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burningembers91 · 2 months ago

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The Beauty of Vulnerability - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up Piece to: Not Who I Want to Be

Synopsis: Thanos is ready to show who he really is

Warnings: Alcohol and drug misuse/addiction, p in v, oral, 18+ only!

Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times before you finally picked it up. Thanos had sent you a selfie of him posing on his balcony, the Seoul skyline in the background. He had his usual goofy expression on his face, his tattoos visible on his shirtless body. He’d followed the selfie up with several emojis and a plea to join him on his balcony. You couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but zoom in on his abs visible in the lower lefthand corner of the screen. It had been six weeks since your meeting in the nightclub, and as much as you’d tried to resist, he’d charmed his way into your life.

Thanos was unlike anyone you’d ever met. He was so vibrant, so full of life and yet so broken. His eyes were filled with such sadness, a sadness that never quite went away no matter how hard he laughed, or how many jokes he told. He was the classic class clown, always striving to make you laugh. You hadn’t believed him when he told you he was a famous rapper, not until you’d Googled him the next day. Your friends didn’t believe you’d met him either, not until you showed them the message you’d sent him. you’d listened to his music, and although it wasn’t entirely to your taste, there was no denying the man had talent.

You’d met a few times since then, mostly at Thanos’ apartment. You’d once made the mistake of heading to a restaurant for dinner and spent the entire time fighting off screaming girls armed with iPhones and killer glares in your direction. You hadn’t quite got a feel of who this man was, didn’t quite understand what made him tick. He was a wildcard, but there was an underlying sweetness about him.

While you were reserved with your feelings, Thanos was head over heels for you. You gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, gave him purpose on days that without you would have been filled with drugs and booze. He hadn’t quite managed to quit the narcotics, but a lifetime habit was hard to break. But you’d inspired him to write music again, had given him an entirely new lease on life. The day after he’d met you, he spent all day messaging you on Instagram. The next day, he removed the parasites from his apartment, the ones who only came round when they wanted to party, take drugs or cling to his coattails. He deep cleaned his apartment, tipping bottles of booze and pills down the toilet. He sat at his piano for the first time in years, penning a song that was so different to anything he’d written before. The music seemed to flow through him, the words coming so naturally. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written something sober, the melody overwhelming him until he was reduced to tears. He’d spent so long pretending to be someone else, it was nice to have a piece of the real him shine through.

He understood you wanted to take things slow, and he’d be a fool to rush into this headfirst. That had always been his mistake. Thanos usually acted first and thought later, but he didn’t want to fuck up whatever this was that he had with you. There were a few times when he slipped back into his old habits, taking a pill when the world got a little too much, drinking himself to sleep when his racing thoughts wouldn’t let him rest. He hadn’t told you about his addictions, but you knew.

You saw it in his eyes, saw the ways his hands shook when he was starting to withdraw. You’d seen friends addicted in the past, and it hadn’t ended well. That’s why you were taking things slow; you were waiting for the moment Thanos would inevitably break your heart. Your head screamed at you to leave, but your heart told you this man was worth fighting for.

You joined him later that evening on his balcony, just as the sky turned candy floss pink as the sun began to set. He handed you a glass of champagne worth more than your monthly salary, kissing you softly on your cheek. His days were long and lonely without you, counting down the hours until he saw you again. You were the anchor that kept him grounded to the world, the woman who stopped him from floating away into the clouds. His fingernails were painted black today, the colour matching the thickly tattooed line that snaked from his middle finger to his neck. you liked to trace that line, smiling as he shivered against you. you hadn’t slept together yet, but every day you found it harder to find a reason not to. His lips skimmed your cheek again, making their way down to your lips. Thanos loved kissing you, loved the way your lips felt against his. You were impossibly soft, your tongue meeting his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the glass of expensive champagne long forgotten.

“I wrote a song for you,” he whispered, playing with them hem of your skirt. “Can I play it for you?” You nodded, tilting your head back as his lips continued to kiss you, trailing across your jawline and down your neck. He was so crazy about you, so head over heels he felt like he might go insane. You made his entire body tingle, from his scalp to his toes, and he found himself constantly getting lost in your eyes.

Pulling you from the comfort of his outdoor sofa, he led you to his music room, offering you a seat on his plush leather stool. He sat at his piano, nerves wracking his body as he took a deep breath. Usually, he’d pop a pill to calm his nerves, or down a few shots of tequila. But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to sit with those nerves, to show his vulnerability to you in a way he’d never shown anyone. As he began to play, his voice singing in perfect harmony with the notes, you watched in silence. Every inch of you was covered in goosebumps, the tune on the piano so beautifully encompassing his feelings towards you. Never had a man treated you the way Thanos had; he made you feel like a Goddess.

When the song was over, Thanos stayed at the piano, his bottom lip trembling. You watched him for a few moments, your heart aching as a lifetime of emotions bubbled to the surface. He was so tired of being someone he wasn’t, of surrounding himself with people who didn’t give a shit about him. Until 6 weeks ago, he had no one to call when he was lonely, no one to hug him when he was feeling sad. He’d had no one to turn to when the world got dark, but you were here now. Sitting across from him, your eyes brimming with tears, he didn’t know how to convey his feelings towards you other than through song.

Nothing about him was real; nothing was authentically him. His name wasn’t even real; he’d modelled it on a fucking purple CGI villain. A single tear fell from his eye, landing on the ivory keys with a splatter. A deep, wracking sob escaped him and his closed his eyes as he felt the darkness closing in. He longed for a release, longed to feel the numbness that came with the pills he popped like candy.

Your arms encircled him, pulling his shaking body into yours. You stood there for a while, stroking his shock of purple hair while he sobbed into your chest. He’d never cried in front of a woman before, had never shown any emotion other than unabashed confidence. “My name isn’t even Thanos,” he choked after a while. “I know,” you smiled, “I doubted your parents named you after a Marvel villain.” You wiped his tears away with the pad of your thumb, placing a soft kiss on each of his eyelids. He looked so fragile, so broken as his head slumped against your breasts, his body still shaking with the occasional sob. “What is your name?” He looked up at you. He hadn’t said he real name for years; Thanos had become his brand, the crutch he used almost as much as the drugs and alcohol. “Choi Su-Bong,” he whispered. “My name is Choi Su-Bong.”

You kissed him, pulling him down onto the soft carpet of his music room floor. “Choi Su-Bong,” you smiled, “My Choi Su-Bong.” He made love to you right there on the floor, the sounds of your moans melting into the sound-proof walls. Su-Bong had never felt like this with anyone before. He was usually completely numb when he fucked someone, if he remembered fucking them at all. But with you, he was sober, perhaps for the first time in his life. He felt every touch, every thrust so deeply. He let you take charge, straddling him as you lowered yourself onto him. Your fingers traced his abs, the sensation overwhelming him as your nails dragged gently across his skin, tracing the tattoos that littered his torso and chest. He’d never known something could feel this good, had never realised that your entire body could feel like it was on fire in the best way possible. He was desperate to touch every inch of you, to feel every part of your exposed skin. He guided your chest towards his mouth, his lips locking around your sensitive nipple as he took it gently between his teeth. Your moans were heavenly, more beautiful than any song he’d ever heard. He came with an earth-shattering groan, his fingers gripping the skin on your thighs as he finished inside of you. He carried you to his room after, laying you down on his silk sheets before drawing out your pleasure again and again. Your body shook for him, your breathy moans spurring him on. You tasted like heaven, your slickness coating his mouth and tongue as he devoured you again and again.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, waking up as the sun broke over the horizon. Thanos was gone, but Choi Su-Bong had replaced him. His arms cradled you as you watched the sun rise, his lips peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck. Finally rousing from bed, he padded through to the kitchen. He was no chef, but last night had worked up quite the appetite. He ordered breakfast from a local café, spreading out the food across his expansive kitchen. He wasn’t sure what your favourite was, so he ordered one of everything. You sat and ate together, smiling at each other over your coffee mugs.

There would be hard days ahead, but Choi Su-Bong was determined to start fresh. New music, new friends, a new perspective. He’d never had anything in life that made him want to be a better person. But now he had you, and you were worth fighting for.

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #thanos x reader #thanos squid game #squid game thanos #squid game smut #squid game fanfic #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong #squid game x you

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little-jana · 2 months ago

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"Unspoken Understanding"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: reader is deaf, insecurities, minor talk of work discrimination, use of y/n

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Spencer learns something new about the the reader and his reaction is not what you expected.

Request: @lucreziaq2001 - Hope you like it 🧡

It had been a long case in Seattle — one that left everyone on edge and emotionally drained. But at least now it was over, and the team had decided to decompress together before heading to the airport. The cozy restaurant Derek picked was warm and lively, with the smell of freshly baked bread and the low hum of conversation filling the air. You were sitting next to Spencer in the booth, his shoulder just brushing yours, as the team unwound around you.

Over the past few months, you and Spencer had grown close. It had started with quiet conversations in the bullpen, him recommending books and you teasing him about his endless trivia. Gradually, coffee dates turned into real dates, and now there was something unspoken between the two of you — a tender connection neither of you had defined yet but that you both knew was there.

You watched him now, the way his hands gestured as he explained something to Emily and JJ about probability theory. His passion always made you smile. But your focus was broken by the vibration of your phone on the table.

You glanced down at the screen, your expression shifting when you saw the name. It was someone from home — someone you couldn’t ignore.

“Sorry,” you murmured, leaning toward Spencer briefly. “I have to take this. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Of course,” he said, his eyes soft as he watched you leave.

You slipped outside, the cool evening air hitting your face as you found a quiet corner near the entrance. With practiced ease, you answered the call and began signing. The conversation flowed smoothly, your hands moving quickly and gracefully to convey your thoughts. It was a short call — less than five minutes — but when you hung up, you sighed softly, glancing up at the stars to clear your mind before heading back inside.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had seen the entire exchange. He’d excused himself to grab a glass of water, and through the large front windows of the restaurant, he’d caught sight of you outside. At first, he’d just smiled, watching you pace as you spoke. But then his expression shifted when he realized you weren’t speaking. You were signing.

He stopped in his tracks, his mind racing as he watched you. The grace and fluidity of your movements were unmistakable. You were fluent.

Pieces of the puzzle began falling into place. The slight delays in your responses during conversations. The way you always angled yourself to face whoever was speaking. The way your gaze lingered on people’s lips.

Spencer’s breath caught. You were deaf.

It wasn’t something you’d ever mentioned — not in the months you’d worked together, not on any of your dates. And now, watching you, he realized why. You’d hidden it. But why? His chest tightened as he thought of all the possible reasons.

When you came back inside and slid into the booth beside him, you gave him a small smile.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice warm and gentle.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing it off. “Just a quick call.”

He nodded, but his mind was still swirling with questions. He didn’t ask any of them, though, not yet. Instead, he silently vowed to approach this with care.

---

A few days later, Spencer he spoke to you at work.

“Hey,” he said uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Hey,” you replied, curious about the look on his face.

“I was wondering,” he began, “if you’d like to grab coffee this weekend. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Your stomach tightened at this. “Sure,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad,” he said quickly, as if sensing your nerves. “I promise.”

“Okay,” you said, relaxing slightly. “Saturday work?”

“Perfect,” he said.

When Saturday arrived, you found yourself feeling inexplicably anxious. Spencer had never made you feel anything less than safe, but the way he’d spoken had left you wondering if something had shifted.

The café he chose seemed quiet and cozy, with large windows that let in the morning light. He was already there when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with a cup of tea in front of him. He stood when he saw you, smiling warmly.

“Hey,” he said, pulling out your chair for you.

“Hey,” you replied, sitting down and setting your bag on the floor.

For a while, you made small talk, discussing books and work and everything in between. But you could tell he was working up to something, his hands fidgeting slightly with his cup. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“I saw you the other night,” he said.

You blinked, confused. “Saw me?”

“At the restaurant,” he clarified. “When you were on your call outside.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I saw you signing,” he said gently.

You froze, your hands tightening around your cup.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re deaf,” he said, not as a question but as a statement of understanding.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I am. Since I was a kid.”

He didn’t say anything, and you rushed to fill the silence, your words tumbling out in a rush.

“I didn’t tell anyone at work because I didn’t want it to affect how people saw me,” you said. “I can read lips, and my hearing aids help enough that most people don’t notice. But I’ve seen how some people treat disabilities, and I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t do my job. I just... I didn’t want to take that risk.”

Spencer reached out, covering your hand with his. The simple gesture made you pause, your breath hitching.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady. “You don’t have to explain. And you don’t have to hide this. Not from me. Not from anyone.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, and you quickly blinked them away.

“You don’t think it’s a liability?” you asked, your voice small.

He shook his head firmly. “No. If anything, it makes me admire you even more. You’ve been doing one of the hardest jobs in the world, and you’ve done it so well that none of us even realized. That’s... incredible.”

Your chest ached with relief and gratitude, and for the first time, you felt like you could breathe.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

---

A week later, Spencer appeared at your desk, looking unusually nervous.

“Hey,” he said, rocking slightly on his heels. “Can I show you something?”

“Of course,” you said, tilting your head curiously.

He took a deep breath, then lifted his hands.

“Hello," he signed, his movements a little stiff but unmistakable. "How are you?"

Your eyes widened, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“You’re learning ASL?” you asked, your voice filled with disbelief.

He nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’ve been practicing,” he admitted. “I wanted to be able to talk to you in a way that’s comfortable for you.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, that it left you completely overwhelmed.

“Spence,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “Because I care about you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and all you could do was smile, your heart so full it felt like it might burst.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

He smiled back, his hand brushing against yours in a quiet promise. And in that moment, you knew you didn’t have to hide anymore — not from him, not from anyone.

