#let's say this is late afternoon/early evening the next day
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Snowed in
Sarah Zadrazil x reader
The invitation had been casual, almost to casual.
"Come with me to Austria for the break." Sarah had said, leaning against the locker with that easy smile, she always had. "My parents are away and asked me if I could come by to see if everything is okay. And I need someone to keep my company."
Y/N had agreed before really thinking it through. And now, standing in Sarahs childhood home - surround by the warmth of her memories, a smell of pine and fresh bread filling the air - was both, heaven and hell.
Not because of the Snowstorm brewing outside.
But because of her feelings for Sarah.
Day one
The snow had been falling since the early morning, turning the small village into a winter wonderland.
They had gone to get some groceries for the next days, knowing that it could get hard to get out of the house.
Y/N stood by the window, watching the delicate flakes swirl in the dim light.
"Pretty huh?"
Y/N jumped slightly at the sound of Sarahs voice, turning to find her standing close.
She had taken a shower and the smell of her body wash was filling the air.
"You okay?" Sarah softly asked.
"Yeah, just...taking it all in."
Sarah hummed in understanding, stepping even closer, there hands brushing.
"It's nice to have you here, the house feels...warmer."
Y/N couldnt help but glance at her lips, just for a second, but Sarah noticed. She always noticed.
How could she not?
There had been moments like this for months. Moments where they would hug for longer than they should, where she would catch Y/N staring at her from across the moment and where she would find herself looking at Y/N lips.
Maybe she would have made a move, maybe she would have admitted her feelings for Y/N, but there was just one problem.
Y/N had came from Hoffenheim at the start of the season, she was one of the best players on the team, at only 19 years old, making it a twelve year age different.
For a moment, it felt like something would happen - like the inches between them would disappear - but then Sarah stepped back, clearing her throat.
"Are you hungry?"
Y/N let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"I'm starving."
Day two
The snow had been falling all through the night, making it impossible to go anywhere by car.
As Y/N got up in the morning, Sarah was sitting in the living room, rummaging through an old box of photos, the table already set for breakfast.
"Good morning." Y/N said as she sat down on the couch, two cups of coffee in her hands.
Sarah hummed in response and took the cub from Y/N.
Every now and then she would pull out a photo, showing it to Y/N, who tired to memories every one of them. Trying to remember everything of little Sarah.
In the afternoon, when it had stopped snowing for a while they went outside, taking a walk.
The snow was deeper than expected, crunching under their boots as Y/N followed Sarah, leading her down a small path.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Y/N asked, she grew up in northern Germany and wasn't used to this much snow.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder, flashing that trademark mischievous grin. "What, afraid of a little snow?"
Y/N scoffed "I'm afraid of freezing to death actually."
Sarah laughed, the sound echoing through the silent landscape. "Come on, we’re almost at the lake. It’s worth it, I promise."
Y/N sighed but followed, watching the way Sarah moved effortlessly through the snow, her long legs barely struggling while Y/N felt like she was wading through quicksand. "Easy for you to say," she muttered, stumbling slightly.
Sarah glanced back at her just in time to see Y/N’s boot catch on an unseen patch of ice beneath the snow. "Y/N, watch ou—"
But it was too late.
Y/N’s feet slid out from under her, she let out a startled yelp, arms flailing as she went down. Sarah lunged forward instinctively, reaching out to catch her, but instead, she was pulled down along with Y/N.
With a muffled thud, they landed in a tangled heap in the snow, Y/N flat on their back and Sarah sprawled on top of her.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence, their breaths coming out in soft, visible puffs against the cold air.
Y/N blinked up at Sarah, she was so, so close. Her face hovered just inches above Y/N's, her lips slightly parted, warm breath ghosting over Y/N’s chilled skin. Snowflakes clung to Sarah’s lashes, and her blue eyes flickered between Y/N’s lips and her gaze, something unreadable lingering in them.
Y/N swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. "Uh... hi."
Sarah’s lips twitched into a small, amused smile. "Hi," she murmured, but didn’t move.
Neither of them did. The weight of Sarah on top of Y/N, the way their bodies pressed together through the layers of coats and scarves, sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
Y/N’s gaze dropped to Sarah’s lips -God, so close. She could just lean up a little, close the distance, and-
Sarah’s eyes darkened, and for a second, it seemed like she might do it first. Her hand, which had instinctively grabbed onto Y/N's jacket during the fall, tightened slightly.
"Are you okay?" she then asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I think I hurt my shoulder a little, but otherwise yes." she said, her eyes locked with Sarahs. "What about you?"
"Well you are a pretty good thing to land on top of, really good. But now let's get you out of the snow." Sarah said, carefully getting up again and then holding her hand out for Y/N to grab.
And as she pulled her up, they were so close again. Sarah let out a sight, her hard was beating so fast, she was scared it would jump out of her chest if Y/N came any closer.
"Let's go." she grabbed Y/N by her hand again, to prevent her from falling again.
The walked back to the house, where Sarah sat Y/N down by the fireplace with some hot chocolate, before going to get something from her drawer.
"Take off your shirt." she demanded as she came back, sitting down behind Y/N.
"Excuse me?" Y/N asked, an amused smile on her face.
"I want to take a look at your shoulder and put some creme on it" Sarah replied, nestling on the hem of Y/N's dark blue shirt.
"I—uh—it’s fine, I can do it myself." Y/N hesitated, her heart suddenly pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the injury.
"I don’t remember asking," she said, softer now but still commanding. "Come on, I’ve seen you in the locker room a million times."
Y/N swallowed hard, heat creeping up her neck. "Yeah, but this isn’t exactly the locker room, is it?"
Sarah gave her a look. "Y/N."
With a resigned sigh, Y/N slowly pulled off her shirt, feeling the cool air hit her skin. She sat on the couch, tense, as Sarah knelt beside her, squeezing a generous amount of the cream onto her fingers.
Sarah’s hands were warm when they pressed against Y/N’s bare shoulder, the contrast against the cold cream sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine. Sarah's fingers moved with gentle precision, smoothing the cream over the tender skin with slow, deliberate strokes.
Y/N tried—really tried—not to think about how close Sarah was, how her breath ghosted over Y/N’s neck, how every touch made something stir deep in their chest.
"You know," Sarah said quietly, breaking the silence, "my mom used to do this for me after my games when I was a kid. Every bruise, every scrape... she'd sit me down and fix me up, no matter how much I protested."
Y/N smiled faintly, trying to focus on anything other than the way Sarah’s fingertips traced delicate circles over her shoulder. "You? Protesting? I can't imagine that."
Sarah chuckled softly, her touch lingering a second too long. "I guess I’ve always been stubborn."
Y/N turned slightly, their faces close now—too close. The firelight flickered, casting warm shadows over Sarah’s features, and Y/N’s gaze drifted to her lips before she could stop herself.
"I like it," Y/N said quietly.
Sarah blinked, her fingers stilling against Y/N's skin. "What?"
Y/N swallowed hard, realizing what she had just admitted. "Your touch. I... I like it."
Sarah didn’t pull away. Instead, her eyes darkened, her fingers grazing Y/N’s collarbone lightly, teasingly. "Yeah?" she murmured, her voice husky.
Y/N nodded, feeling her breath hitch. "Yeah."
For a moment, it felt inevitable. Sarah leaned in, their noses brushing, her lips hovering just above Y/N’s. Y/N felt the tension coil in their stomach, their eyes fluttering shut, waiting—
But then Sarah exhaled sharply and pulled back, grabbing the box of creme and getting up.
"I will make us some food." she informed Y/N, leaving her behind.
Y/N let out a frustrated laugh, watching as Sarah walked away, the ghost of her touch still burning on her skin.
Day three
The snow hadn't stopped and Sarah insisted on teaching Y/N how do bake her moms famous Appel strudel, to pass some time, but of curse without sharing her familys secret recipe.
Flour dusted the countertops—and Y/N’s face—while Sarah sat on the counter next to her, correcting her terrible dough-rolling skills.
"You're terrible at this." Sarah teased, before jumping of the counter and grabbing a hand full of flower.
"Here let me show you." She stepped behind Y/N, placing her hands on top of hers.
Y/N froze as Sarah’s breath tickled the back of her neck, her body pressing close. "You have to knead it like this," Sarah murmured, guiding Y/N's hands with slow, deliberate movements.
Sarah felt her heart beat faster, as Y/N turned around, their faces suddenly only inches apart.
Sarah noticed Y/N, looking at her lips again and for a second she thought something would happen but Y/N pulled back, grabbing a handful of flower and tossing it playfully at Sarahs face.
"How old are you? 5?" Sarah asked, trying to wipe to flower off but before she cold do so Y/N grabbed her hand.
She reached out, using a finger to draw a heart in the flower on Sarahs cheek.
"Some people say I'll be turning 20 this year." Y/N answered, turning around again to put the strudel into the oven.
"So basically a child."
"You take that back." Y/N grabbed another hand full of flower, ready to throw it at Sarah.
"Don't you dare throw that at me!"
"So what if I do?" Y/N smiled mischievously, raising her hand.
"I will throw back."
Y/N pretended to think about it for a second, using her chance to throw the flower at Sarah and running out of the kitchen.
"HEY!" Sarah screamed, storming after her, she chased her to the living room and then finally managed to grab her.
Y/N suddenly stopped, forcing Sarah to run into her, and nocking both of them over, only this time, Y/N landed on top.
"We have to stop doing this." Y/N whispered, hovering above the older women.
"Doing what?"
"Landing on top of each other. Could be weird if it happened during practice."
Sarah smiled, her eyes flickering over Y/N face, her skin looked so soft, it was hard for her not to just touch it.
Maybe she would have done it, but the sound of the phone ringing broke the moment.
"I need to get that one." Sarah mumbled, quickly getting out form under Y/N and hurried to get the phone.
Day four
The power had gone out during the night, leaving the house bathed in an eerie stillness.
Y/N sat on the floor, leaning against the couch with a thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Sarah was next to her, sitting cross-legged, poking idly at the fire with a metal poker. The flames crackled and spat, filling the quiet space between them.
"You ever think about how weird life is?" Sarah mused suddenly, her voice low and thoughtful.
Y/N glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Weird how?"
Sarah stared into the fire, the glow catching the sharp angles of her face. "Like... how we end up where we are. How we meet the people we meet. If it’s all just random... or if there’s some kind of plan to it."
Y/N thought for a moment, shifting to get more comfortable. "I don’t know. I think about that sometimes too. Whether things happen for a reason, or if we're just... floating through life, hoping for the best."
Sarah chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Floating, huh?"
"Yeah," Y/N said, smiling faintly. "Like...you know when I was younger, I thought I knew what I wanted to do in live. Becoming a teacher, working with kids you know. But then I got better at soccer and I was playing for Hoffenheim and basically the next day I got a call from Alex, asking if I wanted to play for Bayern Munich. It showed me that sometimes you don't get want you want, but what you need."
Sarah nodded slowly, her gaze distant. "You're right."
Y/N glanced at her, sensing something deeper beneath her words. "Did you have a plan?"
Sarah exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "Not really. I mean, I knew I wanted to play. But there were times I wondered if I was good enough, if I was making the right choices." She paused, her fingers absently tracing patterns on her knee. "And sometimes I think... what if I hadn’t made it? Who would I be without football?"
Y/N felt a pang in her chest at the vulnerability in Sarah’s voice. "I think you'd still be... you. Football or not."
Sarah gave her a small, grateful smile, but her eyes still held a shadow. "It’s hard to imagine, though, isn’t it? Taking it all away. Who are we, really, without the one thing we've built our whole lives around?"
Y/N swallowed, feeling the weight of that question. "I guess... we’re just people, trying to figure it out like everyone else."
Sarah let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "That’s kind of terrifying."
"Yeah," Y/N agreed, bumping Sarah’s knee lightly with hers. "But maybe it’s also kind of... freeing?"
Sarah looked at her, a flicker of something thoughtful in her expression. "Freeing how?"
Y/N shrugged. "Like... maybe we’re more than just what we do. Maybe we get to decide who we are, over and over again. Maybe some of us are still searching for what they want in live, for who they want to be."
Sarah stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable in her gaze. "You ever feel like you're still searching?"
Y/N sighed, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. "Every day." she looked down, avoiding Sarahs gaze.
"It's not that I'm unhappy about my life, about playing football, but sometimes I'm asking myself if this is already everything."
"I think you need to appreciate that little moments more, remember how happy you were when Giuli invited you to hang out with them for the first time? I could see it in your eyes, that it made you feel seen."
"So you were watching me?" Y/N asked, a smile forming on her lips.
"That was not what I was trying to say."
"I know. But I get what you mean and you are right with that." Y/N admitted, looking up at Sarah.
For a while, they just sat there, the fire crackling, the wind howling outside, and the space between them charged with something unspoken.
Y/N turned her head slightly, watching Sarah in the soft firelight—the way the light danced across her features, the quiet vulnerability in her eyes. It was so rare to see her like this, stripped of her usual confidence, just... real.
"I like this," Y/N said softly.
Sarah blinked, turning to look at her. "What?"
Y/N hesitated, her heart hammering in her chest. "Talking like this. With you."
Sarah’s lips curled into the softest of smiles. "Yeah. Me too."
"...I always do." Sarah admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Y/N's breath caught in her throat. There was something about the way Sarah said it—soft, sincere, like a confession she hadn't meant to make. The fire crackled beside them, but the warmth Y/N felt had nothing to do with the flames.
Sarah seemed to realize what she had said and cleared her throat, quickly looking away. "I mean, you're new to the team. I like to make sure you're okay."
"Right," Y/N said, trying to ignore the way her pulse had jumped. "That makes sense."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Y/N wanted to say something—wanted to ask why Sarah always seemed to pull away just when it felt like something was about to happen. But instead, she just nodded and looked back at the fire.
Sarah did the same, but Y/N could still feel her watching.
----
By nightfall, the storm had gotten worse and due to the lack of power there was no source of heat except the fire.
"This is ridiculous." Sarah muttered, she had stoped in the doorway on her way to go to bed, a blanked tightly wrapped around her shoulders. "We’re gonna freeze, to death in our rooms."
Y/N, curled up under a mountain of blankets on the couch, shivered. "Tell me about it."
"Alright, give me a moment." Sarah said, walking away.
Just a few minutes later she came back, carrying the big blanked from her bed and a few pillows.
"Move!" she demanded, dropping the pile off next to Y/N.
"What are you doing?"
"It'll be warmer if we share a bed and here we also have the fire." she explained, laying the pillows down on one end of the couch and spreading the blanked. "Unless you’d rather turn into an icicle out here."
Y/N's heart skipped a beat. Sharing a bed with Sarah? After everything that had happened these past few days?
But she was freezing. And Sarah was right—it was just practical. Nothing more.
"Fine," Y/N mumbled, trying to sound unaffected.
But when they were finally lying next to each other, under layers of blankets, it was impossible to ignore the way their bodies naturally gravitated closer. The house was quiet except for the howling wind outside and the cracking of the fire.
"Better?" Sarah murmured, her voice close in the dark.
Y/N swallowed hard. "Yeah. Better."
Sarah shifted, and Y/N felt the slightest brush of her fingers against her arm. Maybe it was accidental. Maybe it wasn’t.
Neither of them moved away.
The minutes passed, but for Y/N it was impossible to fall asleep, not when her heart was beating that fast with Sarah being so close.
Sarah exhaled softly, and Y/N could hear the slight smile in her voice. "You're not sleeping either?"
Y/N let out a quiet chuckle. "No chance. Too much on my mind."
Sarah hummed, staring up at the wooden ceiling. "Like what?"
Y/N hesitated. Like you. Like the way you look at me. Like the way I feel when you’re this close.
"Just… everything," she said instead, her voice softer now. "The storm, the season, the team… life, I guess."
Sarah turned her head slightly, watching her. "You put a lot of pressure on yourself."
Y/N huffed a quiet laugh. "Like you don’t?"
Sarah didn’t argue. They both knew the truth.
A few moments of silence passed before Sarah let out a quiet sigh. "You ever think about what you really want? Not in football I mean, but in live."
Y/N turned her head to face Sarah now, their faces just inches apart. The low light softened Sarah’s features, but her green-brown eyes were piercing in the dim glow.
"You're asking about my dreams?" Y/N asked in a teasing tone.
"I guess yeah."
"Sometimes," Y/N admitted. "But I try not to get caught up in things I can’t have."
Sarah’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—but then she hesitated. Instead, she reached up, tucking a strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear. The gesture was so gentle, so deliberate, that it made Y/N’s breath hitch.
The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, until Sarah spoke again—barely above a whisper.
"And what if… what if you could have it?"
Y/N’s heart pounded.
"I think I...I wish for someone to share all of this with, the good moments, the bad...just my life."
The warmth of Sarah’s fingers lingered against her skin.
She didn’t move away.
She couldn’t.
A sharp clatter from outisde broke the moment.
They both tensed, their heads snapping toward the doorway. It sounded like something had fallen—maybe the wind knocking something loose outside.
Sarah let out a breath, dragging a hand through her hair. Nature just had the worst timing ever.
"Get some sleep, Y/N," She murmured after a moment.
Y/N turned her head, watching her. "Yeah," she whispered.
But she knew she wouldn’t sleep.
Not with Sarah this close.
Not with the promise of something hanging between them, just out of reach.
Day five
Warmth. That was the first thing Y/N registered as she drifted toward consciousness. Not just from the thick blankets cocooning her, but from something -or rather, someone- pressed against her side.
The second thing she noticed was light, soft, golden light spilling across the cabin, warming her face. The storm was gone.
Slowly, she blinked her eyes open, and the sight nearly stole her breath away. The snow outside glowed beneath the morning sun, untouched and glistening. It poured through the small window, casting everything in a hazy, golden glow—including Sarah, who was still fast asleep beside her.
Y/N swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of their position. Sometime during the night, they had shifted closer, their bodies now tangled under the blankets. Sarah’s arm was draped over Y/N’s waist, her face nestled against her shoulder, breaths slow and even.
Y/N didn’t dare to move. Not yet.
Sarah’s hair was messy from sleep, a few strands falling across her forehead, catching the sunlight in a way that made her look almost ethereal. Her face was peaceful, her lips slightly parted, her body completely relaxed against Y/N’s.
Y/N exhaled slowly, willing her racing heart to settle. She should move. She should. But there was something about this moment—about the warmth, the golden light, the quiet—that made her want to stay just a little longer.
Then, Sarah stirred.
A small sigh left her lips as she shifted, her hold on Y/N tightening slightly before she stilled again. Y/N held her breath, her heart pounding.
And then—
“Mmh… comfy…” Sarah’s voice was low, thick with sleep.
Y/N swallowed. “Yeah?”
Sarah hummed, nuzzling closer. “Mhm… warm.”
Y/N could feel the heat in her own face now, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away.
The golden light danced across the room, the world outside perfectly still, as if waiting for them to wake up.
Sarah shifted again, finally cracking one eye open. She blinked lazily at Y/N before a slow, sleepy smile tugged at her lips.
“Morning,” she murmured.
Y/N’s breath hitched. “Morning.”
For a moment, they just lay there, golden light spilling over them, neither moving, neither speaking.
Then Sarah gave a contented sigh, stretching slightly before letting her head fall back onto the pillow, still close enough that Y/N could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes.
“The storm’s gone,” Sarah mumbled, voice still husky with sleep.
Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”
Sarah glanced toward the window, taking in the sunlit snow, before turning back to Y/N. There was something unreadable in her gaze, something soft.
"If the weather stays like that I think the streets will be free of snow by tomorrow and then we can leave." Sarah explained, but there was no urgency in her voice. No rush to move. It was more like she didn't want to move at all.
"And what if I don't want to leave?"
Sarah's eyes flickered downward, just for a second.
Then she pulled back, just slightly—not hurriedly, not awkwardly, just… a shift. Like she knew they had lingered in this moment long enough. Like she had been aware of the closeness just as much as Y/N
Y/N let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding
"I can leave you here, but beware that my parents are coming back on Sunday." Sarah answered before sitting up, rubbing a hand through her messy hair, squinting at the bright light filtering in through the window.
“Damn,” she murmured, staring out at the untouched snow. “It’s kinda beautiful.”
Y/N sat up slowly beside her, her shoulder brushing against Sarah’s. “Yeah.” But she wasn’t looking at the snow.
Sarah turned, catching Y/N’s gaze, and for just a second, something passed between them again—something quiet, something unspoken.
Then Sarah smirked, nudging Y/N playfully with her elbow. “Come on, kid. Time to see if our car is buried under a snowdrift.”
Y/N rolled her eyes at the nickname, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips as she threw back the blankets.
----
The cold hit them the moment they stepped outside, but it was nothing compared to last night’s storm. The sky was clear now, and the world looked almost untouched under a thick blanket of fresh snow. The sun hung low, casting everything in a golden glow, making the frozen landscape almost beautiful.
Sarah stopped in her tracks and groaned dramatically. "My poor car.”
Y/N laughed, following her gaze. The vehicle was barely visible, buried under a ridiculous amount of snow. Only the side mirrors and the faintest outline of the roof stuck out.
“You sure you parked a car here? Cause I’m only seeing a snow sculpture,” Y/N teased.
Sarah shot her a look. “Very funny. Come on, let’s get to work before I freeze to death.”
She grabbed a shovel leaning against the wall and tossed another to Y/N, who barely caught it. Then they got to work, Sarah attacking the thicker piles with determined movements while Y/N brushed the snow off the windows and roof.
For a while, they worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds being their breathing and the scrape of shovels. But it didn’t take long before Y/N noticed the playful glint in Sarah’s eyes.
She should have seen it coming.
Sarah suddenly flung a shovel full of snow right at her, hitting her square in the side.
“Hey!” Y/N yelped, stumbling back.
Sarah grinned, eyes full of mischief. “Oh, sorry, was that your leg? My bad.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes, tightening her grip on her shovel. “You sure about that, Zadrazil?”
Before Sarah could react, Y/N scooped up a handful of snow with her gloved hands and launched it right at her chest.
Sarah let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh, that’s how it is?”
Y/N barely had time to smirk before Sarah lunged, grabbing a handful of snow and shoving it down the back of her jacket.
The shriek that left Y/N’s mouth was almost unholy. “Sarah! That’s cold!”
Sarah doubled over laughing, but Y/N wasn’t about to let that slide. She scooped up more snow and tackled Sarah, pushing her backward into a deep snowdrift. Sarah let out a surprised oof as she landed on her back, sinking halfway into the fluffy white powder.
Y/N stood over her, triumphant. “Karma.”
Sarah looked up at her, face flushed from the cold, a lazy grin on her lips. Then, before Y/N could react, Sarah grabbed her wrist and yanked—hard.
With a yelp, Y/N lost her balance and tumbled down beside her, landing with a soft puff in the snow. She turned her head and found Sarah already looking at her, still grinning. Their faces were close, breath visible in the cold air.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Sarah chuckled, breaking the moment. “Alright, now we should probably dig my car out before it freezes into the ground permanently.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and sat up, brushing the snow from her clothes. “Yeah, yeah. But just so you know—you totally started that.”
