#it’s ‘part 2’ ‘so a part two I’m begging’ or making it seems like it was a bad ending when it wasn’t | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyuckiefluff · 2 months ago

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casual | mark lee

pairing: idol! mark lee x waitress! fem. reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers wc: 8k summary: you wouldn’t normally fall for a guy who left his number on a dinner bill. too bad that guy was mark fucking lee. content warnings: slightly suggestive content (making out), light cursing, food mentioned, parasocial themes, reader works a service job, a very overworked mark lee :(. no explicit smut in this part. a/n: hiii before anyone yells at me—yes, i know this isn’t the haechan fic i’m supposed to be working on (promise i’m still on it!!) but listen… i went to the smtown concert last week and it fully reignited my delusions, so i wrote this as a coping mechanism :P ik we’ve all been out with friends maybe at a restaurant, and thought, “what if my bias walked in right now?” right?? that’s basically the entire premise of this fic. pretty unrealistic but super fun to write & i hope it’s just as fun to read! also no smut… yall know what that means lol if you want a part 2... just say the word. ps: if you’re ever at an italian restaurant, do yourself a favor and get the gnocchi. trust me.

READ PART 2 HERE

giving up your one free day to cover someone else’s shift wasn’t how you planned to spend saturday. but when your coworker begged with teary eyes and a story about her sick cat, saying no felt impossible.

so instead of sinking into your couch with a pint of chocolate ice cream and pride and prejudice on repeat, you were hustling through a saturday night at one of the city’s busiest restaurants.

it was hour six of your shift and you were at that breaking point where one starts fantasizing about quitting—or at least hiding in the walk-in freezer for five peaceful minutes.

any weekend here was a carnage with nonstop orders, zero patience, and customers who thought yelling would grill a steak faster.

but it was finally past eleven which meant the dinner rush had slowed and the only remaining stragglers were either couples too in love to notice the time or office workers too tired to cook at home. just two more hours, you thought to yourself.

“y/n! table four,” your coworker called, rushing past with a stack of empty plates.

you snapped out of your daze and walked over, expecting tired business executives or another couple feeding each other breadsticks. instead, you made eye contact with the two people you least expected to see here.

mark lee and johnny suh were looking right at you.

your heart dropped to your ass. for a second, you actually considered turning around. but even with your brain buffering, you knew you had to keep it together. the last thing you wanted was to make them uncomfortable.

you stopped beside their table, immediately recognizing the other two who had their backs to you as haechan and jungwoo. internally, you were combusting, but externally you prayed your expression didn’t scream that you were seconds from melting into the floor.

“hi, welcome to cecconi’s,” you said, voice steady enough despite your heart hammering your ribs.

when you handed over their menus, your fingers brushed mark’s briefly and you hoped he didn’t notice you flinch. that’s when you noticed the book peeking out of the front pocket of his hoodie.

you recognized the cover instantly— south of the border, west of the sun by murakami.

you cleared your throat, smiling before you could stop yourself. “that’s a good one.”

mark’s eyes followed where you were pointing and his eyebrows shoot up when he realized “wait… you’ve read this?”

you nodded, trying to be casual, as if you hadn’t picked that book apart alone on your bedroom floor at 2 a.m. two months ago. “i’ve read all of his stuff. but this one was a whole different experience.”

“i literally can’t put it down.” mark said, angling his body to yours with excitement. you could see he was tired but the small talk seemed to give him an energy boost.

“right? anything by murakami makes me feel like i’m eavesdropping on my own memories,” you said, mostly to yourself.

“that’s exactly it!” he said, eyes going wide. “i never knew how to put it into words before.” you had to look away before you got caught smiling at how boyish he looked when he got excited.

the other members stared with amused expressions on their faces, so you quickly straightened up and went back into server mode.

“right… uhm, our special tonight is black truffle gnocchi in a garlic cream reduction, topped with parmesan and chive oil. would you like something to drink while you look over the menu?”

“what kind of beers do you have?” johnny asked, leaning back in his seat.

you rattled off the list, stepping in to point them out on the menu. your hand was visibly shaking, but you hoped they’d chalk it up to general social awkwardness and not the fact that your four favorite idols were sitting in front of you.

“just water for me,” mark said softly. despite his smile, you could clearly hear how strained his voice was.

“great, i’ll bring those right out.”

they must’ve come straight from the venue. tonight’s show—the very one you’d missed because of this shift—had ended less than two hours ago. and now they were here, in your section, eating dinner.

you walked to the bar, filled the glasses as requested except for mark’s. for him, you brewed a mug of hot water, dropped in a slice of lemon, a swirl of honey, and a small nub of ginger. it wasn’t even on the menu but something about his tired eyes and strained voice made you move on instinct.

you brought the tray back with all the drinks, placing them down carefully. when you reached mark, you set the mug in front of him.

“i hope this is okay,” you said quietly. “honey-ginger tea. it’s good for your throat.”

mark blinked, taken off guard. “oh… thank you.” he looked down at the mug, then back up at you. “seriously. that’s really thoughtful.”

you just smiled, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “are you guys ready to order?”

they each placed their orders, nothing too extravagant. jungwoo wanted pasta, johnny asked for a steak medium rare, and haechan—after a dramatic five minute debate with himself—settled on the truffle gnocchi. mark went last.

“can i get the steak medium rare? and the mashed potatoes instead of the fries, if that’s okay,” he asked, glancing up again, voice still carrying that soft exhaustion.

“of course,” you said, jotting it down. “i’ll get those in for you.”

you dropped the order slip at the kitchen window, still feeling weirdly out of sync with your body. it didn’t help that you had to keep circling their table to serve other guests. table five had just ordered dessert, the group behind them needed their wine refilled, and your feet barely touched the floor before you were moving again.

still, awareness prickled at the back of your neck whenever you passed their table.

you turned your head slightly, pretending to scan the room. mark was looking right at you but quickly glanced away, suddenly very invested in the tea in front of him.

you hesitated. maybe they needed something?

smoothing your apron, you walked back to their table. your heart thudded way harder than it needed to, but you managed a smile.

“everything okay here?” you asked.

mark cleared his throat, shaking his head as a faint flush crept up his neck. “we’re good. thanks, though.”

johnny’s lips twitched, and haechan was very clearly hiding a smirk behind his glass.

you smiled again, warmth rising in your chest at how shy he looked. “no worries. food should be out soon.”

back behind the bar, you tried to focus. really, you did. but your eyes kept drifting back to their table. thankfully, they seemed too wrapped up in their conversation to notice. every now and then, though, mark’s gaze would flicker your way.

he’s probably just zoning out, you told yourself. or exhausted, probably both. don’t be weird about it.

still… he kept looking. did you have something on your face? was it obvious you recognized them? god, what if he thought the tea was too much?

you groaned softly and buried your face in your hands when no one was looking.

pull it together, y/n. finish the shift. freak out later.

they are pretty quickly and eventually, their table quieted down. it was past midnight now, and the restaurant was finally starting to shut down. you printed their bill, then hesitated, chewing your lip as your pulse ticked higher.

should i?

this was your shot. it was maybe a little silly and borderline embarrassing, but if you didn’t say something now, you’d regret it forever.

before you could second-guess yourself any more, you scribbled a note at the bottom of the receipt:

"hii, hope this isn’t weird but i’m a really big fan. you’re amazing and i hope you enjoyed your meal and that the tea helped. get some rest tonight! :)"

you took a breath, walked back over, and placed it gently in the center of the table.

“here’s your bill,” you said quietly. “no rush, of course.”

mark looked up first. the smile he gave you was a little tired, but genuine.

“thank you,” he said warmly.

you nodded and stepped away, legs wobbling slightly as you disappeared into the back.

it’s done, you told yourself. no going back now.

as you busied yourself cleaning other tables, you watched from the corner of your eye as they got up. haechan said something that made mark laugh quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your stomach flutter helplessly.

then they were gone.

you waited a few extra minutes before heading over just to be sure. as you cleared the plates, you reached for the bill with your heart already racing, though you told yourself not to expect anything.

but when you opened the leather folder, your breath hitched.

they’d left a generous tip—but that wasn’t what caught your eye. there was something written under your message, a response scribbled quickly in neat handwriting:

"thanks for taking care of us tonight. especially the tea! :)"

followed by a number.

your heart kicked so hard you had to brace a hand on the table edge. there was no name at all, just the number. the ink looked a little smudged near the dash like whoever wrote it had closed the presenter in a hurry.

holy shit.

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it was past one when you finally made it home, hair smelling like garlic butter and burnt steak. the city lay quiet, your apartment even quieter, yet your brain refused to join the calm.

with a tired sigh, you tossed your bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it, fingers still gripping the bill tightly.

you’d reread the message ten times already. the ink was even more smudged now from your fingers, but the number was still clear.

you exhaled loudly, then groaned into a throw pillow.

“what the hell is happening.”

it had to be mark. right? it felt obvious.

then again, maybe another member had simply appreciated the gesture and thanked you on behalf of mark. after all, their handwriting wasn't exactly familiar. you’d seen them a few times on signed albums or online fan letters, but not enough to be certain.

suddenly determined, you sat upright, snapped a quick photo, and zoomed in immediately.

“this is insane,” you muttered.

but that didn’t stop you from opening a tab to search: mark lee handwriting.

this wasn’t your best moment. you were tired, emotionally compromised, and clearly spiraling. still you opened a second tab and went deeper until you were staring at stan twitter handwriting threads for half an hour.

after many more side-by-sides, you sat back and stared at the screen like it could confess to you.

“it looks like his,” you whispered.

just text him. what's the worst that could happen?

the thought alone conjured every embarrassing scenario possible and made you nearly throw your phone across the room. how would you even start that conversation?

“hi, is this mark lee from nct? because i’m lowkey in love with you and i really hope you're the one who left your number at my workplace tonight?”

your heart nearly stopped at the thought. you glanced at the clock again—2:17 a.m.

yeah. no. you needed to lie down. you’d sleep on it. calm down a bit and gain some perspective.

but three days passed.

three whole days. that’s how long you spent agonizing over a single text. you'd written and deleted at least twenty drafts—too casual, too eager, too weird. one even included a joke you cringed at the second you typed it, and deleted just as fast.

he’s probably already back in korea, you reminded yourself while folding napkins at the restaurant on tuesday. fan accounts had posted airport photos before you even got out of bed. mark in a beanie and headphones, eyes puffy with exhaustion.

two more days passed. eventually, courage outweighed dread.

on thursday night, curled up in your pajamas, you stared at the too-bright glow of your phone while netflix asked if you were still watching. just do it, you told yourself. again.

you opened a new message. typed. erased. retyped. your pulse pounded, drowning out mr. darcy’s proposal in the background.

hi! this is y/n, the server from cecconi’s last saturday night. i know you’re probably crazy busy, but i just wanted to say thanks again for coming in. hope you’re resting well :)

it was friendly and not too over the top… right?

you hit send and immediately shoved the phone under your blanket, like that could somehow shield you from the rejection.

an hour passed, then three more, and nothing. you forced yourself to sleep, pretending the tight knot in your chest wasn’t disappointment. the next morning, you checked your phone before even opening both eyes.

still nothing. not even a read receipt.

it’s fine. they were idols. they were busy. you’d waited too long anyway. the group was back in rehearsals, buried in schedules. who had time to answer a text from a random server in another country?

another day passed with no reply. you tried to talk yourself down. maybe it wasn’t even his number. maybe it was a manager’s. maybe his phone was off. maybe international sims are weird. maybe—

“why did you wait so long,” you muttered into the couch, face buried in a pillow.

you were just about ready to let it go when your phone buzzed softly against the coffee table.

your heart nearly launched itself out of your chest. you scrambled for it, almost knocking over the entire table in the process.

a new message.

sorry!! things got crazy once we got back to korea. i’m really glad you texted though. and we’re resting (sort of haha). it’s mark btw :)

you stared at the screen.

read it. then read it again. and again.

warmth flooded your chest. you'd been right.

it was him.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, brain scrambling for something to say. but for the first time in days, all you could do was smile.

you hadn’t realized how easily a single text could flip your whole mood until he replied. you must’ve read that message ten times before you even responded.

somehow, the conversation flowed naturally from there.

it started with casual back-and-forths. he’d talk about the tour, and you about your shifts. it quickly turned more personal though like blurry late-night snack pics from his studio, or mirror selfies of your server fits before dinner rushes.

none of it felt forced. but still… what was this?

you’d be wiping down table six or pulling espresso shots for a regular who never tipped, and suddenly your phone would buzz with a text message.

mark: can’t believe you’ve never seen inception…

you: maybe i was busy having friends

he sent back a string of laughing emojis and a photo of his laptop playing it.

mark: you’re watching it with me next time. no excuses.

next time.

you didn’t know what that meant, but it echoed in your head for the rest of the shift.

by the second week, it wasn’t just texts.

sometimes he’d call when your time zones aligned, and you were both free. once while you were folding laundry. another while he walked home from the studio, breath fogging the cold air as he complained about his busted heater.

“i feel like an old man,” he said once, voice scratchy. “my knees hurt”

“you’re twenty-five.”

“and breaking down.”

you laughed until your stomach hurt. he was quiet for a second, then said, “i like your laugh.”

you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright.

a month later came the first video call.

it was early morning. you were still half-asleep, texting with one eye open, when your screen lit up with a facetime request. you froze.

no makeup. puffy eyes. pimple cream still on your chin. but your fingers accepted the call before your brain could stop you.

he was lying down, hoodie half over his face.

“oh thank god,” he mumbled. “i thought you weren’t gonna pick up.”

“i almost didn’t,” you laughed, pulling the covers up to hide half your face. “you caught me in a vulnerable state.”

his eyes crinkled. “you look cute.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you just tucked your face further into the blanket.

after a few hours, the call fell into a comfortable silence, his eyes starting to flutter shut as you both lay in your respective beds.

you should’ve hung up, but you didn’t. you just stayed on the call, watching him sleep.

video calls became routine after that.

at first, they were short—ten, maybe fifteen minutes. he’d call after practice, his hair a mess, face still damp with sweat. the phone would be propped against his water bottle as he peeled off his hoodie and complained about sore calves.

but the calls started stretching longer. sometimes he was lying on a hotel bed, cheek pressed into the pillow, telling you about his comeback preparations. other times, he wandered through whatever city he was in, showing you the neon signs, quiet side streets, and cafés tucked into corners no tourist would ever find.

“i’ll take you here one day,” he said once, camera panning to a ramen shop. “i mean… if you ever visit.”

you didn’t answer right away. just smiled and pretended the idea didn’t stick in your chest like a pebble you couldn’t shake loose.

you started saving little things throughout the day just to tell him later. customer stories, songs that reminded you of him, strange headlines you knew would make him laugh. without realizing it, your brain made notes labeled tell mark this later.

he did the same. he sent you photos of whatever snack he was eating on set, told you about a dream where you both worked in a space bakery, asked what you thought of new songs he was writing. he never sent full demos, just a few seconds here and there—but it still felt intimate.

you started noticing things you hadn’t, even after all your years as a fan. how he bit the soft skin of his knuckles when he was anxious or the fact that he brushed his teeth for 6 minutes (yes, you counted).

neither of you brought up what this was. and maybe that was okay.

still, on some nights, you’d wonder does he text other people like this? has he done this before, video calls, sleepy laughter and quietly sharing his day?

you never asked.

you didn’t want to ruin the quiet magic of it all by needing too much too soon.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

mark eased you into his life bit by bit.

on a random thursday night, you were sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok when your phone buzzed. you smiled automatically when you saw his name and hit accept.

but it wasn’t him when the call connected.

“yo! she’s real!” johnny’s voice boomed through the speaker, far too loud and way too amused.

you blinked. “wait—what?”

the screen shook as mark scrambled to get the phone back. “okay, okay, stop—hyung, give it back!”

“nice to meet you,” jungwoo added brightly in the background. “finally!”

haechan’s face popped into view next. he hovered close to the camera, flashing a crooked grin. “she’s the one, right? the reason he’s always giggling at his phone like a loser.”

they were all speaking in korean, except for johnny—who made sure you caught the gist. you weren’t fluent, but you knew enough to piece it together. their tone said a lot, anyway.

“what did he say?” you asked, laughing nervously.

johnny leaned in. “he said mark’s obsessed with you.”

mark groaned in the background. “don’t translate that.”

“he talks about you,” haechan added in english, still half-hiding behind jungwoo but clearly enjoying himself. “all. the. time.”

you stared at the screen, wide-eyed, face already burning. “oh god—wait, we just—”

“aigoo, she’s cute,” jungwoo said with a grin, nudging haechan’s shoulder. “mark, you’re done for.”

mark finally got his phone back, his flushed face filling the screen. he was breathless from laughing.

“i’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “that was… i didn’t mean for that to happen.”

you were still blushing but grinning too. “so you talk about me all the time?”

he covered his face with one hand. “please. don’t start, they won’t let me live this down”

after that night, it became a running thing. sometimes you’d call just to talk to mark and end up ambushed by his members. taeyong once popped into frame with a plate of fruit, offering you a piece through the screen like you could actually take it. “for energy,” he said in halting English, then smiled and wandered off.

chenle appeared a few times asking random questions as if you’d been friends forever, one time he asked “do you like mark as much as he likes you?”

you sputtered something while mark tried (and failed) to shut him up.

renjun showed up once too, squinting at the screen. “so this is the girl,” he said, then walked off dramatically without another word.

it was chaotic, awkward, and constantly embarrassing but it also made your chest ache in the best way. knowing you weren’t some secret he was hiding. you were someone he wanted them to know.

and then one night, a few weeks later, mark called with a different kind of energy.

“guess what?” he said, barely able to sit still.

you blinked at him through the screen. “what?”

“we’re going to the US,” he grinned, and your heart nearly stopped.

“wait, seriously?”

“yeah, for a festival. just one weekend, but i’ll have a couple free days before the flight out. i—” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “i was really hoping i could see you.”

you stared at him, stunned for a second.

“you want to see me?” you asked softly.

“yeah,” he said immediately. “i mean, only if you want to, obviously. i just… i’ve been thinking about it for a while. texting and calling is great but,.. i kind of miss being in the same room as you.”

not just the same city, not just in passing. but in the same room with you.

you swallowed past the nerves bubbling up in your chest and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i want that too.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you tried for tickets the second they went live.

you had alarms set, several tabs open, your card ready. but none of it mattered…

they sold out in minutes.

you stared at the screen in disbelief, refreshing the page over and over hoping the outcome would change. it didn’t. your chest tightened with each failed refresh.

you were so close. and now, you had no idea how to tell mark.

you waited a whole day, thinking they’d release more tickets, maybe someone would resell—but the prices were insane, triple what you could afford, and the longer you waited, the more hopeless it felt.

when he finally called you that night, you tried to act normal for about ten seconds before it all came spilling out.

“i didn’t get tickets,” you said, voice cracking before you could stop it. “they sold out so fast and now the only ones left are like impossible. and i know you’re going to be super busy and probably won’t be able to meet up anyway, but i was really looking forward to seeing you perform, and now i don’t even know if i’ll get to see you at all—”

“hey, hey, slow down.” mark’s voice was soft. “breathe, y/n.”

you inhaled shakily, pressing your forehead to your knee, curled up on the couch. “sorry. i just… i really wanted to be there.”

“i know,” he said gently. “and i want you there too.”

you went quiet, biting the inside of your cheek.

“but we’ll figure something out, okay?” mark continued. “don’t stress about it too much. just… trust me a little.”

“what do you mean…,” you said slowly, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckled. “nothing. just saying... maybe don’t give up hope yet.”

you narrowed your eyes at your phone. “you’re being cryptic.”

“am i?” he said, way too innocently.

you groaned into your pillow. “don’t do this to me.”

“i’m not doing anything,” he replied. “just... keep the day of the festival open, okay?”

you wanted to press him, but the look in his eyes was too confident. so you nodded slowly, heart still a little heavy but soothed by the warmth in his voice.

the day they landed in the US, you got the call while brushing your teeth.

your phone lit up with his name, and you answered with a mouthful of foam, spitting it out quickly as you mumbled, “hey, did you land?”

“we did,” mark said, voice laced with excitement. “and i have good news.”

“what?”

“a car’s going to pick you up the day of the show,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “my team helped sort it out. we wanted to make sure you’d be there.”

you blinked, wide-eyed, toothbrush still in hand. “wait what? you—what do you mean? mark—”

“you’re coming to the festival, y/n. you’re not missing this. not if i can help it.”

you clutched your phone, stunned into silence, overwhelmed by how much care he’d tucked into those few words.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i know,” he interrupted, voice softer now. “but i wanted to.”

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you’d never felt more nervous getting ready for anything in your entire life. not for job interviews, not for first dates, not even for a final exam. nothing compared to the fluttering anxiety buzzing in your chest right now.

it was almost ridiculous how much effort you'd put in. your hair was carefully styled in waves that took you half an hour to do, your makeup was done and redone multiple times until you finally settled on something subtle but pretty. your outfit had taken ages to choose, you didn’t want to look too casual but also didn’t want to make it seem like you were trying too hard. so you settled for a regular black skirt and a white long sleeved top, it was comfortable but not boring. you wanted to look good, even though mark had already seen you at your most tired, sweaty, and disheveled.

the car arrived precisely at the time mark had promised. your heart jumped to your throat when the driver opened the door for you, offering a polite nod.

your hands trembled slightly in your lap the entire ride to the venue. you felt giddy, overwhelmed, and deeply nervous all at once.

but when you finally arrived, the excitement abruptly shifted into self-awareness. several staff members glanced at you warily, some whispering to each other and throwing quick looks your way. suddenly, you felt very out of place, shrinking slightly under their scrutinizing gazes.

“excuse me,” came a sharp voice behind you. you turned around to see a woman approaching, her expression serious, a clipboard held firmly in her hands. “you must be y/n?”

“yes,” you replied nervously.

“there are some documents you'll need to sign,” she informed you.

“documents? like—”

“standard NDAs, confidentiality agreements, liability waivers,” she cut in and handed you a clipboard, flipping briskly through pages filled with dense legal text. “you'll need to sign these before we move forward.”

you stood frozen for a moment, feeling incredibly naive and small as reality hit you like a slap to the face. you’d let yourself get carried away, almost forgetting who exactly mark was—who exactly these people were. they weren't just regular guys; they were idols, celebrities, people with management teams and carefully guarded images.

this was serious and you had somehow underestimated all of it.

the woman noticed your hesitation, her expression softening just a fraction. “it’s standard procedure,” she said, “mark personally asked us to ensure you’re comfortable, but we need to protect everyone involved.”

“okay,” you whispered shakily, taking the pen from her hand. your fingers felt numb as you signed, barely registering the words printed on the paper.

once the woman was satisfied, she took the clipboard back, nodded curtly, and gestured for you to follow her. your heart thundered in your chest as you walked through the busy hallway.

then she stopped in front of a dressing room door, knocking sharply once before opening it slightly. “mark? your guest is here.”

you held your breath as the door slowly swung open, your pulse so loud you could hardly hear anything else.

mark appeared in the doorway, eyes widening slightly as he took you in. suddenly, all the anxiety, paperwork, and awkwardness faded into the background. his expression softened immediately, that familiar warmth returning as his eyes crinkled in a gentl smile.

“hey,” he breathed softly, clearly just as relieved to see you as you were to see him. “you made it.”

mark steps fully into the hallway, blocking the view of the bustling green-room behind him. for half a beat you both just stare, soaking in the fact that you’re finally sharing the same oxygen again instead of pixels on a phone screen.

“wow…” he breathes, cheeks coloring as his eyes scan you. “you look so—” he catches himself, smiles sheepishly, and opens his arms. “can i?”

you nod before your brain supplies coherent language, letting him tug you forward. the hug is quick—he’s hyper-aware of everyone around you—but his hand stays at your elbow afterward, grounding you.

“sorry about the fuss,” he murmurs, voice pitched low so only you can hear.

“it’s okay… just a bit intense.”

“i know.” his thumb sweeps a tiny circle on your sleeve. “but you’re here now. c’mon, the guys are waiting.”

when you walk inside the room is buzzing with energy. there’s stylists zipping garment bags, a makeup artist following jungwoo around to touch up his lips, haechan drumming on a folding table with two half-empty water bottles. the second he spots you, his face splits into a grin.

“look who made it!” he crows, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “mark’s special guest.”

johnny swivels in a chair. “oh, the infamous y/n at last.” he stands, offering a hand that turns into a gentle half-hug when you take it. “nice seeing you again.”

jungwoo waves from a corner, cheeks puffed with gummy bears. “hi! mark’s talked a lot about you,” he says around the candy.

mark groans. “ignore them, they’ve been insufferable since i told them you were coming.”

“insufferable?” haechan clutches his chest theatrically. “hyung, we’re just supporting your relationship!”

you feel your face go nuclear. “it’s not— we’re just—”

“friends,” mark supplies, shooting haechan a warning glance. but the tips of his ears have gone pink, and the little smile tugging at his mouth totally betrays him.

johnny leans closer, whispering, “lies, he’s always grinnung at his phone like a middle schooler whenever you talk.”

you let out a mortified laugh that turns into a squeak when mark nudges johnny away. “we have to be on stage in ten minutes, maybe focus?”

jungwoo claps. “right! you can watch backstage with staff.”

an assistant appears then, handing mark an in-ear pack. he hesitates, then squeezes your hand once before following the others toward wardrobe.

