she could be a little grumpy, and hot-headed, but she was never mean or disrespectful.

She had been my sweet, unbearable, thoughtful friend from the start.

I wrapped myself in my beach towel and opened the door. Happy voices and water sounds echoed from the outside, confirming they were by the pool. Eager to join everybody, I climbed down the stairs and quickly crossed the living room.

I stepped outside. The sun dazzled my sleepy eyes. They took a moment to adjust as I scanned the place.

Jenni was sitting on a sun lounger at the farthest side of the pool, completely at ease being topless. Kyra, Olga, Norma, and Laia were swimming and chatting happily. Alexia was talking to a muscular, tanned girl lying on her belly and wearing nothing more than a light green swimsuit thong. Modest, I looked away and locked eyes with the Spanish striker.

"Hola Nicky!" Jenni called to me with a large smile. "Come sit with us!"

"Cari!" Misa had flipped herself onto her back, but it wasn’t any better for my sanity because she wasn’t wearing a top either. "Nicky! Venga!"

She opened her arms, signaling me to come closer. I walked toward her, smiling timidly as I approached my gorgeous girlfriend. I laid my towel next to the goalie, who pulled me close, draping her arm around my shoulders. She pressed a soft kiss on my temple and resumed her talk with Alexia.

I blinked, dazzled again. The sun was lower but still beating down. Misa’s arms kept me pressed against her hard, blazing body. She was relaying some funny story, speaking animatedly in Spanish while stroking my hair now and then. My hand had fallen on her abs and I wasn’t daring to move it. I wasn’t daring to move at all, afraid, once again, all of this might only be a dream. Could it really be me, lying next to my girlfriend, the beautiful goalkeeper of Real Madrid, spending holidays in a luxurious villa with her friends? It still felt amazing that she had chosen me, Nicky, a simple photographer, among all the girls she could have.

Misa and Alexia burst out laughing.

"We were remembering one time at camp when Jenni and I jump-scared Alexia so much she almost threw up!" the brunette explained to me.

"It was Jenni’s credit!" Laia called out from the pool. "You, Misa, were already dying of laughter before you even pranked her!"

Everybody laughed.

"Has Misa ever pranked you, Nicky?" Kyra asked me.

I straightened up, embarrassed to be glued to the half-naked goalie now that the other girls were looking at me.

"She did…" I admitted. "Although, one time, I pranked Misa when she wanted to prank me!"

"Guau! How did you do it?" Jenni asked. I had caught the girls’ attention.

Misa had sat up as well and was smiling shamefully as I told them the story.

"It was at the Ciudad Real Madrid. I was in my car, ready to go home. I saw Misa in my rearview mirror crouching and coming slowly from behind. I was sure she wanted to go to the side and pop up by the driver window, so I let her come closer and closer, watching her in the mirror from the corner of my eye. And when she was about to jump up, I honked!"

A burst of laughter rippled through our small group.

The goalie scratched her nose, tears of laughter in her eyes. "Dios mío! I thought I was dying of fright!"

"You fell on the floor like a panicked wild animal!" I chuckled, putting my hand on her cheek. "You should have seen your face! I almost felt bad for having pranked you so well!"

"Well done, Nicky!" Kyra said.

"Sí, enhorabuena, Nickita! You’re an official member of the pranking girls now!" Jenni congratulated me.

As everybody resumed their chatting and stopped focusing on us, Misa pulled me into a hug again.

"I told you, you fit perfectly among us, cariño…" she whispered in my ear. Her soft breast brushed my back gently as she settled me better against her. Something hot and swollen grew in my throat as happiness wrapped itself all around me. I closed my eyes. My fingers found her hand and I intertwined them with hers.

Yes, all of this truly felt like happiness. Simple. Pure. Happiness.

The bliss hadn’t left me.

We spent the rest of the day enjoying the pool, dining, and chatting all together. We went to bed at a relatively reasonable hour and what a joy it was to lie down at her side in the comfy bed, losing myself in her sweet perfume. The two of us chatted a little more until it was Misa’s turn to fall asleep without warning. I had grown used to her feeble snores and stayed a moment listening to her deep breathing before putting my earplugs on.

Because of my nap, I woke up early the next morning. Again, I spoiled some minutes looking at the sleeping young goalkeeper, curled on herself, her mind lost in the peaceful slumber of a dream. Was she dreaming of football? Or of a thick waffle loaded with chocolate? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I’d never want that serene expression to leave her face. I wouldn’t let anything hurt Misa. Nothing. She was too precious…

I got up without waking her. I met Kyra in the kitchen. The Australian woman hadn’t taken the Spanish habit of sleeping late yet, and I was happy to share breakfast with someone—Misa always fasting half the day.

The other girls woke up a few hours later. Some of them went to the exercise room of the villa and some went running along the shore. After quite a fight, Misa convinced me to join the running team.

“You go jog just a bit and wait for us on the beach! Exercising is important for your health, Nicky!” she said, dragging me outside the villa.

Dating an athlete, this was bound to happen! And here I was, wearing some of the goalie’s spare training clothes, jogging slowly along the shore before noon. It wasn’t long before I was totally distanced, the footballers shrinking to tiny moving dots on the horizon.

Out of breath after only a few minutes, I hated Misa for making me run. I stopped. If I wanted to build up a healthy routine, I needed to take things gradually. Besides, I couldn’t deny exercising felt good afterward, especially when I ended up walking on the sand, listening to the sound of the waves as my heartbeat gradually slowed down.

That was when my mom called.

“Hello Nicky! How are your vacations going, sweetie?”

“Hey Mom, vacations are great!”

“You are on a Spanish island, right? And you’re coming home at the end of the week?”

“In Formentera. Yes, until next Sunday. I’ll land home at 5:30 PM, can you fetch me at the airport?”

“Of course, baby! Tell me again the names of the friends you are with? Everyone’s from Real Madrid?”

“Er… Not everyone. I’m with Misa and her friends.”

I stopped along the shore, letting the sea’s embruns blow in my face.

“Oh, your other friend’s not here… Hmm… Hayley?”

We were getting dangerously close to the point.

“No, she’s not…” I said, staring at the horizon. The sea was almost completely still, giving birth to a single wave, which died a few feet away onto the sand.

“Oh, she’s not? Only Misa then?”

I exhaled.

“Yes… Mom, I’ve got to tell you something. First, I need you to understand that it’s good but it’s complicated.”

“Tell me, baby, you’re getting me worried!”

“Don’t, Mom, I’m alright, really. Okay… I’m not… Misa’s not… Misa’s my girlfriend…”

“Oh, but that’s good! From what you told me about Misa, she’s an intelligent, healthy woman! You scared me, I thought you had some problem!”

“Misa’s awesome but I do have a problem…” I paused. The sound of the waves continued to soothe me. “As their professional photographer, I’m not allowed to date Real Madrid players.”

Right away, I felt relieved. No more secrets with my own mother. She knew everything now.

“Oh Nicky… that’s… that’s a pity. So, how are you coping? And you’re getting a promotion, right?”

“Yes. That’s the deal. Everything’s great, Mom, my job, Misa, except I’m not supposed to have both.”

“Since when did Misa and you start dating each other? Is it serious with her?”

“I really hope it is. It’s been three months now.”

“Okay Baby, wait more. Love is important, but having an exciting, well-paid job is too. Only time will test your relationship and show if it’s going to last… Anyway, I’m glad you told me. I thought you were hiding something but I wanted you to be ready to speak up.”

“Thanks Mom, I’m really feeling better.”

“I’m happy you found someone, love. And I hope I will meet Misa one day.”

“Thanks! I really hope you will! I’ll send you photos of our holidays. It’s so beautiful here!”

“I can’t wait to see. Bye, my little girl. Take care of you and Misa. I love you.”

“Kiss dad for me, I love you too Mom.”

I hung up, breathed out again, and walked toward the little group of footballers who had come back from their run and were setting their towels on the sand a bit farther down the beach.

The bliss still hadn’t left me.

***

And it never left. Holidays weren’t just holidays.

We could hold hands as our little group wandered around the streets of Es Pujols. We could lock eyes or murmur something silly in each other’s ear without thinking about it looking suspicious. We could dance, pressed together in a tender make-out at the club, surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about Real Madrid or who was kissing its goalkeeper. We could cuddle whenever we wanted, provided we could tolerate the unceasing mockery from her infernal friends. In fact, those friends really made me feel comfortable, teasing me like I had always been one of them. And after a day or two, even Jenni’s amused gaze began to feel like a caring presence.

But the best part of it all was being with her, all day, all night, day after day. There were no goodbyes, no time apart, no in-between moments. Just moments with my girlfriend, living with my girlfriend, and enjoying every little bit of it, from the burned toasts she prepared for me in the morning to her loud snores forcing me to wear earplugs every night. It was like an endless day off in Madrid where we had a whole island to explore as a couple, surrounded by friends, with no other task than planning our next cruise or booking a local specialty restaurant we wanted to try.

Slowly, I got it. Here, we were free. Free to be lovers. And I realized being Misa’s girlfriend was like the waveless sea of Formentera, flowing peacefully.

***

“…and they found the guilty vein and burned it,” Misa finished, smiling mildly at my astonished expression.

I shifted my position on the stone bench, crossing my legs, the screeching of cicadas filling our last night on the island.

“And it healed your tachycardia?”

“Yes, I was healed and able to play football again!” she concluded with a small laugh, like going through awaken heart surgery at the age of thirteen was no bigger deal than buying bread.

I was gagging, impressed by her courage at such a young age and by the strength and determination it had given her since.

“Wow, I’m speechless. You already loved football back then.”

“Football is my passion for life. I can’t live without it. Like… you couldn’t live without chocolate chip cookies.”

I slapped her shoulder, chuckling. “You’re just bummed because you can’t eat my biscuits!”

“I swear you have a problem with sweet food, Nicky! Your cupboards are always full, stuffed with several boxes of the same biscuits. It looks like a shop!” Misa laughed, looking at me tenderly. “I’m telling you, you’re addicted to sugar. I should call you Azúcariño from now on.”

“You would not!” I giggled, moving a stray strand of hair from her face.

“I surely would, Azúcari.”

Misa pulled me into her arms, love in her eyes so visible I blushed, grateful for the darkness of that part of the garden. The brunette was already laying small kisses all over my face, making me laugh again, something in me purring deliciously at the feeling of being loved so much.

“You’re so sweet, Mis’,” I said, wrapping my arms around her broad, comforting shoulders. “You’re right, I’m addicted. To you. You’re my dark chocolate chunky cookie, strong and sweet.”

Misa and I looked fondly at each other for a moment, our shiny eyes reflecting the moonlight. My fingertips traced random shapes on her nape.

“I forgot to tell you…I’ve subscribed to a tattooing course! It comes with a kit and all the supplies to get started!” Misa announced with excitement.

“Wow! That’s great, baby!” I said, beaming with pride.

“Yeah, I’m so happy about it! Although… I’m stressing a bit about the drawing part,” she added, a little embarrassed.

“You should take drawing classes too, then! When I was in art school, my drawing level was so bad I gave up. But I’ve always wanted to learn. Maybe we could do it together?”

Misa’s eyes brightened before she pouted. “Qué buena idea! But… soy muy mala. I’m so bad at drawing…”

“I’m sure you can do it! You’ll improve no matter where you start. We’ll encourage each other!”

“You’re right. We’re going to do it!” she declared, swelling her chest with pride. “Te quiero, Azúcari…” she said, then softly pressed her lips on mine.

“I love you, Misa,” I responded with a smirk, before we lost ourselves in a long kiss.

As we deepened the kiss, music began to echo from afar and I tried to pull back, only to feel Misa’s strong hands holding me firmly in place.

“Más…” she whispered.

“Everything is ready!”

I jumped at the sound of Jenni’s voice nearby, followed by the rustling of leaves. The tall, lean silhouette of the striker appeared behind us.

“Hola, tortolitos! Stop your crap and join the party!”

“Party!” Misa sprang to her feet at once. “¡Vamos, Nicky, yeahhhh!” she shouted, running toward the house.

Jenni and I both rolled our eyes. “Misa…” we giggled in sync.

When we reached the pool, Misa was already dancing like a beast with Laia, Kyra, and Norma, their voices outshouting the music. Jenni was quick to join them, while I preferred to sit in a lounge chair beside Alexia and Olga, watching the dancing footballers with a motherly smile.

“They’re always so wild,” Alexia laughed.

“Yeah, they’re having so much fun,” I agreed, my eyes glued to Misa’s bouncing figure, more excited than ever.

“And you, Nicky, are you having a good holiday?” Olga asked.

I sighed in contentment. “Perfect.”

Alexia chuckled softly. “Good. I’m happy for you two. I hope you’ll find a way around the work problem,” she added a bit awkwardly.

My heart tightened. Of course Misa had told them about the clause. I was still searching for something to say when two large hands pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the dance floor.

“You have to dance to this one! it’s Formentera by Aitana! So on point!” Misa shouted, hopping in place as she pushed me into the middle of the dancing girls.

Soon, their energy swept me up, and we all sang in a chaos of off-key notes.

Porque desde que estás aquí Aquí cerca de mí Que tú eres mi baby Ese recuerdo de tenerte sin ropa…

We danced for hours, song after song. Time didn’t seem to exist as the party stretched into the night, cocktails and beers refilled as soon as they were emptied.

Time didn’t exist when Misa was putting on a show, dancing and singing badly just to make us laugh. Every passing minute made me fall even more for her silly, radiant personality. I was falling so deep as our bodies pressed together on the dance floor.

“Te quiero a ti… Let’s go upstairs. We’ll say we’re tired.” the brunette whispered, a burning glow in her almond eyes, and I shivered, realizing just how badly dancing and drinking with her had worked me up...

I pushed Misa against the bedroom mirror. Our room was a fair distance from the party, and we had closed all the doors we could. The air was warm and heavy with humidity inside the villa.

My fingers slipped under her T-shirt and rose along her spine to reach the hook of her bra. I pulled her clothes off, stepped back, and took in the half-naked figure of the goalkeeper. A smug smile spread across Misa’s face as my gaze grew heavier with desire. She grasped her shorts and slowly pushed them down to her ankles before stepping out of them. She dared to stay there a moment, in front of the mirror, her reflection showing me her bare body from every angle.

I reached out to her, pressing against her again.

“You’re fucking gorgeous…” I whispered against her lips.

I was already damp between my legs as Misa led me to the bed, lying on her back before swiftly pulling me over her. I chuckled at her eagerness, taking off my top as I straddled her.

“I was dying to do that for hours! You were so pretty on that bench…” she panted, working to undress me. But she froze when she pulled my panties down. “Uh, um, mierda… Nicky, you’re having your period…”

“Oh no! I’m sorry!” I moaned, jumping off her and heading to the bathroom. “Fucking shit! No!”

“Madre mía! Not on our last night together!” Misa groaned from the bedroom.

“That’s not fair!” I said. My underwear was completely ruined. “Er… I’m so sorry, Mis’. Can you fetch me a new pair of panties, please…?” I asked, embarrassed.

“Sí, claro. No te preocupes, Nicky, no pasa nada.”

She slipped an arm through the doorway, handing me a black boxer, and I began to change in a hurry.

“We could go in the shower…” Misa said through the door.

Coming back into the bedroom, I discovered her sitting at the edge of the bed, naked, looking at me expectantly. My core already screamed for her touch.

I stepped between her legs, looking down at her pleadingly.

“My period started strong. I wouldn’t feel comfortable,” I said, bending toward her lips and stopping just short. “Besides, I want you more than anything else tonight.”

The brunette’s hands fell on my nape and pulled me into a feverish kiss. My stomach swirled lightly, aching to take care of her as we crawled back onto the bed, careful not to break our passionate make-out.

As I settled myself properly over her, the goalie let out a small whimper and closed her eyes. Her fingers sank into my hair, deepening our kiss. I spread my legs slowly, opening hers wide at the same time. Misa released another whine and squirmed. The quickening rhythm of her breathing encouraged me to stay like this, edging her a bit more. I sent a finger tracing the shape of her abs and felt her hips bucking over nothing.

“Nicky… you want me to be as frustrated as you?” she whined as my palms brushed the insides of her thighs, going, but very slowly, toward her intimacy.

Her hips wiggled again, accompanied by a low moan.

“Just wet a little more for me, my love,” I teased, not really minding if she caught the play on words. The young woman pulled my lips against her neck and sighed. I took my time licking the soft skin there and ended by nipping her earlobe, sending a shiver along the goalkeeper’s spine.

“Nicky?” she sighed softly.

I stopped, looking at her pretty face. “Yes, baby?”

“I want you… with the strap we brought,” she said, a smug smile spreading across her features.

I moaned, her demand sending goosebumps all over my body, and rose at once to retrieve the precious item.

I opened the drawer, searching toward the back of it, my hand falling on a suggestive shape wrapped in silky black fabric. I swiftly pulled out a purple toy and a harness.

Misa stretched lasciviously as she watched me put on the harness, securing the toy in place before coming back onto the bed over her. Her hooded eyes kept looking up at me expectantly, yet her movements guided my body down, her hips directing mine until the end of the strap rubbed against her.

Our lips met again, our ragged breathing syncing with the way our hips moved in anticipation. I led the strap lower, lining it up with her entrance.

"Listo?" I murmured, making sure she still wanted it.

"Sí," she sighed, wrapping her arms around me, and I began to push very slowly.

The goalie whimpered, her grasp tightening around my shoulders. I kissed the corner of her mouth, pushing deeper. Misa’s lips parted in a loud cry, her back arching when my hips finally met hers. I waited for her to get used to the feel, our faces pressed together in a tender kiss, and then I slowly pulled out.

Her hands raked down my back, holding me closer as I pushed in again. I slightly quickened the pace and she whimpered louder, her hips moving in rhythm. As she arched more, her head fell back onto the pillow, her arms raised and her fingers digging into the fabric. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent and letting her hear just how turned on I was by making love to her like this. 

I was far beyond the point of excitement, something hot and swollen growing inside me again, as my love for Misa overflowed around us, bonding us more deeply than the strap between our bodies.

Her shallow breaths brushed my face, escaping her lips with every thrust. I gazed at her, overwhelmed by the bliss written across her features, until a high-pitched moan slipped from my mouth. Misa opened her eyes, two dark pools reflecting my own need. She pulled me into a rough kiss and flipped us over.

I froze for a second, taking in Misa’s muscular thighs straddling me, the V-line stretching across her stomach and meeting on her pelvis, just above where the strap disappeared between her legs. I moaned, my core burning. I couldn’t tear my eyes from her small breasts, bouncing slowly with the gentle rocking of her hips, while she held herself against the headboard with her strong arms…

“Fuck!“ I blurted out. 

The brunette whined. “Sí…” she sighed, “Fuck… me… cari…“ 

My hands fell on each side of her waist instantly and I resumed thrusting. As soon as I moved, her cries echoed again through the bedroom, higher pitched now, almost pleading. Combined with the way her fingers clenched the bed frame, I could tell she was very close. 

When I started to pound faster, Misa stopped moving, arching desperately to chase her release. She went silent, her entire body swaying above me, clinging to the toy. Driven by her erratic breathing, I kept filling her, and then her thighs began to tremble.

"Dios mío!" she cried, her beautiful face twisted in an unbearable amount of pleasure. "More! Hostia!"

I was panting now, my legs felt shaky but I held on, trying to keep a steady rhythm, giving her everything I could. I held her waist firmly, then slipped a finger through her folds, my small caresses on her clit guiding her until she reached her orgasm. 

A long cry broke from her lips, her brows knitting tight before her whole body relaxed in release as a final thrust pushed her over the edge. She moaned again and again, louder each time, her gorgeous body writhing with enjoyment until she collapsed onto me.

I wrapped my arms around her as her whimpers faded, softer now.

My embrace tightened desperately. "I love you so much," I whispered, my eyes burning at the sight of her falling appart with pleasure.

Misa freed herself from the toy and rolled onto her back. I took the harness off and crawled back to her face. My heart was drumming in my chest, worn out from effort and emotion. I kissed her cheek, my palms stroking her recovering body with all the tenderness I could offer.

The goalie turned back toward me, her breathing still shaky and her eyes shut tight as she nestled her face against my chest.

“Humm, love you Nicky,” she whispered, her lips slightly trembling. “You make me feel so good, and safe.”