Sarah smirked. “And I totally won.”
Y/N shook her head, laughing as she stood up and reached out a hand to help Sarah up. Together, they finished the job, working side by side until the car was finally free from the snow.
By the time they stomped back into the house, shaking off the cold, something felt different. Lighter.
And just as Sarah pulled off her jacket, the room filled with a low hum.
They both froze.
Then, one by one, the lights flickered back on. The heater rumbled to life.
“No way,” Y/N breathed.
Sarah let out a triumphant laugh, throwing her arms up. “Yes! The universe loves us!”
Y/N smirked. “I think it just got tired of watching us suffer.”
Sarah grinned and nudged her toward the kitchen. “C’mon, now we celebrate. Hot coffee?”
Y/N smiled, warmth creeping into her chest. “Hot coffee sounds perfect.”
And as Sarah moved around the kitchen, Y/N couldn’t help but think -getting snowed in with her? Maybe not such a bad thing after all.
Day six
The cabin felt strangely empty now that their bags were packed. The fire had burned down to embers, and the golden morning sun streamed through the windows, making the wooden walls glow with warmth. Outside, the snow-covered trees stood still, the storm now a distant memory.
Y/N stood by the couch, fingers grazing the blanket they had shared. The past few days had felt like a dream - being snowed in with Sarah, the quiet moments by the fire, waking up tangled together. But now reality was creeping back in. They would leave soon, go back to Munich, back to their normal lives.
Sarah was standing near the door, her hands in the pockets of her jacket, watching her. There was something unspoken in her gaze, something Y/N could feel pressing against her chest like a weight.
“We should go,” Sarah said softly, but she didn’t move.
Y/N swallowed, taking a step forward. “Sarah…”
Sarah’s gaze dropped to Y/N’s lips. Just for a second.
That was all it took.
Y/N closed the distance between them, reached up, and kissed her.
For a heartbeat, Sarah froze.
Then she kissed back.
It was soft at first, hesitant, but then something shifted. Sarah’s hands found Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer. Y/N’s fingers tangled in the collar of Sarah’s jacket, holding on as if letting go would break something fragile.
It was desperate, breathless, too short.
Because suddenly, Sarah was pulling away.
She took a step back, shaking her head as if she needed to clear it. “Shit.” Her voice was hoarse. “We—” She exhaled sharply. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
Y/N blinked, still catching her breath. “Why not?”
Sarah raked a hand through her hair. “Because I’m—” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m so much older than you, Y/N.”
Y/N frowned. “So?”
Sarah let out a humorless chuckle. “So, it’s not that simple. You’re nineteen. I’m thirty-one. That’s a huge difference.”
Y/N shook her head, stepping closer. “I don’t care about that.”
“You should,” Sarah said, stepping back, rubbing a hand over her face. “I’m much older than you. I should know better.”
Y/N took a deep breath. “Sarah… who cares how old we are? We play on the same team, we live in the same world, we want the same things. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I know you feel it too.”
Sarah shook her head, but not in disagreement—more like she was trying to fight something she had already lost to.
“I do,” Sarah admitted quietly.
“Then stop pushing me away.”
Sarah looked at her, really looked at her. And whatever she saw must have been enough because, slowly, her walls started to crack.
She exhaled, then gave a small, almost reluctant smile. “You’re impossible.”
Y/N grinned. “You like that about me.”
Sarah let out a breath of laughter, shaking her head. Then, with a soft sigh, she reached out, cupping Y/N’s face and pulling her in for another kiss—this time slower, more certain.
When they pulled away, Sarah rested her forehead against Y/N’s again, smiling against her lips.
“Let’s go home,” she murmured.
And this time, when they walked out the door, they weren’t leaving anything behind. They were taking it with them.
#woso imagine#woso x reader#woso#fc bayern frauen#sarah zadrazil x reader#sarah zadrazil#fcbfrauen#fcbfrauen x reader
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[Attached: A photo of Richard M with Grant from the dinner from a news site]
I hope he wasn't too uncouth or a complete arse.
Last night was amazing. Hope you weren't too tired today.
#grant#let's say this is late afternoon/early evening the next day#unless g would have texted him sooner
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SATURN ── LHS
PREC𝓲S 。。 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾
이희승 /⠀ female reader ── fluff + non idol au 。。 ⠀ happy birthday to the loml 🎀 my seungie i love you and i adore you forever. . . . more
THAT TIME WHEN he stayed up late with you when you were sick
it was early october and the weather was starting to get cold. you shivered under your blanket, your nose running and your hair a mess, a state you didn’t want heeseung seeing you in. instead of pushing you away, he came over, holding medicines and all your favorite snacks.
“i know you need me princess..” he sat beside you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you.
“what if you get sick to?” you sniffled, attempting inhaling his scent through your clogged nose.
“it’s okay.. as long as i’m with you, that’s all that matters to me.”
it was during those moments, when he looked after you even when you felt your worst, that you realized heeseung’s love was all pure. heeseung didn’t just show up on your good days, but the days you felt vulnerable, and unwell.
THAT TIME WHEN he surprised you with a bunch of hand written love letters
it was your first valentine’s day with heeseung, you were super unsure of what to get him. all those store bought gifts didn’t have as much love as a homemade gift. you made him your infamous homemade chocolate chip cookies and crocheted him a new sweater.
as you finished taking the cookies out of the oven, you heard a slight knock at your front door. you hurried over and opened the door, seeing a basket of letters resting perfectly on the porch.
“100 reasons why i love you..” you read the basket, smiling softly as you reached to grab it.
you went back inside, reading each letter individually. tears flew through your eyes as you read the letters. heeseung’s love was stronger than anything, he always make it clear.
THAT TIME WHEN you had your first fight
a small argument broke out between you and heeseung, it wasn’t anything big, but something that could’ve easily been forgotten. you stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, both of you too stubborn to back down.
“i don’t even know why it matters this much to you.” you muttered under your breath, a sharp edge to your voice. it stung more than intended.
heeseung’s face faltered for a second, hurt in his eyes, but instead of responding out of anger, he paused. from past relationships, you expected him to walk out and not say anything, but he did the opposite.
“i don’t wanna fight with you, i never do. come here and let’s make this right.” he holds his arms out for you, without even thinking you ran into his arms. heeseung wasn’t focused on winning this fight, he just wanted to make things right between the two of you. his touch was comfort, something you needed in that very moment.
THAT TIME WHEN he came to your rescue when you least expected it
it was a stormy afternoon and you had forgotten your umbrella on the kitchen counter. one moment it was sunny, the next it was pouring ran. your clothing was soaked and your hair was wet, you shivered as you continued to walk.
suddenly a car pulls up beside you, the window rolling down. “get in, princess.” he calls out, opening the passenger door for you. you quickly walk over to his car, closing the door behind you.
“you came…” you looked at him, almost as if he was some sort of hero.
“of course i came. you weren’t answering your phone, i figured something wasn’t right.” heeseung smiled, grabbing one of his hoodies from the backseat. “put this one..i’ll drive you home okay?”
THAT TIME WHEN he comforted you when you were nervous
it was your first big job interview, you sat in your car anxious and scared. your palms were sweaty, your breathing was faster than usual. you spent weeks preparing, even having a little bit of heeseung’s help.
your phone buzzed, signaling a call. it was heeseung, without even thinking you answered it. “hello?” you answered, hearing heeseung’s voice suddenly calmed you down.
“hey princess.. don’t stress it okay? you’re gonna do great and they’d be extremely lucky to have someone like you on their team. i love you okay?”
“i love you too, thank you for helping me prepare for this day.” you smiled. you were lucky, heeseung knew how much this job meant to you, and he didn’t want you to stress yourself out about it. you went into the job interview and handled it perfectly, just like heeseung had prayed for.
💌 : happy birthday to my heeseung :( ugh he makes me so proud i love him so much. i adore him so badly. lets meet soon my beloved (i hope) >_<
#🎐 ── 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙’𝑠 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐷#enhypen heeseung#heeseung#lee heeseung x female reader#lee heeseung one shot#lee heeseung x you#lee heeseung x y/n#lee heeseung x reader#lee heeseung fic#heeseung lee#enhypen x fem reader#enhypen x female reader#enhypen x y/n#enhypen x you#enhypen x reader#enhypen#enhypen oneshot#enhypen fanfic#heeseung x female reader#heeseung x yn#heeseung x you#heeseung x reader#heeseung enhypen#enha#enha x female reader#enha x y/n#enha x you#enha x reader#lee heeseung fluff#enhypen fluff
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HER SUN, HIS MOON | kang dae-ho.
pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader
summary: opposites attract, they say, but absolutely no one could prepare you for the impact dae-ho would have in your life. requested here.
warning: pre squid game au, grumpy x sunshine dynamics, reader has personality similar to sae-byeok's, kinda colleagues to friends to lovers, heart-melting dae-ho being utterly smitten and protective, mention of fighting and blood, prepare for banter and love that feels like the perfect balance, and please enjoy ♥️
word count: 3.7k
Dae-ho and you were written in the stars. Not in words, but through a bond that neither time nor reason could break. As if the universe itself had signed a soul contract on your behalf, interlinking the two of you forever, one bright as the sun, the other dark as the night. Because you could think of no other explanation for how you and Dae-ho had found your way to each other.
For he and you were opposites in every conceivable way. He was golden hours spent laughing, and you were the quiet serenity of midnight. He was the light on a summer day, you were the shadow on a winter night. He was a golden retriever, bounding through life with enthusiasm and a need to love and be loved, while you were the black cat, aloof and deliberate, your affection hard-earned and fiercely given. He was the proverbial sunshine boyfriend, and you? The grumpy girlfriend, even if you'd never admit it aloud.
You still remembered the early days before you were together. Back then, you had avoided entanglements, thinking emotions were too unpredictable, too messy. Dae-ho, on the other hand, had been nothing but heart, an open book that practically had shouted his feelings with every glance, every action. Easygoing. Flirty. Compassionate. Gentle. Funny. Supportive. That's how he'd always been. You had worked at the same bookstore café as part-timers, making money on the side while studying at uni, and he had been the kind of coworker who brought in homemade snacks to share, who remembered the regulars' orders, who lit up every corner of the room just by being there
And you? You had preferred the quiet. You'd worked the closing shift to avoid the chaos, stocked the shelves in peace, and only spoke when absolutely necessary. Yet somehow, Dae-ho had decided you were his favorite person in the room.
Work had been slow that day, the kind of lazy afternoon where time seemed to drag. You had been in the back, sorting through new stock, when Dae-ho had appeared like a whirlwind of energy. As usual, he had brought his sunshine into the room, whistling a tune as he had sauntered over to where you had been crouched on the floor.
"Need a hand?" he asked, grinning as he leaned casually against the shelf. His eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint that always made you wary.
"No," you said simply, focusing on the stack of books in front of you. "I'm fine."
"That's debatable," he replied, crouching down next to you. "You've been glaring at those books like they owe you money. Which, knowing you, isn't completely impossible."
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "They're disorganized. It's irritating."
"I think you mean it's irresistible," he corrected, emphasizing the word as he tilted his head to get a better look at your face. "Because you're clearly putting all your energy into ignoring the most charming guy in the room."
You'd turned to him then, giving him a flat look. "Charming? You?"
His hand went to his chest, mock offense lighting up his features. "Ouch. That hurts. Right here." He tapped his heart, then flashed you an exaggerated pout. "You wound me."
"Good," you shot back, turning back to the books. "Maybe it'll teach you some humility."
He let out a soft laugh, his voice dipping lower. "Nah, I think I'll keep my ego intact, thanks. It's my best feature. Or… is it my smile? You've been staring at it a lot lately, so maybe I should ask you."
Your fingers froze on the book in your hand, and you felt heat creep up your neck. Damn him. He always knew exactly how to get under your skin, and worse, he lived for it.
"I don't know what you're talking about," you said smoothly, though your face betrayed you with the faintest hint of pink in your cheeks.
"Oh, come on," he teased, leaning in closer. "Don't play coy with me. I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."
You turned to glare at him, which only made him grin wider. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" His voice was soft now, his gaze steady as he inched just a bit closer. "Because I'd bet my entire paycheck that you're thinking about how good I'd look kissing you right now."
You blinked, your heart skipping a beat at his boldness. But you weren't going to give him the satisfaction. "That's a terrible bet," you deadpanned with your best pokerface, setting the book aside. "You don't even make that much."
His laughter echoed in the small space, rich and full of delight. "See? That's exactly why you're my favorite."
"You're annoying," you retorted, standing up and dusting off your jeans.
"And yet, you keep me around." He stood as well, towering over you slightly. His boyish grin softened into something more genuine, his eyes lingering on yours. "Admit it, you'd miss me if I wasn't here."
You had rolled your eyes, "You wish."
"I do," he remarked, "And you love it," he winked at you before strolling off, whistling that same tune as before.
And damn it, you did love it.
No one understood it back then. This thing you two had. They still didn't understand. How could someone so effervescent, so outwardly bright, have chosen someone so reserved, so calculated? How could two people so different orbit each other with such ease? But honestly, they didn't need to understand. It was him and you that counted. Two sides of the same coin, perfectly balanced in your differences, inseparable in ways that defied explanation.
And so, it began, this undefined connection between you. Gradually, you found yourselves spending more and more time together. Dinners after work became a casual routine, and weekends often led to shared nights out at bars.
On one particular Saturday night, the bar you went to was packed; the air buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of a jukebox in the corner. It was one of those rare nights where you let yourself relax, even though relaxing wasn't exactly your forte. Of course, it helped that Dae-ho was there, his larger-than-life presence somehow managing to make you forget how crowded and loud the place was.
You were sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, while Dae-ho leaned against the counter beside you, a mischievous grin perpetually plastered on his face. He was in rare form all evening, tossing out jokes and one-liners, testing just how far he could push your usual stoic demeanor.
"Come on," he teased, nudging your arm gently. "I know, you're having fun. You're smiling. At least on the inside."
You shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "I don't smile."
"Not true," he countered, wagging a finger at you. "You smiled that one time when I tripped on the stairs."
"That wasn't a smile," you clarified with absolutely no emotion in your face, "That was schadenfreude."
"Call it whatever you want," he replied with a wink. "It still counts."
Your lips twitched slightly at that, betraying a flicker of amusement you tried to hide. Of course, Dae-ho noticed instantly, pointing at you triumphantly.
"Aww, I'm growing on you."
"Like mold," you muttered, taking another sip of your drink to mask your expression.
Undeterred, he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "You know, I've been told I have a certain… effect on people. Charm, charisma, devastating good looks, take your pick."
"Is that what your sisters told you?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
His grin widened. "Ah, there's the sharp tongue I love. Keep it coming, baby."
"Stop calling me that," you grumbled, even as your stomach flipped at the nickname.
As the evening went on, the two of you fell into a rhythm of teasing and banter, your words volleying back and forth like it was second nature. The bustling crowd and occasional jostle of bodies around you became background noise as your attention fixated on each other. What you did notice, however, was how close he's got. His shoulder brushed yours, his warm breath tickling your ear as he spoke in that low, teasing tone.
"So," he said casually, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "how long are you going to keep pretending you don't like me?"
You snorted, leaning back slightly in an attempt to create some distance, not that it helped. "What makes you think I like you?"
"Your complete inability to look me in the eye when I do this," he explained, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture had been so smooth, so effortlessly intimate, it left you momentarily speechless.
"Is your ego always this big, or is it just me?" you managed to ask, though your voice had sounded weaker than you intended.
"Just you," he replied, his grin softening into something more genuine. "You bring out the best in me, moonbeam."
Before you could formulate a snappy retort, a commotion erupted behind you. Raised voices and curses cut through the background noise, drawing your attention to a group of men arguing near a table. One of them shoved another, and you instinctively tensed.
"Dae-ho," you hissed, elbowing him. "Something's happening."
"Huh?" He blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from you to glance in the direction of the chaos. "Oh. Looks like a fight."
"Yeah, thanks, Sherlock," you muttered, standing up as the tension escalated. One of the men pulled out a knife, waving it threateningly.
"Let's just get out of here," you grabbed Dae-ho's arm. But before you could pull him away, the fight spilled dangerously close to the bar.
Everything that happened next was a blur. The man with the knife lunged forward, clearly aiming for his opponent, but the latter ducked, and somehow, Dae-ho, who inexplicably stepped forward, took the hit instead.
"Shit!" you yelled, catching him as he stumbled back. The knife had grazed his side, leaving a shallow but nasty wound. Blood seeped through his shirt, and panic had gripped you.
"Dae-ho!" you exclaimed, your hands gripping his shoulders. "What the hell were you thinking?"
He winced, a crooked grin tugging at his lips despite the pain. "Guess I wasn't."
"No kidding," you snapped, grabbing a napkin from the bar to press against his wound. "Who gets stabbed because they're too busy flirting?"
"Is that… your way of admitting I'm hard to resist?" he asked, his voice strained but still tinged with humor.
You glared at him, though your heart was racing for entirely different reasons. "Shut up and sit down. You're bleeding."
"I've had worse," he said, but he sank obediently into a nearby chair, his hand covering yours as you applied pressure to his wound. "Besides, I couldn't let anything happen to you."
"I was fine," you muttered through gritted teeth. "You're the one who almost got killed because you can't stop playing knight in shining armor."
"Be honest," he said with a weak chuckle. "You'd really miss me if I wasn't around."
You froze at his words, remembering the last time, he's said them, your breath hitching. But this time, the thought of losing him, wasn't so far away. Momentarily, the noise of the bar faded, replaced by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
"Don't be stupid," you said softly.
"I knew it! I do have an effect on you," he grinned triumphantly, "I'll take my victory now, thanks."
You rolled your eyes, but the faint tremble in your hands gave you away. "Just… try not to die, okay?"
His grin widened, despite the pain etched across his face. "If it means seeing you worried about me? Worth it."
As much as you wanted to deny it back then, he hadn't been wrong. You would miss him. And that had terrified you more than any knife ever could.
Your relationship had always been a slow burn, like embers catching fire after months of waiting for the perfect conditions. On that rainy Saturday night, after the chaos at the bar, you found yourself driving Dae-ho to the hospital, his side patched up with hastily wrapped gauze that barely held back the bleeding. He sat in the passenger seat, uncharacteristically quiet, his usual energy dampened by the pain and the rain drumming on the windshield.
"You didn't have to do this," he muttered after a while, his head leaning back against the seat.
"Of course I did," you replied without looking at him, your knuckles tight around the steering wheel. "I wasn't going to let you bleed out in some alley."
He chuckled faintly, the sound tinged with both amusement and exhaustion. "You've got a funny way of showing you care."
You ignored him, keeping your focus on the road, though your heart clenched at the way his voice sounded weaker than usual.
At the hospital, you stayed with him through the stitches, arms crossed over your chest as he cracked half-hearted jokes to distract himself from the needle. When the nurse asked if you were his girlfriend, you didn't bother to deny it, instead rolling your eyes and muttering, "Just patch him up, will you?"
By the time you were finally helping him to his apartment, the rain had turned into a steady downpour. He leaned on you as you guided him up the stairs, his weight a reminder of how fragile this moment felt despite the humor he tried to inject into it.
As you reached the cover of his apartment's awning, you let out a breath, finally releasing your grip on his arm. The warm glow of the entryway light cast over the two of you, highlighting the faint smirk tugging at his lips despite everything.
"I've got to say," he began, leaning heavily against the doorframe, "I think this is the longest you've ever willingly spent with me. Kind of feels like progress."
You shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "You're an idiot," you said, shaking your head. "Why do you always make everything a joke?"
"Because someone's gotta balance us out," he quipped, though his grin faltered as he studied your face. "You're always so serious, moonbeam."
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of rain filling the silence. He tilted his head slightly, as if debating whether to push further. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "Why do you act like you don't care when I know you do?"
His question caught you off guard, the vulnerability in his voice digging into the walls you'd carefully built around yourself. You looked away, the words forming in your throat before you could stop them. "Because caring about people… it hurts. And I've had enough of that."
Silence stretched between you again, heavier this time. When you finally looked at him, the teasing glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by something deeper, something that made your chest tighten.
"You don't have to be scared of me," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I don't get it," you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.
"Don't get what?"
"You. Why you're always so nice to me."
He tilted his head as he studied you through the rain. "Because you're worth it," he said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, his voice soft but certain. "And because I like you."
The words caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. You could only stare at him, the rain a gentle soundtrack to the weight of his confession.
"Say something, moonbeam," he teased, his grin crooked but genuine.
The rawness of his words, the way he had said them like a promise, made something inside you snap. Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped closer, your hands reaching for his collar. You kissed him, tentative at first, your lips brushing against his like you were testing the waters. He froze, clearly surprised, but only for a short moment. Then his hands were on your waist, steadying you as he kissed you back with a tenderness that belied his usual boldness.
The warmth of his lips, the faint taste of blood and rain, made your head spin. It wasn't rushed or frantic, it was slow, deliberate, like he didn't want to miss a single second of it. When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, his expression soft but unreadable.
"That's a good start," he murmured, his fingers brushing a raindrop from your cheek.
And that was the night everything shifted.
Even now, years later, as you sat curled up on the couch in one of his oversized hoodies, that kiss lingered in your memory, replaying in these quiet moments like a favorite song. You hadn't realized it then, but that kiss had marked the beginning of a life you'd never imagined for yourself, a life with him. You were lazily scrolling through your phone, as the smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen, a comforting scent that told you Dae-ho was busy doing something, blending with the faint hum of his voice as he moved about.
You smiled to yourself, tracing the worn fabric of the hoodie with your fingertips.
"Babe," his voice called from the kitchen, teasing and light, pulling you from your thoughts, "if I bring you coffee in bed, does that make me husband material, or is it too early for that kind of promotion?"
You snorted, setting your phone down as you stretched. "You've gotta stop campaigning so hard, Dae-ho. It's getting desperate."
He appeared in the doorway, holding two mugs of steaming coffee and wearing the kind of grin that made your stomach flip. "Desperate? Honey, this is a demonstration of premium boyfriend services." He crossed the room, setting the mugs on the coffee table before flopping down next to you.
"Premium?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't even bring toast."
He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Are you doubting the quality of my care and devotion?"
"I'm just saying," you replied with a smirk, "a little effort wouldn't kill you."
"Oh, you want effort?" he teased, leaning over you, his face suddenly much closer than you anticipated. His arm stretched over the back of the couch, caging you in just slightly. "Name it, and it's yours."
You stared at him, biting your lip to keep from laughing. "Okay. Toast. I want toast."
He narrowed his eyes playfully, tilting his head. "You sure about that? Not, I don't know, me? Because I'm sitting right here."
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed as he leaned closer, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something warmer. "You're still annoying," you said under your breath, trying to sound in-fact annoyed, but your voice betrayed you, coming out softer than you intended.
"And you're adorable," he shot back, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I think we're even."
The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slid down to your waist, tugging you closer until your legs were tangled together, his thumb idly tracing circles over the fabric of your hoodie.