Because Spencer Reid had seen you, truly seen you, and he cared.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #deafawareness #deafreader #deaf!reader

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paddockletters · 5 months ago

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unspoken | jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x reader request: yes /can you please write something about the reader being from italy and finding it hard to pronounce many english word, and shes out with jude and people they’re with start making snarky comments. like they are all making fun of her accent and at first she acts like she’s fine but then jude realises she is quieter than usual and jude just comforts her pls author’s note: thank you so muchhh for the request! hope you liked it! 👀

It was a warm evening, the kind where the air buzzed with energy, and we found ourselves sitting around a table with some of Jude’s friends, laughing and chatting over dinner. I hadn’t met all of them before, but Jude made sure I felt included, keeping me close with his arm draped casually over my chair.

The night was going well, everyone swapping stories and jokes, the conversation flowing easily—until it didn’t.

Someone cracked a joke, and I tried to jump in, tossing a comment that made sense in my head. But the words stumbled out, my accent thick on my tongue. I saw one of the girls across the table glance at her friend, stifling a laugh.

"Sorry, what did you say?" she asked, her smile a little too sharp.

I repeated myself, slower this time, making sure I was saying it right. The sound of my voice, though, felt wrong—like I was standing out in a way I didn’t want to.

“That’s adorable,” one of the guys chimed in with a chuckle. “Your accent really does all the talking, doesn’t it?”

There was a round of light laughs, and I forced a smile, even though it felt like I’d been slapped.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I muttered, trying to laugh it off.

The conversation shifted, but the feeling lingered. Every time I opened my mouth after that, I could hear the way the words didn’t quite fit, like puzzle pieces forced into the wrong spots. And every once in a while, one of them would make another subtle remark, like they were amused by the way I spoke.

Jude was talking to one of his teammates, his hand still resting on the back of my chair. He hadn’t seemed to notice yet. I didn’t want to make a scene, so I played along, acting like the jokes didn’t bother me. But they did. Each one chipped away at the confidence I’d built up, leaving me quieter than usual, sinking into myself.

I stared at my glass, swirling the drink around, nodding along when I was supposed to, but feeling like I wasn’t really there.

It wasn’t until we left the restaurant, walking towards the car, that Jude seemed to pick up on it. He slid his hand into mine, glancing down at me.

“You alright, love? You’ve been quiet tonight.”

I shrugged, hoping he wouldn’t press further. “Just tired.”

He didn’t buy it. Jude stopped walking, gently pulling me aside so we weren’t within earshot of the others.

“No, something’s up. You’re not yourself.”

His eyes searched mine, concern etched on his face. It was one of the things I loved about him—how he always paid attention, even when I tried to hide things.

“It’s nothing, really. Just… they kept making fun of my accent.” I forced a smile, but my voice cracked. “It’s not a big deal.” I sighed, my shoulders slumping.

“Who?” Jude’s expression hardened.

“It’s fine, Jude. They didn’t mean it like that. It was just jokes.” I shook my head quickly.

“They upset you,” he said simply, his jaw clenched now. “That’s not okay.”

"I just… I try so hard. I know I don’t sound like everyone else, and I don’t want to embarrass you—” I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure, but the frustration bubbled up.

“You think you embarrass me?” He cut me off, his voice gentle but firm. His hands came up to cradle my face, forcing me to look at him. “Babe, you could never embarrass me. I love everything about you, including the way you speak.”

I felt my eyes sting with tears, the weight of the evening pressing down on me.

“It’s just hard. I don’t want people to think I’m stupid because I can’t say things the right way.”

Jude’s thumb brushed a tear from my cheek before it could fall.

“You’re not stupid, and I don’t care what anyone thinks. Your accent is beautiful. You don’t have to change for anyone.”

“Thank you.” I let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch.

"Next time someone makes a comment, you tell me. I don’t care if it’s a joke—they don’t get to make you feel like that.” He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

I smiled up at him, feeling a little lighter.

“You’re not going to punch anyone, are you?”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Only if they deserve it.”

We both laughed softly, the tension melting away as we walked back to the car, hand in hand.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham blurbs #football blurb #football imagines #football imagine #footballer imagine

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f1girliefics · 2 months ago

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Breaking News: A Love Beyond the Circuit

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Assigned to cover the Formula 1 season, you formed a friendly connection with Lando Norris through interviews and conversations. As the season continued, those friendly moments grew into something deeper.

The lights of the city distracted you as you closed your laptop, wrapping up another long day.

Covering the Formula 1 season was thrilling but exhausting at the same time.

Especially when it came to following the drivers, capturing their stories, and writing pieces that drew readers into the high-speed world of racing. Lando Norris has become one of your most frequent interviewees.

Not just because of his impressive skills on the track but because of his approachable, easy-going nature.

It also helped that the fans loved him.

Every conversation with him left you feeling lighter like you were speaking to an old friend rather than one of the sport’s brightest stars.

Your first interview with him was memorable.

He'd cracked jokes mid-answer, making you laugh despite your nervousness.

Over time, those interviews turned into casual chats in the paddock, he often brought you coffee or tea.

You couldn’t deny there was something special about him, but you kept things professional, convincing yourself it was just part of the job.

You tried your best to protect yourself.

That night, after the Monaco Grand Prix, Lando sent you a message: Dinner? No interviews. Just food and good company. I'm kinda lonely, Oscar is with his Miss.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Was this crossing a line? Probably.

But curiosity got the better of you.

Sure, you typed back. Where?

An hour later, you found yourself sitting across from him at a quiet restaurant hidden away from the busy streets.

The atmosphere was cosy yet still elegant.

Lando looked relaxed, a rare sight given the pressure he was usually under during race weekends.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence as you both waited for your dinners, “it’s nice to be around someone who doesn’t just see me as 'Lando Norris the F1 driver.'”

You tilted your head, surprised by his admission.

“Well, you’re more than that. You’re... Lando Norris, the guy who can make anyone laugh with a ridiculous joke.” He chuckled, his eyes meeting yours as they made your heart skip a beat.

“And you’re the only journalist who hasn’t tried to twist my words into some dramatic headline.” he said just as the waiter arrived.

The conversation flowed easily after that, weaving through topics of racing, travel, and life outside the circuit.

By the time dessert arrived, it felt less like a dinner with someone you were covering for work and more like a date.

“I have a confession,” Lando said, his voice quieter now. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers running around the edge of his glass. “I didn’t ask you to dinner just because I wanted to hang out. I like you. More than I probably should. I know your job makes this complicated, but... I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your heart stopped beating.

“Lando... I’ve liked you too. I just didn’t think it was... possible. You’re you, and I’m just—”

“Someone who sees me for who I really am,” he interrupted gently. “And that means more to me than you can ever imagine.”

By the time he walked you back to your hotel, your heart felt full.

At the door, he hesitated, his usual confidence replaced by a quiet uncertainty.

“Can I see you again? Not as a journalist, but... as a date?”

“I’d like that.” you offered him a smile.

And as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, you knew that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary.

A story not for headlines, but for your hearts.

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gpcwsl · 1 month ago

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Leah Williamson x Waitress!Reader

- Hard to focus -

MasterList

Warnings: kissing?

It’s a typical Friday night, and the restaurant is buzzing with activity. You’re weaving through tables with practiced ease, balancing plates and drinks, when you hear the loud laughter of a group that’s just been seated in your section.

As you approach their table, you immediately recognize them. Arsenal Women’s team. Leah Williamson sits near the middle, her blonde hair loosely tied back, her smile lighting up the entire room.

You swallow the slight nerves creeping in and put on your best professional smile. “Good evening! Can I get you all started with some drinks?”

The group turns their attention to you, tossing out orders and banter as you jot everything down. Leah is quiet, her gaze fixed on you as you write. When you glance up, her blue eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the table disappears.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment. “I’ll be back with your drinks,” you say, giving a polite nod before walking off.

As the night goes on, you can’t help but notice Leah’s eyes following you every time you pass by. She’s subtle—her teammates are far more obvious. Beth Mead nudges her, whispering something that makes Leah roll her eyes and mutter a response.

When you return to their table with their food, the teasing starts.

“So,” Beth says, leaning forward with a grin, “do you always get this quiet around attractive waitresses, Leah?”

“Beth,” Leah warns, shooting her a sharp look, though her cheeks flush slightly.

You smile politely, pretending you didn’t hear, but your heart races a little faster. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” you ask, addressing the group.

“Actually,” Katie McCabe cuts in, her grin just as mischievous as Beth’s, “do you have a name? For, you know, great customer service purposes.”

You give them your name with a small laugh, feeling the weight of Leah’s stare.

The rest of the meal is a blur of stolen glances and light teasing from Leah’s friends. By the time you bring the check, Leah is the one to take it, her hand brushing against yours as she does.

“Thanks for putting up with them,” she says softly, her smile more reserved but just as captivating.

“It’s no problem,” you reply, feeling warmth creep into your cheeks.

As the team gathers their things and heads out, Leah lingers behind for a moment. “You work here often?” she asks, her tone casual but her eyes giving her away.

“Yeah, most weekends,” you say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Leah nods, hesitating for just a second before pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling something down. She slides it toward you.

“If you ever feel like getting dinner instead of serving it,” she says with a small smirk, “give me a call.”

You glance down at the paper—a phone number. When you look back up, Leah’s already walking out the door, her teammates grinning and giving her a hard time as they leave.

You can’t help but smile, tucking the note into your pocket.

You finish your shift that night with a lingering smile, Leah’s number burning a hole in your pocket. By the time you clock out, the restaurant is quiet, and you finally have a moment to replay the evening in your mind. Her smirk, the way her gaze seemed to follow you, the way she lingered just a little longer than she needed to.

When you get home, you stare at the piece of paper for what feels like forever before finally picking up your phone. You type out a simple message, hesitating before hitting send.

You: Hi, Leah. This is the waitress from tonight. Hope I’m not texting too late.

To your surprise, the response is almost immediate.

Leah: Not at all. I was hoping you’d text.

You feel a flutter in your chest, and before you know it, the conversation flows effortlessly. Leah is charming, funny, and easy to talk to. She asks about your job, your interests, and even jokes about her teammates embarrassing her.

Leah: They’ll never let me live it down, by the way. Beth and Katie have been on my case since we left.

You: I could tell. They seemed relentless.

Leah: You have no idea.

The conversation stretches into the early hours, and by the time you finally say goodnight, you’ve already agreed to meet for coffee the following week.

A week later, you’re sitting at a cozy café, nervously sipping on your drink as you wait. When Leah walks in, wearing a simple sweater and jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders, she spots you instantly and smiles.

“You look even better out of uniform,” she says as she sits down, her tone teasing but genuine.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, earning a soft laugh from her.

The date goes by in a blur. Leah’s easygoing nature puts you at ease, and the chemistry between you is undeniable. She tells stories about her teammates, her career, and her life outside of football, and in return, you share bits of your own world.

By the end of the date, Leah walks you out of the café, her hands tucked into her pockets.

“I don’t usually do this,” she says, stopping just outside the door.

“Do what?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Get this distracted by someone,” she admits, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. “But you… you make it hard to focus on anything else.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world seems to slow. Leah steps closer, her hand brushing against yours.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” she asks softly.

You nod, unable to form words, and before you know it, her lips are on yours—gentle, warm, and everything you didn’t know you’d been waiting for.

When she pulls back, her eyes meet yours, and the smile that spreads across her face is enough to make your heart race.

“Dinner next time,” she says, her voice low but certain. “And this time, I’m paying.”

After that magical first date at the café, you and Leah fall into a rhythm that feels almost effortless. The texts come daily, the late-night calls stretch into the early morning, and every moment you spend together only deepens the pull between you. But there are moments—electric, heart-racing moments—where neither of you can ignore the sheer magnetic attraction that keeps building.

It’s a Friday night when Leah surprises you at work, waiting by the exit just as you’re finishing your shift. She’s leaning against her car, hands in her jacket pockets, her hair slightly tousled by the wind.

“I thought I’d take you home tonight,” she says casually, though the smile she gives you is anything but casual.

“I could’ve taken the bus, you know,” you tease, stepping closer.

Her eyes soften, and she tugs you gently by the hand until you’re standing right in front of her. “I wanted to see you,” she admits, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, the skies open up, rain pouring down out of nowhere. You let out a squeal of surprise, but Leah doesn’t move to run for cover. Instead, she laughs, her eyes locked on yours.

“You’re going to get soaked!” you shout over the rain, but she just shrugs.

“You too,” she counters, stepping even closer until her hands are on your waist.

And then she kisses you. It’s slow and deliberate, her lips warm against yours despite the cold rain falling around you. Her hands slide to your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, and the world around you fades into nothing but her.

By the time you pull away, both of you are drenched and breathless. Leah grins, brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Best rainy night I’ve ever had,” she murmurs.

A month into your relationship, Leah invites you to stay over for the first time. You wake up in her bed, tangled in the soft sheets, with her arm draped lazily across your waist.

She stirs before you do, her lips pressing against your bare shoulder in soft, lingering kisses.

“Morning,” she whispers, her voice husky with sleep.

You turn to face her, smiling as her hand trails up to cup your cheek. “Morning,” you reply, leaning into her touch.

She closes the small distance between you, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that starts slow but quickly deepens. Her hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel her heartbeat against yours as the kiss intensifies.

When you finally break apart, her forehead rests against yours, her eyes half-lidded as she grins. “I could stay here with you all day,” she murmurs.

“Who says we can’t?” you tease, and Leah laughs, pulling you back into another kiss.

It’s a big match for Leah and the team, and you’re in the stands, cheering louder than anyone else. When Arsenal clinches the win, Leah’s face lights up as she scans the crowd, her eyes immediately finding you.

Later, at the post-match celebration, you’re standing off to the side, sipping a drink, when Leah sneaks up behind you.

“Hey,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around your waist. She smells like fresh grass and victory, and the warmth of her body against yours sends a thrill through you.

“You were incredible out there,” you say, turning your head to look at her.

Leah doesn’t reply with words. Instead, she spins you around, cupping your face in her hands before pulling you into a kiss. It’s passionate, almost desperate, like she’s been holding back all night. When she pulls away, you’re both slightly breathless.

“I couldn’t wait anymore,” she admits with a small smile. “I needed to kiss you.”

You smile back, your fingers brushing against the back of her neck. “Anytime, Captain.”