I pressed her closer, not bearing the tiniest space between us, my heart bursting with overwhelming feelings. Misa’s words felt like a gift no one had ever given me. A tear fell from my eye before I even knew what was happening, landing softly on the woman resting in my arms.

She looked up at once, tender at first, then confused when she saw I was crying.

“It’s alright,” I smiled, my voice heavy with emotion. “I’ve never felt this way with anyone. You’re so special, Misa, and you make me feel special too.”

Misa’s fingers delicately wiped the tears off my face, her lips pressing gently on my collar bone.

“You’re going deeper than the strap…” she chuckled, her own eyes shining.

She sank back into our embrace, holding me tightly. I wouldn’t have moved an inch away from her anyway.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like this, but we had fallen asleep for a long time before our bodies finally parted.

When the light woke me up in the middle of the night, I realized we hadn’t pulled the curtains. The full moon was high and bright in the cloudless sky. Tomorrow, each of us would return to our families for the rest of the holidays. Misa and I would not see each other for weeks.

I went back to bed after closing the curtains, pressing my face between her shoulder blades. I started drifting back to sleep, her snores welcome tonight, knowing I was going to miss even that in a few days.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝚂𝙰𝙵𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂

description: In which Olga Carmona's girlfriend bleeds red and white for Athletico, while Olga bleeds white and blue for Real. Both Madrid based, two lovers, two positions, two talents, two teams and one game.

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olga carmona x female reader

disclaimer: I am in no way saying Olga is gay or bi with this, remember it is all just fiction!

warnings: bad google translations as usual! a few rough words, angst and fluff!

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y/n just posted on their story

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olgacarmona7 just posted on her story

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y/n just posted

liked by luciaamoraal, lola_gallardo1 and 291, 299 others

tagged olgacarmona7

y/n tryna seduce the competition early??

view 9382 comments

username1: HAHAHAH 😭

username2: They are so cute ! THE RINGS 😭💙💙

username3: I am so glad they have each other !!!!

username4: I think good for them that they are able to separate pitch rivalries from home life.

^

username5: In a recent interview Olga was asked about it, and said that y/n was for the rest of her life, football wasn't and she wasn't going to risk the best thing that has ever happened to her because of her job!

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username4: OMG that is so cute! 🥺

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username6: relationship like this now!! 💳💳

olgacarmona7: Maybeeeee... is it working? ☺️

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y/n: yes 🫶

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lola_gallardo1: um??? 🤨🤨

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y/n got no shame she's hot as shit 👍👍

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olgacarmona7: te amo baby <3

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y/n: te amo!

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y/n just posted on their story

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In all honesty the game wasn't going too bad, they had defended well, y/n seemed to be having the game of her life having made four fantastic saves and the rest easy ones.

They were ten minutes from half time, and still at 0-0 if they could make it to half time with a draw, they could regroup and try again to sneak the win after half time.

Then Sonia made the tackle, Olga going down in the box and the referee's whistle echoed as she pointed at the spot. Sonia almost cried as the red card was shown at her.

y/n began talking to the ref, calmly, not denying the penalty but trying to revoke the red card, but it didn't work, she was told to set herself in goal.

y/n shut her eyes for a moment, breathing in and out as everyone got into place. Opening them, y/n was faced with her love, Olga's face was masked, cold as she prepared.

The whistle blew, one, two, three steps, shot. y/n darted to the side, her body pushing as she jumped, the powerful shot blocked by her hand which only just pushed it past the post on away for a corner.

The stadium erupted as the Real players gaped in shock, a save like that, well, a few of them even clapped in shock. y/n was piled on by her team, the group dragging her to her feet as they shouted in shock.

y/n let out a breath, a groan of relief as they prepared for the corner. The kick was cleared easily and soon enough they were walking into the tunnel, still at 0-0.

Olga's hand brushed her lover's, the pinkie's linking momentarily as they walked away from each other and back to their locker rooms.

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twitter/X

username1: HOLY SHIT 😱😱😱

username2: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT SAVE? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? 😰😰😰

username3: y/n once again showing why she is Spain's no.1 goal keeper 🫠🫠

username4: I don't get that save??? How did she move so quick? How did she arch??

username5: LMAO the way some Real players clapped y/n's save was so funny, everyone was so impressed! 😂

username6: did anyone see Olga move to y/n as the halftime whistle blew?? CUTEEE 🥺

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The game was five minutes from time, and somehow the ten left on the pitch had been able to scrap a 1-1 draw currently, however, Olga's free kick on the edge of the box was yet to be taken.

The whistle blew and y/n watched the ball, her feet pushing as she jumped and pushed it over the goal, conceding a corner but once again making a fantastic save.

y/n was clapped on the back by her team as the corner was set and taken. y/n jumped gripping the ball as she fell to the ground, protecting it.

The crowd cheered again and y/n stood up, bouncing the ball twice before throwing it out, the whistle blowing seconds after. y/n fell to her knees in relief, the second half had been a lot of work for her.

With being a woman down, the Real team had not stopped or slowed, bringing wave after wave of attack which y/n was only just able to stop with her defenders.

"¡Bebé!" A voice called, Olga helping her girlfriend to her feet as she wrapped her arms around her.

y/n smiled into her girlfriend's hair, the smaller woman muttering praises as she pulled away and pouted her lips, wanting a kiss. y/n chuckled and ducked her her head, pecking Olga a few times.

The crowd cheered for their favourite couple who smiled as they pulled away, y/n wrapping an arm around her girlfriend's shoulders and Olga around her waist as they walked back to their teams.

"Esas salvadas fueron impresionantes, mi amor, hoy fuiste imparable." Olga tells her lover.

those saves were stunning my love, you were unstoppable today.

"Y aún así pudiste anotarme, siempre mi debilidad." y/n hummed, kissing her girlfriend's head.

and yet you were still able to score against me, always my weakness.

Olga smiled and pecked her girlfriend's lips once more, sighing happily as they moved to their separate teams, y/n being clapped on the back and handed the match ball.

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olgacarmona7 just posted

liked by alexiaputellas, onabatlle and 392, 277 others

tagged y/n

olgacarmona7 Ella es una guardiana segura 🩷

She's a keeper for sure

view 11, 811 comments

username1: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 😭😭

username2: They were so cute after the game! It is so clear how much they love each other!! 🥺🥺

username3: Man she was insane today, some of those saves!!!!

alexiaputellas: ¡El número uno de España! 😊😊

spain's number one

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y/n: capi! 😚

onabatlle: ¿No entiendo cómo se movía así? 🤨🤨

I don't get how she moved like that???

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olgacarmona7: Creo que es una bruja honestamente. 😉

i think she's a witch, honestly.

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username4: ahahahah

username5: She was fantastic omg! 😩

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username6: SHE was soooo gooood and I am glad she is getting the recognition she deserves!!

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username7: SAMEEEE 🥺🥺

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y/n just posted on their close friends story

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END

still not overly happy with this one i won’t lie but i CANNOT continue re-writing this lmaoooo

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Queenie xo

[lunaandco]

I've had this idea for a fic for a while and I was gonna delete it; but this dude decided to drop some inspo lmao this fits PERFECTLY

[skxll-eater]

Donna as a goalkeeper

Day 25 of drawing Donna until she gets put into Fortnite

Taking requests to keep it going

[studioeisa]

keeping score ⚽ mingyu x reader.

hating mingyu is easy. seeing him in any other light takes work, and you’re tired of trying to figure that out.

⚽ uni soccer player!mingyu x reader. ⚽ word count: 20.4k ⚽ genre: alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: university. romance, light angst. offshoot of @xinganhao's soccer team!hhu verse. ⚽ includes: mentions of food, alcohol consumption. cussing/swearing. frenemies to ???, looots of bickering, slowburn, pining!! yearning!! tension, idiots in love, feelings realization/denial. reader is a fashion major, mingyu is a goalkeeper. hhu ensemble (mingyu’s soccer teammates). other idols make a cameo. ⚽ footnotes: this entire piece of work— all 20k words of it— is dedicated to @maplegyu. this couple is our magnum opus, and i owe so much of this vision to her; i can only hope i’ve done them justice. my favorite gyuldaengie! iyong iyo ‘to. ily. <3 🎵 the official keeping score s01 playlist.

▸ S01E01: THE ONE WITH THE MONTHLY FAMILY LUNCH. 

The bane of your existence arrives like clockwork every month, complete with a three-course meal, polite conversation, and the insufferable presence of Kim fucking Mingyu.

You love the Kims. Really, you do. 

His mother is an absolute angel, his father tells the best stories, and his sister is one of the few people in this world you can actually stand. But Mingyu?

Mingyu is a menace. A thorn in your side. A perpetual migraine dressed in a soccer jersey and an overinflated ego.

And yet, because your families are close, you’ve had the misfortune of growing up with him. There has never been a time in your life when he wasn’t there wreaking havoc, getting on your nerves, making these monthly lunches a test of patience and endurance.

You barely step through the Kims’ front door before he spots you, and the smirk that spreads across his face already has you bracing for impact.

“You spend all your money on clothes, don’t you?” Mingyu drawls, gaze sweeping over your carefully chosen outfit. This month’s best attempt at dressing to impress. “Do you ever buy anything useful, or is it just fabric and brand names at this point?”

You flash him a saccharine smile, one wide enough to make your cheeks hurt. “I would ask if you ever spend money on anything besides soccer cleats, but then I remembered—” You snap your fingers. “You don’t. Trust fund baby, right? Still trying to deserve that, Kim?”

He clutches his chest dramatically, as if wounded. “Low blow.”

You step past him, muttering, “Not low enough.”

The act drops at the dining table, of course. Because despite the mutual irritation that fuels your every interaction, you both have the social awareness to play nice in front of your parents. 

Mingyu is seated next to you, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to roll your eyes when he oh-so-helpfully pulls a serving dish closer. To himself, obviously.

“Let me guess,” you say, resting your chin on your hand. “You’re carb-loading for a game?”

Mingyu, mid-scoop of mashed potatoes, doesn’t even blink. “Nah, just loading up so I don’t wither away listening to you talk about… what was it last time? The ‘psychological complexity of lipstick shades’?”

His mother lets out a dramatic sigh, though there’s no real dismay behind it. “Mingyu, be nice.”

“I am nice,” he says easily, flashing his mother an innocent smile before turning back to you, tone all too sweet. “And personally, I think you’re more of a soft pink girl than a red one.”

It’s a direct dig at your choice of makeup for the day. You know he’s just speaking out of his ass; he doesn’t know the first thing about shades, and red is definitely your color. You take a slow sip of your drink before matching his tone. “That’s funny. I was just about to say you’re more of a benchwarmer than a starter.”

His father chuckles, far too used to this by now. “Oh, come on,” he chuckles. “You two have known each other since you were in diapers. When will you stop with the little jabs?”

“Maybe they’ll finally get along,” your mother says amusedly, “now that they’re graduating.” 

You and Mingyu exchange a look, one perfectly in sync despite how much you loathe the idea of ever being on the same wavelength.

Nose scrunch. Head shake.

Not in this lifetime.

There was a time— brief, fleeting, and foolish— when you thought you might actually be friends with Mingyu.

You must’ve been, what, eight? Nine? Young enough to still believe that people could change overnight, that rivalries were just a phase, that some friendships took time to bloom.

Back then, it was silly competitions: Who could swing higher at the playground, who could run faster in the backyard, who could stack the tallest tower of Lego before the other knocked it over. It was childish, harmless, even fun at times— until you saw his real colors.

And now, over a decade later, nothing has changed.

He still finds new and inventive ways to drive you up the wall. 

Case in point: Your families’ traditional group photo.

You don’t know why you still expect him to behave. You should’ve known better.

Just as the camera shutter is about to go off, you feel something tickle the back of your neck. You tense immediately, but it’s too late. Mingyu, standing behind you, has flicked the ribbon of your dress like an annoying schoolboy pulling on a pigtail.

You whirl around, shooting him a sharp glare.

“Don’t,” you warn through gritted teeth.

He gives you a wide, infuriatingly innocent grin. “Don’t what?”

You turn back, forcing a pleasant smile for the next shot. And yet— there it is again. A slight tug, barely noticeable, but just enough to let you know he’s doing it on purpose.

The camera clicks.

This time, you whip around so fast he actually takes half a step back.

“I swear to God, Kim Mingyu—”

“Kids,” your mother calls, barely looking up from her phone. “Let it go.”

“We’re not kids,” you shoot back.

Mingyu nudges your side with his elbow, leaning down ever so slightly to murmur, “You’re right. We’re adults now. Which means you can use your words instead of glaring at me like you’re trying to set me on fire with your mind.”

You retaliate by elbowing him in the ribs. He squeaks and begins to whine to his mother. 

There is no universe in which you and Mingyu will ever get along. No amount of family lunches, no shared childhood history, no forced photo ops can change that.

And you’re perfectly fine with that.

▸ S01E02: THE ONE WITH SOCCER PRACTICE. 

Mingyu is having a good practice session— until Seungcheol ruins it.

“Yo, loverboy,” the team captain calls out, grinning as he jogs up beside him. “You’ve got an audience today.”

Mingyu frowns, breath still heavy from his last sprint across the field. “Huh?”

Seungcheol subtly tilts his head towards the stands.

And there you are— looking as out of place as a flamingo in a snowstorm.

You’re sitting as far from the field as possible, like being too close might infect you with ‘sports’. Your arms are crossed, your pink-clad form nearly swallowed by the ridiculous sun hat and oversized sunglasses shielding you from the very concept of nature. A frilly umbrella is propped up beside you, even though there isn’t a single drop of rain in sight.

The sheer disgruntlement on your face is almost impressive.

Mingyu groans. “Oh, come on.”

“Who’s that?” Vernon asks casually, appearing beside Mingyu and Seungcheol like a curious puppy. He’s the newest, youngest guy on the team, so he can’t be blamed for knowing the semi-constant fixture in Mingyu’s life. 

Wonwoo, stretching nearby, lets out a knowing hum. “That,” he responds, “is Mingyu’s one true love.”

Vernon blinks. “Oh.” 

Seungcheol laughs, slinging an arm around Mingyu’s shoulders in a way that always ticked the latter off. “The love of his life. His childhood sweetheart. The Juliet to his Romeo,” the older boy sing-songs. 

Mingyu scowls. “Shut up.”

Vernon looks at you again. The way your expression barely changes as you sip from an offensively fuschia thermos makes him squint in confusion.

“She doesn’t seem too happy to be here,” the youngest notes, and Mingyu holds back the urge to snort. 

You’re fidgeting now, glaring at a single blade of grass that’s found its way onto your lap, as if deeply offended by its existence. He’s half-tempted to dump an entire barrel of dried leaves on you, just to see you screech. 

For now, though, Mingyu settles with shoving Seungcheol’s arm off him. “You guys are so annoying,” Mingyu grumbles. 

Wonwoo pushes his glasses further up his face. “We’re just stating facts.”

“They’re not facts,” Mingyu snaps. “And she’s not here because of me. Trust me, if she had any choice, she’d be anywhere but here.”

Vernon looks between Mingyu and you again, then back at Mingyu. “…So?” 

“So, what?”

The younger player shrugs. “Why is she here?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “She’s waiting for me.”

Seungcheol lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh? Waiting for you? Just how deeply are you entangled with this woman, Kim Mingyu?”

It’s a story that Seungcheol and Wonwoo already know. Mingyu knows they’re just being difficult for the hell of it, trying to goad him into reacting. He focuses on indulging Vernon, knowing the longer he avoids it, the longer he’ll be picked on. 

“I owe her family,” Mingyu says through his teeth. “It’s not some stupid love story— her parents basically helped raise me when mine were busy working. You think I want to drive her places? I don’t. But my mom guilt-trips me into it every time.”

Seungcheol and Wonwoo share an unimpressed look.

“Uh-huh,” Wonwoo says. “Poor you. Forced to chauffeur a beautiful girl around in your nice car. Sounds awful.”

Mingyu fights the urge to sulk. “It is. She’s unbearable.” 

“She seems pretty quiet,” Vernon grunts as he adjusts his cleats. 

“That’s because she’s sulking.” Mingyu isn’t sure why, but once the explanation starts, it just keeps going. “Normally, she never shuts up—always going on about useless crap, complaining about things normal people don’t even think about. Like, oh no, her new nail set doesn’t match the vibe of her outfit, or God forbid a restaurant uses the wrong kind of parmesan.”

He realizes he’s said too much when he notices Wonwoo fighting back a smirk, and Seungcheol biting the inside of his cheek. The latter pushes it further with a drawl of, “So, what I’m hearing is… you listen to her. A lot.”

Mingyu groans, rubbing his temples. He really had to learn how to keep his mouth shut. “No, I suffer through her,” he insists. “There’s a difference.”

Wonwoo folds his arms. “You know, it’s funny. You talk all this smack, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard her rant about you.”

“That’s just because she’s stuck-up. Always has been,” scoffs Mingyu. 

His mind flashes back to childhood— when he was seven and you were six, and you turned your nose up at his scraped knees, saying, Only boys who don’t know how to run properly get hurt like that.

When he was ten and you were nine, and you refused to eat a slice of pizza at his birthday party because you only liked the fancy kind with real mozzarella, not whatever that was. 

When he was fifteen and you were fourteen, and he caught you scoffing at his old sneakers, telling your mom some people just have no concept of ‘aesthetics.’

And yet, despite everything, your families had always forced you together.

Mingyu was never given the option to just avoid you. Your parents and his were practically inseparable, and since childhood, he’s had to deal with your high standards and exasperated sighs and perpetual disapproval over whatever nonsense you deemed worth being mad about that day.

“I promise you, she’s the worst,” Mingyu mutters, stretching his arms behind his head.

Vernon, still watching you, tilts his head. “So, what does she think of you?”

That one’s easy. 

“She hates me,” Mingyu says simply. Like it’s a fact. The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and you hate Kim Mingyu. 

Seungcheol grins, his smile a little too sharp and knowing for Mingyu’s liking. “Oh, well. At least that’s mutual, right?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer, but he does glance back at you just in time to see you struggling to shove your umbrella back into its case. You catch his eye and stick your tongue out at him, the act so childish that Mingyu can only roll his eyes and flip you off. 

The feeling was most definitely mutual. 

The practice goes as usual— drills, passing exercises, a scrimmage where Mingyu manages to nutmeg Wonwoo (which earns him a half-hearted shove after the play). By the time they’re finishing up with cool-down stretches, the sun is dipping low in the sky, casting the field in warm golds and oranges.

Mingyu runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and chugs the last of his water bottle before chucking it at Seungcheol’s back. “Captain,” he calls mockingly, “we done?”

Seungcheol catches the bottle before it can hit him. “Yeah, yeah. Go, be free.”

Mingyu doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs his bag from the bench and jogs off the field, presumably heading toward you, who is still seated cross-armed, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire practice.

The three boys watch the interaction from a distance. Mingyu says something; you scowl. He nudges your knee with his foot; you swat at him.

Wonwoo rolls his shoulders. “You think today’s the day?”

Seungcheol lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not yet. Give it another few months.”

Vernon furrows his brows. “What?”

“The bet,” Wonwoo says simply. 

Vernon blinks. “What bet?”

“We’ve had a running bet for years about how long it’ll take those two to get together,” supplies Seungcheol. 

Vernon looks between them, then at you and Mingyu again. The two of you now seem to be engaged in some sort of bickering match. Mingyu pulls at the edge of your pink cardigan, and you swat his hand away with increasing irritation.

How long it’ll take the two of you to get together? 

“You guys are insane,” Vernon says flatly.

Wonwoo snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I mean, look at them.” Vernon gestures vaguely in your direction. At this point, you’re looking like you’re five seconds away from pouncing Mingyu. “They hate each other.”

Seungcheol and Wonwoo do it again. That shared look, that quiet understanding. 

“Look again,” the team captain urges, and Vernon does. 

He watches as Mingyu steps back, laughingly avoiding your physical assault. You— despite your obvious frustration— fight a smile before rolling your eyes.

There’s something there. Some spark of familiarity, of knowing each other too well, of a connection that might just be a little too deep for pure hatred.

Huh. 

A beat. And then Vernon digs through his pocket and procures a couple of loose bills. 

“Before the year ends,” he declares, making Seungcheol and Wonwoo chuckle. 

▸ S01E03: THE ONE WITH THE JANKY ELEVATOR. 