"You look good in my clothes," he murmured, his voice dipping lower. "Almost too good. How am I supposed to let you out of this apartment now?"
You couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled up, even as your heart raced. "Who said I was going anywhere?"
His grin widened at your response, and before you could say anything else, he turned you with a swift motion, settling you on top of him so that your legs straddled his hips. The shift left you breathless, your bare thighs brushing against his sides as his hands splayed firmly on your waist, holding you in place.
"Good," he said, his voice lower now, a little rougher around the edges. His dark eyes held yours, their usual playfulness tempered with something deeper, something that made your stomach flutter. "Because I can't get enough of you."
His words sent a shiver down your spine. He tilted his head back slightly, his thumb tracing absent patterns along your hip. "You, moonbeam," he murmured, his gaze intense. "You're addicting. Like I'm craving something I can't ever stop wanting."
You felt your breath hitch, your heart thudding in your chest. You tried to compose yourself, to play it cool, but the way he looked at you made it impossible to be unaffected. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, letting your hands rest on his chest. "Dae-ho," you softly said his name the way you knew it drove him crazy, "You keep talking like that, and I might think you're the romantic one in this relationship."
His lips quirked into a smirk, but his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer. "Don't think. Know. And I'll keep proving it until you never question it again."
You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound blending with the warmth of his presence. "You're setting the bar pretty high for yourself, you know."
He shrugged, his hands never leaving your waist, "That just means I have to keep finding ways to spoil you."
In that moment, the world outside disappeared, leaving just the two of you tangled together. His hands slowly slid down to your thighs now, his thumbs brushing over your skin, while his gaze never left yours. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and his arms circled back around you, holding you impossibly close as though you might vanish if he didn't.
"I told you," he murmured against your lips. "Addicting."
"I know," you said softly, capturing his lips in another slow kiss. "And that's why I love you."
His boyish grin returned against your lips, softer this time, "I love you, too. But I'm still not getting up for toast."
You burst out laughing, and he pulled you even tighter against him, his chuckle rumbling through his chest as he pressed a kiss against your jaw. Right then and there, everything felt right, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. You smiled, letting yourself melt into him, and you thought to yourself that this was where you were meant to be. Not because he was your sun or you were his moon, but because together, you created something whole.
Something timeless.
Something infinite.
And you wouldn't have it any other way.
#squid game#squid game x oc#squid game angst#kang daeho#kang dae ho imagine#kang dae ho#kang dae ho x reader#kang dae ho x you#dae ho imagine#kang daeho x reader#dae ho squid game#daeho x reader#dae ho x reader#dae ho#daeho#player 388 x reader#player 388#player 388 x you#angst with a happy ending#squid game x reader#squid game x you#squid game 2#squid game 2 spoilers#squid game season 2#squid game x y/n#squid game s2#squid game spoilers#squid game netflix#dae ho x you#dae ho fluff
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i love your college fling writings sm aaaa (*≧∀≦*)!! begging on hands and knees for college fling jun 🙏 esp if he’s a bit more on the dom side
college fling!jun
WARNINGS: smut, bio!genius jun, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), cock riding, a little dom!jun, non-established relationship.
it’s a thursday afternoon, the sort of day where the mood smells like cheap cafeteria food and half-assed desperation, ‘cause exams are coming and no one knows shit. you’re slouched over your bio notes in the library, chewing the end of your pen like it owes you some kind of lamp genie, and then boom—in struts college fling!jun.
college fling!jun, who hates the college lockers so much he straight-up just carries all his books around like some kind of over-prepared, slightly chaotic mule. deadass, his backpack looks ready to burst, and you’re already side-eyeing it, wondering how many goddamn textbooks one man could possibly need.
“you okay there?” he plops down across from you, hair slightly messy, and there’s this little grin playing at his lips. why’s he gotta look so cute when you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown?
“nah, i’m actually about to file for emotional bankruptcy,” you mutter, flipping through your notes like the answers are gonna manifest themselves through sheer panic. “you done with the bio assignment?”
college fling!jun, shy-but-funny, lowkey-genius college fling!jun, tilts his head and smirks. “you need help?”
you blink. “you know bio?”
“do i know bio?” he scoffs, dragging your notebook closer like you personally insulted him. “sit back, y/n.”
next thing you know, he’s rattling off answers about cell division and DNA replication like he’s reading straight outta the textbook, except better, ‘cause he’s throwing in jokes about mitochondria being the “bad bitch” of the cell world. who even is this man?
college fling!jun, who spent half the semester cracking dumb jokes about your prof’s comb-over, suddenly explaining concepts better than the professor himself? unreal.
“wait, wait,” you interrupt, pointing at a diagram. “so, like, the nucleus is just… chilling in the middle, bossing everyone around?”
he grins, leaning in closer, and damn, his perfume smells too good for a guy who looks like he only owns three hoodies. “exactly. it’s like me at a group project—doesn’t do much, but still gets credit.”
“i hate you,” you snort, but you’re laughing anyway, and somehow your brain is actually clicking with the material.
college fling!jun, who makes studying feel like less of a slow, painful death.
later, as you’re packing up, he scratches the back of his neck, looking all shy again, and it’s such a whiplash from confident bio-genius jun that you almost laugh. “uh, so… you wanna grab coffee or something? you know, as a reward for surviving bio?”
you raise an eyebrow. “this isn’t you trying to weasel into my project group again, is it?”
“what? no,” he says, but he’s grinning, and you already know he’s lying.
college fling!jun, who probably would try to scam his way into your group, but makes it so damn endearing you’d let him anyway.
it’s late—like, stupid late. the kinda late where your brain feels like it’s melting into a puddle of useless mush. you and jun are on the floor of your dorm, the carpet rough under your knees, surrounded by markers, cut-out letters, and one very sad excuse for a poster board. everyone else dipped like two hours ago, muttering something about “early classes” and “not wanting to lose brain cells”—like, rude much? but jun stayed.
college fling!jun, who’s now sitting cross-legged with his sleeves pushed up, forearms all veiny as he’s meticulously lining up the title letters.
“you’re actually kinda good at this,” you say, crawling closer on your knees, one hand pushing your hair back as it flops into your face. you’re half-joking, but also… not? like, his focus is insane.
he glances up, smirking. “you doubted me?”
“uh, yeah?” you deadpan, sitting back on your heels. “you’re the guy who brought a backpack full of biology books to a history lecture. forgive me for not immediately trusting your poster skills.”
he snorts, shaking his head as he smooths down a corner of the title. “at least I came prepared.”
“prepared for what? a different class?”
“y/n,” he says, tone mock-serious as he leans back on his hands, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”
that shuts you up for a second. the compliment—casual, like he didn’t just drop it in the middle of a roast session—has you blinking. you recover quick, though, because if college fling!jun is good at anything, it’s teasing, and you’re not about to let him have the upper hand.
“yeah, yeah,” you say, waving him off as you grab a marker and doodle a little star in the corner of the poster. “you keep saying that, but I haven’t seen you make a move yet. scared?”
his eyes flick to yours, and there’s this little glint in them that makes your stomach flip. “scared? of you?”
“yes, actually.”
he laughs, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you now—like he’s considering something, weighing it. you’re close—closer than you realized, kneeling in front of him while he’s still sitting, one hand resting casually on his thigh.
“come here,” he says.
you tilt your head. “why?”
he leans forward, just a little, until you’re close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. “because I said so.”
there’s a challenge in his tone, and you’re not one to back down. so, you shuffle closer, knees brushing against his as you sit back on your heels again. “happy now?”
he hums, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. “getting there.”
“jun,” you start joking, half-something-else-entirely, but before you can finish, his hand slides up to cup your jaw, fingers warm against your skin as he leans in and kisses you.
he’s waiting for you to push him away. but you don’t. instead, you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you.
and then… well, the guy’s got skills. his lips move against yours with this easy credit, and when his tongue flicks out to trace the seam of your mouth, you can’t help the little noise that escapes you. he takes that as encouragement, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to keep up.
college fling!jun, who’s apparently really, really good with his mouth.
you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as you both try to steady yourselves. “okay,” you say, voice a little breathless, “so you’re not scared.”
he laughs, low and soft, his hand still cradling your jaw. “nope. but you might be.”
before you can ask what he means, he’s kissing you again, harder this time, and then his hands are on your hips, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing easier than that. you go willingly, settling against him as your hands find their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth.
you’re both a little frantic now, hands wandering as the kiss turns messy, desperate. his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, skimming over your skin and leaving a trail of heat in their wake. you shiver, pressing closer, and he takes the opportunity to mouth at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.
“jun,” you moan, and it’s enough to make him pause, pulling back just enough to look at you.
“umm... so do you…”
you nod before he can even finish the question, your hands tugging at his shirt in answer. he grins, and then he’s helping you pull it off, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.
college fling!jun, who’s skinny but stupidly cut, all lean muscle and sharp lines that you can’t help but trace with your fingers as he kisses you again.
“your turn,” he murmurs against your mouth, his hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. you lift your arms, letting him pull it off.
“you’re so…” he starts, but then he shakes his head, like words aren’t enough. instead, he leans in, kissing you again as his hands explore, mapping out your chest, by pinching your nipples
things blur after that—when he finally settles between your thighs, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach, you think you might actually lose your marbles.
college fling!jun, who’s apparently a goddamn expert when it comes to going down on you. his tongue swinging your clit to the sides just to suck it all right after. your fingers are tangled in his hair, and you even feel pity about his scalp. he doesn’t stop until you’re cumming inside his mouth—you last minutes by the way—, your back arching off the floor as you cry out, your other hand holding a highlighter that you've found on the floor and decided that would be your stress ball.
and then he’s kissing his way back up your body, touching your hand to release the poor highlighter before it explodes in your hand. as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “still think I’m scared?” he teases and you don’t even have the energy to come up with a clever reply.
college fling!jun, who’s cocky as hell but more than backs it up.
you pull him down for another kiss, your hands fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants as you shift your hips, sinking down onto his lap. the stretch is dizzying. u hear your blood flow through your ears with the immediate sink, making your head spin as he grips your hips,.
college fling!jun who twitches every time you circle your clit as you ride him. the little gasps he lets out are addictive, this stuttered rhythm of groans and whines that have you clenching around him just to see how he’ll react.
“uhm—hands to yourself.” he chokes out, his head tilting back, exposing the long line of his neck, his adam apple bobbing up and down. you take advantage, leaning forward to press kisses there, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your lips. his hands tighten on your waist, his thighs flexing under you as he buck his hips up into you as a warning.
“j-jun,” you stammer, breath hitching as you shift, grinding down, making wet shots reach his ears, his head snaps up, eyes dark and glassy as they lock onto yours.
“you like that?” he rasps, his chest heaving as he fights to keep himself together. “‘cause i… i love watching you like this, pretty.”
college fling!jun, who moans loud enough to embarrass himself but is too lost in the feeling of you to care. his grip on you tightens as you find a rhythm. his noises grow louder, needier, every time you roll your hips, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer, he always punishing you a little for teasing him, a pinch on your clit, a bite on your neck, a slap on your ass.
“y/n,” he groans, his voice shaking, and you’re right there with him, your own climax building as you reach down between your bodies, your fingers brushing against your clit again. the added sensation has you gasping, and he twitches inside you, his hands pulling you down hard against him as he lets out a broken moan.
“you’re so… gorgeous, fuck!” he mutters, his words slurred, and that’s all it takes for you to cum, your body fluttering as you cry out his name. the sound of it seems to tip him over the edge, his grip on you tightening as he follows, his body shaking beneath you as he spills inside you.
college fling!jun who collapses back onto the carpet, dragging you down with him, his arms wrapping around your ass, letting his hands lazily squeeze the meat there.
it’s like nothing happened when you two go to the college hallways to finish the project. when actually, everything happened all at once. jun’s sitting at the edge of your desk, eating one of your granola bars like he didn’t have you trembling in his lap just hours ago. you’re pretending to focus on your laptop, but your mind’s stuck on how his hair’s still a little messy and his shirt’s on inside out—your fault, obviously.
“what’s with the face?” he asks, mouth half-full, grinning like he knows exactly what’s with the face.
“you didn’t even ask before raiding my snacks,” you say, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere near flustered.
“c’mon, you owe me,” he teases, leaning closer. “all that… effort? you’re lucky i’m still standing.”
you glare at him, but your face burns. “junhui, shut up.”
college fling!jun, who bites his lip to stop himself from laughing but ends up chuckling anyway, stupidly cute as he swings his legs. you’re about to throw a pen at him when he leans over and kisses your temple.
and that’s how it is now. he’s still jun—still the guy who hoards biology notes and carries all his books like the lockers are his mortal enemy—but there’s this… nerves now, this implicit thing hanging between you. like, when he’s explaining something in class, leaning over your desk, his voice low in your ear, and you’re trying not to think about how those same lips were on your pussy just a few nights ago. or when he slides into the seat next to you during study group, his knee brushing yours, and you glance at him, only to catch him already looking at you with that knowing smirk.
college fling!jun, who’s casual as hell in public but pulls you into empty classrooms when no one’s around, his hands already under your shirt as he kisses you like he’s been dying to all day.
it’s worse at night, though. he texts you at random hours, shit like, “you awake?” and “missed you today” with a dick pic coming right after, hard and dripping for you—like always. like he’s not gonna be in your bed an hour later, his hands sliding over your skin as he whispers your name.
“we’re so bad at this,” you tell him one night, lying tangled in his sheets, his arm thrown over your waist as he presses lazy kisses to your shoulder.
“bad at what?” he murmurs sleepy.
“keeping it casual,” you say, glancing back at him. “you’re always here, jun.”
he shrugs, pulling you closer. “maybe i like being here.”
college fling!jun, who’s starting to feel like more than a fling, but neither of you’s ready to say it out loud just yet. instead, you let it keep happening—the late-night visits, the stolen kisses between classes, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.
and maybe you’re not ready to say it, but you’re definitely feeling it. especially when he shows up at your door with takeout and that stupid grin, saying, “figured you’d be hungry,” like he hasn’t already fed you twice today.
college fling!jun, who’s not so casual after all.
#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen x reader#seventeen scenarios#seventeen headcanons#svt imagines#seventeen#seventeen smut#svt smut#seventeen fanfic#jun smut#jun fluff#jun imagines#jun fanfic#jun reactions#jun drabbles#junhui smut#junhui fluff#junhui imagines#junhui drabbles#junhui seventeen#junhui x reader#junhui reactions#wen junhui#moon junhui#seventeen junhui
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And if my wishes came true, it would’ve been you
Pairing: Cassian x reader | WC: 1.7k | warnings: none
Summary: after spending your birthday forgotten by your best friend, you try to grapple with the fact that his affections definitely lie outside of you
Author’s note: happy (early) birthday @sarawritestories 🥳🥳 this was fun and I hope you have a great birthday, try not to get overloaded with fics!!
You closed your eyes, wanting to drown out the noise of the clock that kept ticking, every chime from it another punch to the gut. It was a quiet evening, the only noise was the wind howling outside. You looked down at the lone cupcake on your coffee table, the unlit candle nestled within the frosting.
You sighed, looking from the clock to the door once more, the clock reading that it was a new day. Your birthday was over and your best friend blew you off. You sighed, lighting the candle by yourself, looking into the flame before blowing it out, a wish in your thoughts.
You had been contemplating the wish since last week when Cassian had brought it up. Every year, you make some variation of the same wish - that Cassian would fall in love with you, that he was your mate, that he would declare his undying love for you.
This year had to be different. You had to be different. You blink back your tears, inhaling a breath, letting your thoughts go somewhere before exhaling, the breath extinguishing the flame.
I wish Cassian would see what he’s missing.
-
You woke the next day, sluggishly preparing for work before opening your door to find a bouquet and a white box on your welcome mat. You brought the bouquet in, smelling them as you plucked the card from the top of them.
Sorry I missed your birthday, hope you had fun anyway. Azriel.
You brought the flowers and the box of pastries inside, opening the lid to find your favorite doughnuts and turnovers. Cassian may have sucked, but his brothers were incredibly thoughtful. You knew Azriel had been away on a mission all week, and a part of you wished your heart yearned for the shadowsinger instead of Cassian.
At least Azriel wouldn’t ditch you for Cauldron knows what.
You sighed out of your nose. You were three hundred and fifty two, for Mother’s sake. Cassian was a stupid male. A beautiful one, but a stupid one. If he forgot your plans, you can respond maturely by forgetting him.
An easier said than done plan when the next time you saw him later that afternoon, he made an immediate beeline towards you, a massive smile on his face as he maneuvered through the crowded streets of Velaris.
“Hey, doll.”
You kept walking, determined to make it through the streets of Velaris without paying him any heed, except Cassian doesn’t quite get what you’re not saying.
“How are ya, buttercup? Haven’t seen you for a few days, you okay?”
He had to be joking. Was he really this obtuse?
“Fine.”
His smile faltered at your clipped tone, and he rushed to keep up with you as you slipped through the crowd.
His massive body kept bumping into random patrons, his wings nearly toppling over an entire table in his attempts at keeping up with you.
“Yesterday, Nes and I found this-“
“You were with Nesta yesterday?”
You stopped in your tracks and whipped your head around so quickly Cassian backsteps. You felt your eye twitch at Cassian’s revelation, but he seemed unfazed, albeit a bit confused.
“Uh, yeah. Is something wrong?”
You took a deep breath, trying to keep in your tears. You started counting your breaths, checking your bags, ensuring you have everything you came with. “It’s fine, Cass. I have to- I gotta go. I’m late.”
You spat your words out before looking down at the ground, missing the way his face softened at your words.
“Sweetheart, wait-“
Despite Cassian’s protests, you slipped through the crowd and you could hear his heavy steps follow after you, but once you were far enough from the crowd, you winnow away, leaving Cassian alone and confused on the streets of Velaris.
You landed in your apartment, your knees hitting the floor as you fell apart completely. You could handle a half assed excuse, but the fact he had no idea he blew you off for Nesta?
You were indifferent about Nesta - she was a force to be reckoned with, she stood up for herself, and she took shit from no one. You would even like her if it weren’t for Cassian.
You could understand why Cassian would be obsessed with her, why his eyes have hardly left her since she showed up into your lives months ago.
But it didn’t lessen the punch to the gut you felt every time you had to be subjected to it.
You decided to avoid Cassian and everyone else for several days, opting instead to stay home and try to figure out just how to move on, preferring some space to sort out your feelings.
Four days after your birthday, around midnight, loud incessant knocking woke you in the middle of the night. The soft pitter patter of rain had lulled you to sleep a few hours prior, but now a raging storm was going on outside, the harsh rain colliding with your window.
The knocking started again and you crossed your house trying to figure out who would be at your door at this hour.
“Sweetheart?”
Cassian’s voice stopped you cold in your tracks a few feet away from the door.
“Sweetheart, open the damn door before I kick it in.”
You knew he would too, which was exactly why you decided to open the door with no warning, causing him to stare as he saw you.
He was drenched. It was raining so hard outside, the water poured down his face, soaking his clothes entirely, his hair undone around his shoulders. He was breathing hard, and he likely took a hard and turbulent flight to get here.
The rain bounced off his wings, his hair was limp from the water, the trellises of hair curling at the ends. He looked devastatingly handsome on your doorstep.
He looked like a marble statue of a long forgotten god.
“Sweetheart I- can I come in?”
“No.” You shouted over the rain, and you were not sure why you’re being so petty. Does he really deserve this treatment for what - falling in love with someone who wasn’t you?
Yes, you decided, he does. Because you weren’t being petty about him being in love with Nesta, you were upset about him forgetting your birthday and blowing you off, not even a half assed apology from him.
“No?”
“No. Whatever you have to say, you can say it from there.”
You pointed at the doorstep. He rubbed a hand down his face, trying to clear the water from it but the action did very little to help. His smile was blinding as he laughed, but you saw a mixture of sorrow, annoyance, and amusement all dance across his face.
“I’m sorry I forgot your birthday.”
You wanted to slam the door in his face, wanted to lock him outside in the rain forever. But you couldn’t.
He was your Cassian.
And his foot was in the doorway, a precaution he took the moment you opened your door.
Bastard.
“Ever since I got back from the continent I haven’t been keeping track of my days well. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t- nothing would be more important.”
You scoff, “are you sure about that? Not even fucking Nesta is more important?”
He took a step back, shocked at your words, and you take the moment to try to shut the door, but his hand stops you.
“Nesta? What does she have to do with this?”
“What do you mean what does she have to do with this? Don’t be an idiot, Cass.”
He barked back at you, “I’m not being an idiot, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
The two of you were now shouting to be heard over the rain, and you opened your door wide, moving towards him. The rain started falling on you, your doorstep not having an awning to protect you from the weather.
The rain soaked your nightgown, making it cling to you like a second skin, but your anger was making you so hot that you didn't even notice.
“You are being an idiot! Because I’m in love with you! And you’re in love with her! And you forgot me on my birthday!”
You pushed his shoulders, annoyance seeping from every pore. His face quirks in confusion, but he squared his shoulders, puffing out his chest to you.
“No, you’re the one being an idiot because I’m in love with you!”
Your heart stopped, but you weren’t sure if you heard him right. You stood up taller, getting in his face. “Oh yeah? Well, if you’re in love with me, why were you fucking Nesta on my birthday?”
He towered over you, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, his thick eyebrows drawn together.
“Fucking Nesta? Nesta was helping me plan things for your birthday. I knew I couldn’t ask Rhysand because he can’t keep secrets from you, Azriel’s been hard to catch the past few weeks, so I asked Nesta to help me pick out some jewelry for you!”
Your chest heaved, throat burning from yelling.
“So you love me?”
A crackle of thunder could be heard, causing you to flinch slightly. Cassian’s hands reached your arms, and it’s then that the chill of the rain started to seep into your bones.
“Of course I do! You’re the nicest, most beautiful, most caring female I’ve ever met!”
His words were lovely, but he was still shouting at you, a juxtaposition if you’ve ever seen one.
You scoffed, and you watched as it made him angrier. “Of course I fucking love you, why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know, because Nesta’s hot?”
He threw his hands up in the air, running his hands down his face. “I thought you’d never want me. Nesta was helping me get the courage to tell you how I felt! She kept threatening me that she would do it if I didn’t and I suck with words, but gods damnit-“
His words cut off there as his hands roughly grabbed your face, pulling you into him. The kiss was magical, and your hands grabbed his shoulders to pull him in closer.
Despite the rain, he was so warm. The water cascaded down both of your faces, making it a little hard to breathe, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.
He was the perfect mix of rough and gentle, the feeling of his hands and lips was so Cassian you wanted to laugh and scream. He was both so familiar and so new all at once, it was everything you ever thought he would be.
Your lungs eventually pulled you back, desperately clawing for air. The two of you looked at each other, Cassian’s thumb swiping across your jaw, tucking some hair behind your ear.
“Can I come in now?”