“sorry i gotta get dressed,” he says over his shoulder, “see you in a bit.”

you exhale for the first time since stepping off the car, pulse finally settling as the door swings shut. you tuck a stray hair behind your ear, catching your reflection in a vanity mirror. your cheeks are flushed and there’s a stunned little smile on your lips.

the staff member that escorted you in approaches again, her expression now more polite but still distant as she walks you down a narrow hallway. “you’ll be watching from here,” she explains as you reach a curtained-off section just beside the stage entrance.

the space is just wide enough for a couple of folding chairs, and a monitor showing the stage feed. even through the curtain, you can hear the low rumble of the crowd growing louder by the second—cheers, screams, the crowd chanting “ilichil, we love you!”

you perch at the edge of a chair, feeling entirely out of place and wildly overwhelmed.

what am i even doing here?

this wasn’t some fantasy anymore. you weren’t watching fancams in your pajamas or whispering to your screen during late-night video calls. you were backstage, in their world, and everyone around you belonged to it except you.

you looked down at your outfit again, smoothing invisible wrinkles, suddenly doubting every choice you’d made that morning. your nails, your shoes, even the way you’d done your eyeliner. it all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

a soft noise pulls your attention back to the side curtain. one of the stylists slips through, handing off a mic pack to someone just outside your view. you recognize mark’s voice quickly.

he’s laughing at something jungwoo said, but even through the laughter you can hear the edge of nerves in his voice. it makes you feel… less alone in your own.

you peek around the edge of the curtain. they’re all gathered near the wings, adjusting their in-ears and bouncing on their heels to shake out last-minute jitters. mark’s back is turned at first, but then he glances over his shoulder almost like he can feel your eyes on him.

your breath catches when his gaze finds yours. through all the chaos and noise, his eyes meet yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t wave or call out—he just smiles.

he turns back as staff starts to guide them toward the entrance tunnel, and you’re left sitting there with your heart doing an unholy rhythm in your chest.

you hadn’t expected this, the building pressure in your chest, the way your emotions feel too big to hold.

but underneath all of it, layered between the nerves and the noise inside your own head, there’s a flicker of anticipation.

he’s just a few feet away now. he’s about to be on stage, doing what he was born to do, and you’ll be right here, watching not just as a fan anymore.

but as someone who matters to him.

the stage lights cut to black, and the low hum of the backing track pulses through the arena like a heartbeat. from your narrow perch in the wings you can feel the vibration under your soles, a physical reminder that this isn’t a dream.

a lone spotlight slices across the darkness—jungwoo steps into it, and the crowd erupts. the boys fan out behind him in practiced formation.

mark is near the center, head lowered, hand cupped over his earpiece as he settles into position. you’ve watched this opening on countless fancams, but up close everything is magnified: the hiss of their in-ears, the snap of jacket fabric when they turn, the ragged inhale before the first line.

johnny’s deep vocal rolls out, haechan answers with his bright harmony, and suddenly the whole place is singing along..

mark’s part hits next. he steps forward, eyes scanning the sea of faces before flicking to you. it’s only a second, a brush of attention so quick the crowd would never catch it, but it lands like a spark in your lungs. he grins, then pivots into choreography.

you never understood how performers could look both effortless and deadly focused until now. sweat beads at their hairlines within minutes, but they don’t miss a beat. haechan riffs a playful ad-lib, doyoung shoots him a mock glare, johnny laughs into his mic; the crowd screams, drunk on the interaction.

halfway through the set, they perform gold dust as a surprise, the stage lights go yellow. mark moves to the far edge closer to you and delivers his verse straight ahead. but on his last bar he tilts his head, eyes skimming the shadows where you’re standing. his voice drops into that warm, gritty register you know too well from late-night calls, and despite the roar of the arena the moment feels impossibly intimate.

you tuck your hands under your arms, trying to calm the goosebumps, but the sheer thrill of seeing him own that stage while still tossing these tiny pieces of himself your way is overwhelming.

the final song explodes in confetti cannons. the boys hit their last pose, breathing hard, grinning wide. the screams from the audience are deafening; even the backstage staff exchange awed looks.

mark bows with the others, shouting “thank you!” into his mic, but as they turn to exit he catches your gaze one more time. he taps two fingers against his chest, then points subtly toward the hallway where you’re waiting and mouths the words stay right there, i’ll find you.

and you waited exactly where he told you to.

or… at least tried to.

but the moment the boys disappeared off stage, chaos swallowed everything whole. several stagehands rushed past with crates, wires and gear flying in every direction, staff barking orders into walkies while backup dancers and security weaved in and out of the narrow corridors.

you stepped back into the corner, trying not to get trampled, but every second you waited the crowd thickened, people shouting over each other, crew passing by so quickly that you were bumped into more than once. you caught glimpses of the members being swept off into different directions—haechan laughing breathlessly with a towel around his neck, johnny taking a water bottle from someone. but there was no sight of mark.

“you can’t stand here,” someone snaps, grabbing your elbow and steering you quickly away. “please, move along.”

“wait, i was supposed to—” you start, but your protest drowns in the noise as you’re guided through the maze of corridors.

you glance over your shoulder anxiously, panic rising in your throat. mark said he’d find you but you don’t even know where you’re going.

the staff member stops abruptly near a back exit, where a van is parked outside the open door. he gestures hurriedly. “wait in there, please. someone will be with you shortly.”

before you can question it, he’s already vanished back into the building. hesitantly, you climb into the empty van, settling awkwardly on the leather seat. not even a minute later your phone buzzes with a text from mark.

mark: where are you??? backstage is insane, i can’t find you.

you quickly reply: someone moved me to a van near the back entrance?

your heart pounds as minutes stretch into eternity and doubt starts gnawing at you—they will probably film some behind the scenes content now, interviews, livestreams, what if he doesn’t have time to find you before he’s sent away?

but just as anxiety peaks, the van door suddenly slides open. your eyes widen as mark appears, breathing heavily like he ran to reach you, his stage makeup slightly smudged, hair damp and tousled from the performance. he sighs in relief, shoulders visibly relaxing the second he sees you.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes, climbing quickly into the van and closing the door behind him. “i was so worried. everything okay?”

“yeah, it was just really hectic—” you start, but your words fade as he sits beside you, closer than you’ve ever really been. close enough that you can see the faint glitter along his jaw, the sweat glistening at his temples, the warmth in his gaze as it settles fully on your face.

“you were incredible out there,” you say softly. “i’ve never… it’s different seeing it up close.”

his cheeks pink despite the post-performance flush. “i kept looking for you.”

“i noticed,” you admit, smiling.

mark’s gaze drops to your hands twisting in your lap and he reaches out.

“thanks for being here,” he murmurs.

your laugh is a shaky exhale. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“also…the NDA,” he starts quietly. “i didn’t want you to feel like i was cornering you into some weird situation. that’s not what this is.”

“mark, i didn’t think that. i mean—it was overwhelming, yeah, but i get it. you’re…” you gesture helplessly. “you.”

he laughs softly, but there’s no real humor behind it. “i hate it. you know, not being able to just… hang out with you. not having the freedom to do normal things, like… i don’t know—go get coffee or show you the city or tell people about you without it turning into a whole thing.”

“is that what this is? am i…” you hesitate. “something you’d want to tell people about?”

he looks up at you, and there’s not a trace of hesitation when he says, “yes. i think about it all the time.”

you blink, throat suddenly dry.

he leans in slightly. “i just… i didn’t want you to think i was trying to make you sign your silence just so i could keep you a secret. it’s not about hiding you. it’s about protecting something that means a lot to me.”

and there it is. the part he hadn’t said yet.

you mean a lot to him.

your chest tightens with the weight of being chosen in a world that doesn’t make space for this kind of closeness, that demands boundaries, a good image and clean lines drawn in ink. and yet here he is, blurring those lines for you.

“thank you for saying that,” you murmur, voice trembling a little. “i didn’t realize how much i needed to hear it.”

mark reaches across the space then, taking your other hand. “i don’t want this to feel like you’re walking on eggshells because of my life. i want it to feel real.”

your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

“it already does,” you whisper.

and when he finally closes the distance between you, pulling you into a quiet, careful hug, it feels so right.

his arms wrap around you and for a second the world outside the van ceases to exist. he’s warm even through his stage jacket, you can feel his heartbeat thudding fast against your cheek. you breathe him in, clean sweat and fabric softener.

when he pulls back, he doesn’t release your hand. his thumb brushes lazy paths over your knuckles.

“i kept picturing this,” he admits quietly. “all week. wondering if it would feel the same in person as it did in my head.”

“and?” you whisper.

“it’s even better,” he says without hesitation.

he shifts slightly, the space between you rapidly shrinking. his gaze flickers briefly down to your lips, and the movement sends your pulse racing.

“mark,” you whisper, voice barely audible, “i—”

his other hand gently finds your cheek, thumb tracing lightly along your skin, tipping your chin up just a fraction. he searches your face, breathing shallow and eyes heavy with something soft and vulnerable.

you lean in instinctively, eyes fluttering closed as his breath ghosts warm over your lips—

and then the van door suddenly swings open, a burst of noise and harsh backstage lighting flooding in.

“mark hyung, manager hyung says—oh shit.” haechan freezes halfway inside the doorway. “ohhh, sorry… was i interrupting something?”

mark jerks back, cheeks blazing crimson as his hand quickly leaves your cheek and lands awkwardly in his lap. “dude, are you serious?” he groans, dropping his head with a sigh and muttering a very un-idol-like curse word.

you cover your mouth, laughing breathlessly through the embarrassment even as your pulse continues hammering in your ears.

“sorry, sorry,” haechan says, grinning wickedly, clearly not sorry at all. “but uh, we gotta go. manager hyung’s freaking out. we got an interview, hurry up.”

“yeah. coming.” he searches your face, apology written in his eyes “they’ll herd us to the hotel soon. can you wait a little longer? i want to ride with you after they clear the crowd.”

you nod, trying to ignore the throb of almost-kiss still sparking across your lips. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“give me twenty minutes tops, and then i’m kidnapping you for actual food.”

“bold of you to assume i’d say no.”

as he slips out, you catch the faintest curve of a smile before the door thuds shut and you’re alone again.

thirty minutes later, mark slips back into the van. this time freshly changed, hair still damp but swept under a dark cap.

“sorry that took forever.” he drops into the seat opposite you, knee bouncing with leftover adrenaline. “do you wanna come meet the other members properly before we leave?”

you follow him back through a quieter service corridor to a smaller green room that smells heavily like hair spray. inside, half the members are sprawled on sofas in various states of post-show exhaustion. the energy shifts the second mark ushers you in.

“guys, this is y/n,” he says.

taeyong shoots up first, hand extended. “the legend herself,” he jokes, grinning wide enough to prove he’s still riding his performance high. jaehyun offers a shy wave and drags over a chair so you won’t have to hover. yuta, also walks over and introduces himself politely.

doyoung is the only one who stays seated, arms folded. his eyes flick between you and mark, assessing. it lasts all of three seconds before he notices how relaxed mark looks—those shoulders that usually sit somewhere near his ears are loose, his smile easy. doyoung’s expression softens.

“thanks for cheering him up,” he says quietly, a little sheepish. “he’s been impossible the last few weeks.” the tease lands gentle, and mark flicks a sweat towel at him in retaliation.

the small talk bubbles up easily. the topic shifting from favorite festival moments, to whose in-ears cut out, and the confetti that caught in doyoung’s mouth during a high note. the atmosphere is warm and surprisingly normal, until a manager pops his head in to remind everyone they’ve got early rehearsals tomorrow.

mark steers you quickly back to the van after saying a quick goodbye.

“so…” he ran a hand through his hair and put his hat back on. “food?”

“please,” you groaned, head falling back against the seat. “i’m starving.”

“wanna go to a restaurant?” he offered.

you winced. “too risky.”

he nodded slowly. “true, my hotel’s worse.”

you turned your head to face him. “sasaengs?”

“they wait outside sometimes, follow the vans from the venue” he trailed off, already looking annoyed with the reality of it.

“we could…” you swallow, then barrel through. “we could go to my place? it’s not far, and no one knows where i live. we can order in.”

mark’s head tilts, surprised but already nodding. “are you sure?”

“only if you’re okay hiding out in a tiny apartment that smells like scented candles and stale coffee.”

he smiles brightly. “sounds perfect.”

you rattle off your address to the driver, heart hammering as you drive through the city. mark’s knee bumps yours every time the van hits a pothole, but neither of you moves away.

he glances over. “thank you for trusting me with your space.”

you breathe out a shaky laugh. “thank you for trusting me with… all of this.”

his fingers brush yours on the seat between you. outside, the van slows to a stop at your curb. the driver kills the lights for discretion. thankfully, the street is empty.

you turn to mark, pulse racing for an entirely new reason now. “welcome to my part of the world.”

he grins, tugging his cap lower and reaching for the door handle. “lead the way.”

your apartment is small, cluttered with book stacks and half-burned candles, but it’s yours—and when mark steps in, slipping off his shoes at the door like he’s done it a hundred times, it feels suddenly, impossibly domestic.

“so,” he murmurs, looking around with quiet curiosity. “what’s good for takeout around here?”

you settle on thai food after a chaotic five-minute debate that ends with mark looking up from your couch and going, “okay but do you trust me with your spice tolerance?”

you blink at him. “mark. i watched you cry eating jalapeño chips during that one livestream.”

“they were ghost pepper!” he defends, slightly pouting. “and i didn’t cry, my eyes were just... dry.”

you giggle and the tension that had followed you into the apartment fades with it.

while you wait for the food, he wanders around your space with curiosity. never touching too much, just observing. he stops at your bookcase, smiles at the titles stacked sideways, fingers brushing one of the cracked spines.

“so this is where you’ve been calling from,” he says as he returns to the couch, flopping down beside you. “it’s cozy.”

“that’s code for small, right?”

he tilts his head, grinning softly. “no. cozy means i don’t want to leave.”

you glance over at him, heartbeat spiking in your throat. his hoodie’s a little rumpled from the ride, cap tossed somewhere by your front door, and he’s leaned so close your shoulders brush.

“you’re kind of the only boy who’s ever said that,” you murmur.

“then they’re idiots.”

your lips twitch with a smile. mark leans his head back on the cushion, you get distracted by the cute bump on his nose and the lines of his jaw.

you both fall quiet for a while, your legs stretched out beside his on the couch, ankles knocking occasionally. your body relaxes more than you expect, as if it remembers this feeling from all those calls and imaginary versions of this moment.

when the takeout finally arrives, you both eat cross-legged on the couch, plastic containers open between you, your playlist humming low in the background.

you talk through mouthfuls of noodles about everything and nothing—his weird craving for peaches whenever he’s overseas, your childhood phase of putting ketchup on rice, how you both secretly judge people who don’t rewind movies when they pause.

somewhere between “i really miss my mom’s kimchi stew” and your story about the nightmare customer who demanded gluten-free breadsticks, your shoulders touch. a minute later his arm slips along the back of the couch, fingers grazing your shoulder each time he shifts. your nerves fizz under your skin, but the contact feels safe.

You lean into him. He doesn’t move away.

the conversation slows and when you glance up to make a joke, your nose brushes the edge of his jaw. his breath hitches at this, then a warm hand settles on your knee.

“this feels…” he starts, swallowing. “kinda unreal.”

“yeah.” a whisper—because your voice has gone missing.

his palm lifts to your cheek, thumb soft against your skin. “can I kiss you?”

you’re already nodding.

the first kiss is shy and careful, more smile than pressure. The next slips deeper, mouths moving in a lazy rhythm neither of you rush. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie; his other hand skims your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the quiet drum of his heart.

eventually the couch gets too cramped. mark breaks the kiss with a sheepish laugh. “my back is dying,” he murmurs.

you tug him down the hall to your room, giggling when he nearly trips on a sneaker. he perches on the edge of the bed and you climb into his lap without thinking, legs draped around him. his hands settle on your hips and he sighs.

“i really, really like you,” he says, forehead resting against yours.

“i like you too. a lot.”

he kisses you again. you spend the next half hour like that, trading soft laughs and softer kisses until the adrenaline drains from his limbs. head falls heavy on your shoulder, he mumbles something about the best night of his life…and falls asleep mid-sentence.

You ease him back onto the pillows, kick off your skirt, and curl into the space beneath his arm. One leg hooks over yours; his hand rests at the small of your back, protective even in sleep.

it’s the tenth call that finally wakes him the next morning.

mark groans into your pillow, dragging his phone blindly toward his face. “what…”

a second goes by and then he jolts upright. “shit. shit.”

you blink groggily, one arm reaching out for him. “what’s wrong?”

he’s already stumbling for his shirt which he doesn’t even remember taking off last nigh. “i slept in. i never—fuck, i never sleep in.”

you sit up slowly, watching him try to shove his hat over tousled hair while checking his phone. “i have like ten missed calls.”

he answers the incoming call hurriedly, voice tense and apologetic. “yeah, i’m sorry, i know… i’m on my way now, just got… held up. i’ll explain later.”

he glances down at you then, taking in your messy hair, swollen lips and sleepy eyes, and the look on his face softens just a little.

when he finally hangs up, he rushes back to your side, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i gotta run, but i'll text you as soon as i can. i promise.”

you smile sleepily up at him, already missing the warmth of his body against yours. “go. don’t get in trouble.”

he pauses briefly before leaving. “last night was… perfect. thank you.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you to curl back into your pillow, still feeling the ghost of his touch and the lingering warmth of everything you shared.

#smtown live ruined my life guys #did i project? maybe #slow burn (kinda)#mark lee x y/n #mark lee x you #mark lee x reader #mark lee fic #mark lee fanfic #nct x y/n #nct x you #nct 127 x reader #nct mark fluff #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fic #nct x reader #nct mark x reader

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dakusan · 4 days ago

Text

K e e p y o u r e y e o n t h e b a l l — n o , n o t m e .

Kim Seungmin x Reader | summer tension, casual bullying, accidental kiss, no one talks about it

⚾Synopsis: You’ve been best friends with Kim Seungmin long enough to survive his dry sarcasm, brutal honesty, and aggressively passionate love for the Giants. But when a summer afternoon spirals into an impromptu baseball lesson, things start to feel... different. You can’t swing to save your life. He can’t seem to stop smiling at you. Between missed pitches, bad jokes, and one very accidental kiss, something shifts. Neither of you says anything about it. But maybe it’s time to stop pretending you’re just playing around.

💌a/n: THIS WAS REQUESTED BY 🐈 ANON. i really hope you like itttttt !!!!! 😭😭 this was supposed to be light fluff and then it became “he catches you mid-fall and almost confesses with his eyes” and honestly?? worth it. summer baseball bestie chaos supremacy. thank you for reading ily <3 p.s. reblogs feed my delulu and your support keeps this bat-swinging loser going p.p.s. if you want a part 2 where someone finally cracks and kisses for real, you know what to do 👀

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎧 » Love me or Leave Me — DAY6 « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:43 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

You and Seungmin have been best friends since the first year of university—bonded over a shared love of sarcastic comebacks, matching dark academia pens, and the mutual hatred of your professor's existence.

Somewhere between project deadlines and late-night ramen runs, the friendship just... stuck. He became the person who knew your order before you said it, who memorized your fake laugh vs your real one. You became the person who knew when he needed space and when he needed someone to sit in that space, quietly, next to him.

And yes, you’ve had fights. He still won’t forgive you for liking the wrong baseball team.

“Wrong” being... anyone but the Giants.

You wore a cap from their rival team once to school—on purpose—and he refused to look at you the entire day. Wouldn’t even speak to you in third period.

Now, it’s summer. Classes and exams are over. You’re sprawled across the sunlit steps of a neighbourhood café, sipping iced coffee when you say it.

“Okay, don’t laugh, but... I’ve never actually played baseball.”

You meant it casually. Offhand. But his head turns so fast you wonder if he gave himself whiplash.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Not even in PE? Not even wiffle ball?”

“Not even tee-ball,” you say, grinning. “Are you judging me right now?”

“Absolutely.”

A pause. Then, almost too quickly to seem normal, he says, “Wanna learn?”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

He shrugs. “I’ve got a glove and a bat at home. The field’s, like, two blocks from here. Unless you’re scared.”

“Oh, please. I’m gonna smoke you.”

That gets a scoff. “You don’t even know how to hold a bat.”

“Teach me, then, Coach Kim.”

His mouth quirks. You pretend not to see the way he fights a smile. You always pretend.

Twenty minutes later, the sun’s hanging just low enough to stretch gold across the field. The grass is uneven in places, broken up by dirt patches and lazy summer bugs. A warm breeze skims your skin.

Seungmin stands by the first base line, glove slung over one shoulder, bat in the other. He’s in a sleeveless tee, hair swept up by the wind, and when you walk up wearing his least favourite team’s logo across your chest, he stops mid-step.

“You did not.”

You grin. “What? I figured I’d dress for war.”

“That’s not war,” he mutters. “That’s betrayal.”

“Bold of you to assume I was ever on your side.”

“Oh, you’ll be begging to switch sides once you see how bad you are.”

He tosses you the glove. You catch it with a bit too much flair, which only makes his eyes narrow. “Don’t embarrass me out here, rookie.”

“Who said I’m here for you, Giants boy?”

He rolls his eyes, spins the bat once in his palm, and says it without thinking: “You’re lucky I like you.”

You freeze. He does, too. But then he’s already walking away, toward the pitcher’s mound, calling over his shoulder: “Let’s go, traitor.”

“You really weren’t kidding,” Seungmin says, watching you hold the bat like it personally offended you.

You blink at him. “I am holding it right.”

“No, you’re holding it like it’s a lightsaber.”

“Oh come on, like you wouldn’t join the rebellion.”

He groans. “Okay. That’s it. Give me your hands.”

You expect him to just point. Maybe mimic the movement. What you don’t expect is for him to step in behind you, one arm reaching around your waist, the other curling gently over your hand on the bat.

He’s right there. Not just close—there. You can feel the heat of his chest at your back, the steady rhythm of his breath brushing your temple. One of his hands lightly adjusts your fingers, the other—hesitating for just a second—guides your shoulder into place.

“This is… okay,” he mutters, voice lower now. “Hands stacked. Elbows up. And, um, feet—hold on—”

He shifts one of your feet with his, nudging the side of your sneaker. Your brain has officially stopped functioning. So has his. Because the second he realizes how small your hand is in his, how soft your skin is, how your hair smells like you, he’s absolutely panicking. On the inside. Outside, he’s keeping it together with a perfectly blank expression, but inside?

💥🔥🚨 INTERNAL MELTDOWN 🚨🔥💥

“Okay…” he murmurs, swallowing. “Now just… swing smooth. Like—wait, I’ll show you.”

He moves with you, hips ghosting behind yours, arms guiding your follow-through. His breath stutters just slightly when your back presses against his chest.

You say nothing, just glance over your shoulder—right into his face.

He’s already looking at you. Eyes soft. A little wide.

You’re both suddenly, violently aware of how close your mouths are. You shift a little. So does he.

“Seungmin,” you whisper.

He blinks, like snapping out of a spell. Steps back so fast he nearly stumbles. “You’ve—uh. Got the form now. You’re good.” He clears his throat. “Like. Fine. Whatever.”

You lower the bat, heart thudding. “Did I pass basic training?”

He won’t look at you. “Barely.”

But you catch the flush on his ears and narrow your eyes watching him as you twirl the bat lazily in your hands, pretending not to feel the way your pulse is still echoing in your throat.

Seungmin, meanwhile, looks like he’s trying to reformat his brain in real-time. His voice is flat when he says, “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You square up again, wiggling your fingers dramatically. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

He snorts. “You look like you’re about to summon a Pokémon.”

“Don’t mock me, Coach Kim.”

“Then stop acting like I dragged you here against your will. You volunteered for this.”

“I volunteered to learn,” you shoot back. “Not to be emotionally violated in the form of public athletic humiliation.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Big words for someone who’s about to miss five pitches in a row.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

He jogs to the mound and lines up. You catch him biting the inside of his cheek as he stares you down like he’s trying really hard not to smile. Or combust.

He throws an underhand toss. You swing.

Miss.

“Okay, that one was a practice round—”

“Sure it was.”

“Again!”

Second toss. Swing.

Air.

He blinks. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever seen hold a bat.”

“Say that again and I’ll throw it at you.”

“You’d miss.”

You glare. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The words fly out before you can stop them. His entire face glitches. “Sorry—what?” he calls, hand cupped to his ear, pure evil in his grin. “Didn’t hear that.”

“I said you’re rude!”

“Not what it sounded like—”

“Just pitch, Giants boy!!”

He throws another. You hit the ball this time, barely. It rolls weakly toward the pitcher’s mound. Seungmin watches it. Then looks back at you, utterly unimpressed. “That was so sad I think the bat cried.”

“Shut up—”

You charge him. You don’t mean to. But the embarrassment burns so bad, you sprint forward to hit him with the glove—just once—just enough to wipe the smug look off his stupid beautiful face.

He dodges. Barely. Grabs your wrist before you can swing again. And you both freeze. Your chest heaves. His fingers are around your wrist light but firm. You’re closer than you thought you’d get.

Again.

“You’re kind of a menace,” he murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow. “You like it.”

He doesn’t let go. “Maybe I do.”

And suddenly it’s not a joke anymore. It’s that moment again. Too close. Too quiet. Too something. But this time, you’re the one who pulls back first. “Still hate the Giants,” you say, tossing your glove up and catching it again, acting cool. “And your pitch sucks.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Oh, I already do.”

“Alright, traitor. Bat up. Let’s go again.”

You plant your feet. Raise the bat. Narrow your eyes like you’re staring down a final boss.

Seungmin is unimpressed. “You look like a gremlin trying to lift Thor’s hammer.”

You flip him off with one hand. “Shut it.”

“Not even in the ballpark of intimidating.”

“That’s funny, coming from someone who looks like he skipped leg day for the past four years.”