You don’t know why you always end up here.

Actually, no. You do know why. Because your parents insist you wait at Mingyu’s place whenever they’re running late to pick you up, since apparently his apartment is safer than a café or a mall. Nevermind that the biggest threat to your wellbeing is standing right beside you, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Was a functioning lift too much to ask for when you were looking for apartments?” you say, eyeing the rickety metal doors of his apartment building’s elevators. 

Mingyu doesn’t even look up. “Oh, sorry, princess. Next time, I’ll make sure to move into a high-rise penthouse with gold-plated buttons just for you.”

You make a noise of disgust, jabbing at the button with unnecessary force. “As if I’d ever step foot in your place again after today.”

“You say that every time.”

You open your mouth for a comeback, but the elevator doors groan open just then. The lights flicker ominously. There’s a suspicious stain on the corner of the floor. You step in with a sigh, Mingyu following behind you.

The doors shut. The elevator lurches upwards with a wheeze.

“You know,” Mingyu says, “if you hate coming here so much, you could always just Uber home.”

“Oh, believe me, if I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t. But my mom insists you’re—” You pause, making air quotes, “—‘trustworthy.’”

He smiles like he’s some God-given gift. “I am trustworthy.”

“You once stole my fries in front of my face and claimed I was hallucinating.”

“Okay, but—”

Before he can finish, the elevator gives a violent jolt.

And then everything goes black.

For a moment, there’s silence. Just the quiet hum of the emergency light kicking in, the faint creak of metal settling.

Then, Mingyu takes a sharp inhale.

“Uh.” His voice is suddenly tight. “No. Nope. No way.”

You blink, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. “Oh, great,” you grumble. “Fantastic. This is what I get for stepping into this death trap of a building.”

“I think— I think I need to sit down,” Mingyu mutters, lowering himself to the floor.

You huff. “Be so for real right now, you lumbering idiot.”

But then you actually look at him.

The usual cocky tilt of his head is gone. His fingers are gripping the fabric of his joggers, his breathing coming in short, uneven bursts. His eyes are darting around the elevator, as if checking for an exit that isn’t there.

Oh.

Oh.

He’s genuinely scared.

A new, unfamiliar kind of concern settles in your chest. “Wait,” you say, kneeling beside him. “You’re not actually—”

“I just—” Mingyu gulps. “I hate elevators. And small spaces. And, you know, the whole getting stuck thing.”

And then it clicks.

You remember being kids, when the power went out at the Kim’s summer house during a thunderstorm. You remember little Mingyu, barely taller than you, sitting stiffly on the couch with his knees pulled to his chest, trying— and failing— not to let his fear show. You remember the way his face twisted when the room was swallowed by darkness, how his mother had to light candles and sit beside him until the power returned.

He never admitted he was scared, of course. Mingyu never admitted anything.

But you knew.

Looking at him now— his face pale, his jaw tight— you realize some things don’t change.

Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm. “Hey. Breathe, okay? It’s fine.”

Mingyu exhales shakily. “I am breathing.”

“Yeah, like a terrified chihuahua,” you mutter. “Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

He gives you a look, squinting at you through the darkness, but he obeys. Inhale, exhale.

You squeeze his arm. “See? Not so bad.”

He closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. You sit beside him, fingers still on his arm, grounding him. After a few beats, his breathing evens out. His shoulders relax. 

“… Don’t tell anyone,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, I’m definitely telling the team.”

“I will murder you.”

An unbidden laugh escapes you. You nudge his knee with yours. “See? You’re fine.”

“Still hate this,” Mingyu exhales, rubbing his face. 

“You are kind of pathetic.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He leans back against the wall. Then, like it pains him to say it, he adds, “Thanks, though.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t remove your hand from his arm.

With a sudden jolt, the elevator whirs back to life. The overhead lights flicker before settling into a steady glow, and the quiet hum of movement returns beneath your feet.

Mingyu exhales the biggest sigh of relief you’ve ever heard. “Oh, thank God.”

He’s on his feet before the doors have even fully opened, practically leaping into the hallway like he’s just escaped certain death. You follow him with a disbelieving huff. 

It isn’t until you’re several paces into the hallway that you realize you’re still holding onto him. 

Your fingers are curled around his forearm, right where they’d been when you were calming him down. Mingyu, ever the opportunist, notices right before you can subtly let go.

He tilts his head. “Aww, you care about me,” he coos, but there’s a hint of something in his tone. You think it might be genuine appreciation; you’re not about to dwell on it, though. 

“Shut up,” you snipe. You want to shove him back in the elevator and see just how cocky he can be when it crashes out again. 

“Admit it,” he sing-songs, trailing after you toward his apartment. “You were worried about me.”

“I was trapped in an elevator. I was worried about myself.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

You choose not to dignify him with a response, striding ahead until you reach his door. Mingyu unlocks it with a beep, stepping aside to let you in.

As soon as you enter, you do what you always do— make yourself at home. You toe off your shoes, toss your bag onto his couch, and march straight to his kitchen. The years of forced proximity have made this something as good as a routine. 

“You got anything to eat?” you ask. The question is rhetorical; you’re already prepared to rob him of whatever he has in his pantry.

Mingyu scoffs as he kicks off his sneakers. “This is not a restaurant.”

“Clearly,” you huff, swinging open his fridge. The contents are bleak. A few eggs, a half-empty carton of orange juice, a suspiciously old container of takeout, and at least three protein shakes.

You make a face. “Be serious.”

He sprawls onto the couch. “What?”

“You live like a caveman.” You shut the fridge with an exasperated sigh, turning to scan the apartment. Your gaze lands on a new decorative shelf against the wall, filled with an assortment of mismatched trinkets. They’re all atrocious and generic. 

You’re inclined to tease him that it’s why he’s bitchless, this sheer lack of consideration for aesthetics. You reel that in, though, opting instead for a lighter, “Since when did you care about home decor?”

Mingyu props his feet on the coffee table. “It’s called having taste,” he shoots back. 

“You don’t have taste.”

“Excuse you—”

“This,” you gesture at the shelf, “is ugly.”

Mingyu grabs the nearest throw pillow and chucks it at you.

You barely dodge it. It whizzes past your head, and once again, you think this is exactly one of those things you should’ve expected from Mingyu. He’s immature, and obnoxious, and unbelievably rude. 

“Did you just—” you’re gaping, but then another pillow flies your way. 

You snatch it out of the air, and then you catch the way he’s already scrambling for another ‘weapon’. “You are such a child!” you screech, except you’re not above retaliation. 

What follows is a semi-violent pillow war that neither of you are willing to concede. It’s ridiculous, and loud, and it feels exactly like every argument you’ve ever had with him. Full of unnecessary dramatics and zero real malice.

Just like that, the moment in the elevator— the quiet, vulnerable, human side of him you’d glimpsed— disappears into the back of your mind. A moment of weakness, never to happen again.

Because Kim Mingyu is still the same as he’s always been.

▸ S01E04: THE ONE WITH THE NIGHT OUT. 

Mingyu swears he’s going to kill you. 

He’s probably made that threat dozens of times in the past years, but tonight, he’s fairly sure he’ll actually do it. 

He should be in bed right now, getting some much-needed shut-eye for tomorrow’s game. It’s the type of do-or-die match where scouts will be in the audience, after all, and while Mingyu doesn’t really give two damns about going pro, he wouldn’t mind the validation.

Alas, instead of being in his bed, he’s stuck in traffic en route to wherever the hell you’ve gone drinking tonight. 

If it had just been you that asked to be picked up, Mingyu would’ve ended the call without question. Probably would have told you to get off his case and book a cab yourself. 

But it’s your mother who’s asking, who has entrusted your safety and well-being in Mingyu’s allegedly capable hands. He’s not about to turn down the woman who practically helped raise him. 

Disgruntled, Mingyu pulls into the parking lot of where you said you’d be drinking. Some swanky club with thumping music and neon lights. 

“So help me, God,” Mingyu grumbles underneath his breath as he stomps out of his car and toward the establishment. When the bouncer charges him an entrance fee— an entrance fee!— Mingyu’s urge to cause you bodily harm only triples. He coughs up the fee and marches into the club, fully prepared to give you grief for this little stunt. 

The club is alive, full of sweaty bodies pressing against each other and questionable house remixes that everyone is pretending to like. It’s an assault on the senses, and Mingyu absolutely loathes it.

He wasn’t about to act holier-than-thou. He’s had his fair share of drinking escapades, had even been to this very club himself once or twice. Still, it’s different when you’re ready for a night out and when you’ve been forced out of your restful evening because of a person you can barely even consider a friend. 

It takes him all of three minutes to find you. 

Take away the history, the tension, and fine. Mingyu would willingly admit: You’re gorgeous. Sometimes. When you tried. 

It’s more than the sinfully short dress, more than the ankle-length boots that no one else would pull off. It’s that laugh of yours, so bright and open and loud as you let one of your friends twirl you around on the dance floor. The sound reaches Mingyu over the din of debauchery, and he feels a muscle in his jaw tick. 

He hates it. He hates you. 

He wants to be home, back in his bed, instead of standing five paces away from a stunning you. A you that he will have to drag down because of responsibility, because of his blasted pride. Whether or not he cares to admit it, he hates that, too. 

Mingyu weaves through the crowds of dancing people until he’s reached you. He’s just about to call your name when the DJ plays a song that you seem to like, because you let out a loud squeal and try to jump. 

Key word: Try. You’re just a little off-balance from your choice of shoewear and the alcohol running through your veins, because your attempt has you stumbling. 

Instinctively, Mingyu reaches out to catch you. His palms land on your waist as your back falls against his chest, and it nearly kills him— the sound of your drunken giggle. You tilt your head back to look up at him.

It starts off as a half-lidded, hazy expression, one that shows off just how intoxicated you already are. But there’s something different there, too. A heat. A hunger. One that shows you’re out for something, someone tonight. Mingyu hates that the most. 

He hates how that look on your face disappears when you realize who caught you. Immediately, your unchaste expression gives way to something more akin to sulky discontent, like Mingyu is the bearer of bad news. 

And he is, really, because his fingers squeeze at your waist as he glares down at you. 

“It’s past midnight, Cinderella,” he says, pitching his voice just loud enough above the music. “Time to head home.”

Your reaction to him is always a good litmus test of how intoxicated you are. When you jut out your lower lip and whine out a petulant “Mingyu!”, that gives him the idea that you’re pretty damn gone. 

“You’re no fun,” you whine, trying to wriggle free from his grip. “This is my favorite song—” 

“And it’s one in the fucking morning. Let’s go.”

Somehow, you manage to peel away from him. One of your friends links arms with you, the two of you bursting into laughter of giggles. Mingyu is tempted to leave you then and there. There’s nothing funny about this situation, and he’s already planning to tell you off for how this might affect how he plays tomorrow. 

“One more song!” You put up one finger, practically shoving it up to Mingyu’s face. “Pleaseee?” 

He’s only halfway through saying something like no, let’s go before your friend is dragging you further into the throng of dancing people. Mingyu can already feel a headache blossoming beneath his temple. 

Resigned to his fate, he steps to the fringes of the crowd. He isn’t in the mood to scream to All I Do Is Win with all of these strangers; the least he can do is keep an eye on you. 

You, scream-singing the lyrics. You, whose dress rides up with every little sway. You— laughing, dancing, still several paces away from Mingyu. 

He crosses his arms over his chest and briefly closes his eyes, exhaling through his nose. A voice snaps him out of his reverie.

“Hey, handsome. Want a drink?” 

Mingyu’s eyes flutter open. He hadn’t noticed the girl sidling up to his side. She’s a bombshell, sure, with a lecherous gaze and a barely-there dress, but Mingyu trips up over the fact that the two of you kind of smile the same. 

“No, thank you,” he says curtly. “I’m driving.” 

The girl throws her head back and laughs. Mingyu’s headache feels like it’s worsening.

“You’re too good-looking to be the designated driver,” the stranger purrs. When she reaches out to run an innocent finger over Mingyu’s crossed arms, his lips tug into a slight frown. He’s no stranger to girls coming on to him. He’s entertained a couple, even, in settings exactly like this. 

Tonight, he’s not in the mood. That’s it. That’s all there is to it, he thinks— as if he’s trying to convince himself. 

That’s how he builds the courage to lie through his teeth. 

“I’m here to drive my girlfriend home, actually.”

In the morning, he will justify it like this: He wanted the stranger to leave him alone. He wasn’t exactly lying. You were a girl, and you were… kind of his friend. And he was driving you home. That much was true. 

In that very moment, though, his heart— the treacherous fool that it is— skips a single, infinitesimal beat at the prospect of calling you his ‘girlfriend’. 

The stranger is undeterred. It’s a common throw-off, after all. The lie about having a significant other. 

“Where’s this girlfriend of yours?” she asks, one eyebrow cocked upward in amusement. 

Mingyu’s eyes flick over the throng of dancers. Right. He had been watching for you. He opens his mouth, about to mention some notable feature of yours, when the words stick in his throat. Because he’s looking right at you— 

You, with your arms over the shoulders of some guy. You, tilting your face upward to kiss said stranger. 

The strobe lights cut Mingyu’s vision into strips. He sees each moment like a flashbulb blinking on and off: Your eyes fluttering close. The stranger’s hand slipping to the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. Your body, arching upward a little bit more.

Mingyu, still paces away. 

By the time you’re pulling away from the man, Mingyu is already at your side. He’s still ever so gentle as he yanks you away from the stranger’s grasp.

“We’re going,” he announces.

The guy you had just been kissing lets out some strangled sound, something to the effect of “what the hell, man,” but Mingyu can’t be bothered to stick around and clarify. He focuses on hauling your ass away, even as you begin to kick up a fuss. 

“But he said I was pretty—” you’re whining, the tone of your voice grating on every single one of Mingyu’s nerves. 

“Because you are pretty!” he snaps as he guides you through the crowd. “Don’t go around making out with anyone who compliments you. Jesus!”

Somehow, the two of you manage to spill out of the club. Mingyu has a white-knuckled grip on your shoulders as he attempts to push you forward, towards his car. 

You only add to his mounting annoyance when you dig the heels of your boots into the ground, keeping him from going any further. 

“For fuck’s sake—” Mingyu grumbles. “I swear to God, I will leave you. I’m going to leave you to your own devices in this parking lot, you leech.” 

“You wouldn’t,” you say shrilly. “You would never leave me!”

“I would,” he shoots back. He contemplates just throwing you over his shoulder and being done with it. 

That train of thought is swiftly interrupted by you spinning around to face him. You plant your hands on your hips, speaking surprisingly evenly for someone who looks drunk out of their mind. “I was having fun,” you sniffle. 

“And I was supposed to be asleep four hours ago,” he seethes. “Instead, I’m dealing with your bratty ass—” 

“I didn’t ask you to—” 

“Your mother asked me to—” 

“Well, she can go and—”

“Please!”

Mingyu huffs out the word with his whole chest. Honestly, at this point? He’s not above begging. He runs his hands over his face before wringing them together. 

“Can we just go home already?” he pleads. “I have to be up by six, and the student manager will have my neck if I’m late one more time. Please, please, please just get in my car already.” 

You only stare him down with that steely expression of yours. Once again, Mingyu toys with the idea of manhandling you into his backseat, until you speak up. 

“He said I was pretty,” you repeat, like that’s somehow the most important fact of the night. 

“You are,” he responds exasperatedly. 

“You’re lying,” you insist. It might be a trick of the light, a fleeting moment in the darkness of the otherwise empty parking lot, but Mingyu swears he sees a flicker of insecurity in your eyes.

You go on, “You’re just saying that. Unlike the guy back there, you don’t actually think—” 

“Oh my God. Fine. Fine. I don’t think you’re pretty!” Mingyu throws his hands up in the air in a gesture of defeat. 

You look like you’re about to deflate, but then he barrels on, going absolutely insane over this whole stupid affair. “I think you’re breathtaking. I think you’re the most gorgeous girl in the world,” he bites out. “But, holy shit, are you the most annoying one, too!”

If you’re surprised, there’s no indication of it in your expression. But your hands do drop from your sides, and you’re looking at Mingyu with a little less disdain than a couple of seconds ago. 

A beat. And then—

“You think I’m breathtaking?” you ask, the ghost of a smirk on your lips. 

To hell with it. Mingyu surges forward and wraps his arms around your waist, hauling you off the ground. 

You’re squealing and raining punches down his back the entire way to his car. 

▸ S01E05: THE ONE WITH THE MORNING AFTER. 

You wake up to the distinct smell of something warm and buttery wafting through the air, the scent tugging you out of your heavy slumber. 

Your head is pounding, and your throat feels like you swallowed a gallon of sandpaper, but worst of all, there’s a familiar sense of displacement— the kind that comes with waking up somewhere that isn’t your own bed.

Cracking one eye open, you’re met with the soft glow of morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. It takes you a second, but then you recognize the room instantly: Mingyu’s apartment.

The realization doesn’t startle you as much as it should. In fact, you sigh, rolling onto your back and rubbing at your temple. It isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself here after a night out, though it’s usually because of some family event that went on too long rather than Mingyu being forced to drag your inebriated ass home.

Still, the headache and vague memories of last night are enough to sour your mood. You groan, sitting up and taking in your surroundings. Your shoes are neatly placed by the door. A bottle of water and a pack of painkillers sit on the nightstand, which you’re quick to grab. 

And then, there’s the smell. The one that pulled you out of sleep in the first place.

You shuffle out of bed and into the kitchen, where you find an actual, plated breakfast waiting for you on the counter. A plate of eggs, toast, and— because you assume Mingyu is still an insufferable health nut— a side of fruit. Stuck to the rim of the plate, a bright yellow Post-it with the worst handwriting known to mankind.

Stop drinking. -KMG

You find yourself staring at the plate longer than necessary. No matter how crude the note is, the fact remains: Mingyu cooked this. For you. Before his game.

There’s an uncomfortable flutter in your chest that you quickly stomp out.

Because sure, Mingyu cooked for you. Sure, he bought you medicine. But he also had the gall to leave you a rude Post-it note like the patronizing asshole that he is. You grab the note and crumple it in your fist before popping one of the painkillers in your mouth. You mutter “fuckin’ bitch” to no one in particular, but it lacks real venom.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your phone ringing. You frown before spotting Mingyu’s charger plugged into the wall, your phone attached to it. You don’t have time to unpack whatever that means, because your mother’s name flashes across the screen.

With a sigh, you answer. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” she asks, voice sharp with concern. “I tried calling last night, but your phone was off.”

“I was…” You hesitate, glancing at the breakfast on the counter. “With Mingyu.”

There’s no need for your mother to know where you really were dancing, who you’d spent the night flirting with. Hell, all of that is pretty much a blur at this point. The only thing left in your alcohol-addled mind is Mingyu calling you Cinderella, Mingyu’s hands on your shoulders, and… Did he carry you to his car? You’ll have to wheedle that information out of him later. 

Your mother’s reaction to your white lie is immediate. Her sigh of relief is so loud you have to pull the phone away from your ear. “Oh. That’s good,” she breathes. “At least I know you were in good hands.” The food in front of you suddenly looks much less appealing. Of course. Of course that’s all it takes for her to drop her interrogation. You could have told her you spent the night at any of your friends’ places, and she still would have had a million questions. But mention Mingyu, and suddenly she’s appeased.

“Yeah,” you say flatly. “Great hands.”

You don’t like it. You don’t like feeling indebted to him. You don’t like that he has that effect— not just on your mother, but on you, too.

As much as you want to brush it off, you can’t help but glance at the plate again, at the neatly arranged breakfast that he didn’t have to make, at the medicine he didn’t have to buy.

And that flutter? That stupid, tiny, treacherous flutter in your chest?

You shove it deep down where it belongs.

Meanwhile, Mingyu fights his own battles. On the field, he’s a wall. A force of nature.

His muscles burn. His mind is sharp. Every time the ball nears his goal, he’s already two steps ahead. The opposing team is relentless, throwing every tactic they can at him, but it doesn’t matter. Not today.

Today, Mingyu is untouchable.

The scouts on the sidelines are nodding, murmuring to each other with increasing interest. His teammates are exhilarated, feeding off his energy. Seungcheol is the first to voice it, panting as he jogs past the goal. “You’re playing like a fucking monster.”