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a special day in maranello - Charles Leclerc
Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut Charles shows off his special black Monza suit x word count: 4880+ taglist: @game-set-canet @pitstopreality-f1 if you dont want to be tagged, or you want to be tagged, just let me know! requests are open for x-reader or ships :) EN: Went a little further than expected, but I hope you'll enjoy this"
It is the week of the Monza Grand Prix, one of the most anticipated weekends of the year, not just for the Tifosi but for the entire motorsport world.
The atmosphere is electric, with fans flocking to the region to witness Ferrari in action on home soil. But before the chaos of Monza can begin, there is an important stop to make at Maranello.
The Ferrari headquarter in Maranello is a place Charles and you have come to love. But this visit is different. This time, it isn't just about the preparations or meetings. There is something special planned, something that has been kept under wraps until now.
Charles invited you to join him for a photoshoot, something that is supposed to be "special." That's all he would say about it. No details, no hints, just that mischievous smile of his that both excites and unnerves you.
You are used to surprises with Charles, but this one has you feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
You arrived at Maranello in the early afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. Ferrari reserved a private room for you, a place where you could prepare for the shoot in peace.
The room is simple yet elegant, with a large window that offers a stunning view at the headquarters. Inside, there are racks of clothing, a few chairs, and a full-length mirror on one side. The gear is neatly arranged, but the most striking piece of equipment is a large, black privacy screen that stands in the corner.
Charles leads you into the room with his hand gently placed on the small of your back.
"This is it," he says with a grin. "Our little secret hideaway for the day."
You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm, but you are also burning with curiosity.
"So, what's this all about? You've been so mysterious lately."
He chuckles softly, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You'll see soon enough. But first, I need to get ready."
You watch as he walks over to the privacy screen, picking up a neatly folded set of clothing on the way.
You're really not going to tell me anything, are you?" You ask, crossing your arms with a playful pout.
"Nope," he replies with a wink, disappearing behind the screen. "But don't worry, you won't be disappointed."
You take a seat in one of the chairs, your eyes glued to the screen. Even though you can't see him, you can hear everything—the rustle of fabric, the soft hum of his voice as he starts to change—it all adds to the anticipation.
"So," Charles begins, his voice light and teasing, "you're probably wondering what I'm putting on first."
"Obviously," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your heart is racing.
He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting.
"Well, first comes the Nomex. You know, the fire-resistant underwear. It's essential for safety, but it's also surprisingly comfortable. Here, let me show you."
'He's putting on a racing suit', is the first thing that comes to your mind, making your heart race faster. You love seeing him in his red suit, but this visit means only one thing: a special suit for Monza.
And, of course, he isn't going to show you right away. Instead, he describes the feel of the fabric as he slides on the shirt and pants, his tone almost sensual as he runs his hands along his chest.
"It's soft, like a second skin," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It fits snugly, molding to every curve. You'd be surprised how something so thin can make you feel so safe."
You swallow hard, your imagination running wild.
"I bet it looks good on you."
"You'll have to wait and see," he teases, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice.
Next, there is a pause, followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled.
"Now, the racing suit," he announces, his tone turning playful again. "This is the real deal. It's custom made, fits like a glove, and when you put it on, you know you're ready for anything."
You lean forward in your chair, straining to hear every word.
"And how does it feel?"
Charles lets out a satisfied sigh, clearly enjoying himself.
"It feels powerful. When I zip it up, it's like I'm putting on armor. It's tight, but in a good way. Every movement feels controlled, precise. It's a part of me, and when I'm in the car, there is nothing else like it."
You bite your lip, trying to maintain some sembience of composure.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Maybe a little," he admits, laughing softly. "But I'm also enjoying teasing you. It's fun seeing you squirm."
"Charles!" You exclaim, unable to hide the smile in your voice.
"All right, all right," he says, his tone turning a bit more serious. "I think it's time for the big reveal. Are you ready?"
Your heart skips a beat.
"Yes."
"Good," he replies. "I'm going to count down from five, and when I get to one, I'll step out. But I want you to promise me something."
"What's that?" you ask, intrigued.
"Promise me that whatever you see, you'll give me an honest reaction. No holding back."
You nod, even though he can't see you.
"I promise."
"Okay, here we go," he says, and you can hear the excitement in his voice.
"Five."
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
And then he steps out from behind the screen.
Your breath catches in your throat.
He is dressed in a black racing suit, but this isn't just any suit. It is sleek, form-fitting, and accentuates every line of his body. The material shimmers slightly under the light, giving it an almost otherworldly quality. Yellow accents trace the contours of the suit, adding a bold, striking contrast that makes the entire outfit pop.
But it isn't just the suit that takes your breath away. It is the way he carries himself, the confidence in his posture, the way he stands there with a slight smirk on his lips, knowing exactly the effect he has on you.
"So," he says, his voice low and velvety, "what do you think?"
Charles strikes a pose, his body angled in a way that showcases every contour of the racing suit. The black and yellow fabric clings to him perfectly, accentuating the sleek lines of his physique. His confidence is palpable, and the way he presents himself is nothing short of magnetic.
He holds the pose for a moment, his stance strong and assertive, his chest puffs out slightly as he tilts his head to the side. The suit gleams under the studio lights, the yellow accents highlighting the definition of his muscles and the tailored fit around his waist.
Then, with a fluid, almost theatrical movement, Charles begins to spin slowly. His movements are graceful and deliberate, allowing every angle of the suit to be seen.
As he turns, the black fabric shifts and ripples, the yellow highlights catching the light and creating a stunning contrast. He spins with a kind of effortless elegance, each turn revealing a new aspect of the suit. and his physique.
The way he moves is mesmerizing.
His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and powerful legs are on full display, each turn emphasizing the perfect fit of the racing suit. His smile is confident, and his eyes sparkle with a mix of pride and playful satisfaction.
It's clear he enjoys the attention, relishing the chance to show off how well the suit complemented his body.
As he completes another spin and faces you once more, he strikes another pose, his body perfectly angled to highlight the sleek lines of the suit.
His gaze meets yours, a hint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring you not to be completely captivated.
For a moment, you can't speak.
You can only stare at him, taking in every detail.
Finally, you find your voice.
"You look.... phenomenal."
His smirk widens into a full-blown smile."
"You really think so?"
"Yes. I really do." You say, taking another look at him, all of him.
He looks absolutely stunning, almost unreal in his black and yellow racing suit. But it isn't just the suit that makes him so captivating.
His tousled hair, with that perfect, 'just out of bed' look, the slight stubble along his jawline, his soft, inviting lips, and those pretty green eyes—they all come together to create a sight that is simply irresistible.
As he walks toward you, his movements are slow and deliberate, almost like a predator closing in on his prey.
His hands roam along his suit as if he can't resist touching the fabric himself. He runs them down his arms, across his chest, over his sides, and then down his abdomen, his fingers tracing the lines of his body.
You watch, completely entranced, as he licks his lips absentmindedly, his gaze locked onto yours.
There is an electric tension in the air, a palpable pull that you can't ignore.
Your body moves on its own, your hand reaching out, fingertips grazing the fabric of the suit. The material feels incredible under your touch—smooth, almost like silk, but with a strength that is unmistakable.
Your fingers roam over his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric, and you can't help but marvel at how good it feels.
Charles smiles, clearly pleased with your reaction.
"You like it?" he asks, his voice low and intimate, making it sound more like a statement than a question.
You nod, still running your fingers over his chest, unable to tear your eyes away from him.
"I do. It feels amazing."
He grins, a flash of pride lighting up his eyes.
"It's like carbon fiber. Ferrari put a lot of thought into it."
"You can tell," you reply, your fingers still exploring the suit, tracing the yellow accents that highlight his lean physique. "It looks good on you."
Charles's smile widens, and he leans in a little closer.
"I'm glad you think so. But you know, I could get used to hearing that a bit more."
You meet his gaze, and the playful challenge in his eyes sends a thrill through you.
"Oh, really?"
"Really," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I think I deserve a few more compliments, don't you?"
You can't help but smile at his playful arrogance, but you are more than happy to indulge him.
"You look incredible, Charles. The suit fits you perfectly, and the way it shows off your body... it's almost unfair."
He hums softly in response, clearly enjoining every word.
"Go on," he encouraged, his tone teasing.
"You've got that effortlessly sexy look going on," you continue, your voice soft but sincere.
"Your hair, that stubble, those eyes... you're practically irresistible. And the way you wear this suit, like it's just an extension of you—it's like you are made for this."
Charles lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes darkening slightly with desire.
"I love it when you talk like that," he admits, his voice low and rough around the edges.
You smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest.
"I love making you feel good."
"You do," he replies, his tone filled with a mix of affection and hunger.
He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine.
"You always do."
For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside of the room fading away.
Charles leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips bruhsing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and intense.
The sensation of his lips, warm and inviting, sends a spark of electricity through your body, and you melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders.
As the kiss deepens, his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, the fabric of his suit is cool and smooth against your skin. There is something about the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, that makes you feel like you are the only thing that matters to him in that moment.
Then you notice the distinct, alluring scent of his cologne surrounding him. It is a rich, sphisticated fragrance, subtly blending with the fresh scent of the racing suit. The aroma is warm and comforting, with hints of cedarwood and a touch of citrus that lingers in the air, creating an intoxicating combination that is uniquely Charles.
The scent envelopes you as you get closer, creating a sensory experience that is both soothing and exhilarating. It's like being wrapped in a cloud of his presence, and you feel the warmth of his body through the fabric, the scent adding another layer of intimacy to the moment.
Charles seems to notice your reaction.
His eyes soften with a mix of amusement and affection as he looks down at you.
"You like my cologne?" he asks, his voice low and slightly teasing.
You smile up at him, letting your fingers run down his chest again, savoring the feeling of the fabric and the scent that seems to blend perfectly with him.
"I do," you admit, your voice soft. "It's like an extra layer of you."
He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your response.
Charles leans in closer, his eyes smoldering with a mix of affection and desire.
"Fuck, I'm getting so hard," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of that familiar confidence.
You meet his gaze, a slow smile spreading across your lips.
"I can see that," you reply, your voice soft but laced with playfulness.
Your eyes begin their slow journey over him, taking in every detail once more.
The way the black racing suit hugs his body accentuates every muscle, every curve, in a way that is striking yet sensual. The suit seems almost to pulse with his energy.
His muscles are taut and defined, the fabric of his suit now straining slightly under the pressure, emphasizing the hard lines of his physique.
Charles grins, a pleased smile stretching across his lips.
"This feels so good."
You reach out slowly, your fingers grazing the surface of his suit, tracing a path along his chest, feeling the subtle shift of his muscles as you move your hand down his sides and across his abdomen.
Your touch is light but deliberate, savoring the warmth and firmness of his body.
Charles sighs contentedly, his eyes closing briefly as he enjoys the sensation of your fingers through his suit. His breath hitches slightly when your fingers trace the letters of his name along his waistline, the fabric stretching slightly as you move.
The intimacy of the moment, the way his body responded to your touch, makes your heart race.
Encouraged by his reaction, your fingers wander lower, exploring the contours of his body with newfound confidence.
You feel the tension in his muscles, the way the suit accentuates every movement. Each touch is met with a soft sigh or a subtle shift, and it is clear that he is thoroughly enjoying the attention.
Charles's hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as you continue your exploration. The sensation of his body under your fingers, the way the suit clings and shifts, creates an intoxicating mix of excitement and intimacy.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" You murmur, your fingers tracing along his hips, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric.
His eyes flutter open, his gaze locked onto yours with desire.
"Absolutely," he says softly. "It feels amazing. But it's even better because you're the one doing this."
You smile, leaning in slightly, your fingers continuing their journey.
"I'm glad I can make you feel this way."
He lets out a low, contented hum, almost a purr, his grip on your waist tightening as he revels in the closeness.
Your fingers trace a little lower, savoring the way his body responds to your touch. The suit seems almost to come alive under your fingers, amplifying every sensation, every movement.
His reaction, the way his breath hitches and his body tenses, makes you feel like you are exploring a private, cherished part of him.
"Does this feel good?" You ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.
"More than you can imagine," Charles replies, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how... good I feel right now."
Each sigh, each shift of his body, makes the moment feel even more special.
As you gently stroke his abdomen, Charles's eyes close again, his breathing deepening as he savors the sensation. He leans into your touch, his expression one of pure contentment. It is clear that this moment, this connection, is something he cherishes as much as you do.
The air between you crackles with anticipation as your hand slowly finds the zipper of his suit. His eyes dart open and follow your movements intently, every breath between you heavy with expectation.
You hesitate for just a moment, letting the tension build before you begin to slowly pull the zipper down.
As the zipper descends, the black fabric parts to reveal the Nomex underneath, hugging his body like a second skin.
The slightly damp fabric is smooth, taut, and incredibly form-fitting, showing off every muscle, every contour of his athletic physique. The red fabric contrasted sharply with his skin, making the sight even more captivating.
Charles sighs softly, the sound full of both relief and pleasure, his chest rising and falling as he exhales deeply. You can't help but marvel at the sight before you—the tight Nomex accentuating his lean muscles, the way it clings to him, leaving little to the imagination.
Your heart races as you take it all in, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel the heat of his body beneath the fabric.
However, before you can make another move, Charles slips out of the upper half of his racing suit, letting the top half fall to his waist, revealing his torso.
Through the thin Nomex, you can see every line of his chest, the muscles of his abdomen flexing slightly as he moves. The material is so thin, so close to his skin, that it is almost as if nothing is there at all. It is an invitation you can't resist.
You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly with the intensity of the moment, and place your hand on his chest.
The Nomex feels cool to the touch, but underneath, his skin is warm and firm. You feel his muscles shift under your fingertips, flexing subtly as he responds to your touch.
All of him is intoxicating—the power, the strength, all right there under your hand.
Charles lets out a low, pleased hum, clearly enjoying the way you are exploring him.
His hand slides to your waist again, pulling you closer until your bodies are almost touching. His other hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.
His lips hover just above yours, his breath warm and sweet against your mouth. He is so close that you feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, sense the way his chest expands and contracts with each inhale.
"How do I look?`" he asks, his voice a deep, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.
You are breathless, completely caught up in the moment, on him.
Your eyes roam over his face, his hair still tousled, his stubble giving him a rugged, irresistible edge, his green eyes dark with desire.
And his body, clad in the tight Nomex, is a sight that leaves you utterly speechless.
"Amazing," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean into him, your heart racing.
That is all he needed to hear.
Charles closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. The moment your lips meet, it's like everything else fades away—the room, the world outside—all of it ceases to exist. There is only him, only this.
His kiss is full of passion, but there is also something gentle, something reverent about the way he holds you, as if you are the most precious thing in the world to him.
His hands on your waist tighten, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of his body through his shirt; the hard lines of his muscles press against you.
You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, then down his chest, feeling the way his body reacts to your touch. His muscles tense firmly under your fingers, the sensation sending a rush of heat through you.
The kiss deepens, and you respond eagerly, your hands exploring every inch of him, reveling in the feel of his strong, powerful body under the thin fabric.
"Mhmm," he moans into your mouth as his hands move to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss even further.
You feel his breath quickening, matching the rapid beat of your own heart.
When you finally break apart, you are both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.
His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, a small, satisfied smile playing on his face.
"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers, his voice rough and his accent coming through more.
You smile, your heart swelling with desire.
"I think I do," you whisper back, your fingers still tracing the lines of his chest.
He opens his eyes then, looking at you with such intensity that it makes your knees weak.
That's when you feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against your waist. A shiver runs through you at the sensation, and you can't resist the urge to tease him, a playful smile curving your lips.
"Well, someone's enjoying themselves," you murmur, your voice light and teasing as you raise an eyebrow at him.
Charles chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich.
"Can you blame me?" He replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look at what I've got in front of me."
His playful response only makes you bolder; your hands begin their slow descent down his body, fingers tracing over the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, feeling the way his breath hitches slightly as you move lower.
The closer you get to his waist, the more you can feel the tension building in him, the anticipation.
As your hands continue to roam, Charles lets out a soft, involuntary moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat.
You let your fingers dip lower, stroking him through the racing suit, feeling the heat of his arousal against your hand.
Charles bites down on his lower lip, his eyes darkening with desire as he gazes down at you. The way he looks at you, the way he responds to your touch only fuel the fire inside you.
"Careful," he murmurs, his voice strained, though still laced with that playful edge. "You're going to drive me insane."
You smile up at him, continuing to tease, enjoying every moment of his reaction.
"Isn't that the point?"
Charles let out a low, appreciative laugh, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.
His breathing quickened as he let out another low sigh.
"I'm really close," he admits, his voice strained with desire and frustration. The evidence of his arousal presses firmly against you, growing more intense as your fingers continue to stroke him through the suit.
The fabric stretches, forming a visible tent, yet the black fabric is slightly hiding it. Still, you feel the warmth of his arousal growing, and you notice the fabric growing damp with his pre-cum. His breath hitches, and his eyes plead with you, showing just how close he is to the edge.
You look up at him; your expression a mixture of playful defiance and genuine affection.
"You can't ruin the suit yet," you tease softly, though the warmth in your tone reveals just how much you are enjoying this.
Charles's eyes widen slightly with frustration, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he tries to steady himself.
"I'm just so close," he says, his voice a desperate whisper, his body trembling as he fights to hold on.
You keep your touch light and teasing, drawing out the moment as much as you can.
"Patience," you murmur, your voice a gentle caress against his ear.
"The suit's not going anywhere. And neither are we."
Charles's grip on you tightens even more, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.
"You're really driving me crazy," he whimpers, a soft groan escaping his lips as he struggles to keep his composure.
You smile at him, your fingers continuing their slow, teasing caress.
"That's the idea, I told you," you whisper, your voice full of playful affection. "But I promise, we'll have our time. Just a little longer."
The tension is almost unbearable, the heat of the moment making it clear how much you both want to give in to your desires. His eyes are dark with need, his body presses firmly against yours as he fights to maintain control.
"I'll be patient," he says finally, though his voice is thick with desire. "But only if you promise me that we'll finish this soon."
You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips."You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips.
"I promise."
With a final, lingering kiss, Charles reluctantly steps back, his arousal still evident but his composure regained.
As Charles adjusts his suit in preparation for the photoshoot, his movements are deliberate and confident; his hands glide over the fabric, smoothing it out and ensuring everything is in place.
Yet, there is a clear focus on specific areas—his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, and the prominet bulge that is still slightly damp.
With a mixture of frustration and need, his hands linger on his chest, his fingers tracing the defined muscles beneath the Nomex. He then moved to his abdomen, his touch firm and almost possessive, as if trying to regain control over his body's reaction.
His gaze drops to the growing bulge at his waistline, and he sighs, his breath catching slightly as he feels the evidence of his arousal.
"Barely held on there," he murmurs, his voice thick with both relief and frustration as he glances at you, his expression a blend of desire and amusement.
You can't help but tease him, a playful smile spreading across your lips.
"I can tell," you reply. "Looks like you're having a hard time keeping it together."
Charles's eyes sparkle with a mix of annoyance and amusement as he meets your gaze.
"You're really pushing your luck," he says, though there is an undeniable edge of affection in his tone.
"You make it so easy," you tease, reaching out to gently brush your fingers against the damp spot on his suit, feeling the warmth of his arousal through the fabric. The contact makes him shiver, his breath hitching again.
He gives a soft, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head.
"You're impossible," he says, though there is no real reproach in his voice. "But you're right. It's all your fault."
You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Charles's lips twitch into a reluctant smile, his eyes dark with desire once more.
With one last, lingering look, he adjusts his suit one final time, making sure everything is perfectly in place before you have to leave for the photoshoot.
His movements are more controlled now, though the lingering evidence of his earlier arousal is still apparent.
With a final glance in your direction, he reaches for his black ferrari cap on the nearby table. He flips it in his hand for a moment, as if considering something before sliding it onto his head, the bill casting a shadow over his eyes, giving him an air of confident mystery.
He turns to the mirror, his eyes roaming over his reflection. Slowly, he licks his lips, his gaze focused on the way the cap and the racing suit completed the look.
You watch him for a moment, the way he studies himself, clearly satisfied with how everything came together. Unable to resist, you smile and ask.
"Are you satisfied with what you see?"
Charles chuckles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.
"I think I am," he replies, his tone playful but with a hint if genuine appreciation for the way he looks.
He takes another moment to admire himself, running his fingers through his stubble and along his jawline, before letting his gaze linger on the way the suit fit his form, especially around the waist, before turning to dace you fully.
"You know," he adds, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, " I think I might even like it more with you standing next to me."
You blush slightly at his words, a soft laugh, escaping you as you shake your head.
"Always the charmer;" you tease, though you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at his compliment.
"Only for you," he murmurs, his eyes softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, the gesture tender and full of affection.
With a final look in the mirror, Charles takes a deep breath, the playful edge returning to his expression as he turns to you.
"Alright," he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's go show them what this suit can do."
#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fic#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 smut
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What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai
In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe
(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!
SUMMARY
Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.
Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?
As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.
And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.
Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?
(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)
PREV - NEXT
You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.
You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.
“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.
Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.
“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.
“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.
“Who is this?”
He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”
“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.
“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”
“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?
He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”
“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.
“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”
He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.
You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.
You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.
…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.
Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.
You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.
Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.
You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.
A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.
The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.
You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.
Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.
So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?
Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?
You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.
Wait, Molly!
You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.
It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.
You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!
You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.
BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’
BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’
BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’
BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’
‘Alfred :)’
BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’
You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.
The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.
As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.
‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’
You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.
‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’
Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.
‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’
And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.
‘The only acceptable one.’
…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.
The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.
You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.
It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.
You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.
‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’
She wants to what?
A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.
You creep over to the door.
“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.
You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.
Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.
She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.
“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”
You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”
She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.
“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.
Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.
She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.
You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.
Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.
“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.
“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.
You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.
You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.
You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.
“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.
Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.
“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”
“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.
Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.
You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’
“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.
‘Normal you’ certainly does.
“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.
This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.
The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.
You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.
You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…
In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.
You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.
Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.
You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.
You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.
You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?
Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.
“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”
You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.
You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.
Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.
A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.
The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.
Still, this is a bit…
“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.
“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.
“Yes, please.”
She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.
“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.
She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.
You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.
You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.
The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.
She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.
They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.
“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.
Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.
“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.
Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.
“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.
“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.
If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.
You wish Molly were here.
“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”
And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.
They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.
They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.
And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.
You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.
They’d gotten rid of the signs.
You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.
Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.
So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.
When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.
It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.
The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.
“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.
What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.
“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”
“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”
“Miss, miss, about your family…!”
Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.
Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.
The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.
Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.
You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.
In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!
You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.
Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.
“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.
The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.
“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”
It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.
“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”
And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.
“I don’t want to be here,” you say.
“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.
You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.
You are so out of your depth.
You turn back around to Jeanine.
“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.
“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.
“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”
“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”
You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.
Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.
You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.
You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.
You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.
You point at the tray, “I want that.”
He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.
“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.
You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.
Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.
Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.
So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.
You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.
Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…
The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.
It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.
“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.
It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.
First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.