“Excuse me?” he gasps, hand to chest like you mortally wounded him. “You take that back.”

“Make me.”

He blinks. Then smirks. “Okay.”

He pitches. You swing. You spin in a full 360 and almost fall over.

“OH MY GOD,” Seungmin shouts from the mound, cackling. “YOU SPUN LIKE A BEYBLADE—”

“I slipped!!”

“You whiffed the air like it owed you money!!”

You glare at him as you steady yourself. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Correction: I’m the only reason you haven’t knocked yourself unconscious with that bat.”

“I could knock you unconscious.”

He shrugs. “Try it. I’ll add it to your record of great achievements in failure.”

You make a face. “Wow. You really flirt like this, huh?”

That shuts him up. Only for a second.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpans, walking toward you with a smirk he absolutely did not earn. “This is how I treat all my hopeless causes.”

“Excuse me!?”

“I mean—at this point, we’re not even training. We’re surviving.”

You toss the bat at him. He catches it one-handed, casually. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’ve got the coordination of a baby deer.”

“Do not bring Bambi into this.”

He points the bat at you. “Bambi could out-swing you.”

“Seungmin.”

“I’m just saying—”

You run at him. He yelps, full squeaky scream, and takes off around the bases. You chase him halfway to third before giving up, winded, doubled over from laughing too hard.

He walks back, smug and victorious. “That’s the most cardio you’ve done all year.”

“Shut up, I’m gonna puke.”

“Should I write that on your jersey?”

You flip him off again. He just grins. And—god help you—so do you. But then, even as you are panting, you reach over and snatch the bat out of his hands, staring him down. “I wanna try again.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Even after what just happened?”

You glare. “That doesn’t count.”

He walks a slow circle around you, chin in hand like a judgmental game show host. “Mm. I don’t know. Pretty sure we all witnessed it.”

You point the bat at him. “Seungmin.”

He smirks. “Fine. Try again. For the fans.”

You scowl. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he sings.

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t launch into orbit. He lobs the ball underhand. You swing. Miss. Again.

You turn to him slowly. “Okay. That was—warm up.”

He looks absolutely pained. “I thought you had your warm up.”

You stomp your foot. “Let me go again!!”

Another toss. Another miss.

“You’re… honestly…” he squints, lips twitching, “...kind of iconic for how bad this is.”

You drop the bat to your side, shoulders slumping. “I swear I’m trying,” you say dramatically, pouting. “This is humiliating. I feel like a clown.”

“You’re not a clown,” he says gently.

You blink.

“You’re the whole circus.”

“SEUNGMIN!”

He laughs, hands on his knees, nearly doubled over. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry—I just—your face!!”

You try to tackle him again but your limbs are too weak from giggling, and he easily sidesteps you.

“You’re evil,” you mutter.

“I’m honest.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m your best friend.”

And that, somehow, is the worst part. Because it’s true. Because he is. And you’re still standing there, clutching the bat like it might protect you from how warm he makes you feel.

He steps closer.

You raise your chin. “Fine. One more try. And if I miss again, I’m going home.”

He squints. “Swear?”

You nod solemnly. “Swear.”

He holds out a pinky. You stare. “Dead serious,” he says. “Baseball oath.”

You roll your eyes but loop your pinky around his anyway. “Baseball oath.”

He lets go of your pinky slowly, like it’s something delicate before speaking again. “Alright,” Seungmin says, backing up to the mound. “One more.”

You take a breath. Square your shoulders. Raise the bat.

He watches you with this half-soft, half-smug look on his face—like he’s proud and exasperated at the same time. “Don’t close your eyes this time,” he calls.

“I didn’t—”

“You did, like, two swings ago. Fully flinched like I threw a grenade.”

You grip the bat tighter. “Swear to god, if I hit this, I’m aiming for your face.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried.”

He throws the ball. You swing.

CRACK.

The ball flies. Not far, not pretty—but far enough to count.

You gasp. “OH MY GOD—”

Your body spins with the motion—off-balance, dizzy with adrenaline—and suddenly your foot catches on the dirt. You're stumbling. Tilting sideways. Falling. But Seungmin’s already running. He catches you around the waist just before you hit the ground, arms wrapped tight, pulling you up into him with a soft thud.

Chest to chest. Breathless. Too close.

You blink up at him. He’s already looking at you. His hands still on your waist. Yours braced against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering.

“I—” you start, but the words get tangled in the heat between you.

His gaze drops to your lips. Yours do the same. And without thinking—without meaning to—you lean in. Just a little. Just enough. And so does he. Your lips brush. Barely. A whisper of a kiss. A blink, a breath—then gone.

You both freeze. Wide-eyed. Neither of you moves. The sun dips a little lower. The air goes still.

You open your mouth. He lets go like he’s been burned. “Uh—y-you… you hit the ball,” he says, stumbling a step back. His voice cracks. “That was—good. I mean—you almost died, but still.”

Your cheeks burn. “Thanks, I think?”

He’s staring anywhere but at you. The bleachers, the sky, the base behind you.

You rub the back of your neck, trying not to combust. “So. Um. Did that count as first base, or—?”

Seungmin chokes on nothing. “WHAT—”

You burst into laughter, face hot, adrenaline still buzzing.

He glares. “You’re so annoying.”

“Let’s—uh,” Seungmin suddenly says, way too quickly, clearing his throat like he’s resetting his entire internal system. “One more round. For the road.”

You blink. “Training’s not over?”

“Oh, it should be,” he mutters, turning toward the mound again. “But you’ve still got the hand-eye coordination of a brick.”

“Excuse me—”

He doesn’t respond. Just throws you the ball. You catch it with a little too much force. “You better run,” you warn, winding up.

“I dare you.”

You throw it high and off-center—he still catches it, of course, just to rub it in.

You play for a few more minutes, not really focused on skill anymore. Just tossing the ball, swinging half-heartedly, talking smack. But every time your hands brush as he passes the bat back to you… you both feel it.

The static. The shift.

At one point, you lean forward to scoop a ball from the grass, and when you stand up, he’s right behind you. Not close-close, but… enough. You glance at him. He looks at you.

And nothing happens. And everything does.

Eventually, he claps his hands. “Alright. That’s enough public humiliation for you.”

You sigh dramatically. “Thank god. My dignity was hanging by a thread.”

He hums. “You had dignity?”

You throw the glove at him. He catches it one-handed again like he’s showing off on purpose. You both walk over to the bleachers. The air is cooler now, the sky smeared in amber and pink. You sit a step above him, knees drawn up, chin resting on them.

He tosses you a water bottle without looking.

You catch it. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence.

Then he says, voice low, “You hit the ball. That counts as a win.”

You glance at him. He’s not facing you, just staring out at the field, tapping his knuckles lightly on the step between his knees.

You smile. “Even if I almost ate dirt?”

He huffs. “Especially then.”

Another beat.

You sip your water. He rakes a hand through his hair. The silence is comfortable, almost. Almost. Your leg bumps against his lightly. He doesn’t move.

“I still hate the Giants,” you murmur.

“Good,” he says, glancing sideways at you. “I need something to insult you for.”

You smirk. “Oh, just say you love me and go.”

He looks at you for real this time. And for a second, just a second it almost sounds like he will. But instead he says, “Nah. I’m keeping it in my back pocket for when you strike out in front of actual people.”

You shove his shoulder. He shoves back.

A breeze drifts by, lifting the edge of your shirt sleeve, brushing your forearms. The kind of breeze that says summer’s not over yet, but something else might be starting.

You lean back on your hands, stretch your legs out. “So what now?” you ask, half-lazy, half-curious.

Seungmin shrugs. “Dinner?”

“Are you buying?”

He scoffs. “You’re the one who demanded private lessons and then delivered the most tragic baseball performance in recorded history.”

You shoot him a look. “I hit the ball.”

“Barely. I’m not even sure it moved.”

You kick his shoe lightly. He kicks back, just enough to make you wobble a little on the bench. You nudge his knee with yours again—this time slower, intentional. It lingers. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he glances at you sideways. His tone is easy, almost amused when he says, “If we do dinner, you’re not wearing that cursed team shirt.”

You grin. “Make me.”

A small silence before Seungmin blinks once, then tilts his head. “Alright.”

And finally, he stands. Just like that. Casual. Unbothered. You stay seated, watching him dust dirt from his palms.

“You coming, rookie?” he calls over his shoulder. He’s already walking, the sun catching the edge of his hair, painting him in amber. “Or do I have to carry you?”

You roll your eyes, gather your things, and jog to catch up. You don’t bring it up—the near-kiss, the way he caught you, the way his fingers stayed a little too long. He doesn’t either. But when you fall into step beside him and your hands brush again and he doesn't pull away?

You know. He knows.

It’s not nothing anymore. It just isn’t everything yet. Not yet. But maybe soon.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy , @rainyjeno , @fawnoverdawn , @pixie-felix , @anniestay , @notmeneo , @lovslixx , @themoonlightfae , @heartwithoutaname , @yourghostneighbor , @princesskrystix , @drilles , @y2kur0mi , @mochi-space , @ivaviavi , @phelans-thoughts , @the-anon-reader , @beans4beans56 , @joyfulchaoslover , @channieismylove , @cherryoatchai , @unimportantweirdo , @seagulljk , @freckles-and-rage , @lonelydarknessblog , @girlsymptoms , @bookswillfindyouaway , @jasperlvskz , @geekymommakerry , @dazzlingjade , @alisonyus , @pluto-rose , @crazy4books1 , @b3autyist3rror

#stray kids #skz #kim seungmin #skz x reader #seungmin x reader #skz fluff #seungmin fluff #seungmin stray kids

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zweetpea · 9 months ago

Text

Yandere batfam one shot/imagine thing

I'll probably make a part 2

You met Bruce while you were working as a waitress for a gala. It was a second job to pay rent. Maybe he brought Selina or some other girl or maybe he came alone.

Either way you two end up in a room together and end up sleeping together. Just as you’re pulling on your clothes he asks to see you again. He even offers you a check (let’s say it’s for 500k). You take the money promising to see him again but you don’t for about a year.

After a year of him searching every corner of Gotham he finally finds you. And surprise surprise you have a three month old baby girl.

He goes up to you and begs you to let him be in the baby’s life. After a few weeks of bribes (and him secretly stalking you) you finally make a deal with him. If he works from home he can take care of the baby during the day.

So you brought your baby to the Wayne Manor. You expected maybe a servant or maybe Bruce to answer the door. You were not expecting a young man to open the door. He had short shaggy black hair with an undercut and a K-pop hair style. He stared at you with his piercing blue eyes-

“Tim drake! That’s who you are! I used to love watching your let’s plays! I love your sense of humor!” Tim was surprised. Being the middle child (especially the middle boy) he often feels left behind by his siblings, so having someone notice his accomplishments for once felt nice.

“Drake. What are you looking-” a short boy came up behind the gamer. He had a darker complexion and slicked back black hair with piercing green eyes. You smiled at him and he straight up slammed the door in your and your baby’s face. Your eyes grew wide and your face fell into a scowl.

You heard shuffling from behind the door and when if opened you saw Tim holding the kid by the scruff of his collar as one would do with a misbehaving animal. “Sorry about that Miss.” Tim smiled at you. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I’m going to be late for work. Here give her to Bruce. Her name is Echo.” You give the baby to Tim. “Oh there you go. Support her head now.” You threw the bag in the small rude kids face. “Everything she needs is in there. I’ve left instructions inside for how to take care of her. If she doesn’t eat that much try tickling her tummy. I’ve labeled the extra bottles of her food so if she’s really hungry give her some and if it’s not enough call me I’ll get here as soon as I can. I don’t want her drinking any of that store bought crap. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Tim smiled.

“Good.” You ruffled his hair. Then you turned to the younger boy. “Be good to my baby ya hear? Or else I’ll milk papa Bruce for every penny I can.” You ruffled his hair too. You then kissed your baby and went back to your car.

Tim shut the door and immediately Echo started crying. Bruce and Alfred came running at the noise.

“No… I missed her.” Bruce said. He looked at his three youngest kids. “Hey sweetheart.” Bruce tried to grab Echo. But Tim held her close. Everyone looked at him surprised.

“Father why did that rude lady drop off a baby.” Damian scowled.

“She’s not rude. She’s your future Step Mother.” Bruce smiled at the thought of your and his wedding. “Now Tim, give my baby here. She’s crying.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no?” Bruce seemed flabbergasted.

“She trusted me to hold her child. This is my baby sister.”

“Drake! Give father the baby. She’s being loud.” Damian covered his ears. Echo looked over at him and made a grabby hand gesture at him.

“It looks like she wants Master Damian’s attention.” Alfred pointed out.

“but-” Tim was cut off as Damian took the baby.

Echo’s cries grew quiet as her youngest older sibling held her. While Tim’s obsession with You and Echo became apparent almost immediately, giving him the praise his own family and the Media refused to, Damian’s was slow. It started with someone (echo) actually liking him. After all he went from being showered in attention under Talia’s thumb to being practically ignored at Wayne Manor.

Dick was by far the kindest to Damian, being a mentor to the young boy. But he could still bite back at Damian’s snark. Barbara and Stephanie took none of his crap, to the point where they barely spoke to him. Cass and Duke held no qualms about fighting with a kid. Jason was like a cool big brother and while he wasn’t at the manor often he always made most of his time there focused on the kid. Tim and Damian had a very strained relationship. And while Bruce loves Damian there’s always a bit of strain, and guilt on Bruce’s part. If he’d stayed with Talia maybe Damian wouldn’t have to grow up in a cesspool of Violence and mental agony.

“Back to your old ways of not wearing protection father?” Damian smirked.

“Damian… give me my Daughter.” Bruce said gently but firmly.

“Its nice to know you fought for her more than you fought for me. Though to be fair to you Ummi did shove us together.” He snarked as he held the baby who’d fallen asleep. Bruce went to grab her but Damian stepped back. “Ah ta ta. You wouldn’t want to disturb her right?” Damian smirked.

Over the next few hours Damian was mainly the one taking care of Echo if only to stop her from crying.

And at the end of the day when you finally got off work to pick up your sweet baby you were surprised to see Bruce, Damian, and Tim all playing with her in the living room. (What was more surprising was that her attention was mainly focused on the brat from this morning Damian.) She cooed as she saw you and you rushed to pick her up and gather her things into her bag.

Damian glared at you as you took Echo from his borderline iron clad grip. Who were you to take his sister, his blood sister mind you, away form him? (Her mother but we're not going to get into that right now.)

"Sweetness how about you just slow down. I'll have Alfred prepare you a drink. Which kind of tea do you like more Earl Gray or Jasmine." Bruce smiled and twiddled a piece of your hair in his hand.

You smacked his hand away. "No thank you. My baby and I need to get home." You said and quickly hurried out of there.

"Father you can't let her leave!" Damian said.

"Yeah! Don't you want that nice lady to be your wife?" Tim agreed.

"I was talking about Echo." Damian deadpanned.

Bruce ruffled both their heads. "Patience boys. Have a little faith in your old man." He smiled as you walked away. Before the month was out he'd have you and echo safely tucked away in his arms in the deepest recesses of Wayne Manor.

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bruisedboys · 11 days ago

Note

can you make a part 2 to the daeho fic you posted where him and the reader get closer as the games go on? 🥹 it was so good im obsessed!!

worth protecting — kang daeho

daeho makes it his mission to protect shy!you during the games. as a result, a connection begins to grow between the two of you. this is a part 2 but can be read on its own!

part 1 | part 2

note: thank you lovely anon! I’m so happy u requested because I needed an excuse to write a 2nd part hehe. bit of a disclaimer, thanos is a bully in this but only for the plot lol

kang dae-ho x shy!fem!reader, fluff, overprotective dae-ho, 3.7k words

—

You sit by yourself, knees pulled to your chest, trying to look as small as possible.

The guards have taken some of the men to the bathrooms. The rest of your team from the second game — Dae-ho, Jung-bae, Young-il, and Gi-hun — went with them. Dae-ho had hesitated, not wanting to leave you on your own, but you’d assured him you’d be fine.

You’re starting to doubt your own judgement. You feel as if all the eyes in the room are on you. They aren’t, of course, but you are the only one sitting by yourself, so you feel quite vulnerable. It doesn’t help that your team had been the last ones to complete the second game, and when you’d returned to the main room after completing it, nobody in the room looked very happy to see you.

You’re so preoccupied with trying to seem as small and insignificant as possible that you don’t notice a certain somebody approaching you. It’s not until you see his shoes come into view that you realise you’ve been cornered.

“Hey. Señorita.”

You recognise the voice. It’s Thanos, the obnoxious rapper with purple hair and an obvious drug problem. Another set of shoes join his, and you assume it’s Nam-gyu, the man who’s been glued to Thanos’ side since the first day. Your traitorous heart starts to pound in your chest.

“Don’t ignore me,” Thanos drawls, when you don’t look up. You can hear the amused grin in his voice. One of his hands comes into view and he gestures for you to look up with two ringed fingers, “C’mon, look at me.”

You obey, worried about what he’ll do to you if you don’t do what he wants. Thanos and Nam-gyu loom over you, wearing twin mischievous grins.

“There’s your pretty face,” Thanos muses, nodding to himself. He looks over his shoulder at Nam-gyu. “Isn’t she pretty?”

Nam-gyu nods. “Oh, yeah. Where’s the rest of your team, gorgeous?”

You don’t dare to open your mouth. You’re not sure what will come out if you do. You glance around the room, looking for someone, anyone who might help you. But your only friends aren’t back yet, and nobody else is paying attention to you. You suppose this is what you get for purposefully making yourself unnoticeable.

Thanos laughs harshly at your silence. He bends over you, bringing one foot to rest on the metal platform just below the one you’re sitting on.

“They left you behind, huh?” He says, leaning forward so his face is uncomfortably close to yours. “Don’t worry. You can join Team Thanos.” He gestures to himself with both hands, smug. “We’ve got plenty of room for pretty girls like you.”

You shake your head, and finally manage to find your voice.

“No, thanks. I’m happy with my team,” you say, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

Thanos scoffs, a look of disbelief twisting his features. Nam-gyu scoffs as well, cursing under his breath before leaning into your space as well.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, running a hand through his greasy hair and smirking at you. “Leave that nutjob and come join us. Please?”

Nam-gyu clasps his hands in front of him like he’s begging. Both men lean towards you, and you instinctively start to move back.

“No, thank you,” you say again, your heart hammering in your throat. Maybe if you scramble up the steps behind you, you’ll be able to get away from them. “I—“

“Hey!”

All three of you turn your heads towards the noise. To your utter relief, Dae-ho is storming towards you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Oh, look,” Thanos says to you, grinning gleefully and pointing at Dae-ho. “It’s your boyfriend!”

He and Nam-gyu start to laugh like a couple of lunatics. You wonder, vaguely, if they’re high. Though you wouldn’t doubt that this is just how they act without the influence of drugs. Dae-ho reaches you and steps between you and the two other men protectively.

“What’s going on?” He asks in a steady voice, staring them down.

Thanos shrugs. “Nothing, man. Just trying to be friendly.” He leans around Dae-ho, eyeing you with a smirk. “Do you think we could borrow your pretty teammate for a while?”

Dae-ho moves to the side, using his chest to block you from Thanos’ vision. “Leave her alone.”

Thanos scoffs. “Or what? C’mon, brother, can’t you share?”

Dae-ho grabs Thanos by the front of the shirt, fuming. “You little—“

“Boys.”

Everyone looks to see who’d spoken. It’s Young-il, closely followed by Gi-hun and Jung-bae. Nam-gyu moves back a step, clearly intimidated. Young-il already beat him up once, he probably doesn’t want to experience it again.

“That’s enough,” Young-il says in a smooth voice. He eyes Dae-ho, who’s still gripping Thanos’ shirt and looking like he might punch the other man in the face.

Dae-ho contemplates Thanos for a few long seconds, then finally drops him.

“Leave her alone,” he says in a low growl. It’s the most intimidating you’ve ever seen Dae-ho. He’s about the same height as Thanos, but he somehow seems much taller.

Thanos just scoffs, glancing at Young-il, who makes sure to step in front of you too. The message is clear — mess with her and you’ll mess with us, too.

“Whatever, man,” Thanos huffs, dusting off his shirt with an air of faux nonchalance. “You’ll regret not letting her join my team when she’s dead.”

He grabs Nam-gyu and the two of them stalk off, but not without throwing you and your group dirty looks the whole time. Once they’re out of earshot, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

Dae-ho spins around, and squats down to be at eye level with you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, worry clear as day in his voice. His eyes search you for injuries, frantic.

You nod vigorously. You hadn’t realise you’d been frozen to your spot, but now that Thanos and Nam-gyu are gone, your body relaxes almost instantaneously.

“I’m okay,” you say.

Dae-ho takes your face in his hand. “They didn’t hurt you?”

You shake your head. “No. No, I’m fine, Dae-ho.”

Dae-ho studies your face. He’s very very close, close enough you could kiss him if you wanted to, and his palm is warm on your face, his eyes full to bursting with worry. Your stomach flutters a bit, though you’re not sure if it’s from your interaction with Thanos, or the fact that Dae-ho has become so protective of you in such a short time.

Young-il and the others move up behind Dae-ho.

“You’re alright?” Young-il asks you.

You nod. “I’m fine. Thank you for scaring them off.”

Young-il smiles at you. He glances at Dae-ho, who’s still holding your face. You can’t read Young-il’s expression, but his smile grows.

“I think Dae-ho did most of the scaring off,” he muses.

Dae-ho blushes. He’s saved from having to say anything when Gi-hun moves forward and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“If they try anything, you come to us, okay?” He says, and the other older men nod. “We’re a team now.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. You’re grateful for their help, but you don’t like all the attention being on you. “I will.”

Gi-hun nods, satisfied, and he, Young-il and Jung-bae move away, finding a spot on the metal steps nearby but not too close, leaving you and Dae-ho alone.

Dae-ho’s hand drops from your face and you, embarrassingly, miss his touch as soon as it’s gone.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.

Dae-ho just frowns. He glances over his shoulder and you follow his gaze to where Thanos and Nam-gyu sit across the room. They’re still glaring in your direction, and muttering to each other behind their hands.

When Dae-ho turns back, he still looks worried.

“I’m fine,” you say hastily. You don’t want him to worry about you, and you really are okay. Dae-ho and the others arrived just in time. “Really.”

Dae-ho sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What did they want, anyway?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. They asked me to join their team…as if I ever would.”

Dae-ho chuckles at your scathing tone. His laugh is a fond, easy sort of sound that makes all the tension in your limbs relax. Dae-ho himself finally relaxes, too, moving to sit next to you, his knee brushing yours as he settles down.

“Well, I can see why they wanted you,” he says. “You were so impressive in that second game. Where’d you learn to play ddakji like that?”

You shrug one shoulder. “I used to play a lot as a kid,” you say, shy under his earnest gaze.

Dae-ho does this thing, you’ve noticed, where he makes sure to always look into the eyes of whoever he’s talking to. It’s charming, sure, but your nerves don’t handle it very well. You duck your head.

“Thank you again for protecting me,” you say softly.

Dae-ho shakes his head. “It’s no problem, Y/N. They shouldn’t take advantage of you just because you’re quiet.” He ducks his head as well, following your gaze, forcing you to look him in the eyes, “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

You feel your cheeks go hot. He’s very close again, face to face with you, and his doe-like eyes are locked onto yours in a soft but somehow horribly intense gaze.

“It’s okay,” you say. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Dae-ho straightens up, squinting in the direction of Thanos and his team.

“If they ask again,” Dae-ho says, frowning a bit. “You won’t say yes, will you?”

In what world would I? You think to yourself. You shake your head.

“No. I like our team. I like you,” you say without thinking. It’s not meant to be a confession, but it sure sounds like one when you say it like that.

Thankfully, Dae-ho doesn’t mention it. Nor does he mention the mortified look on your face when you realise what you’ve just said. He just grins.

“Mm, I like our team, too,” he nods decisively, glancing over at the other members of your team, who are chatting together nearby. “We’ll stick together from here on out, yeah?”

—

“Is this really necessary?” Jung-bae asks Gi-hun, hauling a mattress over one of the metal barriers surrounding the bunks.

You stick your head out from behind him, a stack of pillows in your arms. Gi-hun nods, addressing your group, who are clearly wondering why he’s so paranoid as to make you sleep underneath the bunks.

“Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us,” Gi-hun explains. He takes the mattress from Jung-bae and pushes it under the bottom bunk. “The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It’s a part of the game they designed.”

You glance at Dae-ho. You’re not sure if you believe what Gi-hun is saying, but he has been here before, and he’s been trustworthy so far, so you should probably believe him, right?

Tensions are on a high again, now that the second vote has been cast and the result has remained the same. You’ll play another game, courtesy of the O voters. And honestly, seeing how they act during the votes, you wouldn’t put it past some of them to attack you in the night for the possibility of more money.

Dae-ho gives you a look, as if to say, “It’ll be alright,” and you nod. You feel safe with him, and your group are the reason you’re even still alive after the second game. They defended you against Thanos, and even before that, they let you join their team, though you’re sure they easily could’ve found someone stronger or more useful than you.

You and Dae-ho join Jung-bae and Gi-hun in the gap between the bunks, helping them to push the bedding underneath the metal frames.

When you straighten up, Dae-ho pulls you aside, a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry, okay?” He says, concern etched into his face. He glances over at Gi-hun. “I’m sure he’s just … paranoid.”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, though even to your own ears, you sound a bit unconvinced.

Dae-ho smiles at you, giving your shoulder a pat.

“It’ll be fine,” he assures you. “If you want, I can sleep next to you? If that makes you feel any safer.”

