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wife-of-all-dilfs · 6 months

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flower therapy | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after being rescued from the capitol’s torturous clutches, your boyfriend, finnick odair, assists you with recovering from haunting memories and ptsd.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: finnick being major boyfriend material, soft reader, mentions of torture, ptsd, panic attack, hurt/comfort, fluff

notes: the way i lowkey triggered myself into a panic attack while writing this?? i’m okay now though 😀

word count: 1.3k

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. That is what the psychiatric doctors of District Thirteen suggested after you were rescued from being captured and tortured in the Capitol. Their methods sounded daunting and all too familiar—sterile white rooms, memory flash cards, persistent strangers who would force you to relive your trauma so you could 'work through it'.

Finnick did not like the sound of that one bit. So, he offered an alternative.

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. The label was a mouthful. Finnick preferred to call it "flower therapy". Twice a week, you and Finnick were authorised to spend two hours above ground where you would sit in a nearby meadow, make daisy chains, and occasionally open up about what happened in the Capitol.

You liked to call it "the power of flowers". Stupid, but saying it always formed a little smile on your face and there was no harm in simple joy considering the cruelties you had endured. Most of the time, you were silent and would lie in Finnick's arms while making flower crowns. He was always patient; he understood you needed time. Day after day, he proved his unconditional love, and you thanked the universe for blessing you with such an incredible man.

"Oh no," you whispered.

"What is it?"

You dangled your broken daisy chain in front of you and Finnick.

"Oh no," he echoed.

Your back rested against his chest and his arms enveloped your body as he held his own effortlessly crafted yellow chain in your lap. Apparently, years of weaving fishing nets creates a master of making daisy chains.

"Here," he said, positioning his own flower crown on your head. "Beautiful."

Smiling, you turned your head to face him. "I'm going to tell everyone I made it."

The flowers sat like a golden halo atop your head, beaming just as bright as the smile Finnick had bloomed at the sight of you. Beauty was everything that you were; not just outwardly, but within the confines of your mind too. Flowers and sunlight were interwoven with your soul, making up the essence of who you were—loving and warm-hearted. One of the many reasons Finnick had fallen in love with you.

He would forever want to remain in your garden, tending to and protecting every petal that blossomed.

His thumb swiped affectionately across your cheek. "Of course you are, you thief," he murmured, grinning. "You owe me."

Your stomach flooded with butterflies and you leaned in, tenderly kissing him with soft pink lips. Finnick cupped your cheek, stroking the baby hairs of your hairline with his fingers as he smiled against your mouth. Even your lips tasted like sweet nectar to him.

After you pulled away, you settled back into his embrace, sinking into those arms that shielded you from any and all harm.

"Okay, I suppose you're forgiven," Finnick said, the smile present in his voice.

You toyed with his fingers while wearing a glowing smile of your own, his arms lovingly wrapped around your body. Oh, you loved him so endlessly.

As the sun began to lower, a mixture of orange and pink clouds blanketed the sky. The trees surrounding the meadow cast large shadows throughout the area, making it appear much darker than it really was. A subtle shift in the once tranquil atmosphere rippled through the meadow, happiness now becoming a distant and unreachable feeling.

The broken daisy chain crumpled in your hands no longer shined in the sun like a beautiful mess. It instead looked tangled. Chaotic. Darkened by the dimming light and transformed into something sinister that resurfaced haunting memories of the Capitol—twisted IV tubes filled with unknown substances, chains that removed layers of skin, decaying white roses that covered the floor of your cell.

Heaviness clutched at your heart, suffocating you from within.

Finnick sensed the sudden shift, loosening his hold around you as he whispered, "What's wrong?"

"I—I don't know," you stammered, the air thinning around you.

The wilting daisies started to taint your hands with darkness, creeping slowly up your arms and causing them to tremble. Finnick, who noticed your fixation on the daisy chain, gently took the flowers from your grasp and set them aside.

It was too late; the panic had already set in.

He turned your body to the side in his lap, forcing you to face him. Your eyes flickered with worry. No amount of pain could compare to the heartbreak he felt seeing you like this.

"Hey. Hey, look at me," he urged, his tone soothing. "Breathe with me, alright? In..." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "And out."

But it was no use. Air was caged within your lungs, burning like fiery hot whirlwinds inside your chest. It was all you could do to force rapid shallow breaths out of your mouth.

"No, no!" A tear fell from your eye as you fervently shook your head. "Finn, I ca—I can't."

"Yes, you can, baby," he said, pushing aside the hair that obscured your vision. His eyes searched the area, looking for anything that could help distract your frantic mind. That is when he spotted a small flock of birds perched on one of the tree branches, instantly recognising their black feathers and sharp beaks. "Look. See those birds? They're mockingjays."

Finnick pointed up at the tree, gaining your attention which then shifted to the birds that were gawking down at you with curious tilting heads. Mockingjays. Katniss. Rebellion. Hope. You focused all your attention on the little black birds and listened to Finnick's reassuring voice.

"They'll repeat any tune you make," he continued, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Can you do that for me? Try and whistle something for them?"

Attempting to control your ragged breathing, you jerkily nodded. Songs from the world before the war overtook your mind. At first, it was overwhelming as your mind scrambled for a suitable melody, fuelling your panicked state. But then you heard something familiar and focused on the familiar tune, one that was from your childhood.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep, my little baby,

When you wake you shall have,

All the pretty little horses.

It was a lullaby your mother sang whenever you were upset. Seemed fitting considering the situation. You managed to whistle the first few notes, albeit a little wobbly of course, hardly noticing the air that was starting to flow more freely into your lungs.

"That's it, sweet girl."

Once the mockingjays began echoing the song throughout the forest—far more beautifully than your broken whistles—you continued the melody until the end. When you finished, the birds continued to repeat the tune, singing your mother's lullaby over and over in the trees of District Thirteen.

Whilst sat cradled in Finnick's embrace, you quietly hummed along as he stroked soft patterns on your arm. Darkness and pain were long forgotten now. Your body no longer trembled with fear nor did your breathing. Memories of the Capitol's brutality were locked away and hidden in the back of your mind, diligently guarded by the man whose arms you lay in.

Golden beams filtered through the tree trunks; the sun was now lowered enough to let the warm light in, illuminating both you and Finnick. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, wrapping you up even tighter in his arms now that he was certain the worst had passed.

You clutched onto his arm and blew out a final stabilising breath, finding comfort in the strength and protection he held. The side of your head rested against his chest, the beats of his heart harmonising like a drum with the mockingjays' song.

You wanted to apologise but knew his response would be dismissive. You wanted to tell him how deeply you loved and appreciated him but knew your words would fail you.

So, you remained silent.

"You're safe," Finnick whispered into your hair. "Right here, right now. I promise."

Right here, right now, you repeated in your mind. In Finnick's arms, you were safe. You were loved.

tags: @tayrae515

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #sam claflin #odesta #finnick x reader

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the-boy-meets-evil · 1 month

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on second thought | jww

(where your roommate, wonwoo, has an interesting solution to all your bad dates. nothing can go wrong with two friends crossing a line, can it?)

pairing: wonwoo x f.reader genre: roommates/friends to fwb to?? | smut, tiny bit of angst if you squint rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni word count: 6.5k warnings: there's some plot here but it's mostly smut, multiple sex scenes (some quickly referenced), roommates who enter a fwb agreement, kissing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, use of actual lube, some scratching, after care, mentions: masturbation, kitchen sex, teasing, overstimulation, edging, i think that's it.

authors note: happy birthday to my bby @wongyuseokie! i'm thankful to have met you through nets. i hope you like some wonwoo to celebrate. thank you to @wonwussy for helping me with a title, you're a savior. this is unedited because i only started it yesterday so sorry in advance. also tagging: @aaniag @gyuminusone

Another disappointing date. Another man who couldn’t even seem to let you finish a sentence. Was so intent on proving how well he could provide for you that he forgot to treat you like a person. So intent on establishing his dominance that he tried to order for you at the overpriced restaurant with too-small portions. So irritated that he paid for your dinner and drinks only for you to leave separately from him and refuse his offer to drive you home. There was no way you were letting that man know where you lived. Is it really asking too much just to have a decent date? You aren’t going to let anyone try to tell you that your standards are too high. You’re really just asking for the bare minimum.

That’s why you’re sitting on the counter in the kitchen of your shared apartment, spilling your guts to your sympathetic roommate. His hair is messy, sticking up at odd angles in some places because he’s been playing video games for hours. Probably streaming at some point. You admire that he’s able to do something he loves to fill up most of his days. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and you try not to find it so endearing. But, you fail at that. He really is impossibly cute sometimes.

“Do you want a bite of this?” you ask instead, holding out the instant ramen you made as soon as you got home.

“No, I ate earlier,” he answers.

“An actual meal or a Wonwoo meal?” you challenge and he rolls his eyes.

“I ate real food. Go back to bitching about your date,” Wonwoo says.

“I don’t know, maybe I was being too harsh,” you say.

“He sounds like a fucking nightmare,” he disagrees.

“Ugh, maybe I just need to redownload one of those apps,” you whine. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t look at me like that. I hate fucking on the first date, but I’m so pent up that I need to release it somehow. I’m going insane.”

This makes him laugh, at least. It releases a little bit of the tension, too. You’ve lived with Wonwoo nearly three years and were friends for years before that. Nothing is secret between the two of you. Not anymore. The first time you realized he caught you getting off in your room because you didn’t think he was home was mortifying. Even if he didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. After you got over it, things settled. And in the time since, you’ve both heard the other doing a lot of things. Some of your friends think it’s weird, but you just chalk it up to the comfort of living with someone. After all, you would tell your female friends all about your sex life. Why was that weird to share with Wonwoo?

“Toys not doing it for you?” he throws out. You only fix him with a glare. It’s more proof that you’re entirely too comfortable.

“Our walls are thin, what do you think?” you answer.

Wonwoo snorts a little before seeming to consider something. “Why don’t we just fuck? Get it out of your system.”

The sip of water you’re taking when he suggests that comes bursting out of your mouth. A real life spit take. Thankfully, he’s out of the blast zone. He looks unamused at water coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t look like he was kidding. It can be so hard to tell with him. You think that you know his face well after all these years. But, you never thought you’d hear that coming out of his mouth, so you’re not sure.

“Please give me some indication if that was a joke or not,” you say.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he says.

“Pretty clear indicator,” you mumble.

“Is it that crazy? You think I’m hot…” Wonwoo starts. If you were still drinking, you’d spit out your water again.

“Uh, what?” you ask.

“You think I’m hot. Hao told me,” he says as if it’s no big deal. You’re mentally running through what the appropriate payback is for this breach of trust. “It’s fine. He told me because I was saying I also think you’re hot.”

“I mean, thanks,” you laugh, still considering how you’re going to torture Minghao. “But, we can’t have sex.”

“Why not?” Wonwoo presses.

“Because we’re roommates?” you ask like it’s obvious.

“So I can hear you fuck yourself with a toy or hear you fake an orgasm with another bad date, but us fucking each other is the line?” Wonwoo asks.

“I don’t fake that many orgasms,” you scoff to buy time.

“Yes, you do,” he argues. “I can hear the difference. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be faking it with me.”

There’s a little bit of cockiness in the statement that shouldn’t be doing anything for you. But, it is. There’s also the very real possibility that Wonwoo does know the difference in the sounds you make. It’s not like you’ve bothered being that quiet since the first conversation where he heard you. What’s the point? The walls are pretty thin and you’re both adults. It’s not like you’re going to kick him out every time you bring a date home. And you’re definitely not going to only get off in the shower because it drives up the water bill.

Beyond any of it, there’s also a little curiosity. Wonwoo is insanely attractive. Someone would have to be blind to miss that. He’s got that whole nerdy thing going on for him on initial inspection with the glasses and gaming. Or there’s the fact that he’s content to just hang out around the house, even with company over, wearing his pimple patches. But then, there’s this whole other side to him. It comes out when you’re both out with friends and he leaves the glasses behind. Swapping out graphic tees or hoodies for form fitting clothing and leather jackets. Casually leaning against a bar and whispering honey into some nameless, faceless stranger’s ear.

And that leads you to the reason you’re actually curious. Sure, he’s heard you having sex with people you’ve been dating or just someone you brought home for the night. But, you’ve heard him too. If any of your orgasms sound faked, the ones he coaxes from the pretty girls in his bed sound anything but. There’s nearly always an incoherent string of praises. That thought alone has you considering his proposition. It has you shifting a little on the counter.

“Let’s pretend for a second that I’m considering this,” you start and he smiles.

“Pretend, sure,” he echoes.

“We’d need ground rules, right? Like we don’t want this to get awkward,” you say.

“It’s not gonna be awkward. But, we can set whatever makes you feel comfortable,” he says nonchalantly.

A very strong, very hard to ignore voice in the back of your head argues against setting rules at all. Actually urges you to just drag him into your bedroom. Or his bedroom? Maybe you do need some ground rules.

So, you talk. You don’t say that it’s only going to happen once because you never know what needs might pop up. The most important thing that you agree to is that nothing can change between the two of you. If either of you feels like it’s going to, then you have to talk about it because preserving the friendship is most important. It doesn’t matter what bed you have sex in as long as the other helps clean anything up. You’re not planning on this being a regular thing, so you don’t need to negotiate any kinks or anything like that. If it does become more of a thing, then you can revisit the kinks. There won’t be any weirdness about dating or talking to other people. This is just a solution between two friends that are both going through dating dry spells.

Once the rules are set out, Wonwoo brings you into his room. Even though you’ve been in here more times than you could ever count, it feels different now. He tells you to make yourself comfortable on his bed. When he turns around to take his shirt off and toss it aside, your eyes map out his back. And, yeah, you’ve seen Wonwoo shirtless before, but never given yourself permission to so openly appreciate his body. His shoulders are impossibly wide and he’s in deceptively good shape for someone that hides under baggier clothes.

“Should I take a picture for you?” he asks. It’s only then that you realize that he’s facing you.

“Funny,” you say with an eye roll.

Wonwoo crosses the space to his bed and settles next to you. The way he reaches out to pull your face into his own is so smooth. His lips are on yours before your brain has a chance to catch up. You gasp a little and pull back.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Uh, didn’t we just go over this?” he asks.

“No, I mean, we’re kissing?” you ask.

“What am I supposed to do, sweetheart, just get right down to fucking you without foreplay?” he asks.

You feel a little stupid for asking that because of course you don’t want to skip the foreplay. It’s just that you don’t want to force it, either.

“Just let me take care of you,” Wonwoo says to keep you from overthinking anything.

It’s not something that you expected to be doing. Giving up control to Wonwoo. But, it’s surprisingly easy when he starts kissing you again. Any thoughts that this might be weird fly right out of your head as soon as he deepens the kiss. Instead, your focus is on what a good kisser he is. The way his lips mold effortlessly to yours. The way his tongue licks into your mouth. The way his hands roam your body as if they’re trying to memorize every curve.

You’re breathless by the time Wonwoo pulls back from you to pull your shirt over your head. When you changed after the date from hell, you hadn’t considered putting anything nice on. Hadn’t bothered to keep your bra on. What was the point when you were just going to be going to bed after having something to eat? Now, you’re wondering about that decision. Because your very hot roommate is drinking in the sight of you. It’s making you a little self-conscious, the way his eyes move over your body.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he utters.

It’s a little too intimate for you to respond to. It doesn’t seem to matter, anyway. Wonwoo starts kissing down your neck and working his way to your breasts. He spreads his kisses between them, rolling your nipple between his fingers when his mouth is on your other breast. There’s something so consuming about the way he kisses your body, like he’s worshiping you. Like this is a lot more than roommates helping each other out.

He works his way further down your body, kissing along your stomach, stopping at the waist band to your shorts. Thankfully, he doesn’t give you the chance to overthink here either before he pulls the shorts and underwear down your legs. Tosses them off to the side for good measure. You’re totally naked in front of someone you find you do actually trust. And someone that, yeah, maybe you’ve thought about fucking before. There was no reality where you thought it would happen, though. Even if it does make a lot of sense. Every part of you truly does feel safe with him. He knows you better than most people in your life. Which clearly translates to this part of you.

Since you’re so comfortable, you’re finding it easier to not be embarrassed at the way he’s got you squirming under the barest touch. The way he ghosts his breath across your center makes you let out a whine. It’s unfair, the way that he wants to take his time like this. It’s also unfair that he’s the first person to ever make your mind go this blank during sex. Nothing exists to you outside of this moment and this man.

Wonwoo moves back to where you need him the most, blows gently against your center. The sensation sends a shiver down your body. You barely hear him mumble out a “so pretty” before he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe up your core. There’s just enough time to think this slow pace might actually be the death of you before he goes back in. Using his fingers to spread you apart, he starts tonguing your pussy. A mix of slow and deliberate movements with faster ones. His thumb circles your clit before his mouth moves up there to give it the attention it needs.

With his mouth on your clit, he presses one finger into your pussy. You’ve never really thought much about his hands and now you’re wondering how you missed them. His long finger pumps in and out of you quickly. It seems that he’s reading your body and can tell that you don’t want something too slow. There’s so much pent up in you.

“Fuck, please, Wonwoo. I need another finger,” you whine.

“Anything you want,” he mumbles into your pussy.

He slides another finger inside of you and it makes you clench around him. That only seems to make him move faster. His mouth continues to work along with his fingers and your hands grip whatever they can reach. You’re a babbling mess and you suddenly understand what you overheard from Wonwoo’s room. There’s something so hot about knowing he’s this good with his mouth and his hands. It’s got you coming hard on his face. Harder than you can remember coming before.

“That’s my girl,” he praises as soon as you’re coming down from your high. Your hazy brain doesn’t latch onto it the way it clearly should.

He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thing and then pulls himself up to lie next to you. His fingers trace patterns into your skin while he’s waiting for your breathing to come back to normal.

“Jesus, I guess I know why I always heard so much praise through the wall,” you mutter.