MASTERLIST - NEXT
#Series:WWW#yandere batfam#yandere dc#yandere batfamily#yandere batfam x reader#yandere x reader#dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#tim drake x reader#red robin x reader#damian wayne x reader#robin x reader
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Apologies (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader pt 6)
Ahhh don't come at me for the lack of updates lately! 😅 I've been so distracted with watching the Olympics and my job. I'm not meant to work a ful-time job, your honor. I just wanna write silly fanfics all day and read all night pls and thanks ! Anyway, enjoy! 🩷
Benny x Bunny Masterlist
Word Count- 3.4k+
Summary- The last person you expect to be there to dry your tears is that stubbornly persistent biker of yours.
******
Pete never showed up to your fundraiser. You had waited the whole afternoon in the hopes that you’d see him, but he wasn’t there for your event. He wasn’t there for the bake sale, or the picnic. He didn’t even show up for the auction which you were sure he’d be interested in that since one of the items to be sold was an expensive golf club set. He must have had other plans, you tried to tell yourself. He must have been too busy.
You hadn’t seen Benny after that either, but you tried to find that as more of a relief than disappointment, after all, he was the reason you and Pete had a bit of a disagreement anyway. Part of you wondered if he only showed up for your tent since you hadn’t seen him anywhere else at the charity afterwards. Regardless, the hours passed at the picnic and you eventually helped everyone pack up before you left too, riding home on your bicycle. You tried to call Pete when you made it home, but his mother answered and told you he wasn’t home. You asked her to have him call you when he could. You ate dinner with your family and tried to not look too hopeful every time the phone rang because it was never Pete calling you back. You expected to go to bed with a sense of dejection, but instead you were surprised to feel something closer to . . . relief.
So the next two days went by quickly. You were too busy with work and household chores to notice that Pete hadn’t called you back. It was only when you had gotten up early to start on breakfast on the third day that he finally did ring you.
“I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much,” he told you over the phone. “I miss you.”
“It’s okay, I’m sure you were busy,” you mumbled as you stirred the pancake batter, phone receiver balancing precariously between your cheek and shoulder.
“I want to see you this weekend. I can pick you up around noon on Saturday if you’re free.”
You agreed a bit reluctantly, but he didn’t seem to catch it.
******
“Oh, are you going to teach me to golf?” you asked excitedly as Pete pulled into the country club parking lot. He’d been quiet to tell you where it was that he was taking you today, but you wanted to trust the spontaneity of the moment so you let him drive you to the mystery location. Out of all the places he could have surprised you with, this certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. Part of you was confused because you hadn’t expressed a particular fondness for the sport, but another part of you felt warmth that he wanted to share his hobby with you.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like to join me and the boys today.” He smiled at you as you both exited the car. “Sit in the cart and look pretty while you cheer us on.”
Oh. So he wasn’t even teaching you his hobby. You wanted to say something back, to tell him that you were willing to learn if he taught you, but his friends came over then, interrupting your chance to speak. Pete introduced you to them, five in total and you struggled to remember their names. But it didn’t matter much since all chances of you speaking were thrown out the window when they bear hugged each other, and turned to go out onto the field. You followed behind, quietly trying to find a place in their obviously-tight friend group. And that’s how you spent the next three hours: awkwardly existing in their world, sitting on the cart and watching them play. You were the only girl, and it was clear that they didn’t know how to involve you much in their conversations. And when you were able to pull Pete to the side for a moment, you asked if he could let you take a swing once, just to try it out. He nodded but said, “Well, maybe in the next game, this one I’ve got a bet on and every shot counts.” You didn’t ask again.
Even though you were still technically spending time with him, this didn’t feel in any way fun or exciting. You tried not to, but your mind drifted to your night spent at the bar with Benny and how fun that was, despite it being a bar full of bikers – a scenario you would have never thought you’d be in, let alone enjoy. As you sat in the golf cart, having nothing better to do than to watch Pete with his friends, you wondered if this was all he wanted you for. Were you really just a doll to him? A trophy? You didn’t get to play?
After the next game ended, you asked Pete if he could take you somewhere for lunch and he seemed almost reluctant to leave his friends. But in the end, he did agree, and you said goodbye to the band of golfers. You walked back to the parking lot together and when you spotted his car in the distance, you figured this was your chance to actually talk with him, not just listen to him speak.
“What do you want out of life, Pete?” you asked quietly as you slowed to a stop on the sidewalk.
“What?” He paused a few paces ahead of you, glancing back. “What kind of question is that?”
“I mean,” you struggled to gather your jumbled thoughts. “What kind of life do you want?”
His brows pinched together in confusion. “Well, I’m going to school for engineering so I’m going to do that.”
You waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged and motioned for the car. “You coming?”
Not seeing the conversation over quite yet, your feet remained firmly planted in your spot. “But what do you want out of life? What do you want for me in your life?”
“Geez, (Y/N),” he laughed humorlessly. “Where is this coming from?” His expression darkened suddenly. “Is this because of that dirty biker?”
It was your turn to look confused as you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off. “Have you seen him again, hmm?”
“I . . . he was at the fundraiser–”
“What did I tell you?” He asked rhetorically as he closed the distance between you. “I don’t want you around that deadbeat again.”
“It wasn’t like I sought him out,” you defended, trying to ignore the rush of agitation at his choice of description. “I had no clue he would be there. I thought you were going to be there.”
“Well, I couldn’t be. You can’t just expect me to drop everything for you at such a late notice.”
“What was more important that you needed to be at?” You frowned.
He rolled his eyes, turning back to the car. “I have my own life.”
That’s when you realized that he was so . . . disconnected, uninterested. He may have wanted you but not in the way of getting to know you. His want was selfish, only born out of lust. He didn’t care about your hobbies or interests. You weren’t even listened to when you spoke to him. The realization was painfully obvious and you felt like a fool, like he had played you. And maybe he wasn’t even aware of it himself, but you could see it now: he didn’t care for you, not in the way you longed for.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking your head as you watched him approach the driver’s side door. “I know that, but . . . I was just hoping to spend time with you.”
He turned back and threw his arms out dramatically. “I’m spending time with you now, aren't I? Will you just get in the car?”
You took a deep breath, looking down at your shoes. “I think I’m gonna walk home.”
“Are you serious?” His voice grew colder as he yanked open his door. “Because I didn’t go to your bake sale?”
You shook your head. “No, I like walkin’ and I just want some time to think–”
“You’re going off to find that biker, aren’t you?”
“What?” Your gaze shot back up to his. “No, I–”
“I knew this would happen.” He shook his head, an unamused smile flashing on his face. “He’s filling your head with all these dangerous ideas. He’s poisoning you against me. Me.”
“I’m not–”
“Get in the car.” You didn’t realize that it wasn’t a request anymore.
“Pete, I just don’t–”
“Get in the fucking car, (Y/N)!” He shouted, slamming his hand on the roof, and you jumped at the sound.
You stared at him, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. You’d never seen any man act like this, especially not Pete. Panic turned the blood in your veins to ice and you were suddenly painfully aware of just how fast your heart was beating in your chest. Seconds ticked by, and he finally reacted to your speechlessness by rubbing a hand over his face, sighing loudly.
“Look, just get in the car,” he tried again, his voice barely controlled. “We came here together and I don’t want people to talk about how I’m leaving without you, okay?”
No, it wasn’t okay, you wanted to say, but your throat was suddenly too tight to speak. All you could do was stare at this man who you thought you had a pretty good understanding of, who you never thought would raise his voice at you, who would never command you to do something you very obviously denied. You shook your head, hand holding over your chest in an attempt to even out your heart rate.
He called your name, but you turned and forced your legs to walk, to move away from him. You just wanted to get home to the safety of your bedroom. Behind you, you could hear his car door slam shut and the engine whine as it fired up. He drove over to you, nearly hitting the curb as he weaved.
“Fine, walk home then!” he yelled and revved the engine, tires peeling out on the blacktop as he zoomed away.
That’s when the tears started falling. You sucked in a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and a sob choked into it. The sidewalk blurred from the stream of tears but you trudged on, wanting nothing more than to escape the prying eyes of the neighborhood. The action of Pete slamming his hand against the metal proof of his car replayed in your mind and something unpleasant gripped your heart at the realization that what you saw was his reaction to not getting what he wanted the first time. This was supposed to be the exciting moments of you relationship, the time when you were still discovering who each other were. If he could be so easily angered by you now, what would 5 years of marriage look like? What would 10?
And as you approached the intersection, a thought came to you and you felt sick at the possibility that maybe this is what your mother felt before she married your father. And your grandmother before she married your grandmother. Like a chain, these women with hearts and ambitions and dreams all just got married and became something their husbands wanted, lived a dream their husbands had. And maybe that was their dream, but what if it wasn’t yours?
The revving of an engine broke you free from your all-consuming thoughts and fresh fear spiked through you. Was it Pete coming back? But no, you realized. The engine was coming from the gas station you were passing on the corner, and it wasn’t a car, but a motorcycle. The rider pulled up to one of the free parking spots, cutting the engine and kicking out the kickstand. His back was turned to you, but you knew who it was already by the messy blonde hair and signature blue jacket lettered “Vandals” across the shoulder blades. You groaned because he was the last person you wanted to see right now but you needed to walk right by him to continue on your way home. And as ridiculous as it was, you wanted to cry harder at the thought of him seeing you crying.
When he dismounted, you quickened your pace, putting your head down in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice you. But of course, you heard him call out, “Hey, Little Bunny.”
You sniffed hard, quickly swiping your fingers across your cheeks as you heard him approach. Even though you didn’t slow your pace, he caught up to you quickly.
“You walkin’ home again?” His voice was light, teasing but you didn’t dare to look up at him. “You must really like–”
But he must have seen your tear-soaked face because he stopped, his hand gently grasping your upper arm. “What’s wrong?”
You bit your lip, and against your better judgment, you glanced up at him. That was all it took before his shoulders visibly stiffened, and his jaw locked tightly. “Who did this?”
“Nobody,” you muttered softly, voice cracking. “I’m fine.”
“Was it Pete?” his grip remained firm on your arm.
“Please, just leave it alone, Benny,” you whispered desperately, and his eyes softened as he released you. A painfully long beat played out between you as you watched him decide if he wanted to press you further for details. But to your surprise, he dropped it, instead, reaching out, his calloused thumb brushing away a solitary tear from the apple of your cheek. You flinched at the contact, not expecting him to touch you so intimately. As quick as he was to make contact, so was he able to let his hand fall back to his side, leaving you wide-eyed at the act.
“Let me give you a ride home, please,” he asked, his voice so quiet, so compassionate that you were honestly dumbfounded that this was a biker in a notoriously revered club standing before you. “I don’t want you to have to walk back when you’re upset like this.”
You glanced down the sidewalk, knowing you still had a few miles to go before you’d see your house in the distance. You sniffed again, “You won’t try to propose to me again, will you?”
“No strings attached, I promise,” he replied quietly.
You relented, nodding slightly, and you didn’t protest when he slid his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together and gently tugged you back to his bike.
******
Benny drove slowly back to your house, and you just buried your face against his jacket the entire ride, focusing on the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat. It gave you time to settle your breathing, to dry your tears, and when he finally did pull up to your house, a disappointed wave surfaced over you. He put both feet down to balance you both, but he didn’t cut the engine, and you didn’t release your arms from around his torso.
“Can we . . . keep going?” you asked hesitantly, unsure of just how patient he was willing to be with you.
“You wanna keep going?” he questioned over his shoulder, and you responded with a brief nod. “Where?”
“Anywhere, just not here.”
He pushed off the ground, revving the engine slightly and the bike picked up speed as you left your neighborhood. You tightened your grip as he drove you out of the city, down the long country roads, past barns and farms, out by the lake and through the winding back roads which cut the woods. He drove until the sun began to make its descent over the far wheat fields, the last warmth of those golden rays catching the two of you like a spotlight, like you were the only two people on stage. And you realized that’s what riding with Benny felt like: solidarity together. You’ve felt a strange sense of loneliness most of your life, even when you were surrounded by others who loved you, but with Benny . . . it was like you were finally being seen. No, not just seen, it was like you were finally being heard.
But reality came back too quickly when Benny pulled up to a stop light, hand moving to brush across yours as he asked, “You ready to go back now or d’you wanna keep going?”
Keep going, your heart wanted to shout, keep going and let’s drive until we hit the sandy beaches of California. But your head always won the battle in the end, and you only nodded mutely.
When Benny pulled up in front of your house again, he cut the engine, but remained seated. He held his hand out for you as you dismounted, and he wanted to say something – anything– to make sure that you were okay, to help you. But Benny’s not known for his good communication skills so he clenched his jaw tightly, frustration building in his chest. You needed him, you needed to be consoled, and he was so pathetic that he wasn’t even sure how.
Sure, he knew how to have someone’s back, especially in a fight. He knew how to throw punches and get back to his feet after getting knocked down. He could do that all day. But you staring at him with your Bambi eyes and heartbroken expression, he couldn’t take it. He just wanted to pull your tiny frame to him and kiss away the tears, to tell you that everything would be okay because he’s got your back. Then a horrible thought clouded his mind because what if he was the reason you were crying? A bitter taste filled his mouth at the possibility. And my god, how stupid could he be because of course he had to dig himself deeper into that hole when he had told you that he wouldn’t apologize for his conversation with your date. At the time he said it, he had no guilt or shame for his actions because he saw nothing wrong with it. He wanted you more than Pete did, he was sure of that. But now as he glanced at your sweet face, he realized that his actions could have hurt you. And all for what – his pride? That seemed so insignificant now.
“Thank you for the ride,” you said ever-so-politely.
Before you could turn to walk to your front porch, Benny’s hand reached out to lightly touch your own, and he blurted out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to Pete. That was wrong, and I see that now. I’m sorry if what I did has hurt you in any way, that was never my intention.”
Your frown deepened, and Benny’s heart sank. But then you said, “I’m not upset with you, Benny, but thank you. That . . . that means a lot to me.”
He was at a loss for words, struck by your angelic voice and unwavering benevolence. He could only watch as you slipped from his grasp and turned away. You were walking away from him, but Benny couldn’t help but feel it meant something more than just putting physical distance between you. His mind raced with thoughts, trying to find something he could say to get you to stop, to be able to see your face again.
However, it seemed that fate had other plans because you halted in your tracks, hesitating a moment before spinning back around and approaching him again. He opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, but you cut him off as you leaned up and planted a quick kiss to his cheek. His heart skipped a beat at the gentle touch of your soft lips, and he widened his eyes as you pulled back, a shy smile on your face. He grinned because every time he thought he had you figured out, you continued to pull stunts on him. You were the most entertaining thing he knew.
You took a few steps backwards, but maintained his eye contact as you spoke, “Maybe . . . next time we could go a little faster?”
He knew you were referring to the bike, but God help him because heat burned in his lower belly, and he wanted to pick you up over his shoulder and carry you into your house where he’d show you just what speed he was capable of. He wasn’t sure you even knew what effect your words had on him, or if you even knew the sexual implications, but he felt himself losing a battle of will. “You want there to be a next time?”
You nodded and that adorable rosy color tinted your cheeks. “Yeah, if-if you do.”
He shook his head in disbelief that you were finally giving him a chance. Though looking at your sweet smile now, he didn’t seem to mind the extra effort he had to put in. “You wanna go fast? Look who’s the trouble now.”
You fought to control your smile. “Goodnight, Benny.”
“Night,” he replied as he watched you walk back up the steps to your house, his fingers ghosting over the spot on his cheek that you kissed, wondering if apologies were really that easy.
-Tag List-
@elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love e @ironmooncat @imusicaddict @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @charmingballoon @eugene-emt-roe @sunnbib @semperamans @groovyangelkisses @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @twistedunivers5 @justsomewritingblog @nhlfs @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @nethanybear @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @autumnleaves1991-blog @butler-trouble @lindszeppelin @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms @youngestxhearts @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned @hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @pearlstiare @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters @pao-prazz @thedreamingfish99 @mrsalwayswrite
#i'm not super happy with this but yolo#i need to stop being a perfectionist#austin butler#benny cross#benny x bunny#the bikeriders#benny cross x reader#austin butler x reader#benny x reader#imagine#austin butler fandom
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Under the Influence (Slight NSFW)
First Lady of Private Garden Fic
AN: a little twist on the pheromone perfume trend 🤭
Synopsis: An argument earlier in the day is still lingering in the air as Jack tells you his plans for the rest of the night. However, once you get a whiff of his new cologne, you quickly try to put a stop to them.
Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader
Requested by: a beautiful anon 💕
Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere
Tension was lingering in the air as you eyed Jack as he walked into your shared bedroom. The argument that had taken place earlier left the two of you not speaking to one another since early in the afternoon. You wanted to put an end to it because the last thing that you ever wanted to do was fight with your husband.
“Um, babe? Where are you going?” You asked as you sat up from your position on the couch in the corner of the bedroom as you saw him getting an outfit together.
“The Hub. I'm doing a set.” He quietly responded as he took off his shirt and threw it into the hamper without bothering to look over at you.
“Since when? You didn't tell me that.”
“Aren't you going out with Taylor? I only did it because I thought you told me you would be with her. Besides I do recall earlier you saying that you didn't want to be around me. So I'm doing what I was told.”
“Well that was earlier and I want to call a truce. You had an entire attitude with me for no reason. But no, she had to reschedule. I thought we could stay in with it being just us. We haven't had a night to ourselves in a while.” You told him as he walked over towards you with an expression on his face that you couldn't quite read.
“Y/N, I dropped the triplets off with my parents so I could go.”
“I-... not you calling me by my first name. Well, can't you do it another day?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around him. But it didn’t look like you were about to change his mind.
“When I stop being mad at you, that's when your name goes back to being baby. And no, I already told them I was coming.” He replied as he moved your hands away from him.
“But…”
“I have to get ready so I won't be late. Call hot chips and bad decisions.”
“They're busy and I want my husband.”
“Hmm, tough because you said the opposite earlier.” Jack replied as he walked away from you and headed towards the bathroom as you rolled your eyes.
“I know you rolled your eyes at me and if you keep doing it they're going to get stuck like that.”
“You weren't even looking at me!”
“Doesn't matter. How long have I known my wife? Since I was fourteen? I know you like the back of my hand.”
A few minutes later, you heard the shower turn on and you went back to reading your book as you sighed. This had been your first night without the triplets in a while and as much as you were trying to take advantage of it, your husband wasn't budging.
When Jack walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, you slowly lowered your book so that you could look at him. He wasn't paying you any attention and it made you feel some type of way.
“Smush?”
“Yes?”
“You still have an attitude with me but I want a kiss.”
“You'll get one before I leave and no I don't.”
“Yes you do! And you NEVER deny giving me kisses. Stop being mad at me!” You whined as you put your book down next to you and pouted as you crossed your arms.
“No one is denying you anything. I'm trying to hurry up so I won't be late.”
“You hate me.”
As those words left your mouth, Jack slowly turned his head to look at you and gave you a blank stare.
“If I hated you, we wouldn't be married. Stop saying stupid shit that isn't true. Starting to piss me off all over again.”
You made a face at him before proceeding to pick up your book once more to let Jack finish getting ready. When he was fully dressed, you got a whiff of his cologne as he put it on and it immediately made you stop in your tracks.
Got damn he smelled good.
“Is that new?” You asked him and all he did was shake his head no.
“I've had it for a while, just never used it. Got it in Cannes.”
As Jack turned around to come towards you, he was startled as he noticed that you were now next to him and wrapped your arms around him once more.
“Who are you wearing that for!?”
“Do not fucking start.”
“That smells really good. Can I have my kiss now or multiple? Or you can just take my clothes off too. Whatever works.” You said as you squeezed him tighter.
“I… what?”
“I don't want you to leave.”
“I'm giving you a kiss and then I'll see you when I come back but you'll probably be asleep.”
“But…”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Fine.” You mumbled as Jack leaned down to kiss you and you made sure to keep a tight hold on him. He noticed that you wouldn't let him go and simply placed several more kisses on your lips.
“Y/N, I can't go anywhere if you don't let me leave.”
“I know that's the entire point. How long will you be gone? And stop calling me Y/N!”
“Not that long. The sooner you let me go, the sooner I come back and that was the name you were given at birth.”
“Actually it wasn't, but that's a whole nother story. My mother, well grandmother changed it. But I don't think you need to go anywhere anymore.”
Jack let out a frustrated sigh as he wiggled out of your grasp.
All you did was go and stand in front of the bedroom door and cross your arms.
“What…. What are you doing?”
“Standing here so you can't leave.”
“That's cute. Really cute actually.”
“I'm not cute, I'm horny and you are NOT fulfilling your duties as my husband!” You explained to him and he did not look impressed.
“Remember what you said earlier or do I have to remind you again?” He replied as he checked the time on his phone.
“Well that was earlier and now I want you to rearrange my guts.”
All Jack did was walk over towards you and you thought he was leaning down to kiss you, however he simply picked you up and moved you to the side but not before leaning down to whisper in your ear.
“Excuse me, little one.”
“I… JACKMAN!”
“See you when I get back and stop all that yelling.” Jack replied as he was walking down the steps and you were right behind him.
“Nooooo! We're not done here! Just put the tip in!”
“You are no better than a man, I swear.” As he went to open the door, you hugged him from behind.
“Babyyyyy! Pookie! Smush!”
“No.”
“Damn, you probably won't even let me suck your dick so I know you're mad at me. You probably put that cologne on to find another wife.”
“Your mouth gets you in so much damn trouble sometimes.” Jack responded as he turned around to see you looking up at him.
“But, it also gets me out of it.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?”
Before he responded to you, he took hold of your neck and lightly squeezed it.
“I will put you through the fucking mattress and you won't be able to walk properly for a week if you keep playing with me.”
You couldn't help but to smirk at him knowing that it would piss him off more.
“Who's playing, babe? Certainly not me. You got your wife so wet right now and she can't understand for the life of her why you won't do anything about it.”
By this point, you knew he was completely done with you with the way his neck vein was protruding, indicating his frustration.
“Don't you want to see how wet I am?” You asked as you grabbed his hand and moved it to the waistband of your shorts.
When you heard him sigh, you knew that you had won.
“Get on the couch and do not making a fucking sound or I'll stop. Face down, ass up. I have ten minutes.”
“Yesssss! I knew you'd fold. With the way things are going, you're probably going to make me come undone in five.”
“This doesn't change anything and I’m still mad at you.”
“We'll see about that in ten minutes.”
“I'm definitely wearing this cologne every day if this is your reaction to it.”
“Jackman, we will end up with twenty children if you do that.”
“Doesn't bother me. I love how you look when you're pregnant. And your boobs will probably get even bigger so it's a win for me.”
“Hmm, just like a man.” You mumbled as you rolled your eyes as the two of you were now on the couch.
“Well you were yelling at me to just put the tip in earlier so you aren't any better.”
“And I'd do it again too.”