Mingyu doesn’t answer, just adjusts his gloves and keeps his gaze locked on the field. Wonwoo watches him a beat longer, brow furrowed. “You’re not usually this aggressive.”

Mingyu exhales sharply. “Gotta keep the scouts entertained, don’t I?”

It’s a good enough excuse. No one questions him after that.

But the truth is, he knows exactly why he’s playing like this.

Because across the field is him— the guy from last night. The guy who got to kiss you, to touch you while Mingyu watched.

And the jerk looks perfectly fine. Well-rested, even. Ready to play.

Mingyu’s jaw tightens. 

When the next shot comes, he doesn’t just block it. He slaps it out of the air with enough force to send it soaring toward midfield. The sound of his palm meeting the ball echoes across the stadium. The forward who took the shot looks stunned; the murmurs from the scouts grow louder.

Seungcheol lets out a low whistle. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it.”

Mingyu exhales, flexing his fingers inside his gloves. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, but he’s locked in, focused. He doesn’t care how many more shots they take. None of them are getting past him today.

You’re not even here, but you might as well be by the way Mingyu thinks of you the entire damn time.

And if, after the final whistle blows and his team secures the win, he happens to walk past him with just a little too much shoulder in his stride? Well.

That’s just the cherry on top.

He feels proud. Vindicated. He revels in it for a full minute before— much like you— shoving the feeling as far away from him as possible. 

Now it’s even. Now, he doesn’t owe you a thing. 

▸ S01E06: THE ONE WITH THE PERFUME. 

Mingyu isn’t sure how he ended up in the fragrance section. 

The trip to the mall had a purpose— find a birthday gift for their student manager, someone patient enough to handle their chaos. Seungcheol was atrociously down bad for the girl, and was still trying to prove himself worthy of her time. 

Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Vernon debate between a sleek planner and a wireless charger.

“The planner will help her deal with us,” Wonwoo pushes, “we’re always bombarding her with our schedules, anyway.” 

Vernon butts in. “Getting her a gift that benefits us is a shitty thing to do.” 

The man of the hour— Seungcheol, who is balancing the two gifts in his hands— gives the world’s shittiest suggestion. “Let’s just get both!”

As the three try to argue the merits of the gifts, Mingyu wanders off. For some reason, he finds himself drawn by the gleam of glass bottles and the faint hum of different scents in the air.

He has no business being here. Cologne isn’t something he puts much thought into; he has his one bottle, the same one he’s used for years, and it does the job. 

Still, his fingers ghost over the display, picking up a tester bottle without much thought. The label is understated. Minimalist design, black serif lettering against a frosted background. Expensive-looking. He presses down on the nozzle, sending a fine mist into the air.

The scent unfurls slowly. First, there’s a burst of something citrusy— bright, crisp, and fleeting. Then it settles into softer notes, something warm and clean, like white musk and fresh linen. 

But underneath, lingering just at the edge, is something else. Something vaguely floral, but not overpowering. A hint of jasmine, maybe, softened by vanilla.

His grip tightens around the tester. He’s suffered through this scent before.

It clings to his couch cushions, stubborn even after airing out his apartment. It lingers in his car, filling the spaces between his words when you're in the passenger seat. It’s in his hoodie the morning after you crash at his place, making his head turn before he remembers you’re already gone.

Mingyu frowns, inhaling again, as if the scent will offer up an explanation for why it pulls at something deep in his memory. 

Could it be your own perfume? Could your shampoo have the same notes? 

He debates it for a second. Buying the bottle, testing if it really does smell the same. If it would fade the same way, settle the same way. If it would remind him of you just as much.

And then— what the hell is he doing? 

Mingyu sets down the tester bottle, clicking the cap back on. He tries to chalk it up to curiosity. That has to be it. He’s a man of logic, someone who likes to confirm hypotheses like whether this inconspicuous bottle of perfume is the same as his arch rival’s. 

That’s all there is to it, he thinks, as he stalks back over to his teammates. A verdict has been reached: Seungcheol will get her the planner. The charger will be halved three-way by Mingyu, Vernon, and Wonwoo. 

“Where’d you go?” Wonwoo inquires. 

“Nowhere,” Mingyu answers, even though his mind is still on the stupid smell. 

He wipes at his wrist like that might help him get rid of the thought of you. 

(In the other side of the mall—) 

▸ S01E07: THE ONE WITH THE SHOPPING TRIP. 

You love shopping. 

Not just for the thrill of it or the satisfaction of walking out of a store with a new find, but because it’s part of your studies. As a business major with a minor in fashion design, you don’t just see clothes. You see craftsmanship, marketability, trends, and the little details that separate the exceptional from the ordinary.

Which is why you don’t take it lightly when a saleslady looks down on you.

It starts with the way she barely glances at you when you step into the boutique, her gaze flickering from your casual outfit to the more expensively dressed customers lingering by the racks. She doesn’t offer a greeting, doesn’t ask if you need help, just wrongly assumes that you’re not worth her time.

You brush it off at first. It’s not the first time someone has made a snap judgment about you, and it won’t be the last. But then, as you pull a dress from the rack, inspecting the stitching along the seams, you hear her scoff.

“That one’s a little out of budget, don’t you think?” she says, her voice coated in artificial sweetness.

You arch a brow, turning the dress over in your hands. It’s a designer piece, sure, but it’s not about the price. It’s about the construction, and this one? Overpriced for what it offers. You could name at least three brands that do a better job at a fraction of the cost.

Instead of rising to the bait, you hum thoughtfully. “The stitching here is uneven,” you muse, holding the fabric up to the light. “And the lining? They cut costs with synthetic blends when they should have used silk. The structure won’t hold up after a few wears.”

The saleslady falters, clearly unprepared for an actual critique. You don’t stop there.

“For the price, I’d expect better craftsmanship. If you’re going to charge this much, at least make sure the dress can justify it.”

A beat of silence. Then, another voice chimes in— a stranger, another customer, who suddenly looks interested in what you have to say. “That’s actually a good point,” she murmurs, inspecting her own dress more closely.

The saleslady’s expression tightens, and she suddenly looks less inclined to speak. You hide a smirk, setting the dress back on the rack.

You love shopping. But more than that, you love knowing exactly what you’re talking about.

The next store is quieter, more minimalist, with racks of clothing spaced out deliberately to give each piece a sense of importance. You skim through them idly until something catches your eye.

A shirt. Simple, well-tailored, the kind of thing that would sit well on broad shoulders. 

Mingyu’s shoulders.

You wrinkle your nose at the thought. The idea of picking something out for him makes your stomach turn, and yet… you keep looking at it. It’s a nice color, something that would complement his skin tone. The fit would be flattering. It’s practical, stylish, something he could wear effortlessly.

You chalk it up to habit. It’s the same as when you find a cute piece that would suit a mannequin perfectly. Just another exercise in styling. Nothing more.

Besides, if you bought it, it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for the sake of aesthetics. Like dressing up a doll. Or— better yet— like charity.

Yes. That’s all it is. You like knowing what you’re talking about, and this is just a manifestation of it. 

You grab the shirt, holding it up for a final once-over before tossing it into your basket. If anything, you can pass it off as a Christmas gift. That’s reasonable. Normal, even. No big deal.

But then you see a sweater that would pair well with it. And a jacket that’s undeniably his style. And before you know it, your basket is full.

It’s only when you’re standing in line to pay that it truly hits you.

What the hell are you doing?

Your grip tightens around the handle of the basket, heart hammering in your chest. You stare at the pile of clothes— clothes for Mingyu— and feel a wave of unease creep up your spine. This is not normal. This is not something you do.

You were supposed to get one thing. One. Now you’re standing here like some deranged personal shopper, about to spend money on a man you claim to tolerate at best.

No. Absolutely not.

You step out of the line, return to the racks, and unceremoniously dump the basket’s contents back where they belong. One by one, you rid yourself of every last piece until there’s nothing left.

Your heart is still racing by the time you exit the store. You need a spa day. Desperately.

▸ S01E08: THE ONE WITH THE GAME. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Mingyu stares from across the field, frozen in place as his teammates jog past him. The pregame warmups blur into the background because there you are, sitting in the stands. Willingly.

It shouldn’t be a big deal, shouldn’t mean anything, but it does. Because in all the years he’s known you, you’ve never voluntarily attended one of his games. Not without some level of coercion. Not without at least thirty minutes of complaining.

And yet, here you are.

Unfortunately, you also stick out like a sore thumb.

He sees you draped in obnoxiously bright colors, layered in mismatched school merch like someone who got dressed in the dark— or someone trying too hard to look like they belong. The cap, the oversized hoodie, the scarf, all of it is excessive.

The worst part? It works.

Because even from across the field, even as his teammates stretch and the crowd chatters, Mingyu sees you. And now he can’t unsee you.

He ignores the cheerleaders calling his name. Ignores the people waving at him, the fans holding up banners with his number. Ignores the way his coach is probably going to yell at him later for getting distracted before the game.

Instead, he heads straight for you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands, stopping just short of the stands.

You lower your phone, where you’d clearly been snapping photos, and peer down at him like he’s the one acting weird. “Your mom asked me to take photos of you,” you reply, voice maddeningly nonchalant. “Don’t lose.”

Mingyu scoffs. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Then, a beat later, he petulantly adds, “Also, I never lose.”

You roll your eyes, already angling your phone for another shot, but Mingyu doesn’t move just yet. The fact remains; you’re here, looking infuriatingly good, and he’s going to spend the next 90 minutes fighting for his life. He can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. 

Either way, he knows one thing for sure: He really, really can’t afford to lose.

But he does.

It’s a hard-fought game, and Mingyu plays like a man possessed. He dives for impossible saves, yells orders at his defenders, and shuts down shot after shot. The crowd roars every time he denies the other team, and for most of the match, it looks like his team might just scrape by with a win.

Then, in the final minutes, everything falls apart.

A miscalculated pass. A stolen ball. A breakaway that happens too fast.

Mingyu sees it unfold in real-time, feels the moment slip through his fingers before it even happens. He charges forward, determined to cut off the angle, to make himself big, to stop the shot. But the ball soars past him, hitting the back of the net with a deafening thud.

The stadium erupts. The other team celebrates. And Mingyu, chest heaving, fists clenched, can only stare as the scoreboard confirms it.

A one-point lead. Game over.

He barely hears the whistle. Barely registers his teammates patting his back, muttering things like You did great and We’ll get them next time. None of it matters. Because he lost. Because he let that shot in. 

Because somewhere in the stands, you saw him fail.

He drags his gloves off, jaw tight, shoulders tense. He doesn’t want to look up. Doesn’t want to see if you’re still watching. 

Against his better judgment, his gaze lifts toward the stands anyway.

There you are, camera in hand, expression unreadable. Of all his losses that day, that was the one that inexplicably ticked him off the most. The fact that you weren’t smiling, weren’t frowning. You were just… watching. He’s never been able to read your mind, but he despises that inability the most today. 

Mingyu exhales sharply, looks away, and storms off the field.

He doesn’t expect you to wait for him outside the locker room. You’re there anyway when he steps out, your arms crossed and your lips pursed. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t acknowledge you beyond the look he shoots your way; you have to take large steps in your ridiculous heels just to keep up with his pace. He feels like a hurricane— one that’s about to sweep through your stoicism, about to leave significant collateral damage. 

“Come on, then,” he mutters, shoving his duffel strap higher onto his shoulder. “Tell me just how shitty I am.”

“Excuse me?”

He lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You must be dying to rub it in my face. Go ahead. Get it over with.”

You frown. “What the hell is your problem?”

That sets him off.

“My problem?” he snaps, finally stopping in his tracks to glare at you properly. You follow suit, and it amuses him for a fraction of a second— just how easily he towers over you. “I just lost a game, in case you missed that part while taking your stupid pictures.”

You scoff, fully displeased now. “Are you serious? You think I came here just to laugh at you?” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” His voice is sharp, low. “You’ve never had a problem making fun of me before.”

Your jaw clenches. 

“No need to make me your punching bag, Kim.” In turn— your tone is piercing, almost hurt. “I came here to comfort you. I’m not the fucking devil you make me out to be.”

The words hit harder than they should.

The weight of the loss still clings to him, frustration simmering beneath his skin. His hands are still balled into fists, his shoulders locked up so tight they ache. But the way you say it, the unexpected offense in your voice, makes something in him falter.

He rubs a hand over his face. The hurricane in him quiets, runs out of rain. “Yeah.” His voice is quieter now. “Sorry.”

You roll your eyes. Really, you have every right to give him more shit; he knows he deserves it. “I should just leave you here to wallow.” You make a grand show of turning away— really, you have every right to give him more shit; he knows he deserves it. 

But then you glance at him over your shoulder. “Since I’m feeling benevolent, I’ll treat you to a meal.”

Mingyu stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You?” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Treating me? Are you dying?”

“Maybe,” you deadpan. “From secondhand embarrassment.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, something between a huff and a chuckle. “Wow. Real comforting.”

You shrug. “I never said I was good at comfort,” you snipe, and he knows that much is true.

Somehow, that’s how he finds himself behind the wheel of his car, hands gripping the steering wheel. He’s still mildly dazed as he glances over at you in his passenger seat. He doesn’t remember actually agreeing to this. He doesn’t remember deciding to take you to his favorite restaurant. And yet here you are, scrolling through your phone like this is the most normal thing in the world.

For the first five minutes, the drive is quiet. Mingyu fiddles with the AC, rolls his shoulders, frowns at the road ahead. But the longer you sit there, humming under your breath, mindlessly playing with the hem of your sleeve, the more it starts to sink in.

This is the first time the two of you have willingly shared a meal together.

Not because of mutual friends. Not because of a group project or an event neither of you could get out of. Not because your parents forced you into it.

Just… because.

It’s the strangest possible way for Mingyu to have possibly ended the night. 

He spares you another glance as he pulls into the parking lot. “You better not complain about the food,” he warns, “or I’m leaving you here.”

Of course, that gives you the leeway to complain, bitching about things like sanitation and standards for cuisine. He tunes it out like he often does, instead trying to figure out how the hell he ended up here. 

Here, sitting across from you in a restaurant that he usually only visits with his teammates. It felt like a fever dream to approach the host stand and ask for a table for two; his voice had come out a little too uncertain, like he couldn’t quite believe the words himself.

The host had seated you without question, handing you both menus before disappearing, leaving Mingyu to sit there and take in the absurdity of the situation. You, sitting across from him, elbows on the table, flipping through the menu like this is any other meal with any other person.

His mind flickers, unbidden, to a thought: Are you like this on all dates?

Then, he scowls. No. This is not a date.

“Alright, what am I getting?” you ask, still scanning the menu. “You’re the one who dragged me here, might as well give me a solid recommendation.”

Mingyu raises a brow. “I dragged you here? You were the one who insisted on treating me.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” You shoot him a sharp glare, as if his insolence was something that caused offense. “Just tell me what’s good.”

He studies you for a second like he’s waiting for the punchline. When you just blink back expectantly, he sighs, resigning himself to whatever surreal alternate reality this is. “Get the beef stew,” he finally says. “And the garlic rice. You’ll thank me later.”

To his surprise, you actually listen. He half-expected you to ignore him just to be difficult.

The conversation that follows is easy in a way that confuses him. You bicker, naturally, but it’s mostly over trivial things— your tragic lack of appreciation for his taste in sports documentaries, the way he insists that pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity. Nothing about the game, nothing about his loss, nothing about the way frustration still lingers in the tightness of his jaw.

Instead, you seem content commenting on the restaurant itself, mentioning how you like the warm lighting, how the playlist is surprisingly good. And then there’s the way you eat. Without rush, without any of the absentmindedness he sometimes sees when you’re multitasking with your phone. You actually appreciate the food, nodding approvingly after each bite like you’re mentally scoring it.

Somewhere between your satisfied hums and the way you swipe an extra spoonful of his rice when you think he’s not looking, Mingyu realizes something strange: You’re actually enjoying this.

And, maybe, so is he.

It’s disorienting, how quickly the irritation from earlier has faded.

He tries to remind himself of the reasons you’re infuriating. That you’re picky about things that don’t matter, that you have a bad habit of being late, that you roll your eyes too much, that—

But every thought is immediately met with another. That you actually care about things enough to be picky. That you only run late when you’ve lost track of time doing something you love. That you roll your eyes, sure, but you also laugh, also banter, also make things more interesting.

Mingyu stares at you for a moment, something warm settling into his chest.

By the end of the dinner, he’s forgotten why he was so upset in the first place.

▸ S01E09: THE ONE WITH THE HIGH SCHOOL REUNION. 

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Mingyu arrive. 

It’s the usual reunion scene— too many people packed into a house slightly too small for the occasion, music loud enough to drown out the conversations but not enough to stop them altogether, and a lingering smell of something fried mixed with overpriced cologne.

You’re still annoyed. Annoyed because Mingyu had, with all the grace of a wrecking ball, insulted your outfit on the drive here. Something about how your skirt was too short and your heels were impractical for a house party. As if he was some kind of fashion authority.

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice, asswipe,” you had snapped back, crossing your arms and staring out the window. He only scoffed in response, muttering something about not wanting to be responsible if you tripped and broke your ankle.

Now, hours later, you’re still disgruntled about it. You refuse to think about how, deep down, it had been less about disapproval and more about the way his gaze had lingered. 

That would be a problem for another time. Maybe never.

You make your way to the kitchen, eyeing the assortment of drinks lined up on the counter. A bottle of something expensive-looking catches your attention. You grab it, twisting the cap with determination, but it refuses to budge. You try again, gripping it tighter, but all you manage is an embarrassing squeak of effort.

“Seriously?” you mutter under your breath, frustration bubbling up.

Before you can attempt another futile try, a large hand appears in your periphery. The bottle is plucked effortlessly from your grip. In one swift motion, Mingyu twists the cap open like it was nothing. No struggle, no hesitation, no unnecessary flexing. Just pure efficiency.

He doesn’t even smirk. Doesn’t gloat or tease you like you expect him to. He just hands the bottle back to you before turning away as if it had never happened.

You blink. Then blink again.

The room suddenly feels a little warmer. Must be the alcohol in the air. Or the heater. Or—

Oh, God.

With absolute horror, you realize Mingyu was kind of hot for that.

You take a generous swig from the bottle, hoping it burns away whatever ridiculous thought just took root in your brain. Unfortunately, the warmth spreading through you has absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol.

You take another sip, then another, letting the burn of the drink ground you. It’s fine. It’s whatever. You’ll drink and have fun and not think about the way Mingyu’s hand had so easily dwarfed yours when he took the bottle from you.

You wander back toward the living room, where clusters of people are chatting, laughing, reliving the glory days. Just as you settle into the buzz of the atmosphere, you catch Mingyu’s name being thrown around in a conversation nearby. You don’t mean to eavesdrop— okay, maybe you do a little— but something about the way his voice carries through the room makes you pause.

“Not drinking tonight?” You hear someone ask him.

“Nah,” Mingyu replies, nonchalant. “I’m her designated driver.”

Your stomach does a weird little flip.

Well, then.

If that’s the case, if Mingyu’s already consigned himself to the role of responsibility, then there’s absolutely no reason for you to hold back.

You tilt your head back, take another sip. Then another.

A warmth spreads through your limbs, but whether it’s from the alcohol or the fact that you now have free rein to drink without consequence, you’re not sure. You tell yourself it’s definitely the alcohol, though. Because the alternative— the thought that it has anything to do with Mingyu— just isn’t an option. Not tonight.

The alcohol has settled comfortably in your veins by the time the dancing starts. The living room has been cleared to make space, furniture pushed against the walls. Now the music pulses louder, the bass vibrating through the floor. 

You’re laughing with old friends, moving with the rhythm, when you feel a sharp tug at the hem of your skirt.

You whirl around, already prepared to snap at whoever dared, only to come face-to-face with Mingyu. He’s standing there, a frown on his face. He leans in slightly, voice low but clear over the music. “I told you it was too short.”

You blink at him, thrown off by the way his fingers had just been on you, tugging fabric downward like it was some sort of personal mission. Something fizzes beneath your skin, something that has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the fact that Mingyu— annoying, overbearing Kim Mingyu— is looking at you like that.

It’d been such a boyfriend move. You force yourself not to dwell on it. 

You don’t know what compels you, but maybe you’re just tipsy enough. Maybe you want to make him suffer. 