“None as pretty as the sounds you just made,” he says quietly. It’s so gentle, so intimate. There’s a lot of love between you and one of your closest friends, so you don’t dwell too much on it.

You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still dark with desire, fingers still keeping contact with your body. There’s like some kind of bubble around the two of you where nothing else exists. It’s a comfortable feeling, even in the quiet. Something pulls you in closer to him and you can feel his erection brush against your leg.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “You know, I’m still a bit pent up…”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“What? I’m gonna come on your face but we can’t actually fuck like we meant to?” you joke, a little braver than you feel.

“This was about you, not about me,” he says simply.

“It can be about both of us,” you say, hand running down his stomach. He tenses a bit under your touch and it’s unfair. He’s got perfect abs and you kind of hate it. Kind of hate that it’s so hot to you, too.

You run your hand over the outline of his dick threw his shorts, enjoy the sharp intake of breath at the contact. It feels like a sign for you to keep going. But, he grabs your hand and pins it above your head. Kisses you hard and desperate. All of his restraint from before seems to be gone now.

“Don’t play with me, sweetheart,” he warns.

“Then show me how good you can fuck me. You were so sure earlier,” you press back.

Wonwoo rolls over and pulls his shorts and boxers off. Casts them off to the side with your clothing. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls a condom out. He rolls back over to position himself between your legs.

“One final time, are you sure?” he asks. It’s the first time since you came into his room that you’ve seen him look unsure.

“As long as you’re sure too, yes. I need this Nu, please,” you say, a little breathy with desire.

“I love it when you call me that,” he admits.

With your go ahead, he slides his tip along your entrance. You know you’re still wet from his hard work, but he still reaches into the dresser again. He pulls out some lube and runs it along his cock. Once he’s done that, he puts the cap back on and tosses it aside. He presses his tip against you again and this time slides in, slowly. Gives you a chance to adjust.

You’re completely at Wonwoo’s mercy like this, with his arms on either side of you like he’s caging you in. Instead of wanting to get out, you can only think that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Your hands find their way to his arms, gripping him tightly as he bottoms out in you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hisses.

“Nu, fuck, please move,” you beg.

“Give me a second, sweetheart, I’m trying to adjust so it doesn’t end too fast,” he says, voice so impossibly deep.

“Please,” you beg again.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

It finally does get him to move though, barely pulling out at all and fucking slowly into you, so deep. He’s filling you up in the most perfect way. Your nails dig into his arms, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on. Makes him pull nearly all the way out of you before snapping hard into you again. He repositions one of your legs so that he can reach a different angle. With each hard thrust, his dick hits exactly where you need him to be. The rhythm is fast, which is really everything you need for how stressed you’ve been feeling. Each thrust uncoils more of the tension in your body. Each moan seems to spur him on more.

When he leans down to kiss you, it’s messy. A clash of tongues and lips and teeth and need, so much need. Your hands find purchase anywhere on his body they can, even as his own arms seem to be a little shaky. So, you pull him down on top of you, bodies pressed tight as he continues fucking you. You’re still so sensitive from the first orgasm that you’re building up entirely too quickly. Even though you wanted it fast like this, you’re a little sorry to think it might be almost over.

Wonwoo must feel that you’re close by the way you’re clenching around him and begging for him to give you everything. He pushes himself up a little, just creates the tiniest amount of space between your bodies, and you miss it a little. Miss the feeling of skin on skin. But, he’s only doing it so that he can circle your clit. He just wants to take care of all that tension. You give control over to him completely. Let him set the pace. An embarrassingly short time later, you’re coming for the second time. He removes his hand but still fucks you through the high.

When your body stops shaking, you realize that he’s stilled inside you. He’s barely even moving as he looks down at you.

“It’s okay, Nu, I’m not that sensitive yet,” you assure him

“Thank fuck,” he whispers.

His pace is fast and you reach up to run your nails down his back. That seems to get him like nothing else does. When you do it a second time, he hisses out and you know he likes it. Each time your nails find a new part of his skin, his thrusts stutter. You clench your pussy around his cock and that’s all he can handle. He’s coming undone.

You return the favor through his high, lightly keeping the rhythm going and helping him settle his weight on top of you. His breathing is still heavy when he meets your eyes and gives you the gentlest kiss. Slowly, he slides out of you and rolls over. The next second, he’s up to dispose of the condom. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a wet washcloth a few moments later, sitting on the edge of the bed to help you.

“Well, I guess I learned one thing,” you say when he gets up to take the washcloth back to the bathroom.

“What’s that?” he calls over his shoulder.

“All that confidence was definitely warranted,” you say through a light laugh.

You can just feel him rolling his eyes. “And here I thought you’d have less to say after a good fuck.”

“Nope, chatty as ever. No more tension, though,” you say.

“I’m glad,” he says, but it looks like he actually means it.

You move to get out of the bed and look at the sheets. Probably in need of a change. “Hey, do you wanna throw these in the hamper and just sleep in my bed tonight?”

“Are you sure that doesn’t break any rules?” he asks.

“No, we’ve done it…are you teasing me?” Your question morphs in the middle when you catch sight of his face. He can be such a shit for someone who acts like he’s chill all the time.

“I would never tease you,” he says, faux seriousness lacing his voice.

“That’s a shame, I like being teased,” you toss back.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he shrugs.

“Next time?” you wonder.

“Just go get in your bed, I’ll be there in a minute,” he says.

It wasn’t like you agreed for sex with Wonwoo to be a one time thing. That felt like putting too many rules in place. Still, you’re not expecting it to happen again quite so quickly. You also genuinely didn’t realize he was home when you pulled out your vibrator. But, he was home and he barged into your room without knocking, pulled you to the edge of your bed, and fucked you hard. Made you wonder why you’d ever even consider using your vibe in the first place.

The next time comes after another failed date. It kind of seemed like that was the recipe. Something goes wrong or you’re pent up and he’s there to let you use him. Although, he’s really using you just as much. You like to let him be a little rough with you. There’s something satisfying in the way he doesn’t treat you like he’s going to break you. It’s unquestionably the best sex you’ve ever had, but that’s your business. You don’t need to share that with the class. You do figure that it might be time to talk about some kinks and boundaries, though. It would be good to be on the same page.

That seems to be how it goes for a while, at least. It’s mostly you needing something, Wonwoo being able to sense that, and helping you out. It doesn’t seem to ever start from him being the one to need something. He doesn’t even seem to be going out and bringing people home so much anymore. Not that you’re keeping track, you just can’t remember the last time he did. Or maybe he’s trying to only bring someone home when you’re not around.

He definitely holds true to his promise to tease you. One night, after a really long week at work with a lot of little things going wrong, he asks if he can take his time with you. In hindsight, you should have known it meant that it was going to mean teasing. But, you agreed anyway, and let him set the pace. Instead of hard and fast, he takes everything slow. He brings you right to the edge over and over again without letting you have your release. It’s insane how well he seems to read your signs. It seems like he can tell you’re close before you can. That night, it feels like it goes on for hours before he finally lets you come. It’s the biggest mess you’ve ever made. A fact that you would be embarrassed about if Wonwoo hadn’t looked so proud. Still, it feels like you’re the one always working something out.

Until it doesn’t.

One night, you come back from a night out with friends and are rummaging through the cabinets looking for a snack. This is the thing you hate about living with Wonwoo. He’s taller than you and doesn’t think twice about using the higher cabinets. You, on the other hand, can’t reach them so easily. You’re on your tiptoes trying to reach something when you feel him press into your back. His hand comes up and grabs the box you were reaching for with ease. You press further back into him when your heels hit the floor again.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles into your hair. His hands find a place on your hips, holding you against him. This feels different from how every other time has started.

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly into the silence of the apartment.

He lets one hand slide down, quickly meeting the bare skin of your thigh. You know your skirt is a little shorter than normal, but the night seemed to call for it. “This. Did you go out hoping to bring someone home?”

“Maybe,” you say, shivering a little at the way his breath tickles your ear.

“Are you trying to tease me?” he asks. It comes across almost like a demand.

You wiggle your ass against him a little before you answer. “I would never.”

“Of course not,” he says.

Everything that happens after that feels different. It’s never started like this. It’s been passionate, but it’s never been driven by so much raw desire. It’s never been the kind of sex where Wonwoo pushes your skirt up around your hips and pulls your underwear down to your ankles. Never been the kind of sex where he buries his face in your pussy while you grip the counter for support. Never been so desperate and needy and rushed.

He makes you come twice on his tongue with your knees going so weak that you can barely stand before he even moves onto actually fucking you. You’re so weak by the time you finish that he has to help you to the bathroom to clean up before he tucks you into your bed. You’re so tired that you don’t even realize how intimate it is when you ask him to get into bed with you.

The disappointment that sets in when you wake up to get some water in the early hours of the morning hits you hard. Entirely too hard for something that’s supposed to be free of feelings. Your bed feels a little empty without him taking up space. Which is really stupid because it’s not like that’s been something you’ve been doing all of the time. It’s not something you’re used to. But, there’s an unexpected comfort in him. Something that catches you completely off guard. As you drift back off to sleep, you resolve to deal with your feelings in the morning.

That’s how you find yourself sitting on Minghao’s couch as he makes you both a cup of tea. He hasn’t asked about your roommate yet, but you know that it’s coming. He just wants to have everything he thinks you’ll need first. A few minutes later, he sets two cups of tea down next to the plate of snacks he threw together. If you weren’t in such a crisis, you’d have time to be envious over how pretty the presentation looked.

“So things with Wonwoo have gotten awkward?” he asks without preamble.

“Jesus, Hao, let me take a sip first, at least,” you groan.

“I don’t want to say that I told you this was a bad idea…” he starts.

“You were the one who spilled the beans that I thought he was hot. This is your fault too,” you point out.

“I told him that he wasn’t alone in thinking his roommate was hot. I didn’t tell you both to start fucking without realizing it was bound to blow up,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh.

“So, what’s going on?” he asks.

Minghao is a lot of things. He can be a bit of an art snob. He’s that kind of impeccably dressed where he looks like he just stepped off a runway. He can appear a bit detached. But, he’s also one of the most thoughtful people you know. He’s complex and he cares for his friends more than he cares for himself most times. Both you and Wonwoo are among those he counts as his closest friends. So, he just listens as you lay out everything that’s happened since the first time you had sex. He doesn’t judge or interrupt. Patiently, he just waits as you get it all off your chest, including how you felt after last night.

None of that really comes as a surprise. You know that he’s going to give you shit and be there for you at the same time. What does come as a surprise is what he says when you’re done laying out your issues.

“I haven’t wanted to set you up because I wasn’t sure you were in the right place for it, but I actually have a friend that I think you might hit it off with,” he says. “He’d definitely get you out of this whole Wonwoo funk you’re in so things can go back to normal.”

“You wanna set me up?” you ask, surprised.

“Yeah, I think it’d be good for you,” he says.

“Okay, tell me about him,” you agree.

“He’s really kind. Kind of talks in a permanent pout, but it’s endearing somehow. He’s a giant softie at heart and he’s so incredibly loyal. He’s been talking about how he’s looking for something a little more serious. I think you’d like him,” Minghao says.

“What’s his name, Hao?” you ask skeptically.

“Mingyu,” he answers and your eyes go wide.

“Mingyu? As in that hot model you’re friends with?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Minghao says evenly.

“Okay, you can see if he’s interested,” you agree.

It’s been a couple days since Minghao threw out the suggestion of setting you up with Mingyu. The two of you have exchanged a few messages and he does actually seem really nice. He’s also funnier than you expected him to be. When he asks if you want to get dinner the upcoming weekend, you find you’re a little bit excited.

There’s only one issue. You feel like you need to tell Wonwoo. You know that he’s not going to care, but it still feels weird when you’ve been fucking around. Maybe Minghao was right and the whole thing was a terrible idea after all. It’s hard for you to tell him when you seem to keep missing each other, though. Lately, he’s been playing video games over at Vernon’s place more than normal. Even if they’re streaming, something feels weird.

“Hey,” he calls out from the front door, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Oh hey,” you answer, looking up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he moves to head back to his room. “Everything okay?”

He stops to look at you when you ask that question and his eyes still look a bit distant. “Yeah, fine. Why?”

“I don’t know, you’re being short with me,” you say.

He just shrugs. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“Okay,” you say, drawing out the first syllable. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that Minghao set me up with his friend Mingyu and I was thinking I’d go out with him.”

“You don’t have to tell me about your dates,” he says evenly.

“I just thought…” you start.

“We agreed,” he interjects. “Enjoy your date whenever you go.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly to his retreating figure.

The whole point of agreeing to go out with Mingyu was to get things back to normal with Wonwoo. It was clear that you had gotten in over your head. Now, you’re wondering if things are going to be able to go back to normal at all. This isn’t your normal dynamic. You always shared stories about dates, hook-ups, anything and everything under the sun. Your other friends always said it was weird for the two of you and you just ignored them. Now, you feel like you’re in it alone. Maybe they’re right and it is weird.

Since it’s a little on the later side anyway, you decide to grab something from the kitchen and just head into your room. You can go to bed early and forget that whole conversation even happened. That’s probably for the best. It’ll be easier to get back to normal once you’re going on dates again. Once you stop fucking your roommate like you could have ever done that without forming some kind of feelings.

It’s the middle of the night when you feel someone slide into bed around you. A familiar scent slips into your consciousness as an arm slides around your center. You nestle back into the chest and know for sure that it’s your roommate. The same man you’re trying hard to get over.

“What are you doing, Wonwoo?” you mumble in sleepiness.

“Don’t go on the date with Mingyu,” he says. He sounds completely awake.

“What?” you ask. Your brain is still foggy from sleep.

“Don’t go out with anyone else,” he says.

That makes you open your eyes as the words bounce around in your brain. You turn over to your other side so that you’re facing him. His hair is messy and all he’s wearing is a plain white t-shirt, but your heart still constricts a bit at the sight of him.

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” you ask, voice thick with mental exhaustion.

“Exactly what I told you. I want you to turn Mingyu down,” he says.

“Why should I?” you challenge.

“Because, well, we’ve got this…” he starts and fumbles over his words.

“We haven’t got anything. You’ve been avoiding me for days,” you point out. “Hell, I asked you to stay in bed with me after you fucked me in the kitchen and you couldn’t even make it til morning.”

“I know, but I was scared that night because I realized I was starting to feel something,” he says. “And then Hao texted me to tell me he’d finally given your number to Mingyu…”

“Finally? What do you mean?” you asked.

“He’s been asking for your number for months,” Wonwoo says through somewhat gritted teeth. “So Minghao told me you’d agreed to be set up and I don’t know, I guess I just decided…”

“To avoid me?” you supply.

“I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t know how to process you not telling me,” he admits.

“You weren’t around for me to tell you,” you point out. “We’ve been fucking. I wasn’t just gonna be like oh by the way, I’m going on a date.”

“Please don’t go on a date with him,” Wonwoo asks again.

“I will consider not going if you can actually talk to me,” you say.

“About what?” he asks.

“Everything you’re feeling and why this whole let’s just be roommates that fuck was stupid,” you say.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says immediately.

You sigh, realizing that you’re not going to be able to go back to sleep, and send Wonwoo to the kitchen to get you something to drink. By the time he’s back, you’re sitting up in bed and ready to have an actual conversation.

You stay up entirely too late talking about everything between the two of you. It’s a little hard to believe Wonwoo is so open with admitting how he feels. It’s harder to believe that Wonwoo knew he felt something for you before the very first time you had sex. In his mind, it was clear that he wasn’t just offering because the two of you were friends. He offered it as a way to gauge your own feelings. But, after that first time, he kind of figured it was just sex and tried to detach himself from it. That was when you started to feel something for him.

When he’s done admitting his own mistakes and feelings, you figure that it’s time for you to own up to your own. It was really silly to just make up his side of the conversation about why he didn’t stay in bed with you that night. After all, the one thing you both stressed before sleeping together the first time was that you had to be honest in your communication. That’s what friends did and you were friends before anything else. As it turns out, you’re both way more on the same page than either of you realized.

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” you admit.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“It was never just sex for me. I was totally done the first time you kissed me,” you share, picking at a thread on your comforter to avoid looking at him.

“I kissed you before we even had sex,” he points out, incredulous.

“Yeah, turns out I’m not so good at the just friends who fuck thing,” you say with a shrug.

“If I’d have known that was all it took, I’d have kissed you months ago,” Wonwoo grumbles.

That brings you up short. “Nu, just how long have you liked me?”

“I don’t know, a while,” he says.

You just shake your head at him before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Just talk to me next time.”

“Can we go back to having sex now? I miss the feel of you,” he whines out. “And the taste.”

“We literally fucked less than a week ago,” you point out to try and avoid the way it makes heat pool.

“I could taste you every day and never get sick of it,” he says without any embarrassment.

“Are we really giving this a try?” you ask.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Wonwoo says.

“I do, I’m just scared. What if we try a relationship and it doesn’t work?” you ask. “You’re one of my best friends. I don’t wanna lose that.”

Wonwoo reaches out to tilt your head up. “We’ll just promise to be honest with each other. We can figure this out together.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“So, we’re doing this?” he confirms.

“Yeah, we’re doing this.”

Just like that, you agree to take a leap with the only person that you’ve always trusted to catch you every time you fall. It feels scary, but also completely natural.

i hope you enjoyed it! 💕

2K notes · View notes

inuyashaluver · 2 months

Note

hello! can i request an enemies to lovers fic for misa?!?! i absolutely love your fics and theres barely any fics about her so i thought why not

change of heart - misa rodriguez

misa rodriguez x reader

description: in which your relationship with your ultimate enemy takes a turn when she helps you through a tough time

warnings: it’s a long one buckle in, swearing, fighting, suggestive, spanish in bold italics

a/n: finally misa!!! thank you for the love and support, babe, please enjoy!! ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

maría isabel rodriguez rivero, or misa if you will, was the bane of your existence. she was ill-tempered, absolutely insufferable when you couldn’t get a ball past her, arrogant and more. she was also gorgeous but you’d never say it out loud.

you couldn’t understand misa and she couldn’t understand you, the two of you just didn’t get along.

you were on the same team always, but it always felt like a competition between the two of you. sure you were a midfielder and she was a goalkeeper but that didn’t mean the hate didn’t stem.

it’s always been like that, especially in the spanish youth teams, you had the ability to push misa’s buttons in a way she couldn’t explain and vice versa. there was never a pivotal moment where the hatred began but you both knew it steadily developed as you got older.