#jack harlow#jack harlow fic#jack harlow concepts#jack harlow x reader#jack harlow x black reader#jack harlow fanfic#jack harlow fluff#jack harlow imagine#jack harlow smut#jackman thomas harlow
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IN BETWEEN- MATT STURN
summary: with their usual bickering, y/n and chris escalate into a heated argument and matt has to break up a fight between his girlfriend and his brother
cw: angst, cursing, crying, fluff at the end
an: thank you to @ik33pitundercover for this wonderful idea (if you have any idea pls comment them here or in my 'send requests' in my bio and i might make them happen!)
masterlist
-----------------------------------------------
Before Matt and Y/n got together, it was always Chris and Y/n the bestest of friends. Though they never had any feelings for each other, they were always together. Everyone always told them they had a sibling like relationship. And they both agreed. They constantly bickered, pushed each other around playfully, just everything siblings would do. Eventually, the two other brothers, Nick and Matt, also became close with Y/n.
A couple of month of hanging out one on one, Y/n and Matt ended up dating. And Chris couldn't be happier. His brother and best friend were both together what more could he ask for?
Earlier today, Chris had texted Y/n if she was down to hangout. She politely declined, telling Chris she was going to hangout with Matt for most of the day. He understood and responded to her that he'll probably hangout with his other friends. He was a bit bummed to say the least. Chris can't remember the last time him and Y/n hung out one on one. Not that he was jealous of her and Matt, never. He just wanted to spend some time with his best friend.
After messaging Y/n, he didn't text any of his other friends, too upset to even hang out with anyone else. As the day went on, Nick had came into Chris' room to ask if he wanted to go hangout with him and Madi, he declined. When the afternoon came by, he ordered takeout and ate his taco bell. After eating he hopped on fortnite and played a couple of rounds before deciding to take a nap.
Y/n spent the whole morning and afternoon with Matt. Although she did feel a bit bad for declining Chris, Matt reassured her and told her Chris would be fine. Around ten in the morning, she picked Matt up in her car, and drove them to their usual breakfast spot. They shared each others plate and were both bloated with good food at the end of it. During their breakfast time, Matt had mentioned how Chris had seemed a bit down as of lately. "Do you think it's because you haven't hung out with him?" He said while taking a bite of his pancake. "I've hung out with him. We were all together last weekend." She replied.
"Yeah, I get that but, I mean one on one." Matt didn't mind at all when his brother and girlfriend hung out one on one. He liked that she had a good relationship with Chris and Nick. "Oh, yeah, I see it now. Maybe I can plan something with him next week? If he want to, that is." That conversation was a couple of hours ago. The time was now nearing five in the afternoon and Nick had called Matt that he was staying over at Madi's. "Do you think Chris is home?" Matt asked as they picked out the ingredients for tonight's activity. "Not sure, he texted me earlier that he might hang out with some of his friends."
Y/n and Matt had spent the afternoon at her place watching movies and playing games. Y/n ended up making them lunch, and here they are now in the grocery store. They had both agreed the would make something at Matt's house so Y/n can drive back to her place when she was ready to go. Matt was a bit bummed that she couldn't stay the night but understood that she had an exam early in the morning. "Wait, let me get Chris a pack of Pepsi. He told me he was running low yesterday." Y/n said, pushing the cart towards the soda isle.
"He seriously needs to cut down on the Pepsi. But we just keep feeding into it." Matt wrapped his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "I agree."
Chris woke up to the sound of a loud bang followed by laughter coming from upstairs in the kitchen. He checked his phone and saw it was almost six in the afternoon. He had slept for about an hour and a half. Confused about the loud bang, he got up to check. Coming up the stairs half awake, he saw Y/n on the floor cleaning up what looked to be some sort of dessert batter. "The fuck happened in here?" Chris said, startling Y/n. "Oh shit! Chris what the hell, you scared me." Y/n stood up from her spot on the floor. "My bad." Chris scoffed, going to the fridge.
"I thought you were going out today?" She threw the many stained paper towels in the trash. "I was going to but, you declined." He threw some shade at her. "I told you I was sorry, Matt had this planned for a couple of days now." She said, walking away to go retrieve their mop. "Where's Matt anyways?" He asks, as Y/n fills up the mop bucket. "He spilled his cake batter on the floor and it got all over him so he went to shower."
"Oh, well clean this mess up then. It not gonna clean itself up." He points to the remaining with his water bottle. "Woah, who put a stick up your ass?" Y/n was taken back a bit. Most of the time she could tell when Chris was joking when saying rude comments because he always smiled and tries not to laugh whenever he says them, so does she, but, he seemed serious about this one. "Stop playing around. Are you going to clean it or not?" Chris slightly raises his voice. Y/n's eyebrows furrow.
"Okay, You've never talked to me like that and I'm not going to let you talk to me like that." She stops filling the bucket up and stares at Chris with a confused glare. What has gotten into him? "Whatever." He scoffs, as he starts walking towards his set of stairs. "Hey, no! You come back here and tell me what this is all about." She tells him, she slowly starts getting mad. "I'm not a fucking child for you to be talking to me like that." He fights back. "Well you're acting like one right now." She crosses her arms. "Just leave me alone and enjoy your time with my brother. Seems like he's the only one you've known for years."
"Is this about us not hanging out as much anymore?" She says as Chris turns back around to face her. "What do you think? You get with my brother and now you forget about me? Was being my friend just an act to get to Matt?" Chris yells. "Are you hearing yourself right now?" Y/n yells back, and she sees Matt walk in with wet hair. "What's going on." Chris turns his head to see who was talking. "Oh look, your boyfriend is back, looks like you won't be needing me this evening." He smiles sarcastically.
"You're being a fucking dick right now." She walks closer to him. "Woah, okay. Let's- why don't you two settle down. And talk without yelling." Matt intervenes and steps in the middle of the arguing pair. "Matt, move. Chris is being unreasonable and isn't thinking before he speaks." Y/n tries to move Matt out of the way. "Babe, hey, calm down. Tell me what happened."
"He came up the stairs and just started being rude to me. He's mad about me and him not hanging out as much. When he could've just told me in a nicely manner." Y/n leans her head at the last part to where Chris can see her. Chris only rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you always tell me you're busy. Seems like you have time for everyone else besides me. I hope you're happy Matt, considering the fact that you ruined our friendship." Matt turns around. "Chris, I didn't ruin no friendship and your friendship with Y/n isn't ruined."
"Matt do you know what he said to me?" Matt shakes his head. "Oh, please enlighten him, Y/n." Chris says mockingly, she only rolls her eyes at him. "If you keep rolling em' they're going to get stuck." Chris adds. "Chris, stop it." Matt turns his head towards him "Go on." Matt tells her. "He told me that I only became friends with him to get with you. Can you believe that? He doesn't know the shit he's saying!"
"Chris? Do you really think that low of her?" Matt is shocked by all of this. He's never seen Chris and Y/n argue this bad. And it's making him upset that he's in the middle of this. "I'm starting to." Chris' comment ticks Y/n off. "That's it, I'm out of here." Y/n grabs her purse and phone and pushes through them. "Y/n come back." Matt gently grabs her arm. "I can't be in the same room as him right now. Not when he's acting all bitchy."
"I'm not acting bitchy, so get your facts straight." Chris adds on to her anger. "Chris that's enough." Matt raises his voice at his brother. "Here, come to my room to cool down and I'll talk to Chris, okay?" Matt softly talks to Y/n as he sees that she near bursting into tears. He knows she hates arguing with anybody. "Okay, okay." She whispers walking off to Matt's room, not making eye contact with her best friend.
Once Matt hears his room door close he starts going off on Chris. "What was that all about." He points to his room where Y/n is. "An argument, dumbass." Chris makes a smart mouth comment. "You know you could've talked to her like a normal person right? And to accuse her of using you so she could get to me was a low blow." Chris now realizes how bad it sounded. When Y/n entered Matt's room, she sat on his bed and let her tears out. She's never fought with Chris this bad. Yeah, they might've had a little argument or two over something small, but it never got to this point where someone had to intervene.
"Sorry, I got carried away. It's just, I miss hanging out with her. I feel like she's slowly forgetting about me ever since you two started dating." Chris says, wiping his eyes to prevent his tears to come down. "She's not forgetting about you, trust me. We always talk about whenever we hangout. And, she's also noticed how you two haven't been hanging out as much. Also, Im sorry for hogging her for months now." Matt tells Chris, earning a light chuckle from him at the last comment.
"Why don't you go in there and talk to her while I clean this up, okay?" Chris nods and starts walking towards Matt's room where Y/n currently is. He lightly knocks before opening the door. "Hey." Chris says, walking towards the bed to sit next to her. "Hi." She says, lifting her head off her knees. "I'm sorry about everything I said out there. I know you didn't use me to get to Matt. That was stupid of me to say." He shakes his head thinking back on it. "I just felt like you were forgetting about me and I was upset and let out my anger on you instead of talking to you like a normal person would." Y/n finally looks at him. "I'm sorry you felt that way. But, I also wish I would've realized it sooner, it would've prevented this whole shit show."
"Do you forgive me?" He asks lowly. "Of course I do, you're my best friend." After a couple of minutes basking in the comfortable silence, Matt finally walks in. "Nobody has been killed, I'm guess you two made up?" He takes a seat next to Chris. "Yup, we're good now." Matt smiles at that. "That's great, how about tomorrow you two spend the whole day together after Y/n is done with her exam?" Both Y/n and Chris liked the idea of that. "That sounds nice. What do you think, Chris?" Y/n asks Chris. "I'm up for it."
"Come on, let's go bake the boxed cake since I spilt the other one." He stands up and sits in the middle of them wrapping his arms around both of them. "That's the first ever biggest fight, definitely going into the book."
"Shut up!" Chris and Y/n say in unison and laugh.
#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#angst#fluff#chris sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt x reader#matthew sturniolo fanfic#matt x y/n#masterlist#chris x y/n#chris x reader#space camp#sturniolo fanfic#fresh love#fanfic#oneshot
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jang wonyoung-------- where oc is three years older than wony and have been dating before ive debut but its a secret in the public eye,but then thing happened wony kind of cheated oc finds out about it but he just can't let her goo so he endure at first but then it become worse and then they kind of parted ways even though wony doesnt seem to want to let go of oc.They really cant stay away from each other even though wony and oc parted ways they are still intertwined.Lets say oc is in the palm of wony hands kind of pretty toxic but sweet yeah...
Toxic Till The End
Wonyoung X Male Reader
Disclaimer : Don't Be Toxic Kiddo, :D
You glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you wait for the next customer. It's early afternoon, a little after lunch, and the regular crowd has started to trickle in. Your café, tucked away in a quiet alley just a short walk from the busy corporate district, has always had a steady stream of customers. But lately, you’ve noticed a particular customer who has caught your attention.
It’s Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung. You’ve known her face for a while, even before she began frequenting your café. As a popular idol, her posters and commercials are everywhere, but the first time she came into your café, it felt different. You weren’t just seeing her through a screen. She was right there, in front of you, asking for a latte with the softest voice.
At first, it was nothing special. Just a polite exchange, like with any customer. You kept your cool, even though you were a little starstruck. But the more she visited, the more those polite exchanges became something more. A smile here, a small compliment there. You found yourself looking forward to the days when she’d step through the door, her eyes scanning the room before they settled on you with a glimmer of recognition.
The bell above the door jingles, and like clockwork, Wonyoung steps inside. She’s wearing a simple, oversized coat and a cap pulled low over her face, but you’d recognize her anywhere. Today, though, something is different. She looks tired, her shoulders slightly slouched, and her usually bright expression is dimmer.
“Hey,” you greet her, offering a warm smile. “The usual?”
She nods, pulling her cap a little lower as she approaches the counter. “Yeah, please. One vanilla latte.”
As you start preparing her drink, you decide to strike up a conversation like you’ve done before. “Rough day?”
She chuckles softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You have no idea. It's been non-stop meetings and rehearsals. I just needed a break.”
You hand her the drink, watching her fingers brush against yours as she takes the cup. The small contact makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly focus back on the conversation. “Well, I’m glad you came here to take that break. The world can wait a little, right?”
She looks up at you through her lashes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I guess so. This place has kind of become my escape.”
Her words stir something in you. An idol like her, with the entire world watching her every move, finding a sense of peace in your small café? It’s flattering. You lean against the counter, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.
“You’re welcome here anytime, you know that,” you say, your voice dropping slightly. It’s an invitation you’ve given before, but somehow it feels more meaningful now.
Wonyoung sips her latte, the steam rising between you two as she lets out a content sigh. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”
There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, the two of you just enjoying each other’s company. But then, as you’re about to ask her something, a group of fans passing by outside catches your eye. They don’t seem to have noticed her yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. Wonyoung must sense your unease because she follows your gaze and tenses slightly.
“Do you need to go?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.
She hesitates, glancing toward the door. “I probably should…”
You don’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not when it feels like you’re finally getting closer. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Would you maybe want to hang out sometime? Outside of here, I mean.”
Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by your sudden boldness. You can feel your palms getting sweaty, and you mentally curse yourself for being too forward. But then, to your surprise, she smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up her face.
“Are you asking me out?” she teases, her tone light but her gaze intense.
You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”
She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For a moment, you think she’s going to turn you down, but then she looks up again, her smile still there.
“I’d like that,” she says softly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “But… we’d have to keep it a secret. My company has strict rules about… well, you know.”
You nod, understanding immediately. Dating an idol? You’ve heard the horror stories of how fans react. But the thrill of the secrecy only adds to your excitement. “I can keep a secret if you can.”
She giggles, the sound like music to your ears. “I guess we’ll see.”
As she stands to leave, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You just asked out Jang Wonyoung—and she said yes.
“When should we—” you begin, but she interrupts with a sly smile.
“I’ll text you. We’ll figure it out.”
She waves goodbye, leaving you standing behind the counter, your heart pounding in your chest. You watch her disappear down the street, the bell on the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind her.
For the first time in a long time, you feel like something big is about to happen. Something that could change everything.
The days that followed felt like a blur of anticipation. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart would leap, hoping it was her. And then, one night, just as you were closing up the café, her name flashed across your screen.
“Tomorrow. 8 PM. I know a quiet place.”
You read the text over and over, a smile creeping across your face. It was happening. You were actually going on a date with Wonyoung, and no one else knew.
The next day, you close the café a little earlier than usual, making sure everything is perfect before you head out. The nerves hit you the moment you step outside. What would it be like? What would you talk about? But there’s also an excitement bubbling beneath the surface—a thrill you haven’t felt in years.
When you arrive at the spot she mentioned, you’re surprised to find it’s a small, dimly lit park, tucked away from the busy streets. It’s quiet, serene, and the perfect place for two people who didn’t want to be seen.
Wonyoung is already there, sitting on a bench, her face partially hidden by the hood of her coat. But when she looks up and sees you, her face breaks into a smile.
“You came,” she says softly, standing to greet you.
“Of course,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You try to play it cool, but your heart is racing.
You sit beside her on the bench, the cool evening air wrapping around the two of you. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just enjoying the rare moment of privacy.
“So,” she begins, breaking the silence. “You really weren’t scared to ask me out? Most people wouldn’t dare.”
You chuckle nervously. “Well, I guess I’m not like most people.”
She grins, her eyes sparkling. “No, you’re not. That’s why I said yes.”
Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but feel drawn to her in a way that’s both intoxicating and terrifying. The fact that you’re sitting here, in the dark, in secret, makes everything feel a little more dangerous. But you like it. You like her.
As the conversation flows, it becomes clear that there’s more to Wonyoung than what the world sees. She tells you about the pressures of being an idol, the constant scrutiny, the expectations that weigh on her shoulders. You listen intently, feeling protective over her in a way you hadn’t expected.
“You must get lonely,” you say, your voice soft.
She nods, looking down at her hands. “I do. Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives—one for the public and one for myself. But the lines get blurred, and I don’t know which one is real anymore.”
You reach out, gently placing your hand over hers. “This is real,” you say firmly. “Whatever this is between us—it’s real.”
She looks up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away, but then she squeezes your hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body.
“I hope so,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
The warmth of your bond with Wonyoung had grown over the years, weaving itself into every corner of your life. From stolen evenings in the quiet corners of the city to shared laughter over cups of coffee in the dim glow of your café, your relationship had become something sacred. She trusted you, and you loved her with every fiber of your being.
But things started to shift when Wonyoung sat across from you one evening, her face pale and serious.
“I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
You set down your cup, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”
She hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her mug. “It’s… good news, really. But…” Her words faltered, and the worry in her eyes twisted your gut.
“Wonyoung, just tell me,” you urged gently.
“I’m debuting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said. Wonyoung had always talked about her dreams of becoming a star, of standing on the biggest stages and sharing her talent with the world. You should have been happy for her, proud even. But all you could feel was the growing pit in your stomach.
“That’s… amazing,” you said, forcing a smile.
She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It is. It’s everything I’ve worked for. But… you know what this means, right?”
Your heart sank. “What are you saying?”
She looked down, her hands gripping her mug tightly. “The company’s rules are even stricter now. I’ll be busier than ever. Training, schedules, promotions… I won’t have time for…” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, trying to hold back her emotions.
“For us,” you finished for her, your voice hollow.
She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I want, but I don’t have a choice. If they find out about us, it could ruin everything—for both of us.”
You sat back, the weight of her words pressing down on your chest. This was it. The moment you’d feared since the day you started dating her. You knew the risks of being with an idol, but you’d always hoped you could make it work. Now, it felt like that hope was slipping away.
“I understand,” you said quietly, your throat tight. “Your dream has always come first. I don’t want to hold you back.”
She reached across the table, taking your hand in hers. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve been my anchor, my safe place. I don’t want to lose that.”
“You won’t,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Even if we can’t be together the way we want, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
Her tears spilled over, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried. You wanted to believe your own words, but deep down, you knew this was the beginning of the end.
The days that followed were the hardest of your life. Wonyoung’s visits became less frequent, her texts and calls more sporadic. You understood why, but that didn’t make it any easier. You poured yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself from the emptiness she left behind.
Then, one day, the messages stopped altogether.
At first, you told yourself she was just busy. Her debut was approaching, after all. But as weeks turned into months, the silence became deafening. You stared at your phone every night, hoping for a message, a call—anything. But nothing came.
You threw yourself into your café, hoping the familiar routine would keep you grounded. But even there, reminders of her were everywhere. The table by the window where she always sat, the scent of vanilla lattes that lingered in the air—it all made your heart ache.
Your only solace was watching her from afar. You followed her career, watching every performance, every interview, every commercial. She was incredible, just as you always knew she would be. But the bright lights and the adoring fans only reminded you of how far away she was now.
Still, you held onto hope. You told yourself that one day, when the world wasn’t watching so closely, she’d come back to you.
Years passed, and your life settled into a routine. The café grew busier, and you built a reputation for being the cozy little spot that people loved. But no matter how much time passed, Wonyoung was always in the back of your mind.
Every time the bell above the door jingled, your heart leapt, hoping it was her. Every time you saw someone with long, dark hair or heard a soft laugh, you thought of her.
One evening, after closing up, you sat alone in the café, a cup of coffee growing cold in your hands. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across the walls, and the quietness of the night only amplified the loneliness in your heart.
You pulled out your phone, scrolling through old messages from Wonyoung. You hadn’t deleted them, even though it hurt to read them. They were all you had left of her.
“I miss you,” you whispered into the empty room, your voice breaking.
You didn’t know if she’d ever come back. You didn’t know if she even thought about you anymore. But you couldn’t let go. She was your first love, and a part of you would always belong to her.
As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you continued to wait. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing for sure: if Wonyoung ever walked through that door again, you’d welcome her with open arms.
For now, all you could do was hope. Hope that somewhere, in the midst of her glittering, chaotic life, she still remembered the little café where it all began.
The bell above the café door jingled softly as another customer walked in, but your mind was elsewhere. The days had blended into a monotonous cycle—serving coffee, cleaning tables, and quietly hoping. Hoping that one day, Wonyoung would return, her familiar presence lighting up the small café once more.
You told yourself every day that it was foolish. That she had likely moved on, swept away by the tidal wave of her career. But a small part of you clung to the memories, refusing to let go.
Then, one fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, you saw her.
It was a glimpse at first—a flash of her unmistakable silhouette passing by the large window of your café. Your heart leaped, the familiar rush of emotions flooding your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the cloth in your hand and hurried to the door, your pulse racing.
“Wonyoung!” you called out, stepping onto the quiet street.
She didn’t turn around.
You froze, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto her. She was walking down the street, her delicate figure wrapped in a soft beige coat. But she wasn’t alone.
There was a man beside her, tall and well-dressed, with an air of casual confidence. Wonyoung clung to his arm, her smile bright and carefree. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.
You stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as she tugged his arm playfully, her laughter floating through the crisp evening air. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that used to be yours. And that smile—the same radiant smile she’d given you on your first date—was now meant for someone else.
Your heart clenched painfully, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was it just a colleague? A friend? Or… something more?
The rational part of you tried to dismiss it. She’s an idol. She must have many colleagues, right? But deep down, a gnawing doubt began to take hold, and with it came a wave of desperation.
That night, you couldn’t sleep. The image of Wonyoung with that man replayed in your mind like a cruel, endless loop. You tried to push it aside, to reason with yourself, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen.
You kept telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything. That there had to be an explanation. But the doubt lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.
“She’ll come back,” you whispered to yourself as you cleaned the counter the next morning. “She’ll explain everything.”
But she didn’t.
Days turned into weeks, and Wonyoung never walked through your door. You scrolled through her social media, searching for clues, but found nothing. Her life seemed to be as glamorous and untouchable as ever. Meanwhile, you felt yourself spiraling.
Your thoughts became consumed with her. You replayed every moment, every smile, every touch. You clung to the memories like a lifeline, even as they began to feel like a weight pulling you under.
Every night, you prayed silently, your hands clutching your phone as you stared at her name. You prayed that she’d text, that she’d call, that she’d walk through the door with that familiar shy smile.
But she never did.
One evening, as you closed up the café, you found yourself back at the place where you’d seen her with the man. You didn’t even know why you were there, only that you couldn’t stop yourself.
You sat on a bench nearby, staring at the street as if willing her to appear. The desperation in your chest had grown into a hollow ache, one that refused to go away.
“She wouldn’t do this to me,” you muttered under your breath, your hands gripping your knees. “She wouldn’t cheat on me.”
But the memory of her smile—the one she gave that man—gnawed at your resolve.
Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of her. Your friends began to notice the change in you. They asked if you were okay, if something was wrong. But you brushed them off, retreating further into yourself.
Your café became your only refuge, the one place where you could pretend everything was still normal. But even there, the memories of her lingered like ghosts.
Every time the bell above the door jingled, you looked up, hoping it was her. Every time someone ordered a vanilla latte, your chest tightened with longing.
But Wonyoung never came.
The toxic cycle began to take its toll. You stopped sleeping, your nights spent staring at your phone, waiting for a message that never came. You stopped eating, your appetite replaced by a gnawing emptiness that nothing could fill.
Your friends tried to pull you out of it, but their words fell on deaf ears. How could they understand? They didn’t know what it was like to love someone like Wonyoung. To love her so deeply that it consumed you.
“She’ll come back,” you told yourself again and again, your voice growing weaker each time. “She has to.”
But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. You’d seen it with your own eyes. Wonyoung had moved on. She had someone else now.