You pause. For some reason, the thought of sleeping next to Dae-ho makes you nervous. Though, not with fear. You think you might be developing a crush on him, which you realise is absurd in a place like this, but he’s been so kind. He’s kept his promise and has been looking out for you ever since the first game.

During the second game, he offered to ask the other men to let you join their team, and when they hesitated he convinced them for you. He’s thoughtful, too, and he’d been so protective during the second game and after. You worry liking him will only make this whole situation worse, but on the other hand, you might die tomorrow. What’s the use in worrying about a little crush?

You nod. “Okay,” you say, smiling at Dae-ho. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Dae-ho gives your shoulder a squeeze, then moves away to help Jung-bae with another mattress.

—

“Are you comfortable?” Dae-ho whispers into the quiet.

The lights went out a half hour ago. Gi-hun offered to go on first watch, and Jung-bae’s already out like a light. You can’t see Young-il from where you’re lying but you assume he’s settling down, like you and Dae-ho. You’ve both slid under a pair of bunks, two mattresses laid out on the floor next to each other for you to sleep on.

You look over at Daeho. “It’s sort of cramped,” you say, amused at how silly you probably look lying under the bunks like this. “But I’m okay.”

Dae-ho chuckles. “I’m not sure this is even necessary. So far, nobody’s attacked.”

You laugh too, “Yeah, well. It can’t hurt to be too safe, right?”

Dae-ho nods. “Mm, I guess you’re right.”

Silence falls over the two of you. You’re tired, but you don’t really feel like sleeping. You’ve got a lot to think about. The third game tomorrow, for one. Though, you’re so glad you have a solid team now. You’re certain they’ll look out for you, and you them. You owe them that much. Then there’s Dae-ho, who it seems you owe a lot. He’s been your constant shadow this whole time, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

You’ve felt the beginnings of something unnamed start to bloom in your chest whenever he talks to you. It’s worse now, lying so close to him like this. His arm keeps brushing yours as he shifts himself around. You can’t ignore the little jolts of electricity that go through your arm every time he nudges you by accident.

Dae-ho whispers into the silence again. “What’re you thinking about?”

You wonder if he can tell you’re thinking about him, or if he’s just got terrible timing. You look over at him.

“The game tomorrow,” you say. It’s a half lie. You were thinking about the game tomorrow, but you got distracted by thoughts of Dae-ho.

He frowns. “Are you scared?”

You shrug one shoulder. “A little. But … I’m glad I have you,” you say honestly. Then, so you don’t sound too hopeless, you add, “And.. and the others, of course.”

Dae-ho hums. Either he doesn’t notice your slip up, or he’s gracious enough to ignore it.

“We’ll be fine, Y/N. Most of the other players, they don’t really have proper teams. I’m sure if we stick together, we can make it out alive.”

You nod, staring up at the underside of the bunk above you. Dae-ho nudges your shoulder with his.

“Get some sleep, okay? I’ll wake you when it’s your turn to keep watch.”

You nod. The others hadn’t even wanted you to have a turn keeping watch, but you’d insisted, knowing it wasn’t fair on them if you slept through the night.

“Promise you’ll wake me up,” you tell Dae-ho seriously. You have an inkling that if you don’t make him promise, he’ll just let you sleep, covering your shift for you. You stick your pinky up in between your bodies, “Pinky promise?”

Dae-ho chuckles softly. “I guess I can’t argue with a pinky promise,” he muses, and hooks his pinky with yours.

—

Dae-ho hates to see you sitting by yourself, looking so alone as you diligently keep watch over your group. He’s just finished his turn keeping watch and woken you up for your turn, though he felt awful waking you when you looked so peaceful fast asleep.

He hasn’t known you very long, but in the time he has known you, he hasn’t seen you so relaxed as you were when you were asleep. Though he will admit, you seem to be warming up to him quite a bit, and you’re far more relaxed around him than the first time he talked to you.

Dae-ho wonders if he should go sit with you, or if that would make him seem too desperate. He makes his decision before he can think about it properly. He slides back out of bed and gets up, walking over to where you sit leaning against the metal railing and keeping watch.

You twist as he approaches. “What are you doing?” You ask. “Aren’t you gonna go back to bed?”

Dae-ho shakes his head. “Can’t sleep,” he says, sitting down next to you.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You barely tried.”

Dae-ho shrugs. “I’m not tired anymore,” he lies.

He’s actually exhausted, but he’d rather sit with you than go to sleep knowing you’re sitting by yourself in the half dark, alone and vulnerable.

You study him like you’re trying to work out if he’s lying or not. Dae-ho feels weirdly nervous under your gaze. He’s grown to care for you quite a bit in the short time he’s known you, and he also happens to think you’re really pretty. That, and he finds your crippling shyness really cute.

You must decide he’s telling the truth, because you shrug.

“If you say so,” you say, though you sound grateful to have someone to sit with you.

Silence falls over the two of you. Dae-ho feels a connection to you that he can’t quite explain. It started the moment he saw you in the first game — you were petrified, as was he, but he suddenly felt like it was his responsibility to help you get over that finish line.

He could’ve left you alone, after that. But he didn’t — instead, he took you under his wing. It was simple. You seemed like you were worth protecting, so he protected you.

He studies your face in the silence. You’re gazing up at the absurdly large piggy bank hanging from the ceiling. The gold light illuminates your features, clinging to your eyelashes like starlight. You’re very pretty, and as you get more and more comfortable around him, it seems you only get prettier.

He’s mesmerised. He can’t explain why, but you’ve become important to him now.

“You’re staring at me,” you say quietly, breaking the silence.

Dae-ho blinks. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been staring at your face. He says the first thing that comes to mind,

“No, I’m not.”

You giggle and twist to look at him. “Yeah, you are. Why are you staring at me?”

You tilt your head, puppy-like, your tired eyes curious. If only you knew why he was staring. He worries if he told you the truth, you’d melt into a puddle.

Dae-ho decides to tell half the truth. “You’re interesting,” he says simply.

You look surprised. “Oh? Interesting in a good way, or interesting in a bad way?”

Dae-ho grins. “Definitely a good way.”

You laugh softly, and there’s a look on your face that Dae-ho can’t quite read.

“I don’t know what that means,” you say airily.

Dae-ho nudges your shoulder with his. “It means I like you,” he says, grinning like a fool. “You’re interesting, and I like that about you. Does that explain it?”

You blink rather rapidly, and your shoulders start to creep towards your ears. Oh, right. Dae-ho almost forgot how shy you can get. He’d be sorry to have embarrassed you, but you’re so cute he doesn’t have it in him to feel very sorry at all.

“What?” He asks innocently, chuckling a bit. “Did I embarrass you? I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The ‘sweetheart’ sort of just slips out before he can stop it. It suits you, Dae-ho thinks, but unfortunately, the pet name sends you over the edge.

You go red hot in the face, pulling your knees up to hide your face in them. You wrap your arms around your legs and mumble something unintelligible into your sweatpants.

Something like aching fondness blooms in Dae-ho’s chest like a bruise. He gets an arm around you and rubs your back.

“Hey,” he says, half accusatory and half fond, “Where’d you go?”

You mumble something else that he can’t quite make out. Dae-ho leans in closer, curving his arm around your lower back.

“What’d you say?” He asks, a grin tugging at his lips now. He’s quite enjoying teasing you, though he hopes he’s not crossing a line. “I can’t hear you when you’re hiding, Y/N.”

You emerge grudgingly, revealing your face screwed up in what he thinks is embarrassment. You glare at Dae-ho, though there’s no heat behind your eyes.

“Leave me alone,” you bemoan, a pout tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Dae-ho pauses. “You don’t mean that, right?” He asks, amused.

You nod vehemently. “I do. You’re teasing me on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Dae-ho muses, and then he chuckles at the look on your face. You’re cute when you’re annoyed, though he’s almost certain you’re far less annoyed than you’re letting on. “Oh, c’mon. You’re an easy target, you know that?”

You huff. “Yeah, I know,” you mumble, the tips of your ears glowing red.

Dae-ho wonders, vaguely, if it’s silly to be developing a crush in a place like this. Then, he decides he doesn’t really care if it’s silly or not.

He pulls you closer. “Sorry for teasing you,” he says softly.

You shake your head, and, surprisingly, you lean into his chest a bit. “It’s okay. I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Dae-ho raises both eyebrows. His chest feels funny, like his heart wants to rip free of his ribcage. He can’t see your face, but if he could he worries he’d kiss you on the spot. Instead, he just holds you, your body going lax against him, your head falling to rest on his shoulder.

Sure, maybe it’s a bit silly to be crushing on you at a time like this, but Daeho decides something at that moment. Just like you’re worth protecting, you’re also worth having a crush on. No matter the circumstances

thank you for reading! reblogs are appreciated as always ᡣ𐭩

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 4 months ago

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Toto’s Guard Dog – Part 5

Part 1 Parte 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 636

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: Y/n finally kisses Toto, but when Christian Horner catches them and starts running his mouth, she unleashes hell.

________________________________________________________

Y/n had Toto Wolff right where she wanted him.

For weeks, he’d been smirking, teasing, playing his little power games. But now? Now she was in control.

And Toto hated it.

Well, hated might be the wrong word.

Because every time she leaned in just a little too close—every time she touched his tie, ran her fingers down his arm, or murmured something suggestive just for him—his restraint cracked just a little more.

She was winning.

Until, of course, he decided to ruin her life.

It happened in the Mercedes motorhome.

The paddock had been hot, sticky, exhausting. Y/n had been up since sunrise, running around, dealing with logistics, making fun of Horner three times before breakfast—the usual.

By the time she made it back to the hospitality lounge, she was done.

Toto, of course, looked perfectly fine. No sweat, no exhaustion—just standing there in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed, watching her like he knew things.

She scowled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His smirk deepened. “Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking.”

Toto chuckled, stepping closer—too close, really. “I was just wondering…” He tilted his head. “How far are you willing to push this, schatzi?”

Her breath caught. “Push what?”

Toto leaned in, so close she could feel his breath. “This game of yours.”

For the first time in her life, Y/n was speechless.

And Toto?

Toto knew it.

He chuckled, so smug, and started to pull away.

Absolutely not.

Before he could move, Y/n grabbed his collar and kissed him.

Hard.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was a collision—weeks of tension snapping like a rubber band, lips crashing, hands tangling in fabric and hair.

Toto made a sound deep in his throat—half surprise, half something much darker—and then his arms were around her, one hand gripping her waist, the other cupping her face as he devoured her.

God, he kissed like he did everything else—completely, overwhelmingly, like he owned her.

Y/n felt dizzy. Drunk. Gone.

And then—

“Ohhhhhh, well isn’t this adorable?”

Y/n and Toto ripped apart.

And there, standing in the doorway, looking way too smug—

Was Christian Horner.

Y/n was going to jail.

She could already see the headlines: Mercedes Strategist Murders Red Bull Team Principal in Broad Daylight.

Horner was grinning. “I knew there was something going on with you two.” He wagged a finger between them. “You know, Toto, for all your talk about professionalism, this seems very—”

“Get out.” Y/n’s voice was deadly.

Horner ignored her. “Honestly, this explains so much. The guard dog routine? The constant defending?” He smirked. “Tell me, Y/n, is it loyalty or are you just whipped?”

Toto tensed.

Y/n saw red.

“Oh, that’s rich,” she snapped. “You want to talk about being whipped? You’re the one whose wife has to publicly defend you every other week because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

Horner’s smirk faltered.

Y/n wasn’t done.

“You have the audacity to call me Toto’s guard dog when you’re literally running around begging for scraps of validation from a team that doesn’t even like you? How embarrassing.” She took a step closer. “You think I’m obsessed with him? Sweetheart, you’re obsessed with beating him. And you never will.”

Horner opened his mouth—then shut it.

And for the first time ever, Christian Horner had nothing to say.

Y/n smiled sweetly. “Now. Get out.”

Horner turned on his heel and left.

The second the door shut, Toto let out a long whistle. “Mein Gott.”

Y/n turned to him, still fuming. “I hate him.”

Toto grinned. “I know.”

She crossed her arms. “I—”

Before she could finish, Toto grabbed her face and kissed her again.

Hard.

Possessive.

Like he owned her.

Like he was saying, Mine.

And Y/n?

She kissed him back.

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cherryrikis · 10 months ago

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EVERYTHING BUT NOTHING

PAIRING football captain bf jake x fem reader

WARNINGS swearing, arguments, jake makes a singular joke about killing himself

GENRE angst

SYNOPSIS jake is just the nicest guy, everyone knows that. and he’s even sweeter as a boyfriend rather than an acquaintance. even after an argument, you could never stay mad at him for long. but you question that when you hear him talking about you after school.

read part 2 here ?

“are you gonna talk to jake? i know that argument was pretty intense, but you’ve gone a week with no contact.” yuna asked as she tilted her head, standing by your locker while she waited for you to grab your belongings.

“eventually, yeah. i was thinking today after school. the thing with jake though, he either shuts down, or acts like it never happened whenever i want to talk about an argument.” you sighed.

it’s true. as open as jake may appear to be, it’s all but factual. you could never have a real talk with your boyfriend, because he hated confrontation. avoided it entirely.

typically, you don’t let arguments get in the way of your relationship. especially since living together is hard if you’re having frequent conflicts. it wasn’t too much of a problem now though, since he’s been staying at jay’s. but when you brought up the fact that he’s been spending too much time at practice, and that he always forgets your dates, jake let it all out.

it shouldn’t have been as big of a problem as it was. you just wanted to talk. but he finally argued back.

“i get it. sohee is exactly the same! don’t stress though. i know jake is a good guy, he’ll come around.” she smiled. “now let’s go to class? passing period is almost over, and yizhuo has been saving our seats.”

the lecture seemed to go by faster than usual. you were nervous as you steadily approached jake’s locker, which was directly outside his last class.

but when you heard his oh too familiar voice, you stopped in your tracks. you felt your heart sink to the floor as your stomach dropped.

“god. guys, don’t ever get a girlfriend. i’m bounded to long walks on the beach and dinner dates till i die. y/n’s demanding too much of me. i might just kill myself one day.” jake sighed.

“okay but dude, your girlfriends cool and all yet she’s lowkey uptight.” you heard heeseung say as he slapped jake’s shoulder.

“yeah man, you’ve been missing too much practice for your dates now. coach is getting upset. i saw yours and y/n’s texts the other day, and she micromanages you a lot. blink twice if you need help.” sunghoon joked as the three of them laughed out loud.

“i know, i know. i love y/n, but i cannot with her lately. thank god jay let me crash at his after the argument, because i couldn’t live with her constant nagging. she’s so fucking annoying.” he snickered. but, all their faces fell once they saw you.

you slammed jake’s locker door shut with so much force, your hand turned bright red. him and sunghoon flinched harshly, while heeseung and jay had no reaction.

your face ran hot, you felt it as you tightly closed your eyes, holding back the urge to burst out crying. the glass tears threatened to roll down your cheeks.

but one look at his desperate eyes filled with regret, and you tipped over the edge. your salty tears spilled out, past your lashes.

you sniffled as you continued to cry uncontrollably, staring at their flustered faces. jake reached out to wipe your face, but you pushed his hand away, wiping the tears yourself.

“you fucking asshole.” you whispered. “i came here to apologize. but you can’t leave it be.”

“y/n..” his eyes softened, voice faltering as his words were laced with regret and shame. he reached out for you once more, but you stepped back.

the distance between you two physically and emotionally only continued to grow. “baby, just let me talk. like you wanted.” he pleaded, begging, almost.

“i.. hate you.. how could you ever talk about me like that? i never once would even think about saying something like that about you, like you did me.” you scoffed, looking behind him as you finally realized his friends left the scene.

you watched as his eyes watered, with one last attempt of trying to reach you. but he knew you were untouchable in this moment.

“sweetheart?” he watched as you began to walk backwards, away from him.

but you didn’t let up, still hurt. you shook your head, silently telling him no.

with every step you took backwards, jake moved forward, before finally grabbing your wrists tightly so you can’t leave him.

“it costs nothing to be a sweet guy, like the version everyone sees of you. but it takes everything to be an asshole.” you mumble, before pushing him away, finally and surely leaving out the school’s glass doors.

and jake remained there, his regret suddenly transferred into anger. he kicked his locker, watching the metal rattle.

he hated how his such childish and immature words cost nothing yet everything.

“fuck..” he muttered.

“fuck!” jake said once more, but louder, yelling it out loud.

he watched out the window as you walked towards the parking lot, before getting into your car and leaving without a second thought.

“please don’t leave me.” he whispered as his vision turned blurry.

“please don’t leave me..”

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen smau #enhypen scenarios #jake x reader #jake sim #jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #serena writes ! jake

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cheftsunoda · 2 months ago

Text

heal your heart—cl16

part two (very very long and wordy)

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

⚠️ATTENTION : TRIGGER WARNING! MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION AND ABUSE. ⚠️

part one here

part three here

part four here

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by 475,943 people.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz has made a paddock appearance shortly after Carlos Sainz announced he would still be driving in the Japanese GP. This is the first time Catalina has been seen since the rumors started circulating that her son was taken by her fiance who has disappeared without a trace. Her son was not seen anywhere near the paddock and Catalina was only seen by press and paps for a few moments before Williams team members swooped her into hospitality. She was later spotted in the paddock cuddled up with Rebecca Donaldson, Carlos' partner, who seemed to be comforting her in this time of need. Carlos seemed to be agitated and quiet with the press. Let us know what you all think about Catalina's appearance.

username2 : her relationship with rebecca has always been so special..idc if y'all don't like rebecca due to her past- she is always there for our girl

liked by author

username5 : the silence, the matching sunglasses, the fact they are not speaking to anyone… something WENT DOWN and they’re coming back in blood pact formation

username7 : okay but imagine your brother is a world-famous driver and you just quietly vanish across international borders and he SHOWS UP TO FIND YOU IN THE MOUNTAINS?? this family is cinematic

username8: If this ends in Carlos winning the GP and dedicating it to her with a whispered “para mi hermana” on the radio, I will lose ALL composure...

username10 : before you all start shitting on her for making a public appearance in this state... she has always been very very supportive of carlos' career and she probably begged him to not fully drop out and she came with so she didn't have to be alone again.

liked by author

username20 : and she did not really even make an appearance...you can tell they were trying to sneak her in and the paps and press were just being absolutely RELENTLESS

liked by author

username15 : You can tell she didn’t sleep. You can tell he hasn’t smiled in days. You can tell someone’s getting sued.

username17 : Carlos showing up like her personal security, emotional support brother, AND legal representative 😭 I’m in love..

username9 : mother is mothering again...i feel like i haven't seen her flip off paps in like 2 years (it's been 2 months)

liked by author

usernameee : not to be dramatic but if this was 1830 he’d have challenged someone to a duel by now

username2 : BYEEE

username0 : Ok but did anyone notice the way she didn’t make eye contact with a single camera?? She’s been media trained for this moment.

—

twitter!

@/williamsracing : Carlos Sainz is present at the Japanese Grand Prix and will be participating in the weekend as scheduled. At this time, he will not be making any personal statements. We kindly ask that media respect his and his family’s privacy.

view comments

username : I saw Carlos' PR officer physically block a tabloid guy from asking about Catalina. She body-checked him. Things are tense.

username0 : what a queen give her a raise

username4 : Carlos racing with THIS on his mind is terrifying. He’s either gonna win by 30 seconds or drive straight into the garage and file for custody mid-race.

username00 : If your brother doesn’t fly across the world mid-race week to rescue you from a life-shattering betrayal, is he even a brother???

username5 : They said no comment. I said no problem, I’ll make up the entire timeline myself.

—

I woke up early, the light just creeping into the room. The soft hum of Carlos pacing in the next room is the only thing that lets me know he’s still here. His presence is steady, a constant. But right now, he’s not just my brother, he’s the man trying to fix everything, trying to be everything for me when I don’t have the energy to pretend anymore. The last few weeks feel like a blur...like I’ve been running on autopilot and suddenly, the ground has dropped from under me. I want to tell him everything, that I’m not okay, that I feel lost, but I can’t. I can’t because I don’t want to break him too. But this morning, the room is still quiet, the soft morning light casting long shadows on the floor. I hear Carlos on the phone, his voice low and urgent, but the words aren’t clear. Lawyers. Calls to his manager. Something about custody arrangements. I can’t listen. I don’t want to listen. But I can’t let him drop everything for me. I can’t be the reason he cancels a race weekend. He’s worked too hard, come too far. I won’t be the reason he fails.

I take a deep breath, pushing myself up from the bed. I’m still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. My head hurts, but I ignore it. I have to. When I walk into the room, Carlos is at the desk, holding his phone in his hand, his eyes glued to the screen. He doesn’t see me at first. His face is a mask of concentration, but underneath, there’s something else. Worry. Fear.

“Carlos…” I whisper, my voice cracking as I say his name. He looks up at me immediately, the relief flooding his face the second he sees me.

“Cat.” He doesn’t even stand up. His eyes, though—they’re softer now, less angry. But still, I see that question in them. That question I don’t know how to answer. "How are you?"

I nod, even though I’m not. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but it’s all I’ve got.

Carlos sets the phone down slowly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the desk as if he’s about to grab it again. “I’m not letting you do this alone again, Catalina. I have been on the phone with several lawyers and some officials in Spain. You’re not handling this alone. You can’t handle this alone.”

“I don’t want to,” I say quickly, almost desperately. I can’t stand the idea of him being that worried. “But I don’t want you to cancel your race. I can’t let you do that for me. I watched you build this career piece by piece, Los. I am not going to let you ruin it for me."

His eyes flash with something I can’t quite place. “You’re not in any state to be alone right now, Catalina. You’re not okay, and I can see it. You’re…” His voice cracks, and I hate that I’m the reason for it. “You’re slipping.”

"I can't stand the thought of losing you too." His words hit me like a truck.

“Carlos, I’ll be fine. You can’t cancel your race for me. Please. I’ll be okay,” I plead, but it doesn’t feel real even as the words leave my mouth. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again. But he can’t see that.

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving mine. I feel the weight of his stare, the pressure in the air thickening as he contemplates everything.

“I’m not racing without you,” he finally says, his voice soft but firm. “I’m not going to leave you alone with all of this, not after what happened.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You’re coming with me. You’re going to the race with me. I won’t do this without you.”

“I—” I begin, but I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t have the strength to fight him on this. I don’t want to fight him on this. I need him, too.

“I’ll race, but only if you’re with me,” he adds, his voice quiet but resolute. “You’re coming with me. We’ll go together. I’ll be there with you, every step. I’m not leaving you in this place, Catalina. Not after everything.”

"I can't race if I am worried about you the whole time. I will take care of everything, I will shield you from the press, Rebecca will be there to be with you. Please. Just let me take care of you."

I don’t say anything for a moment. I feel like I’m suffocating, but there’s something about the way he says it that calms me, just a little. Maybe because I know he’s not going to leave me.

Finally, I nod, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. I’ll go with you. But only because you’re sure. I don’t want you to drop everything for me. You need to race. You need to keep going.”

His eyes soften. “We’ll keep going together, Cat. Always.”

I nod again, unable to say anything more, my chest heavy with the weight of his words. With the weight of everything.

—

TW! This section discusses abuse.

The jet hums beneath us as we fly through the thick cloud cover, heading toward the race. The only thing I can hear clearly is the steady rhythm of my own heart, and the thoughts swirling in my mind, too tangled to untangle. I’m here. I’m on my way to a race weekend, but I don’t feel like I’m really here. My body is on the plane, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark. I should feel relief, maybe even some semblance of peace. I have Carlos with me. He’s here, sitting across from me, his eyes on the window, his jaw tense. But inside, I feel like I’m falling apart. I want to say something. Anything. The truth. But the words are lodged in my throat, thick and suffocating. I don’t want to break in front of him, not again. I’ve already put him through too much. But Carlos isn’t going to let me stay silent. He never does.

“Cariño” his voice is low, but it cuts through the quiet of the cabin like a knife. “I need you to talk to Mama y Papa. They have seen the press and they know where I am. They do not want you feeling alone in this.”

I can’t look at him right now. I keep my gaze trained on the floor, focusing on the way the carpet fibers shift beneath my feet with every slight movement of the jet. His words, though, they hit me like a punch to the gut.

“I can’t,” I whisper, the refusal almost automatic. “I can’t tell them.”

Carlos sighs, his voice softer now, but still filled with that quiet urgency. “Cat, they need to know. They deserve to know what’s happening. You can’t keep hiding this from them. They’ll understand. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the plush seat, trying to steady myself, but it feels like the world is spinning. Why am I so scared? I’m not scared of telling them...I’m scared of what it means. I’m scared of how they’ll look at me once they know everything. Scared of how they'll feel about me, about what I allowed to happen.

“I’m scared of what they’ll think of me,” I confess, my voice cracking. “I… I’m scared they’ll think I was weak. I let him in again. I let him hurt me. And I should’ve known better.”

Carlos is quiet for a moment. I can feel his gaze on me now, even though I’m not looking at him. The weight of it presses on me, but there’s something gentle in it, something I can’t quite put into words. His next words come slow, deliberate.

“You’re not weak, Catalina. You never were. He made you believe that. He made you believe that you were the problem when you weren’t. He was the problem. What happened to you, what he did to you, none of it is your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

I can feel the walls I’ve spent so long building around myself crack, the cold walls I put up to protect myself from feeling anything. But the cracks don’t stop. They break open, and suddenly, I’m not so sure I’m ready to face the storm that’s going to come.