—

“misa, we’re just training, calm down!” a 16 year old you screamed when she dove for your strike, a harsh smack sounding as she caught it.

“we may be training but that doesn’t mean we get lazy, chiquitín (small one)” misa smirked, kicking a long ball way past you. you send her a glare, cursing her under your breath as you went to retrieve the ball.

by the time you got back, she was doing her keeper duties, but with much less intensity, clearly only going full out when you were the one kicking the ball.

“i thought we shouldn’t get lazy, misa?” you teased, cocking your head to the side and offering her a cheeky grin that made her blood boil.

“fuck off, lay it on me then” she challenged angrily, everyone could feel the tension between the two of you but chose to watch in amusement. this happened every two minutes on the daily and everyone was so used to it.

“i fucking will” you bite back, striking the ball before she had time to think and sending it dangerously close to her face, sailing past her into the back of the net. “no, you’re a cheater, i wasn’t ready,” misa barked, you shrug at her

“you don’t get time to prepare for your little tea party in a match, rodriguez” you taunt, that’s when misa lost it. she walked over to you, standing chest to chest as she glared down at you, you could feel her anger bubbling in your entire body as your eyes challenged hers.

“listen here, princesa (princess), this little attitude of yours is a bad look” she said lowly with mock sympathy. she was clearly trying to rile you up, and sure, maybe you should ignore it but you couldn’t with this girl, no matter how hard you tried.

“my attitude? your fucking ego is the only thing that enjoys a solo performance more than you do” you scoff, she smirks amusingly, moving her face dangerously close to yours as you swallowed hard.

her scent was enveloping you, it was crazy how good she smelled after a training session but you squashed that thought down quickly.

she chose to just keep her face close to yours, her eyes boring into yours while that fucking smirk was plastered on her face.

she looked down at your lips, chuckled and moved past you, letting you stand there with slightly pink cheeks. must be from the heat.

—

for years the snarky remarks continued, tension rose and stemmed the basis of you and misa’s weird relationship. in reality, something else was growing under the surface. attraction.

you both played together in the under 19 spain team and your fellow teammates could all agree that both of you managed to hate each other even more, believing it was physically impossible but you and misa were always overachievers.

“move” misa grumbles as you were talking with ona, shoving you towards the girl, making you stumble before you snap your head towards misa. “you’re such a treat” you glare at her, ona makes quick work of helping you stand after she giggled at the two of you.

misa watches as you stand, making her grin and blow you an exaggerated air kiss. “always such a pleasure to see you” she mocks, you roll your eyes at her and she smiles satisfied, moving to change into her kit in her cubby.

you hate to admit that your eyes lingered on the girl as she changed, the muscles in her back rippling against her skin when she tugged on her keeper kit.

you were distracted, not even processing that aitana had joined your conversation, coming back to life when she sends you a sharp smack on the back of your head.

“ow! what the fuck?” you yelp, turning to a grinning aitana and ona, misa’s head followed the sound of your voice, her eyebrows furrowed thinking you were in pain.

“welcome to earth” aitana smirks, you huff out in frustration and urge her to continue the conversation, your eyes flickering over to see that misa was already watching you.

“can i help you, rodriguez?” you call out, she shakes her head, “nope”, flipping you off before walking out of the room. your eyes followed her as she walked out, feeling a little disappointed when she was gone.

well, you were disappointed until training started. “come on, is that all you’ve got?” misa taunted, her signature smirk that pissed you off like no tomorrow evident on her face as she caught the fifth ball you’d sent her way.

“you never change, we’re practising!” you huff, hands stationary on your hips as you glared at her, “you never change, you’re lazy” misa teases, you close your eyes in frustration, taking a deep breath as she laughed at you.

“you’re so fucking annoying, misa!” you groan, “don’t be mad, princesa (princess), you’ll get one past me eventually” she throws you a thumbs up with her gloves, you send her a charming smile, kicking the ball hard way over the goal, making her send you a glare when she had to go and get it.

“you give into her every time” ona chuckles, her arm thrown over your shoulder. when misa came back and saw ona holding you close, a funny feeling brewed in her stomach, she wanted to be like that with you, but you hated her. and she hated you.

—

you and misa got signed to real madrid at the same time and it was purely unintentional. when you both came to training for the first time, you swore you had a heart attack seeing her in the kit.

“you just cannot get enough of me” misa says in mock disbelief, trying really hard not to laugh at your face right now, you were shocked.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you exhale, watching as misa chuckled at you. “i play for madrid now” she starts, “you look nice,” smiling before tugging the bottom of your training top quickly before moving past you.

your cheeks instantly turned pink, mouth a little agape as she smiled at you over her shoulder, making sure you had to open the door yourself.

the first game you and misa played for madrid changed something slightly between the two of you. the tension between you two finally acknowledged a little when you got a hatrick.

at the end of the game, you felt a hand on your shoulder spinning you around as you did your appreciation lap, “always so greedy, you just had to get three goals?” misa teased, you roll your eyes amusingly, her hand still on your shoulder.

“i was imagining you as the keeper” you smirk, she laughs at that, “you wish” you laugh along with her, both of you with gentle smiles on your faces before you realised what was happening.

you were bantering without any malice, that was a first.

—

the months went by and slowly you and misa got closer? that’s not the right term but it kinda was. the two of you were more or less a little more friendly, mainly through moments that people on the outside viewed as normal but very different for you and misa.

for instance, misa would make an effort to help you out occasionally. helping you out on your tracker as you pathetically tried to yourself.

“you’re embarrassing yourself” misa laughs, grabbing your hips to hold you still, your breath hitched as you felt her fingers on your skin, you were burning.

she takes the tracker from your hands and slips it in the back of your training top, lightly tapping it with her hand before pulling your top down for you.

“i had it” you breathe out, “mhm, sure you did” she winks, placing a hand on your waist before moving past you. you stood there a little dumbfounded, that was nice, and why did you like the feeling of her hands on your skin?

during that training session, she analysed your every move, misa came to terms with having different feelings about you. they were always there of course, but it was different now when she finally accepted them.

you as well couldn’t keep your eyes off misa, often making eye contact with each other before you ripped your gaze away, afraid she’d see how red your face got when she caught you staring. but she did see it, and she loved it.

during shooting practice, misa let you get three goals past her and it pissed you off. “why are you going easy on me?” you exclaim, misa holds her hands up in front of her with a little laugh, “i’d never take it easy on you,” you narrow your eyes at her unconvinced, kicking the ball softly and watching as it rolled in the net, slowly, misa just watched as it moved past her.

“rodriguez, what the fuck!” you throw your arms up, misa laughs brightly, “you’re too good for me now, miss madrid!” she teased, you run your hands over your face, shaking your head.

you walk off to grab some water and misa came up shortly behind you, you wordlessly passed her water bottle to her and her eyes widen a little at the gesture, “thanks” she smiles quickly, her hands brushing yours as she took it, feeling a little jolt of electricity between both of you.

—

everything changed rapidly when you and misa played in the senior team for spain. as soon as the two of you didn’t come in like a thunder strike of an argument, the team was genuinely surprised.

they noticed the complete shift when both of you were starting and unfortunately, your team lost 3-2 in a final. you hadn’t managed to get a goal and you blamed yourself for the whole thing.

you fell to the ground when the final whistle blew, lying on your back with your arm over your eyes as tears rolled down your cheeks.

you weren’t there for long, you felt your body being pulled to an upright position and you let whoever it was do it. you sniffled and looked down at your legs before a gentle hand hooked under your chin and gently directed it upwards.

your eyes met with misa and it made you cry a little more, her heart broke at the sight of you, she’d never seen you cry before. she places a hand on the back of your head and pulled you close to her, tucking your face into her shoulder as you cried.

both of you said nothing, letting yourself melt into misa’s body as everything else tuned out. her other hand rubbed up and down your back, your arms eventually wound around her neck, pulling her closer as she rested her head against yours.

“you played so well,” misa cooed, dismissing all the questioning looks sent by your own teammates, misa only cared about one person and that was you.

“i wasn’t good enough” you mumble against her shirt, misa shook her head, “you’re always good enough, hermosa (beautiful), always” misa said in your ear, her hand on your back now moving in gentle circles as she drew you impossibly closer.

“we lost” you whined, misa tutted at that, “it doesn’t matter, we’ll get them next time” you pull away from her slightly, at arms length.

she smiles at you softly, her hand leaving your head to push a stray hair from your eyes before gently wiping the tears falling on your cheeks. the gesture was so intimate, your stomach was fluttering.

“who are you and what have you done with my misa?” you let out a wet laugh, she laughs along with you, pinching your cheek gently as you both sat on the ground.

“your misa?” she teases, you freeze up a little at that, attempting to pull yourself away from her embrace but she kept you close, pulling you into another hug.

“you’re okay” she breathes out, comforting you as you both conversed quietly back and forth, misa helping you calm down completely before helping you to the change room.

she holds out both of her hands with a friendly smile, you blink up at her and take them both, allowing her to lift you from the ground.

that’s when alexia and jenni came over and began to comfort you, your hands dropping from misa’s and instantly missing the contact.

she went around talking to your teammates as you all slowly filtered into the change room, celebrations still occurring in the change room despite the loss.

you sat quietly in your cubby, misa watched you concerned when you just sat there but she didn’t want to push you anymore.

you all made it back to your hotel, separate rooms for the first time in a while. you collapsed on the bed with an exhausted sigh, starting up at the ceiling while the tv gently filled the atmosphere.

at this point, all you could think about was misa, she was completely clouding up every thought in your head.

your body moving on its own, you walked to the door, swinging it open and letting out a little noise of surprise seeing misa on the other side already. you both clutched your chests in fear, breathing heavily at the fright you gave each other.

“sorry, were you going somewhere?” misa utters, you shook your head, “i was going to your room” you say a little sheepishly, misa’s never heard your voice so soft, especially directed to her.

“oh” she breathes out, you shift your weight between your feet, “do you want to come in?” you swallow, misa nods slowly, moving inside the room and closing the door behind her.

“i just wanted to check up on you” misa admitted, scratching the back of her neck bashfully.

your heart was beating so fast, you nervously glance up at misa before looking back down, trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible. you could feel her eyes burning into your side profile, trying to see what your next move would be.

you clear your throat before sitting on the bed, your legs swinging over the edge, misa smiled at the sight, you looked adorable, she felt like she could see your younger self that she admired so much shining through.

she moved to sit next to you, her thigh slightly brushing yours as she sat down. “i feel bad, but i’ll be okay” you sigh, looking over to see her smiling sympathetically, she places a gentle hand on your knee.

“hermosa (beautiful), you played amazing, i really mean that,” she says earnestly, her hand gently squeezing your knee as she maintains eye contact with you.

you smile sadly at her, “so did you” she grins, “i let three go past me” you shake your head, “it doesn’t matter, misa, you played amazing as usual” her cheeks go a little pink at your compliment, “what have you done with my (y/n)” she mocks, bumping your shoulder with hers.

you laugh brightly, “your (y/n)?” you tease, but she just nods, “mhm, my (y/n)” her eyes flicker between your own, slightly dropping to your lips before catching herself and looking at her hand still resting on your knee, ready to move it away before you placed your hand over hers.

“misa” you breathe out, almost sounding like a plea as you looked at her, her heart caught in her throat, her eyes searching yours. she moved her hand to rest on your cheek, her thumb rubbing the skin there.

your eyes dropped to her lips and she took it as confirmation, closing the gap and placing her lips on yours. you gasp against her, your mouths moving together tenderly before she slipped her tongue in your mouth.

you weren’t sure how it happened but you ended up straddling her lap, both of you breathing heavily as the kiss grew a little hotter. she gently tugged at your bottom lip between her teeth and you whined into her, making her smirk lazily against your lips, squeezing the flesh of your waist as your hands carded through her hair.

you pull away in need of air, you and misa just looking at each other with pink cheeks and blown out pupils.

you pant as you look at her, smoothing down her hair with a giggle. “sorry” you smile, she smiles up at you adoringly, shaking her head lightly, “it’s okay” you keep your hands on her shoulders, your finger lightly grazing the exposed skin near her collar.

“you okay?” she whispers, the words hitting your lips, you nod, leaning forward to peck her lips sweetly, she smiles at you so brightly. “you okay?” you whisper back, she nods, bumping your nose with hers softly.

“if i told 16 year old (y/n) how good of a kisser you were, maybe she wouldn’t hate you as much” you tease, misa chuckles, pulling you in for another kiss, her hand cupping your jaw.

“if i told 16 year old misa all she had to do was kiss you to get you all sweet, i think she’d pass out” she teases back, you giggle, rolling your eyes fondly.

you tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, “you’re so beautiful” you say softly, “you’re more beautiful” she matches your energy, you both smile at each other sweetly.

“i like you, (y/n)” she looks right into your eyes as she says it, you offer her a cheesy grin, “i like you too” she mirrors your expression before pulling you into another kiss, becoming heated relatively quickly.

you pull away breathlessly making her huff in annoyance, “does this mean you’ll let me score against you?” you tease, she rolls her eyes with a laugh, “hm, maybe, bebé (baby)” she mumbles against your lips, pulling you back into the kiss.

—

when you both went to breakfast the next day and sat next to each other closely, you were offered wild looks of amusement.

“isn’t this a surprise” jenni laughed as her and alexia sat across the both of you. “what?” misa shrugged, “well you’re not fighting” alexia smiled, you rolled your eyes, arms crossing over your chest when you sat straight in your chair.

misa placed a hand on your thigh under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “we don’t fight all the time” misa defended, alexia laughed at that, yelling at ona and aitana for backup that they promptly gave.

“we made up ages ago” you narrow your eyes at alexia, she crinkled her nose at you teasingly, making you bite back a smile.

“oh don’t worry, we know you made up” jenni laughed, looking down at her plate with a smirk as she ate, “and what do you mean by that, jennifer?” you bite back, misa smiled amusingly, loving your feisty side.

“well the hickey on your neck says everything to me” she said simply, your eyes widen and your hand flung to your neck quickly, jenni laughs heartily, making alexia giggle too.

misa puts her head in her hands out of embarrassment now that the whole team was looking at you with teasing grins.

“i thought i heard something interesting last night, misa definitely got (y/n)’s forgiveness with what i heard” jenni teases, you glare at her, misa was bright red, “stop it, jenni” misa grits out,

“okay, i will” jenni smirks, continuing to eat her food before mocking your voice, “oh, misa, don’t stop” you gasp at that, ready to leap over the table to tackle the girl to the floor before you were held back by misa, the girl holding you firmly on her lap.

“misa” you whine, “no,” she reprimands, making you slouch into her, “i’ve never seen her so obedient” alexia smirks, you turn bright red, misa matches her smirk, running her hands up and down the side of your waist, promptly calming you down.

you both sat there like that for a bit until you had to get on the bus back to the airport. you and misa sit together and you both can’t help but relish in the affection and domesticity of being together.

you were cuddling into misa as you both chatted, laughing brightly with each other that had the whole team grinning.

it was extremely different from watching the two of you at each other's throats to seeing you all loved up but it was a happy change for everyone. especially you and misa.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill, just pretend it’s you!!

liked by ona.batlle and 44,232 others

marisabel_rguez: who knew she was such a softie?

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yourname: fuck off

↳ marisabel_rguez: there she is!!

jennihermoso: i’ve learnt a lot of things about this one😉

↳ alexiaputellas: so have i

↳ marisabel_rguez: oh god, so have i

↳ yourname: stop it.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #misa rodriguez #misa #misa rodriguez x reader #misa x reader

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smileyerim · 11 months

Text

what’s mine is yours

if mark isn’t going to make a move on you himself, his friends will surely find a way to make one on his behalf. the opportunity arises after an evening of drinking at mark’s apartment that lands you tangled in mark’s sheets wondering if he feels the same chemistry that you do.

pairing: mark lee x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive !!MDNI!!

length: 4.9k

warnings: adults drinking alcohol and getting drunk, dialogue about sex, both reader and mark are drunk the entire time, mark is a pussy!

net tags: @kflixnet @k-labels

Drinking with the boys always led you into sketchy situations. There was the one time Haechan insisted on breaking into a waterpark to ‘visit the mermaids’. Or the time that Renjun ordered a cab for all of you to go over to his ex-girlfriends house to win her back. Jaemin once threw up in the kitchen sink and didn’t tell anyone until morning.

So, yeah, drinking with the boys always led you down odd roads and tonight wouldn’t be any different.

“Okay!” You exclaim drunkenly, head previously falling forward as you dozed in your spot.

“Which one of you gentlemen are going to drive me home?” Your eyes lazily trail across the room at the boys all scattered about in various positions.

“Uh, I’m not good to drive,” Mark says and shoves his thumb into Jeno’s shoulder to ask “you good to drive?” Which earns him a shake of his head.

The rest of the group reacts now, all to let you know that none of them were sober enough to be behind the wheel.

“Okay…” you drag out the word and pull out your phone to open the rideshare app and struggle to type in your apartment’s address.

“Uber is $65.” You say bluntly, again scanning your eyes around the room expectedly. When you don’t get a response, you speak up again.

“This is the part where you say ‘Oh, here Y/N, we’ve got it.’” You tease and Haechan just rolls his eyes and groans.

“Just stay over. It’s fine, you can take the couch.”