And yet, you couldn’t let go.
You kept praying, day after day, for her to come back. You told yourself that if you just held on a little longer, she’d walk through the door and everything would be okay again.
But as the weeks turned into months, the hope that had once sustained you began to wither away.
You were losing yourself in the waiting, in the longing, in the toxic spiral of loving someone who no longer cared.
And still, you couldn’t stop. Because as much as it hurt, the thought of letting go hurt even more.
The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windows of the café as the sky wept its sorrow. You stood behind the counter, absentmindedly drying a mug as you stared out into the gray, dismal street. The café was quiet tonight, save for the occasional rattle of thunder in the distance.
Then, through the streaks of rain on the glass, you saw her.
Your breath caught in your throat as Wonyoung’s familiar figure emerged from the downpour, standing just outside the café. Her hair clung to her face, wet from the rain, and her shoulders trembled as she hugged herself tightly. She looked… broken.
You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. This was the moment you’d prayed for countless nights. Yet now that it was here, something inside you felt different.
With a deep breath, you walked to the door and gently pushed it open.
The bell jingled softly, but Wonyoung didn’t move. She stood in the rain, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the raindrops.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice trembling.
You stood there, watching her cry, her words cutting through the sound of the rain. In the past, you would have rushed to her, held her close, and whispered soothing words until her tears stopped. But tonight, something in you had changed.
You stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “You’ll catch a cold out there,” you said quietly, your tone calm but distant.
She looked up at you, her eyes red and swollen, and hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.
Wonyoung sat at her usual spot by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea you’d prepared without a word. The warm light of the café cast soft shadows across her face, accentuating the sadness in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”
You sat across from her, your expression unreadable. “What exactly are you sorry for, Wonyoung?”
She flinched at the coldness in your tone, her fingers tightening around the cup. “For… disappearing. For not calling. For—” Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “For hurting you.”
Your heart clenched at her words, but you forced yourself to remain composed. You couldn’t fall into the same cycle again. Not this time.
“Why are you here, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice firm but not unkind.
She looked up at you, her eyes searching your face for some sign of warmth, of forgiveness. “I missed you,” she said softly.
You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Missed me?” you echoed, your voice tinged with skepticism. “Or are you just bored?”
Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she was speechless. “How could you say that?”
“Because, Wonyoung,” you said, your voice steady, “you walked away. You left me here, waiting for you, while you moved on with your life. And now, after all this time, you show up out of nowhere, crying and saying you’re sorry. What am I supposed to think?”
She stared at you, her lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought you’d understand.”
“Understand what?” you asked, leaning forward. “That I wasn’t worth even a text? That you could just show up whenever it suited you and expect me to be here, waiting with open arms?”
Her tears spilled over, and she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “I was scared. Scared of losing everything.”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I understand fear, Wonyoung. But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to treat me like I don’t matter.”
Her sobs quieted, and she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and confusion. “You’ve never talked to me like this before,” she said softly.
“Maybe I should have,” you replied. “Maybe if I’d been more honest with you from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”
The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the windows. For the first time, Wonyoung seemed at a loss for words.
“You’ve always been there for me,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t want to lose you.”
You sighed, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “Wonyoung, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s fair—for both of us. I’ve spent years waiting for you, hoping for something that might never happen. And it’s taken me this long to realize that I deserve more than that.”
Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she reached across the table, her hand trembling. “Please… don’t give up on me.”
You hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand. Every part of you wanted to take it, to pull her into your arms and pretend everything was okay. But you knew that would only lead to more pain.
“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this. If you want me in your life, you need to show me that I matter. Not just when it’s convenient, but always.”
Her hand faltered, and she pulled it back, clutching it to her chest. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.
You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending this can work.”
She stared at you, her face a mixture of shock and devastation. “Are you saying it’s over?”
You took a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “I’m saying that I can’t keep holding onto something that’s tearing me apart.”
Her tears fell freely now, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, her shoulders shaking as she cried.
The rain continued to fall outside as you sat there, the weight of your decision settling over you like a heavy blanket. For the first time in years, you felt a strange sense of clarity.
This wasn’t the ending you’d hoped for, but maybe it was the one you needed.
The days that followed Wonyoung’s tearful return were bittersweet. She seemed genuinely sorry, her apologies heartfelt and tear-streaked. For a while, it felt like things might finally be different. She softened around you, her laughter returning, her gentle touches and warm smiles reminding you of the Wonyoung you had first fallen for.
But as time passed, the cracks began to show again.
It started small—missed calls, vague excuses about her schedule, and moments where she seemed distracted even when she was with you. You told yourself it was fine. That she was busy. That you could be patient.
But then came the nights when she wouldn’t respond to your texts at all. The whispers online about her being spotted with someone else. The photos of her arm linked with another man’s, her smile radiant and carefree, just like it had been the first time you saw her with someone else.
You confronted her one evening when she finally came back to the café, her expression tense but defensive.
“Who is he, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice quiet but trembling with restrained emotion.
She froze, her eyes wide, then quickly looked away. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her tone evasive.
“Then tell me what it is,” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “Because this keeps happening, Wonyoung. You disappear, you’re seen with other guys, and then you come back here, apologizing like it’ll make everything okay.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”
You pulled back, avoiding her touch. “That’s what you always say. But you keep doing it.”
She began to cry, her hands trembling. “I love you. I just… I don’t know how to handle everything. The pressure, the expectations. You’re the only thing that feels real, but sometimes it’s too much.”
Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto the idea that she loved you, even if her actions said otherwise.
But the truth was undeniable. This wasn’t love. It was something toxic, something that was slowly destroying you both.
The cycle continued. Wonyoung would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, only to return with teary apologies and promises to do better. And every time, you forgave her.
You hated yourself for it. Hated how weak you felt, how easily you crumbled under the weight of her tears and her soft words. But no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t let her go.
Until one night, when everything came crashing down.
You’d seen her again, smiling and laughing with someone else. The sight was like a knife twisting in your chest, and for the first time, something inside you snapped.
You went home that night and stared at your phone, the screen glowing with her name. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of anger, sadness, and despair.
Finally, you began to type.
“Wonyoung, I can’t do this anymore. You’ve hurt me too many times, and I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I love you, but I need to love myself more. Goodbye.”
Your thumb hovered over the send button, your chest tightening. You knew this was the right thing to do, but it felt like tearing a piece of your soul away.
With a deep breath, you pressed send.
The message delivered instantly, the small checkmark mocking you as you stared at it. And then, you turned off your phone, the weight of your decision crashing down on you.
The days that followed were a blur of pain and emptiness. You tried to focus on the café, on the simple routines that had once brought you comfort. But everything reminded you of her—the scent of vanilla lattes, the sound of the bell above the door, the corner seat where she used to sit.
And then, one evening, your phone buzzed.
You hesitated, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. It was her.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”
You closed your eyes, the familiar ache in your chest returning. You knew you shouldn’t reply. You knew this was just another loop, another step in the endless cycle of pain and forgiveness.
But even as you told yourself to ignore it, your fingers betrayed you, typing a response before you could stop them.
“I’m here.”
You hated yourself for it. Hated how easily she pulled you back in, how much power she had over you. But deep down, you knew the truth.
You and Wonyoung were toxic. You hurt each other, over and over, and yet you couldn’t let go.
Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken it made you feel, you still loved her.
And some part of you always would.
#kpop#kpop x reader#kpop x y/n#x male reader#beautiful#update#toxic#toxic relationship#wonyoung ive#ive wonyoung#jang wonyoung#wonyoung x reader#wonyoung x male reader#ive x reader#ive x male reader#ive moodboard#ive icons#wonyoung
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I Put My Hand On A Star, To See If I Still Bleed
-Part Two-
several months late, it's finally here :)
CW: same as part one
"Ale, wake up."
You stroked her face to wake her, and she nestled into you as she opened her eyes slightly.
"Hey." you whispered, smiling.
She covered her face, not wanting to wake up yet. Last night had been exhausting, to say the least.
"We have to get going, I've got to be at the airport by twelve."
"Stay."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"You know why, c'mon. I've gotta go back with the team."
Alexia moved to get up, but stopped suddenly, wincing in pain. She'd momentarily forgotten what you'd done to her the night before, and you saw the realisation cross her face, the memory of it flashing through her mind.
"Take it slow, it's gonna hurt." you said softly, stroking her back as she sat up.
"I should've stopped you." she whispered.
"Did you want me to stop?" you asked, looking into her eyes.
"No." she admitted, running a hand through her hair.
A moment of silence passed before she looked into your eyes.
"Did it feel good for you?" she asked, placing a hand on your thigh.
"It felt amazing. You were perfect for me. You are perfect for me."
Thoughts of an actual relationship between the two of you had begun racing through your mind, and you knew Alexia was thinking the same things. The way she was looking at you lips, your eyes- you just knew. Last night it felt like lust, this morning it felt like love.
"Please stay." she said, quietly, brushing her finger gently over your hand.
"Ale, don't do this." you said, standing up.
"No please, you can stay, just make up an excuse, you don't have to get back for another game or training or anything do you?" she said, a tinge of desperation now present in her voice.
"No, but-"
"So stay, please. You want to stay- I know you do." her voice dropped a little, and her eyes weren't so wide now, darkening slightly too.
and she was right, you did want to stay, you really did.
"Alexia, I have to go, they're gonna ask questions if I don't, and there's no believable excuse I could give, you know that. The only way they'd understand is if I told them the truth."
You saw Alexia hesitate- she was considering it. Considering letting people know about the two of you. That was a big deal for her- she was intensely private, especially about things like this. She must really need you.
"When's our next fixture?" she asked.
"What?"
"The next match, between Barça and Arsenal?"
"In a few weeks." you replied, still unsure of where she was going with this.
"I'll fly out to London early, I'll stay with you the night before and you can come to the hotel the night after, okay?" she said, almost like she was telling you instead of asking you.
"Ale-"
"C'mon, it'll be fun, you and me." she said, using your shoulders to pull herself up.
"Okay." you agreed, you couldn't say no to her.
There was something very practical about this arrangement you had. The two of you were incredibly dedicated athletes, you trained alone whenever you weren't with your squads, you didn't really have much time for romance- so this thing that the pair of you had going on, it worked.
-
Those few weeks passed quicker than you expected, you thought about her time to time but your focus was on training and matches.
The fixture was to be played at the Emirates, over 60,000 tickets had been sold, you would be lying if you said you weren't nervous- but the thought of Alexia in your bed the nights before and after the game comforted you.
You were waiting at the airport for her that afternoon, the day before the match, baseball cap and sunglasses on in an attempt to disguise yourself. She'd told her coaches and the other players that she had to go see her family but would meet them in London the day of the match.
She sent you a text to let you know she was at the gate. You would be lying if you said you weren't paranoid- you knew fans would be flying in from Spain to see the match as well, and Alexia, even with sunglasses and a hat on herself, was very recognisable, as were you being the star winger at Arsenal.
You spotted her at the gate, she walked quickly towards you, nearly running into your arms. She slung her hands around your shoulders and you picked her up slightly as you hugged.
"I missed you." you said, quietly.
"I missed you too." she said, breaking the hug but keeping one hand on the back of your neck.
She let go of you a moment later, looking around subtly, and you realised the paranoia had got her too.
"C'mon let's get out of here." you said.
You wanted to take her hand but were aware that you shouldn't, just in case.
You got a taxi back to your place, you knew people would recognise your car.
As soon as you got through the front door she grabbed you by the waist from behind and pulled you into her, placing kisses on your neck and nuzzling into you. You leaned back into her, feeling her body firmly against yours.
"That desperate, huh?" you teased.
She laughed slightly as she tugged your coat off and tossed it aside before doing the same with her own. Her hands roamed up your back and the sides of your torso, tracing your toned muscles. You heard her heavy breathing as she did so and knew how desperately she wanted you.
"So what do you wanna do?" you asked.
"I'll have you first, then you can have me." she said quickly, lowly, a strong tone of desire in her voice.
As she pressed into your back you could feel what she was packing, and how big it was.
"Get undressed, get on the bed." she whispered, her hand squeezing your hip slightly.
You pulled of your shirt and trousers, then your underwear. You saw Alexia do the same behind you through the reflection in the bedroom mirror as you walked in.
You lay down on the bed, enjoying the soft cotton sheets on your bare skin. Alexia climbed on top of you and you placed your hands on her hips as she did, stroking her skin gently with your thumbs.
"How many times do you want me to make you come, baby?" she asked softly, a smile appearing on her face.
"Just once. We can't be up all night with the game tomorrow, and I've still got to fuck you too." you smiled back.
"Just once? I better make it a good one then, hm?"
"Shouldn't be too hard for you, Ale." you teased.
Just as the words left your mouth, she slipped her cock inside you. You let out a loud moan that was almost a scream at her suddenly filling you up.
"Oh my God, Ale-" you stuttered, losing the words as they were coming out of your mouth, trying to deal with the intense feeling inside of you- her inside of you.
"You like that?" she cooed.
You could only nod, overwhelmed with the feeling in your core and the sensation that her words sent through you.
She lowered her top half onto you, slowly placing a soft kiss on your lips. You moaned quietly into it, and she parted her lips slightly, urging you to do the same. The next kiss was open-mouthed and hot, animalistic. Her tongue tangled with yours as her hips continued grinding into you. Your grip on her waist tightened, your fingers digging into her, eliciting a moan from her mouth.
She broke your kiss and held herself up by her hands either side of your head, now focused entirely on how she was fucking you and the pleasure she was getting from it. She opened her eyes for a moment and looked down at where she was fucking into you, then placed a hand on your lower stomach and pressed down, feeling where she was inside you. You moaned at the pressure.
"That feel good, baby?"
Again, you just nodded, in no state to produce words.
You loved how focused she was, how fixated she was on the pure feeling of what she was doing. Soft sighs were falling out of her mouth, her pleasure increasing. You knew she was close, but you were closer.
You felt the pleasure and heat building inside you rapidly, becoming nearly too much to handle.
"Ale, don't stop."
Your core clenched around her cock as you came, and your back arched off the bed as her arms slipped underneath to hold you.
After your last wave of pleasure, you grab hold of her hips, stopping her movements.
"What are you doing? I'm about to finish." she said, breathless.
"No. Not yet." you say, brushing your thumb over her cheek.
You sat up slightly with her still above you, and you tilted your head back a little to kiss her.
"Please, I'm so close." she begged.
You felt her hips try to shift desperately against you but you kept a tight hold on them.
"Pull out, Ale."
"No, please-" she whimpered quietly.
"Pull out."
She did as she was told and shifted backwards onto her knees, allowing you to sit up fully.
She had a desperate look on her face, biting her lip and waiting for your next words. You noticed her moving her thighs together slightly, clearly trying to seek some pleasure and relief from the built-up tension in her core.
"Oh honey, are you that desperate?" you teased, pulling the strapless cock out of her. She whined as you did, gripping the sheets.
You slipped it inside yourself slowly as you got up onto your knees.
"Lay down." you instructed.
"Please, it hurts-" she whimpered, her brow furrowed.
"I know baby, I know." you smiled, loving what she became when you edged her.
She lay down slowly, a look of pain, frustration, and desperation painted across her face. You slipped it in her gradually, your hands grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the bed.
She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering.
"Feel better now?" you smiled.
You knew she didn't though, she wouldn't feel better until she came. She writhed around on the bed, unable to move much under your grip.
"Harder, fuck me harder." she begged.
You looked down at her, the desperate look in her eyes drove you wild.
"God you're such a whore, asking for it like that."
She was gasping for breath between moans and was practically seizing under you as she finally came. You slowed down as she finished, placing kisses on her neck as you did.
"No, don't stop- fuck me like you did last time, fuck me there." she sighed.
"Are you sure?"
"Please."
"Get on your hands and knees for me then slut."
She quickly got up and into that position. You grabbed her hips and slowly put it in her, she practically screamed as you did, dropping her head and panting as she adjusted to the size of it. She looked so pretty like this.
"What would everyone say if they knew you liked taking it in the ass like this?" you teased, slowly pushing in and out of her.
"Please, harder." she whispered, barely able to catch her breath.
"You'll bleed." you said, stroking her platinum-blonde hair.
"Just do it, I need it." she begged desperately.
You did as she asked, not holding back anymore and pounding into her ass with no reservations.
You heard her as she started crying.
"Too much for you baby?"
"No no, keep going." she cried, her voice broken and shaky.
It was clear now that Alexia had some kind of deep, unrelenting masochistic desire, and a desire for you to fulfill it.
You were getting tired now, she could take a lot, more than you thought she could.
"You had enough yet darling?"
"Nearly."
She brought her hand into her cunt and began to pleasure herself there. You loved the sight of it, the way she couldn't help herself.
She came quickly again after that, her body now dripping with sweat and shaking.
"Go to the living room." you ordered, as you pulled your cock out of her ass.
"Why?" she whispered, a note of fear in her voice.
"Just go," you said "and don't get dressed."
You followed her into the living room after discarding the strap.
You sat down on the sofa as she stood infront of you, her hands together.
"There's a match on, I wanna watch it, and I want you on your knees in front of me so I can play with you while I watch it." you smiled.
She got down on her knees for you and looked up at you with a piece of innocence still in her eyes- you were going to get rid of that.
You brushed your fingers over her lips and they quivered slightly under your touch.
"Open your mouth for me."
She did so, and you slid two fingers inside.
She began to suck them without instruction, and you immediately smiled at that.
"Good girl."
She never said a word, and her eyes never left yours even when your eyes were on the television watching the match. The feeling of her tongue gliding across your fingers was amazing, and seeing her like this, that was even better.
Eventually, you looked back at her, pulling your fingers out past her lips, and she instinctively leant forward, trying to get them back in her mouth.
"So needy." you smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear.
She started rubbing her thighs together a little again, letting you know she wanted some friction.
"Get on top." you instructed, lying down on the sofa.
She got on top slowly, carefully, wincing from the pain caused by your roughness earlier, and she straddled you, her hands on her knees and her legs either side of your torso. You felt her warm cunt settle on your stomach, and you loved feeling her weight on top of you.
"You're soaked Ale, you need to cum again? hm?" you teased.
She nodded, still not in the headspace to speak.
"Can't talk baby? You're just a dumb little girl when you've been fucked y'know." you smiled up at her.
She moved her hands to your stomach, keeping herself steady.
"Go on, don't hold back." you said, your hands finding her thighs and holding them still for her.
She started to grind slowly, her eyes squeezed shut, whimpering. You were completely still until you took hold of her hips and her head fell back, a breathy sigh falling from her lips. You brushed your thumbs back and forth over her soft skin.
"That's it, you look so pretty like this Ale."
Her eyes remained shut and her hands moved on top of yours, her grip tight.
She was in pain, a lot of it, but her desperation for another orgasm outweighed that. She needed it.
Tears started falling from her eyes, and her breaths became deep and controlled, like she was focusing on that instead of the pain.
As she neared release though, she lost control of it and her breathing became ragged, her movements desperate.
As she finally came, she moaned in pain, and then she became still. She didn't open her eyes or move her hands from you.
"You okay Ale?"
She let out a sigh and nodded, then finally opened her eyes.
"We can go to sleep here, if it hurts too much to move." you said, stroking her cheek.
"No I wanna go to bed, can you carry me?" she asked, quietly.
"Of course."
You helped her slowly move off of you, and she winced in pain.
"It's okay, you'll be in bed soon."
You picked her up and she wrapped her arms around your neck and nuzzled into you as you carried her to bed. As you placed her on the mattress, she didn't let go of you.
"Are you okay, Ale?"
"More than okay." she smiled.
#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso community#espwnt#woso smut#woso x reader
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Sweet Returns
summary: after two years of patrick calling her late at night to come over and fuck, reader decides to end the cycle. it just so happens to be the night patrick planned on confessing that he’d maybe caught feelings.
warnings: mentions of sex, kissing, angst, fluff, reconciliation, mentions of alcohol
no matter how bad or selfish or borderline rude he was- patrick zweig would call, you would come. literally.
you shook your head at him in the parking lot of the motel he was staying at while he was on tour. you were in college. he was in your area and he called, and you went. you shook your head and you stood your ground and you knew you’d come, but you didn’t come. you wouldn’t. this was it.
“came all this way for what, then?” he asked, arms gesturing to you. 2am on a sunday. your arms were folded over your chest, red zip up slipping down your shoulder. the end-of-summer air was the perfect temperature. warm, but with hints of a cool wind that tousled your hair a little. “you drive over here at 2am just to stand there and say you can’t and that i’m not good? for you? for what?”
his words sometimes stung like this, but this feeling- you felt it in your fingers like loaded springs in a pressed coil. you felt it shoot sharply against the very tip of your fingers and toes. live wires. electric pain.
he was loud for a motel at 2am. you hated it. you hated that you even showed up. your friends shouted at you to stop letting him dictate the place you lay your head when he’s in town. shaking you, telling you to stop seeing him if you feel like shit the afternoon of the next day. you tried to stay away, you did, you wanted to. but something about the whirlwind, like a riptide, pulling you back out. this early. this late. like a sleeper agent, you were put in action. like an on/off button on a toy. and you hated it. so you showed up. and he was greeting you, and you pulled away. which led to this mess, this confusion.
you did not want to be pulled under again just for an afternoon of shame. you swore sometimes returning home, you accidentally held your shoes in your hand minutes after getting back to your dorm. the shame lingered, festered. your girlfriends usually had to bribe you out of the disgusting stupor.
“i can’t, patrick, i’m sorry,” you said, anxious enough to shake just slightly. “i’m going home.”
“you drove thirty minutes to come here, say hi, and say sorry?”
“guess so,” you bit your lip. he looked at you with disbelief. this was unlike you. usually he had you horizontal by now. you guessed that he didn’t like your non-compliance attitude. it was new, fresh, probably scared him. you imagined he was hungry right now, upset about not having what he wanted. what he ordered.
“why are you still here then?” he asked. it was bitter, his tone. “you said it, go.” one of his hand shoved into his jean pocket, he gestured toward your car with the other one. “fuck, didn’t want to see you anyway. go.”
“you mean fuck me?” you scoffed, almost baffled at his choice of word. it was so simple, the word ‘see’ instead of ‘fuck’, but at this point. it was too far gone to be unnoticed. “didn’t want to fuck me anyway? god, what will you do when your number one piece of ass walks out on you? you’ve got the second piece of ass on speed dial, you don’t need me here, patrick. you want me. i don’t want that anymore.”
his raised eyebrows fell and his darkened, but not in a way that scared you at all. more like clouded over, like breaking a spell. you stood your ground, despite watching his body lose it’s tense.
you shook your head again, taking a step back. “goodnight.” he had nothing to say, he just stared at you. you imagined you’d upset him, and that he was only upset with you. not himself. would be just like him. so you took another step back and turned, walking back over to your car. you’d have to get gas on the way home. your heart raced, but this was it, this was over.
you unlocked the door, opened it, got in, and you reached to close the door, but it was stopped by his hand on the corner. his figure startled you just a bit, and you wondered if he had seen it, afraid you looked stupid or something. you also wondered if he’d hurt his hand catching the door like that. and then you wondered why he did it, before he spoke.