“Carlos, you don’t understand.” I shake my head, my chest tightening with every word I say. “It wasn’t just… it wasn’t just the controlling stuff. The gaslighting. The manipulation. It was the… the times when I would tell him I didn’t want to do something, and he would ignore me. He would make me feel like I was being unreasonable. And then, when I’d try to leave, when I thought I could leave, he would beg me to stay, and I’d… I’d believe him. Every time. Every damn time.”

My voice falters. “And then it turned physical. I never wanted to say that, but it did. There were times when I’d say no, but he didn’t stop. And I’d... I’d freeze, Carlos. I didn’t know how to say no anymore. I didn’t know how to stop him.”

The words are raw, bleeding from me before I even realize it. The shame burns like fire inside me, but I can’t stop talking now. It feels like I’m finally releasing everything I’ve been holding inside, even though I know I can never take it back.

“I didn’t know how to get out. I thought if I left, he’d destroy me. If I told anyone, they wouldn’t believe me. They’d think I was just being dramatic. And I didn’t want to be the girl who let that happen. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

"I thought he'd take my son from me which clearly that assumption was not far off." I choked out.

Carlos doesn’t interrupt me, doesn’t say anything. But I can feel his hand, reaching for mine. Gently, but with a strength that tells me he’s here. And he’s not going anywhere.

“I finally left him. I did. But I... I let him back in. And I thought it would be different, that things would go back to the way they were. But they didn’t. And I couldn’t leave again. I didn’t have the strength. And I thought I could handle it.” I swallow hard. “I was wrong. I was so wrong, Carlos. And now I’m... I’m just broken. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His hand tightens around mine, his grip firm and comforting, as if he’s holding me together when I can’t. His voice is quieter now, but it’s thick with emotion, more raw than I’ve ever heard it before. He comes over and sits beside me and I lean into him- needing him more than ever.

“You’re not broken. You never were. And you’re not alone, Catalina. I’ll never let you be alone in this.” He whispers as he leaves two kisses on the top of my head and then rests his chin there.

I’m shaking, my tears finally coming as I lean against the seat, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t know how to fix this, Carlos,” I whisper again, almost pleading. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You don’t have to fix it all at once. Just take it one step at a time. But you can’t carry this on your own anymore, okay? Let us help you. Let me help you.”

The jet rocks slightly, turbulence lifting us a little before settling. But even as the world outside shifts, I feel something inside me begin to settle too. Carlos is right there, beside me. And for the first time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to carry this alone anymore.

I look up at him, my voice barely a whisper, but my heart full of something I’ve been afraid to feel for so long. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll tell them what happened. I won’t do this alone anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes soften. He’s not angry, not frustrated. Just... there. He’s with me. And for the first time in so long, I feel like maybe I can breathe again.

—

The paddock is a blur of flashing cameras, murmuring press, and engine rumbles. I step off that jet and straight into the chaos with Carlos by my side, his hand firm on my back like a silent promise, I’ve got you. He’s in protective mode—shoulders squared, jaw tight, sunglasses shielding his eyes even in the cloudy morning light. He doesn’t say much as we walk, but he doesn’t need to. I can feel the heat of the stares, the way heads turn as whispers ripple through the crowd. He has a soft but protective grip on my hand. I hear my name. His name. Questions I can’t make out.

"Catalina, are you okay?" "Where have you been?" "Is it true—?"

Carlos steps in front of me, shielding me with his body, and one of the team PR reps steps up to intercept the worst of it. I keep my head down. My hands tremble, stuffed into the pockets of the oversized jacket I borrowed from Carlos on the plane. I’m only here because I didn’t want him to race alone. Because he wouldn’t leave me behind.

"Ignore them," Carlos mutters under his breath. "Just a few steps more. Becs is waiting for you."

And she is—right at the garage entrance, her arms crossed and eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. The moment she sees me, her whole face softens. She walks toward me, brushing past a reporter with her usual cool grace, and without asking, she wraps me in a hug and presses a light kiss to my cheek. I tense for a second as I'm not used to this kind of softness lately but then I sink into her. Her hold is warm, grounded. She smells like lavender and leather and something clean.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing my hair back as she pulls away. “You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe. I’ve got you, okay?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Rebecca’s not overly emotional, she’s steady, patient, and completely unfazed by the circus around us. I don’t know how she does it, but in this moment, I’m grateful she’s here.

“Come with me,” she says, her hand on my arm. “I’ve set you up with a quiet space in the back of the hospitality suite. No cameras, no questions.”

I glance at Carlos, who’s already being pulled aside by engineers. He gives me a look...a question and a reassurance all at once. I nod. I’ll be okay. Rebecca leads me away, shielding me with her presence like armor. As we step inside the garage area, I spot a familiar mop of curls down the corridor.

“Lando?” I ask as my voice cracks.

He perks up instantly and makes a beeline for me, his face lit up with a mix of worry and relief. “There you are. I came down here to check on you, princess."

Before I can react, he pulls me into a hug...his hugs are always a little too tight, a little too long, but never unwelcome.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, his voice muffled by my hair. “Carlos wouldn't speak and I saw all of the bullshit in the press and you didn't answer my calls."

“I’m okay,” I lie, a practiced reflex. But he pulls back, studies me.

“You don’t have to be,” he says gently and rubs a stray tear from my cheek. “You just have to let us be here.”

I feel the tears prick again, unexpected and inconvenient. I blink them back and smile, just barely. “Thanks, Lando.”

"I got you always, bug. Remember that. I got a race to work on but I love you. Stay strong for us, okay?" He says and I nod.

"Love you, Lan. Work your magic out there." I said and he lightly chuckled.

He nods, then glances at Rebecca. “Take care of my girl, yeah?"

Rebecca nods and grabs my hand. "Always."

—

The room Rebecca set me up in smells faintly of fresh linen and citrus. It’s quiet—soundproofed, probably—and the lighting is soft and warm. There’s a cozy armchair in the corner, a tray of snacks and water on the table beside it, and a small diffuser puffing lavender into the air. It’s a strange kind of peace, the sort that feels like it doesn’t belong to me. I haven’t moved much in the past hour. My limbs feel heavy, my chest hollow. Rebecca laid right next to me, our legs intertwined. We had sat in a comfortable silence.

Eventually, I speak. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not.”

I look down into my tea. “No. I’m not.”

"And I stay because I love you, you are like my sister and I cannot stand seeing you in this kind of pain." She said and I felt my heart ache.

There’s another beat of silence, and then she says gently, “Carlos told me some of it. Not all. Just enough to know you’ve been holding the weight of a lot for a long time.”

The lump rises in my throat again, the one I keep swallowing like it might stay down if I’m disciplined enough. I nod slowly, not trusting myself to speak.

Rebecca leans forward a little. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you think you wouldn’t be believed?”

I look up. That question cuts deep, and it’s honest, not cruel. There’s no pity in her eyes—just curiosity, concern. Empathy.

“I didn’t think anyone would believe me,” I say quietly. “He was... polished. So charming. Good with people. He said all the right things in public. And I thought if I told someone what happened behind closed doors, they’d just... think I was being dramatic. Emotional. Jealous. Difficult.”

Rebecca nods slowly. “That’s what they count on, people like that. They build the perfect illusion and then isolate you inside it.”

I blink at her. “You say that like you’ve known someone like him.”

She doesn’t flinch. “I have.”

It’s the first time I see something shift behind her calm, composed exterior. Not pain, exactly—but understanding that’s been lived.

“I’m not going to pretend I know exactly what you went through,” she says, her voice even, “but I do know what it’s like to lose yourself. To have your reality twisted until you can’t tell what’s real anymore. To feel like leaving means you’ll lose everything...even if staying is what is destroying you.”

I feel the tears now. Hot, quiet, just slipping down my cheeks. I nod again, the relief of being seen cracking something open. She held my hand, rubbing circles on my knuckles with her thumb.

“I stayed longer than I should have,” I whisper. “I thought I was protecting my son. But I was just... too scared to see what it was doing to both of us.”

“You were surviving,” Rebecca says, her voice firm now. “You don’t owe anyone an apology for that.”

I breathe out a shaky breath. “It’s like... I don’t know how to come back from this. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Rebecca leans back, sipping her tea. “Then start small. You don’t have to find all the pieces at once. Just... start with the ones in front of you. The ones that feel like yours.”

I look at her for a long moment. “Is it weird that you’re the one comforting me? I mean, you’re dating my brother.”

She laughs softly. “It’s not weird. He’s kind of an emotional hurricane sometimes. I’ve got plenty of practice in disaster management.”

That actually makes me smile, for real this time.

Rebecca looks directly at me with a softness in her eyes. “You’re not alone anymore, Catalina. Not even close. We’re in your corner. All of us.”

I nod, and for the first time in weeks, I believe it.

—

The race is over. The paddock is slowly emptying...journalists clearing out, team members packing down, drivers giving tired, sweaty interviews. I’m tucked in the corner of the Williams Hospitality where I had been since the beginning of FP1, legs curled under me on a quiet sofa. Carlos had actually finished P1, and for a moment, I felt like maybe things were okay. Or at least survivable. But as the adrenaline fades, the weight returns—an ache at the center of my chest that nothing really eases. I hear the door open, soft footsteps. I glance up.

Charles.

His suit is half-unzipped, fireproof top tied at his waist, a towel slung around his neck. His curls are damp with sweat, his jawline sharp, but there’s something new in his eyes. Something unreadable. And focused entirely on me.

“Hey,” he says gently.

“Hey.”

He glances around, then walks toward me, slow and deliberate. “Can I sit?”

I nod, suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

He doesn’t sit across from me. He sits beside me, not too close—but not far, either. His presence fills the room in that effortless way he has, but it’s softer now.

“I heard what happened,” he says after a moment. His voice is low, steady. “Not everything. Just... enough.”

I flinch, even though I’d known this moment was inevitable. Word spreads fast in this world.

“Carlos didn’t mean to—” I start, but Charles shakes his head.

“He didn’t tell me. I heard pieces from Lando. And... the press and I could tell. Something in your face this weekend. The way Carlos hasn’t left your side.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t trust my voice.

Charles looks down at his hands, then back at me. “I keep thinking about how many times I saw you, these last few years. Smiling. Showing up for everyone. And I never noticed.”

“It wasn’t your job to notice,” I say softly.

“I still should’ve,” he says, voice tightening. “I thought you were just private. Quiet. But now...” He cuts off, jaw clenching. “He took your son. Left you like that. I swear to god, if I ever see him—”

His voice breaks a little, and I blink. I wasn’t expecting this kind of fury. Not from him.

My voice is barely audible. “You’re angry?”

He turns his head toward me, eyes burning now. “I’m furious. For you. For your son. I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling, but I want to. I want to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Something in me crumbles, then steadies. I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t expect him. But here he is—intense, protective, kind. The same Charles I’ve always known, and also... something more. Charles and I have always been extremely close since him and Carlos' time as teammates but I had never seen this side of him...even after a bad race or horrible Ferrari strategy. There was something different behind those eyes...something different brewing from within him.

“Everyone keeps asking if I’m okay,” I say. “But you—you’re the first person who’s just sat beside me and let me be not okay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, quietly but with unmistakable weight. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

I look at him. Really look. And for a flicker of a second, I wonder what it would be like to let someone see me like this—not because I’m broken, but because they want to see me whole again.

His hand brushes mine. Not fully holding it—just a quiet, lingering connection. I don’t pull away. Neither does he.

He’s quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to talk, but… if you want to. I’m here.”

The offer is so simple. Not pressure. Not pity. Just space.

And maybe it’s the night, or the exhaustion, or the unbearable silence I’ve been carrying around—but this time, I speak.

“It wasn’t always bad,” I begin, my voice hoarse. “He wasn’t always… like that. There were good months. Good memories. That’s the part that makes you stay too long. You start believing the kindness is who he really is—and the cruelty is just a phase.”

Charles doesn’t interrupt. His hand still rests atop mine, his body turned slightly toward me, like he’s giving me all his attention but none of his weight.

“He hated when I worked. When I traveled. He said it made me selfish. That I should want to be home, with our son. That I was choosing my ambition over motherhood.” My throat tightens. “I started to believe him.”

I look down at my hands. “He told me I was nothing without him. That no one would believe me if I left. That I’d be alone. And… I was.”

A pause. I feel the sting in my eyes.

“But Carlos came. I didn’t even ask. He just came. And now I’m here. And I don’t know who I am anymore.”

I expect silence. Or awkwardness. But Charles exhales slowly, then says, Cat, you are so very strong, and brave, and brilliant. You love fiercely, even when it hurts. You’re not broken. You’re healing. That takes time.”

I turn to look at him.

His gaze is steady. And kind. And something else—something undeniable sparking beneath the calm.

“I wish I’d known,” he says. “I would’ve said something. Done something.”

“You couldn’t have fixed it.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I would’ve stood beside you anyway.”

And there’s something in his voice that cuts through me. That sees me.

I nod, slowly. “Thank you. For this. For... not trying to fix me. Just sitting here.”

“I don’t want to fix you,” he says quietly. “I just want you to know you’re not alone anymore.”

And then, silence again. But it’s different now. Not empty. Full of something fragile, and new, and quietly powerful. His hand brushes mine again—and this time, I take his. Just for a moment. But that moment feels like the start of something I might one day be brave enough to hold onto.

—

celebgossiproom

2,468,473 likes.

celebgossiproom : Carlos Sainz just dedicated his win to his sister (Catalina Sainz) and then said “I will find him” before walking off the stage. The air left the paddock. Absolutely wild. Sources say Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc were seen talking quietly with Carlos post-race. Some say the three are planning something… off-track. #F1 #JapaneseGP

username : carlos sainz saying “i will find him” with that dead calm voice after dedicating the race to catalina??? i’m unwell. this is becoming a netflix-level drama.

username0 : everyone at home: yay carlos!! carlos on live international television: threatens a man with god and vengeance this season is unhinged.

username5 : not even joking if i was the ex i would go into witness protection TONIGHT. you don’t mess with a sainz sibling and live to tell the tale

username7 : if you don’t think charles and lando are already behind carlos with ski masks and an unmarked van you don’t know this paddock. #protectcatalina

username14 : not carlos sainz turning into a real life telenovela brother. i need this scripted for tv IMMEDIATELY.

username1 : no bc imagine being THAT man. carlos sainz just threatened your entire bloodline in front of the global motorsport community and FIA can’t even penalize it. art.

username00 : lando: “carlos i don’t think we can actually murder someone” charles, loading a slides presentation : “speak for yourself”

username15 : what’s the FIA gonna do? black flag him for emotional terrorism? he already WON. he already ASCENDED.

username20 : he didn’t say “i will find him” in anger. he said it like a promise. calm. cold. terrifying...oh this man is on a mission.

—

carlos pov

The paddock is still buzzing, even hours after the race. People are celebrating. Reporters are still trying to get quotes. Cameras are still pointed in my direction. But all I hear is the ringing in my ears from those words I said into the mic.

“This one’s for my sister. I will find him.”

I meant it.

I’m still in my race suit, sweat drying uncomfortably against my skin, when my phone buzzes in my hand.

Private Line – Alberto (Legal)

I answer on the first ring. “Tell me something. Good."

Alberto doesn’t waste time. “One of our private investigators traced a withdrawal from a secondary bank account—one Catalina didn’t know existed. The transaction happened two days ago, from a small town outside Geneva.”

My heart kicks into a different rhythm.

“That’s his hideout?”

“Looks like it. There’s more—we got eyes on a vehicle rented under an alias he used in the past. The location matches the bank activity. We're triangulating exact coordinates now.”

I press a hand to my temple. “And Mateo? Was he seen?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. “Not confirmed. But there’s a credible sighting of a child matching his age at a pharmacy nearby. The store’s owner remembered the boy had a small stuffed monkey with him."

I close my eyes. His favorite toy. He takes it everywhere. That’s him. That’s my nephew.

I grip the edge of the table, breathing hard through my nose. “How long until we know for sure?”

“We’ve already got a team flying out. 24 to 36 hours max. If it’s him, we’ll get a court order in place and local authorities involved immediately.”

I open my eyes and stare at my reflection in the dark window. There’s no victory glow. No pride in this win. Just fire in my chest and the dull ache of rage behind my ribs.

“Good,” I say. “Get me on that plane."

“And Carlos…” Alberto lowers his voice. “He’s scared. That’s why he’s moving. He knows what’s coming. He could possibly move again. We are lucky we even got this lead."

“He should be scared,” I murmur. “Because I’m coming.”

I hang up. The celebration around me fades into static. I move through hospitality like a ghost until I reach the back room, where Catalina’s curled up on the couch, half asleep with Charles sat next to her. Eyes locked on her. She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

“Did you find something?” she whispers.

I nod once. “We are close."

She just nods, voice shaking. “Get him back. Get my boy back. Please.”

I kneel in front of her, my hand gripping hers tightly. “I will. I am going to be gone for a few days. Charles and I already discussed you would stay with him. I trust him and I know you trust him."

She nods gently looking to Charles for reassurance and he gives her a light smile and rubs her back.

—

f1gossipgirls

410,493 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz left the Paddock after the Japan GP hand in hand with Charles Leclerc whilst Carlos Sainz seems to have made a break for his Private Jet and argued with the press. I am not even sure what to think at this point.

username00 : oh so catalina and charles are giving “trauma bond turned slow burn romance” while carlos is giving “i will fly this plane myself if you keep asking questions”

username1 : carlos probably has 0 patience left and 14 lawyers on speed dial. i do not blame him one bit.

username0 : not charles holding her hand while her brother is out here threatening to dismantle the press one by one 😭😭😭 the whiplash

username5 : idc what anyone says. carlos is stressed about his nephew. the press needs to back OFF. and also… charles? take care of our girl

username7 : if we get a soft charles x catalina photo drop and a grainy carlos yelling “NO COMMENT” video in the same week?? i’m never recovering

usernameee : no bc catalina walking out with charles after the week she’s had?? and not just walking. hand in hand?? i’m throwing myself into the sea

username15 : carlos probably hasn’t slept in 3 days, got a lead on the guy who took his nephew, and now some rando asked “if this win was strategic”...i too would swing carlos

username17 : i want whatever love potion charles brewed. bc that soft hand-hold in PUBLIC while the world burns?? that’s ride or die energy.

username20 : the moment carlos turned around, fist ready and said “back the fuck off” to that reporter, i grew wings and ascended. captain. legend. king.

username22 : soft boy charles x shattered girl catalina x feral brother carlos = the holy trinity of paddock energy right now

username11 : i need one (1) blurry pap photo of charles putting her in his passenger seat and carlos speed-walking to his jet like he’s about to raid a compound

—

The silence in the car was gentle, not heavy. He didn’t press. He didn’t ask. His hand just rested, palm up between us, waiting. I held it the entire ride. Now we’re in his hotel room... it is quiet, dim, impossibly still after the noise of the paddock. He shuts the door behind us with a soft click, then pauses like he’s afraid to move too fast. Like he’s afraid I might shatter if he breathes too hard. I’m still holding it together by a thread.

"You know you don't need to watch over me. I won't shatter."

"I know you won't, you are incredibly strong but I want to be here so you don't have to be strong...put some of the hurt...some of the weight on me."

He nods, his eyes dark and warm, full of something I can’t name but feel down to my bones. “You don’t have to be okay with me. You don't have to put up that wall. You just have to be honest.”

I look down at my hands, still shaking slightly. “It’s hard to breathe sometimes. Like my ribs forgot how to move without fear lodged between them.”

He steps forward slowly, close enough that I can smell the faint salt of sweat, the lingering edge of cologne. “Can I hold you?”

The question undoes me.

I nod, and he pulls me into him, not with rush, not with urgency, just… shelter. His arms wrap around my shoulders, one hand cradling the back of my head as I fold into him. I press my forehead against his chest and try not to cry again. He gently lies us both down on the bed.

“He took my baby, Charles. The one thing left that he knew brought me joy. I never knew someone could want to see another person suffer so much.” I murmured into his chest.

“I know, Mon cœur. I know. We will get him back to you. If it’s the last thing I do, I will make sure you have your son.” He said and began to rub my back. I feel myself start to cry harder. There was a long pause of silence.

“You’re safe,” he says softly. “You’re not alone.”

My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t even realize how bad it had gotten. I kept telling myself it was normal. That I could handle it. That if I was strong enough, I could make him love me again.”

Charles pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes shining, his voice barely audible. “You didn’t fail. He did.”

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, my throat tight. “I don’t even know how to start over.”

He leans his forehead against mine, tender and grounding. “One moment at a time. You’re already doing it.”

I feel the tears come again, not from pain this time, but relief. Relief that someone sees me. That someone cares without asking me to shrink, or smile, or explain.

I whisper, “Thank you.”

Charles brushes his thumb against my cheek, catching a tear. “I’ve got you, Catalina. As long as you want me to.”

And I believe him. Every word he said.

—

p2 complete:) thank u all sm for the great response on the first part, im glad you all enjoy it. this chapter was definitely a little heavy for me…as someone who has went through something similar to catalina it was a rough write but also sort of healing in a way. hope you all enjoyed this part. as always requests are welcome and I am always open to suggestions!

my messages are always open if you need someone 💋

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obsesssedblerd · 11 months ago

Text

Part Four (2): “I promise, I’ll make this right.”

- the jjk men promising to be a better partner for you after they forget your anniversary.

final [second] written part of this smau series.

Pt. 2: Choso, Shiu, and Gojo

Contains: angst to comfort

a/n: and here’s the last, last part with the remaining characters! again, thank you so much for being so patient! <3 once again, sorry for any mistakes!

---

CHOSO

Truthfully, you didn’t know if you were actually ready to confront Choso, but you know that it’s time. You stand in front of the door to his house, and knock. You wait for less than a minute, then the door opens to reveal Yuuji on the other side, rubbing his tired eyes. His pink hair was messy, so you know that he woke up from a nap not too long ago.

When he registers that it’s you, he gasps loudly, then holds up a hand and smiles nervously. “H-Hi! Um, wait just a minute, I’ll grab him! Please don’t leave this spot.”

“I won’t leave, Yuuji.”

His smile falters a bit. “No, seriously, please don’t. Me, Cho, and Megumi couldn’t find you for days.”

You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I promise,” you say slowly, “I won’t leave.”

“Good. Be right back.” He gives you a thumbs up, closes the door, and you hear him scream from behind it, “Choso!! CHOSO!!! She’s outside, so stop blasting your sad music and get down these damn stairs!! No, I’m not kidding, why would I do that?!”

You blink in shock, then Yuuji opens the door once more to smile sweetly at you. “He’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Uh- Alright, thanks.”

Not too long after, Choso appears. You can immediately tell that he hasn’t been sleeping much the last few days. Other than that, he looks relieved to see you there. He reaches towards you to hug you, then stops himself, remembering the situation. “Hi,” he quietly greets.

“Hi. Walk with me?” He nods, and you two walk side-by-side to a nearby park. You let the silence drag for only a few minutes before you ask him the question that’s been weighing on you for the last couple of days.

“Be honest. Before we got together, did you want to date Yuki at one point?”

Are you only with me because you weren��t able to get with her?

Choso stops in his tracks, and looks over at you, eyes blown wide with shock. “No. Never. We’re just friends, like I’ve told you before. I know it seems like-”

You hold up a hand. “Cho, please just understand where I’m coming from. The-”

“I do understand,” he says desperately, taking a step closer to you. “Of course I do. That's all I’ve been thinking about. I chose to hang out with her instead of you, numerous times. It’s unfair to you, I know, but I swear-”

“I feel like you love her.” Your biggest fear of your relationship flies out your mouth, and tears rush to your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. “Every single time, it’s her. It feels like it won’t matter how special something is—like our anniversary—because you’ll run to her the second she asks you to hang out and completely forget about me.” You take a breath and exhale slowly, trying not to make yourself look even more pathetic. “I’m tired, Cho.”

“Listen to me. I do not love Yuki,” Choso says slowly. “Not now, not in secret, not ever. I am in love with you. You’re the one I want to wake up next to every morning, you’re the only one I trust when it comes to helping my siblings, and you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He scoops your hand into his. “There’s no way in hell that I would choose her or any other woman over you, so I’m begging you, please get that out of your head.”

Before you can use a sleeve to wipe your tears, he wipes them for you, then uses his hand to cup your cheek. “I’m so sorry for hurting you. You spent so long planning the dinner for our anniversary and I completely forgot about it like it was nothing. I wish I could go back in time, but I can’t. All I can do is beg for another chance to be a better boyfriend. So, please, let me have another chance.”

You notice that his eyes are also watery. You’re about to point it out, but he hugs you tightly before you can, his body slightly trembling. “These last few days have been killing me, because I’ve messed up so bad to the point where you think I’m in love with another woman, when you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life. I don’t want anyone but you. I could never choose anyone over you. I don’t care who they are.”

He rubs a comforting hand up and down your back. “Please,” he repeats once more.

“Never again, Choso,” you mutter shakily. “I mean it.”

He sighs in relief, then kisses you. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Walk back with me? I have your present back at the house. Then, we can plan another dinner, and something special after that.”

---

SHIU

When you enter the hotel room, you see Shiu Kong there, leaning in the chair with a light, but nervous smile. “Hey, princess.”

The door shuts, and you furrow your brows in confusion. “How the fuck did you get in here?”

“Well, you weren’t answering your phone anymore, so I found a different way to track you.”

Your brain whirrs with multiple possible scenarios, then you roll your eyes when you figure it out. “You asked Toji, didn’t you?” Your work partner was the only one who knew your location.

“I had to blackmail him in order to find out where you were. It wasn’t easy.”

You give him a fake smile. “Well, I don’t really care about that. You should leave.”

“No.”

“Shiu. Don’t piss me off,” you warn. “Go.”

“Not until we talk.”

You cross your arms. “It’s either you leave, or I will handle you the same way I’d handle any person that comes into my room without my knowledge or permission.”