“I call dibs on the couch.” Chenle’s voice is muffled from where his nose is nuzzled in the cushions. You’re genuinely surprised that he’s still breathing. You’re not too sure how, though, he’s buried pretty deep. He’s clearly not about to move any time soon.

“Fine, you can sleep with Mark.” Haechan says, hand signaling to the boy who was too distracted by his phone to keep up with the conversation until his name was spoken.

“Wait, dude, what?” Mark exclaims, his wide and glossy eyes switching between you and Haechan quickly. His drunk brain can barely keep up.

You hear a snicker from over your shoulder, “That’s a good idea, Y/N, why don’t you sleep with Mark?” Jaemin’s hand sits lazily on your shoulder.

You frown, a little too drunk to pick up the pieces and put them together.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Jeno says, his own giggle escaping his lips. The two aforementioned boys had smoked earlier, leading to a fit of giggles shared between the two.

“Why is this a better idea than walking her home?” Mark panics, watching you slowly absorb all that’s going on around you. It doesn’t seem like you’ve picked up on how obvious the boys are being and he’s thankful for that.

“It’s cold out and we’re all tired. Just take one for the team and let her sleep in your bed.” Haechan argues. He’s getting more and more frustrated by the minute. Mark has been complaining for weeks about his crush on you, and the moment that Haechan finally does something about it, Mark protests?

“Where will I sleep?” Mark stupidly asks and Haechan’s head falls back onto the couch when he rolls his eyes.

“With her, Mark.” He says with a frustrated tone, his eyes shut and squeezed.

Before Mark can object again, you finally put the pieces together and move to stand, nearly falling into Jaemin’s lap behind you in the process.

“Come on, Mark.” You say, your hand is out in offering for Mark to grab. His slow brain goes a bit numb, too focused on the gold ring on your middle finger. He hadn’t noticed you wear it before.

When he doesn’t move fast enough, Haechan groans and rolls his eyes, grabbing Mark’s arm by the wrist and placing his hand on yours.

“I have to do fucking everything around here, don’t I?” Haechan says to the group, excluding you two who have already begun your drunken trek to Mark’s bedroom.

The vibe is much different when you’re in his room behind a closed door. He keeps his room tidy usually, but his unmade bed and loose bath towel on the floor suggest he wasn’t anticipating company. You prefer it this way, it makes you feel less like a guest. Especially when you’re about to use his bedroom as a hotel, nonetheless.

It also helps when his ruffled sheets make his bed look all the more inviting and comfortable. You flop your belly down, snuggling into his pillow. It smells faintly of tea tree shampoo and musk. You wonder when the last time he washed his sheets was, but you aren’t sure you want to know the answer. It smells like it’s been quite a while but you’re too drunk to care.

“You want some clothes?” He says from his standing position. He wasn’t expecting to see you so… comfortable. You look as if you’re at home in his bed.

He can’t believe it. You’re here in his bed. Sure, you’ve been in his room a million times, you’ve sat on his bed a million times, you’ve even cuddled with Mark on his bed a million times. But this time is different. You’re sleeping here, you’re going to wake up here, you’re going to be lying side by side with Mark for a minimum of 8 hours and he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it together that long.

“No,” you say looking down at your athletic shorts and crop top. You weren’t wearing a bra, anyways. “A toothbrush would be nice, though.”

He scurries off to the adjoined bathroom and rifles through his drawers quickly, praying that he’d have at least one clean spare toothbrush.

“Unless, of course, all your hoes have used all of them.” You tease. You aren’t quite sure where that comment came from or why you felt compelled to say it but it has an effect on Mark as he stills for a moment before continuing his search. He finds one and walks back over to where you’re still lying on the bed.

“My hoes don’t ask for toothbrushes.” He says in half-honesty. It’s true, no girls have ever asked him for a spare toothbrush. Sure, that’s due to the fact that he’s never had a girl stay over before, but it’s still the truth nonetheless.

“Ew. Good to know I don’t have much competition then. At least I have basic hygiene.” You say, already loading up the toothbrush with his toothpaste.

His brain goes haywire at the comment. Does what you said mean what he thinks it means? Why are you including yourself on the list of Mark’s “hoes”? Do you want to be one? His only one?

Once you’re done, Mark has already changed into his outfit for bed. He’s hesitant on whether or not to wear a shirt. For your comfortability he probably should, but you’ve never been bothered by his bare chest before in all the times you’ve been over. What would make this time any different?

He decides against it as he gets himself ready for bed, trading spots in the bathroom when you go back to bed. His heart is beating out of his chest, which is saying a lot for how much the alcohol still present in his system has relaxed him.

He’s equally thankful for and also angry at Haechan for the stunt he pulled to get you into his room. He’s wanted this for a long time, thats no surprise, but is this how he wanted it? He wants you to know that you’re special to him, is a drunken night sleeping in the same bed enough to tell you that? His head is spinning and it comes to a halt when he sees you lying in his bed on your phone waiting for him to come to bed.

You look natural there, like you’ve always belonged.

“I’ll be right back.” He panics and runs out of the room before you can acknowledge him.

He sulks out into the living room once his door is shut behind him where all the boys still remain. Only Haechan and Jeno are still awake, playing some video game on the TV.

He plops down on Haechan’s left, careful not to sit on Chenle’s knee which Haechan is resting his back against.

“How’s it going in there?” Jeno asks and Mark groans in response, pouring himself his final shot and downing it quickly. The burning sensation in his esophagus is a welcomed distraction from the flurry of thoughts in his head.

“I don’t know what you want, Mark, honestly.” Haechan says, eyes still trained on the TV in front of him.

“I know, I know. I just want her to know that she’s special to me and not just another girl.” Mark groans, playing with the idea of pouring himself a second nightcap shot.

“Did you tell her that?” Haechan says like it’s obvious.

“She’s drunk, Hyuck.” Mark counters, deciding finally to pour himself another shot of the room temperature liquor. Mark is drunk too, so he’s not too sure why that factor matters right now.

“Did you try telling her?” Haechan repeats himself, earning a shoulder check from Jeno.

“What he’s trying to say is that it’s in your hands at this point. You know what you want and you know how to do it. You just need to grow the balls and get it done.” Jeno says and Haechan leans his shoulder on Jeno’s shoulder to signify a quick hug in thanks.

Mark doesn’t move up from his position in an act of procrastination, and Chenle, who Mark previously thought was sleeping, kicks Mark swiftly in the lower back to force him to his feet.

“Go before she falls asleep and you lose your shot again.” Chenle says, head still buried deep in the cushions.

“How the fuck are you breathing, dude?” Mark asks dumbfounded.

“He has his ways.” Haechan responds, an arm wrapping around Mark’s hips to shove him out of the way of the TV screen.

Clearly, Mark is no longer welcomed out in the living room with his friends, so he moves back to his room with you, quietly opening the door in case you had fallen asleep.

You haven’t, of course. You’re far too concerned about Mark to relax long enough to fall asleep.

“If you want me to go home I can just get the Uber it’s fine.” You say the moment Mark walks through the door.

Fuck, he thinks to himself. He can’t even have one second to think.

“No, you can stay.” He says, heading back into the bathroom to brush his teeth again after the two shots he took.

“You just seem a little off, so I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It’s no big deal, really.” You say, already moving to stand up out of his bed, moving at a much slower pace than normal due to the alcohol still in your system.

“No, please, stay.” He says, walking over to your spot, essentially blocking you from standing.

Your face still doesn’t seem convinced so he shares the truth in the best way he knows how, “I want you to stay.”

You still don’t seem fully convinced, but you lie back down anyways and wait for Mark to join you. He’s stalling at this point, moving around the room and unplugging every socket he can see.

“Big fire hazard guy?” You tease from your position in bed, his pillow parallel to your chest where your head lies. There’s something about the hopeful anticipation in your eyes that makes Mark’s head spin.

Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Probably the alcohol.

He laughs dryly, finally laying down next to you. His head is flat against the mattress, blocking your view of his face from your position atop the pillow beneath you.

“Oh, here, you want it?” You say, offering him the pillow. Mark chastises himself internally for only owning one pillow.

“Nah, you take it, you need one too.” Mark waves you off and adjusts to bend his arm behind his head, resting on his forearm.

You think for a moment before replying, “Well… you’re here aren’t you?”

“Wh-“ Mark’s question is cut short by you sitting up, placing the pillow beneath his head, and then laying your own head on his chest.

He hopes you can’t hear his heartbeat when you ask, “Is this ok?”

He, very boldly in his opinion, responds by wrapping his arms around your body. One over your shoulders and one around your waist. Thank you, alcohol!

“Just peachy.” He says, voice cracking.

His limbs are still stiff around you, but you don’t mention it as you sit up one final time to flip the light switch by the door.

You feel him jolt when you lie your head on his chest again. You feel like rolling your eyes at his dramatics.

“Seriously, Mark, I can go home.” You say, gauging his level of discomfort by the stiffness of his limbs and the sound of his breath that he’s clearly attempting to get under control.

“Nope.” Is all he says as he wraps his arms around you tighter and pulls you in. A beat passes as you feel his muscles relax beneath your head.

“You’re confusing, Mark Lee.” Is your message of acceptance as your fingers find his collarbone, tracing circles around it and scratching into the caverns gently.

He scoffs at your words, “I’m confusing?”

“Well, you say you want me here but you’re clearly uncomfortable.” You retort. He just wishes you would let the conversation settle. He’s trying his hardest.

“I’m not uncomfortable.” It’s a half truth and he knows it, but he’ll say anything to get you to shut up.

“When’s the last time you had a girl in your bed?” You ask and thankfully you can’t see him roll his eyes in the darkness.

“A while.” He swallows. He can tell where this is going and he doesn’t like it.

“You could’ve just said that!” You say with a soft, almost condescending, tone as you coo, digging your head further into his chest.

“It’s not that. You think you have me all figured out but you don’t, so just drop it please? Let’s go to sleep.” Mark pulls you even closer at that and it’s your turn to stiffen.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his pec and he sighs, the hand around your waist holding you tighter.

“It’s fine, just settle down.” He says and you try your best, but your mind is now running a mile a minute.

What the hell did that mean? If you aren’t making him uncomfortable, and if it isn’t that he’s just out of practice, then what is it? Why is your best friend acting so weird?

Your mind can’t help itself but say, “Are you drunk?”

“Very. You?” He says honestly. You smile against his bare chest.

“Very.” You giggle and he does too, his hand traveling down your body to grab at the back of your knee to hoist your leg to rest over his. The ice has been clearly broken as he relaxes into the new position.

You nuzzle in closer to his chest, your hands continuing to explore the dips and curves of his shoulder.

“Did you drink more when you went out there?” You ask, not really wanting to go to bed just yet. You have an odd feeling that your night isn’t over.

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ sound. He can’t tell if you’re prying to try and collect information or if your drunk brain is truly just curious, so he keeps his answers brief.

You giggle out your question, “Why?”

“You don’t usually have this many questions.” He deflects, but you catch him.

“You don’t usually avoid answering.” You retort and he sighs, chest rising and falling slowly below your head. It’s a nice feeling, you think.

You’re anticipating an answer, but he doesn’t give you one. Frowning, you move your head so that your chin rests on his chest, your eyes level with his cheek from where he’s lying back. He looks down at you in the dark of the room to notice your impatient stare.

“Just needed a little extra liquid courage, that’s it.” He shrugs and you frown deeper. That answer just gave you more questions than answers.

“But-“ he cuts you off.

“Just let it go, please.” He begs, his voice genuinely sounding desperate. Usually you have a free pass to tease Mark, but something is different about him tonight so you don’t pester him any further. You lie your head back down over his chest and continue to stroke his shoulder lazily. You seem to be getting more and more comfortable with each other here, which pleases you.

He appreciates the gesture, clearly, as the hand that was previously around your waist travels back down to your leg to grab a large handful softly, his thumb stroking over the side of your thigh near your knee gently.

It’s a nice moment, you think, and before your brain can tell you otherwise, your lips are puckering to leave a gentle kiss to his bare skin beneath your head. His breath hitches softly at that, so you move your head gently away from the spot to rest your forehead against his chin.

Truth be told, you aren’t quite sure why you did it. You and Mark have cuddled a million times before, but you’ve never kissed him. You’ve never even given him a cheek kiss as a greeting. Your lips have never touched Mark Lee, but for some reason tonight you felt compelled to. It was innocent and short enough that you could pretend it didn’t happen at all.

You can feel Mark slowly turning his head, your heart beating at a mile a minute at the sheer unknown of how he will react.

Just as your mind begins to conjure up rejection scenarios, you feel something.

His lips make contact with your forehead, his warm breath fanning over the top of your hair as he stays in his position, gentle lips kissing your forehead. You hold back a gasp, and your heart picks up pace. He still hasn’t moved, which you’re thankful for, as you absorb the feeling and attempt to process your emotions quickly.

That was a move.

Mark is making moves on you. Do you want him to? You can’t lie and say you haven’t thought about him romantically before. He’s your best friend, he’s seen your lowest and your highest and he’s stuck around through it all. He’s also undoubtedly attractive and your type. But you’ve never imagined him in this context.

But you wouldn’t want to take advantage of him. This is Mark you’re talking about here. There is no “casual fun” with him. Whatever is happening is already changing the course of your friendship, do you want to keep it going and take it further?

He doesn’t give you the opportunity to decide before his hand finds your chin, pulling up to signal that he wants you to look at him. You comply, of course, with probably too much ease.

His eyes dart between your two as he tries to read you. He wants this. He knows he wants this. What he doesn’t know, though, is whether or not you want this too.

“Are you too drunk to know what you’re doing?” He whispers and you can feel the air from his words hit your lips and it only makes you want him more.

“No.” You whisper back meekly, your eyes trained to his lips. He’s never looked so kissable. In fact, you’ve never even considered the idea of kissing Mark. Now that you’re here, though, you can’t believe it’s not crossed your mind before. You want him so bad that it feels like you’ve wanted him forever.

Your answer was clearly all he needed to brush his lips over yours. It feels like the wind is knocked out of you as you lie there, not even pursing your lips, just allowing him to adjust to the feeling of being so close with you.

The moment is beautifully intimate, you won’t lie, but you’re feeling a bit impatient and if Mark spends any more time cherishing the moment rather than seizing it you may combust. So you take the next step and officially slot your lips over his, your hand coming up to grab at his jaw to keep him steady on you. He reacts without hesitation, kissing you back with as much force as you’re giving him.

The kiss is remarkable in all the ways that it truly isn’t. There’s no sparks or fireworks, and it takes you a while to get into a rhythm. Your teeth knock his a few times and you both miss the opportunities to insert your tongues into each others mouths. It’s almost laughable how bad the kiss is from a black and white perspective, but you’re satisfied. Because, above all else, the kiss is natural and it feels right.

Once you’ve found your rhythm though, you’re fully emerged in the feeling. He’s a slower kisser than you thought he would be, clearly still attempting to savor the moment with everything in him, and you let him.

It’s nice, you think, being here like this. Every first kiss you’ve had has spurred an emotional rollercoaster inside of you. You’re typically too preoccupied with doing the right thing, looking hot enough, memorizing the other person’s likes and dislikes, and thinking about the future when you kiss someone. Kissing Mark is different. You aren’t full of worries, you’re simply enjoying it. A part of you tries to pin it on the comfortability that comes with being as close friends as you are, but another part of you that’s been hiding for a long time tells you otherwise.

Your adrenaline spikes at the thought, and it spurs you to make the next move to straddle across his waist. He reacts instantly, his hands finding your hips as he kisses you harder.

You like Mark, you realize. Perhaps your heart is a little behind your head as you’re already kissing him, but the realization sparks something in you nonetheless.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he admits when his lips leave yours to trail down your neck. You aren’t sure if Mark is intending to bring the heat up, but it’s working when he finds that one spot near your carotid.

You hum, hand threading in his hair to keep him close. You love this. You love this moment. You never want it to end.

As if he hates you, Mark’s mouth leaves your neck to look at you to do precisely that.

“Are we doing this?” He says and you’re startled by his honesty and boldness. Is this the same Mark who was too scared to even sleep in the same bed as you?

“Define this.” You ask. It’s a valid question, he has to say, but he’s not bold enough to say it by name. Sure, he can grow a pair when he absolutely needs to, but his natural instinct is to quietly observe the other person, not be observed himself.

He doesn’t respond with words, but with an action much more bold than he realizes when his hands find your hips again and move you down to rest over his crotch. He’s not hard yet, but you still get the gist of what he’s trying to say. A gasp escapes you, earning a coy smile from the man below you.

“I take that as a yes?” He teases and you aren’t given the opportunity to respond before he sits up fully, meeting you in your sitting position to wrap both his arms around you tightly as he kisses you again.

Now the kiss is hot. His hands are busy all over your body, lighting fire in its path. You moan encouragingly into his mouth when his hands graze the underside of your breast. He catches the message quickly and moves his hand higher to officially grab you, both of you moaning at the contact. Your mouths connect sloppily, and you begin to feel a poke from underneath you.

It takes all the self control in your body to slow things down, but you owe it to Mark to talk about this.

You say his name into his mouth quietly, which he interprets as a moan, and responds with his own groan right back.

“Mark,” you say a little more firmly this time, your hands finding his shoulders to signal that you have something to say.

“Are you sure?” You ask and his previously anxious eyes soften.

“Are you?” He retorts and you roll your eyes deliberately at him.

“I asked you first, idiot.” You say and he smiles, bringing you in for a hug, his nose finding the crevice between your neck and shoulder. You can feel him relax below your fingers when you hug him back, your hands threading into his hair. The moment from before is long gone, but you prefer this.

You smile from your position on his lap. This is easy, you think. Much easier than it ever has been. It almost scares you how natural this feels with him, but you don’t allow your brain to indulge in the anxiety of it all. You’ll happily wait as long as Mark needs to give you an answer if he’s holding you like he is now.