“there’s no ‘second piece of ass,’ first up.” he said. you couldn’t see his face. only heard him, voice firm. “it’s only you and you’re not just a ‘piece of ass’, or a toy. i don’t know where you got that idea.” he said.
you turned your legs out of the drivers seat and stood up. he stepped back to let you out and you looked at him expectantly. he stopped your door from closing, it better be fucking good. your anxiety was turning into adrenaline. recycling.
he kept talking, “yeah, i did want to fuck you. i always do when you’re around. can’t help myself. and speaking of no second ‘pieces of ass,’ i don’t have a single other girl in rotation, though i know you believe differently.” he said it like they were supposed to be offensive words, but they were genuine, hidden by sharp tone. shielded. “it’s only you. when i’m away i’m passing time waiting to come back around. i call you, we fuck, you leave. it’s all i get.”
“all you get?” you snapped. “like i’m supposed to do more?” you advanced a step on him, but he didn’t move. “i come over when you ask, i ride you until you come, you’ve insulted me, you’ve made me feel like i’m not good enough for you since we met. and i could have anyone else, but you keep me in your pocket to call and fuck and go back on tour, leaving me to feel used and stupid. and you want more from me? what do you want? a fuckbuddy, a friend? i feel like you want a toy.”
“what i want,” his words overlapped with your last ones. “fuck- i don’t have anyone else. it’s always you, i always come back here. i don’t have to, i could be closer to stanford with art, i could be back home constantly. but my winnings go to motels here, hotels here. when i say see you, i mean see you, i don’t just mean fuck you. what do you want me to tell you?”
“what does that even mean?” you gestured wildly. “what do you want me to tell you? i don’t know, patrick. i’m trying to say goodbye to you, i don’t want you around, i don’t want to see you. don’t come around here if you don’t want to.”
he looked far left, shaking his head, taking a sharp breath in. “what do you want me to say? because i’m sure you’re being obtuse on fucking purpose. i want to see you. i dont want to see anyone else. i dont want to fuck anyone else either, but they go together. you think i don’t know i’m an asshole? you’ve told me again and again.”
“you are!” you ensured. he shut his eyes tight and pressed his tongue to the side of his cheek. your body pulsed, electric pain now a current running through every vain. you felt it in every appendage. your stomach muscles were tight, and you were sure you weren’t breathing enough.
but he looked down at you, breaking the small silence, continuing, “an asshole. so yeah, i figure i should leave you alone for your own good, but then when i’m out of here and back on tour, i can’t get you out of my head and as soon as i’m done, i end up back here, calling you. and you come. and then you’re gone.”
“patri-“
“i don’t deserve more than that, i know you’re not staying. and you probably should go, but i don’t know. i don’t even know why i stopped your door. just go if you’re gonna fucking go.”
another beat passed. you looked at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “what are you saying?”
“i don’t fucking know.” he looked at his feet, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek again. his hand met the back of his neck. “delete my number and i’ll delete yours. i’ll do it in the morning. just fuck off.”
your eyes burned, your emotions piling on top of each other, all pressing on your chest. you watched his foot turn to face you. you grabbed the door of the car and braced a little against the anxious ball of weight that was suddenly returning. circumstances began to shift underneath your feet, dizzying you just a little. and you were unfortunately sober. you blinked hard, shaking your head.
“yeah, whatever.” patrick replied to your own thoughts, reading your mind. he must have, there wasn’t another explanation. “i’ll do what you want, though. genuinely.”
you could feel he meant it. it wasn’t an empty promise. you knew he knew you were wondering if it was, and he wanted you to know it wasn’t. he was giving you up as well. when you met him, you thought he was cute, and you were drunk. sometimes you wondered if you had met him sober and didn’t take him home that night, that maybe he’d take you seriously. but that thought had been given up two weeks in, two years ago. it was weird to feel like it never really left as you slowly began to wonder if he meant what you never thought he could mean.
“okay,” you agreed, swallowing hard. he raised his head from his feet. you would give him up, he would give you up. the soft september breeze blew his curls just slightly. his eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them. you always liked his eyelashes, you didn’t think that they’d be even prettier when wet. you could see it in the motel light, the light bounced off of it. it was so weird. “you’re upset.”
“go.”
“patrick.”
“you’re not supposed to give a fuck. i’m begging you not to give a fuck.”
“say what you mean,” you ordered him, wits end. edge of your seat. “fuck, say it!”
“i don’t know what you want me to say!”
“am i just a body to you?”
“no, fuck off.”
“tell me.”
“tell you what?”
you looked him in the eyes, “are you telling me you… fuck, i can’t-“ you couldn’t even say it, you felt so stupid. “fuck, patrick!” both of you couldn’t say it. but it was so familiar, the feeling. the nervousness, the tingling in your limbs, the flip of your stomach. resurfacing, curious, naive.
both of you getting more riled up by the second, you looked anywhere else. you heard him breathe out hard, exasperated. “i don’t think i should say anything.”
“so why?”
he shook his head, “you deserve better.”
“than you?”
“yeah.”
the silence stung your ears. the hair on your arms stood up straight. the air was suddenly hot and thick. and you held onto the door a little tighter.
“patrick, do you want me?”
he pressed his fingers to the side of his chin, turning his body away from you. you watched his hand slide down to the back of his neck. you knew him, he wasn’t dumb, he knew he had to say nothing. if he said something, you might stay. and it was best that you didn’t. the fight wasn’t worth having. “just go.” he replied, not even turning around. he couldn’t look at you.
your heart pulled, a sinking feeling filling your chest. why? this wasn’t attachment, this wasn’t manipulation, this was him. for the first time. him. “okay.” you said. but you stood there, just a moment longer. and he did turn after a moment, eyes locking on yours. you couldn’t really read him. but you didn’t need to. you just wanted to say goodbye properly.
so your hands fell on his shoulders, squeezing gently as they trailed over, up his neck, and to the back of his head as you kissed him slowly, deeply, passionately. there was no lust in this kiss, no urgency, no bed in sight. his hands, the most gentle they’d been without having to fuck first, slipped around your waist. he kissed you back just as softly. there was no hunger. just the chirp of crickets and the whisper of the nearby highway. and you kissed him, pressed against the side of your car. he kissed you the same. you head swam.
this was him. his desire was only to kiss you, his hands travelling up to your jaw as yours trailed down his chest. it was deep, slow, every moment felt. he was the best kisser, it felt a shame to stop kissing. so your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. he smelled like cigarettes and his subtle cologne. it seemed like the most familiar thing in the world. you sighed between kisses.
you wanted this. and you wondered how real it was. how badly did he want you to stay? the truth was, he wanted you to be free from his cycle. he knew he wasn’t supposed to have you. he thought this would have gone differently, planning out an entirely different way to tell you this. but he couldn’t say it anyway. it- the words- hung in the air as you kissed, embraced, and said goodbye all in one. it was bittersweet. and a little bit sad.
because the kiss eventually ended. and you stayed against him. he didn’t want you to know how upsetting it was to wrap his arms around you for the first and hopefully last time in this context. his lips pressed against the top of your head as you stayed that way just a moment longer. and even that moment ended.
you looked at him again. “goodnight, patrick.”
“goodnight, y/n.” he replied. “just fuck off.” but he didn’t mean it. and you drove away. that was it. that was your goodbye. and he didn’t come around again. he kept on tour and started going back home instead of toward you. you kept going to school, graduated. your friends were proud you quit the cycle, but you didn’t tell them about any of what patrick meant. it wasn’t romance, it wasn’t going to be.
you missed him sometimes. and four years passed as you missed him occasionally. friends came and went. you dated two guys since then, terrible in bed and horrible in general. you missed him after having to fake your last orgasm with the guy you were seeing. you had a job now, an apartment, a solid group of friends. things were good.
you were grocery shopping when you ran into him again. a cheap little shop that had the best chip selection and most essential items. you thought maybe it was someone else, but it was him, in a sweater and jeans, holding a stack of ramen bricks. and your heart skipped a beat, like you were four years younger and he still gave you butterflies. and you were about to move, to start to think of what to do, when he turned around and looked up to see you. he turned his head away, then back at you, doing his own double-take.
his eyes, just a little wide locked onto yours. so you smiled, a little smug at his reaction. you walked over with a slight sway. he continued to look bewildered. he looked four years older. and he thought you looked gorgeous. “hi.” you said, keeping that smile.
“hey.” he responded, blinking once. “how are you?”
“i’m okay,” you replied. “how are you?”
“i’m fine.” he swallowed again, as if nervous. “are you stopping by or are you local?”
“local, why? are you local?” you asked.
“yeah, i live a block away.” he said. “just moved.”
you stared at each other for a second more, analyzing features, thinking back… and you nodded, holding your carton of raspberries. “are you free tonight?” you smiled.
“uh- yeah, think so,” he replied. still shocked.
“would you maybe want to get a drink?”
“i would, yeah,”
you nodded again, rocking on your heels, “perfect. see you then.” your heart was beating a mile a minute. it was him, he was here, he lived here… and you’d just asked him to get a drink. but you weren’t nervous. just… excited. something in you knew more. he was different, he had changed, he carried himself differently. and you were trusting it. the past was the past. and there was a reason you ran into each other.
when you got home, you texted him. and it was a leap of faith to hope he had the same number. you relied on it. because even after all the time had passed, you never actually blocked his number. you couldn’t.
and the address to the bar delivered immediately, meaning… he hadn’t deleted yours either. all these years. you grinned a little as you read his response.
‘its a date’.
cocky. presumptuous. horrible. terrifying. exciting.
a/n: omg first fic on this account. thought maybe this was a fun place to start off. also, i might consider a second part to this fic.let me know if you want IN on the taglist. requests open!
#art donaldson#challengers#challengers fic#patrick zweig#challengers x reader#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig angst#patrick zweig fic#patrick zweig hurt/comfort#pat zweig#p.zweig#challengers angst#challengers movie
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Chasing Time, Finding Us
Alexia Putellas x Reader
It felt like you were living in parallel worlds. Your work projects were relentless, stretching your days into late nights. For Alexia, football consumed her time—matches, training, and travel kept her constantly on the go. The rare moments you shared had become fleeting, filled with rushed conversations and tired smiles. Though you tried not to let it show, a quiet fear gnawed at you. Were you slowly losing each other to the demands of your busy lives?
And, though she never said it outright, you could see it in her eyes that Alexia felt it too.
Then, on a rare afternoon when she wasn’t at practice and you weren’t glued to your laptop, Alexia surprised you.
“Next Saturday,” she said, her voice firm yet tender, “you and I are taking a day for us. No work, no football, no distractions.”
You glanced at her, startled by the sudden declaration. “A whole day?”
“Yes,” she said, her lips curving into a soft smile. “I’m planning everything. All you have to do is show up.”
The tension in your shoulders eased at her words. You didn’t realize how much you needed this until she offered it. “You’re serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious,” she said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “We need this, cariño. I need this.”
---
The week leading up to Saturday was both a blur and a buzz of anticipation. You tried more than once to get Alexia to reveal her plans, but she was steadfast in her secrecy.
“It’s a surprise,” she’d say with an amused smirk, dodging your questions effortlessly. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
And so, you waited, your excitement building with each passing day.
Finally, Saturday arrived. Alexia picked you up early in the morning, dressed casually in a fitted white tee and light jeans that somehow made her look effortlessly stunning. She had that mischievous glint in her eye, the one that always made your heart skip a beat.
“You ready?” she asked as you climbed into the car.
“For whatever you have planned? Always,” you replied, trying to sound confident, though your curiosity was eating at you.
She laughed at your thinly veiled attempts to figure out the destination, brushing off your questions with a shake of her head. “Patience, amor. You’ll see soon enough.”
---
The first stop was a quaint cafe tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place you’d never have found on your own. The smell of fresh pastries and brewing coffee welcomed you as you walked inside. The two of you picked a cozy corner table, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the weight of your busy lives begin to lift.
Over breakfast, you talked about everything and nothing. Alexia shared stories about her teammates that made you laugh until your stomach hurt, and you told her about your latest work project, her eyes lighting up with pride at your achievements.
“I miss this,” you admitted softly, stirring your coffee.
Alexia reached across the table, her hand covering yours. “I know. That’s why we’re here—to remember how much we mean to each other.”
Her words stayed with you as she led you back to the car, her hand never letting go of yours.
---
The next destination was the beach. As you approached the shoreline, your jaw dropped at the sight of the clear blue waves and the golden sand stretching endlessly before you. Alexia had thought of everything—her car was packed with towels, sunscreen, snacks, and even a volleyball.
“Did you bring the entire apartment?” you joked as she unloaded the supplies.
“Only the essentials,” she quipped, tossing you a bottle of water with a wink.
“You thought of everything,” you said, your voice filled with awe.
“I told you,” she replied with a wink. “I don’t do things halfway.”
The day unfolded like a dream. You played volleyball, your laughter ringing out as you both competed fiercely—though you suspected Alexia let you win a few points.
Next, you switched to football. Watching Alexia with a ball at her feet was mesmerizing—she was in her element, her movements fluid and precise. But even as she showcased her skills, she never stopped teasing you, giving you just enough room to score a goal.
“Not bad,” she said with mock seriousness when you managed to slip the ball past her.
“Not bad? That was a perfect goal!” you shot back, earning a grin from her.
---
When the sun reached its peak, you both retreated to the cool ocean waves. The water was refreshing, and it wasn’t long before you were splashing Alexia, your laughter echoing across the beach.
“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” she said, lunging toward you with a playful grin.
You tried to escape, but she was too quick, wrapping her arms around you and lifting you off your feet.
“Lex!” you squealed, laughing uncontrollably as she spun you around.
She set you down gently, her hands lingering on your waist. Her gaze softened, and in that moment, the world seemed to pause.
“I love you,” she said, her voice steady and full of emotion.
You smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. “I love you too.”
---
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found yourselves lying on a blanket Alexia had spread out on the sand. You leaned against her, her arms securely wrapped around you.
“This is perfect,” you whispered, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
“You deserve perfect,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.
But the day wasn’t over yet. As night fell, Alexia led you to a secluded spot further down the beach. String lights twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow over a small table set with dinner. The sight left you speechless.
“When did you even set this up?” you asked, looking around in awe.
“A magician never reveals her secrets,” she said with a grin, pulling out a chair for you.
Dinner was simple but delicious, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. Afterward, Alexia took your hand, pulling you to your feet.
“Dance with me?” she asked softly.
There was no music except the gentle sound of the waves, but it didn’t matter. You swayed together under the string lights, her arms holding you close.
“You really thought of everything,” you said, your voice tinged with awe.
“I just wanted to make you happy,” she replied, her eyes locking with yours. “We’ve been so busy, and I needed to remind you that no matter how crazy life gets, you’ll always be my priority.”
Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but they were tears of joy. You leaned up to kiss her, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the gesture.
---
As the night wore on, you lay together under the stars, her arms wrapped securely around you. The day had been everything you needed and more—a reminder of the bond that held you together, even when life tried to pull you apart.
In the quiet of the night, with Alexia’s steady heartbeat beneath your ear, you felt a deep sense of peace. This was love, you realized—not just the grand gestures, but the quiet, unwavering commitment to making time for each other, no matter what.
And as you drifted off to sleep in her arms, you knew one thing for certain: no matter how busy life got, you and Alexia would always find your way back to each other.
#alexia putellas x reader#woso community#woso#woso fics#barca femeni#woso x reader#alexia putellas fanfic#alexia x reader
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Family's bad day
And to start 2025, a bit of Alfie Solomons and his wife !
It could happen that Y/N and Alfie didn't see each other for a whole day.
The King of Candem would get up very early, kissing his still sleeping wife goodbye before going for an important meeting, leaving her the choice of what she wanted to do, between staying at home, going to see her family, taking care of the Bakery or whatever came to her mind.
Most of the time, she found a way to do all that and more. When she arrived at the Barkery and Alfie was there too, they didn't spend their time stuck together either, too busy checking that the work was done well.
That day, Y/N had arrived late in the afternoon. As soon as she had passed through the door, Ollie had told her that Mr. Solomons was no longer there. He had complained about his back, saying that he was tired, and he had gone home.
Nothing alarming. He had been running around town for weeks to extinguish his territory and get new clients, he had to pay the price at some point.
The first thing that told her there was a problem was when she walked in and Cyril wasn't waiting for her.
No, the poor dog was in the living room, lying at the foot of the chair, right next to his master. When he saw her, Cyril stared at her with hopeful eyes, because he didn't know what to do anymore to handle the situation.
For his part, Alfie didn't move from the chair. Y/N couldn't see his face because his back was to her, facing the wall, but she guessed he wasn't sleeping. When Alfie slept, he always had his head stuck to the seat, snoring lightly.
She took a deep breath.
After the war, she had seen Arthur, Thomas and John in this state, like many other men. Empty, lost eyes. Silence during the day, turning into screams during the night.
They didn't talk about it, none of them, and Alfie was no exception. He had been a captain of a unit, that was the only thing she knew. Even though there was a lot of tension between him and her family, he respected the elder Shelbys for what they had been through there. All soldiers were brothers.
Slowly, Y/N put down her bag and jacket, before calmly approaching her husband. She stood at first, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Hello, Alfie. Would you like a cup of tea ?"
No answer. As if she wasn't there, he remained frozen in the chair, muscles tense, wild eyes staring at the wall where there was nothing hanging.
"Ollie told me you were tired. Don't you want to go to bed and rest a little ? Maybe that would help."
It wouldn't help, she knew. The nightmares would disturb his night, preventing him from sleeping or on the contrary drawing him into abysses even darker than the one he found himself in now.
Still calm and gentle, she sat on his legs, caressing his cheek, then his hair, before kissing him on the forehead.
"I can call Ollie. You've been working a lot lately. We could take a few days together. To the sea, perhaps ? What do you think ? The sun, the sand, the salty air, walking on the coast. You like that."
Even if he didn't answer, the decision was already made for her. They would go to the sea. They would go far from all this, to a peaceful place, so that Alfie could think about something else, or nothing.
They would go for a walk, then they would stay in the room, where she would make him forget the rest of the world, until he would only say her name like a prayer. It wouldn't be the first time, their honeymoon had been magical.
But it would only last a moment. Because the war would still be there, she could never do anything about it. A part of him had stayed in France.
Tenderly, she continued to rub his head, clinging to him.
"I love you, Alfie."
"Why ?"
The question could have annoyed her, but at that moment she was only relieved to have a reaction, that he came back to her.
Letting him see her smile, her hands not leaving his face, she moved back slightly so that they could look at each other.
Serious and tired, at least he was no longer staring at the wall.
"We've had this talk before, I think. When I thought I wasn't good enough for you."
"You're perfect." he whined, his arms moving to wrap around her waist. "Every time I wake up and see you sleeping next to me, I wonder if I'm dreaming or if I died in the trenches. Even though I don't deserve to go to heaven."
"Shh. You're home, Alfie. And you're a wonderful husband."
"Why ?" he insisted.
"Let's not lie, you've done horrible, horrible things. But you're still a good man, a man of honor. You don't hurt the weak, women, children. You take care of your own, you try to keep your commitments to your partners, when it's possible and advantageous. You're funny, sometimes, smarter than you want to show, and you make me very happy."
Alfie didn't seem completely convinced, as always, but he listened carefully to her answer, shaking his head, accepting it because Y/N never lied to him. She hid things, but she didn't lie.
He let her cuddle him a little longer, before she decided to take him by the hand and lead him to the bedroom. Like a child, he let her undress him and put him to bed, lying down next to her.
Silence returned, which could have been a good thing, but upon checking, Alfie still had his eyes open, now looking at the ceiling with great interest, even if his fingers were carelessly playing with her hair.
"Stay with me, please."
"Nothing will ever separate us, love. I will be lost, and the world with me, if you were torn from me. And if you decided to leave, struck by a surge of lucidity, then I will be alone to sink."
"I don't like seeing you like this. I don't like not being able to help you."
Again, his attention returned to her, his bright gaze piercing her soul to fill it with love, respect and insanity.
"Treacle, I would be drunk in my office or in an alley, screaming to death, hitting someone or falling asleep in my vomit, if you didn't help me."
"At least you would look a bit alive, ready to fight. Your desperate look touches me."
"Well, sorry."
"No, that's not what I meant. It's not your fault. I'm just helpless. This damn war… It took so many lives, and even after it's over it continues. It's unfair."
With his deep voice, Alfie let out a thoughtful grunt, nodding slightly. It had been several years now, and yet the feeling was still there, anchored in all the veterans.
Some had come to terms with it, but most were still fighting against these demons.
If he hadn't met Y/N, Alfie Solomons could have succumbed to it. He would have made a lot of bad decisions, without a doubt, especially concerning the Shelbys. It would have probably earned him a bullet in the head at one point or another.
For a time, he could have voluntarily sought this way out, when a doctor had detected something strange in his cough, talking about cancer. His sweet wife had held his hand, asking all the questions he didn't dare ask, demanding treatment.
He hadn't died on the front, he had finally found happiness, and a race between two trenches, passing through smoke, was going to ruin everything.
He had thought about putting a gun in his mouth to end it quickly, saving his dear wife from having to deal with him. He had also thought about annoying the Shelby brothers one last time, so that Thomas or Arthur would solve the problem.
But Y/N would have been sad. He couldn't bear the idea of making her sad, even to make her life easier.
In addition to the few medicines he had obtained, Y/N had consulted her aunt and the other witches in her family, while forcing him to go for walks to the sea with her more and more often.
So, they had passed Margate. Alfie had already seen the place once, he had thought it was beautiful, that it would be good to end his days there, and now he thought about it quite often.
Especially since his miraculous recovery. The doctor couldn't believe it, refusing to admit that he could have made a misdiagnosis, like the fact that it was possible that the Romani methods could have worked.
But this episode had awakened something. Every night, Alfie was with his men, preparing the assault, ready to die on the battlefield. He felt the gas enter him, insinuating itself into his organs, until the bomb exploded near him, partially disfiguring him.
Then he woke up, and the first thing he saw was Y/N, peacefully sleeping against him. A dream vision. An impossibility, an aberration. A woman like her, with a bastard like him.
Her brothers had told him that it was absurd to marry this madman. All her family, her friends, and even Alfie's own relatives, who were intelligent enough to see that she was too good for him.
However, Tommy and the others had ended up accepting him. Almost finding him suitable even. They must have lost their minds. Especially Arthur.
"Alfie ?"
"Yes, treacle ?"
"I love you." she said again with force and conviction, placing a soft kiss near his mouth.
"I love you too, more than anything. Don't worry about lil old me. Ollie's right, I just need some rest, I'm not sleeping well at the moment."
"I'll ask Polly for some herbal tea."
Alfie would rant as he smelled the brew, cursing her aunt and saying she was going to poison or drug him. But he would eventually drink the cup Y/N handed him, knowing that it would help, plus the fact that his wife was there to watch over him, ready to defend him against the world, and against himself.
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