You suddenly reach out, looping your arms around Mingyu’s neck. His whole body goes stiff, his eyes widening in immediate suspicion.

“Dance with me,” you say, tilting your head, voice syrupy with tipsiness and mischief.

Mingyu shakes his head, already taking a step back. “Absolutely not.”

You grin and pull him right back in. “You sure? ‘Cause I know things, Kim. Lots of things.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” he squeaks. 

You sway closer, pretending to consider it. “It’s more of a… strategic incentive.”

A battle wars in his eyes. But then, with a low ‘tch’ and a mutter of “You’re insufferable,” Mingyu lets your grip pull him in. 

The moment is bizarre. 

His hands find their place— one cautiously at your waist, the other hovering near your shoulder like he’s afraid to touch too much. You move to the beat, feeling the heat of him through his shirt, the solid press of his frame against yours. 

It’s ridiculous. It’s stupid.

It’s also the best decision you’ve made all night.

The song shifts into something heavier, the bass thrumming through your chest, the kind of music meant for bad decisions and blurred memories. Mingyu hasn’t bolted yet, which is a miracle in itself. He’s actually keeping up with you, moving in sync, matching your rhythm with ease. It’s unexpected, the way he doesn’t seem like he hates this, like he’s maybe— God forbid— having fun.

You scoff at the thought, but the amusement lingers. The insults come easy, natural, tossed between the two of you like a ball neither wants to drop.

“You dance like an old man,” you tease, voice warm with liquor.

“And you dance like you’re trying to summon a demon,” he shoots back.

You laugh, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. Maybe it’s the dim lighting or maybe it’s the alcohol, but Mingyu’s gaze doesn’t seem as sharp as it usually does. His grip on your waist is firm but not forceful, like he’s not entirely opposed to being here, to this, to you.

It’s too easy to forget that this is Mingyu, that this is the same guy who has made a sport out of getting under your skin. Because right now, he’s just a tall, ridiculously handsome man who happens to be an unfairly good dancer.

The thought sneaks up on you before you can fight it. If he wasn’t Mingyu...

The words slip out before you register them. “I wonder what I’d do if you weren’t you.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows raise. “What?” His voice is a little rough around the edges, and far too sober.

Shit. 

You blink rapidly, force a laugh, and shake your head as if you can brush it off. “Nothing. Ignore me.”

But the thing is— you can’t ignore it. 

Because somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re already picturing it. A world where Mingyu isn’t Mingyu, where he’s just some stranger with sharp eyes and broad shoulders who smells good and dances well, who looks at you like he’s actually seeing you.

A world where you wouldn’t have to fight every instinct telling you to lean in.

Eventually, your feet start to protest. You’re wearing heels that were never meant for this much standing, much less dancing. You haven’t even said anything about it, but your expression must be reflecting your discomfort and your frustration. Mingyu sighs like you’ve personally ruined his night before crouching down and unlacing his sneakers.

“What are you doing?” you ask laughingly as he kicks them off, right there on the fringes of the dance floor. 

“Giving you my shoes,” he says, like it’s obvious, shoving them toward you. “I’m not carrying you to the car.”

You snort. “You’d probably drop me anyway.”

“Exactly.” He watches as you swap out your heels for his much-too-big sneakers, which make you feel ridiculous but are, admittedly, a godsend.

You don’t realize until you’re halfway to the car that Mingyu is walking in only his socks, completely unbothered. You slide into the passenger seat, tipsy and warm and just self-aware enough to realize something terrible is happening.

You are warming up to Mingyu.

It hits you like a truck.

Mingyu, your mortal enemy. Mingyu, who has annoyed you since childhood. Mingyu, who insults your outfits and steals your food and opens your drinks without a second thought.

Your head lolls against the seat as you stare at him in horror, combing through the memories, trying to pinpoint exactly when this started going wrong.

By the time he pulls up in front of your house, you’ve made a decision.

You need to stop being too nice to him.

▸ S01E10: THE ONE WITH THE TEAM LUNCH. 

Mingyu is halfway through his second helping of rice when he hears it— the unmistakable sound of his personal hell approaching. 

He doesn’t even have to look up to know it’s you. The dramatic click of your heels, the way the conversation at the cafeteria table shifts just slightly, the exasperated sigh that escapes Wonwoo before you even arrive.

And then, as expected—

“Kim.”

Mingyu exhales sharply through his nose. He doesn’t know what you want, but if the past few weeks have been anything to go by, it’s nothing good. Ever since the high school reunion, you’ve been nothing short of a menace.

He still doesn’t know what changed that night, but suddenly, you’ve taken it upon yourself to be the most irksome person in his life. There was the time you texted him an obnoxious amount of links to ugly sneakers after he’d lent you his at the party. The time you “accidentally” swapped his shampoo for some floral-scented one that lingered in his hair for days. The time you sent him a video of him losing his last match, edited with clown music in the background.

He finally looks up from his food, expression already set in a scowl. You’re standing at the edge of their table, arms crossed, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. Seungcheol, Vernon, and Wonwoo all look between the two of you like they’re watching a horror movie unfold in real-time.

“What do you want?” Mingyu asks, voice flat.

You feign offense, placing a hand over your chest. “Can’t I just stop by to say hello?”

“No.”

Vernon snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. Seungcheol nudges him under the table, but he’s grinning, too.

“You wound me, Kim.” You pull out the chair beside him and sit down like you belong there. “But fine, I do need something.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, shoving another bite of food into his mouth before jerking his chin at you. “Then spit it out already.”

“I need a favor.”

Mingyu groans. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“I don’t need to know what it is.” He glares at you. “It’s a no.”

Wonwoo sighs, setting his chopsticks down. “Just let her talk, Mingyu. We’d like to finish our meal in peace.”

Mingyu gestures wildly. “I would like to finish my meal in peace!”

You pat his shoulder condescendingly. “This is more important than your third bowl of rice.”

He swats your hand away. “It’s my second bowl—”

“Not the point,” you cut in. “Listen, I just need—”

Mingyu groans again, slumping back in his chair, already regretting every choice that led to this moment. He knows, deep in his soul, that whatever you’re about to ask is going to be something ridiculous.

And yet, for some godforsaken reason, he doesn’t immediately tell you to leave.

“I need help moving some furniture.”

Mingyu blinks. “That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it,” you deadpan. “Are you going to help or not?”

He stares at you. It’s one of those things that’d be a given for anybody else. Mingyu was the type of friend who would drive someone to the airport, would help someone move, would cook if someone was sick. Those were things he’d do for someone he was friends with— something the two of you were decisively not.

“And why, exactly, would I do that?” he challenges. 

“Because you owe me?”

He lets out a laugh. “I owe you?”

“Yes, for—” you flounder for a reason, “—for existing, Kim Mingyu. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

Unconvincing to a fault. Mingyu is half-tempted to call you out for being a spoiled brat, but he’s not interested in escalating this argument in front of his team. 

“Not my problem,” he settles on saying. 

“You’re the fucking worst.”

“And yet, here you are.”

The two of you go back and forth like that, the jabs mostly inoffensive and subjective. Mingyu is vaguely aware of Seungcheol pinching his nose like he’s nursing a headache, Vernon sipping his drink as if watching a spectacle, and Wonwoo calmly chewing his food, unfazed.

Finally, Seungcheol decides he’s had enough. 

“Both of you,” he interjects, voice firm. “Can you stop fighting for five minutes?”

To Mingyu’s shock, you actually fall silent. You roll your eyes but begrudgingly listen, arms still tightly crossed. 

Mingyu scoffs. “Oh, so you can listen to people,” he mutters. “Didn’t know you were capable of being nice.”

Your head snaps toward him. “I am capable of being nice. Just not to you.”

“Right, because you’re a little devil sent from hell just to ruin my life.”

“Your life was already in shambles before I showed up. Don’t blame me.”

The bickering immediately picks back up, much to the dismay of Mingyu’s teammates. Vernon exhales dramatically. “Mamma mia,” he sing-songs jokingly to Wonwoo, “here we go again.” 

You suddenly reach out, snatch a piece of Mingyu’s pork right off his plate, and pop it into your mouth as you ready to leave. His jaw drops; he’s stolen your food a fair amount, but you’ve never done it to him. “Hey—”

You’re already turning on your heel and walking away, not sparing him another glance. “Thanks for absolutely nothing,” you chirp.

Mingyu watches, speechless at the petulant display.

“Did she—” he starts, then stops. His grip tightens around his chopsticks. None of his teammates push, all too wary of the dark look that passes over his expression. Seungcheol promptly tries to change the topic. 

Mingyu finishes his meal in a foul mood, stabbing at his food with unnecessary force.

He doesn’t understand why you’ve gotten so absurd with him lately. Every interaction with you feels like a new test of patience, like one day you just woke up and decided to amp up all the ways you could make him miserable. He had almost started to believe, for one fleeting second, that maybe, maybe you weren’t that bad.

But no. The night at the reunion was just a fluke— when you’d danced together and he’d privately thought it was something he could get used to.

You were always meant to be his worst nightmare, and he resolves that he’s not waking up any time soon. 

▸ S01E11: THE ONE WITH THE REASON. 

The joint family meal is as lively as ever, voices overlapping in conversation, laughter ringing between bites of food. You, as always, have taken it upon yourself to make Mingyu’s life difficult today.

“Wow, even you managed to show up on time for once,” you remark as he slides into the seat across from you. “Did hell freeze over?”

Mingyu shoots you a deadpan look, clearly not in the mood for your antics. “Not today, Satan.”

You grin, but there’s something off about him. He doesn’t come back with anything more biting, doesn’t engage in the usual back-and-forth. His shoulders are tense, and there’s a blankness to his gaze that makes you wonder.

Your mother places a generous serving of food onto your plate, and you idly push some rice around with your chopsticks, gaze flickering toward him again. “What, got scolded for being too slow on the field?”

Mingyu finally looks at you properly. His frustration is clear. “Can you not today?” His voice is quieter than you expect, worn at the edges. “I had a shitty day at training, and I really don’t have the energy for you right now.”

The words catch you off guard. You could leave it at that, let him have his peace for once. A part of you— one you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge— almost wants to ask why, wants to pry into what’s bothering him and offer something resembling comfort.

Instead, you shove that impulse down. Whatever this is, whatever softening that night at the reunion did to you, needs to be stomped out immediately. 

So you double down.

You spear a piece of your meat a little too forcefully. “Right, because I’m the problem here. You always find a way to suck at things all on your own.”

Mingyu’s expression shutters. For the first time ever— in all of your interactions with him— you feel something unpleasant coil in your stomach. He shakes his head and then goes back to eating without another word.

There’s a small, screeching voice in the back of your head that wants to demand an explanation. Not for Mingyu’s dismal mood, no, but for that flicker of disappointment that’d passed his face when he shook his head. 

Why would he be disappointed over your cruelty? Why would he expect anything else from you? 

The rest of the meal passes without his usual jabs in return, and you tell yourself that’s a victory. It feels like anything but.

As dessert is doled out, your mother calls out to the pair of you. “You two, go somewhere else for a while. The adults need to discuss business.”

You open your mouth to protest. You’re both adults already; surely you and Mingyu could sit in, rather than be forced into yet another awkward situation neither of you can run from.

But Mingyu is already pushing his chair back with a grumbled “fine.” The look your mother shoots you indicates that this is not about to be up for debate. You follow Mingyu out, both of you stepping into the cool evening air. 

The restaurant’s outdoor area has an old playground— rusting swing sets, a chipped slide, and monkey bars that have seen better days. You walk ahead and hop onto a swing, the chains creaking slightly as you push off the ground.

Mingyu stands nearby, watching you for a moment. “Didn’t take you for the type to get sentimental,” he snorts, and that slight edge in his tone gives you just a bit of hope that he doesn’t completely despise you. 

“I’m not. I just need somewhere to sit that’s far away from you,” you say matter-of-factly. 

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Instead, he heads towards the monkey bars. He grips one, testing his weight against the metal. “Remember when you got stuck on these in second grade?” he asks as he free-hangs. 

“I wasn’t stuck,” you sniffle in protest. “I was strategizing.”

Mingyu lets out a bark of laughter. “Strategizing how to fall on your ass?”

You drag the tip of your shoe against the dirt, narrowing your eyes. “If I recall correctly, you weren’t any help. You just laughed at me until my dad had to come pull me down.”

“Hey, in my defense, it was funny.” He swings himself onto the lowest bar, legs dangling. “You had snot running down your face and everything.”

You lunge half-heartedly to kick at his shin, but he pulls his leg away just in time. There’s a beat of silence, the air filled with the distant chatter of your families inside. It’s strange, this reminiscing. The usual bite to your exchanges is still there, but it’s smooth around the edges, tinged with something dangerously close to fondness.

Mingyu exhales, gaze fixed on some nondescript point in the distance. You think he’s gearing up for his next jab about something. Probably your embarrassing high school days, or that one summer vacation you hate talking about. Instead— 

“Why aren’t we friends?” he asks. His voice is quiet, thoughtful. 

You blink. The question is so absurd it momentarily stuns you. “What?”

“I mean,” he shifts, “we’ve known each other our whole lives. Shouldn’t we— I don’t know— be close?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was teasing. But the question doesn’t sound rhetorical, and he seems almost wistful. 

You hate it. 

You hate him. 

Your chest tightens, unbidden memories surfacing. There were plenty of reasons. The bickering, the competition. But at the core of it, there was one moment. One day that cemented everything in place, whether Mingyu realized it or not.

You were seven. It was summer, the sun blazing high as the neighborhood kids gathered for a game of soccer. Everyone had been split into teams, and you had waited, jittery with anticipation, as Mingyu— the fastest, the strongest, the boy everyone wanted to follow— started picking players. 

One by one, he called out names, grinning as kids ran to his side. You had stood there, heart pounding, willing him to say your name next. You were family friends! Sure, you were a girl, but surely Mingyu could see how fast and strong you were, too. 

In the end, Mingyu had picked everyone but you. When there was no one left, you had been shuffled onto the other team by default. You still remembered the sting of it. The two of you were already acquainted, and yet he hadn’t even seen you as an option. 

It was stupid. It was petty. And yet, that wound had never quite healed. Everything that came after was just a domino effect after that. 

If you were a little meaner to Mingyu than you had to be, if you were much more curt and snappy with him than you were with anyone else? It all came back to that. That moment where Mingyu hadn’t seen you— worse. 

He had pretended not to. 

You swallow, dragging yourself back to the present. Mingyu is watching you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Because you didn’t pick me,” you say at last, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “That one time.” 

Mingyu’s brows knit together. “What?” he asks, and it feels like a punch in the gut. 

The look of confusion on Mingyu’s face— you don’t know if it’s a curse or a blessing. He doesn’t remember. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he? 

But you do. You remember, and you hold on to it for the lack of a better thing to hold on to. 

Hating Mingyu is easy. Seeing him in any other light takes work, and you’re tired of trying to figure that out. 

Mingyu opens his mouth. For a second, it looks like he might protest. His brows pull together, his lips part, and there’s something foreign in his expression— something that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. But before he can say anything, you hear your mother beckoning for you from the restaurant. 

You stand up and brush nonexistent dust off your clothes. “Well, that’s my cue,” you say airily, praying to any higher power at all that Mingyu won’t call out the way your voice shakes. Just a little bit. 

Instead, he remains by the monkey bars, watching you with an impassive look on his face. You can feel the weight of his stare even as you turn away. 

You hesitate for half a second before glancing back at him. “We’re probably better off this way,” you say, because you always have to have the last word. 

His grip tightens around the swing’s chains, knuckles going white. There’s a pause. 

Then, finally, he nods. A jerky, forced thing.

“Yeah,” he says, voice strangely even. “Probably.”

You don’t acknowledge the way the word sits heavy between you, don’t let yourself linger on the way it sounds more like reluctant acceptance than agreement. Instead, you pretend not to hear it at all, turning on your heel and walking back toward the restaurant. 

Hating Mingyu is easy. It’s all you’re good for. As you leave him standing alone, you hope it feels a little bit like that day in your childhood— when you’d been the name he hadn’t called. 

▸ S01E12: THE ONE WITH THE SMILE. 

Mingyu doesn’t get it.

He’s been off his game for days. 

It’s not an injury. It’s not exhaustion. He’s been training the same way, eating the same meals, sleeping the same hours. And yet his shots don’t land the same. His passes are sloppy. He misses easy blocks he could have made blindfolded.

It pisses him off.

The ball soars past him yet again, hitting the back of the net with a dull thud. Vernon cheers and Wonwoo does a victory lap. Mingyu just stands there, hands on his hips, jaw locked tight. His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to punch the goalpost out of sheer frustration.

Seungcheol, ever the captain, jogs over. “That’s enough,” he barks, voice edged with authority. 

Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek. He knows what’s coming for him, and yet he still tries to protest.  “One more round.”

“No. You’re done.” Seungcheol’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Go home. Figure out whatever’s got you playing like shit and come back when your head’s on straight.”

Mingyu has to bite back the retort that he’s not playing like shit, that he does have his head on straight. The numbers don’t lie. There’s no talking his way out of this one. With a sharp exhale, he yanks off his gloves and stalks off the field, muttering curses under his breath.

As he grabs his bag and heads toward the exit, he runs through every possible reason for his sudden slump. 

Training? No. Diet? No. Stress? Maybe, but it’s never affected him like this before.

You?

You’ve been distant ever since that night at the playground. The constant quips, the snarky remarks, the way you always seemed to find a reason to pester him— it’s all dialed down to nearly nothing. 

It should be a relief. He should be thriving with all this newfound peace and quiet.

Instead, he’s a goddamn mess. 

Mingyu kicks a stray rock on the pavement as he walks to his car. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get you. And worse, he doesn’t get why it bothers him so damn much.

It’s entirely by accident, how he ends up spotting you. Maybe it’s some form of twisted divine intervention, some cruel twist of fate. 

He’s at a red light, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, when he happens to glance to the side. And there you are, ripped right out of his scrambled brain, standing outside a café with a group of friends.

You’re wearing one of those preppy outfits he always mocks you for, all pristine pleats and crisp collars. It’s the kind of thing he’d usually say makes you look like you stepped straight out of some rich kid catalog. He tucks away the insult in his mind, filed for the next time you annoy him.

But then—

You’re laughing. Your head tilts back; your eyes crinkle at the corners. The street lights catch on the soft highlights in your hair, the gentle slope of your nose, the flush on your cheeks from whatever ridiculous joke was just told. 

You look light. At ease. So effortlessly happy.

Mingyu watches, unseen, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He’s seen you smirk, seen you grin in that infuriating, self-satisfied way when you get under his skin. He’s seen you scoff, roll your eyes, pout. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you smile like that in front of him.

And what’s worse—

Why does he want it?

He presses on the gas pedal once the light turns green. By the time he pulls into his parking lot, his mind is still spinning. He kills the engine but doesn’t move, just sits there, glaring at the wall in front of him.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. A stray hair tie, wedged between the seats. One of yours.

He stares at it, his brain stalling. The last time you sat in his passenger seat… when was that? His mind scrambles, trying to pinpoint the moment, but he comes up empty. The fact that he doesn’t know unsettles him more than it should.

Something else comes, too. A stupid, fleeting burst of happiness. An excuse to message you, to return it, to say something anything just to get you talking to him again.

The realization slams into him all at once.

His frustration. His inability to focus. The way your absence has been gnawing at him. The way your happiness without him made his chest ache.

Mingyu slumps forward in his seat, his forehead resting against his steering wheel. 

Not even the screeching sound of his horn is able to drag him out of the horrific realization that he’s off his game because he likes you.

He likes you, the one person in the world he shouldn’t. The one person in the world he can’t have. 

“Fuuuck,” he grouses, banging his head on the steering wheel so that the beeps come in sporadic bursts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He’s fucked. 

▸ S01E13: THE ONE WITH THE PLANNING. 

You don't know when it started— this weird, drawn-out awkwardness with Mingyu.

It’s not like you’ve stopped arguing. You're still giving him shit for his stupid hair, his dumb socks, his loud chewing habits. But lately, he’s... off. Slower to snap back. Not quite meeting your eyes. 

Worst of all? He’s barely even tried to make fun of your outfit today.

It’s part of the Mingyu playbook. Some wisecrack about your clothes, some comment about how you should be running hell in Satan’s place. If he’s feeling particularly inventive, he even deigns to bring your course into it. 