The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, stolen kisses, and soft touches. By the time you leave, Leah’s hand is firmly in yours, her teammates shooting you knowing smiles as you walk out together.

One night, as you’re both curled up on her couch watching a movie, Leah suddenly pauses the screen. You turn to her, confused, but the serious look in her eyes makes your heart skip.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing a thumb over your hand. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you ask, your voice equally soft.

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching yours. “I’ve never felt like this before,” she admits. “With anyone. You… you make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel.”

You feel your chest tighten, your hand reaching up to cup her face. “Leah…”

“I mean it,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “You’re it for me. I don’t know where this is going, but I know I don’t want it to end.”

Tears sting your eyes as you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s soft but filled with all the emotions you can’t quite put into words. When you pull back, you rest your forehead against hers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

Leah lets out a shaky breath, pulling you into her arms. “Good. Because I don’t think I could let you go.”

#arsenal women #woso community #arsenal #woso fanfics #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso #wlw community #wlw post #wlw yearning #wlw blog #wlw love #wlw #waitress

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perfectlyoongi · 4 months ago

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SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who offers you flowers whenever he sees you. whenever you had a planned outing, whether it was a simple trip to the shops or dinner at a restaurant somewhere in the city, the truth is that before you left the house, you would place a bouquet with the most beautiful and colorful flowers there were. you could call Namjoon a gentleman, an old-fashioned one indeed, but that didn’t stop him from carrying out his ritual. it’s just that, secretly, Namjoon counted the time away from you through the withered petals of the flowers he offered you. without you knowing, he bought the same bouquet for himself, placing it on his kitchen counter and consulting it whenever he got home. sometimes the flowers would fade overnight and Namjoon didn’t have any plans for you – but that didn’t stop Namjoon from staying away from you. after all, you didn’t need to leave those four walls to have a good time. “i know it’s short notice, but do you want to go out to eat? we can go to that museum opening before we go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who likes to have long conversations with you all night long. talking to you was like listening to odes from the most talented poets in this world. it was incredible how your perspective on the universe was able to captivate Namjoon. you could be talking about your day, complaining about little things that made you tired of living; you could be discussing an artistic vision of the same book you were reading; you could talk about all the probabilities that existed in the stars – it didn’t matter. with you, the words flowed like the freest rivers in the world, falling in a waterfall of enthusiasm, forming a small lake of fascination in Namjoon. having you there, with you lying next to him, your head resting on his torso, your hands spraying Namjoon’s skin with the tranquility that only you could provide – there, in that moment, Namjoon swore that both of you were one poem. “tell me about your day. tell me everything you liked and tell me what you want to repeat. talk to me and tell me how your day was and how it only started to make sense when we met.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who has a personal chef cooking breakfast when you slept in his house. when you spent the night at Namjoon’s house, he wanted to enjoy every minute of it. as much as he enjoyed falling asleep with you in his arms, he had to confess that he felt better when the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window and welcomed you to a new day. it was at that exact moment, before the day really began and everyone went their separate ways, Namjoon truly enjoyed your company. rubbing his face against your skin, wanting some of your essence to stay trapped in him, Namjoon pressed you closer to him. for some reason, it was in you that he found the strength to get through the day. as such, every minute was precious and he would enjoy every second of it – even if he needed to hire someone to make you breakfast. “just five more minutes and i promise i’ll let you go. let me enjoy just five more minutes. that’s all i need. you are all i need.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who gifts you your favorite artwork. visiting museums and galleries had been a norm in your relationship. going to as many openings as you could, scouring the country and world in search of new pieces of art, you and Namjoon enjoyed each other’s presence as tornadoes of emotions and messages surrounded each smile of yours. in the vibrant colors of each painting, you and Namjoon discovered new feelings; in the forced curves of each sculpture, you and Namjoon discovered new beauties; in the tenderness of each word exchanged, you and Namjoon shared eternal moments that would forever be blessed by the most ethereal gods. and to immortalize what was already glorious, Namjoon made a point of thanking your company by offering you the paintings and sculptures that had caught your attention. “what do you mean you don’t have space in your room? i know you want to turn down the painting, but all i’m hearing is that you need a new house with more space. tuesday we can start looking at some houses.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who loves to give you designer clothes. sometimes, the parcels that appeared at your house were so rare that you had to turn to the internet to decode that shirt or belt. often, the parcels that appeared at your house were from a collection so recent that you felt invincible when you wore them. every time, the parcels that appeared at your house had a note written by Namjoon to remind you that, even if you didn’t ask, even if you didn’t even know, he would always take care of you. you just needed to accept it and Namjoon would give you the world. “see it as an early birthday present. you don’t have to thank or reciprocate. this coat is for you. use it when we go to lunch on saturday.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who makes a point of giving you a kiss when others are looking at you. Namjoon enjoyed your company, it was obvious. as such, Namjoon liked to take you to work parties or friend gatherings or really anywhere where you could show off the new outfit he had gifted you. wherever there was an event that called Namjoon, he was quick to hold your hand and take you with him without any prior notice. these nights of get-togethers seemed divine in Namjoon’s company; there was something about his laugh that tied you to the moment; the way he spoke to his acquaintances made you curious to know more about all subjects, even though he had already told that story to you; the way he looked at you, eyes bright and bathed in tenderness, erased everything that was happening around you; and the way he kissed you, slowly, softly, right on the corner of your mouth, teasing you just a little, made you wish the day would end. “patience. we haven’t greeted the birthday boy yet. i promise just one more hour and then we can go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who introduces you to everyone as his ‘special person’. e v er y s y l l a b l e of these two words was marinated with the most intense pride in the universe; ea-ch--tim-bre of these two words was intoned with the greatest fascination of the cosmos; those two words were Namjoon’s favorite words. ‘special person’. yes, he could have said that you were his partner or even a friendship that had been going on for years; of course, but all those words were empty. and you were special. you were special to Namjoon and he wanted everyone to know that. and that’s why he introduced you with pride – how lucky he was to find someone as amazing as you; that’s why he named you with fascination – how lucky the universe is to have someone as divine as you; that was why ‘special person’ sounded so good when uttered by him – how lucky you were to be the only one blessed by the gods. “if you don’t feel comfortable, i can call you something else. but, honestly, i don’t think anything i would call you would equal the importance you have in my life.”

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solxamber · 3 months ago

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The Rhythm of Us || Jamil Viper

Through parties, desserts and disasters, you and Jamil find a rhythm that's uniquely your own.

1k Masterlist ; Prologue

w.c. 4.5k

Jamil’s voice is calm when he answers your call, though there’s a slight edge of surprise that he can’t quite hide.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jamil,” you begin, already smiling as you sit cross-legged on your bed. “I was thinking about your offer earlier, and I’d love to get lunch with you tomorrow.”

There’s a pause on the other end, followed by a soft, almost imperceptible intake of breath. “Oh. That’s great,” he says quickly, the surprise in his voice replaced by his usual measured tone. “I’ll meet you tomorrow at noon. Is that okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” you say.

After hanging up, you can’t help but think he sounded a little pleased, even if he tried not to show it.

The next day, you find him waiting at a quiet spot near the botanical garden. The area is shaded, with a small table set neatly for two, and Jamil stands beside it with his usual cool demeanor. His uniform is impeccable as always, but there’s a certain ease in his posture that puts you at ease too.

“Hey, Jamil!” you call out, waving as you approach.

He nods, his lips curling into a faint smile. “You’re right on time.”

As you sit, you notice the spread he’s prepared: a beautiful array of dishes that wouldn’t look out of place in a high-end restaurant.

“This looks amazing!” you exclaim, eyes wide. “You made all of this?”

He waves a hand dismissively, though there’s a faint pink tinge on his cheeks. “It’s nothing special.”

“Nothing special? Jamil, this is art,” you say, reaching for a plate and immediately helping yourself. “You’ve seriously outdone yourself.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, shaking his head as you pile on the compliments. “Cut it out already. Just eat.”

But despite his words, there’s a small, satisfied smile on his face as he watches you dig in.

Lunch is lively. Between bites, you launch into a story about the latest chaos Ace, Deuce, and Grim dragged you into.

“So there we were,” you say, gesturing dramatically with your fork, “standing in Professor Crewel’s office, and Ace has the brilliant idea to blame the singed curtains on Grim’s ‘natural combustion reflex.’”

Jamil raises an eyebrow, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “I’m almost afraid to ask what happened next.”

“Oh, it gets better,” you say with a grin. “Grim starts running with it, claiming he’s going through some ‘highly dangerous fire-beast adolescence.’ Crewel didn’t buy it for a second, but Ace and Deuce looked so confident, you could almost believe them.”

Jamil shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if I’m more impressed by their nerve or disappointed by their lack of foresight.”

“Probably both,” you say, laughing. “But hey, we survived, and no one got detention—this time.”

As the conversation flows, you can’t help but notice how at ease Jamil seems. His usual reserved demeanor softens as he talks with you, and he even offers a few rare chuckles at your antics.

By the time dessert rolls around, only one piece of a delicate pastry remains on the plate. Jamil nudges it toward you.

“Here. You can have it.”

Instead, you pick it up and hold it out to him with a sly grin. “You made it. You deserve the last bite.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard. “That’s not necessary,” he begins, but you cut him off by leaning closer, still holding the pastry.

“Come on, Jamil. Just take it.”

He hesitates, his composure visibly wavering under your teasing smile, but finally leans forward and takes a small bite. For a second, he’s silent, likely trying to process the fact that you just fed him.

“That good, huh?” you say, laughing at the faint pink dusting his cheeks.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite in his words.

After lunch, Jamil insists on walking you to your next class. As you approach the classroom door, you reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I had a great time today,” you say, looking up at him with a warm smile. “We should do this again sometime.”

His gaze softens, and he nods. “Yeah. We should.”

As you disappear into the classroom, he stands there for a moment longer, watching the door with a soft, uncharacteristic smile playing at his lips.

You and Jamil are having a nice, peaceful stroll back from lunch when it happens. One moment, you’re chatting about something mundane, and the next, Jamil freezes like someone just hit him with a petrification spell.

“What—” you start, but his hand shoots up, silencing you.

“Don’t move,” he mutters, his voice low and intense.

Alarmed, you follow his gaze, half-expecting to see a monster, an overblot, or at least Grim setting something on fire. Instead, you spot… a beetle.

Granted, it’s a big beetle. The kind that looks like it’s been hitting the gym and maybe has a side hustle as a bodyguard for ants. It’s perched on a bush, twitching its antennae like it’s sizing you both up.

“It’s just a bug,” you say, cautiously glancing at Jamil.

“Just a bug?” Jamil hisses like you just insulted his cooking. “That thing has too many legs. It’s unnatural.”

Before you can reply, the beetle takes two slow, deliberate steps forward. Jamil, in perfect synchronization, takes two steps back.

“Jamil, seriously—”

“I’m handling this,” he interrupts, pulling out his magic pen.

Oh no. You see the look in his eyes, the slight glow of magic sparking at his fingertips, and you realize he’s about to go full Avatar: The Last Bugbender.

“Jamil, we’re not setting the school on fire over a beetle!”

“It’s me or the bug,” he deadpans.

“No, it’s me,” you mutter, resigning yourself to your fate. Sending up a quick prayer to the universe, you step forward.

“What are you doing?!” Jamil whispers harshly, grabbing at your sleeve like you’re walking into the jaws of a lion.

“Saving the school grounds from you, Pyroclasmus."

You approach the beetle, heart pounding as it shifts slightly, its shiny, armored body glinting in the sunlight.

“Shoo,” you say weakly, flapping your hand at it. The beetle stares at you, unimpressed.

“Shoo?” Jamil echoes behind you. “That’s your grand strategy?”

Before you can come up with something better, the beetle’s wings buzz ominously, and it launches itself directly at your face.

You scream. Jamil screams louder. And somehow, in the chaos, he practically climbs onto you like a human backpack.

“Kill it! Kill it now!” he shrieks, his voice breaking into a pitch you didn’t think was humanly possible.

“MAYBE A LITTLE HELP?!” you yell back, snatching up the nearest object—a notebook—and swinging it wildly like a deranged baseball player.

With a loud thwack, the beetle goes flying into the distance, vanishing into the horizon like Team Rocket blasting off again.

There’s silence. You’re panting, clutching the notebook like it’s a holy relic. Jamil is still clinging to your back, his arms wrapped around your shoulders in a death grip.

“...Did you get it?” he whispers.

“Yes, Jamil. I got it. The school is safe.”

He slowly detaches himself, his feet hitting the ground as he smooths out his uniform with a dignity that absolutely does not exist anymore.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat, “thank you for your… assistance.”

You blink at him. “Assistance? You were hanging off me like a terrified cat!”

“I don’t recall that happening.”

“Oh, you don’t recall climbing me like a tree? Want me to ask the security cameras?”

He glares at you, his face carefully blank, but his ears are redder than Riddle after someone breaks a rule.

“Fine. You’re my knight. Happy?” he mutters, turning on his heel and stalking off.

“Anytime, your highness!” you call after him, grinning.

The next day, you find a small, ridiculously fancy cake on your desk. The note attached simply reads:

For my knight. Do not speak of this.

You laugh so hard you nearly choke.

You’re not entirely sure how it came to this. One moment, you were enjoying a rare moment of peace, and the next, Crowley had materialized out of nowhere, looking dramatic as ever.

“Ah, my most resourceful prefect!” he’d declared. “I need your unparalleled skills for a mission of utmost importance!”

You hadn’t even had a chance to ask questions before you were handed your task: retrieve his hat, which was somehow stuck at the very top of a tree on the campus grounds.

So here you are, clinging to a branch like a very confused and irritated squirrel, glaring at the offending hat above you.

“This is fine,” you mutter under your breath, trying to edge closer to the hat without looking down. “Everything is fine. This is just my life now.”

A voice interrupts your inner monologue. “Should I even ask how you got up there?”

You twist around—bad move, the branch wobbles—and spot Jamil standing at the base of the tree, arms crossed and wearing an expression that’s equal parts confusion and mild exasperation.