“I’m sure that I want you, if that’s what you’re asking.” He says and it makes you smile again. He’s trying to get you to say it first. Your best friend has never been very sly, although he likes to think of himself that way.

“That is what I asked, but that’s not what I meant.” You say, throwing the ball back into his court.

All this back and forth is giving you a headache. Under any other circumstance you’d have been fed up with all the pussyfooting and made an actual move, but you want to give Mark the chance to say what he needs to say. You have a feeling that he needs the floor more than you do.

“I want to fuck you, but I don’t think it would mean the same thing to you as it does to me.” He says finally and you melt at his indirect confession, holding him tighter and slightly swaying your bodies side to side.

“Then ask.” You say simply, still not taking the power he clearly wants you to. He’s used to you being the bolder one, he’s never had to fight with you to get you to offer your mind.

“You’re making this really difficult for me, aren’t you?” He jokes and you let out a genuine laugh, kissing the crown of his head once you’re done.

“You’d regret letting me take the lead.” You read him honestly and he scans his brain for a conflict, but you’re right. He would regret it.

“You know me so well.” He says, resigned acceptance on his voice as his hand rubs wide circles into your back.

“I know, that’s why you like me so much.” You snark and Mark leans back to look you in the face with a shocked expression of offense.

“You said you’d let me take the lead!” He whines and you giggle, hand coming to rest on his cheek.

“You’re taking too long.” You attempt to justify yourself.

“I wanted to tell you.” He pouts and you move to grab the other side of his face with your other hand.

“You still can.” You gently inform him, quieting down and looking deep into his eyes.

You had anticipated a confession right then and there, but he continues to stare back at you. You can see the wheels turning in his head and you roll your eyes once more in faux annoyance, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Now, Mark.” You taunt with a giggle and he breaks out into nervous laughter, leaning away from your hands and you let him go hesitantly, resting your hands back on his bare shoulders.

He clears his throat and averts his eyes to the bedpost as he gathers his thoughts. It’s cute, you think, how flustered he is. All of this drama for you? Mark is this nervous to confess to you? You’re not a self conscious girl by any means, but you feel a little out of bounds by the idea that Mark Lee is flustered over you.

He’s amazing. Why doesn’t he think that you would notice that about him? Why does he look like he’s preparing himself for rejection right now? Does he really think of you that highly? Or worse, does he think of himself that low?

He clears his throat once more, saying your name quietly and grabbing your hands in his. You feel as if a bit more distance has been put between you now as you’re no longer holding him, but you allow him to guide.

“I’ve been into you for a while,” He says, taking in a sharp breath after the phrase is out. Although you were expecting to hear it, actually being in the moment feels more intense than you thought it would be. Your toes curl in anxiety as you attempt to keep your cool.

“and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I kissed you— that I genuinely blame on the alcohol—but this is all me.” He says with a sigh at the end. If the confession had been pretty, it wouldn’t have been Mark’s. But you love it all the same.

A smile slowly creeps over your face as you look at him through your eyelashes. You don’t want your reaction to influence him, you want him to fully own this moment.

“Say something please.” He says with a cute impatient lilt to his voice that makes you laugh.

Your poker face, if you even had one in the first place, slips when you open your mouth to respond.

“Mark, I’ve been into you for… well…. not that long,” you say and he laughs in response, hopeful eyes and expectant smile on his face.

“but this is all me, too. I swear if I had known before I would’ve done something before.” You draw an x with your finger over your heart and Mark grabs your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your fingertip. Your heart melts as he grabs your hand with his two and draw them down to his chest.

“I like that you let me.” Mark says, leaning in as if he was about to kiss you. You smile, tilting your chin to meet him.

“Thank you.” He whispers before meeting your lips together in a sweet kiss.

i wrote this all in one day and only proofread it twice so if it sucks…. uh….. yeah! if you did enjoy my little brain dump of a story, please reblog and send feedback! your engagement means waaayyy more to me than you realize.

#kflixnet #k-labels #mark lee #mark lee fic #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagine #mark lee smut #mark drabble #mark fluff #mark smut #nct dream #nct imagine #nct fluff

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struniolos · 5 months

Text

guitar lessons.

chapter one; does he take care of you?

(you can read chapter two here!)

synopsis: you decided to take guitar lessons from your boyfriend nate’s best friend, chris, while he’s away at college. but one night, things go too far. loosely based off the song sex by the 1975.

warnings: suggestive, heavy petting.

what the fuck where you doing.

the freezing winter breeze hit the back of your neck and tips of your ears, as you knocked your heavy boots onto the porch to rid of the snow caked beneath them. it was late, the dim porch light and streetlights your only source of illumination. winters in boston were relentless, and besides the fact you had lived there your entire life, you’d never be used to it’s cold bite. it was almost as if mother nature was punishing you, and well, it was pretty justified.

you had found yourself on a familiar doorstep, one you’d been to many times, but usually with your boyfriend nate at your hip- your safety net. chris, nick and matt had been friends with nate for years and you had known the boys since highschool. you’d consider them friends, but not really your friends. they were kind, but you’d much rather hang out with your own friends. the only reason you were usually dragged along was because it was some of the only times you could be with nate. now that he was in college, an hour drive away, things had become incredibly hard between you.

it was only a passing comment you made, last week, that had gotten you into this. a regular night of driving around aimlessly with nate, the boys, and you had mentioned how you wanted to learn guitar. of course, chris had piped up to say he’d teach you, and stupidly you agreed. it god, what would nate do if he knew you were here? what was wrong with you? it was 8pm on a tuesday, you should be in bed.

you rap your knuckles on the christmas wreathe adorned door, and step back to quickly hugging your hands around yourself, your shaky breath coming out as soft puffs of smoke. the door cracked open slowly, revealing chris in a black hoodie with words you couldn’t read scribed onto it, grey sweatpants and clunky brown ugg boots.

“you made it.” he smiled, running a hand through his floppy hair.

“i did.” you smiled back, as he opened the door wider to let you in.

you knocked your boots a few more times at the door before kicking them off.

“you look great.” chris commented, seemingly just being polite.

you smiled back awkwardly, shuffling your socks on the floorboards. “oh, thanks.”

“fuck, it’s cold out there isn’t it?” he commented, as he began to walk you down the hallway. it was adorned with photos of the boys, their family and friends, that you presumed their mother had hung. you’d been here so many times, but this time it felt like you were really present, and not just following the leader. you found yourself observing much more than you usually had.

“yeah, it’s insane.” you agreed, as you both walked through the empty kitchen and dining area, with all of the lights switched off.

you wondered if nick and matt were already asleep, or if they were out and would come home any moment to see you alone with their brother. you also wondered if his parents were away, or if they too would come home to find you with their son, your boyfriend nowhere to be found. god, you didn’t even want to think about it.

you both quietly walked up the stairs and towards his room, which was the last one down the very end of the hallway. you had never been in his room, the usual hangout spot was always the living room. you felt so guilty, as you head into his room hesitantly behind him. chris’ room wasn’t what you had expected, it was quiet and cozy, a juxtaposition of himself. his double bed was shoved in the corner, with plain black sheets, and a desk beneath the window with a matching drawer set on the opposing wall, his guitar lay against the wall beside his them.

“so, did nate end up convincing you to come?” he asked, breaking the thick silence between you.

nate doesn’t know i’m here. you thought, biting your lips.

“no, actually. it was all me.“ you tell him, kicking your feet awkwardly.

“huh, i didn’t think you’d come.” he said, grabbing his guitar.

“me neither.” you chuckle awkwardly, “but thanks for doing this though, i really appreciate it.”

“all good.” he says calmly, “i did promised i’d teach you.”

“you did.” you repeat, smiling at him. you watched the way his hair was falling softly over his eyes, and he had to keep pushing it back with his hand.

chris handed you the guitar, and you sat down on the edge of his bed. you balanced it on your thigh, “is this how i hold it?”

“yeah, just make sure it’s pressed a little closer to you.” he explains, sitting down beside you. you do as he says, pressing the instrument close to your stomach, trying to get used to the feeling.

“so, how about you give me a song you want to learn and we’ll start there. one with easy chords if you can.” chris says, his voice slightly softer than usual. you wondered if it’s because he was tired, or if he truly was being patient with you, as you’d never seen him so calm.

you think for a moment, back to the songs you were listening on the drive to his house. “do you know fade into you? by mazzy star?”

“yeah that’s a good one, just give me a second to work it out.” he says, pausing as he looked to the ceiling and waved his finger around as if he was writing imaginary chords and trying to piece it together in his mind.

you admired him up close now, as you had never been able to. you always saw him in conjunction with his brothers, but never alone. you noticed how his nose differed and was slightly more button like, and his lips were plump and fuller, his hair a little darker.

“okay, that’s not too hard, but i’ll try and make it as easy as i can. you’re only going to be using C, D, G and Am’s.” he told you, and it took everything in you not to melt on the spot. god, what was wrong with you? you inhaled deeply, finding your composure.

“here, it might be easier if i show you first.” he says, softly taking the guitar from you and placing it in his own lap. he held it much more comfortably than you, and he grabbed the pick that was between the strings at the neck. he held it between his teeth briefly, as he tuned the guitar. his hair fell over his eyes once more, and you were grateful for this as he wouldn’t see you gawking at him.

eventually, he started to strum the first chords. “watch how my fingers are placed on the neck, that’s the important part.”

chris began to play the familiar opening of the song, and you’re completely mesmerised. you watched his lips mouth the words softly under his breath, as if he didn’t notice he was completely lost in the song. you sat with your legs crossed, facing him fully, and rested your chin on your palm. he looked so at peace, like this was what he truly loved doing. you knew this is how nate felt with hockey, and it made you remind yourself just how insane you were acting.

he abruptly stopped by holding his palm on the strings to stop them, and looked up at you to meet your eyes. you blinked at him, blankly.

“you alright?” he asked with a smirk tugging his lips.

you nod, looking away from him. “yeah just, out of my depth i think.”

“it’s cool. what if i show you like this-“ he starts, reaching over to put the guitar back in your lap. he crawled around to sit behind you, but his legs were crossed, establishing a boundary. one you secretly wished wasn’t there.

you could feel his breath on your neck, and the cold winter breeze was a thing of the past. he peered over your shoulder to look down at your hands on the guitar, and began to move them into place. “you’ve got to hold the strings like this.”

it was so intimate, and you couldn’t help but wish things where like this with you and nate. the way chris was so tender with you, so patient, not that nate wasn’t- things were like this, at the start. but you felt you’d grown so distant, and things didn’t get you hot and bothered like they used to. but this, this made you think thoughts you wish you could bury deep down into the pits of your stomach.

chris assisted your hands in strumming the chords, explaining to you which chord was which as you moved your fingers against the strings. his hands were so warm, so inviting, his fingers long and slender and-

“are you getting this?” chris asked, breaking you from your daze.

“um, not really.” you said bashfully, ducking your head. “i’m sorry, i just…”

chris sighed heavily, removing his hands from yours and coming around to sit beside you once more so that you were face to face on the edge of his bed.

he pursed his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. “why did you really come? because it seems to me you’re not here for guitar lessons.”

your eyes went wide, and you began toying with the guitar strings mindlessly. “i did, it’s just…”

“it’s okay, you can tell me.” he urged, and you felt your stomach drop in guilt.

“i…” you begin, but couldn’t articulate yourself. “i don’t know.”

you placed the guitar onto the ground, sighing. “i’m sorry, i guess i just wanted company.”

“is everything okay? is it nate?” chris questioned, rubbing his face.

“no, nate’s great it’s just…” you pause, truly unable to string together a sentence. not with chris in front of you, so beautiful yet so unknowing.

“are you…not being taken care of?” he asked, his voice low.

there was a thick pause between you before you answered. “how do you mean?”

“you know exactly what i mean.” chris said in a knowing manner, tilting his head.

“i’m not talking about this with you.” you huffed, trying your best to act nonchalant. to make invisible boundaries for yourself, as you weren’t so sure how long you could hold it together.

he tutted, rolling his eyes. “why?”

“i’m fine, he’s only an hour away. we have phone sex like, all the time anyway.” you were blatantly lying at this point. there was something deeply wrong, or you wouldn’t be seeking out attention elsewhere. here.

chris chuckled, crossing his arms. “i might not be a smart guy but i can tell you’re frustrated. you’re looking at me like you’re going to pounce me any moment.”

you scoffed, although he was right. “what? you’re delusional.”

“am i?” he said, smirking. he was enjoying this. and a sick twisted part of you was too.

you groaned, running your hands down your face. “i feel so stupid talking to you about this.”

“it isn’t stupid.” he assured you, “now spit it out, what’s wrong?”

chris was ridiculously convincing when he wanted to be. just like how he had roped you into coming tonight. there was something about him so deliciously dangerous, that made you question your sanity and morals.

you let out a heavy sigh before you spoke. “it’s been months.”

there was a pause, as chris widened his eyes at you once he realised what you were talking about. “months?”

“yes. it’s never been this long, but i guess it’s because he lives so far now.” you explained, your cheeks flushing at the thought. things with nate used to always be so fun, you would sleep together multiple times a week, never be apart- but lately? you felt like you’d been left behind.

“do you think it’s because he’s busy with college?” chris asked, surprising you with how seriously he was taking you.

“yeah, i mean he’s trying so hard, and there are scouts at nearly every game now so he’s thing even more. then when he’s got college break and drives down here, i think by the time he sees me he’s just exhausted.” you blurt out, beginning to feel a little less weight on your chest like it had been holding you down to keep all of this inside.

chris nods, and reaches towards you to touches your back, “it’s alright, i mean i’m sure it’s nothing against you…he’s just busy.”

“i know, but that’s the problem. i never see him, and when i do he never wants to go out or do anything because he’s always so tired. if he’s not training he’s playing, and if it’s not that he’s studying, and it takes up all of his time.” you complain, but are soothed by the feeling of his hand circling your back.

“that’s a shame, for a girl like you…” chris trailed off, like he knew if he kept talking he would be crossing the line. but the lines were blurred at this point, anyway.

his hand slowly trailed down to your lower back, the thick material of your sweater a barrier to his soft touch that you ached for more of. it was so reckless of you, to be revelling in another man’s touch- but it felt so good.

“i could make you feel good.” he continued in a subtle whisper, biting his lips as he gave you a once over, your body is basking in the warmth of his gaze. this was wrong, so so very wrong.

“chris.” you warned him, as he brought his other hand to clasp over yours which rested on your thigh.

your breath was slightly disturbed, stuttering in your throat. god, why did this have to feel so good?

chris’s hand that was on your back now trails upwards to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. you hadn’t noticed how close he was, but hated how much you loved him invading your space.

“he doesn’t have to know.” he told you, brushing your hair away from your neck, his breath fanning your skin.

“i cant.” you croaked, as he slowly pressed his warm lips to the skin behind your ear.

it’s as if your brain shut down and your body took over, letting out a soft moan as chris kissed your skin, then continuing down to the junction of your neck and shoulder. he pulled your sweater to the side, giving him better access.

“hmm, chris we can’t.” you protested, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder gently.

“shhh.” he hushed as he pulled away from you, locking eyes. “let me take care of you.”

you looked at him with so much pain, yet so much longing. he held your face gently in his hands, stroking your cheek. “he won’t know.”

chris pressed his lips to yours softly, and you let yourself sink into his arms. he helped you onto his lap, your kisses becoming feverish and desperate yet still passionate. you found your hips slowly grinding down onto his, earning deep moans and slightly more aggressive kisses. you rolled your hips down onto his growing hardness, the friction through your clothing feeling euphoric.

chris pulled away for a moment, combing your hair back with his fingers so he could look at you. his eyes were dark, pupils blown and his lips glistening and plump.

“you’re so pretty.” he mumbled, “you’ve always been.”

you wanted to die, having this beautiful man beneath you at your mercy but a loyal boyfriend waiting for you only an hour away. your mind was becoming fuzzy, blurring what your body needed and what was right. you suddenly pulled away completely, getting off his lap and holding a hand to your forehead.

“i’m sorry…i…i cant do this.” you confessed, shaking your head.

chris opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t allow him- darting out of his room quickly and running down the stairs. your breathing was so loud it was in your ears, your heart thumping in your throat and the walls feeling as if they were closing in on you. you grabbed your boots and burst out the front door, trudging through the thick snow in your socks. you threw your shoes into the passenger seat and jumped into your car at record speed, quickly starting the ignition. chris didn’t follow you.

you drove home in complete silence, your breathing becoming more rapid and the world feeling as though it was going to collapse around you. you got home and made a beeline for your room, changing into your pyjamas at record pace. guilt riddled you as you crawled into bed, cuddling yourself under the sheets and hiding from everything and everyone. you just wanted to stay there and rot.

you found yourself texting chris, wanting to have proof that you declined. that nothing else happened. that you ran away.

you: i’m sorry, that shouldn’t have happened.

it was only a few moments before he texted you back.

chris: no it shouldn’t have.

you: that can’t happen again.

chris: not until next time.

your eyes widened, no, no no! this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. he was supposed to have regretted it to, and want tp bury the memory deep down. you ignored him, laying your phone next to your head as you tried to close your eyes, hoping it would go away. until your phone buzzed, lighting up.

chris: meet me at mine tomorrow, 8pm?

your stomach dropped, and you held your face in your hands as you let out a silent scream. no, you couldn’t encourage this. but nate was an hour away, how would he know? it could only be while he’s away, then when he gets back you could pretend nothing happened! oh god, you were going to hell.

you: okay.

(chapter two.)

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x fem reader #guitar lessons

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sprout-fics · 10 months

Note

sometime after the kerfuffle with the 141 and Kortac is done, I'd like to see Konig's reaction to Maus going missing when trying to recover. I think man's would be terrified out of his mind that his sniper just up and disappeared while injured, meanwhile her whole team is just like "ffs not again, get the net and blanket and look in the vents"

Ohoho see I think the team would have so much fun with Konig, would send him on a wild goose chase just to get back at him for all the grief he caused them in the past. (Messy little drabble, not exactly a oneshot)

It had been three hours since you’d gone missing.