Today, though, it’s all painfully polite. Curt answers and absentminded nods. You know you’ve frozen him out since that night on the playground, but you didn’t expect to get the same chill in return. 

“So what I’m hearing is,” you say, tapping something into your phone, “you’re fine with anywhere as long as there’s pasta. Are you five?”

Mingyu squints at you like he's struggling to come up with a comeback. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Shrugs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Wow. Riveting. Have you always been this dull or did I finally break you?”

He laughs, but there's no real bite to it. “I’m just being agreeable,” he offers. Even the snark in that is half-hearted, hesitant. “You should try it some time.”

“Oh, don't get all mature on me now,” you scoff, scrolling through the list of local restaurants your parents emailed. “God forbid you grow a personality overnight and forget how to argue.”

Mingyu mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “still better than yours.” He seems distracted, for the lack of a better term. The two of you have the unfortunate task of deciding on the next joint family meal’s venue, and he’s been uncharacteristically civil throughout it all.

Somehow, it unnerves you more than when he’s being an insufferable asshole. 

“Seriously, are you okay?” you press, a touch of concern making its way into your tone. “You're kinda giving... robot with a mild software glitch."

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he grumbles. “Just tired."

“Tired or scared I’ll beat you in the battle of wits today?”

“Not scared. Letting you have the spotlight for once.”

“Touching. Very generous.” You know a lost battle when you see one, so you scroll down the list again before turning your phone so he can see it. “Okay, vote: Overpriced fusion place with truffle everything or rustic hipster café that serves lattes with art so complicated it should be in a museum?”

Mingyu squints. “The second one has better lighting.”

“... Lighting?”

He raises his shoulders in a shrug. “For your parents’ photos. You know how your mom gets.”

Something twists in your stomach. 

The fact that Mingyu is considering your mother’s happiness, that he knows how she is and he’s not complaining— instead accommodating? 

You feel almost grateful, almost admiring, but you shake it off with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Hipster café it is. Let’s go, then.”

“I’m literally only here because you begged me to come.”

“Yeah, but I begged louder. So I win.”

There it is— the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not quite a comeback. But closer.

It doesn’t quite explain why his ears have turned pink, but that’s a can of worms you decide you’re not ready to open up just yet. Instead, the two of you go to scope the venue, lest your parents call you out for not fulfilling your duty-bound obligation to this godforsaken tradition. 

The café is aggressively quaint. All pastel walls and potted plants and menus printed in cursive. A waitress greets you at the door with a bright smile and a clipboard in hand.

“Table for two?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says.

She glances between the two of you, then beams. “Perfect! You're just in time for our couple’s lunch special. It comes with two entrees, a shared appetizer, and dessert for only half the price.”

For a moment, you wish you could see yourself through the waitress’ eyes. You can’t imagine a single thing that might give off the impression that you and Mingyu were a couple. There’s too much space between the two of you, and the look you two share is enough for you to gleam that he’s equally flabbergasted. 

He turns to look back to the unassuming waitress. “Oh, we’re not—”

The world’s most brilliant idea strikes you then. You act on it before you can develop a semblance of shame.

“We'll take it,” you cut in smoothly, linking your arm through Mingyu’s before he can ruin it. You smile sweetly at the waitress, completely ignoring the way Mingyu goes rigid beside you.

As you’re led to a corner table by the window, he leans down to frantically whisper, “What the hell was that?”

“A good deal,” you respond cheerfully. “Unless you want to pay full price just to protect your ego.”

He glares. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You knew that when you got in the car.”

The waitress sets down your menus and tells you she’ll be back shortly for your order. Mingyu slumps in his seat, looking very much like you’ve told him he can never play soccer ever again. 

“Cheer up,” you say, nudging his shin under the table. “If you play your cards right, I might even feed you.”

His eyes narrow. "You wouldn’t dare."

Ah, but you would dare. The moment the pasta arrives, you’re already grinning. You twirl the noodles with your fork; he tries to communicate with his gaze that he wants you dead. 

“Say ahhh, loverboy,” you sing-song. 

“Absolutely not.”

You kick him again. He hisses mid-sip of water. “Just pretend, Mingyu,” you say through the teeth of your smile. “God, have you never faked a relationship for free food before?” 

“I have not, actually,” he retorts. “Fuckin’ cheapskate.” 

Begrudgingly, he opens his mouth. He at least seems to know that you’re not about to let up. You shove the fork into his mouth; he retaliates by ‘feeding’ you some chicken piccata, though it’s more of him forcing the bite into your mouth even after you’ve protested the presence of peas. 

The next half hour is full of increasingly absurd couple behavior. You fake gasp when he offers you water. He pretends to be offended when you steal his garlic bread. You stage-whisper pet names across the table just loud enough for the waitress to hear, coos of baby and sweetheart in between eye rolls and grimaces. 

And through it all, there are moments— brief, fleeting— when his eyes linger on yours just a second too long. When his smile is a little too soft. When his hand brushes yours and he doesn’t pull away immediately.

You tell yourself it’s all part of the act.

But maybe that’s not the whole truth.

The meal ends as it should. Mingyu foots the bill, and he does it without complaint. On your way out, the waitress smiles at the two of you like you’re some couple to be revered. 

Pride sparks like a flint in your chest. You douse it as quickly as you can manage. 

Outside, the sun is bright and the sidewalk smells like coffee and car exhaust. With your joint scoping done, the two of you walk a little slower than usual. You’re unsure why you’re not rushing to get back to the car.

“Well,” you say casually, “you make a convincing boyfriend. Color me shocked.”

Mingyu gives you a flat look. “Glad to know my fake relationship skills impress you.”

“What can I say? Low expectations,” you chirp, then jab him lightly with your elbow. “Now that I think about it— you're pretty single, huh. Why is that, again?”

It’s a jab that you’ve delivered far better in the past. Jokes about him being unable to pull. Remarks of him not knowing the first thing about romance or women. 

Today, though, it comes out as a query of genuine curiosity. One you typically might throw at someone you wanted to gauge interest in, and my God, how damning was that?

Mingyu doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He answers your question with frustrating casualness, toying with his car keys as he drags his feet. “Busy. Not looking. The usual.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Lame excuse. Try again.”

“What about you?” he counters, the attempt at evasion only driving you a little more crazy. “Still turning down anyone who doesn’t meet your god-tier standards?”

You tilt your chin up, mock-offended. “Absolutely. Only the best for me.”

“Yeah? What does that even mean?”

It’s obvious. You know the answer to this.

“Someone who’s funny. Smart. A little annoying but not, like, murder-worthy,” you ramble. “Tall, but not weird-tall. Knows how to argue without being a total asshole. Kind to animals. Can cook. Probably has nice hands.”

The words come out easily, too easily. You mean to keep it jokey, casual, but the list tumbles out before you can really filter it. It’s only when you hear it out loud that it hits you.

You know someone like that.

Your mouth goes dry. A beat passes.

You realize, too late, that you've gone quiet. That the silence between you has shifted. It’s not awkward, but it’s charged. 

Mingyu bumps your shoulder with his, snapping you out of your reverie. “That’s oddly specific,” he taunts. “Anyone I know?”

You scoff and shove him away. “Shut up.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see him fighting down a teasing grin. You can feel your pulse thudding in your ears, can feel the heat creeping up the back of your neck.

You don’t dare look at him.

You hope Mingyu doesn’t know. You hope he doesn’t realize you just described someone that sounds suspiciously like— 

▸ S01E14: THE ONE WITH THE WORST SEVEN MINUTES OF MINGYU’S LIFE. 

Mingyu knows better than anyone, just how true the platitude every second counts is. 

He plays soccer. Of course he knows the value of a ticking clock, of a last-minute save, of seconds that tick by arduously slow.

The clock has always been his enemy. But, today, it’s his friend.

Every second that ticks by moves the hands on the clock. Every movement on the clock will end this game faster.

He had this coming, really. When Ryujin dared him to kiss a girl— any girl— in the circle, he had known he was being baited. They all wanted him to choose you, to confirm whatever stupid assumptions they’d made about your complicated relationship.

Mingyu lived to defy expectations, so he leaned over and pulled Chaeyoung into his lap, and he kissed her like it meant something. Did his eyes briefly flicker open to check if you were watching? Did he feel some sort of sick, perverse triumph when he saw that you looked annoyed?

He should have known that karma would bite him back fast. You had the tendency to do that— knowing just how to piss him off right back.

It’s been two minutes and thirty-five seconds since you stepped into that goddamn pantry with Yugyeom.

“Seven minutes in heaven,” Jinyoung had teased when the bottle landed on you, giving you free rein to choose anyone.

And Mingyu knew immediately that it wouldn’t be him. 

Your high school friend group had jeered and laughed and teased when you reached for Yugyeom. Mingyu was not an inherently violent person, but he wanted so badly, in that moment, to wipe the smug smirk off the other man’s face.

You didn’t even look at Mingyu as you slinked away with Yugyeom. 

Mingyu is nursing a new bottle now. 

Trying to focus on the game. Trying to ignore the empty spaces in the circle. Someone’s daring something scandalous, a strip tease of some sorts—

You’re wearing his jacket, Mingyu realizes. From the little spat earlier this night when you’d spilled rum down the front of your shirt. Before you could throw a hissy fit, he’d shoved his varsity jacket in your arms and told you to suck it up.

The thought of Yugyeom unbuttoning that piece of clothing— that one thing on your body that might mark you as Mingyu’s, if it mattered at all— has the keeper clenching his beer bottle a little tighter. 

It’s been three minutes and twelve seconds. Mingyu doesn’t know why he’s counting it down, but he also doesn’t know how to keep his cool.

His brain keeps supplying him with images of what he might do if he were in Yugyeom’s place.

The realistic answer: You’d sulk, probably. Find a way to blame him for the situation. The two of you would bicker the entire seven minutes and then come out of the secluded pantry in foul moods. Seven minutes in hell, he would say sarcastically, when asked, and you’d flip him off. 

Underneath the realistic answer, though, is something that’s close to a fantasy. His hands resting at your sides, his touch warm over your— his— jacket. Your fingers entangled in his hair. The way he'd have to lean down, to tilt his head.

Would you taste like all the alcohol you’d drank that night?

Would you taste like everything he’s ever dreamed of?

Mingyu shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer, his fingers trembling around the bottle. Eunwoo is stripping as part of a dare; Mingyu tries to focus on that, and not on the fact that it’s been five minutes and fifty-two seconds.

Jungkook lets out a loud squeal. The sound pierces through the pre-drunk migraine that Mingyu already feels coming on. The sound—

What would you sound like?

In his arms. Against his mouth. Underneath—

“Fuck,” Mingyu cusses lowly, the word spoken mostly to himself. 

He’s drunk. He’s riled up. And you’re just so pretty tonight—

“Oi, lovebirds!” Jinyoung calls out in the direction of the pantry. “Seven minutes are up!”

Mingyu barely registers the sharp ring of the seven-minute alarm going off, or the jabs that everybody else throws out. His gaze is now fixed on the pantry door, the one he has to fight every urge to approach. Every second that ticks past the required mark has his head spinning with thoughts, with ideas that he would rather not dwell on.

Yugyeom emerges first, that smirk of his still in place. You come out right after, looking unruffled as you smooth out the front of your shirt.

You don’t waste a single beat. Your eyes find Mingyu’s face, where he’s poorly concealed just how much more intoxicated he's gotten in your absence.

A corner of your mouth tilts upward in a vicious smile. The action you give him next is so brief, he could have imagined it. 

You pucker your lips.

A flying kiss.

Mingyu has never wanted you so badly.

▸ S01E15: THE ONE WITH THE WORST SEVEN MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE. 

Seven minutes.

You could do anything in seven minutes.

Say something stupid. Say something brave. Let someone kiss you. Let someone else go.

You step into the pantry and it smells like cinnamon and dust and maybe a little bit of regret. Yugyeom’s behind you, grinning like this is just another game. And maybe to him, it is. A dare. A kiss. A story to laugh about later.

The second the door shuts, the world dulls. Muffled cheers and drunken cackles blur into the walls, and it’s just the two of you in this cramped little time capsule. His hand grazes your arm. Your breath catches, but not for the reason it’s supposed to.

“Hey, pretty,” Yugyeom greets, and there’s some sort of vindication in knowing he actually does think you’re pretty. 

This was an evening of unepic proportions, of high school friends coming together for a birthday party and bad decisions. In your head, there’s some small consolation to the fact that there’s not much light in the pantry.

Just the hint of fluorescence flooding through the door crack, reminding you of a loose circle where Mingyu is seated. 

The thought of him makes your skin crawl. It’s bad enough that you don’t know how to act around him anymore. But then he went in to make out with Chaeyoung of all fucking people— 

“Let’s get on with this, Kim,” you tell Yugyeom, trying to sound convincing, sultry.

Your voice wavers just a bit on the surname. Wrong Kim. 

To give Yugyeom some credit, he laughs softly before leaning in. His lips are warm. Kind. And you think, briefly, that he must be good at this. The kind of guy who gets picked in these games a lot. The kind of guy who smiles and means it.

You wonder if you’ll feel anything when he kisses you.

You don’t.

It’s not bad. It’s just not… anything.

You try. You really, really do. Your fingers curl at the front of Yugyeom’s shirt; his own hands dance over your sides. Over the jacket, over Mingyu’s jacket, and you wince because you’re thinking of him, of the way he’d introduced himself to the unfamiliar faces with that winning smile and that nickname of his, the stupid Gyu you never get to call him— 

“Mmm,” Yugyeom hums against your lips. He pulls back, eyes still closed, a lazy grin on his face. “Did you just say ‘Gyu’?”

Fuck.

You blink at Yugyeom, your brain slow to catch up. “No, I didn’t,” you sputter. 

He opens one eye. “You totally did.”

You could say you said Gyeom. You could simply shut Yugyeom up with a fiercer kiss, maybe a little more action.

But it’s there, out in the open, curling in the space between you two like something dangerous and damaging 

The slip wasn’t just a slip. It was your heart showing its cards. A royal fucking flush you can’t even begin to run from.

Your hand falls to your side. Yugyeom steps back. 

No annoyance, no dramatics— just something soft in his smile that makes it worse. “You wanna try that again? With the right guy’s name this time?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Yugyeom,” you groan, because while you can’t bring yourself to try making out again, you can at least say the right name. “Please don’t make fun of me.”

“Never,” he chirps. He shifts to lean on one of the pantry’s low shelves, hands tucked in his hoodie. “So. Mingyu, huh?”

You don’t answer right away.

Because what is there to say? That you’ve spent more than half your life wrapped in arguments and almosts and the kind of tension that should’ve burned out by now but hasn’t? That the sound of your name in Mingyu’s mouth makes you want to scream or kiss him or both? That he gave you his stupid jacket and you’re still wearing it like it means something?

“It’s complicated,” you gripe. 

Yugyeom cackles. “That’s the most girl-who’s-in-love thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up.”

He doesn’t. “You know he was watching the door like a lovesick puppy, right?”

That shouldn’t make your heart flutter. It does anyway. “He was?” you ask, and you could kick yourself for just how giddy you sound. 

It’s as close to a direct confirmation that Yugyeom is going to get. You think that he might be grinning, but it’s not something you can be sure of in the darkness. It’s something you hear instead, bleeding into his words. “Pretty sure he was ready to fight me.” 

You sit beside Yugyeom. The shelf creaks. Your hands are cold in your lap, but your face is burning.

“Do you love him?” he asks, and it’s so straightforward you want to laugh.

You don’t say a thing. It’s one of those silence-means-yes moments, one of those things that should go unsaid. 

The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and you’re in love with Kim Mingyu.  

Despite how much the fact has simmered underneath your skin, it’s something you can’t bring yourself to say out loud. Because it’s not that easy. Because it’s him. Because you know the way he is— impulsive and stubborn and so good at pretending he doesn’t care when really, he cares too much.

And so you don’t answer Yugyeom. The two of you kill the remaining minutes in silence; it’s almost like your friend is letting you sit with the truth, the realization.

After a long moment, he leans in to press a chaste, friendly kiss to the top of your head.

“Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your hair, “he’s one lucky bastard.” 

You let out a watery laugh. You hadn’t even realized you were tearing up— the sheer fear of the reality overwhelming you. 

Jinyoung’s voice echoes from outside. “Oi, lovebirds! Seven minutes are up!”

“Come on. Gotta act like we had some fun in here,” Yugyeom urges. “You picked me to make him jealous, right? Let’s make it look like that.” 

“I owe you my first born child,” you respond, genuinely grateful despite everything. 

“Hopefully the one you’ll have with Ming—” 

“Let’s not go there.” 

He messes with your hair. You rumple up his shirt. It’s all a farce, a show, and Yugyeom is kind enough to play along. He throws you a conspiratorial wink as he steps out, that smirk of his slotting right back on to his barely-swollen lips. 

You take a deep breath, and then you follow. 

It’s almost like a magnet, how your eyes seek out Mingyu. He looks just a little more drunk; a feat, considering the fact you’ve been gone for only seven minutes. 

You can’t help it. Your mouth twitches in a fond grin. The way his gaze is burning into you, the way he’s clutching his beer bottle just a little too tightly? 

That might be what compels you. It’s a flicker of an action, a ghost of a tease. You throw him a flying kiss, giggling to yourself when his face flushes a shade of red. 

You have never wanted Mingyu so badly. 

▸ S01E16: THE ONE WITH THE ‘MISTAKE’. 

He doesn't want to be mad.

Truly. Logically. On paper— whatever. Mingyu knows he started it. 

He kissed Chaeyoung first. He played the game. He played you. And now here you are, sitting cross-legged on his couch in your usual over-the-top family dinner outfit. Like that one night at the party didn’t end with him counting down seconds that felt like drowning.

You’re humming some song under your breath. You’re so calm, so nonchalant. 

Mingyu is not. He stomps and clenches his hands into fists and slams his drawer with more force than necessary.

You glance up from your phone. “Damn,” you say with a low whistler. “Did the closet offend you or something?” 

He doesn’t answer. He’s pulling clothes out of his dresser like they all personally insulted him. Button-down, slacks, watch, socks. All too formal for something that’s supposed to be casual, but tonight everything feels like a performance.

He ducks into his room and dresses quickly. By the time he emerges, you’re already standing by the front door. It shoots a momentary panic through him, the thought of you leaving.

But then you’re quipping, “You said we had to leave at seven. It’s 6:55. Just reminding you before you start blaming me for being late.”

“I’m not blaming you,” he grunts, padding across his living room in search of his wallet. 

He can see you looking skeptical in his peripheral vision. “Sure feels like it,” you huff.

“Can you not?”

“Can I not what? Breathe in your general direction?”

Mingyu exhales sharply. He should stop. He should apologize. He should not make this worse.

He does.

“Yeah?” His tone drips with derision as he finally shoves his essentials into the pocket of his trousers. “Maybe if you weren’t so good at pretending nothing ever touches you, I wouldn’t have to.”

You laugh; the sound is incredulous, sharp. Offended? 

“Right, because clearly you’re the one who’s been suffering,” you jeer. And then, completely out of the left field—

“I forgot how hard it must’ve been for you, kissing Chaeyoung like your life depended on it.”

There’s so much to unpack. The way you’re bringing this whole thing up days after it happened, even after you and Mingyu have just kind of… bristled at each other a lot more. Mingyu wanted to think your patience was just a lot thinner than usual— as was his— but he hadn’t imagined it would be related to that night. Or to Chaeyoung. 

It makes his heart, the traitor that it is, practically stop in his chest. 

He knows where you’re getting at. He knows what this could mean. He just has to make sure, and it’s in the way he tries to keep up with his rage when he snaps, “What does that have to do—” 

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

And there it is. 

The question cuts through everything. Your voice— loud at first, angry— is suddenly small. Wounded.

Mingyu’s head spins. 

You wanted him to kiss you. 

You wanted him to kiss you. 

His mouth opens then closes. Your face is incandescent, burning with shame. He knows this about you, knows you’ve never been able to deny yourself a thing. You’re an open book, a heart-on-the-platter type of girl. As badly as he wants to try and figure out all the signs he might have missed, he’s more concerned with the fact that you’re already trying to take it back.

Your hand is on the door handle. You’re about to make a run for it, Mingyu realizes, and that’s not something he’s going to let happen. 

Before you can get too far, his fingers are wrapping around your wrist and tugging you back.