“Crowley,” you call back, as though that single word explains everything.

It does. Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Why am I not surprised?” He pauses, looks at you precariously perched above him, and sighs. “Stay still. I’ll help you down.”

You watch as he starts climbing the tree with an ease that feels unfair. Within seconds, he’s beside you, balancing effortlessly on a nearby branch.

“Give me your hand,” he says, extending his arm.

“I don’t know, Jamil,” you tease, even as you grab his hand. “Does this make you my knight in shining armor?”

He freezes for half a second, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, before recovering. “It makes me someone who doesn’t want to watch you break your neck,” he replies, voice dry but a little flustered.

With his help, you manage to climb down safely, landing on solid ground at last. You glance up at him as he dusts himself off, his expression as composed as ever.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you remark, folding your arms. “Tree climbing must be one of your hidden talents.”

Jamil snorts softly. “Someone has to be prepared for situations like this. And by ‘situations like this,’ I mean you.”

You’re about to retort when something hits you. You stare at him, then at the tree, and back at him.

“Wait a second,” you say slowly, narrowing your eyes. “You could’ve just used magic to get me down.”

Jamil freezes mid-step, a guilty flicker in his eyes before his calm mask slips back into place. “...And?”

“And you climbed the tree manually?” you say, incredulous. “Why?”

He shrugs, his tone carefully nonchalant. “It seemed faster at the time.”

You gape at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Oh my God. You wanted to show off, didn’t you?”

“I did not,” he protests, though the faint flush creeping up his neck suggests otherwise.

You lean closer, grinning. “Sure, Sir Jamil, whatever you say. Next time, I expect you to storm the tree with a sword and shield.”

“Please stop talking,” he mutters, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

As the two of you head toward Crowley’s office, a new question pops into your head. “Actually, now that I think about it—why didn’t Crowley just use magic to get his own hat back?”

Jamil goes quiet, clearly considering this. After a long moment, he shakes his head. “Who knows what goes on in his mind?”

“Maybe there’s nothing in there at all,” you muse, and Jamil snorts softly, trying to cover it with a cough.

When you finally deliver the hat to Crowley, he praises you with an exaggerated flourish, and you’re pretty sure Jamil rolls his eyes behind you.

As you walk away, you glance at him and smirk. “So, does this mean we’re even? You rescued me from a tree, I rescued you from...uh, your dignity?”

“Keep talking, and I might leave you in the next one,” he says, but there’s a warmth in his voice that makes you grin.

The aftermath of Kalim’s latest impromptu party is, as usual, chaos incarnate. Streamers hang from every surface like overzealous jungle vines, discarded cups litter the floor, and a suspiciously sticky patch near the dessert table seems to defy all attempts at cleaning.

In the center of it all is Jamil, shoulders squared, looking ready to singlehandedly wrestle the mess into submission.

“You don’t have to help,” he says, not for the first time, as you sweep a pile of crumpled napkins into a trash bag.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply, giving him a pointed look. “I like cleaning.”

The blatant lie rolls off your tongue so smoothly that you almost convince yourself. Almost.

Jamil pauses, giving you a look that clearly says, I don’t believe you for a second, but he doesn’t argue further. Maybe he’s too tired to fight you on it. Maybe he’s just glad for the company. Either way, you both fall into a rhythm, clearing tables, collecting discarded decorations, and righting toppled furniture.

It’s the final stretch, and the kitchen is the last battleground. You’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep in soapy water. Scrubbing dishes isn’t fun at the best of times, but these plates seem particularly vengeful, coated in some unholy combination of caramel and glitter.

You’re attacking a plate with the kind of intensity usually reserved for mortal enemies when you notice Jamil glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. His hands move automatically, rinsing a glass, but his gaze lingers on you.

“What?” you ask, not bothering to look up as you keep scrubbing.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, but his voice carries a strange, soft warmth.

You glance over and catch him staring. There’s something odd about his expression—soft, unguarded, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t expected.

“What?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“...You hate this,” he says simply.

Your hand pauses mid-scrub. “What are you talking about?”

“You hate cleaning,” he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve been glaring at that plate like it insulted your entire family.”

You scoff, but there’s no denying it—he’s onto you. “I do not!”

Jamil just raises an eyebrow, looking entirely too smug for someone who just spent hours cleaning up Kalim’s hurricane of a party.

You huff, realizing you’ve been caught, and turn back to your task. “Fine. Maybe I don’t like cleaning. But I wanted to help, okay?”

His hands still briefly in the soapy water, and when you glance at him, his face is unreadable.

“You stayed,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You frown, confused. “Of course I stayed. I wasn’t gonna leave you to deal with this alone.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze lingers on you a moment longer, like he’s trying to memorize the sight of you standing there, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a plate you very clearly despise.

And then it hits him, like a tidal wave. He’s absolutely, hopelessly smitten.

His chest tightens, and for once, Jamil Viper has no plan, no clever rebuttal to distract himself. He’s just standing there, fully aware of how utterly doomed he is.

“What’s with the staring?” you tease, breaking the silence.

Before he can recover, you scrunch your face into the goofiest expression you can muster, sticking out your tongue for good measure.

Jamil blinks, caught off guard. And that’s the moment he knows. There’s no going back.

He’s absolutely, irreversibly fucked.

The basketball court echoes with the rhythmic squeak of sneakers and the thud of a bouncing ball as you step inside, Ace's notebook in hand. He’d left it in your bag—typical Ace—and since you were passing by anyway, you figured you’d return it.

But the moment you enter, your eyes are drawn to Jamil. He’s in the middle of a play, effortlessly weaving through defenders, his movements fluid and sharp like a dancer’s. There’s a precision to everything he does—the way he pivots, the way his hands cradle the ball before shooting. The arc of the shot is perfect, and when the ball swishes through the net, you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

You don’t even notice the whistle blowing for a break until Floyd’s voice cuts through your trance.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Shrimpy!”

He’s already striding over, towering above you and grinning like he’s just caught something interesting in his net. Before you can say a word, he leans down, practically draping himself over you.

“Whatcha doin’ here, huh? Come to watch us play? Or maybe—” he pauses, his grin widening mischievously, “—you’re here to cheer for me?”

“Actually, I’m just here to give Ace his notebook,” you deadpan, though you’re slightly thrown off by how casually he’s leaning into your space.

Floyd hums, completely ignoring your response as he tugs at your sleeve. “Y’know, you should stay. It’d be more fun with you watching.”

Across the court, Jamil’s gaze flickers toward the two of you. His expression is as composed as ever, but the moment Floyd leans in closer—laughing about something you didn’t even catch—there’s a subtle twitch in his jaw.

Jamil tells himself he’s not bothered. It’s just Floyd being Floyd, right? And you’re here for Ace, not… anything else.

But the longer Floyd stays glued to you, the tighter Jamil’s grip becomes on the water bottle he’s holding.

With his usual smoothness, Jamil walks over, casual but purposeful. “Floyd,” he says evenly, “coach is calling for you.”

“Huh?” Floyd tilts his head lazily, but his grin says he knows exactly what’s happening. “Didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, you won’t if you’re not paying attention.” Jamil’s tone remains calm, but there’s a subtle edge to it as he places a hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you away from Floyd.

“Ohhh,” Floyd drawls, straightening up but not stepping back just yet. His eyes dart between you and Jamil, and his grin becomes downright predatory. “I get it now.”

“Get what?” Jamil asks, though his voice is just a touch too sharp to be casual.

“Nothing~” Floyd sing-songs, finally retreating. But as he walks off, he throws a glance over his shoulder and mutters just loud enough, “Jealous, jealous, Sea Snake~”

Jamil’s composure falters for half a second before he fixes his expression. Jealous? Him? Absolutely not. That’s ridiculous.

“You okay?” you ask, clearly amused as you watch him struggle to maintain his usual cool.

“Of course,” he replies smoothly, brushing nonexistent dust off his uniform. “Floyd’s just being… Floyd.”

You can barely hold back a laugh. As composed as Jamil tries to seem, the faint flush in his cheeks and the way his eyes avoid meeting yours tell a very different story.

By the time Ace saunters over to collect his notebook, you’re grinning like you’ve uncovered the world’s juiciest secret.

“What’s so funny?” Ace asks, glancing between you and Jamil, who’s pretending to inspect his water bottle with far too much interest.

“Oh, nothing,” you say lightly, though your grin doesn’t waver.

Ace squints, then sighs dramatically. “You’re just gonna let him suffer like this, huh?”

“Maybe,” you reply with a laugh, already planning to put him out of his misery soon.

Kalim’s parties have a reputation. They’re always loud, chaotic, and somehow manage to defy the very laws of reality. Tonight is no exception—music booms, people laugh and cheer, and the smell of rich food wafts through the air.

You’re leaning against a table, sipping on some mysterious (and surprisingly good) drink, when Floyd suddenly appears out of nowhere. Typical.

“Shrimpy!” he drawls, flashing that sharp-toothed grin of his. “Wanna dance?”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Uh—”

“It’ll be fun!” Floyd insists, leaning in closer. His voice drops into that playful, teasing tone that promises something is about to go horribly, hilariously wrong. “C’mon, don’t be shy!”

Before you can even attempt a polite refusal, another voice cuts in, firm and unmistakably annoyed.

“They’re already dancing with me,” Jamil says, stepping between you and Floyd with a smoothness that almost masks the sharp edge in his voice.

Floyd pauses, blinking at Jamil. And then he laughs.

“Ohhhh, really? I didn’t see you on the dance floor yet, Sea Snake,” he teases, his grin only growing.

Jamil doesn’t flinch. His face is calm, composed, but you can see the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clenches slightly at his side.

Floyd shrugs, backing off with a mischievous chuckle. “Guess I’ll just find someone else, then. Have fun, Shrimpy!”

As Floyd disappears into the crowd, Jamil turns to you, clearly ready to explain himself.

“I just didn’t want him to bother you,” he says quickly, eyes darting to the side. “You know how Floyd gets—”

You raise an eyebrow, not letting him finish. “Oh, so you were just saving me? That’s so sweet of you, Jamil. I don't really mind so I guess I’ll go dance with Floyd, then.”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, Jamil Viper—master of control, unparalleled tactician—looks completely and utterly panicked.

“You—you don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically uneven as he grabs your hand.

You blink, taken aback by the desperation in his expression. He looks like the idea of you dancing with Floyd is physically painful to him.

You can’t do this to him. Not anymore.

“Come with me,” you say, tugging his hand and leading him toward the balcony.

The cool night air greets you as you step outside, the distant hum of music muffled by the doors. Jamil follows, quiet but tense, his hand still wrapped around yours.

You turn to face him, and he immediately starts talking, his words tumbling out faster than usual. “I just didn’t want Floyd to—”

“Jamil,” you interrupt, squeezing his hand gently. “Stop. It’s okay.”

He blinks, caught off guard.

You take a deep breath, smiling softly. “I like you, Jamil. I’ve liked you for a while now. And you don’t need to be jealous or worried or...whatever it is you’re feeling. Because there’s no one else. No one who even compares.”

His lips part slightly, and for a moment, Jamil Viper is completely speechless.

“You—you like me?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper.

You laugh gently, stepping closer. “Yeah. I like you. A lot.”

His gaze drops to the ground, and you can see the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck. But then he looks back at you, his eyes warm and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.

Before he can say anything else, you lean in and kiss him, your lips brushing against his softly. He freezes for a moment, and then his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his touch hesitant but firm.

When you pull back, he’s looking at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire universe.

“...You’re really something, you know that?” he murmurs, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his face.

You grin. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

And for once, Jamil doesn’t have a single witty comeback. Instead, he just kisses you again.

The moment the words “Jamil and I are dating” leave your mouth, the reactions are immediate and chaotic—exactly as you’d expected.

Kalim is the first to respond, his eyes lighting up like you’ve just told him you’re planning a surprise party in his honor. “Really?! That’s amazing! I knew Jamil had it in him! Oh, this is great! We have to celebrate—wait, should I throw another party?”

Jamil, standing beside you, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kalim, please—”

But Kalim’s already planning out loud, “I’ll get the musicians, some fireworks, maybe even—”

“NO!” you and Jamil shout in unison, and Kalim looks momentarily sheepish before settling for bouncing on his heels in excitement.

The rest of your motley crew, however, isn’t as quick to jump on the “Happy Couple” train.

“Wait, Jamil?” Ace blurts out, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “You’re dating Jamil Viper?”

Deuce chimes in, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Isn’t he... I don’t know... a little serious for you?”

Sebek, always ready to yell about something, crosses his arms and scowls. “Jamil Viper, the ever-scheming right-hand man of the Asim heir? Human, are you sure this is wise?!”

Epel, meanwhile, tilts his head thoughtfully. “I mean, he’s kinda scary... but also kinda cool?”

Jack simply stares at you, his arms crossed and his tail flicking. “You sure about this?” he asks, his voice low and cautious.

Grim, predictably, jumps in with his usual brand of over-the-top indignation. “Hold on a second, henchhuman! You’re dating that snake? What about me? Your most important ally!”

Before you can respond, Grim’s eyes narrow as if he’s about to deliver a fiery rant... but then he pauses. “Wait... didn’t he give me that plate of grilled fish last week?”

You nod slowly, unsure where this is going.

Grim strokes his chin, as if in deep thought, before finally shrugging. “Eh, he feeds me, and you seem happy. Works for me!”

Jamil, for once, looks both exasperated and amused. “Glad to have your approval,” he says dryly, earning a triumphant nod from Grim.

Meanwhile, Ace is squinting at Jamil like he’s trying to solve a complicated math problem. “Actually... wait. He’s not bad. He’s smart, he can cook... he did save my butt in Alchemy class that one time...”

Deuce rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Yeah... and he’s pretty reliable. Like, way more reliable than Ace, for sure.”

“Hey!” Ace protests, but Deuce ignores him.

Even Sebek, though still frowning, grudgingly mutters, “He is competent. For a human.”

Epel shrugs, grinning. “And he’s good at keeping up with Floyd. That alone deserves respect.”

Jack nods in agreement. “As long as he treats you right, I don’t see a problem.”