Four, technically, because König had arrived at the infirmary an hour after your disappearance, encountering a fatigued medic who had tiredly informed him of your sudden absence. She’d merely raised a single eyebrow to König's frantic efforts to get more information, and had eventually waved him off with a jaded comment of ‘This happens all the time.’

As if that somehow made him worry less.

You couldn’t have gone far, he theorized. With a sprained ankle, a broken arm, and a mild concussion, it was unlikely that you could have made it to the other side of the base by the time he had started searching for you.

That was three hours ago. Now, as the afternoon slowly crept towards evening, König could feel his panic rising at the idea you had simply vanished. He had searched everywhere. Your room, the mess hall, the rec room, the gym, the firing range, the training course- He’d even checked Price’s office, wondering if you had sought refuge there instead of being in your bed where you belonged.

When he had knocked on the door Price had leveled him with a look, wondering why the newest member of the newly formed SpecGru dared to darken his doorstep. Yet when König had belayed his concerns to the captain, Price had lifted his report to his face and idly told König to once again check the mess hall.

(König didn’t see the wry, sadistic smile that sprawled across Price’s lips)

Yet with the mess hall still empty, he had instead found Ghost, who tilted his head at the Austrian as König tried to explain why he was all but racing around base trying to find you. Ghost made a strange little huffing sound in response that, If König didn’t know better, he might almost mistake it for laughter. He then suggested looking into the women’s barracks to see if you had somehow disguised yourself as one of the recruits.

(That venture went over rather poorly)

As he’d been chased out, König had run into Soap, who had cackled at the Austrian’s misadventure and consequent flowery aroma resulting from one of the women throwing a shampoo bottle at him.

“Rookie?” He’d echoed, looking surprised. It took him a moment to understand, at which point a peculiar smile pulled at his mouth, sly and amused at König's quest.

“Aye.” He intoned, eyes averted so Konig couldn’t see the utter glee in them. “Y’know what? I saw her over at the training grounds climbing up into the tower. Bet you anything she’s still there.”

König had thanked him profusely, had darted off in the direction Soap had spoken of, unseeing of the way Soap hid his laughter until he was gone.

(The training grounds were empty, of course.)

As daylight darkened König resisted the urge to tear at his hood in frustration. It seemed, to him, that you were exactly where the men said you were, only to seemingly read his mind and vanish to a new location every time he drew near. Maybe they were alerting you, for whatever sadistic reason, sending him on a wild goose chase for pure entertainment.

Eventually, when he had run into Gaz, König had all but fallen at his feet pleading for assistance, trying desperately to find you and haul you back to bed so as to not injure yourself further.

“She has a habit of hiding in the vents.” Garrick told him with a straight face, not an ounce of deception in his eyes. “Usually over by the armory, or the officers quarters, or the kitchens, or the infirmary…” He trailed off, looking nonplussed, and eventually offered König a small shrug. Then Gaz had brushed past him with a small excuse, and as König rushed off towards the locations Garrick had suggested, Gaz sent a small message to you:

“You owe me one.”

(You were nowhere in the vents, naturally)

König spent until dark asking every person he ran into if they had spotted an injured soldier running around earlier that day. It took several explanations for them to understand, and when they did König inevitably saw a weary, annoyed expression cross over their faces before they shooed him away in favor of their current task.

Eventually, König had collapsed against a pile of crates in one of the nearby warehouses, shoulders slumping as he desperately wracked his brain for any other possible location where you could have hidden. Half a day had passed since your disappearance, and not once had anyone seen you. To his knowledge you hadn’t eaten, hadn’t taken your medication, had failed to be present for your check-in-

König couldn’t stop the dark, churning thoughts that in your weakened, vulnerable state someone might have taken it upon themselves to abduct you. The fact that the team didn’t seem to share his concerns only made his heart drive higher in his throat, stifling the air in his chest as he pleaded with the heavens to return you. You drew his gaze upwards, to the rafters of the warehouse, wondering if somehow the heavens could hear his prayer.

A small shape, just above the upper walkway, not entirely obscured by one of the long steel beams that supported the roof.

“...Maus?”

The shape stiffened.

König scrambled to his feet, eyes locked on the figure lofted high above the warehouse floor, on a flat, wide beam that effortlessly supported you. As he called once more, a chagrined expression turned down towards him, a guilty smile offered in apology.

“Hi, Konig.”

Distantly, König could hear the sound of something in his mind fracturing.

“Maus, get down here.” He nearly bellowed, voice thundering upwards. Yet far from scaring you, you only offered him a little pout and replied with a small:

“Mmm, no.”

“Maus!!”

You giggled, and the audacity of your refusal was nearly enough to send König onto his ass once more. Cursing under his breath, he realized the only way to get you down from the precariously high perch where you lay was to come get you himself.

Two ladders later, and 50 feet up in the air, König could see you facing him, blanket draped over you, cheek propped on one hand, and snack wrappers littered about you. It was like you had made a little nest up here, intent on avoiding anyone who may pester you.

“Not a Mouse.” He thought wearily. “Perhaps a baby bird.”

You refused, initially, to leave your little loft that remained just out of his reach, even as König clung to the railing and tried to reach for you. Yet eventually when his frustration had given way to a near frantic, pleading whine, he could see genuine guilt color your gaze, and eventually you had performed the delicate maneuver of scooting yourself forward so he could hoist you into his arms.

Yet rather than immediately try to take you down and back towards the medical wing, König instead slumped against the railing of the walkway, his arms fastening around you and a heavy sigh of relief tickling across your hair.

“Please.” He begged, gathering you tightly to him, a protective hold to refuse your escape as much as it would protect you. “Please don’t ever do that again, Maus.”

Warm, wrapped in his scent, you smiled, nuzzled against his chest with a weary little murmur.

“I won’t.” You promised, feeling your boyfriend completely and entirely relax against you, head falling gently back against the railing in satisfaction.

(He didn’t see your fingers crossed behind your back)

#oc: maus #fic: little mouse #konig x reader #könig x reader #drabbles #my writing

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sturniolosstar · 23 days

Text

shameful love┆c & m sturniolo

an upcoming sturniolosstar series…

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pairing -

christopher and matthew sturniolo x female reader

summary -

being close with the triplets, as well as being chris’ girlfriend, was a blessing you thank the universe for everyday. starring in multiple of their videos, you quickly gained the love from their fans, as well as someone else.

content warnings (things will be added and changed. this is just a brief overview because i don’t want to spoil anything <3) -

suggestive themes, smut, implied cheating, angst

taglist -

my main taglist will be tagged in every part that’s posted. reply to this post to be added to shameful love’s taglist. if you want to be added to my main taglist, please specify in your comment.

if your tag does not come up, you will not be added to the list (i will also let you know of course).

main taglist - @btwsturn @thesturniolos @mattsbratt69 @stramboli4life @ducksturniolo @st4rhubz @sturns-posts @sturniolo14 @sturnioloenthusiast @ivonchetooo1239 @littlebookworm803 @bellas-de3d @mattsneezing @sturniofilmd @athenamossymandella @mattslolita @ellie-luvsfics @st7rnioioss @qwertytit @33sturniolo @ilovechrissturniolo1 @muwapsturniolo @sturniolos-blog @realuvrrr @blahbel668 @sstvrnioloo @mattslutt @styles-sturniolo @wild4sturns @solarsturniolo @cypher-net @erikasurfer @pepsiluvr0209 @lacysturniolo @gamermattsgf @junnniiieee07 @stonermattsgf TAGLIST IS FULL.

shameful love’s taglist - @crimsoncorpse @heartthrobsblog @ghostlythinggoingaround @sturtriple16 @whicked-hazlatwhore @mattscoquette @mattsturniololoverr @stasiesturn @buenolover @nicksportal @mutualsafe @lrs-jenkinson @strnlsblog @mattsturnzzz09 @shaquilles-0atmeal @ifilwtmfc TAGLIST IS FULL.

shameful love’s masterlist -

introduction

⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑

#sturniolosstar #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut

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darkeralmond · 10 months

Text

Bathing Suit

Luca Fantilli x Reader

synopsis: you bought a new bathing suit before your spring break trip and luca can’t keep his eyes off you

warnings: fluff, maybe suggestive idk

word count: 1.1k

a/n: this is based off a shifting scenario i had for one of my drs and i thought it was a cute lil idea ALSO SPEAK NOW TV AHHH

The afternoon sun blazed against your body, causing you to sizzle under the rays of light. Mixing that heat with the cool ocean breeze created the perfect spring temperature.

You laid on your stomach on top of your rainbow beach towel, resting the side of your head on your folded arms. You were at Panama City Beach for spring break with your friends. It was the first day of vacation and you honestly felt like just relaxing after the long flight.

You were focused on getting a tan while the rest of your friends played volleyball on the sand. Your friend group consisted of Adam, Seamus, Johnny, Luca, and one of your roommate/friend.

You were close with everyone in the group, but not as much as you were with the Fantilli brothers. You and Adam have been inseparable since the beginning of freshman year. Being the media team for the hockey team really had its perks.

You found yourself falling head over heels for his older brother, Luca. He was very well aware of that. Matter of fact, he predicted it. It was at a party where he introduced you two making sure to say, “You two are going to love each other… Like you’re going to fall in love.”

Adam rested on his back, soaking up the sun just like you were. Even though he had his sunglasses over his eyes, you could tell they were closed. “Did you hear that Janelle from the softball team is pregnant?” Adam the sentence flowed out of Adam’s mouth. If we weren’t laying out relaxing on the beach, he would’ve been more animated.

You didn’t react the same way though. Your head perked up as your mouth hung open with shock. “Janelle Reid?!” you gasped. She was always so against sex before marriage, it was like her whole personality trait. “Who’s the baby daddy?”

He sat up and took a sip of his Corona which was wedged into the sand. “Well, no one really knows, but people have their theories.” He took another long sip burying the can back in the sand. “Some people say it’s Weston… but some people think it’s her cousin.”

“No fucking way!” you yelled out loud while laughing. “Holy shit!” You grabbed your White Claw from out of the sand and took a sip as well.

Luca’s eyes pulled away from the game at the loud sound of your laughing. It sounded sweet and beautiful, how could he focus at a time like this? He looked over at you, completely ignoring the ball in his presence.

“Luca, dude!” Seamus yelled, causing you to look back at the group playing. “You’re selling the game!” You made eye contact with Luca for a split second before he looked back at Seamus.

He laughed it off and said, “My bad, bro!” He then grabbed the volleyball from the sand next to him and set the ball, hitting it over the net to your friend and Johnny.

You flipped onto your back so you could watch Luca play volleyball while he glistened with both sweat and sunscreen. His sun-kissed abs along with his little happy trail made your head feel dizzy. You were stuck in a trance staring at his beautiful smile. Thank God for your sunglasses to hide the fact you were staring directly at his body.

“Luca was checking you out,” Adam spoke up. You snapped your attention away from him and focused it onto his brother. He had a playful grin on his face, his head cocked to the side as he looked at you.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “Shut up, no he wasn’t.” Even when denying the fact, your cheeks couldn’t help but turn bright red at the comment. Maybe you could pass it off as a simple sunburn.

Adam always doubted that you wanted him to shut up when it came to his brother, and in any instance, he was right. You wanted to know more about why he thought that. Maybe he was feeding into your delusions, but he knows his brother best. There were the whole wavelength things with where they know how they’re feeling.

“You know what I think it is?” Adam took another sip of his Corona, leaving you on the edge of your seat curiosity. “I think it’s that new bathing suit you got.”

You lifted your sunglasses and placed them on the top of your head. “What do you mean?” You knew exactly what he meant, it’s why you bought the damn thing.

A week before you all left for Florida, you and your roommate went to get some things for the beach. “Maybe you should get a new bathing suit,” they suggested as you strolled through the mall.

“What? Why?” you asked while chewing on the plastic straw of your drink.

They rolled their eyes with a playful smile on their face. “Because bathing suits are a guy’s weakness.” You knew who they were talking about, so you agreed.

You went inside PINK and found the perfect bathing suit. It was your favorite color and it fit your body type perfectly. Plus it exposed your body enough to still feel comfortable.

Adam rolled his eyes since you obviously knew what he meant, but he didn’t hesitate to lay it out for you. “The bathing suit is hot, Y/N,” he said. “You look hot. You know it, Luca knows it. You might as well act on it.”

His blunt statement caught you off guard causing you to stare at him bug-eyed. The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. You looked back at Luca again, feeling his eyes sinking into your body.

When you made eye contact with him again, Luca’s face instantly flushed red. He was embarrassed that you caught him staring at you. “Luca, your head is not in the game!” Seamus complained again.

“Yeah, yeah! I’m sorry!” he apologized, attempting to keep his eyes off you, but you were irresistible to him. “Uh, Y/N! Could you get me a beer?”

“Dude the last thing you need is beer,” Seamus muttered.

“Shut up,” he whispered back, nudging the guy.

“Yeah, of course!” You got up from your spot and walked over to him with his beer. He nodded his head and smiled, his eyes sneaking a peak at your glistening body again.

“Thanks,” he said, cracking it open and pulling his eyes away. He cleared his throat, his cheeks super red.

“Of course!” You walked back over to Adam where he was already staring at you with his eyebrows raised and a smug smirk on his face. “Holy shit,” you whispered to him. It finally sunk into your mind that he was actually checking you out.

“Mhm.” Adam nodded his head slowly. “Like I said, act on it.”

#luca fantilli x y/n #luca fantilli x reader #luca fantilli #umich hockey x reader #umich hockey

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helen-with-an-a · 1 month

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The object that stood in the way of a World Cup pt. 4

Hi. So here is part 4. (The next part will be the final part of the full story with an epilogue/side story type thing, too) Big thanks to @lyak12 for helping me out once again <<3

Ona Batlle x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Epilogue

Flashbacks are in italics

TW: bad mental health, suggestiveness

Description: Ona and R have a long-awaited argument, and R begins to heal

Word count: 3.9k

You had been given the ok from the physios to start rehab a few days after your breakdown. Alexia had told Lucy all about it, phoning her as soon as you were asleep. The pair had cleaned your flat, so there was no trace of what had transpired. Alexia was convinced the trigger had been your physical recovery. Why would she not think that? She had no reason, no way, of knowing that something was seriously wrong with your mental health. She had only known you in Barcelona. She had never seen the way you smiled so brilliantly or the loud laugh that used to brighten anyone’s day. She had only seen the small smirks and quiet chuckles. Lucy had known you for longer, though. And she was so concerned.

“Ok… and here is the changing room. Your stuff is in your locker so just get changed and head on over to the pitch, yeh?” The woman showing you around was kind. Even despite this kindness, the 19-year-old you was terrified. It was your first day at a senior England camp and everything was quickly becoming too much. You nodded at her and moved through the door. The room was nice – clean and tidy with the faint smell of floor cleaner. You recognise some of the names on the cubbies, and you couldn’t believe yours was in the mix. These were living legends. And now your name might be among them.

You came to a stop in front of yours. Even with the name on the top, you knew it was yours. It was the emptiest. You looked at the ones next to you and gawked when you saw who it was. BRONZE. Holy shit. You would be next to Lucy Bronze. It was becoming far, far too much for you. You were 19. Why would anyone want you to play for England? Ok, you had a fantastic season. Yes, you had been involved in some capacity with every goal your team had made this year so far – whether that be the first pass to start the charge, a precise cross into the box, a direct assist, and occasionally making the ball ripple into the back of the net yourself. But this … this was England. This was the Lionesses.

“Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” A northern accent broke you from your spiral. You couldn’t speak. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. God, you were pathetic.

“I’m Lucy, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her hand. It was warm and soft and rough. “Don’t worry about anything, yeh. I’ve got you.” She smiled as you shook her hand. She could see the panic in your eyes. She could see the fear of the unknown. “You’re gonna do great, kid. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t deserve it.”

Ignoring Ona was easier than you thought it would be. At least initially. Pre-training activation for the team started at 10. But your daily physio appointment started at 9.30 meaning you were often in and out of the changing room before she had even stepped foot in the building. You weren’t allowed near the weights or machines for the first few weeks of rehab, so you didn’t really need to go near her during the gym sessions. When you had to start doing exercises with more than just your own body weight, you found it easier to pretend she didn’t exist. She was often hanging around Lucy and some of the younger girls in the squad, but you stuck to those on the injury list. At first it was just you and Frido, and then Jana joined and then Mapi and Alexia. You had your own group of friends who could understand the physical aspects of rehab. You didn’t like to acknowledge that you were hyper-aware of where Ona was at all times. Lucy had recognised fairly quickly that something must have happened between you and Ona. You two were like magnets with opposite charges; as one readjusted, the other did, too. What had happened to your relationship? She thought back to Derby days; the way you were so in tune with each other was unique, to say the least. Your chemistry on the pitch was electric. You always knew exactly where the other was. She thought back to the warmups, half-time and post-match huddles. You were always next to each other. You were always touching in some way. So, something serious must have happened to make you behave this way.

“Lucy,” You bounded over, escaping the red side in favour of hugging the woman clad in blue.

“Hey, kid.” She laughed as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders. “Ready to lose?” She challenged teasingly.

“Oh, please. You ain’t gonna get anything past us. Me and Oni have some solid tricks up our sleeves,”

“Don’t give all our secrets away,” Ona joked as she came to stand beside you.

“I would never, Oni. This is derby day. We will crush them to smithereens!” You leaned into her as she traced lines across your back. You had never mentioned to Lucy that you had a girlfriend or a crush, but she could see from the way you behaved that something was going on between you. You chatted away to Lucy, Keira, and some of the other City Lionesses before Ona whispered in your ear.

“Nosotras deberíamos volver” You smiled and nodded.