Shiu holds his hands up. “I’ll let you shoot me after I apologize.”

“You’ve already apologized plenty over text. I already told you that I’m done. I’m better off focusing on work, and you’re better off just hanging out with your friends.”

“Can you stop saying that shit? Baby, please, I swear that missing our anniversary dinner was a horrible mistake, and I’ll never make it again if you give me another chance.” When you don’t answer, he sighs desperately, taking a chance with his life and walking over to where you’re standing. “I’m sorry, princess. I completely understand why you’re pissed, and like I said, I’d let you shoot me if it’ll make you feel better. However, I will say that I can’t let you go. I love you.”

You shut your eyes and shake your head. “Look, that’s sweet and all, but I don’t think you understand how awful it is knowing that your boyfriend chose a random night of drinking with his friends over a romantic dinner that you spent weeks planning. It makes it hard to believe that you even like me, let alone love me.”

“I understand why you’re doubting my feelings for you. Anyone would after their lover forgets their anniversary. But I promise, I do love you, and if you give me another chance, I’ll show you. I’ll make you feel it. Please give me a chance to fix this.”

“...But what if you don’t?”

“Then I’ll let you kill me, like you’ve killed your other boyfriend after he fucked up and broke your heart.” When you raise your brow in question, he answers you, “Toji told me about that when he warned me to leave you alone earlier. Not taking his side at all. Heard he was an asshole, anyway. But, I’m serious. If I don’t do better, and I hurt you again, I won’t run or fight back when you come to kill me.”

“Shiu, I don’t want to kill you,” you say, slightly frustrated. “I just want you to care more.”

His thumb brushes underneath your eyes. You didn’t even know that you started crying. “I know, princess, ‘m so sorry. I promise, I’ll never make you cry again, and I’ll be better.” He’s relieved when you allow him to hug you. “Come home, okay? We’ll talk more there, and then I’ll start making this up to you.”

You nod, then rest your head on his shoulder. “You do know that Toji’s more than likely going to kick your ass for blackmailing him, right?”

“You’re in my arms again, so it was worth it.”

---

GOJO

You’re speeding through the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. An hour ago, you got a text from Maki, your precious second-year student, telling you that something bad happened and that you need to come to the school quickly.

“Maki, I’m here! Are you okay?!” You shout as you burst into the empty classroom. You find her, and you tilt your head in confusion.

She looks fine. In fact, she’s standing next to a Yuuta Okkotsu, who looks like he’s about to vomit. “S-Sensei! I-”

Maki cuts him off with her usual, sharp glare. “Not. A. Word.”

Inumaki and Panda are also there, and across the room, the three first years are standing stiffly.

Something’s up.

“Okay,” you say to the students as you cross your arms. “What on earth is going on?”

Nobara looks over at Yuuji, who’s sweating nervously, and raises a brow. “Um… Haha,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t look at me like that, Kugisaki. H-He should be here any second, I swear!”

He?

Suddenly, Satoru Gojo teleports in. “What’s going on?” He asks as he looks over at the students. “I didn’t see a threat outside of the school. Yuuji said something bad happened?”

“Great!” Nobara claps her hands together. “You’re both here!”

Satoru goes quiet, and you raise an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah?”

Maki points to you and Satoru. “You two need to talk.”

“...Sorry?”

“You two need to talk!” Nobara repeats Maki’s words. “Listen, we can’t stand having our two favorite teachers separated like this. [Y/L/N]-sensei has been gone for days!”

“Plus, Gojo-sensei, you’ve been super stressed!” Yuuji shouts in defense. “Fushiguro says that you eat a lot more sweets when you’re stressed. You ate two packs of those mini cupcakes, plus the brownie that Nanamin gave me!”

When Satoru looks over at Yuuta, he throws his hands up. “No, no, please don’t look at me like that! I voted against this! I said that w-we should probably give you two some space to figure it-” Inumaki slaps a hand over his mouth.

“We’re just… worried,” Megumi mumbles.

“Yup!” Panda shouts. “Very worried, and that’s why we came up with a plan to get you two back on track. We’re going to lock you two in this room, and you’re not coming out until you’re happy and in love again!”

“Because you two are supposed to be together forever and get married and invite us to the wedding!” Yuuji pouts, and the rest of the students voice their agreements.

You can’t believe it. They set you up. Your mouth falls open in shock, and the students all walk outside of the classroom. Maki and Nobara are the last ones out, and they both glare at Satoru. “Geto-sensei said that you missed your anniversary dinner,” Nobara hisses. “You better give her the most amazing, romantic and extravagant dinner after this, or we will deal with you!”

Behind Nobara, Yuuta chuckles nervously. “...Pretty sure that you won’t be able to get past his infinity-”

“Shut up, Okkotsu!” The rest of the students shout, then the door shuts and locks with a loud click. You drag a hand down your face, then scoff. Great.

“Wow, they’re really something,” Satoru chuckles, but when you don’t say anything, he turns to face you, his expression serious, even with his usual blindfold on. “Say the word, and I’ll teleport you out of here. Then, I’ll talk to them.”

“No, it’s okay,” you say quietly as you sit in one of the empty chairs. “We can talk.”

As you look around the classroom, a few memories from the year before came back. “Wait, this is the classroom where we met, isn’t it?”

“Looks like it,” Satoru says as he leans against the wall, smiling softly. “Zen’in, Panda, Inumaki, and Okkotsu were first years. You were standing right here. Your first day as a transfer, and you were already teaching these kids as professionals.”

“Yeah.” You stifle a laugh. “You stayed for the entire lesson, even though you had a meeting with the higher-ups. Suguru and Yaga had to practically drag you out of here so you wouldn’t spend another hour flirting.”

“They were pissed, but it was worth it. Our newest team member is just so pretty,” he says, then reaches for your hand, your thumb lovingly brushing against yours as his voice dips lower. “The most beautiful woman that my six eyes have ever seen.”

It’s a nice memory, but when you remember everything else, your smile falters. Satoru sighs, “I’m so sorry, pretty girl. Not just forgetting the annivesary dinner that you planned, but also for leaving you hanging. I don’t blame you for disappearing for a few days. If I were in your shoes, I would’ve been upset, too. I really don’t have an excuse. That was just… wrong.”

“I appreciate that, Toru, but… are you sure that this even works? All of the chasing, the begging to spend just a few hours together, it’s draining. I know you’re the strongest sorcerer-”

“You matter more than that,” he says firmly. “So much more than that. If it came down to choosing between you or being the strongest, I’m choosing you in an instant. I meant it when I said that I’d let Toji Fushiguro kill me again before letting you go.” You wince when you remember the gruesome details of that story, but don’t interrupt. “I made a horrible mistake by forgetting that date. I can’t imagine how awful it was sitting at the restaurant all alone. I’m so sorry. I don’t care how long it’ll take to make this up, I’ll prove that you mean the world to me.”

You consider his words. While you’re still a bit hurt about being forgotten, you miss your boyfriend, and you do believe that he’ll make it up to you, despite you being a bit hesitant. “One more chance, Satoru,” you tell him. “Don’t ever do this to me again.”

“I won’t. I promise,” he says, lifting his blindfold to reveal the gorgeous, cerulean eyes that you love so much. “You won’t regret this.” When you reach for him, he lowers his infinity fully to let you hug him, a long exhale leaving your body when you’re suddenly wrapped in his arms and his scent. “I missed you,” he whispers to you. “I was so worried. I couldn’t find you.”

“Didn’t mean to worry you.”

He kisses your cheek, then pulls away from you. “Okay, time to go.”

“Go where?”

Satoru chuckles. “I owe you an amazing, romantic, and extravagant dinner, otherwise my students will find a way to kill me. Plus, we’re going to be disappearing for a while. I got a trip planned. Flight leaves early in the morning.”

You gasp. “What?! But what about work? Or the students? Or the-”

He interrupts you with a feather-light kiss against your lips. “All taken care of, pretty girl,” he purrs. “Just let me make this up to you, okay?”

“Alright, but first you need to apologize to the students for wreaking havoc while you were stressed, and buy Yuuji a new brownie.”

#jjk #written by rey <3 #choso x reader #gojo x reader #shiu x reader #shiu kong #shiu x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk au #choso kamo #choso x you #gojo x you #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smau

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simpurnatural · 6 months ago

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"Flustered" || Short-Fic

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Back to back Min Ho fics??? Didn't expect to get so much positive feedback. Thanks for going easy on ya girl, I'm still a bit rusty! Enjoy and make sure to wipe that drool off your face babe!"

Warning(s): Spoilers for "XO, Kitty" seasons 1 & 2, A little bit of Smut, Language, Sorta Proofread

As the fall semester came to an end, with everyone not wanting to part ways even for a just a month, Min Ho decides to invite the entire friend group for a winter getaway.

“Where’s Y/n?” Asked Dae which made everyone’s heads turn before the sound of snow crunching was heard.

You approached the group that was currently enjoying the hot tub, arms crossed to keep your robe shut. Min Ho suggested that the hot tub would be best way to relax after a day of travelling

“Hi! Sorry I’m late to the party,” you smiled whilst kicking off your slippers, then sliding your robe off your shoulders.

“Hot damn girl,” Q said, overcame with astonishment. "Drop the workout routine asap please," he joked as everyone's eyes lingered on your figure.

“Oh stop it,” you laughed and rolled your eyes. “This old thing isn’t worth the hype,” you insisted, but everyone would’ve begged to differ.

The navy blue two piece you were sporting hugged all the right places. Your ass and tits looked like they needed saving. The sight was definitely giving body tea.

Everyone watched as you made your descent into the tub and sat in between Kitty and Min Ho. Kitty had given you a small wave whereas Min Ho could barely make eye contact. Various conversations continued but Min Ho remained in an unlike-him-silence.

He wondered how he had not noticed how hot you looked until now. Not saying that looks are everything, but Min Ho felt stuck on how he never gave you a second glance.

"-Right Min Ho?" Dae asks, turning to his best friend who was clearly zoning out.

"Sorry what?" Min Ho replied, snapping out of his trance.

"We're gonna be able to go skiing first thing tomorrow, right?" Dae reiterated, a slight tiredness in his voice due to Min Ho's lack of contribution to the conversation.

"Of course," Min Ho nodded before his gaze back on you, who was too busy chatting with Yuri and Kitty to realizing anything else.

"Woah okay, this is new," Q teased, as his eyes followed Min Ho's. "The bikini has got your eyes lurkin'" he says, making Jin snicker at the observation.

"What are you guys talking about?" you ask with an unaware smile on your lips, Min Ho's eyes instantly looking down.

"Min Ho here seems to have-" Q began.

"Shut it," Min Ho tsked before moving to leave the hot tub.

"Hey, we were just joking," Jin called out as Min Ho shuffled back into the house.

"What was that about?" Yuri questioned, all conversations now put on pause.

"Is Min Ho okay?" Kitty asked, looking to the other boys occupying the hot tub.

"He's just a little flustered," Dae replied, the feeling of worry instantly overcame you.

"Did I do something?" you say wide-eyed but to no response. "I'll go check on him," you say before making your way out of the tub and walking towards the house. "Min Ho?" your voice echoed throughout the home.

You noticed a light coming from inside the kitchen and chose to investigate. There stood Min Ho, chugging a bottle of water with his slim yet toned physique being illuminated by the refrigerator light. He began to cough up said water after realizing your presence.

"Bloody hell, you scared me," he coughed, covering his face with the inside of his elbow. "What is it Y/n?" he asks while shutting the fridge door.

"What's with you?" you quizzed, "Ever since I joined you guys outside, you've been quiet and when I tried to converse with you-you run back inside!" you add with a hint of frustration in your voice.

"It's not my fault-"

"-So it's mine? What did I do wrong?" you cut off, urgently wanting an answer as to why your friend was avoiding you.

"Y/n, it's because y-you literally look like t-that!" Min Ho exclaimed as if it were common knowledge. "How else is a guy supposed to act when you decide walk around wearing something like that?" he questioned.

"Is what I have on not okay? Was there something in my hair?" you blabbered in response, instantly being overcame with the self-conscious feeling.

"It's fact that when I saw you earlier, I wish you didn't have anything on" Min Ho muttered in an almost whisper like volume.

The realization finally hit you, Min Ho had been eyeing you since you stepped into the hot tub. You face flushed a bright red, clearly flattered by the words that just came out of his mouth.

"So what you're saying is-"

"What I'm saying is that you look almost too good," Min Ho said, his voice deep and eyes darkened like a lion about to pounce on his next prey.

The small distance between the two of you shut in almost an instant, his hand cupped the side of your face gently. You could've sworn that the beat of your heart could be heard from miles away.

Your lack of response gave Min Ho time to lift you up and place you on the kitchen counter. Accidentally, you let out a small whimper at the feeling of the cold tile touching your skin. Min Ho felt as if he could've finished off that noise alone.

Standing between your legs, Min Ho's hands traveled all the way back down to your ass. You watched his eyes really take in your body, as if he could drink you up like a glass of water.

"Tell me to stop, and I will" Min Ho whispered as he gave your plump skin a squeeze.

Leaning in with your lips close to his ear, finally you replied, "I don't think I want you to stop".

Min Ho took this as his green light and you felt as his hands unclasped your bikini top. Grabbing the piece of clothing, he tossed away fand his eyes settled on your breast.

Biting his lip, Min Ho took one of each into his hands. "Beautiful. You are so beautiful Y/n," he said with is his accent thick, almost like he was about to melt at the sight of you.

You gasped at the feeling of his breath on your tits, causing a domino effect of butterflies and goosebumps to cover you. Min Ho chuckled at this, rubbing your nipples with his thumb in a circular motion.

Eyes closed; you threw your head back at the sensation before feeling something foreign come in contact with your breast. Min Ho's tongue began exploring your chest. It was as if he was trying to paint a picture.

His grasp on your tits became slightly more secure as he was egged on by your moans. He was marking his territory all over you with bright red hickeys.

Your half assed attempt to stifle your moans was with the palm of your hand. Min Ho however loved how loud you were getting for him and yanked your hand away from your face.

"I want to hear you," he insisted, pulling his lips away from your chest for a mere moment. "I want to hear you all night," he smirked, leaning in for a kiss.

"Uh guys?" a voiced that belonged to Yuri called out. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice trailing off into the hallway probably in search of you both.

Min Ho looked down with a smile on his face before getting your swim top from the ground. You quickly put it back on then pulled your hair to the front to cover the marks Min Ho left behind.

"W-we're here Yuri!" you replied hopping off the counter and walking out of the kitchen with Min Ho right behind you.

As Yuri came walking back towards you guys, her head tilted to the side in confusion, "What were you guys doing over there in the dark?"

"Just got some water," Min Ho replied, which seemingly convinced Yuri enough for her to walk back outside. "I'm not done with you yet," he whispered in your ear, giving your ass a slap.

JAN 2025

#xo kitty #minho oneshot #minho fanfic #minho moon #minho xo kitty x reader #minho moon smut #minho moon x reader #tatbilb #to all the boys i've loved before #min ho moon #min ho x reader

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rhyrhy · 5 months ago

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Never Yours, Always Hers - A.A

Toxic! Abby x fem reader

⚠︎ Warnings: substance Abuse, emotional, psychological, (no physical!) Public humiliation (r!), sexual content!, Grief and trauma, harassment (r!), Manipulation, Wealth & Privilege, Obsession. Just overall darker themes! 10.3k words

✉︎ Authors note: Low-key exposing myself with my guilty pleasure of toxic! abby, But I write plenty others if this isn’t your cup of tea! otherwise enjoy!

⤷ Pt 1/2 - MDNI! - Mlist

Part 2 will be tagged here!

Sweet Abbigail,

A smile of white, her parents adored. Large family portraits of the cutest little girl in the middle, freckles dotting her nose, a Burberry cardigan always a bit too big for her. Abbigail was a mommy’s girl through and through. Her mother, picture-perfect in her small doe eyes, was the epitome of grace. Abby always strived to be just like her. soft, sweet, and always under control. But behind the rose-colored glasses, cracks began to show faster than she’d ever expected.

✈︎ The first time she saw it, she wasn’t quite sure why her mother would always take so long to make her father’s tea in the mornings. She’d wait her turn at the large dark oak dining table, her small hands clasped together as she watched cartoons, polished silverware reflecting a little girl desperate to have breakfast with her mommy like every other morning. But there was a stillness to the house that morning; Abbigail didn’t understand it at first, not until she noticed the way her mother’s eyes would linger a little too long on the kettle before she’d pour the tea. The silence was only being filled with the sound of a spoon clinking the sides of the mug. Sweet Abbigail learned to stop asking questions before they even formed in her wondering mind.

✈︎ Her nights were no better. She’d toss and turn in her bed, the muffled screams and quiet chatter from her parents’ bedroom echoing down the large hallway. angry whispers and harsh tones seeping through the walls. It was an ugly rhythm, one she eventually learned to ignore.

✈︎ Growing up, her Elementary school was no better either. The principal stood in front of her, holding up a cut braid. The girl, some brat named Jessica Baldwin, just had to make fun of Abby’s artwork in class. Questioning her choice of colored glitter.

“I’m just kidding, it’s a joke.” Jessica giggled, turning back to her project. Purple crayon in hand.

Yeah, She didn’t find any of it funny. Watching Jessica’s dark braid taunt her as she faced forward. Her blue irises darted to the supposed ‘kid-safe’ scissors in her small fingers. That day, in a blur, Abby had absolutely pulled Jessica’s hair, snipping off her braid with said scissors as the class erupted in chaos. Her small hand covered her mouth to hide a small laugh threatening to add to the noise.

“I didn’t do it, Daddy. I swear!” Later that day after two phone calls. Abby begged, her voice trembling as she stood at the principal’s desk.

Her parents barely believed her, but they didn’t exactly punish her, either. They just… didn’t get it. They never did. Her father’s brow furrowed in disbelief, while her mother’s eyes seemed too tired to even care.

✈︎ The name that had once been laced with sugar felt like a slap in the face. She hated it. She hated how her father would say it with that soft, adoring tone, as if nothing was wrong. Abbigail, he’d coo, always with that gleam of love in his eyes. But that love felt empty now. So, now in her high school years she had zero tolerance for it.

“Jesus… do you need me to spell it? It’s A-B-B-Y” she snapped, her voice sharp, filled with a venom she didn’t even know she had. “Stop fucking calling me that.”

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Throughout high school, Abby dealt with a lot of internalized homophobia. She would scold herself whenever she felt flustered around pretty girls, her heartbeat pounding in her chest when close friend Nora would redo her hair during class.It only became more apparent after her first time with a guy. They made out for what felt like two seconds until he got way too eager, and let's just say she vowed to never let a man stick his penis anywhere near her again.

✈︎ She knew she wasn't the girliest. She played tennis, had short finger nails, and manspread when she sat. But even with that under her belt, she would dismiss her feelings toward girls as a phase. At least that's what her father called it when she brought home Alessia Forbes, senior year. They'd shared a kiss behind the bleachers in 10th grade, and it forced Abby to face the music. Opening the door to becoming more comfortable in her skin and how she dressed, Abby started to embrace what felt right. She wasn't a fan of makeup or dresses. pants were much more convenient.

✈︎ Alessia, unfortunately, much like most in Abby's life, didn't stick around long. Abby should've known, though. Alessia's eyes always wandered when other girls were around-especially when Ellie Williams was in proximity. At Eastside Preparatory, bullying, fighting, or even petty beefs were immediately reported. They had a reputation to uphold, matched only by the ridiculous tuition parents paid. Abby couldn't stand Ellie, though. She didn't intentionally steer her girlfriend away, but she needed someone to blame.

✈︎ Abby was always quick to anger, and when Ellie-someone who pushed all her buttons— called her out on her behavior, things went south quickly. The two got into a physical fight that was so violent Abby had to transfer schools to avoid it tarnishing her record.

“Abbigail, what the hell were you thinking?!” Her father asked, arms crossed.

“A fight? You think we spend all this money for you to act like a barbarian while you’re supposed to be learning?” her mother scoffed.

Abby didn’t answer. She just stood there, jaw clenched, arms crossed over her chest like she could physically hold in all the things she wanted to say. Because what was the point? They wouldn’t listen. They never did. She wanted to tell them that Ellie started it, that she had no choice but to defend herself. That it wasn’t her fault she lost her temper. But she knew they wouldn’t buy it. Not when they’d already decided she was the problem. So she let them lecture her, nodding at the right times, staring at the floor when they threw around words like disappointment and irresponsible like they were facts written in stone. Flashes of that green-eyed bitch. causing her to dig her nails into her palms. By the time they were done, East Bench, Salt Lake, was already in the past. New York was an adjustment.

✈︎ Columbia was bigger, louder. People walked fast, like they had somewhere important to be, never sparing her more than a passing glance. It was a far cry from the bubble of private school back home, where reputations were currency and whispers traveled faster than wildfire. Abby liked that. She liked that no one knew who she was. That she wasn’t Abbigail Anderson, the hothead who got kicked out of Eastside Prep. Here, she was just another student.

✈︎ Her father had pulled some strings to get her in—of course he had—but Abby actually wanted to prove she deserved to be here. She kept her head down, went to class, and lifted at the gym in the evenings. It kept her from thinking too much. From remembering how things ended back home. She told herself this was good. That it was a fresh start. How much of her life she abandoned like it was nothing. It didn’t matter now.

✈︎ A new group of friends, her gold-plated Cabernet on her belt loop every morning, and hair breezing behind her. It was enough. Until it wasn't. Pushing herself into her studies and sports to keep her parents happy. She wasn’t sure if she was, though.

And that only deepened with the loss of her mother. But it’s what led her to you.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Growing up, money was never a concern. Your parents liked to call it being “comfortable,” but in reality, your lifestyle was far beyond that. Their status placed them among the elite, working closely with others in their sphere—the world of wealth, class, and the quiet sin of greed.

✈︎ Your father, a renowned real estate developer, owned Wilson & Co. Properties, a firm responsible for some of the most extravagant hotels and high-rises in the country. Your mother, a former corporate lawyer turned philanthropist, ran the Wilson Foundation, a charity often praised for its generous donations yet quietly criticized for its selective philanthropy. So naturally, you found yourself with a golden spoon resting on your tongue.

✈︎ And then there was Jerry Anderson, a man you’d seen in the circle your father had. CEO of Anderson Biomedical, a medical research company specializing in ‘cutting-edge’ treatments for neurodegenerative diseases. He was as respected, a man who knew how to turn science into profit. The only thing he couldn’t save or hook up to more machines to buy time? His wife.

“Sarah Anderson dead at 42”

“Anderson Biomedical CEO Faces Scrutiny After Wife’s Shocking Death”

“Gone Too Soon: Socialite Sarah Anderson’s Mysterious Passing Sparks Questions”

It was everywhere. Sarah, She was beautiful; every photograph you’d seen looked almost airbrushed. Probably due to all the Botox, but she was striking regardless. Little did you know she’d passed those beautiful features to a young woman who’d flip your world upside down. A recantation of her flesh. blue eyes that reminded you of the waters of Navagio during your holiday in Greece. Golden brown-blonde strands that seemed to always fall in place. Pink lips that always sat in a small pout. A jawline that you’d probably cut yourself on if you ever got the chance to run your fingers along it. That work of art was His daughter, Abigail fucking Anderson; The first girl your parents approved of, And the worst breakup of your life.

✈︎ You first spotted her in your all-black long-sleeve dress and roses in hand, head hung in respect. Her mother’s funeral. You felt out of place as you’d only met Jerry a few times at galas, but your family went. Everyone did.?It was sickening how many news outlets sat outside, pushing microphones in their faces. They were trying to grieve for God's sake. But conspiracies about their family always ran high. But the rumors had already spread like wildfire. The whispers in the halls, the hushed voices behind gloved hands. Sarah tried to poison him, you know. Slowly. Over months. Some said Jerry caught her before it was too late. Others claimed he staged the whole thing to cover up his own sins. Money laundering, apparently. It was a ridiculous theory—one you brushed off as gossip from people with too much time and too little to lose. But the one that made you pause? Abby’s last girlfriend left traumatized. You didn’t know the details, only that she left town suddenly and never looked back. No one could agree on what happened. Some swore she was just a jealous ex who wanted revenge. Others claimed she was scared. But Abby? She never spoke about it. Never gave the rumors life. You told yourself none of it mattered. Because when you saw her standing there, shoulders tense, trying to keep herself together under the weight of a hundred scrutinizing eyes, you didn’t see a monster. You saw a girl who had just lost her mother. It was ridiculous, you felt. Empathy, something your mother said you held ‘too much’ of. And it’s exactly what led you to next to her, the eulogy ringing out into the large room.

A droplet streamed down the freckled cheeks next to you.

You felt guilty for being so focused on how her brown eyelashes stuck together as they dampened with tears. the whites of her eyes pink. Her jaw tightened, an obvious strain in her body. The way her black dress shirt clung to her toned arms. The small bump on the bridge on her nose. Beautiful. The spitting image of her mother. Sandwiched between your families, Her knee pressing against yours. Yup, Your heart rate was definitely faster than usual. When—Your hand seemed to move on its own.

Her blue eyes flicked over the girl sitting next to her. Her first glimpse of you, a small sympathetic smile on your lips. Arm offering her a Kleenex to dry her face. You tried not to furrow your brows when she just …stared at you. You aren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but your fingers moved. Gently soaking her tears of salt into the tissue. Patting along her sharp features. A small thank you left her lips before she turned back to the next family member speaking. Later that day. You found her sitting on a bench. Fidgeting with the ends of her hair.

“You look just like her. She was beautiful,” you said, offering Abby another tissue. She didn’t take it. Instead, she exhaled a shaky breath and leaned into your hand.