You glance at Jamil, whose ears are faintly pink despite his calm expression. “Wow,” you say, grinning at him. “You’ve won them over. I didn’t think it’d be this easy.”

“Neither did I,” he mutters, shooting a pointed look at Ace and Grim.

Kalim, still practically vibrating with excitement, claps Jamil on the back. “See? I knew they’d all come around! Oh, I’m so happy for you two!”

Jamil sighs, but there’s a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Kalim.”

Grim jumps onto your shoulder, wagging his tail. “Alright, henchhuman, now that this is settled, how about we celebrate with some snacks? Jamil, you’re cooking, right?”

Jamil gives him a flat look. “Don’t push your luck.”

As everyone laughs, you reach over and squeeze Jamil’s hand, and he glances at you, his expression softening. The chaos might be exhausting, but with you by his side, it’s a little more bearable—and, dare he say it, even enjoyable.

1k Masterlist ; Main Masterlist

Gonna pick up the pace with the milestone fics now! I'll be posting Riddle next, so after that:

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #jamil #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #jamil x you #jamil viper #jamil viper x you #1k event

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freshlove-sturn · 8 months ago

Text

texts w bsf!chris

<- previous, part 5, next ->

contains: suggestive, mutual pining, fem reader

“you decent?” chris asks through a series of knocks.

“yep.“ i call out. chris opens the door and shuts it behind him, walking over to the door of his bed and sitting down.

“so, what do you need help with?” he asks, glancing at the clothes i have scattered about his floor and bed.

“okay so i know for sure i want to wear these pants, but i don’t know which shirt to wear. but also i brought this dress and it’s super cute.” i hold up the options to chris.

he studies them for a second, then speaks. “the shirt on the left is sick, but i also really like the dress. ultimately up to you though.” he remarks, giving all the options a second glance.

“chris you know i hate making decisions.” i groan.

“you’ll look good in either one, i promise. no need to stress about it too much.” he reassures me.

“how fancy is this restaurant? are these even at par?” i question, feeling incredibly unsure. the last thing i wanted to do was show up and stick out like a sore thumb.

“what you have is perfect. don’t worry about it.” he assures me confidently.

i look at the two options that have been narrowed down and glance back over your chris, he immediately shakes his head, knowing exactly was i was about to say.

“i’m not going to tell you what to wear, kid. wear whatever you want” he leans lays down on the bed, putting his arms behind his head.

“can i try them on for you?” i suggest.

“sure.” chris shrugs. he gets up to leave the room and i stop him.

“you don’t have to leave, just turn around and close your eyes.” i tell him.

chris nods before asking me if i was sure. i ensure him that it’s okay, and he faces the wall.

i take off my shirt, careful to not mess up my hair and makeup, and slip the contending shirt on over my head.

“alright, i’m ready” i tell him and he turns around.

he takes in every ounce of my figure, looking me up and down a few times before speaking, i give him a slight spin and he chuckles.

“that’s a good one, i like it.” he says with a grin.

“okay, next one.” i smile, anticipation evident in my voice. he spins back around.

there honestly wasn’t much that i loved more than hearing chris’s praises. his compliments always mean more and hit harder than anyone else’s.

but that’s just because i value his opinion the most. after all, he is my best friend.

nothing more.

i take the shirt off, being shirt to drop it with enough force that chris knows it’s off, as well as my pants. i slip the dress on, taking a quick look at myself in the mirror before telling chris to turn around. it hugged me in all the right places. accentuating my curves perfectly, stopping at mid thigh.

“alright, you can turn around.” i tell him.

he turns around and his eyes immediately widen. he blows out a deep breath, and whistles, smirking.

“i know i said i wasn’t going to tell you what to wear, but that’s definitely the one.” he admires the dress. “but that’s just a strong suggestion.”

a smile pulls at the corners of my mouth and i feel a heat grow in my cheeks and i pray my makeup hides the inevitable flush of bright red.

“give me a spin.” chris spins his finger in a circular motion.

i spin around, the fabric flowing gracefully. the air around us fills with our laughter, as well as an unfamiliar feeling.

when i stop spinning, i catch chris’s gaze. he smiles and stands up from the bed, taking a few steps toward me.

his hand comes up and tucks a piece of hair that had fallen in my face behind my ear. “you look beautiful.” he murmurs softly, as if to be testing the waters.

“thanks chris.” i reply softly, my voice barely above a whisper as our eyes stay trained on each other.

“we should probably get going, matt and nick are probably getting pissed.” he laughs, the light hearted joking easing the tension that had fallen between us.

“you’re probably right. you sure this looks okay?” i knew the answer, i just wanted to hear him say it one more time.

“you look amazing, y/n.” he smiles down at me. shaking his head at my persistence.

“mhm, and what else?” i tease.

“if i tell you everything else i think about you right now, matt and nick will come and drag us out by our ears.” he laughs.

with that, we hurriedly walk upstairs. matt and nick immediately make eye contact with us, clearly annoyed.

“are you ready to go or do you need five more minutes to flirt some more?” nick asks, his voice laced with annoyance.

“five more minutes would be great actually.” chris eggs him on.

“we’re leaving. come on. our reservation’s at 6” matt shakes his keys at us.

taglist: @pouring-rains @sarosfilms @sassysturniolo2008 @oliviasturniolo21 @le4hsblog

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #chrissturnioloxreader #nick sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolos

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hgfictionwriter · 6 months ago

Text

D.D.

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: You and your friends need a ride home after a rowdy brunch together. Thankfully, ever patient, dutiful Jessie is there to drive you all - if she can endure the teasing and attention you and your friends shower her with.

Warning: Inebriation. Mild language.

A/N: Long suffering, Golden Retriever-esque girlfriend Jessie. I felt compelled to write a silly fluff piece after the recent angst.

Jessie frowned as she scanned the groups of people along the sidewalk while she slowly drove past several storefronts and restaurants. Then, even through the closed car windows, she could hear riotous hollering and laughing.

She shook her head and bit back a laugh as she spotted you and your friends standing out front of a restaurant clearly cracking yourselves up over God knows what.

She checked her mirror and pulled over, slowing to a stop. You spotted her and started jumping up and down waving excitedly, causing your friends to turn and do the same.

"Jessie!!" Your friends yelled and cheered as you all clamoured towards the car.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath as she sunk in her seat slightly and watched you all laughing and jostling against one another as you approached. You didn’t do this kind of thing too often, so it was amusing and she had to smile.

You reached the passenger door and bent down to smile and wave again before opening it. She'd just seen you this morning, but she found herself beaming upon seeing you again.

"Hi baby," you greeted as you climbed into the passenger seat, albeit, a bit clumsily. You immediately leaned over the middle console for a kiss and she fought through a laugh to give you one.

"How was your morning, baby," you went on as you went to put on your seatbelt, nearly knocking her water bottle out of the cupholder as you did so. She reached out to stabilize it while you didn't even notice.

"It was fine," she answered plainly, knowing you weren't even really listening. "How was-"

Your friends finally settled who was sitting where and opened the back doors to pile in, chaos ensuing, the car rocking back and forth as they all shuffled and pushed into place.

"Hi Jessie," they all said in unison in a singsong voice before they all doubled over into laughter. You joined them though you spun in your seat to playfully swat at them.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Jessie deadpanned, though she smirked at them in the rearview mirror. She placed an elbow on the arm rest and turned to face them. "How was brunch?"

Clearly, the drinks had been flowing.

"It was so good. You have to come next time," one of your friends said as she reached out and squeezed Jessie's arm. She rolled her eyes and sat forward in her seat again.

"And interrupt mimosa hours? Interrupt girl talk? No way. I couldn't," she said dramatically.

"You're allowed!" Your other friend said.

"And take away Y/N's chance to vent about me? No," Jessie went on with a teasing look your way. You laughed, swatting at her arm.

"Yeah right," your friend dismissed readily. "The worst thing she has to say about you is that you try to make her eat kale chips instead of regular chips."

"I'm a monster," Jessie said dryly.

"Yeah, that's why you're the only one brave enough to pick us up," your other friend said, all of you dissolving into laughter again. "Lord knows [their bf] is ‘too busy’."

"He's such an asshole," you blurted out. "You just need to dump his ass already."

"Well, when you find me someone as lovely as this angel over here," your friend said in exaggeration as she gestured in Jessie's direction, "I will." She leaned forward, almost falling off her seat as she tried to get Jessie's attention. "Y/N said you have a brother. Is he like you? Is he single?"

"Nope," Jessie cut-off, holding up a hand and shaking her head. "We're not going there." Despite herself, she could feel her face heating up under the attention of your friends. It was like this every time, drinks or not. She turned around and pointed to each of your friends. "Seatbelts."

"Yes, Jessie," they answered in that silly singsong response again and Jessie flushed further. She sighed exaggeratedly before turning on her blinker and pulling out into traffic.

"You guys," you said sarcastically as you turned around again to face your friends. "Stop fawning over her like that. You know she hates the attention," you finished with an eyeroll before cocking your head at her, a lilt in your voice. "She can't help it if she's the sweetest, most beautiful, nerdiest, yet incredibly athletic, woman alive."

The car erupted in giggles.

"Oh my God," Jessie said over the noise. "You can all rideshare next time."

"You say that, but you love us," your friend said as she leaned forward, hands on the back of Jessie's seat. She let herself fall back into her own seat and snickered. "And lord knows you wouldn't want your Y/N risking a rideshare with some stranger."

"I'd be more concerned for the stranger than for you, lot," she retorted, cracking a smirk.

The quips and teasing continued throughout the ride.

"I'm hungry," you complained as she was a few blocks away from her first drop-off. A half hearted glower crossed her face as she shot you a look.

"Yeah, me too!" Came a chime of replies.

She shook her head. "Seriously? I thought you all just ate."

"Don't judge us," you chided teasingly, knowing she was just giving you all a hard time. "Where are you going to take us for food?" You asked lightly as you looked out the window. Jessie sighed and updated her navigation.

She sighed once more as she went through the impossible feat of trying to round up your orders as she pulled up to a nearby drive thru. One of your friends changed her order as Jessie was finishing relaying things and she called back, "No, I already ordered."

"Jess," you pleaded, drawing out her name. "Be nice."

She whipped her head around to look at you. She mouthed. "Be nice?" She laughed. "I'm driving your tipsy asses all around town and getting you lunch! Be nice," she finished with a scoff. Though she, of course, did update the order. Begrudgingly? Exasperated? Perhaps. But she couldn’t say ‘no’ to you.

You gave her an apologetic look and rubbed her arm in consolation before kissing her hand. She shook her head at herself. Who was she kidding - if you asked her this second to drive a town over ‘just because’, she would’ve if it would make you happy.

The car was refreshingly quiet as you all sipped on your drinks and ate your food, but it only lasted so long. The sustenance seemed to top up all of your energy levels and now you were all singing along to some ridiculous pop song you'd put on.

Finally, she reached your one friend's house, pulling into her driveway.

"Thank you, Jessie," your friend said sweetly as she pulled herself forward in her seat to give Jessie a peck on the cheek. The brunette grimaced and she brought her shoulders up around her ears as her face began to burn hot.

Each drop off went the same. They tortured her with a kiss on the cheek and one, your best friend, pinching her cheek lightly before ducking out with a laugh.

“Love you two!” Your friend called as she half stumbled up the walk to her door with a wave.

Jessie waited dutifully until your friend was safely in the house before she put the car in reverse and pulled out.

“Thank God,” she groaned facetiously as she let her head fall back heavily against the headrest. She glanced purposefully at you to find you smiling adoringly at her. She feigned a frown anyway. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“You’re a good sport,” you smiled.

“Don’t you forget it,” Jessie laughed and drove you both home.

“Thank you, baby,” you said as you leaned in and gave her a kiss once you were inside the apartment. She could still taste a faint hint of booze on your lips and she gave you an amused look. You just smiled in a mild daze. “You’re the best.”

You spun on your heel and clasped your hands together. “Oo can we watch [y/favourite movie]?”

Jessie chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Can I read my book at the same time?”

You rested your palms on her shoulders and leaned heavily in, lips stopping an inch from hers. “Of course, baby.”

Jessie rolled her eyes again and gave you a smirk as she turned you around and ushered you towards the couch. “Let’s get you settled.”

You started the movie and she laid out a blanket over you. She gave you a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’m gonna grab my book and I’ll bring you some water,” she told you as she turned to leave.

“Want me to take something out of the freezer for dinner?” She called as she came back down the hall and ducked into the kitchen. She opened the freezer and peeked over her shoulder when she heard no response. “Babe?”

She closed the drawer and returned to the living room. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when she saw you sprawled out on the couch fast asleep.

A goofy grin crossed her face as she quietly crossed the room over to you. The blanket had fallen partially off of you and she gingerly pulled it back up over you. She pushed a stray lock of hair out of your face and paused the movie.

She snickered quietly as she gently sat down next to you and opened her book. She whispered. “Wild brunch, hey babe?”

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #canwnt x reader #jflem #woso #wlw fluff

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colonelarr0w · 1 year ago

Note

Hiiii i really like reading some angst stuffs so heres my idea loll!

What about reader never felt like they were ever loved romantically and has been quite the loner for a while. So, to have Gojo confess to the reader has reader confused, but quite happy, but will soon find out that its a dare and Gojo only has the end of the year to make reader date him! (Just say the current month is near december loll)

But as time goes by, Gojo starts to actually have feelings for reader and suddenly reader overheard their convo of Gojo with his friends about the dare...

(PLS IM SORRY IF THIS IS TOO SPECIFIC THISIS ONE OF MY FIRST TIMES REQUESTING SMTHHH. BTW YOU CAN CHANGE THE GOJO TO ANYONE ELSE :3AND ALSO YOU CAN CHOOSE WETHER TO HAVE COMFORT OR NAH. AND THANKS FOR GIVING YOUR TIME TO READ THIS HAVE A NICE DAYY)

-🍰

Sypnosis - Gojo was already known to be a heartbreaker, but you didn't stop to think for a second that maybe -- just maybe -- he was trying to break your heart too.