When you look up at him, his expression is contorted into a mix of torment and want. You’re not looking any better yourself; you look caught between desire and fear, like all the years you’ve shared are bearing down on the two of you. 

You look as crazy as Mingyu feels. 

“I was waiting,” Mingyu breathes, his eyes wide and wild. “I was waiting—”

“For what?” you bite out. “What were you waiting for?”

His sharp response is softened by the desperation edging his tone. “For the perfect moment,” he snaps.

Mingyu tugs you into his space. He’s gentle, still, as he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer until you’re chest to chest. He has to tuck his head to press his forehead against yours, and he can’t breathe. 

You’re holding your breath, too, like you’re fighting every instinct to kick up a fuss at how patient he’s being. He has to be. He has to be, or else he’s going to give you everything when the two of you have to meet your families for the night. 

His breath ghosts over your lips, which are already parted so beautifully for him.

“But I guess,” he whispers, his heart in his throat, at your feet, in your hands, “my shitty apartment is as good as any for a first kiss, huh?”

Mingyu doesn’t even wait for you to answer. 

He closes the distance and presses down into you, enough that you end up taking a step back. When your nails sink into Mingyu’s shoulders to hold yourself steady, he lets out a low hiss against your mouth but refuses to pull away.

He kisses you like he’s thought about doing it for years. 

And maybe he has. Maybe it’s always been there— this prospect, this possibility, and he could’ve gone his whole life just wondering what it might be like.

Now that he has it, has you, he doesn’t know if he can go without it.

It might be a mistake. He knows that. 

He’s crossed a line you’ve both danced around for too long. There's a part of him— rational and careful— that screams this could ruin everything.

But then you kiss him back.

You kiss him back like you mean it, like you’re angry about all the years wasted not doing this. Like you want to climb into the marrow of him and stay there. 

Mingyu doesn’t know how long it lasts. Doesn’t care. Eventually, the space between you pulls taut again, and you're both left staring, dazed, stunned, as if the world has shifted under your feet.

His fingers ghost over his lips. They’re swollen, just like yours, and he knows there’s no going back from this. There’s no way he’ll ever be able to convince himself that you’re some annoying pest instead of the love of his goddamn life. 

“We— we should go,” Mingyu says hoarsely, barely above a whisper. It’s all he can manage.

And for once, you don’t fight him.

▸ S01E17: THE ONE WITH THE PROMISE. 

The bane of your existence drives you to your family’s monthly dinner in his car with its one working speaker, and a half-eaten protein bar wedged into the cupholder.

You complain about the lack of legroom. He snarks back about your giant tote bag taking up all the space. It’s almost impressive how easily the two of you slip back into the familiar routine of bickering. 

If someone were to eavesdrop, they’d never guess you’d made out half an hour ago. That he’d kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing; that you’d kissed him like he had all the answers to the questions you’ve been afraid to ask. 

Mingyu parallel parks like an asshole— too far from the curb— and you mutter something under your breath as you slam the door shut behind you.

“You could say thank you,” he says, locking the car.

“Thank you,” you echo. “For the trauma.”

He almost smiles. The sight of him fighting that back reminds you of his lips, how they’d been so soft against yours despite the heated, desperate way he moved. 

Your brain is going to be in the gutter the whole evening. You’re sure of it. 

Your families are already there at the vouchsafed hipster café when the two of you walk through the door. For a treacherous moment, everything feels like clockwork again. The smell of garlic bread wafts through the air. His mother greets you with a warm hug. His dad already has a story locked and loaded. Your parents give him the same doting affection. 

It’s so normal you almost forget what’s changed.

Almost.

Mingyu sits next to you instead of across from you. He offers you the breadbasket first, tops your glass when nobody else is looking. 

At one point, you arch a brow at him, suspicious. He says nothing.

It’s all suspicious.

Conversation flows easily enough. Your families are familiar, loud, opinionated. There’s some rapport between you and Mingyu; if your parents notice that it’s not as scathing as usual, they don’t point it out. 

Under the table, something changes.

You feel it before you see it. Mingyu’s hand, careful and tentative, resting on your knee. His touch is featherlight, like he’s giving you a chance to move away.

You don’t.

It’s hidden by the table cloth, and you think you might be imagining it until you glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

His expression is half-agony, half-hope.

And that’s the thing about Kim Mingyu. He’s always been too much and never enough. Too loud, too cocky, too frustrating. Never thoughtful enough, never serious enough, never willing to make the first move until now. 

You’re done keeping score. This isn’t a battle of wits, a challenge of who can hold out better. This is a game neither of you will win. 

No. This is a game you no longer have to play. 

You lace your fingers through his. 

Mingyu’s shoulders drop like he’s been holding that breath for years. He squeezes your hand, and you think you could get used to this, to him. You’ll have to talk about it later, to decide; for now, though, the promise of it is more than enough.

You used to think there was no universe in which you and Kim Mingyu could ever get along.

But maybe— just maybe— this one will do.

[hrtwayne]

Picture You || Misa Rodríguez

Pairing: Misa Rodríguez x Putellas!Reader

Summary: Where Misa has a huge crush on Alexia’s sister.

Note: English is not my first language.

Warning: Just the reader being completely oblivious and Misa being a total simp.

Women's Football Masterlist | Masterlist

The stadium was starting to fill up, the pre-game excitement buzzing in the air as the Barcelona and Real Madrid players stretched on the pitch. You were focused, adjusting your camera settings, capturing the moments before the match began. 

Your attention was on Aitana and Salma, who were laughing about something as they warmed up. But without you noticing, there was another pair of eyes fixed on you. 

Misa Rodríguez, sitting on the bench, sipping water—but her gaze never left the photographer. She didn’t even try to hide it, her lips slightly curved in a small smile as she watched you move around the field, adjusting angles and taking shots. 

Thanks to Alexia, Misa had managed to get closer to the midfielder Putellas. 

On the other side of the pitch, Alexia and Jana exchanged glances, whispering and trying to hold back their laughter. 

"She really can’t hide it, can she?" Jana whispered, nudging Alexia. "Misa’s turned into a complete fool over your sister, Ale."

"I swear, if she gets any more obvious, she’s gonna start drooling," Alexia replied, stifling a giggle. 

Unaware of the two, Misa kept watching you, completely lost in her own thoughts—until Patri appeared behind them, crossing her arms. 

"She really doesn’t know how to be subtle, huh?" she commented, making Alexia and Jana jump. 

"Damn, Patri! You almost gave me a heart attack," Jana said, clutching her chest in exaggerated shock. 

Patri just raised an eyebrow, amused. 

"How long until Misa gets jealous because someone hits on her?"

Alexia glanced at Misa, who was now frowning as she watched Cata pull you aside, pointing at something in the stadium and laughing close to you. 

"Not long, apparently," Alexia replied, trying to hold back a laugh. 

Misa tightened her grip on her water bottle, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.  "Oh boy..." Jana murmured, watching the Madrid goalkeeper’s expression darken. 

Patri sighed, shaking her head. 

"Someone should warn Y/n that she’s messing with a woman who doesn’t know how to lose."

"Or better yet..."Jana smirked mischievously. "Let her find out on her own."

As the three players chuckled under their breath, Misa finally stood up from the bench, determined to interrupt Cata’s conversation with her photographer. 

And, by the looks of it, the match hadn’t even started yet—but the most important game of the night was already underway. 

It had been exactly three years since you were hired as the official photographer for the Spanish women’s national team, and nearly six for Barcelona. Time flew by, and you felt like part of the family. The players had welcomed you warmly, especially Aitana, who always pulled you into lively conversations—and, of course, her sister Alexia made sure to include you in the little things. And then there was Misa, the Real Madrid goalkeeper, who seemed to have a special interest in you. 

You, however, never interpreted Misa’s behavior as flirting. You thought it was just her outgoing, affectionate personality. After all, Misa was like that with everyone, right? 

But that night, everything would change. 

The team had gone out for dinner after the victory, and the mood was relaxed. You moved between tables, capturing candid moments of the players, when Patri—one of Barcelona’s midfielders—approached you. 

"You should’ve taken some shots of me for my feed," Patri smiled, lightly brushing your arm. "You promised to help me update it."

You smiled back, oblivious to the sharp gaze Misa was leveling at the scene from across the room. 

"I can do that next week, Guijarro," you replied distractedly as Patri kept chatting, laughing at her own jokes and touching you at every opportunity. 

On the other side of the room, Alexia raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Aitana as they watched Misa’s fingers tighten around her glass, her jaw clenched. 

"You should be more subtle about your crush on my sister, Misa," Alexia teased, amused. "You can’t complain. You two have absolutely nothing going on."

Misa huffed, knowing her friend was right. But it was unbearable watching Patri act like she had some claim over you. 

"Does she really have to be this oblivious?" Misa grumbled, her eyes locked on the way you smiled at the Barça player. 

Aitana chuckled under her breath. 

"If you don’t do something, someone else will." 

Misa pressed her lips together. It was true. Half the Madrid team had already flirted with you, and the other half of the Barça squad wasn’t far behind. And here she was—a World Cup winner—standing frozen, just watching. 

But not anymore. 

When Patri finally said goodbye with a lingering touch on your shoulder, Misa decided tonight wouldn’t end without the answer she’d been chasing for years. 

With determined steps, she walked up to you, who was still smiling absently. 

"Y/n," Misa called, her voice deeper than usual. 

You turned, surprised by her tone. 

"Misa, hey—everything okay?" you asked, a hint of concern in your eyes. 

Misa didn’t answer. Instead, she gently took your wrist and pulled you into a quieter corner. 

"Do you really not see it?" Misa asked, her eyes burning with an intensity that made you swallow hard. 

"See… what?"

Misa exhaled, as if tired of waiting. Then, without warning, she leaned in and captured your lips in a firm but brief kiss. 

When she pulled back, your eyes were wide, your cheeks flushed. 

"That," Misa finally said. "I want that. You."

And for the first time, you realized that maybe Misa wasn’t just "affectionate with everyone" after all. 

And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t care one bit about it. 

[avalentina]

CP x BeckhamKeeper!reader ⚽

“But he's David Beckham, he's a fucking legend in this game and I'm just me. It's like meeting one of your heroes but now in addition to being starstruck I have to tell him I'm dating his daughter.” Christian complained.

⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽⚽

Just a little snippet from my completely revamped Christian Pulisic x Goalkeeper!Reader universe. I made Y/N the oldest child of David and Victoria Beckham (I'll probably post a timeline at some point). We'll see if I ever finish it to a quality I'm happy enough with to post. 🤣

[wlwsoccerfics]

The Troll inside my head(KimLittleXReader)

A/N:this Is just my experience with adhd. Doesn't have to be like that for Others.

Warnings: ADHD Reader, angst, self doubt

Summary: your adhd brings you down sometimes and makes you feel terrible. Your girlfriend is there to pick up the pieces and Show you how loved you are.

It was in the middle of the night, around 3am. You couldn't sleep. Your brain wouldn't let you rest. Many different thoughts running through your mind, all at once and all of them really loudly. Like they wanted to make sure you heard them. You felt like screaming. Only thing that kept you from it, was the fact that your beautiful girlfriend, who had the Patience of an Angel was asleep next to you. And you didn't want to wake her. It was enough that you were dealing with this. You didn't want to make your sleep issues her Problem too.

You got out of bed so you wouldn't wake her. Grabbing some fresh clothes and two towels, making your way into the bathroom. Taking a hot shower. Breathing in and out gently. You imagine that you are on the pitch. Focusing on not letting a ball past you. So No one would score a Goal against you. There were times when you didn't have all those thoughts running through your head like little Trolls, trying to cause Chaos. One was when you were on the pitch, being a Goalkeeper. You did an amazing job there. Or when you could hyperfocus on something else you really liked. For example when you build your Lego Sets. You can do that for hours on end. Only Problem when you hyper Focus on something is you forget about everything else.

After your shower you wrapped yourself in a big towel and then used a smaller one for your hair. Putting on a Sports bra and some panties your Trainings Shirt and Long pants. Then last but not least some white socks. it now was 4am now. You knew you wouldn't be able to rest, so you decided to listen to a Podcast about Harry Potter. Another one of your Obsessions. You sat on the Couch in the livingroom. The Podcast was on Low Volume, playing through the speakers of the Alexa. Something was different though.

Today you couldn't Focus on the Podcast. Your anxiety was rising up. Your mind going back to the last game. You were thinking about the two Goals that were scored against you. In your head all you heard was 'everyone else would have saved those!' and the disappointed and hate for yourself was back. You got up from the Couch, pacing back and forth. A panic attack was approaching. Fast, like lightning.

Your girlfriend slowly walked into the livingroom, half asleep. That changed when she saw you struggling to breath. She quickly made her way over to you. Placing her hands on each side of your face.

"Babe! Hey, Look at me, i am here! I got you! You are not alone." She told you, her voice soothing. She then pulled you close. Pressing her Body against yours. Swaying from Side to Side with you. She knew that worked for you when you had a panic attack. You placed your head against Kims shoulder. Breathing in and out slowly. The smell of her Shampoo was very calming.

"s-sorry." You whispered against her shoulder. She gently stroked your Hair.

"what are you sorry for Baby? You did nothing wrong." Kim whispered out. Gently sitting down on the Couch with you still very much holding onto her.

"you woke up really early cause i was probably too loud and annoying and then you walk in on me being a mess." You told her. She gently put a Hand under your chin now, pushing your face Up gently so you would look at her.

"listen to me please, you weren't loud or annoying. I did wake up cause i missed the warmth of your Body in bed. This isn't your fault at all. You can get out of bed whenever you want. And you weren't a mess. You had a Panic Attack. I hate that you have to Go through them but that doesn't mean you are a mess!" She told you and kissed your nose. You teared up and looked at her.

"i Love you, Babe." You let her know. Offering her a small and tried smile. Which she returned.

"i Love you too!" Your girlfriend answered. "Now please tell me what caused this panic attack?" She wanted to know. You cuddled up to her again. She gently stroked your arm.

"the last game." You admitted.

"sweet Angel, we have been over this. That we lost wasn't your fault. We win as a Team. We lose as a Team. You are such a talented Goalkeeper. So stop beating yourself up over this. No one is blaming you." She told you. You didn't say anything. You just kissed her. She kissed back.

A little while later it was 6am now and you took your adhd meds. You always took them at that time. After that you snuggled back onto the Couch with Kim. She put on one of the lego movies(knowing it is one of your favorite ones) , holding you close. Giving you a kiss on the head every now and then. You stayed like that, enjoying the Moments with Kim ,until it was time for Kim to get ready and make you two some Smoothies before you had to Drive to practice.

It was good to know that your girlfriend would always be there for you. No matter what.

[27spoons]

There's No Pleasure in Resisting | Natalie Scatorccio

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

request: could you write smut or fluff with wilderness nat and reader? they do not have an established relationship, but a bunch of girls stranded in the wilderness is bound to lead to lesbian stuff? (anon)

wc: 2800

warnings: smut (afab!reader), fingering (nat receiving), minor hair pulling and biting, canon-typical survival stuff (mentions of starvation/discomfort), banter as foreplay, technically fluff by my standards

a/n: set in mid s1, pre-doomcoming, travnat never happened. regretably, i made the ending fluffy instead of angsty. who am i and what have i done with spoons

ao3

Two months, three weeks, and four days since that stupid fucking plane went down.

Two months, two weeks, and six days since you were supposed to be back home. 

You weren't even supposed to be on the plane. You were Van's backup goalkeeper, the same person who had never missed a single game unless they were literally dying. You had played maybe two games the entire season. The only reason you even agreed to go was because it was free (thank you, Mr. Matthews), and you'd do anything to get out of Wiskayok.

Now you had an actual role to play. Survival. It's hardly the same as sitting on the bench and watching everyone else do the hard work while you cheer them on. You're no hunter. You don't have first aid training. You don't stitch pelts together or know what berries won't kill you. Mostly, you just do what you're told and try not to be a burden.

The cabin is loud, and you miss having your own sleeping space. Desperately. So, you slip away when the others start getting pissy about dinner again (namely Mari, who constantly whines about the lack of seasoning). They won't miss you.

You wander for a while before ending up at the lake. It's quiet, almost peaceful. True, it's hard to find peace out here, but you'll take the reprieve when you can. There's a stillness out here that sometimes you could find in the late nights behind the school after a soccer game—smoking a joint or sipping on warm beer with the rest of the team.

This isn't that. But it'll do. 

You stand on the shore for a beat or several, staring into the massive body of water as you idly skim stones across the surface. It's not that hot—nothing is out here—but it's warm enough. Warm enough that your sweat sticks to the pits of your shirt and makes you want to claw at your skin. At least in Jersey, you were close enough to the ocean that the heat was never totally intolerable. Here? Here, you sweat like you're in a sauna the moment it hits seventy.

Without even really considering it, you strip down to your bra and underwear and wade in. The water's colder than expected, but so worth it. You would have never disrobed so easily when you first crashed out here. But by now, you've seen just about everyone half-naked, if not fully nude.

You float on your back, eyes closed, letting the cool water lap at your skin and erase some of the noise rattling around inside you. It's the first time you feel even remotely clean in days—maybe weeks. If you were worried about the plane crashing, you would have brought more than just a travel bottle of shampoo and body wash.

Oh, well.

The sun is warm on your face, cool water prunes your skin the longer you remain in it, and the stillness suddenly doesn't feel as oppressive as it did mere moments ago.

You're almost asleep—just barely hovering in that place between consciousness and rest—when you hear a familiar dragging of boots across the rocky shore. You don't need to crack an eye open to see who it is—you've come to memorise the distinct gait that everyone walks with.

When the sound stops, you crack an eye open and see the familiar sight of Natalie Scatorccio standing on the shore. The hunting rifle is slung across her back, hands on her hips, and a smirk on her face.

"This is how horror movies start, y'know?" she hums idly, tossing the rifle onto a large rock before untying the laces on her combat boots. "You'd be the first to die, too."

You bark out a laugh at that, turning your head to look at her as you continue to float. "Yeah? You gonna be the one to kill me, then?"

Nat scoffs as she removes her right boot, "Nah, I'm not giving you the easy way out. I'll let a bear maul your ass before I shoot you."

Her second boot gets tossed beside the first, and she pulls her socks off with an overdramaticized grimace. "Jesus. I think my feet might be starting to rot."

A sound of disgust leaves your mouth before you can stop it, face contorting at the thought. "Oh, gross. That's your own fault for wearing the same socks and nasty-ass boots since the plane crashed."

"Yeah, well," Nat grumbles, kicking her socks away like they've personally wronged her. "Didn't exactly pack a summer wardrobe, so."

You shrug lazily, letting yourself drift a little farther out. "That's your own fault for failing to bring into the equation that we would crash…" You gesture to your surroundings vaguely, "somewhere. Should've planned ahead."

A dry laugh spills from her as she peels her sweat-stained shirt over her head, tossing it onto the pile with her boots. "My bad. Should have packed less booze and more… jackets, or whatever."

She doesn't hesitate much after the shirt comes off—you've seen it all before, anyway. Her red sports bra is a little damp with sweat, sticking awkwardly to her skin as she tugs it into place. Her hands, adorned with rings of various shapes and colours, move to her belt next, undoing it with a practiced flick of her fingers before pushing her pants down and off. She stands there for a beat in her stripped boxers, pausing long enough to glance at you floating just beyond reach.

"What? No comment on my hot new summer look?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow as her feet disappear under the waters surface. 

You crack a grin, letting the current push you back towards her. "If that's hot, I'd hate to see what you'd call tragic."

"Tragic is what I'd call your little… floaty starfish routine," she fires back, wading in until the water is just above her hips.

"Rude," you say dramatically, mimicking Jackie's voice. "Some of us like pretending to be at peace."

"Peace is a myth," Nat snorts, moving to float on her back. "Don't know who lied to you and said that it was."

"Oh, that's cynical Scatorccio, even for you."

She doesn't respond with anything more than a roll of her eyes, letting the water move her around as she lazes in the lake with you. 

It's nice, admittedly. There are no expectations right now, just two teenagers relaxing for what feels like the first time in years.

The corners of her mouth twitch, but she says nothing else. Just tilts her head and watches you. Her legs drift towards you as she floats around, casually brushing yours under the water—except not really. Because when you don't move, she does it again.