“Alright, later losers. Don’t cry too hard when we win.” You laughed and waved, interlocking your fingers with Ona’s as you headed back to the United Players.

Match days were the only time you allowed yourself to wonder. When you were sat in the stands, watching the matches with the rest of the injury squad, you finally allowed your eyes to roam. How did she manage to look so good? Ugh, this was torture. Her strong rippling muscles, her freckly skin, her braid, her look of concentration — she was perfect in every way.

I don’t even know why Barca wants you, honestly. You're not good enough. Of course, she would think that you weren’t good enough. She was phenomenal. She was truly world-class. Her speed was unmatched, her technical abilities were flawless, her dedication unprecedented. And then there was you. Someone who had to stay late to work on extra drills and practice your skills. Yes, she frequently volunteered to stay with you – to work on them together. But she didn’t need to do it. You did. Or at least that was what you believed.

As she started to head back to the changing rooms, Ona looked around for you. Baggers had told her a joke that she wanted to steal to hear you laugh. She quickly scanned the group but quickly realised you weren’t there. She completed a full 360 before she heard the methodical thwacks of someone kicking a ball hard.

“Amor? Home time, no?” She called out to you from the side-lines.

“You go ahead, Oni. I want to work on some free kicks and stuff. I missed the last one at the match, so,” You called back, already readjusting the mannequin figures to make it harder for yourself. She frowned at your response. Yes, the ball didn’t go into the goal following a free kick that you took in the match on Saturday. But you weren’t the problem. You had sent an amazing cross into the box, Alessia’s head had made contact with it, but Spencer’s hands had pushed the on-target shot away. It was excellent goalkeeping; even Ona had to admit that. But you saw it as your failure, not the keeper’s success.

“Amor, you don’t need to practice. You’re fantastic at set pieces.” You rolled your eyes at her statement.

“Oni –”

“No. If you want to practice, that’s fine, but you don’t need to.” She placed her hand on your cheek, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I want to,” You answered her.

“Ok… vamos. We’ll do it together, sí?”

You didn’t know that you were all Ona could like about. You were consuming her thoughts in a way that should have scared her. But it didn’t. She had tried to approach you a few times, but you always seemed to move away before she got anywhere near you. She considered that as rejection. You didn’t want her in your life anymore. And she had to accept that. No matter how much it hurt her. No matter how many times she had cried over old photos of you on her camera roll. No matter how much she longed for you. She had made you hate her. She had made her bed, and now she must lie in it. So, she said, watching you from a distance. She stayed in a corner of the gym, as far away as possible from you, so you weren’t uncomfortable. She would often stare at you from the corner of her eye under the guise of looking out the window. You were looking fantastic. The muscles were slightly smaller, closer to what they were in Manchester, but that was to be expected – you weren’t allowed to even walk for more than a few minutes for many months. You had gone back to your ‘regular’ clothes – still fashionable, but you looked happier, more like yourself. But on the rare occasion she was able to look in your eyes, she could see the mental war that was raging in your head. She hoped it was because you wanted to return to football, but she had an inkling she was at fault.

You were finally on the grass again. Soft yet firm grass, slightly damp from the morning dew. There was coldness in the air, even for Barcelona. The slight nip caught at your skin as you waited for the trainer. You had come down earlier than you needed to. You took your boots and socks off and pushed your feet into the ground – taking a moment to really appreciate this moment. It had been a long 7 months since the tackle. You hadn’t spoken about the Incident with Alexia since it happened, but that was fine. You were still broken, but you were slowly getting there. You think. You were still quiet; you didn’t like going out anywhere with the team, and whenever you were alone, your thoughts still drifted back to Manchester. You didn’t think that your mind was hindering your rehab – but it was. You weren’t as optimistic as you once were, and that reflected slightly in your progress. You were mostly on track with the plan for your return, about a week behind where you wanted to be. But that was ok; that was normal. Alexia, Frido and Mapi had promised you that it didn’t mean anything. You weren’t scared it could happen again. You wanted to be on the pitch more than anything … well, that bit wasn’t quite true. There was one thing … person … you wanted more than football, but you couldn’t allow yourself that pain.

“Estás lista para correr?” Your personal trainer, Margarita, asked.

“Sí. Más que lista.” You slipped on your boots.

“Bueno. Let’s start slow, sí. Just a gentle jog to the cone.” Margarita instructed.

Running again was wonderful. You could feel the underused muscles slowly coming back to life. With every step you took, the storm clouds in your head began to look less dark and broody. As your session progressed, you realised your fitness wasn’t what it once was. But you knew that it would return. You wouldn’t allow it not to. The session was short for you. A lot of breaks followed by stretching and more running, slowly increasing distances and speed. You weren’t allowed near a ball just yet, but you were itching for it. You had been given a taste of your past life, and you wanted and needed more.

“Ok. I think that’s enough for today. You can head back inside.” Margarita called to you as you took deep gulps from your bottle. You threw her a thumbs up and helped collect the equipment you had used.

Your studs clacked against the concrete as you walked back inside. You heard another set joining you but thought nothing of it. You didn’t turn around, too much on a high from finally running again.

“You were looking really good out there today.” You froze. That sweet, rich, caramel voice. Had she really just said that to you? After everything? Ona knew it was a risk to approach you, but she wanted to tell you how much improvement she could see. She genuinely thought you would be better once you made your return.

You scoffed.

“Qué ocurre? Estás herido? Necesito ir al fisio?”

You saw red.

“You didn’t think I was good enough before, so why would you think so now? Isn’t that what you told me? You couldn’t understand how Barca would pay so much for me. I wasn’t good enough.” She was stunned into silence. She had said all of those things to you. That day in Manchester will forever be here biggest regret. “Did everything we were mean that little to you? Did every word you said to me mean nothing? Just something to keep me strung along?” You were crying now. Ona had only seen you cry once before the World Cup.

Ona had just come back from coffee with Laia and Leila, when she heard short, sharp gasps.

“Amor?” She called from the hall. You couldn’t respond. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. You didn’t need to explain what had sent you into a spiral. She knew exactly what was running through your mind. “Mi amor. You are having an ataque de pánico. You are ok. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Te tengo. Eres todo para mí y más” She said confidently, pressing kisses to your hair as your tears soaked her shirt.

“I gave everything to you. I let you into my heart in a way no one else had. I laid my soul bare for you, and you broke it. You broke me, and I’m terrified that I can’t be fixed. You broke me in ways I never thought possible.” You were shouting, your voice echoing down the empty corridors.

“Oni …” She kissed down your neck, lips biting purple marks down your neck. “Oni … as much … as much as I want this. You’ve, we’ve… we’ve been drinking.” That didn’t matter to you. You had only had 2 drinks and she had half of the second one. She’d nursed one drink all evening, bar the sips she’d stolen from you. You wanted her so badly, but you’d never been with someone that way before.

“I only had one. I want this. Te deseo. If you don’t want to that’s fine. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We can do as little or as much as you want. But I’m not drunk. I promise.” She leaned back to look in your eyes. Your black bralette left a lot of skin for her to gently run her hands across. It was safe, comforting. This was Ona. Oni. Your Oni.

“It’s just … I’ve never … um … I’ve not …” You blushed hard. Ona understood what you were trying to say. She would be your first, if you let her.

“That’s ok. We don’t have to -” she began to reassure her.

“No, no. I want to. Please. I really want to. But I don’t want you to be disappointed.” You looked away.

“You could never disappoint me, mi amor.” You were always so kind, always looking out for others over yourself. “If you would let me, I would love to go further with you. All the way if you allowed me to.” The love in her voice was evident. She just wanted to take care of you in the way you deserved. “Deixa'm estimar-te.” she whispered against your chest.

“I don’t speak Catalan.”

“That’s okay. We have all the time in the world for me to teach you.” She smiled as you pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. You shivered slightly. “I thought you said you didn't get cold?”

"I'm not cold."

"Deixa'm estimar-te."

"I still don’t speak Catalan." You whispered as you tugged her to you.

You were a mess. You threw your hands in the air as you began pacing. “And yet, after everything you put me through, everything you said to me. I am still devastatingly addicted to you. You meant the world to me, and you threw me away like I was nothing. You hurt me so much that I don’t think I can ever be whole again, and still, after all of that, I am still hopelessly and absolutely in love with you.” Ona was crying, her face red, tear tracks running down her cheeks. You had to leave. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t. You had to leave.

You rushed back around the corner and straight into arms that felt so familiar.

“Easy, kid, easy.” Lucy’s voice soothed. You clutched at her; your eyes were filled with tears. She just pulled you to her and let you bury your face in her neck. You sobbed for what felt like hours – Lucy was becoming concerned with how many tears were still falling. Eventually, you slowed down. You weren’t calm. You still had tears falling steadily, but you weren’t sobbing.

“You don’t have to tell me, kid. But I think you should tell someone. That … what just happened … that’s not … that was almost a year’s worth of feelings being let out.” Lucy had moved you to against the wall. You were still in her arms, a safety blanket for you that offered so much protection.

“I … I don’t know where to start.” You answered honestly. Everything was a giant mess in your brain. Doors to rooms in your head that you had previously sealed tightly shut were beginning to open and you were sure what to do.

“Wherever you feel most comfortable. I’ve been concerned for a while now. Something happened to you before you came to Barca—why don’t you start there?” She smoothed your hair, her nails lightly scratching.

So, you did. You told her everything. It took a while. You cried some more. She cried some more. But eventually everything was said.

“Listen, kid. … I can’t imagine what this past year has been like for you. That seems genuinely horrible. I think you need to talk to a professional and regularly. You’ve had a lot of emotions, and you will need help, proper professional help, in processing them.” You nodded. It was something that Alexia had said to you early on in your rehab, that she had emotions that she needed help dealing with, and the club had a great psychologist on hand. “I also … I also think you should step back from football for a little while. Go home, go back to England. Have a bit of a break; let yourself heal properly without the added stress of rehab.” You weren’t a fan of stopping football, but you couldn’t deny the sound of going home was appealing.

A week later, you were on a flight to London. You had cleared it with Barca. They were giving you a month to do whatever you wanted. After the month was up, they wanted you back in Barcelona, but you didn’t have to train or even consider football if you didn’t want to. You wanted to get better. You wanted to get better for yourself.

Ona was not doing much better. She had told everything to Aitana and Alexia, who had found her in the changing room showers, the water running over her fully clothed body. They had helped strip her of her wet clothes and took her home. She didn’t deserve their kindness – she was a horrible person who had hurt the best thing that had ever happened to her in ways she didn’t even think was possible. Alexia had given Ona a week to wallow in bed. After the week, she was forced to at least make it to the kitchen. Eventually, Ona agreed to go to the counsellor as well. Ona wanted to get better. She wanted to get better for you.

When you first arrived in London, you were still very much a broken shell of your former self. But with time and love, you began to become whole again.

England had dreary skies and warm hugs.

England had frigid temperatures and proper roast dinners.

England had Lessi with her loud laughs and ever-present optimism.

England had Tooney with her constant jokes and sarcastic comments.

England had Mary with her quick come backs and gentle teasing.

England had Leah with her potato smilies and plain ham sandwiches.

England had Beth with her constant conversations and excitable nature.

England had helped heal your heart.

You had thought you would have felt dread or anxiety as the wheels touched down in Spain. But you hadn’t. You were surprisingly neutral. Walking back into the Barcelona training ground didn’t cause fear to strike you. You had daily chats with the psychologist, to begin with. She helped you work through your emotions, from everything from your first goal as a child to how you felt when the Doctors told you what happened in Australia. You spoke about the happy times with the Lionesses, your dark days when you had thought the lowest of yourself. Eventually, you spoke about Ona. You spoke about every emotion she had caused – happiness, sadness, anger, fear, overwhelming joy, love. You were encouraged to write a letter to her – although you didn’t have to send it.

Oni. Although I’m not sure I should call you that anymore.

I was encouraged to write this letter to you to process my emotions. So that’s what I’m doing.

You hurt me in ways I never imaged anyone could hurt me. What you said that day echoed what I already thought about myself so having you confirm it – even if you didn’t believe what you said – it really screwed with my mind. Whilst your actions caused me to spiral, I can’t blame you fully. I didn’t tell anyone. I kept my emotions bottled up. I am owning that much at least.

But I am still in love with you. I don’t think I’ll ever not be. The happiness and love I felt when you were around me was unlike anything I’ve ever felt with anyone before, or since. I would like to try again with you … maybe. I want what we had in Manchester. But with everything that has happened between us, I’m aware that can’t happen. As of right now, I want to at least start with a friendship. I want to start a fresh. So, I’m reintroducing myself.

Hola, I’m Y/N. I play defending midfield for Barcelona and England. I used to play for Manchester United. My favourite colour is purple, and I hate tomatoes. My favourite number is 17 and I prefer hot chocolate over coffee or tea. I prefer the summer over the winter, but I love when I can hear the rain on a window, especially if I’m warm in bed.

I was am hopelessly in love with a girl, and I think she loved loves me too, but I know that if I want to get back into a relationship, I need to work on myself first.

Forever yours, Y/N

Aaaa. So there will be a pt5. (and probably an epilogue type thing too). Hope you enjoyed it.

#woso community #woso x reader #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #woso fanfics #lucy bronze #woso imagine #woso blurbs #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni #fc barcelona #manchester united #man utd #man utd women #lionesses #lionesses x reader #woso #woso soccer

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sunshine-theseus · 5 months

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World Cup Loses and Transfers | Frido Rolfö x Reader

Words: 3.2k Summary: you get knocked out of the wc but you meet the woman of your dreams (I’m giving Kristie the playing time she deserved at the wc), please pretend frido never got injured Warnings: slightly suggestive. i think that's it. barely proof read. Requested by - @realsociadadferminofan

Being called up to the national team for the first time when you’re 27, right before the world cup, was unexpected and terrifying. I only knew Kristie, Lynn and Kelly from playing with them at Gotham, closest to the Mewis due to both growing up in Boston and playing with her sister Sam for a few years in North Carolina. It was a national team that was relatively skilled and fluid with one another, and I felt like an unnecessary part in a smoothly working machine.

“This has to be a, a joke, right? It’s four.” Kristie runs her hand down her face as she holds her phone in a deadly grip. I stare out the window, looking across the city, trying to ignore the way my gut drops when her phone rings before mine.

“Is Y/n there too? It might be easier to do you both at once.” I hear the accent from across the room and solemnly stand, dragging my feet across the floor, and sit on the couch beside Kristie, waving at our coach.

“I wanted to talk to you, and just let you both know, that you’re both selected to go to the world cup.” I choke on the words of thanks I was about to spew out and don’t even try to hold the tears back.

I turn toward Kristie, who has a similar expression, and I pull her into me.

“We did it.” I whisper in her ear and she rubs a hand up and down my back before we pull away.

“Thank you so much, I’m so excited.” Kristie gives her thanks and I repeat a similar message.

“You deserve this, you both bring something to the team on and off the field and it’s exactly what we need for the world cup.” We thank Vlatko once more and bid him goodbye, and I break down.

Kristie pulls me back into her and I cry, I can feel her tears drop on the top of my head but neither of us say anything for a moment. We hold each other and feel the relief and excitement of it all.

“You deserve this more than anyone Kristie. We’re going to go to the world cup and show people we are worth it.” I wipe away her tears and we both agree to separate and call our respective people.

~~~~~

The beginning of the tournament is nerve racking, but we beat Vietnam 3-0.

Then we play the Netherlands, and Vlatko doesn’t sub on a single person, and I begin to get nervous for our time at this tournament. We tie 1-1 and no one is happy. We have to at least tie with Portugal to get through to the knock-out rounds.

Lynn starts, I get subbed on at half time for Andi Sullivan, and Kristie gets subbed on in the 54th minute for Lindsey Horan. We’re still 0-0 in the last 3 minutes of the game, but Rose makes a pass to Kristie, who manages to slip the ball to me, and I make a powerful shot from just outside the penalty box. The goalkeeper’s hand grazes the ball as it spins, but it still hits the back of the net.

I scream as I make a run for Kristie, jumping into her arms as Rose and Lynn and whoever else hugs us.

The whistle blows to continue, but barely a minute later it blows again, indicating the end of the game.

I fall to my knees and weep, players patting my back as they pass. Emily is the one who lifts me off the ground and hugs me.

“You fucking did it.” I cling to her for a long time.

I’m surrounded as we celebrate, and I finally feel like I belong. Being hugged and congratulated by veterans of the team, singing kid’s jerseys and signs. People care about me.

~~~~~

Neither Kristie nor I start for the game against Sweden, which hurts considering how well we played the other day, but we keep our hopes up.

In similar fashion to the game against Portugal, I’m subbed on at half time, Kristie joining me.

“Go out and make a fucking difference! We’ve got this girls!” Lindsey yells as we run back out onto the field, ready to win this thing.

We take our positions, Alex kicking off. I follow the ball with my eyes as I make my way to mark my player, almost running into her as she heads toward me. Fridolina Rolfö is one of the best players in the world, with a versatility that isn’t seen all too often, and she’s standing right beside me. I also try to desperately ignore my raging crush on the tall Swedish player as the ball falls to my feet and I try to manoeuvre around her.

I kick the ball through her legs and take on down the field again, making a pass to Kristie. She passes to Alex who takes a shot, but Mušović catches it and falls to the ground with ease.

After the full 90’, neither team yet to concede a goal, we prepare for an extra 30 minutes, possibly even penalties. Vlatko gives us the order before the extra time begins, and I begin to get nervous again.

We fight as hard as we can for a goal, while simultaneously trying to keep Sweden away. By the time the final whistle blows to indicate the extra time is over, we’re still at a stagnant nil-nil. Penalties will be the decider. We line up, Andi stepping forward to take the first kick for us. It drifts into the goal with ease, and I hug Kristie to my side in short celebration.

Frido steps up next, taking her spot in front of Alyssa. I try not to think about how arguably good she looks as she takes a deep breath. She lets it go and runs, slotting the ball into the right corner.