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, Gojo is a MAJOR dick in this one, angst

Word Count - 3.1k

A/N - Hi Anon! (STOP IM CRYING I LOVE EMOJI ANONS SO MUCH) So you made the mistake of giving me an angst prompt while also saying that I could maybe add comfort. I will be doing no such thing. Kisses!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

Satoru Gojo was, by every single standard, a lady’s man.

And you, by every single standard, were the complete opposite of every man’s “ideal type”.

How you managed to find yourself in a situation where you told others, “I’m dating Satoru Gojo,” felt like a fever dream constructed by the hardest drug.

The way in which he asked you out was — well — Satoru Gojo. A grand white banner with your name scrawled into it, underneath it the words: Go out with me?

Of course you accepted, though you were thoroughly confused. You had always been an observer from the shadows, not emerging unless it was absolutely necessary.

To have the Satoru Gojo ask you out in front of a gaggle of people was off putting — and certainly not anything that you had expected.

But none of that stopped you from saying yes, which made the snowy-haired male’s smile widen three times in size — if that was even possible.

“C’mon Satoru, it’s an easy 2,500 Yen,” Geto says, a sly smirk curling the corner of his mouth upward as he leans over the back of the couch.

Gojo sighs, jutting out his bottom lip as one of his hands busies itself with running through his hair. It wasn’t a terrible bet — even though the payoff didn’t exactly feel worth it.

“2,500 Yen to ask her out?” Gojo confirms, turning his head and glancing over the rims of his glasses. Geto smirks again, turning his phone and flashing a picture of you at Gojo, just to make sure that he would be asking out the right person.

“2,500 Yen,” Geto nods. Gojo sighs, his body slumping forward dramatically. Geto grins again, watching his best friend crack down — no way was he turning down a bet that he could easily secure.

“Fine, you have a deal,” Gojo holds his hand out, failing to hold back the smirk that curls his mouth upward as Geto slaps his hand against Gojo’s.

The two shake on it, and the bet is made.

But, of course, you were oblivious to all of that. You believed that, for the very first time, someone looked at you in a way that wasn’t strictly platonic. Someone loved you — really, truly loved you.

And what an extravagant partner Gojo was, buying you small trinkets that he believed you would like, taking you to restaurants that you had looked at on the street for a moment too long — he had even forced himself to learn how to ice skate because you mentioned offhandedly that it would be nice to skate with someone.

For the first time in a very long time, you felt connected to someone. Conversations flowed so easily between you both, never forced or uncomfortable. It was as if you had known each other your entire lives.

Gojo knew that it was fake — you thought it was truly real.

< … >

“(Y/N)! There you are!” Gojo calls out with a flashy wave of his arm. Once you’re in reach of him, he latches onto you, nose nuzzling into your hair.

You let out a startled squeak at the force of his body against yours, but immediately loosen up and return his embrace, snuggling as deeply as you can into his arms.

“Satoru!” you laugh out breathlessly, squeezing his shoulders as he lifts you from the ground, easily spinning the both of you in a circle. “You act like you haven’t seen me in years.”

Gojo rolls his eyes dramatically, setting you down but keeping his arms locked around your waist. He gaze meets yours through the darkened lenses of his glasses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh god, I know that look,” you mutter teasingly, which earns you an affectionate pinch to your side — one that you swat him away for.

“You wound me,” Gojo sasses back, releasing you only to place a hand flat against his chest as if he had been stabbed. You roll your eyes, laughing breathily at his antics.

“What do you want to do tonight? It’s date night,” you remind him, watching as his face breaks into a bright smile. He reaches for you again, lifting your hand and twirling you around before he tugs you to his chest.

“I was thinking-“ he begins in a sing-song tone. You raise an eyebrow at him, which he quickly leans in to peck. “-we go to the movies, get some cheap froyo, and crash in your dorm.”

You smile at him, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners as you throw your arms around his neck, squeezing him.

“Yes please!”

< … >

“The movies? Froyo? God, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re falling for her,” Geto mocks the motion of throwing up, earning a laugh from the snowy-haired boy that stands next to him.

Gojo rolls his eyes, catching the basketball that Geto throws at his chest. He bounces it once against the ground before taking a shot, smirking as it swishes inaudibly into the basket.

“I want her to at least believe it,” Gojo responds with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. Geto rolls his eyes, biting back the chuckle that rises in his throat. “What? I’m not lying.”

“No, I know you’re not lying,” Geto bends to pick up the abandoned basketball, bouncing it against the ground and taking a shot of his own — which misses.

“So then why the sudden comment?”

“Because of the look in your eyes whenever someone mentions her or whenever you see her,” Geto says plainly, turning to cross his arms at Gojo.

He purses his lips together, eyebrows pinching in confusion as he silently urges Geto to continue. How he looks at you?

Geto sighs through his nose, then lifting his fingers to pinch at its bridge. The basketball is long abandoned now, rolling into the center of the gym and remaining there.

“Every time she calls out to you with that — stupid nickname, you brighten up like a dog who’s seeing his owner,” Geto points out. Gojo can feel the tips of his ears burn red at that — because even he knew that it was true.

“Toru! There you are!” you call out affectionately, crossing the training fields and practically jumping into Gojo’s awaiting arms.

He smiles warmly as your face nestles into the junction between his neck and shoulder, breathing in the familiarity of your scent and holding you close to him.

“That isn’t true,” he murmurs, scratching at the back of his neck. Geto stands still for a moment, staring at Gojo with a look that could easily slaughter an entire town.

“No? How about when she made you lunch that one time?” Geto raises his eyebrow — his eyes visually calling bullshit as Gojo’s cheeks burn the same shade of red as his ears.

“Ta-da!” you smile widely as you present Gojo with the intricately put-together bento box. He takes it from your hands, allowing his fingers to brush against your own for a moment too long — an action that brought a light blush to your cheeks.

He smiles down at the bento you had prepared for him, feeling his heart swell at the idea that someone cared enough about him to sit down and put so much thought into preparing him a lunch. Gojo is quick to then lean in, pecking your cheek and smiling widely at the dark red hue that coats your face.

“That’s…different,” Gojo tries to argue, but Geto is quick to call out his bluff, laughing loudly in his friend’s face and striding towards the center of the gym to retrieve the abandoned basketball. He bends, scooping it into his palms and bouncing it twice against the ground.

“Oh, I’m sure that it is,” Geto rolls his eyes, twisting his body and shooting the basketball — already displaying annoyance when it misses yet again.

Gojo sighs, the puff of air he releases blowing his bangs from his face. He watches as Geto goes to retrieve the basketball, bouncing it once before roughly checking it to Gojo.

“Careful Satoru, I wouldn’t want you to fall for her,” Geto teases, feeling himself smirk as Gojo’s hands catch the basketball. The snowy-haired male rolls his eyes in response, bouncing the ball.

“That won’t happen, trust me,” Gojo bites back, not failing to notice the knowing glint in Geto’s eyes.

“Sure it won’t.”

< … >

Hey! I’m at the theatre, where are you?

READ

Satoru?

READ

I’m just assuming you’re running late, just text me when you’re here!

DELIVERED

Puffing out the air that you held in your cheeks, you stow your phone away into your pocket, eyes silently scanning the front entrance of the theatre. Maybe you missed him? No, there was no tuft of snowy-white hair anywhere in the crowd — surely he was just running late.

You shuffle on your feet, adjusting the small bag that you had brought with you. The interior is stuffed with snacks that both you and Gojo enjoyed — including his favorite from the local convenience store. You smile to yourself, already picturing the wide smile that would cross his face when you presented him with the snacks.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, which you all but dive for with a speed that feels almost inhuman. You stare down at the illuminated screen, heart deflating as you realize it’s only a message from your mother, checking in and asking you how your date with Gojo was going.

Lifting a shaky hand to your eyes, you wipe away the tears that cling to your bottom lash line. You text your mother back, lying to her about the state of the date and pushing your phone back into your pockets. You glance back down at your open purse, blinking back your tears at the sight of the snacks — what a waste.

< … >

“Sato—“

You pause just outside of the classroom doors, resting your palms against the sliding door and peering curiously inside. Your eyebrows pinch together, eyes narrowing as you listen intently to the conversation shared between Gojo and Geto, both of whom seemed to be in the middle of — maybe — arguing with one another.

“How much longer am I keeping this up for?” Gojo all but whines, leaning back in the seat that he was occupying, his feet propped up on the desk as he releases an annoyed huff.

Geto chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face as he sits on the desk directly in front of Gojo, folding his legs over one another and smirking down at his best friend. Gojo sighs, blowing his bangs out of his face as he leans forward, his sunglasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose.

“Why? Getting bored?” Geto raises an eyebrow at Gojo, lifting his arms to cross them firmly over his chest. Gojo rolls his eyes yet again, releasing a deepened sigh that only has Geto releasing the chuckle that he had been holding in.

“I’m getting tired,” Gojo mocks a dramatic yawn, throwing his arms into the air and leaning back in his chair. Geto raises an eyebrow at the answer, curious now.

“Tired?”

“Exhausted. I don’t think you understand Suguru, she’s so desperately clingy and just — I can’t keep up with it,” Gojo explains in exasperation, rubbing his hands over his face and digging his fingers into the skin of this temples, rubbing them in slow circles.

You feel your heart crack the more that Gojo speaks — listening quietly as he lists off all of the things that he seemingly hates about you. Your eyes burn with tears, and suddenly every ounce of love that you ever felt for Gojo seep out of you in waves.

Had he felt that way about you the whole time?

“Hey, you were the one that said yes. You could’ve dropped the bet,” Geto shrugs his shoulders, an action that earns him an annoyed kick from Gojo.

“It’s 2,500 Yen. I’m not saying no to that,” Gojo reminds his friend, waving a finger in his face. Geto chuckles breathily, but pauses at an unfamiliar sound — a choked cry. His head whips around in an attempt to locate the source of the sound, feeling his heart drop to the deepest depths of his stomach at the sight of a retreating figure by the classroom's doors.

Gojo follows Geto's wandering gaze, eyebrows knitting together in confusion at the sudden change in his friend's facial expression. "Shit." Is all that Geto says before he moves to the door, peering out of it just in time to see your figure turn the farthest corner of the hallway – then vanishing.

Geto's eyes flicker to meet Gojo's as the latter leans his chin onto Geto's shoulder, staring at the spot that you had just disappeared from.

"What happened?" Gojo inquires curiously, not failing to notice the way that Geto's spine stands as stiff as cardboard. The dark-haired male swallows the lump in his throat – they were both royally fucked.

"We're fucked."

< ... >

"There, there, c'mon (Y/N), don't let this--"

"He lied to me!" You rub your hands roughly over your tear-filled eyes, feeling your chest tighten as you look away from Utahime's concerned gaze. Her eyebrows furrow together in worry, eyes silently taking you in as you curl into yourself.

She would be lying if she said that she wasn't downright pissed at what Gojo had done to you. After listening to your tearful ramble about what you heard, any and all respect that she had for her snowy-haired classmate went completely out of the window.

Not that there was much respect there in the first place.

"So how much of what he said did he actually mean?" Your voice is a broken cry, trembling in a way that has Utahime reaching out to comfortingly lace her fingers with your own.

"I don't know," she whispers in response, not knowing how to help you. You turn your head away from her, sniffing and wiping your nose with the cloth of your sleeve. "I'm sorry (Y/N)."

You shake your head, breath trembling as you grip at your knees. You screw your eyes shut, still seeing his affectionate smile behind your eyelids – you wish that you could forget it completely. You can still feel him too; you can feel his arms wrapped around you and his lips as they press affectionately to your cheek.

You begin to wonder how much effort he actually put into your dates, you begin to wonder if his affectionate touches were genuine, you begin to wonder if it was him writing his text messages out or if it was someone else entirely. Did he ever care about you?

"Hey."

You glance up at Utahime, sniffling quietly as she reaches a hand out, laying her palm against your cheek and thumbing away the stray tears that roll down your cheeks. Her heart breaks at the sight of you – but her heart also yells angrily at the idea that Gojo would toy with you for a measly 2,500 Yen.

She knew that he was an asshole – everyone did. But she didn't think he was that big of an asshole.

"How about me and you go out? I'll even text Mei Mei and Shoko," Utahime offers, smiling again at you. You sniffle, cheeks reddened by your tears. Your eyes are puffy, lashes still wet with tears that take their sweet time in dripping down your face.

"Can we stay in instead?"

Utahime nods, smiling again at you. Her arms extend, wrapping around you and tugging you into her chest, squeezing affectionately at you. You sink into her embrace, face pressed comfortably into her shoulder.

"Yeah, of course we can."

< ... >

"You're such a dick!" Utahime yells in a fit of rage, shoving her hands against Gojo's chest and glaring daggers at him as he stumbles backwards. He stares at her incredulously, eyebrows raised to a point that his forehead is wrinkled five times over.

He hadn't expected this behavior from the usually calm and collected girl – but the way that she had stormed at him screaming her head off told him that he had royally screwed up.

Over his shoulder, Geto watches knowingly. He knows that he'll likely be yelled at too, so in mental preparation, he remains completely silent, not wanting Utahime to turn her rage on him prematurely.

"What is this about?" Gojo asks genuinely, his eyes narrowed in confusion as Utahime angrily takes a step back from him, restraining herself from actively strangling him.

"What is this – so you just have no idea what you did to (Y/N)? God, you're dense!" Utahime all but screams, throwing her hands up in a fit of rage.

Gojo narrows his eyes, then they widen – shit. How the fuck did you find out?

"What do you mean?" He pauses for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What about (Y/N)?"

"Oh, don't act so clueless! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Utahime jabs a finger at Gojo's chest, her eyes burning with a rage that he had genuinely never seen in her before. She takes a brave step towards him – in return, he takes a step back.

"I don't--"

"Does 2,500 Yen sound familiar to you?" Utahime raises an eyebrow at him. He deadpans, swallowing the growing lump in his throat and feeling his heart sink.