“She would’ve liked you,” she murmured, voice thick with grief. You stilled, taken aback, a small flush creeping up your neck. You weren’t sure what to say, so you just patted her face dry once more, letting the moment settle between you. One of many interactions to come.

✈︎ You and Abby felt like two magnets, always drawn back together no matter how much space was between you. At gatherings, in crowded rooms filled with bodies, your eyes would meet and every time, she made sure you felt like the only person in the world.

✈︎ She charmed you completely. Abby had a way of making you feel seen, like she was peeling you apart layer by layer just to admire what was underneath. Every compliment was so specific, so deeply personal, it felt like she had memorized you. She gave you gifts you mentioned in passing, sent good morning texts before you even had a chance to wake up, and called you just to hear your voice. “You make me feel normal,” she admitted one night, after sneaking you away from a party into the cool night air. and you clung to it, to her. not realizing how much weight she placed on you. You barely noticed the way she inserted herself into your world—how effortlessly she made you friends with Manny, how she reconnected with Nora and brought Jordan, Leah, and the rest of their circle into your orbit. These were the children of wealth and influence, kids who knew their parents would clean up any mess they made. Late nights blurred into early mornings spent in dimly lit bars, luxury penthouses, and hidden corners of clubs where their last names meant everything.

One night, Abby pulled you away from it all. Away from the noise, away from the people. She kissed you hard against the wall of her apartment, hands roaming like she was trying to memorize you-mapping every inch the way she did with her words. She was intense but careful, treating you like something fragile yet untouchable all at once. It was the first time in a long time that something in her life felt real. And it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

“Abs…” you breathed out. Her body engulfing was heavy like a weighted blanket. The feeling of her hands roaming your body, pure worship. Your head beyond spinning.

But Abby only pulled you closer, like she couldn't stand even a sliver of space between you. Her tongue slid into your mouth, desperate, like she was staking her claim. Fingers tangled in your hair, pulling, twisting— holding you there like she was afraid you'd disappear if she let go. It was heated, consuming. You'd never been tangled up like this before. And you never wanted it to end.

The gifts, the attention, her touch in all the right places. Abby made you feel like the center of the universe. And you needed it. She broke the kiss, panting, eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. She looked at you like you were something holy, something made just for her. Her hands roamed your back, fingertips tracing patterns, memorizing, claiming.

"Fuck, I need you so bad," she breathed, voice thick, raw. "Now. Like right now."

And later, as she lay beside you, her arm wrapped around your waist like she could keep you tethered to her, she thought back to the past. To the girls who expected her to take the lead, to do all the work, to prove herself in a way that always left her feeling hollow. But this? This was different. You wanted her, you gave as much as you took, and it made something inside her tighten, coil, and refuse to let go.

Not now. Not ever

✈︎ Abby had her ways of getting what she wanted. It was never outright. never something you could point to and call unfair. Just little things. Offhanded comments that made you second-guess yourself. “You still hang out with her?” she’d say, half-laughing, half-serious. “I swear she has a crush on you.” Or, when you mentioned grabbing lunch with a friend she didn’t particularly like; “Must be nice to have all this free time,” Abby mused, flipping through her phone. “Wish I didn’t miss you so much when you’re gone.” It was always playful, never an argument. But over time, you found yourself hesitating before making plans. Weighing whether the fun was worth the look Abby would give you later. The passive sighs. The casual, “Oh, you were with her?” that left you feeling ridiculous for even trying to defend yourself. Then there were the things she didn’t even have to say.

────୨ৎ────

Like the way she leaned into you one night, cheek pressed against your shoulder as you scrolled through your camera roll. You loved moments like these. You just had no idea the chaos it would later awaken.

“Who’s that?” she asked, voice laced with casual curiosity.

“Hm? Her? That’s Dina, I met her through a friend.” You paused your scrolling, finger hovering over the screen.

“Wait—wait, go back. That picture.”

“This one?” You swiped back to a group photo—just you, Dina, and her girlfriend, who had tagged along that day.

“Pfft. Ellie. Offf course,” she scoffed.

“You know her girlfriend?” you asked, glancing at Abby.

“Our fists do,” she muttered. “She’s the reason I had to leave East Bench.”

“Oh.” You blinked, unsure what to make of that. You were years behind that, you felt.

“Just… be careful around her,” she added. “Girlfriend’s a bitch. She might be too.” She teased, bumping your arm.

“Hey! She’s nice. And you need to let that go. Grudge-holding ass,” you laughed, shoving her shoulder.

“Hey yourself, I have my reasons!” she chuckled, shoving you back.

✈︎ Dina was fun, always finding the best overpriced boutiques with hidden gems. The kind of girl who always had a spare hair tie when needed. It was a shame she started canceling on you more often. Eventually, she even unfollowed you on social media. You wanted to reach out. had you said something wrong? Forgotten a birthday? But she was just a new friend. You’d make more. At least, that’s what your doting girlfriend told you when you came to her upset about it.

“Go ahead. Say you told me so,” you sighed after explaining what happened.

“What? No.” Abby tilted her head, her expression unreadable, like she… already knew. She patted your shoulder, then looked up at you with a bitten back laugh.

“I told you so.”

“Abby!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. You two spent the rest of the day joking about it but it still hurt. Lingering subconsciously.

✈︎ What you didn’t know was that Abby had already decided you didn’t need Dina. You certainly didn’t need Ellie, either. Maybe she found Dina’s number while you were sleeping, sent a few texts telling her to stay away. Maybe she didn’t. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was you leaning back into her, letting her hold you, telling her how much you appreciated her. How much you loved her.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ God, she loved hearing you say it. The way you said it with no hesitation, holding eye contact, voice sending jolts through her body. It also didn’t matter the time of day or what you were doing. she needed to hear it. Yes, even when she was knuckles deep, listening to you whine and moan.

“Tell me you love me, baby,” she murmured, lips brushing your ear.

“Let me hear you.”

And when you did, breathless, pleading, her grip tightened.

“Louder, baby—uh huh, yeah, you fucking do.”

But how could you pick up on small things like that when your eyes were busy rolling to the back of your skull. This was love, passion, protection. she made sure it was drilled into your head.

────୨ৎ────

 “No, baby. Not that one,” Abby said, shaking her head as she nodded toward your closet.

This was the third outfit she’d vetoed. You loved your sweet girlfriend—you really did—but moments like this made you want to strangle her. It had become a small pattern, one you were only now starting to pick up on. The way she’d tug down the hem of your skirt, make you do a slow spin before you left together, double-checking that you were covered in all the places she swore were only for her eyes to see. Your lower back. Too much cleavage. A glimpse of midriff. None of that.

And when she wasn’t subtly adjusting your outfits, she was replacing them altogether. Gifts—so many gifts. Gorgeous, expensive pieces that were impossible to turn down. Each one came with a sweet little note, the kind that made you feel silly for even questioning it. “Saw this and thought of you, pretty girl.” Or “Can’t wait to see you in this, baby.”

✈︎ Yes, the skirts were longer. The shirts—silky, high-necked, modest—were all designer. Chanel, Burberry, Prada. And when winter came, she surprised you with the exact brown and black fur coat you’d shown her on Pinterest months ago. The excitement had nearly erased the lingering thought in the back of your mind. You began to think, maybe it wasn’t about keeping you warm. It was about keeping you covered. Pushing that aside, you’d buy her pretty things in return, but you noticed she preferred more intimate gifts. Like the stocking you made her on your first Christmas together, the one where you said “I love you” for the first time. Or the scrapbook you created, filled with candid photos of the two of you through the seasons. watching the backgrounds change from snow to rain to red leaves and to blooming flowers.

✈︎ She kept all of them. I mean, all of them. Even the tissue you patted her face with after her mother’s funeral. Yes, she kept that too. You didn’t know until one day, while you were cleaning up for her. something you rarely did since she was a bit of a neat freak. You saw the napkin, obviously used. Before you could throw it out, she took it from you. You blinked, unsure, but assumed she was going to dispose of it herself. Little did you know, you had made a much bigger mark on her than you realized. That day, she was staring at you, as if she were seeing her future. Did she ask you about any of her plans? No, of course not. She figured you’d be happy as long as you had her. Thoughts like that felt obscene in her mind. What she did ask, though, was:

✈︎ “You’re happy, right?” She whispered, tilting your face to hers, always satisfied with whatever answer you gave.

✈︎ “Oh, you remembered…?” She’d smile when you recalled even the smallest details of your time together.

✈︎ “You still love me, right? Even if we don’t always talk about it?” Yes, yes, and yes. No wasn't a word you had the heart to say to her. To your Abby? Your sweet partner, it was always yes. Even if you didn’t want to say it. It was never no. So today when she asked you to get dressed to go out with your circle of friends for a night on the water. You did exactly that.

────୨ৎ────

“Seriously, Abs? Do you even want me to go? You keep saying no to my—”

“That one is good.” Abby cut you off mid-sentence, her eyes flicking up and down your outfit, finally approving. You’d been playing dress-up for what felt like an hour, but it was never enough. You’d given in, slipping into something a bit more modest than you wanted, yet you couldn’t fight her.

“I’m convinced you want a nun for a girlfriend.” You sighed.

She stepped up behind you, hands firm on your hips as she leaned in, her chin rested your shoulder. Her voice was low. “Not a nun. Just Don’t want anyone else looking at you like that.” Her grip tightened slightly. She exhaled, her breath warm against your skin. “Just want you for me, that’s all.”

You felt too covered up for a late-night boat ride with friends, though. But you pick and choose your battles, right? If she was happy, you’re happy. You ended up tying the shirt to a crop when she wasn't looking. You loved your body; you were allowed to show it off occasionally.

Hand in hand, you drove to the port in Abby’s Jeep. The ride was quiet, too quiet. The engine hummed beneath the silence, and you kept your gaze fixed on the city lights outside, knowing it was easier than looking at her.

The glow from the dashboard reflected off her jawline, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips when you reached for her hand.

“Damn, what took you two so long?” A voice called out from the dock as you stepped onto the weathered wood. A man waved, his playful grin highlighted by the glow of the dock lights. Jordan, his thick black eyebrows furrowed, watched as you and Abby approached the small group.

You wanted to joke about Abby making you change a hundred times, but you knew better. That would only earn you a sharp look and a night of passive-aggressive silence. So instead, you just blamed it on traffic and stepped onto the Boston Whaler 285 Conquest, once owned by Abby’s grandfather, now repurposed for nights like these. Luxury, fun, and just enough recklessness to remind you all that nothing bad could ever really happen to people like you.

“Hell yeah, I brought the booze!” Leah’s voice rang out from the helm.

“Someone started early,” you teased, watching her twirl—bottles of something dark in each hand, her laughter cutting through the night.

✈︎ They had originally been Abby’s friends, but now they felt like your own. If Abby didn’t approve of someone, that meant they weren’t worth keeping around anyway. So this group of seven was plenty. Loud, wild, indulgent, always pushing the edge just enough to keep things interesting.

✈︎ First-world problems, boring galas, the bullshit drama of people you’d never really have to deal with—it was all fair game for ranting and laughing about, the alcohol keeping everything light and meaningless. Conversations blurred into one another, champagne bubbles mixing with cigarette smoke, the sharp tang of expensive whiskey clinging to every word.Someone was always telling a ridiculous story, exaggerating details just enough to make it funnier. Someone else was always half-draped over another, limbs tangled, faces flushed, a careless kind of closeness that came with privilege and too many drinks. The air smelled like salt water and perfume, luxury cologne, and the lingering haze of a freshly lit joint.

Abby smirked as you clung onto her, sinking into the plush cushions beside her. The boat glided over dark waters, the surface rippling like liquid ink, only touched by scattered moonlight. The engine’s steady hum mixed with laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the occasional squeal from someone almost losing their balance.

Across from you, Leah stood at the bow, gripping something long and thin.

“Is… that a fishing rod?” Abby called out, raising an eyebrow.

“Fishing? Dude, it’s pitch black!” Jordan laughed, shaking his head.

“What? I saw it, so I picked it up. No late-night snack?” Leah grinned, holding it up like she was about to reel in something huge.

“Ha ha,” Jordan scoffed. “C’mon, babe, sit down before you fall.”

“Yeah, Leah, seriously,” you added, casting a glance around. Everyone had collectively coated their stomachs with alcohol at this point. The boat swayed gently, but in your mind, everything still felt steady. Safe.

“Fucking party poopers,” she whined, stumbling as she made her way back.

The music pulsed through the speakers, vibrating under your fingertips as you traced circles over Abby’s knee. Someone passed you a drink, ice clinking against glass. The wind was salty and cool against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt weightless—just another night, just another story to laugh about in the morning.

Then before you could ground yourself, A deafening crack—wood splintering, metal twisting, the sickening crunch of fiberglass giving way as the world lurched violently forward. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs before you even hit the surface.

Bodies slammed against seats, railings, and the deck. Someone cried out—a sharp, guttural sound swallowed by the pure chaos. The boat groaned in protest, the hull splitting open as water rushed in, swallowing everything in its path. The night, once filled with laughter and careless drunken chatter, twisted into something unrecognizable. Screams pierced the air, panic rising like a tidal wave.

Then came the water.

A crushing, merciless cold that seized your body, shocking the breath from your lungs. It pulled you under, the weight of the crash dragging debris and bodies into the abyss.

Your vision blurred—dark water, fractured moonlight, hands reaching, grasping, then slipping away. And then, Leah was gone. But that wasn’t the name being screamed. It was yours. A shaky voice, frantic and desperate—Abby’s. Calling for you over and over.

The cool of damp grass pressed against your cheek, your vision swimming as you groaned and clutched your arm. A deep gash ran along the length of it, a sheen of red seeping through torn fabric, dark and wet against your soft skin. Tears blurred your vision—shock, pain, it was so fast. Overwhelmed. You gasped, struggling to sit up. Every muscle in your body ached, but you forced yourself to take in your surroundings. The front of the boat was completely smashed in, glass and debris scattered across the shoreline. The others were stumbling to their feet, coughing, calling out to each other in shaky voices.

“…I’m here,” you called out. “Abs... I’m right here.”

Abby all but collapsed beside you, grabbing your face with trembling hands, her wide eyes scanning you for injuries. You barely had time to process before she was pulling you against her, burying her face into your hair, the scent of her shampoo thick in your nose. The others were shouting now.

“Where’s Leah?”

“Leah!” Jordan’s voice cracked as he stumbled forward, scanning the dark water. “Leah, where the fuck are you?”

Panic settled over the group like a thick fog, replacing the drunken laughter of earlier with frantic movement. Flashlights from scattered phones cut across the water. Someone ran toward the wreckage, their footsteps crunching over broken glass and debris.

“She was right here—”

“Did she fall?”

“Fuck, fuck—she was just standing here—”

The shouts became more urgent, the terror in Jordan’s voice making your head spin even more. But Abby—Abby wasn’t looking at the water. She wasn’t calling for Leah.

She was looking at you.

Hands gripping your waist, scanning your face, as if making sure you were still there.

“You’re hurt,” she whispered, ignoring the chaos, her fingers brushing the blood on your arm. Her expression was unreadable—shock, concern, something else beneath it all. “We need to get you out of here.”

“Abby—” you wanted to bud in but She was already moving, hands fumbling for her phone, fingers trembling as she dialed. You could barely hear her over the panic, but the moment the call connected, her voice was sharp and urgent.

“Dad—” her breath hitched, her grip on you tightening.

You barely registered the clipped response on the other end before she pulled the phone away, her face paler than you’d ever seen it. It was always the same with Abby. The moment things spiraled, the second the world tipped out of her control, her first instinct was to call her father.

✈︎ It didn’t matter what it was. A failed exam in school? Jerry. A bad breakup? Jerry. Someone disrespected her at some pretentious gala? Jerry. Even when she swore she could handle things on her own, her fingers always twitched toward her phone, her father’s number burned into her muscle memory. Maybe it was because she never really had to deal with the consequences of her own mistakes. Not when Jerry was always there to smooth things over, to fix what needed fixing, to make things disappear. It was almost like magic, the way he worked—whispers in the right ears, money exchanged behind closed doors, a well-timed favor cashed in. And now, even with something as devastating as this, Abby wasn’t thinking about what they’d done, what it meant. She wasn’t thinking about Leah. About the cold, dark water swallowing her whole. She was thinking about Jerry. About how he would clean this up, the way he always did. And maybe the worst part was that she was right.

Minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness. Jerry was already on the phone when he stepped out of the car, his expression unreadable, his voice a low murmur as he barked orders to someone on the other end. The moment he hung up, his sharp gaze flicked over the wreckage and the group of panicked, bloodied young adults before settling on Abby. Without hesitation, she moved toward him, her grip on you unrelenting.

Jordan wheeled around, panic-stricken. “What? No, we have to find Leah—”

Jerry barely spared him a glance. His tone was clipped, final. He turned to Abby. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Someone snapped. “We have to do something!”

But Jerry was already moving, grabbing Abby’s wrist, looking at you expectantly. “This isn’t something you want to be involved in,” he murmured. “Trust me.” The air felt thick, suffocating. Jordan was still screaming Leah’s name. Someone was sobbing. And Abby—she wasn’t arguing. She squeezed your waist, voice soft but urgent. “We have to go.” Your heart pounded as you looked between her, Jerry, and the chaos behind you. It didn’t feel real. None of it did. And then, as if deciding for you, Jerry pulled Abby away, guiding her toward the car. You hesitated—just for a moment—before Abby’s grip tightened on your wrist.

“Come on, baby. Please.”

And against every instinct screaming at you to stay, you followed her. You closed the door behind you. Letting your head fall against the leather seat.

The car ride was filled with Jerry’s own interrogation.

You’d never been a witness to the Anderson back-and-forth before. But tonight, sitting in the backseat, still processing the night’s events, you had front-row seats. Jerry’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his voice sharp, slicing through the tense air. “You tell me what the hell happened.”

Abby was hunched forward in the passenger seat, still damp, her blonde hair clinging to her skin. She wiped a hand down her face, her breath unsteady. “It was an accident,” she muttered.

“An accident?” Jerry repeated, voice thick with disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Abigail. Do you understand what’s at stake here?”

Abby’s jaw clenched. “What was I supposed to do? Just let them call the cops? Let them search the boat?”

Jerry exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was holding back from snapping completely. His voice lowered, even more dangerous now. “And what exactly would they have found?”

Silence. Abby didn’t answer. Not right away. Her fingers tapped against her knee, a nervous tic you’d noticed before. You could almost hear the gears turning in her head, weighing what to say, how much to admit.

Finally, she swallowed. “I handled it.”

Jerry let out a humorless laugh. “No, you called me. And now I have to handle it.”

From the backseat, you sat frozen, hands gripping your lap, your own pulse hammering in your ears. Abby hadn’t even looked at you since you got in the car. Hadn’t reached for your hand, hadn’t asked if you were okay. All her energy, all her focus, was on damage control. And maybe that was the difference between the two of you. Maybe this should’ve been your warning sign. You were still thinking about Leah. Abby was thinking about herself.

────୨ৎ────

“Tonight: Leah Cross’ Death—Inside the Boat Crash That Killed NYC Teen”

“Leah Cross’ Family Settles for $15M Over Boat Crash”

“Jerry Anderson Ce—”

The TV screen flickered, then went black.

You turned your head just in time to see Abby hovering behind you, the remote still in her hand. The news channel was gone. Erased. Leah hadn’t just disappeared that night. She’d been thrown into the current. Her autopsy said she most likely died on impact, but you couldn’t shake the memory of her on the boat, twirling on the helm, throwing her hands up and yelling, “This is my shit!” to every song that played. The image wouldn’t leave. It haunted you. Your parents couldn’t get ahold of you that night—your phone had been tossed into the summer waters. But Jerry reassured them you were fine. He didn’t mention the 12 stitches in your arm. He definitely didn’t mention the alcohol, the panic, the way everyone had been too wasted to process what happened. Just fine.

That night never left you.

Maybe it was shock. Maybe fear. But you never asked Abby about the conversation in the car. Your sweet Abby had just been protecting you. That’s what she always said. You both had reputations, things on the line. That’s what she repeated every time you even looked like you were thinking about it. Jerry had shoved money down the Cross family’s throat. And they took every penny. You knew silence had a price. But family?

Abby hated when you brought it up. She made sure your arm was fixed up, kissed over every bruise. Whispered reassurances against your skin. And yet, here you were. Rolled onto your side, away from her Night was always the worst. Too much room for your thoughts to catch up to you. Too much room for questions.

“Abs…?” you murmured, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah?” Her voice was hesitant, guarded. Like she already knew where this was going.

You swallowed. “Do… do you think about that night? Leah, she—”

Abby exhaled sharply, already shaking her head. “Why are you bringing this up again?” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. “We’ve been over this.”

“Abby, we didn’t even stay that night—”

“That was the right call,” she cut in, sitting up against the headboard. “We weren’t gonna stick around for the cops to start pointing fingers. What would that have done? Made you feel better?“

You swallowed hard, something bitter catching in your throat. “You aren’t even listening to me!” You pushed yourself up in bed, turning to face her fully. “You just keep shutting me down like I’m supposed to forget about it.”

Abby’s jaw clenched. “And what exactly do you want me to say?” she shot back. “That I think about it every night? That I see her face every time I close my fucking eyes? Because I don’t. I can’t. You shouldn’t either.”

✈︎ The words hit like a gut punch. Cold. Dismissive. Final. Just like every other time you tried to talk about it. Like your grief—your guilt—was an inconvenience. You stared at her for a long moment, something in your chest curling tight, twisting into something ugly and unfamiliar. Abby wasn’t going to hear you. She never did.

✈︎ And maybe… she never would. That was the moment you felt it. That stiffness inside you. The thing that slowly, quietly, began to push you away from her. She apologized later. Reassured you she was protecting you. But it didn’t feel like it. Her tone, the way she dismissed Leah, someone she claimed to love. it didn’t sit right. That night, you laid there, stiff in her arms as she curled around you, locking you in place. But it didn’t feel like her. The sheets felt cold. Her warmth wasn’t comforting anymore. The arguments only escalated. Until one day, you couldn’t take it anymore. You walked out her front door and didn’t look back. It hurt. Stung worse than anything else. But you had to grieve properly. Refocus on school. Reconnect with your family. Make your own friends. Find mental clarity. Space from Abby. The not-so-sweet Abby you once knew. But you were her lifeline. And when four days passed without a word from you, Abby’s fingers itched to have you back in her proximity. She texted once.

6:10PM Abby: Hey. You good?

Again.

6:40PM Abby: I know you’re mad, but can you just text me back? Please?

Again.

7:26PM Abby: Are you really ignoring me right now? C’mon, babe. Talk to me.

7:28PM You: Need space rn abs.

Then came the desperate text.

7:29PM Abby: Space Tf? Seriously?

7:29PM Abby: You can’t just disappear on me. You know that, right?

7:30PM Abby: I’ve done everything for you. I’ve kept you safe. And now you’re shutting me out?

────୨ৎ────

The messages kept coming. The words more frantic. More clipped. As if she couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere but within reach. She needed you. You couldn’t just disappear. Not after everything she’d done for you. This wasn’t how it worked. You never told her no.

And that wasn’t going to start now.

✈︎ Abandonment. It was the one thing Abby couldn’t stomach. Her mother was gone. Her father was present in name only. And now, you weren’t answering your fucking phone. She gritted her teeth, staring at the ceiling as her phone lay discarded beside her, the last unanswered text staring back at her like a slap in the face. She knew Leah’s death had shaken you. She’d seen it in the way you flinched at the sound of water slapping against the docks, how your fingers traced the scar on your arm absentmindedly when you thought no one was looking. And she got it—really, she did.

✈︎ But what she didn’t understand was why you were acting like this. Like she was the one to blame. She’d explained it to you a million times. She wasn’t trying to be cold. She just didn’t want you getting in trouble, ruining your life over something you couldn’t change. Did you think your parents would still approve of her if they knew everything? If you’d stuck around that night and let the police twist the truth? She had protected you, the way she always would, and now you were punishing her for it.

It wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair. She was in love with you. All of you. That meant it was her job to protect you, to keep you safe, to make sure no one—no thing—could ever come between you. Because you weren’t just her girlfriend. You were hers. So fine. She’d let you have your space, your stupid fucking distance. You’d answer eventually.

You always did. Except you didn’t. And despite how much you hated the hollow, gnawing ache in your chest, you didn’t let yourself pick up the phone. At first, it was easy. Ignoring her texts, pretending you didn’t hear your phone buzzing at night. You told yourself it was necessary. That it would get better.

✈︎ But then came the flowers. The notes slipped under your door. The gifts left where you’d find them, small and expensive. Diamond jewelry – “I hate seeing you upset, baby. Let me make it up to you.” reminders that she was still there. That she wasn’t going to let you go so easily. And the worst part? A small, broken part of you didn’t want her to. But you had to, right? Because if you didn’t, Abby never would

✈︎ So, you started pulling away. Slowly, at first. Ignoring texts a little longer. Making excuses when she called. Telling yourself that if you could just create enough distance, she’d get the hint. She didn’t. Instead, she adjusted. Became more careful. Gave you space but never let you forget she was waiting. That she was patient. That you’d come back.

And your parents? They only made it worse.One night, as you walked into the dining room, your mother’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Honey, these flowers are beautiful.”

Your father barely glanced up from his plate. “She’s a good kid. Second chances are important.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t have to ask where they came from. The same white roses Abby always sent, of course. You gripped the back of your chair. Bit your tongue. They didn’t know the full truth. Maybe they knew about the boat crash, maybe they didn’t, but even if they did, you weren’t involved, so why would they care? Abby was still Jerry’s daughter. Still the golden girl in their eyes. And the comments kept coming. Little reminders, subtle nudges that told you exactly where they stood.