And whether it's the water or of her own volition, she's drifting closer. Her thigh bumps yours, slower this time, and then lingers. Not aggressive. Not even bold. Just enough to make you aware of every inch of space between you, or lack thereof.

You glance at her. She's staring at the setting sun, still pretending it's nothing.

You could say something. Crack a joke. Splash her. Look away.

You don't.

She doesn't look at you, but her body shifts just enough that her thigh presses flush against yours. Unmistakably intentional, but you don't comment on it yet.

Maybe it's because you haven't touched anyone in months, and you're starting to get an itch. Maybe it's because it's Nat and she's hot. Maybe because it's Nat and she's a decent fucking human that you've had a crush on for ages, but you find yourself licking your lips as your eyes trace the slope of her jaw.

Then, slowly—almost lazily—she turns to face you. Her eyes flick over your features as her brow creases, like she's taking mental note of how the setting sun reflects in your sclera, or how your damp hair sticks to your forehead. 

Without much thought to the action, she reaches a hand forward to brush some loose hair out of your eyes, then lets it linger on the side of your face.

"Y're quiet," she murmurs.

You blink once. Twice. "So are you."

Natalie snorts, and for a second, it's light again. Almost nothing. But then her thumb swipes across your cheekbone, and you know you're fucked.

She doesn't pull her hand away when you think she will.

Instead, her eyes flick down to your mouth and back up again, giving you an unreadable look that makes your stomach twist. Her fingers twitch slightly where they rest against your cheek, like she's fighting some internal debate.

Whatever it is, she loses.

You don't know who leans in first. Maybe it was mutual. Regardless, it doesn't matter. Not when her lips are on yours, warm and wanting. It isn't dramatic, like something out of a movie scene where the guy gets the girl. It's not hungry. No, it's tentative. Careful, like you're both exploring the other and ensuring this isn't a mistake.

There's a beat of that gentle exploration before Nat exhales hard through her nose, then starts kissing you for real. It's open-mouthed and desperate, like she's needed skin-on-skin contact as much as you have. Her hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair and pulling you towards her.

Your hands find her waist without thinking, thumbs brushing along the edge of her boxers as you draw her in. You don't know when you started treading the water or when she draped her free arm over your shoulder, but you do clock the moment she shifts in the water and begins to draw you deeper into her orbit.

The lake laps gently around you, cool against overheated skin. Natalie's legs bracket your hips now, water beading off her shoulders and rolling in small rivers down her torso. Her arms dangle loosely around your shoulders, like she's trying to play it casual, like this isn't about to turn into something else entirely. 

"Not gonna drown, are you?" she murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth, still trying to keep up that facade of nonchalance she tries so hard to maintain. 

You scoff, "Not unless you hold me under."

"I can make that happen if you're into it, y'know?" Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging on the wet strands. "I'm willing to work with you."

You huff a laugh, but it breaks halfway into a gasp when she rolls her hips forward. 

"Jesus, Nat," you whisper, breath catching as your fingers dig into the curve of her ass. "You always this charming?"

"Only when trying to get someone off," she says deadpan as her lips move to your jaw, tracing a bead of water with her tongue. 

You grunt at that, feet touching against the stony lake floor. "You trying to get me off, then?"

Nat laughs softly against your ear, sending warm puffs of air against your slick skin. "Was that not obvious?" She punctuates the words with a steady roll of her hips against yours, teeth catching on the lobe of your ear as she does. 

"You could make it more obvious, I think." Your hand slips around her front and beneath the waistband of her boxers, finding a warm heat that's slick from more than just the water. 

She sucks in a sharp breath at your touch, and her hips jerk forward reflexively, grinding against your hand. 

"Fuck," she hisses, voice shaky as her nails dig into your scalp. "God, shut up—"

And then her lips are on yours with a feverish desperation, kissing you as though the world were ending—maybe it is. Maybe it already has, given the plane crash and the hell you've since walked through.

Her lips are rough from sunburn and too many days without balm, but it doesn't stop her. Doesn't stop you from biting on her lower lip, either.

While your tongue runs along the seam of her lips, your fingers slide seamlessly through her folds to tease her aching cunt. Usually, you'd probably draw this out. Make her work for it. Maybe see if you could get Natalie Scatorccio to beg—but you're feeling kind today. 

Your middle finger slips into her around the same time you bite down on her lower lip, earning a soft hiss at the duelling sensations of pleasure and pain. A full-bodied shudder runs through her, her hips stuttering forward as her hands scramble for purchase—one clutching at your shoulder, the other so deeply wound up in your hair you worry she'll rip it out from the root.

"Jesus," she breathes against your mouth, eyes screwed shut as though the feeling is too much to look at.

You curl your finger inside her now, testing the waters before you add your ring finger to the mix, and start slowly pumping them in and out of her. She's tight, warm, and impossibly wet around your fingers, muscles clenching rhythmically around your digits as they tease her slowly, searching for that one spot that makes her whine and fall apart beneath your touch.

You find it on the third pass. All it takes is just the slightest shift of angle, a curl of your fingers upward—and her whole body goes taut.

"There—" she gasps, voice cracking like a snapped branch or sudden gust of wind through a warm summer's day. "Fuck, right there—" 

You keep the pressure steady, pressing up into that spot with every stroke, your palm grinding against her clit in time. Her thighs twitch around your waist, as though she's still trying to pull you in deeper. 

She's panting now, trying to bury her face in your shoulder, but the involuntary moans keep escaping despite her best efforts. Her nails scrape down your back the next time you crook your fingers, hips jerking helplessly against your hand as you work her open, coaxing her closer to the edge with every perfectly timed thrust.

"Yeah, that's it, c'mon." Your own breathing has picked up, coming out in sharp puffs against Nat's temple as she clings to you. "You're already so close, aren't you? I got you. I got you, Nat. C'mon. Come for me."

And, for once in her life, Nat listens the first time she's told to do something. Her orgasm washes over her like the water lapping against your bodies, her heels digging into the backs of your thighs as she tries to hold herself steady. She isn't loud—not that you expected her to be—but she doesn't need to be loud when you can feel her walls clamping around your fingers, her body unable to decide whether to keep your fingers inside or force them out. 

Nat slumps against you after the final tremors leave her body, forehead resting heavy on your shoulder. You don't rush her despite the constant need for movement out here. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head and hold her there, your fingers still curled lazily inside her.

Eventually, she lifts her head (with great effort) and meets your eyes with a lopsided smile. "C'mon. Your turn."

Before you can respond to that, she's already moving, untangling her limbs from around you and dragging you toward the rocky shore with a hunger in her eyes that has nothing to do with the minor starvation starting to set in.

The rocks dig into the backs of your knees as she pushes you gently down onto your back, but you barely register the sharp dig of stones against your skin as she hovers above you, hair wild and eyes wide.

"Y'gonna let me return the favour?" she murmurs, dragging her lips against the hollow of your throat as she speaks. "Or y'gonna be difficult about it?"

Usually, you'd fire back with some sort of fiery remark. Something about how she's being far too cocky for someone who literally just came on your hand—but then there's a loud rustle in the trees.

"—I'm just saying! You could be less of a bitch about it sometimes, Shauna!"

"You can't keep not pitching in! People are noticing, Jackie!"

Nat freezes.

So do you.

There's a beat of dead silence before Nat collapses sideways beside you with a frustrated groan, dragging her forearm over her eyes. "Un-fucking-believable. This goddamn uptight, prudish little bitch and her—"

You have to bite back laughter as you sit up, readjusting your soaked underwear. "You think they saw?"

"No," Nat scoffs, and you swear you can hear her rolling her eyes. "But they're going to. We've got about sixty seconds before they start acting like they invited skinny-dipping."

You lean over and press a quick kiss to her shoulder as she drops her arms from around her eyes, glaring at you heatlessly. "Rain check?"

Her lips twitch upward despite everything, and you wonder what kissing her on dry land would taste like.

"Yeah," she says quietly. "Rain check."

a/n: natalie scatorccio in boxers and a sports bra save me..... natalei scatorcio in a boxers and sports bra sav me........ nataliescatoriucopsaveme

[pitchsidestories]

soft spot II Katie McCabe x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 957

summary: Arsenal players teasing Katie McCabe about how soft she is for her girlfriend. requested

author's note: hi there, we hope you enjoy this short and soft oneshot.🤍❤️

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

Bus rides always made you sleepy. Especially the ones after a late away game, when the adrenaline started to wear off and the day started to catch up with you.

Outside the team bus, the passing landscape started to blur, taking on a blueish tint as the daylight faded and the night started to set in. The slow hum of the bus was almost soothing.

You let out a yawn, blinking heavy-lidded at your girlfriend in the seat next to you. She caught the look and smiled gently, knowing you were about to drift off to sleep. The chatter of your teammates faded into the background, growing softer until it was fully gone.

You didn’t even register Katie getting up from her seat to grab you an Arsenal-branded blanket from the overhead compartment in the back of the bus. She carefully draped it over you, tugging you with exaggerated care.

“How cute, Katie!”, Beth cooed from a few rows in front of you, her voice making other players turn to look.

“Shut up.”, the Irish player shot back, but her hands gently smoothed out the blanket in your lap.

Beth turned in her seat, looking at the other women sitting in close proximity: “Manu, Kyra, don’t you agree that Katie is especially soft for her girlfriend tonight?”

She gave a mock-innocent blink and pouted for emphasis.

“So sweet of you, Katie.”, the goalkeeper snorted with a grin.

Katie glared at them: “Stop it.”

“Cuties!”, Kyra yelled.

Katie rolled her eyes and shot a glance back at you as you stirred slightly in your sleep, peaceful and unaware.

“Shhh, she’s trying to sleep.”, she warned, her voice only a whisper.

“God, you’re so soft around her.“, Beth commented with a laugh.

Katie turned to her, one eyebrow raised and the hint of a smirk on her lips: “Beth, this is your last warning.”

“Or what?”, the winger challenged, leaning over her seat.

Before they could take this any further, Kim looked up from her book, deadpan: “No fighting on the bus.”

“This time they started it.”, Katie said immediately, pointing at the group with fake indignation.

“We didn’t!”, Beth laughed in protest.

The captain just sighed: ”I don’t care who started it.”

Katie glanced at you before looking back at Kim with the most angelic expression: “I swear I’m the innocent one here, Kimmy.”

“Keep me out of this. I just want my peace and quiet.”, Kim said without missing a beat and turned back to her book.

And with this, the bickering stopped and the conversations returned to whispers. For the rest of the ride, the bus was quiet. And you stayed fast asleep through it all.

You were woken by a feather-light kiss on the forehead from your girlfriend. The Irish woman spoke softly: “Love, we’re home.”

“Already?”, you murmured, stifling a yawn as you stretched, trying to shake the sleep from your limbs.

Hand in hand, the two of you stepped off the bus. Outside, the gentle spring evening air greeted you warmly. Smiling, you turned to wave at your teammates: “Goodbye, girls.”

“Bye.”, Beth replied with an amused grin.

Pretending to be annoyed, Katie called out: “Don’t smirk at us like that, Meado!”

“I’m not doing anything! I only said goodbye.”, she replied innocently.

But the brunette wasn’t finished yet, huffing: “Viv and you are even worse!”

“Lies!”, Beth protested, laughing.

Thinking of them, you chimed in: “Truth.”

The blonde turned to your girlfriend, clearly entertained: “At least none of us has a reputation for being tough and strong.”

“Luckily, she’s only hot-headed on the pitch.”, you hummed, wrapping an arm around Katie’s shoulders. You knew this was something the two of you often talked about. Passion was fine, it brought fire to the game, but some actions were simply unnecessary and could hurt the team.

A playful smile lit up Kyra’s face: “Lucky for you.”

“Girls.” At once, all attention turned to Kim. Seeing the reaction, the team captain added: “Good night.”

By the time you got home, night had already fallen, but the soft glow of the lamps bathed everything in a warm, golden light. Katie had settled onto the sofa, her cat curled up contentedly in her arms. She looked over at you and asked: “Love?”

“Yes?”

“They’re just being annoying. Ignore them.”, she clarified grumpily, her brow furrowed in that way you secretly adored.

You joined her on the sofa, the comforting quiet of home wrapping around you both. “You’re easy to tease.”, you remarked, clearly referring to your teammates.

“I am not.”, she said with a shake of her head, her lips twitching in protest.

You paused, then softened your tone: “Alright—only when it’s about things that matter to you.”

Katie’s expression turned sincere, her voice quiet but full of feeling: “Well… you matter to me.”

You grinned, heart fluttering: “So does the game. See?”

She groaned, though a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth: “I hate when you’re right.”

You shook your head gently: “No, you don’t. I’m pretty sure of that.”

She leaned a little closer, eyes warm and teasing: “You must know that.”

“I do.”, you whispered with a smile, before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, one she returned with tenderness, as though time had momentarily stilled.

The cat, clearly sensing it was no longer the centre of attention, hopped off Katie’s lap and disappeared into another room. Katie looked at you again, her voice a gentle invitation: “Come here.”

“I already am.”, you muttered, pulling her into your arms.

Despite her toughness on the pitch and that cocky bravado she wore like armour, you’d always known where her true soft spot lay, right here, with you.

[misettemisette]

MASTERLIST

Starting over In Madrid

Misa Rodriguez x reader

Summary : After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players?

WC: way too much TW: at some point angst, smut +18, but still a lot of fluff PS: French writer / I wrote this story last year, that explained some of the players are not in the team anymore. Anyway, it's a parallel univers so I do what I want

Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clasico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and Peaks Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique Chapter 7 ➺ In the Haze Chapter 8 ➺ Confusion and directions Chapter 9 ➺ The same struggle Chapter 10 ➺ A place for words Chapter 11 ➺ Not a cloud in sight

> Around 15 chapter total

MISA FIC REC

A Poorly Planned Escape by @skalfy A Reputation for Good Taste by @skalfy

You Can't Talk No Sh*t Without Penalties (Misa Rodriguez x Marta Cardona) by @copper-16

Just Let Go 1 2 3 4 5 by @girlgenius1111 To the brink by @girlgenius1111 No one speaks to you like that by @girlgenius1111

One night in Ibiza, Part2 (Misa Rodríguez x Hermoso!Reader) by @pitchsidestories

swipe, like, love, misa x reader by @starrynights-sunnyskies a clash to keep her by @starrynights-sunnyskies mine to save by @starrynights-sunnyskies mine to protect by @starrynights-sunnyskies

Tough & Hard by @helen-with-an-a

Sleepy Cuddles by @suckerforblondeathletes

Change of heart by @inuyashaluver

Jump scare by @wileys-russo

[enwoso]

healing touch | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request.

grumpy masterlist

the final whistle blew like a sigh, dragging across the emirates stadium and leaving a hush in its wake. arsenal were down by 1-2. again. before the second leg. lyon had taken the lead, by a single, cruel goal. the kind of loss that sat heavy in your chest, too big to cry about, too sharp to ignore.

up in the stands, you sat frozen between your grandparents. your little hands were balled tightly in the sleeves of your red arsenal hoodie, your feet swinging just above the floor.

you hadn't moved since the 73rd minute—since leah had gone down.

it was a hard header, a ricochet off a corner kick, the goalkeeper caught leah square in the back of the head and while she was okay to continue she hadn't been playing with the same intensity since.

when it happened and the stadium had gone silent as leah crumpled to the pitch - not for the first time in the match. you had gasped so loudly that luca thought you were choking. you hadn't taken your eyes off the pitch since.

"nonna," you whispered, voice trembling. "mama hurt."

carol rubbed your back, fingers warm and familiar. "she's alright, amore. it's just a little knock, the physio would have taken her off if she wasn't okay."

"b-but she not playing the same" your voice broke slightly. "she not okay."

next to you, mario peered through his glasses. "it's just a knock, piccolina. football can be like that sometimes. mummy gets pushed around all the time but they give as good as they get kiddo"

"but-but it was her head," you said, twisting in your seat to look up at him. "what if mama forgets who i am?"

that stopped them all for a second.

even giorgio—who had just flown back from australia and barely had his coat off—went quiet. he reached over, scooping you gently onto his lap. "hey, hey, leah's not going to forget you. you're simply unforgettable. ask anyone."

you didn't smile. not this time. "she's my mama," you said, voice small. "and mummy's gonna be sad too."

that's what worried you more than anything. because as tough and smiley as your mummy could be on tv or on the pitch, you knew the way alessia's face tightened when people she loved got hurt. you saw it when your nonno had fallen off the step ladder last year. you saw it when leah had to withdraw from england camp with a hamstring injury. and you saw it now.

it took forever, but finally, after the final whistle and the handshakes and the long walk back down into the tunnel, you tugged at your nonna's hand.

"i want to go see mummy and mama. please."

carol nodded. "of course, tesoro. come on, boys."

luca grabbed your backpack, giorgio let you go on his shoulders - just like old times, as you all made your way down to the players' exit. you were bouncing with nerves by the time you got down there, peeking around corners like a little detective.

alessia was already there, still in her kit, her hair damp with sweat, pacing back and forth in her sliders. her brows were furrowed, her hands restless. she looked up—and melted the moment she saw you.

"hi, baby," alessia smiled, crouching down as you walked into her arms, alessia kissing the side of your head.

"mummy," you said, resting your head on your mummy's shoulder as she greeted the rest of her family. "is mama okay? her head—her head—"

"she's okay," alessia murmured, arms tightening around her. "scared us for a bit, but they're looking after her. it's just a little knock."

"but what if she's dizzy forever?" you pulled back slightly, wide eyes shining. "or what if she doesn't remember how to be funny anymore?"

alessia gave a soft laugh, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "she's still funny. she tried to trade the ice pack for chocolate."

you blinked before a small giggle slipped from your lips. a moment later, a physio appeared—and behind them, leah.

she looked tired. her head was wrapped in soft white gauze, and there was a slight wobble in her step, but her eyes lit up the second they landed on you

"hey, my little angel," she cooed softly. you didn't hesitate. you scrambled out of your mummy's arms and ran straight into leah's legs, hugging them tightly until leah crouched down with a wince.

"angel, i'm okay."

"i was so scared," you whispered into her chest.

"it's okay, just a little bump," leah murmured. "i'm here now."

you leaned back, cupping leah's face in both of your hands and said, very seriously, "you have to tell the ball to be nicer."

"i'll talk to it next training session, promise."

"and you're not allowed to fall again," you added. "ever."

"yes, ma'am," leah said with a mock salute, making you finally giggle.

behind the two of you, carol was wiping her eyes discreetly, and mario blew his nose loudly into a napkin. giorgio just muttered something about "bloody allergies" and sniffed dramatically.

alessia knelt beside them, pressing a hand to leah's back. "i think the little boss has spoken."

"and i think we'd better listen," leah said, smiling softly as she turned to plant a small kiss to alessia's lips. you putting your hands over your eyes as you made fake gagging noises, drawing a few giggles from your mums.

you all sat there together for a few moments, all three of them tangled on the floor of the hallway. you had one arm around each of them, like you were physically holding their hearts together.

then, out of nowhere, you straightened a little, your expression going thoughtful.

"also," you said, like you'd just remembered something incredibly important, "can i go to the soft play with uncle gio tomorrow?"

there was a beat of silence. and then—leah snorted. alessia burst into a laugh, a proper full-body one that made her eyes squint and shoulders shake.

you looked between them, totally serious. "what? it important."

leah wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "of course it is."

alessia grinned. "why not? gio's got a lot of uncle points to earn back after disappearing to the other side of the world for a year!"

in the background, giorgio held up his hands in surrender. "alright, alright! i'll take her. we'll do the whole works. slides. ball pit. juice boxes. you name it tiny!"

you gave a satisfied nod, arms crossed. "okay. but, but you have to go down the slide with me cause last time you said your back hurt."

"that was a lie," luca mumbled under his breath. "I HEARD THAT," giorgio shot back.

leah leaned her head against alessia's shoulder, grinning through the headache as alessia placed a sweet kiss to her cheek. "she's adorable."

"she's her own entire world," alessia said, brushing a hand through your curls. "but yeah. too adorable."

as the family laughed, teased, and made soft play plans for tomorrow, you nestled yourself back between the two people you loved most in the world. your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, content and safe.

because even on nights when the team lost, when the stadium felt too quiet and the world too heavy—you knew one thing better than anyone. love always won. and you were surrounded by lots of it.