His silence tells her everything that she needs to know. She straightens, shooting a pointed glare to Geto as well – resulting in him looking anywhere but her direction, gaze flickering around wildly.

She turns her attention back to Gojo, looking him up and down with an expression of nothing but pure disgust. He winces at the glint in her eyes – God, he had really screwed up.

"You're both disgusting," Utahime spits venomously, then turning on her heel and promptly striding away from both males. Gojo turns, exchanging a worried yet remorseful glance in Geto's direction. His friend only swallows, they had both royally screwed up.

< ... >

Gojo suffered with the aftermath of you hearing his conversation – you avoided him like he had been infected with some kind of infectious disease. Any room he entered, you exited. Any time he called out your name with a polite wave, you turned your nose up and continued walking.

In a way, you pretended that he simply didn't exist – that the person waving to you or trying to interact with you was nothing but a phantom, one that you ignored as if it was the only thing that you knew how to do.

"(Y/N)! Hey, can we--"

You stride past him, shoulder knocking against his own as you exit the classroom. He stands silently at its center, lowering his hand back to his side – he had wanted to reach out for you, but something inside of him told him to simply leave you be.

And the day that he saw you happily hanging off of Nanami's arm was the day that he realized – loving someone from afar was the worst pain of all.

#colonelarr0w #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo x reader #jjk gojo x reader #jjk gojo satoru #jjk gojo #🍰 anon

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l4ndonorizz · 5 months ago

Text

first date gone wrong / lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: videoclub - roi

summary: a chaotic first date with Lando Norris—from spilled wine to fire alarms—turns into an unforgettable night, proving that sometimes, disaster leads to the best moments

wc: 1.5k

You had been waiting for this night for what felt like forever. After months of playful banter, lingering looks, and not-so-subtle flirting, Lando had finally asked you out. When he suggested dinner at a trendy new restaurant in the heart of the city, your excitement had skyrocketed. You spent far too long getting ready, agonizing over what to wear, how to do your hair, and if your nerves were showing.

This was Lando Norris, after all. Charming, witty, and undeniably attractive—not to mention one of the most talented drivers in Formula 1. The thought of this date being a disaster hadn’t even crossed your mind.

But perfect was far from how things were turning out.

The first sign of disaster came when Lando texted you, telling you he was running late. Something about getting stuck in traffic after a last-minute sim session. Typical. Still, when he finally showed up, his sheepish grin and casual apology had you forgiving him instantly.

“Sorry, love. I swear, the city just conspires against me,” he said, pulling you into a quick hug before stepping back to give you a once-over. His eyes widened, clearly impressed. “You look...wow.”

Your cheeks heated at the compliment, but before you could respond, the maître d’ cleared his throat, reminding you both that you were, in fact, standing in the entrance of a fancy restaurant, blocking traffic.

Once seated, things seemed to fall into place. The restaurant was beautiful—dimly lit with a warm, inviting atmosphere. The soft glow of candlelight flickered between you, and the background noise of clinking glasses and murmured conversations created the perfect ambiance. Lando, dressed in a casual suit jacket and his signature charm, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, clearly ready to dive into the night.

“So,” he said, flashing you a grin, “how have I managed to convince you to actually go out with me?”

You rolled your eyes, playing along. “Convince me? More like I was waiting for you to finally get a clue.”

Lando let out a bark of laughter, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Fair point. I guess I’m a bit slow off the line sometimes.”

The conversation flowed easily, as it always did with Lando. He made you laugh without even trying, and before you knew it, you were both swapping stories about your lives, joking about past experiences, and sharing little pieces of yourselves that you hadn’t before. It felt effortless—like you’d been doing this for ages.

That is, until the drinks arrived.

As the waiter set the glasses down, one of them tipped slightly, sending red wine spilling all over your lap. You gasped, pushing your chair back in shock as the cold liquid seeped into your clothes.

“Oh, no,” you muttered, trying to dab at your dress with a napkin.

Lando was instantly on his feet, grabbing napkins and doing his best to help. “I’m so sorry! I’ll—uh, I’ll get them to bring something else. Can we get some towels?” he called out to the waiter, who looked equally mortified.

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was a ridiculous situation—your carefully chosen outfit now stained with wine—but the way Lando was scrambling to fix things made it impossible to be upset. “Well, at least I didn’t wear white.”

Lando grinned, though his eyes were full of guilt. “I swear this never happens…except for that one time I spilled water all over my steering wheel during a stream.”

You chuckled. “You’re not exactly selling yourself here.”

“Stick around. I promise I get better,” he said with a wink, his teasing easing the tension.

Once the wine debacle was resolved, things seemed to settle again. The waiter brought fresh drinks, and you resumed your conversation, laughing about the incident. But as the evening continued, so did the mishaps.

Just as your food arrived, the fire alarm went off. You stared at each other in confusion, until one of the waiters rushed over, explaining that someone in the kitchen had overcooked a dish, and the smoke had set off the alarm. The entire restaurant had to be evacuated.

You and Lando found yourselves standing outside in the chilly night air, arms crossed as you waited for the chaos to die down. The sight of him, bundled up in his jacket with his hair slightly tousled from the wind, was somehow even more charming.

“Well,” Lando said with a wry smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is going well.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Is this part of your plan? To make this the most chaotic date ever?”

Lando grinned sheepishly. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.”

The restaurant staff eventually got the situation under control, and you were allowed back inside. Your food was still warm, surprisingly, and it looked delicious. For a few blissful moments, it seemed like things were back on track.

Until, of course, Lando knocked over his drink. Again.

The glass tumbled across the table, the contents spilling everywhere. You reached out instinctively, trying to catch it, but it was too late. The drink splashed onto the floor, and in a comedy of errors, the waiter—already flustered from the earlier fire alarm—slipped on the liquid, sending the rest of the meal crashing down with him.

You and Lando sat in stunned silence for a moment before both of you burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Well,” you managed between giggles, “at least the food didn’t end up in my lap this time.”

Lando leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m officially the worst date ever. Like, this is rock bottom.”

You wiped away a tear from laughing so hard and gave him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t know, I think this is pretty unforgettable.”

“Unforgettable in the worst possible way,” he groaned, though you could see the humor returning to his eyes. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you. How about a second date? One where we don’t destroy an entire restaurant?”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “Only if it ends with a McFlurry.”

Lando chuckled, nodding. “Deal.”

By the time you both finally finished the salvaged portions of your meal, the restaurant staff had given up on trying to maintain any semblance of order. You could feel the eyes of the other patrons on you, some clearly entertained by your evening’s chaos, while others just wanted you both out of there before another disaster struck.

When you left the restaurant, the air was cool and crisp, the city buzzing quietly around you. Lando reached for your hand as you walked down the street, his fingers lacing with yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“This is turning into the weirdest night,” you said with a laugh, glancing up at him.

He smiled, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “I don’t know. I think it’s one of the best.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Even after everything that went wrong?”

Lando shrugged, his gaze softening. “Yeah. Because I’m with you.”

You rolled your eyes at the cheesiness of his comment, but your heart still skipped a beat. You had to admit—there was something charming about the whole mess of a night. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and far from perfect, but somehow, it felt like exactly what you both needed.

As you continued walking, the conversation turned light again, the easy rhythm between you returning as you joked about the disaster of a date. But there was an undercurrent now—something deeper that hadn’t been there before. The casual touches, the lingering glances—it all felt like more than just playful teasing now.

By the time you reached your car, the energy between you had shifted. Lando stopped, turning to face you, his hand still wrapped around yours.

“Thanks for not running away mid-date,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You smiled, stepping a little closer to him. “Hey, I like a bit of chaos. Keeps things interesting.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. The playful banter from earlier was gone, replaced by something heavier—something that made your heart race.

“I guess…chaos works for us,” Lando murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, Lando closed the distance between you, his hand gently cupping the side of your face as he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, like he was testing the waters. But when you kissed him back, the hesitation disappeared, and the kiss deepened, warm and full of the unspoken feelings that had been building between you for months.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there, lost in the moment. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily.

“Well,” Lando said with a breathless chuckle, “I’d say that was the best part of the night.”

You smiled, your heart still racing. “Yeah. I’d say it was worth all the chaos.”

#f1 fic #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris one shot #lando x reader

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amirasainz · 2 months ago

Note

Girl, I just listened to 'Oh qué sera' by Willie Colón and I can imagine Carlos dancing with his girlfriend to it at a restaurant or something. I love your stories so much and wanted to ask if you could write my request please😘🫠🥹

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💙

Dancing through the night

Carlos leaned back in his chair, casting a warm glance at Yn as she sipped her drink, a soft smile curling on her lips. They were out with some friends at a cozy little restaurant nestled on a quiet street. The laughter of their friends echoed around them, but in his eyes, there was only Yn. The dim lighting added a romantic charm to the evening, and he couldn't help but notice how stunning she looked in the soft glow of the candles on their table.

"You look beautiful tonight," Carlos said, his voice low but full of affection.

Yn smiled, her cheeks flushing. "You're just saying that because you want me to finish my food," she teased.

Carlos laughed softly and reached for her chair, pulling it slightly closer to his. "I want you close to me, not because of your food," he said, his hand gently resting on her thigh as he did. His fingers traced small circles on her skin, a gesture that made her feel warm and cherished.

Their friends, a mix of fellow drivers and their partners, were deep in conversation about the latest race, but Carlos and Yn were in their own little world. She reached over, stealing a bite of his steak, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Hey! I was saving that!" Carlos chuckled, but his tone was playful. "Here," he said, cutting off another piece and offering it to her. "Let me feed you."

Yn raised an eyebrow but accepted the piece, her lips brushing his fingers in the process. She smiled up at him. "You spoil me, you know that?"

Carlos just shrugged, his eyes softening. "It's not spoiling when I enjoy doing it," he replied. "You deserve it."

They continued like this, sharing bites of food, laughing at inside jokes, and exchanging sweet glances. Every time their eyes met, Carlos felt his heart flutter like it had on the first day they met. Yn had a way of making everything feel right in the world.

As the evening progressed and their friends started heading off to other places, Carlos and Yn remained at the table. The restaurant had started to empty out, the noise settling into a more peaceful hum. It was just the two of them now, the quiet punctuated by soft conversations between the two, occasionally interrupted by the distant clinking of glasses.

Carlos looked around, sensing the change in atmosphere. He reached over, squeezing Yn’s hand, which was resting on the table. "Hey," he said softly. "What do you say we stay a little longer, just the two of us?"

Yn met his gaze, her heart warming at the thought. "I’d like that."

As they sat there, savoring the peacefulness, a new song began to play over the restaurant's speakers, the familiar tune immediately catching Carlos's attention. His eyes lit up as the first few notes of "Oh Qué Será" by Willie Colón filled the air. He knew immediately it was Yn’s favorite song.

Without missing a beat, Carlos stood up and extended his hand toward her with a playful grin. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Yn’s eyes sparkled with delight. "Here? Now?" she asked, her voice full of excitement.

Carlos nodded, his smile never wavering. "Of course. No better time than now."

Yn’s face broke into a wide grin as she placed her hand in his. He helped her to her feet, leading her out of their seat and onto the small dance floor that had been empty up until now. The soft lights above them made the moment feel like something out of a dream. The song was a slow salsa, and Carlos immediately pulled her close, his hand resting lightly on her waist while his other held her hand. Yn placed her other hand gently on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his touch.

They moved together, the music flowing through them as they swayed to the rhythm. Carlos's fingers lightly brushed her back, sending shivers down her spine. He loved how easily they fit together, as if they were two puzzle pieces.

"You know," Carlos murmured as he twirled her gently, watching as she laughed, her eyes sparkling. "I could twirl you all night long."

Yn laughed, her voice light and musical. "You're just saying that because you know I can't stop giggling when you do."

"Exactly," he teased, grinning as he spun her around again, watching her smile grow wider. He loved hearing her laugh—especially when it was because of him.

They danced, spinning and swaying, laughing at their own clumsy movements as the song picked up a little, but always staying close to one another. Carlos would pull her back in whenever she wandered too far, always with a gentle smile and a soft laugh of his own. Each time they came together, their gazes locked, and the world outside seemed to fade away.

As the music slowed, Carlos pulled her closer, his arms wrapped securely around her. He rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her skin. "I love you," he whispered, his voice full of sincerity.

Yn's heart skipped a beat at the words. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her fingers. "I love you too," she replied, her voice just as quiet and filled with emotion.

They stayed like that, dancing slowly, their movements almost imperceptible, as if time had no meaning in that moment. The song ended, but neither of them wanted to let go. Carlos continued to hold her close, and Yn leaned her head on his chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart, a comforting reminder of the love they shared.

"You know," Yn said softly, still in his arms, "this is the best part of the night."

Carlos grinned, his thumb gently stroking her back. "I agree," he said, kissing the top of her head. "But we’ve got all the time in the world for more moments like this."

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside seemed far away. There was no rush, no place they needed to be—just the two of them, sharing a moment of quiet, gentle love.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #williams #slow dancing

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charlesslut16 · 10 months ago

Text

-our time-

summary : you, george and your little girl are on vacation

PAIRING : dad!george russel x fem!mom!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i hope that you like this one, lovies!

masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was shining brightly on a warm summer afternoon as you stepped out onto the terrace of the luxurious hotel. You held the hand of your husband, George Russell, who smiled down at you with his signature warmth.

In his other arm, he cradled his six-month-old daughter. The hotel’s poolside restaurant bustled with activity, the sounds of laughter and splashing water creating a lively, cheerful atmosphere.

"Isn't this place beautiful?" George asked, his eyes twinkling as he looked around. He loved going on vacation, as his busy racing schedule did not allow it often.

"Absolutely," you agreed, squeezing his hand. "And it's the perfect day for a little family outing." You were so happy to finally have george and your daughter for the whole day without any duties.

Your daughter gurgled happily in George's arms, her wide blue eyes reflecting the clear sky above. Her tiny hands reached out, grabbing at the air, fascinated by everything around her.

George chuckled, adjusting her sun hat to shield her delicate skin from the sun. Her yellow sundress flowing in the wind. Hey face showing pure emotion and curiosity.