“You never frowned this much when Jerry’s daughter was around,” your mom added, shaking her head. “You two were always so happy together.”

✈︎ Were. Past tense. Like they thought this was just a phase. Like they were waiting for you to snap out of it and come to your senses. It wasn’t like you wanted her to stay away. The notes on the gifts made your stomach churn with guilt. But then you’d remember the red flags being waved in your face, and you’d try to stand firm. try to hold your ground on this. And maybe that was why, when Abby invited you to dinner, you didn’t fight it as hard as you should have. Your mother’s voice in the back of your head, the same tired excuse about your father’s business dealings and not ending things on bad terms. So you accepted. Maybe you thought one last dinner would make it easier. That sitting across from her, hearing her laugh, remembering all the good things, would make it clear if you needed to step away fully. And at first, it was sweet.

The restaurant was dimly lit, quiet. Abby had picked your favorite place, ordered your favorite before you even arrived. She looked good, too—too good. Dark button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to tease the curve of her forearms. For a while, it felt normal. Comfortable. Maybe even right. Until it wasn’t. Until the conversation drifted back to her. To you. To the space you had put between you.

Abby exhaled, swirling her drink in slow circles. “Can we just… stop pretending?” she asked, voice low. “I know you miss me.”

Your stomach knotted, but you kept your voice even. “Abby—”

“You preyed on me, you know that?” she cut in, leaning forward. “At the funeral. When I was grieving.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You saw me at my lowest and took advantage of that. Made me think you actually cared.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “And then, what? The second things got hard, you ran?”

You stared at her, heartbeat pounding in your ears. It was a trick. A test. Another way to shift the blame. to make you doubt yourself, make you stay. Preyed on her? The self-doubt hit fast and hard. You didn’t intentionally worm your way in. You saw a girl who had just lost her mother. You offered an ear, a shoulder. She kissed you first, for Christ’s sake. You didn’t even know how to respond. But you did know this was only proving that you needed time away from her. From this person she was turning into.

The conversation escalated. Her voice sharper, her expression harder. The way she twisted her face in disapproval when you tried to defend yourself. Finally, you forced the words out.

“I think we should take a break.” Her jaw clenched. You expected a fight. For her to argue, to beg, to do something. Instead, she leaned back, nodded once, and signaled for the check. And for a while, you thought that was the end.

But then Abby stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped begging.

No gifts. No notes. Just… silence.

And somehow, that was worse. So much worse. It felt so wrong to not be near her.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ At first, the silence was a relief. But then the relief faded, leaving something else in its place. Something that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts late at night when you stared at your phone, knowing there would be nothing from her.

✈︎ It felt so , so wrong. Abby wasn’t the type to give up so easily. She fought for what she wanted, always. And that was the part you weren’t ready to admit: some small, irrational part of you wanted her to fight for this. For you. To prove something, even if you didn’t know what. But she didn’t.The silence stretched on. Days turned to weeks. And slowly, that unsettling feeling morphed into something heavier. The weight of your parents’ expectations, the whispers about Jerry’s family, the things left unsaid between you and Abby. it all started to spiral. You told yourself it was for the best. That this was what you wanted. But then why did it feel like losing? Why did the silence feel heavier than the arguments? Why did it twist something deep in your chest, leaving you restless, unable to sleep, unable to think without wondering if you had made the right choice.

You weren’t in the right headspace for this, not really. Not for concerts, not for crowds, not for meeting new people. But when Riley sent the invite, tickets already bought, practically begging you to get out of your own head, you said yes. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t trust yourself alone with your thoughts.

The music was loud. The bass pulsed through the floor, through your body, drowning out everything else. Riley dragged you through the crowd, weaving past bodies until you were close enough to feel the heat of the stage lights. And then there was her. A tall brunette, leaning in too close, brushing her shoulder against yours. Laughing at something you barely registered.

“What?” You yelled back.

“I said you’re hot! Love the outfit!” she shouted over the music, leaning down to your ear, breath warm against your skin.

Jessica. She introduced herself at some point during the night, though you barely remembered when. Her body was close, her presence easy, effortless. The kind of girl who knew what she wanted and didn’t hesitate to take it. When her hands drifted lower under the guise of friendly, you didn’t stop her. She was pretty. Willing. A distraction.

So you let her press against you from behind, her lips grazing the side of your neck. Let her hands roam, fingers mapping over you like she already knew where you needed them.

✈︎ You weren’t easy. But girls need love too. And maybe, for one night, that was enough. Her touch wasn’t like Abby’s. it was different. More room to flip the script, softer, hesitant in ways you weren’t used to. You had to guide her hands sometimes, shifting her touch when it wasn’t quite right, tilting her chin when she kissed you. But you weren’t sober, so you just leaned your head back against the leather of her passenger seat and tried to stay in the moment. Tried not to notice how it didn’t feel like enough. You groaned in frustration when your orgasm took much longer than it ever did before. Even your vagina had a mind of its own. And it was wondering to the woman you desperately didn’t want to think about.

Afterward, Jessica lit a cigarette, rolling the window down as she stretched her legs out. The orange glow of the ember flickered as she took a slow drag, exhaling into the night. You watched, silent, waiting for the feeling to settle in your chest. Some kind of satisfaction, some kind of relief. It never came.

Instead, she turned to you, smirking. “You wanna hear something funny?”

You hummed in acknowledgment, still staring out the windshield. Praying she didn’t notice that your moans were definitely a bit more exaggerated.

“When I was a kid, some girl cut off a chunk of my hair.” Jessica huffed.

That made you glance over. “What?”

Jessica laughed, tapping ash out the window. “Yeah. Just, snip. Right in the middle of class.” She made a cutting motion with her fingers, grinning. “It was long, too. My mom loved my hair. Always brushed it out for me, made a big deal about it. And then this girl, out of nowhere, just—” She mimicked the sound of scissors slicing through the air. “Teacher freaked. My mom cried. The whole thing was a mess.”

You frowned. “Damn. Why’d she do it?”

Jessica shrugged, flicking her cigarette. “She wouldn’t say. Just sat there, holding the hair like it was hers now.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “I had to get it all cut short after that. Sucked.”

You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together. Something about the story sat oddly in your chest, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. Maybe it was because you could picture it too clearly the quiet, unspoken possession behind a simple, irreversible act. Maybe it was because, in a different time, in a different place, you could have seen Abby doing the same thing. You pushed the thought away. That would a crazy assumption, right?

Jessica reached for your thigh again, fingertips brushing just above your knee. You let her. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t have the energy to move away. The truth was, she wasn’t Abby. She didn’t kiss you like she meant it. She didn’t make your breath hitch, didn’t pull you under in a way that felt intoxicating.

And yet, despite everything, you still felt the pull. Going back to Abby would be a mistake. So why did it feel like you were already slipping?

You let Jessica be enough for the time being. Focused on your own life. Separate from Abby.

She turned out to be sweet. A little clingy, but not in a way that suffocated you—just in a way that made it easier to let her fill the space Abby left behind. And even if the sex wasn’t mind-blowing, it was good enough to make you forget, at least for a little while. You weren’t sure if you were ready for another relationship anyway.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Jessica was easy. Simple. No complications, no expectations. at least, that’s what you told yourself. You let her be enough for the time being, focused on your own life, separate from Abby. It was nice, in a way. Being with someone who didn’t come with sharp edges, who didn’t push or pull too hard. Someone who let you lead. Even if the sex wasn’t the same, even if you sometimes found yourself zoning out when she kissed you, even if her touch didn’t spark anything close to what Abby’s did. You made do.

✈︎ You tried. You really did. But there was something hanging over you that you couldn’t shake. It lingered, always present, like a ghost at the edge of your mind. It hindered you from fully indulging with Jessica like you used to, made it harder to pretend she was all you wanted. And she wasn’t stupid.

Jessica laughed, head thrown back as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Wait—you dated that psycho?”

Your stomach twisted. “She’s not—”

“Oh my god, babe.” She shook her head, grinning. “She definitely is. Didn’t she break some girl’s ribs in highschool?”

“That’s just a rumor.” Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

Jessica snorted, slumping against the couch. “I mean, I get it, I guess. She’s hot, in a scary kind of way. But, babe, that’s—” She stopped. Her smile faded just a little as she sat up, studying your face. “…Wait.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Is that why you’ve been off?” You stiffened. Of course she noticed.

“Her?” Jessica scoffed, shifting on the couch.

“No—I don’t know—”

“You don’t know?” Her voice toned in disbelief. “I’m all over you, and you’re telling me you’ve been thinking about another girl?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Jessica exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Jesus Christ.”

✈︎ Guilt became your newfound friend. Because you couldn’t deny it. You were thinking about her. And now you were defending her. Even after everything. Even after all the reasons you had to stay away. And that wasn’t even the worst part of it all.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Why? Because Abby could hardly contain the burning frustration bubbling in her chest as she tossed the racket aside. The sound of it hitting the ground was too quiet, a dull thud compared to the storm she felt rising in her. Why was this so fucking hard? For the fourth time in a row, the tennis ball hit the net and rolled off, mocking her with its perfect imperfection. She wiped a hand across her face, trying to shake the thought from her mind, but it lingered like a bad taste. You.

Her grip on the racket tightened again, knuckles white, the tension in her body palpable. Goddamn it, she cursed under her breath. A harsh exhale left her lungs as she turned away from the court, storming off without a second glance at Jerry, who called after her with that same disappointed tone.

“The hell was that?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. There was nothing to say. Not when her thoughts were consumed by you, by the space you’d put between the two of you. You were still out of reach, and the thought of you letting someone else slide in made her stomach twist in knots. The anger surged again, hot and sharp. Her visor felt suffocating now, like the pressure of it could crack her skull. It had been months, and you hadn’t come back. Months. And what was worse? You’d moved on. Blocking her was one thing, but seeing you move on? That was the thing that twisted the knife.

She slumped down on a bench nearby, the air heavy in her lungs, suffocating her as she dug through her phone. The screen glowed back at her, an endless stream of images and memories. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, flipping through photos, each one a reminder of a time she thought she still had you. Your laughter, your warmth, your body beneath her hands.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she zoomed in on one picture. You, pressed against her, eyes sparkling. “Let’s see how long you can keep ignoring me,” she muttered, to herself. her finger tapping on the screen. She posted it without hesitation, not caring how it might make you feel. She just needed you to know. she wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ You had been getting looks all morning, but not like this. The stares felt different—more calculated, more curious. Something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t place your finger on it. You brushed it off, shoving the unease down as best as you could.

✈︎ Until you finally gotten home, phone buzzing in your hand, and opened Nora’s message. The second you saw the notification, your stomach dropped.

(Pic is not to represent the readers physical! Just for story’s sake)

────୨ৎ────

“Please, tell me that is NOT my ass on the timeline right now,” you said, barely holding it together as the panic crept up your throat. Embarrassment flooded your veins.

On the other side, Nora stifled her awkward laughter, but you could hear the amusement in her voice. “Then I won’t say it.”

The tension snapped. You were dressed, yes, but that picture? It was never meant for the world. Not like this. Not for her followers.

“…It’s a good picture at least?” Nora ventured, trying to ease the tension, but you could hear her holding back a laugh.

You stared at the screen in disbelief as your phone nearly slipped from your hands. Comments started rolling in. Some teasing, others thirsty. Your stomach twisted tighter with every line. And then you saw it—at the top of the post—Abby’s username, clear as day.

You didn’t think. You just pressed call.

The phone rang twice before she picked up, and you didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“Are you fucking serious, Abbigail?!”

Abby’s voice was rough, thick with the frustration she couldn’t hide. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Gifts? Ignored. Saying please? Ignored. I’m blocked on basically everything!”

“I don’t know, space! Like I asked?”

“It’s been months!” Your breath caught in your throat as the anger and hurt pressed against your chest, but Abby’s voice dropped, and something softer—something hurt—slipped through. “It’s been months.” She repeated.

The words hit harder than you expected. You could hear the raw edge in her voice, the cracks forming in her tough exterior. “It’s like you hate me now,” she murmured, quieter, almost like she didn’t want you to hear it. “All of me. Us.”

And just like that, you felt your defenses crack.

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prettydaisygirl · 3 months ago

Note

part 2 of the recent frat!james drabble i’m begging 😭

Just for you, my love! Hope you enjoy <3

frat!James Potter x fem!reader who finally get to hang out ✿ 777 words

cw: fem reader, frat boys, alcohol, a hint of wolfstar

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

part one | next part

You find some of your beer sloshing out of your cup and over your fingers as you lean forward. Your body heaves with laughter, hand slapping James’ thigh like he’s the funniest man in the universe. He takes the cup from your hand and sets it aside so you don’t spill more.

When you sit back up straight, stomach sore from your heavy laughter, you see the look on James’ face. He’s flushed, the two of you having indulged more than you should have. But James makes you feel safe, you know you can trust him. Both with you and with your drink.

He runs a hand over your hair, eyes moving softly over your facial features. When he brushes his thumb over the bridge of your nose, you find your cheeks warming. You take his free hand in yours. For a moment, it feels like everything in the world narrows down to the two of you. The loud, booming music fades out, screams and chants of frat bros go unheard.

“You’re so beautiful.” James whispers, and the butterflies in your stomach explode.

“James…” Your voice is whispered back just as softly, as sweet as pie.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against your brow. Your breath catches and you let your eyes fall shut as you take in the feel of him.

“‘M so glad you’re here…” James’ sugary-sweet whisper is warm in your ear and you feel like you could melt into his arms. The alcohol flowing through your system makes you softer, more open than you normally would be. You take your free hand and run it through his hair. He looks at you like you are everything.

You find yourself giggling at him, drunk and happy and relishing in his attention.

“What?” James asks, smiling with you even though he doesn't know what is so funny.

“You’re cute.” You tell him, and he turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. That has you giggling even more, but you’re silenced when James lowers his lips to yours. Just for a moment. Once, twice, three times before he pulls away. You two look at each other like you’ve discovered something new.

So of course you have to go and ruin it.

“Did you mean what you said in that voicemail?” You ask him before you can stop yourself. You don’t mean to ruin the moment, but the question has been on your mind all night. James’ smile falters, then falls entirely. Your own does too, and it’s like everything comes back into focus. The music is too loud, there’s too many people.

“I thought you said you deleted that?” James’ voice is smaller than you ever want to hear it, and he looks like a kicked puppy.

“I did!” You sit up, quickly trying to fix your mess as the moment with James slips from your fingers. “But I did… listen to it first. While you were buying the beer.”

You hate the look on James’ face, his frown making your stomach churn painfully.

“I didn’t mean it.” James tells you, and his voice is earnest. “I was just angry.” “It’s okay.” You tell him, and you squeeze his hand. His eyes glance down to where your fingers are interlaced. Your hands fit perfectly together. “You thought I stood you up and left your party without beer. I’d be mad too.”

“But it’s not fair.” James says with a shake of his head. Your eyes watch the soft bounce of his curls and you find yourself leaning in his direction once again.

“I promise I’m not upset.” You say, but he puckers his lips like he’s eaten something sour. You take the chance to kiss him again, and he flusters.

“I called you selfish.” His brows furrow in a way that takes over his expression and you run a thumb between them.

“Jamie…” You say for the first time, and his whole face instantly softens. “I told you. I’m not upset with you.”

James stares at you for a long moment before he sighs, nodding and the tension seems to leave his body.

“And besides, I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.” You say with a small tilt of your head. James gets the hint and presses his lips to yours again.

“Oi! Get a room!” James hears Barty shout, but he reaches out his free hand to flip Barty off.

“See, Rem?” Sirius pipes up from the other couch where his legs are sprawled across Remus’ lap, drunk as a sailor. “They’re ‘hanging out.’ We should hang out, Rem.”

Remus leans forward to press a kiss to Sirius’ lips too.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#daisy's writings #frat!james potter #james potter au #james potter #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter drabble #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter oneshot #james potter fic #hp marauders #frat!marauders #james potter imagine

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nyxxxatnite · 5 months ago

Note

Part 2 for poison??? Where he goes back to reader for another hook up but this time he needs to be close to her. Like legs wrapped around him and her hands in his hair while he practically latches himself onto you. Smut smut smut. He secretly really likes her but doesn’t want anyone to know yk keeping up with his asshole facade

antidote (poison pt2)

Plot: last time should have been the last time, just like he said. But when he comes crawling back, needier than ever you can’t help but come back pt.1

Pairings: asshole!Wally Clark x loner!fem!reader, alive!wally x alive!reader

warning(s): the obvious SMUT!, fluffy end, wally actually ends up being nice and in love? Characters are 18!!! Unprotected sex (WRAP IT), public sex!! Creampie!! Fucking POORLY written. NOT PROOFREAD

a/n: HI GUYS. okay so ik its been a minute 💀 im sorry i usually pump these out and get serious writers block but im TRYING. okay i also know you said to keep him an asshole but i NEEDED fluff!! Enjoy!

Finding yourself at the schools Friday night football game was NOT on your agenda, but you couldn’t help it. You felt drawn in and one of your newer friends BEGGED you to go with her so you did, reluctantly. The stands were PACKED with parents, siblings and other family members along with almost ALL of your classmates. Had football really been THIS popular?

you gave a low groan as you ducked and weaved through the crowd, trying not to get hit or bumped into. It wasn’t working out very well. Small sorry’s left your mouth as you finally wormed your way into your seat next to Julie, who was already teeming with energy.

“ i’m so excited. Monrovia has ALWAYS been a tougher team to beat, hopefully this year with Wally we can beat them. ”

At the mention of his name you tensed, you hadn’t seen or talked to him in what seemed like months (more so a week or two). A part of you, deep down ached for him, while the other part tried to keep you reasoned that he was the one that ended everything, he wanted nothing to do with you. And yet…somehow it felt like he still wanted you. None of the athletics (cheerleaders and football players) even stopped to say anything to you, or tease you about something so small. They just went on their merry way. Had he said something to them?

“ uh hello? Did you hear me? Wally’s looking at you! "

a small shake to your shoulders finally snapped you from your thoughts as your eyes moved to finally make eye contact with said football player. He was finally on the field after their introduction and was staring right at you from his huddle with his team. Once the both of you made eye contact he quickly looked away and popped his helmet on.

you shook your head, blinking yourself back to reality. What was his deal? The buzzers from the score board sounded, commencing the start of the first quarter of the game. The crowd around you buzzed to life in cheers as the boys got into formation after the coin toss, cementing that Monrovia would be starting with the ball. The first kick off was a strong one, sending the ball soaring to the back of the split river formation.

and like that the game set off into a very close, neck to neck game. One team would score and then the other would quickly swoop in and tie with their own touchdown. Everyone around you was on edge, Julie was screaming chants with the student section, making fun of the team and the other student section. You just sat quiet and cheered quietly when your team would score, trying not to burn in embarrassment. But slowly got into the energy of it all, starting to cheer in the last quarter of the game.

within the last few seconds of the game you shot up from your seat, cupping your hands around your mouth as you shouted.

“ GET THAT BALL TO THE END ZONE, WALLY! ”

His attention turned to you for only a second before something inside him amped up, making him sprint and dodge around the other team a bit faster. within the last second his feet finally landed in the end zone, signifying that they had scored the winning points and FINALLY got their hands on the win over Monrovia after years of losing. Loud screams and cheers erupted from the stands around you, the band immediately kicked in with their anthem as the team on the field flocked the quarter back in the end zone.

loud whoops and chants sounded from the boys as they hopped and shook with Wally in their arms, the other team standing dejectedly to the side, feeling the stab of loss from years of winning. You cheered loudly with your classmates, laughing happily as your friend latched onto you.

“ its like he HEARD you! You’re a fucking lucky charm! ”

she squealed happily and shook you, excitement bubbling from her as she darted off to some of her other friends to talk to them. Your attention finally turned back to the football team, seeing the ever happy Wally grinning and congratulating his teammates. His eyes then turned to you, a smirk playing at his lips as he sent you a wink. Butterflies seemed to spring from nowhere in your stomach at the motion, turning to look and see if he was sending it to anyone else, but no one else was paying any attention to the team. You looked back at him again and watched him mouth “stay after”, seeming to mean after the stadium cleared out.

After about an hour of waiting, almost everyone was cleared out of the stadium, lights beginning to shut off. You slowly started to lose hope he’d actually come talk to you, or even if he was still there. You carefully tossed your hood up as it started to drizzle, then pour. You sighed and turned, starting to walk toward the gates when a loud whistle echoed from the dressing rooms. Your head snapped to the source, seeing Wally walk out of the building. He was in his after game attire, hair in messy curls atop his head from the sweat and rain finally hitting his head.

you paused and crossed your arms, trying to keep up your “i hate you” mindset. But seeing him there after weeks made your knees feel like jello. What the fuck was going on in your head?! You tilted your head and watched as he got closer, making you step back

“ didn’t think you’d come to a game. But then i saw you in the stands, dressed in the schools colors with MY number of all numbers painted on your cheek. ”

you scoffed as he finally stopped before you, rolling your eyes as you looked away from him. She painted his number on your cheek? Did she know about you two hooking up or was this one of her dumb “he’s cute” things.

“ yeah, i didn’t paint this on, Julie did. Like hell id risk getting made fun of just to wear your number, Clark. "

He hissed in fake pain as you snapped at him, scrunching his face a bit to add to it. He chuckled and without a word tugged you close but your waist. You gasped in surprise as your chest collided with his, feeling the clothing start to get soaked from the heavy rain. What the hell was he doing?

“ you should wear it more often. Fuck all the time actually. Look..i was a fucking dumbass for pushing you away. Not being able to be near you drove me mad and made me realize some shit that i didn’t want to face. ”

your eyes widened as you realized he was about to confess his feelings. Were you even ready for that? Before he could even say another word you pushed yourself up and kissed him roughly, cupping the back of his head as you tried to keep him from saying anything. A small grunt sounded from the other as he immediately held onto your waist, keeping you close to his body.

the kiss started heated and just continued to stay that way, tongues meshing together in the middle as hands wondered each others bodys. And with hands wandering, came clothes starting to be removed. Were you about to fuck on the football field? You couldn’t really care less, you just needed him now. Moving yourself down onto the soaking grass, you felt him moved between your legs and carefully slip a hand between the two of you.

a small gasp leaves your mouth as he rubs at your clit for a moment, letting you get adjusted and wet enough for him to slip his fingers into your soaking center. Your eyes rolled back a bit from the stretch of his long fingers. Thank fuck for this lanky man, being blessed EVERYWHERE. small moans slipped from your lips as he pumped and curled his fingers in and out of you. Getting you nice and stretched was something he’s never done so it was a nice little change, it made your heart flutter in an odd way?

after a few minutes of prepping you he pulled his fingers out and used whatever wetness he had to lube himself just enough to carefully slip into your awaiting cunt, his eyes rolling back at the hug of your walls. Another gasp came from your throat as he slid inside of you, your hands clambering to grip onto his back to have some sort of tether to earth. He grunted and held still for a second, kissing along your neck and throat, arms winding around your middle to keep you close to him.

As much as your mind was SCREAMING at you to get the hell off the ground, you felt like you were in heaven. Especially when he started to finally fuck his cock in and out of your hot cunt. Moans and groans intertwined from the two of you as you fucked on the football field, rain poured around the two of you, drowning out your sounds so only the two of you could hear. You made an attempt to open your eyes, only to be met with Wally already looking at you. You whimpered softly and drew your eyebrows together, keeping eye contact as you moaned louder. Watching his face morph with pleasure at your sounds, feeling his cock twitch deep inside of you.

He carefully reached between the two of you, rubbing at your clit as he continued to pound into you. The knot in your stomach starting to tighten, feeling it start to verge on snapping. Your eyes rolled back a bit as it all began to be too much for you to even handle.

“ thats it baby, cum for me. Fuck, please cum. ”

he groaned out and placed his forehead to yours, feeling himself near his end as well. With a few final snaps into you, he was releasing everything he had into your awaiting cunt. And once you felt his load fill you, you threw your head back into the ground and cried out as you came not to far behind him. He kept his hips rocking, just to ride out your highs before slowly pulling out of you. He pushed himself up a bit and panted, looking at the absolute mess you were below him making him give a breathy chuckle.

“ we should probably hit the showers, babe. Were an absolute mess. ”

you slowly nodded your head, the after sex high still buzzing in your brain. You let him do what he needed, meaning letting him carry your naked form into the locker rooms to wash the both of you off. It was absolute silence as you stood under the water, somehow more awkward than the times before. Was it because of what he was going to say?

after washing off, you held the towel you were offered tight to your body. Finally registering that your clothes were out on the field still, ruined by the rain and the mud. But it was like Wally read your mind, carefully pulling out some extra clothes he had stuff away in his locker. You tugged on the sweat pants and the hoodie he offered you, humming softly at the warmth of them. He tugged on his own pair of sweats and a tank top, slowly turning to you as he shrugged on his letterman.

“ look…i..fuck. Okay so..i really like you. And i know saying that doesn’t really make up for how i treated you, but it just happened. I realized it when we fucked in the supply closet. And i understand if you don’t feel the same, i just really wanted to tell you. ”

you threw your hand up and covered his mouth to keep him from sputtering on anymore than he was, watching his cheeks and ears go red from embarrassment. You gave a soft giggle as you stared up at him, tilting your head a bit.

“ i like you too dumbass. As much as i hate that i fell for you, i did. ”

he visibly relaxed and moved your hand, tugging you closer as he carefully kissed you. This time keeping it gentle, full of passion. You could really get used to this sweet side Wally had hid away.

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