"Let's find a nice spot," George suggested, leading the way to a shaded table near the pool. The gentle breeze carried the scent of tropical flowers, adding to the serene ambiance.

As you settled into your seats, a friendly waiter approached, offering a menu filled with delicious options. George glanced at Emilia, who was now contentedly chewing on her teething ring.

"How about some fresh fruit and a couple of smoothies?" George suggested, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing smile. "And maybe something a bit more substantial for us?"

You nodded in agreement, your heart swelling with affection as you watched George effortlessly balance his roles as a doting father and a loving husband. The waiter took your order and left, promising to return soon.

George gently rocked your daughter, who was now starting to doze off in his arms. Her tiny fingers curled around his shirt, and he looked down at her with pure adoration. She loved her father.

"She's such a little angel," George murmured, his voice filled with awe.

"She takes after her dad," you teased, earning a playful grin from George.

As you waited for your food, you three enjoyed the peaceful moment, the sound of water splashing and children laughing creating a pleasant background.

George shared stories from his racing adventures, his passion and excitement infectious. You found yourself laughing at his stories, feeling incredibly lucky to share these moments with him.

Soon, the waiter returned with a platter of fresh fruit, vibrant and colorful, along with two tall glasses of smoothies. George carefully placed your daughter in her stroller, ensuring she was comfortable, before turning his attention to the delicious spread.

"Cheers to a perfect day," George said, raising his glass.

"To us," you echoed, clinking your glasses together.

As you savored the refreshing smoothies, you fed your daughter small pieces of banana, her tiny mouth opening eagerly for each bite. George captured the moment on his phone, his smile broadening with each adorable expression your daughter made.

"She's a natural in front of the camera," George said proudly. "Just like her mum."

You laughed, feeling a warm blush spread across your cheeks. "She's definitely got your charm."

The afternoon continued in a blissful haze. You took turns playing with her, dipping her tiny toes into the pool, much to her delight. Her giggles were infectious, drawing smiles from everyone around. George couldn't resist joining in the fun, splashing water gently to make her laugh even more.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the pool area, you all settled back at your table, enjoying a light dinner. George fed your daughter her evening bottle, his patience and tenderness evident in every movement.

You felt a deep sense of contentment, knowing you were building beautiful memories together. You always knew that this man would be your husband and the father of your children.

With your daughter now fast asleep in her stroller, you and George leaned back, watching the stars begin to twinkle in the twilight sky. George took your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

"Today was perfect," he said softly, his eyes reflecting the same stars you were gazing at.

"Yes, it was," you agreed, your heart full of love.

"I love you, darling" george added softly, the content in his eyes visibly showing.

"I love you" you said softly, giving him a kiss.

As you sat there, hand in hand, you knew that no matter where life took you, moments like these would always be cherished. The laughter, the love, and the simple joy of being together as a family made every day an adventure worth living.

And as the night wrapped its gentle embrace around you, you looked forward to the many more perfect days to come, knowing that with George and your daughter by your side, life would always be an incredible journey.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fluff #masterlist #george russel x reader #george russell x reader #george russel imagine #george russell #george russell imagine #george russell oneshot #george russell x you #george russell fluff #george russell blurb #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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bangtanficsforyou · 1 year ago

Text

Fine Line (JJK)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader.

Au: Enemies to lovers.

Word count: 2.4K

Genre: angst, smut, fluff (i am ninety percent sure I'll write a part two at some point with all the spice)

Summary: You hate Jungkook. Jungkook hates you. It's simple. Until it isn't.

A/N: here's my patreon for early access to all my works and exclusive drabbles and aneek peaks!

Part two here!

"You're beautiful," he speaks loudly to be heard over the loud blaring music.

"Thank you," you express your appreciation not only through your words but also through your red hot cheeks and shy smile.

His hand tightens around your waist as the both of you sway gently along with the music. "You're welcome, pretty."

Chuckling, you place one of your palms on his chest and look up at him.

The night has been filled with subtle touches, light teasing and full of laughter. You didn't expect you'd have this much fun when you agreed to go on a date with the guy you matched with, a few weeks ago. But it has been a pleasant surprise so far and you have been feeling glad over the decision of going out tonight.

You both dance with low giggles and occasional compliments are thrown in the air. That is until the music changes into something more upbeat.

"Would you like to go to the bar?"

You're relieved on hearing that question and couldn't agree sooner. It's not unknown to you that with the change of music comes the typical club activity aka grinding on each other. And you're not in the mood for that so it's rather wise to remove yourself from the dance floor.

One might question, why then did you choose a club of all places? Simple reason, a crowded place is safe for a first date. Why not a restaurant? Because you were not really that excited about the date at first and a restaurant felt a bit too intimate. What if there's no flow of conversation? What will you do then? Sit there awkwardly and enjoy the sounds of knives and forks?

Hence, clubbing.

You two sit yourselves next to each other on stools and ask the bartender to make the both of you drinks. Something sweet for you, something strong for him.

"What's the last book that you have indulged yourself in?"

You perk up at the mention of books. You had mentioned to him previously that you absolutely love reading books and you would stay in fictional worlds if you could. And you're impressed that he remembers that small piece of detail.

You tell him about the book you're currently reading and all the reasons why you love it. You get even more excited when he adds his recent reading experiences and from then on, there's no stopping the chit-chat between you two.

The conversation moves on from books to people in both of your lives and then to food and then lord knows, to what.

At some point, you both get tipsy and you can tell he's more affected by the drinks than you are. It gets to the point where you feel like it's better for him to head home now before he gets to a stage where he cannot get home by himself.

"You should probably stop with the drinks now," you suggest, softly. "Would you like for me to book you a cab?"

He dismisses your words with a wave of his hand. "Nah, sweetheart, I am only getting started."

He throws his hand in the air and before you can register what's happening, he's placing them over your shoulders. His fingers rub the skin of your arms and he grins at you. You squirm in your seat, suddenly finding his grin to be not that attractive. You try to tell yourself that there's nothing to be scared of, some people tend to get a little touchy when they get drunk.

"The night has only got started, sweetheart," he mutters, getting incredibly close to you. You think he's attempting that thing where someone whispers in your ears in a sexy gruff voice in hopes that it'd be attractive. But if anything, you shiver in disgust and fear.

You try to put some distance between the two of you but he doesn't budge. It's only when you put a little more force that you're successful at your attempts.

He's taken off guard by your sudden use of force but his surprise fades and he smirks. "Do you like it rough, babygirl?"

Okay, that's it.

"I need to go use the washroom," you come up with the most basic excuse ever but you doubt in his drunk state, he'd ever pay attention to how lame you sound.

You're right in your assumption that he doesn't pay attention. However, he's not happy that you're leaving him. "You should not leave me here. We should leave together for my place."

The lopsided grin on his face makes your stomach churn in a bad way. Before you can get a word out to come up with some excuse, a glass of shot is being placed in front of him.

"Sir, your order," the bartender says and that seems to be the magic words as he seems to forget that he had an issue with you leaving him moments ago.

You ease up a little bit and don't miss the look the bartender is giving you. She seems to be telling you with her eyes that she will make sure that your date doesn't follow you.

The relief on your face is the only thing that serves as a mode of expressing your gratitude as you quickly flee the spot. Not knowing any place better, you actually do find yourself in the washroom. What if you were to stand outside the club and somehow he catches up with you? In the washroom, at least there will be other girls.

You take your phone out and hesitate for a brief moment. Would it be the right thing to do to ask your best friend, Jisoo, to come and pick you up? You could take a cab but with the sudden turn of events, you feel scared to be alone.

Pushing your hesitance aside you shoot her a text, knowing she would be very mad if she were to learn you didn't text her when in need.

You: can you please come and pick me up?

Jis 🥵: sure can

Jis 🥵: but is everything alright?

You chew on your lower lip and decide this is no time to go into details.

You: I'll tell you once I reach home

Jis 🥵: sure

Jis 🥵: i can see your location

Jis 🥵: I'll be there in fifteen

You sigh in relief when you read the text. You wait for exactly twelve minutes before stepping out of the washroom, getting a little impatient to get out of the club.

However, the moment you step out, you're met with a figure that you recognise immediately. Jungkook. And by the looks of it, he looks agitated about something as he looks at his phone screen.

You're no fool to think that Jungkook being here is a mere coincidence and walk towards him. The sound of your heels catches his attention and he looks up, finally noticing you.

"Why are my calls not reaching you?" He asks, looking absolutely pissed. Any other time, you'd have felt extremely satisfied at that but you fail to feel any of that right now.

To address his question, his calls are not reaching you because you have him blocked. Why?

Before answering the why, you should probably get into how you and Jungkook know each other.

You see Jisoo has a boyfriend, Taehyung. And Taehyung, bless his sweet soul, has an absolute devil of a best friend, Jungkook.

You never imagined that you'd ever have this much animosity with your best friend's boyfriend's best friend. But for some reason unknown, you and Jungkook just simply do not get along. You both are involved in constant bickering, pulling pranks and throwing insults at each other.

Which leads to the why, you have Jungkook blocked. Last time, he posted an advertisement on his social media saying there's a need for someone who can do a good Minnie Mouse impression and put your phone number at the bottom of it. For several days people kept calling you asking if they can give you their demo. Some didn't even bother asking, they thought saying hello in the Minnie Mouse voice would earn them brownie points. It made you so incredibly furious that out of sheer pettiness, you blocked Jungkook.

"Why are you here?" You ask instead of answering his initial question.

"What? I'm your prince charming for tonight," Jungkook smirks, his previous agitation melting away and it immediately irks you. "I heard you needed a ride and so here I am."

Your eyes follow his and you immediately shake your head when you realise he's asking you to get on his bike. Jungkook and his bike go hand in hand, so much so that you hadn't paid attention to it when you first saw him. However, now you feel incredibly stupid for not realising any sooner that his bike is supposed to be your ride for the night.

"No, no, no, I'm not getting on that," you shake your head vehemently.

Jungkook raises a brow. "You have no other choice, sweetheart."

"I'll book a cab," you grumble, knowing very well that you are not quite fond of that idea.

"I'm already here. Just get on the bike Y/N."

You don't reply for a few moments before sighing when you realise how your argument is incredibly stupid. "Fine."

Jungkook grins and gets on the bike. He starts the engine and motions you to take your seat. You hesitate for a moment but then get behind him. He hands you a helmet before putting one on himself.

You wait for him to start the bike but you are confused when Jungkook doesn't do so. "What are you waiting for?"

"For you to wrap your arms around me," just by the tone of his voice, you can tell he's enjoying this thoroughly.

You scoff. "Why would I ever do that?"

Your question is answered when he revs the engine and the force of it makes you stumble forward. Involuntarily, your arms wrap around his torso as you cling to him for dear life.

"There's my good girl," Jungkook comments with a cheeky grin on his face and takes off.

With how fast he's going, you find yourself feeling scared and hold on to him tighter. His hard back presses against your chest and you rest your chin on his right shoulder, soon finding the position comfortable and despising it at the same time. You both spend the entire journey to your place in this manner and in absolute silence.

You're surprised at how quickly you reach your destination. It's like his motorbike flies. Untangling yourself from Jungkook, you get off the bike. You remove the helmet and throw it at him, not wanting to spend another moment in his presence.

But before you can walk inside your home, he grabs your hand. "Woah, woah, woah. Do I not get a thank you?"

"Fuck off, asshole," you roll your eyes and free yourself from his grip. You're aware that if you were to ask anyone they'd tell you, you are the one who's being an asshole but you and Jungkook simply do not share the kind of dynamic, where one thanks the other. If it were Jungkook in your place, he'd probably say something cheeky or call you names. He'd do everything but not say thank you.

You take the key out of your purse and are about to unlock your door, when you're swiftly turned around in the blink of an eye and the next thing you know, you are caged between your front door and Jungkook.

"What do you want, Jungkook?"

The corner of his lips lift up. "A simple thank you."

You smile too, the only difference being yours is sarcastic. "Thank you so much Jungkook for coming to pick me up because Jisoo asked you to."

"She didn't ask me to," he replies, immediately, shaking his head. The action causes a few of his curls to fall on his face and with him being this close to you, you let your mind drift to how easy it would be for you to just gently remove those strands out his face. However, you control yourself, getting annoyed with the whole situation.

"Of course, she didn't ask you to! You came because you wanted to really help me." Your words are so sweet that they drip venom.

Jungkook observes you closely, before curiosity gets the best of him. "Why do you hate me so much?"

You're caught off guard by his question. The hate between you and Jungkook has always been mutual and reciprocated. None of you have ever questioned it. Hating each other is what feels right, what feels natural. You never imagined that any of you would ever question it.

"Well…you know," you stutter, finding yourself at a loss of words.

"No, I don't," he challenges. "Tell me Y/N, what have I done for you to hate me so much?"

"Y-you know, y-you know you are not a good guy," the words sound lame to even your own ears but that's the best you come up with.

"That's it, huh?"

You roll your eyes and look away from him, not wanting to make it obvious that you do not have a proper answer to give. However, Jungkook grabs your chin and makes you look at him.

He leans in incredibly close and you feel his breath on your skin. It makes you wonder what he's doing, it makes you wonder if he's going to kiss you and it makes you wonder why you aren't moving away from him. Your breathing speeds up and your chest heaves to give testimony to that. Your eyes drop to his lips and for the first time you find the previously annoying mole under them, cute. Just when you think he's about to close the distance he goes straight to your ears.

"I think you want me to be the bad guy," he whispers. "Because you know I'd be too good to you."

He nips at your earlobe before backing away, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"What are you doing?" You may not have been kissed but you sound just as breathless as one gets after a heavy session of kissing.

"Good night princess," he winks at you before getting on his bike. "Have sweet dreams."

What just happened?

Part two is available here.

#jungkook x reader #Jungkook smut #Jungkook angst #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook au #Enemies to lovers #Biker Jungkook #Jungkook fic #Jungkook FF #BTS fic #Jungkook scenarios #BTS scenarios #BTS FF #Fic: fine line

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