1-1.

Kristie takes our 3rd. In a calm fashion I’ve witnessed from her many times before, she places the ball on the spot, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and kicks. It flies into the top left corner, and I don’t waste a second in running out of the line and picking her up, spinning her around.

3-2.

Both teams struggle to convert another goal for a few shots, but we eventually end up 4-4. Then it comes to me. It’s up to me to get us through.

I line up with the ball, glancing to the left side of the net in hopes of confusing the keeper. I take three steps back, run, and kick the ball. It flies forward toward the right side of the goal and the goalie jumpers to the left. The ball looks like it’s about to go in, when it makes contact with the post, diverting it away from the net. I try not to fall to the ground, instead silently crying as Kristie holds me at her side, watching Lina Hurtig line up.

The world moves in slow motion as she kicks the ball. Alyssa gets her hands on the ball, but it flies back in the air and toward the net. She makes a dive to stop it before it crosses the line, sweeping it away. Both teams begin to celebrate in a moment of confusion, us hoping for a second chance to get through, Sweden believing they’ve knocked us out.

We wait in anticipation as the ref checks with the VAR, and I fall into Kristie’s arms, pulling us both to the floor as she announces the ball crossed the line.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I whisper apologies in her ear as we both cry, watching Lina run to her team.

“It’s my fault.” I can’t lift my head to look anyone in the eyes. I failed this team.

“It’s not your fault, it was bad luck. You did everything you could.” She comforts through her own tears.

“You should go talk to Lynn and the others.” I say, pulling away. Kristie nods curtly, hugging me once more before standing up and leaving me to wallow by myself.

“Ursäkta mig?” (excuse me). I turn toward the person looming over me and come face to face with Fridolina Rolfö.

“You played very well today. I’m sorry for your loss. It’s not your fault.” She offers me a hand which I take nervously.

“T- thank you. But I should’ve been able to make that penalty. You played well too.” I stare at the ground, far too nervous about who I’m talking to, and disappointed in my performance.

“Would you like to swap jerseys?” my head whips up to look at the tall blonde.

“W- with me? Frido Rolfö wants to swap jerseys with me?” I stutter as she smiles down at me.

“If you don’t mind.” I waste not a second more in pulling my jersey off and handing it to her, Frido copying me. We pull them over our heads and some photographer takes a picture. I smile despite my puffy eyes and the tears that have yet to dry.

“You really should be proud of your performance today. Despite missing the penalty, you played the best you could. Maybe we’ll see you at Barca one day.” She pats me on the back and heads back to her team. I do the same.

~~~~~

A few weeks later I get a rather shocking email. The world cup ended about a week ago, Spain taking the trophy over England, and the NWSL was about to start back up. This email put a stop to my plans.

“Dear Y/n L/n,

Barcelona Femeni has deeply reviewed your performance at the world cup and at Gotham FC, and we wish to extend an invitation for you to transfer to Barcelona before the start of our 2023/24 season.

Please get back to us as soon as possible. We may be open for discussion on your salary.”

I try not to scream in excitement, hyperaware of the newly engaged couple sleeping in the room next to me, and decide to take a day to think about it and discuss the idea with Kristie and my family. I get up and begin to make breakfast for the three of us, a simple poached eggs on avocado toast, to keep me distracted.

Eventually Kristie and Sam emerge, and I present them with the idea.

“You have to take it.” Sam tells me deadpan.

“Well hold on a second. Maybe you should take a few days to think about it.” Kristie counters, and I begin to get nervous.

“Offers like these don’t just hang in the air Kristie. It’s the best move for her career.”

“What about her family? And the NWSL? We’re so close to the final.”

“What about what’s best f-”

“I’m doing it.” I interrupt what’s inevitably going to become a fight if I let it drag on.

“I’m moving to Barcelona. Sam’s right, these opportunities don’t just wait for me to be ready, and they rarely come more than once. My family will understand and so will the club. I hope. I have to do this Kristie.” The girl simply nods in understanding, and I smile at Sam before heading back to my room to reply.

~~~~~

A week and a half later I’m stepping out of a taxi and standing in awe in front of the Joan Gamper training grounds. I came in yesterday to put myself in their system and take the signing announcement photos but being here for training made it seem much more real.

I stand watching the likes of Aitana Bonmati and Keira Walsh walk past me and into the building when a hand lands on my shoulder. Once again, Frido Rolfö towers over me with a wide, welcoming grin that spreads across her face.

“They took my recommendation!”

“What do you mean?” I begin to walk alongside her.

“I strongly suggested that Jonatan watch your performances at the world cup and the NWSL after we versed each other. We need a strong midfielder like you who can also make goals. Very similar to Alexia.”

“Me? Like Alexia Putellas? You’re lying.” The Swede simply smiles again as she pushes open the door to the locker room.

“Hola!” a chorus of voices greet us as we enter. We’re clearly the last here.

It takes me a few days to start gelling with other players. These people were the best of the best and I had to prove I belong here, so I did just that.

“Mapi, Mapi! Here!” I yell to the centre back, pointing to where I want the ball. 5v5s could be hard but they made it seem easy.

It flies through the air and lands against my chest before falling to the ground. I seem to be in an impossible situation, but I spot a gap and hit the ball through, managing to run around Lucy and tap it into the goal past Sandra.

“VAMOOOS.” Mapi, Frido, Ona and Aitana run toward me.

“You’re so good.” Frido taps me on the head affectionately as she pulls me into her side in some sort of hug. I blush and roll my eyes when I make eye contact with Pina, who was very aware of my crush on the forward.

“Thank you Frido.”

There must have been something in the air because I continued to bang in goals all session.

I tap the ball back behind me to navigate around Alexia and chip it over Sandra, right into the goal.

I make a shot from the boarder of the penalty box, and it lands in the top right corner.

Aitana shoots the ball into the air and before I can think, I’m jumping and throwing my leg in the air behind me. It connects with the ball, and I turn my head to watch if it goals in as I fall to the ground. The net ripples behind Sandra and I’m at the bottom of the dogpile before I can say anything.

“You just flawlessly executed a bicycle kick what the fuck?!”

“How’d you do that?”

“Can you do that again?” a new question is presented before I can answer the previous and I just laugh. Eventually everyone gets off and heads to lunch, but Frido helps me up.

“You’re performing goals like that but you’re not a striker? Why?”

“It just feels right. I’ve always been told I’m best midfield even though getting goals has always been something I loved doing.” She hums and takes my hand as we follow the others.

~~~~~

“We’re playing truth or dare! No complaints!” Claudia shouts over the groans spewing from everyone’s mouths.

“It’s the ultimate team bonding experience. Come on.”

“I’ll go first!” Ona volunteers and we all wait to see who she picks.

“Mapi. I dare you to knock on your neighbours door, accusing them on stealing Bagheera.”

“But Señorita Ruiz is so nice, and old.” Despite the complaint, Mapi gets up and walks out of her apartment, Ona following her, and knocks on Ms Ruiz’s door.

“María Pilar! How dare you accuse me of stealing Bagheera! I look after him every time you go away and take good care of him! I would never do such a thing.” The sounds of what one could only assume to be a handbag hitting Mapi, echo down the hall.

“Lo siento, lo siento Señorita! Por favor my friend made me I’m sorry!” the subject of the quabble meows and struts out of the apartment and toward Señorita Ruiz’s.

“Never accuse me of such things again or no more buñuelos.” Eventually the two come back, Mapi red faced with Bagheera in her arms, and Ona giggling in joy.

“My turn I suppose.” Mapi seethes jokingly.

“Y/n. I dare you to play seven minutes in heaven with Frido.” I stop, but Frido is already standing, and I can’t say no.

“Let’s do this.” I whisper, apparently loud enough for everyone to hear, as they cheer and laugh.

I follow Frido to Mapi and Ingrid’s bedroom and close the door behind me. As soon as I do, I’m pushed up against the wood. My breathing stops and I flush red, trying not to look at her lips.

“If you don’t want this, tell me now. Otherwise, I’m going to kiss you because I’ve wanted to since I first saw you.”

“I want you to kiss me so bad.” She surges forward, pressing her lips against mine, and I grasp at the loose fabric of her shirt to pull her closer.

I don’t even try to talk as we continue to make out against the door. I try not to think about how hot she looks with dishevelled hair and ruffled clothes, my lip-gloss smudged against her own lips, otherwise we won’t be leaving this room.

Then comes an aggressive bang from the other side, Mapi yelling time is up.

“This isn’t over.” She whispers in my ear as she reaches around me to open the door and walks out. I stand still in awe as I watch her walk away, and Mapi has to usher me back to the circle where I sit next to Frido.

~~~~~

I went home with her that night and woke up the next morning buried beneath satin sheets with an arm around my waist, skin on skin. Despite the deep want inside of me to freak out, I take a breath and take in the world around me. The sun streams through the window and lands perfectly on the face of the woman beside me, making her skin light up and her hair seem like liquid gold.

I spot the pile of our clothes on the floor and giggle at the memory of how hard they were to take off last night in our rushed kisses. But then I remember how the rush slowed down. There was no other word to describe it except love.

Frido’s eyes slowly open and she grins at me, leaning forward and pressing soft kisses to my shoulder and neck. I sit up urgently and reach a hand toward the spot she just kissed, then stand and head toward the bathroom linked to her room. There on the side of my neck, is a row of small, dark purple hickies. Frido follows me in and wraps her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder, and continues to kiss every inch of skin she could reach.

“I have no way to cover these up before training.” I groan and throw my head back.

“Good.” She shrugs before kissing me on the lips, and then goes back to her room.

“You did it on purpose!” I whine.

“I will never admit that. Now join me.” She pulls me into the shower before I can protest.

Let’s just say we were nearly late to training. And I had to borrow her spare kit. And everyone most certainly knew what happened.

Ingrid was the first to point it out, poking a finger into the bruises on my neck and pointing them out to Mapi. I swat them away but it only brings more attention to us. Alexia is the next one over and she gracefully points out the 16 that replaces my usual 3. I look over to Frido for help but she just laughs.

“You know what? At least I’ve got a girlfriend. More than some of you can say.” I laugh along with some of them but Frido seems shocked. I tilt my head to the side in confusion, running my sentence through my head.

My smile drops but she leans over and kisses me.

“Yeah at least she has a girlfriend.”

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #wwc 2023 #fridolina rolfö #fridolina rolfö x reader #frido rolfö #frido rolfö x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #uswnt #spain wnt

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loganlermanstanaccount · 8 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 8)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 7, Part 9

summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.

warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.

a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 5.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you had forgotten; they were good.

Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls.

That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards.

You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough.

The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends.

And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help?

It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there.

After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home.

Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else.

You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost.

You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat.

~~~

You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten.

You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early.

You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.

You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest.

With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–

Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept.

"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears.

"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly.

"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–"

"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in.

A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there.

"…I brought food, by the way."

You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up.

" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–"

You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.

"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs.

It stops you in your tracks, for some reason.

"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?"

"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?"

You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked.

"Loads, Mig."

He snorts. " Sure. "

" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.

And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers.

You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin.

Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump.

"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.

" Can't. We need the space, remember?"

To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow.

He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."

He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot .

"You promised ."

"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."

You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle.

"Fuck you."

He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."

Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by.

Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him.

His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that.

"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him.

" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice.

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you.

"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."

"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."

He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree.

You'll be okay. You have to be.

It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead.

He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.

"You're taking a stats module, I assume."

You nod.

"With Dr. Karev?"

You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."

He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then."

He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.

"I thought it would be."

"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–"

"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? "

"Why not?" He shrugs.

"I… I don't have any money, or anything."

"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front.

You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?"

Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–"

"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."

He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny?

You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous.

"Eyes on the road, asshole."

It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face.

~~~

He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city.

It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life.

Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar.

Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm.

"No, no. I'm going up by myself."

He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly.

"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–"

"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."

It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance.

You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist.

The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp.

" Where's my –"

" Your stuff's in the –"

In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room.

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "

It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets.

It makes you sick .

You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind.

Sick, sick, sick .

You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends.

Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence.

When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door.

You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it.

"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car.

Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.

You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“

He shrugs. "Don't have the time."

It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot.

"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"

"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully.

You want to scream.

" So? "

" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."

" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again.

And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you.

" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."

He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact.

You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps.

You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water.

You'll be okay.

You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean.

Deep breath.

Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box.

When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car.

"Hey, hey, easy… "

"I'm good, Mig – "

You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over.

"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug.

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun.

It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window.

"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb.

You purse your lips, thinking it over.

"It'll be quicker, chula. "

That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod.

It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless.

Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down.

"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."

You turn to the man beside you.

" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."

Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,

rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it.

"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it.

Miguel doesn't answer.

You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once.

After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better.

Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick.

Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment.

"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty.

You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope.

He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long.

"You're fucking him."

It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie.

Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn.

"It's none of your fucking business."

"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."

" What ?" You croak.

"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes.

His lips flatten into a tight line.

" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ."

"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."

"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's."

That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."

" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."

"I would've–"

"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."

"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained.

"Then why don't you love me?"

He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily.

"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?"

You nod.

"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."

"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."

Until it wasn't. He sighs.

"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”

“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.

“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”

You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before.

“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”

It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .

"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail."

You shake his hands off of you, stepping back.

"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."

You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks.

"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "

You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box.

You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind.

~~~

He doesn't know what to say.

You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands.

[Sent: 22:33]

Can't explain it, Ly.

[Sent: 22:33]

I'm going fucking crazy.

[Received: 22:34]

ur being dramatic :p

[Received: 22:34]

think u just need to get laid

[Sent: 22:34]

Fuck off.

[Sent: 22:35]

I said I'm taking a break. Meant it.

[Received: 22:37]

(image attached)

[Received: 22:37]

got this at the party

[Received: 22:37]

ur staring, mig

[Sent: 22:38]

…

[Received: 22:38]

that's my dress! told u I have great taste :))

[Received: 23:06]

miggyyy

[Received: 23:06]

stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(

That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could.

Fuck . He's overthinking it.

You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes.

Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway.

He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning.

He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable.

He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…

…nothing. Just quiet.

He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out.

Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you.

You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you.

With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka

@delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs @bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara angst #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort

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flem17ng · 4 months

Note

can i request a jessie fleming x reader fic? where someone (u can pick who) is getting closer to jessie (like physically and emotionally closer) and reader gets jealous. all the tension leads to a big fight where jessie ends up reassuring reader that she loves them and all that (r and jess are in an est. relationship). and (only if ur comfortable writing it!) smut ensues

Thanks so much for this request anon! I’m always having jessie fleming brain rot so this was an enjoyable write.

pairing: Jessie fleming x reader

warnings: slightly suggestive i guess

word count: 1.35k

summary: reader catches jessie flirting with a fan after a big chelsea win. (established relationship)

The game was supposed to be the best night of your life. The crowd was cheering, the stands were a sea of blue and you had just scored a fantastic header from a corner that your beautiful girlfriend had taken. Needless to say: you were supposed to be happy!

The crowed erupted as the ball hit the back of the net and for a moment everything was still. The players stopped, you stopped, the goalie looked up in disbelief. You had scored a goal in the final few minutes, putting chelsea in the lead.

When reality set in you were swarmed by the team: Sam slapped you in the back while Millie cheered into your ear and pushed you towards the crowd to celebrate the inevitable win.

It was then that you saw her: your wonderful Jessie, smiling and waving to a fan in the other side of the barricade. The girl (maybe 20) was wrapped in a fleming jersey with a sign over your head that read “marry me number 17!”.

You felt your throat tighten for a moment. Yes this was pretty normal: being in the public eye you often had thirsting fans chasing you (jessie probably more so than most). And yet something about the way the girl winked at jessie made your stomach churn.

Before you could say anything, the game was resuming. No time to worry about some little interaction. You were being jealous, that’s all.

***

The game ended soon after. A whirlwind of cheers ushered you through the tunnel and into the change room where bottles of champagne waited for you.

“y/n! that goal was amazing babe! I’m sorry i didn’t come to celebrate with you!” Jessie ran towards you, her shirt halfway off and a big grin on her adorable face. Usually this would be when you grabbed her rosy cheeks and kissed her, but your stomach was still churning so instead you gave her a quick hug and a nod before moving to get changed.

The team was going to be moving onto a pub after everyone showered so it wasn’t long before the dressing room began emptying out. As the room got quieter you could hear a conversation Jessie and Lauren were having in the corner.

“who was that eh jessie?”

“mmh? oh the girl! I don’t know, just a fan probably”

“bit of a looker though”

Jessie hummed but didn’t respond. You supposed that should have made you feel better but the fact Lauren had noticed the interaction at all made you a little uncomfortable. You and Jessie had been dating for almost a year now but had decided it was best not to tell people at work. You were both private people after all, it made sense to keep things quiet.

It didn’t make it any easier when people tried to hit of her though.

“hey jessie I recon i’ll walk to the pub” you called out at you gathered your things and pulled your jacket on.

“hey are you sure? I’ll give you a lift if you want” Jessie looked at you curiously, her big brown eyes piercing into you.

“yeah i’m sure. I want to cool my muscles down a bit” you shot her a weak smile before walking out of the room. The truth was you felt like the jealousy was eating you alive (and not in a nice way).

You had been ok with keeping things private at first, but now the thought of other people, other women desiring Jessie, wanting her… it filled you with anger. She was yours. And you were hers.

***

The pub was full when you arrived: Not only with the team but with family members, admin people, managers and coaches. The music was thumping loud enough to make the walls shake.

You needed a drink.

You pushed so to the front of the bar, attempting to get the attention of one of the bartenders when someone caught your eye.

Leaning against the bar a few metres away was that girl, the fan that winked at Jessie. It look you a moment to realise the girl was pushed up against someone: her hands were resting against the bar on both sides of some girl. As you watched you realised it was Jessie. Your wonderful, perfect girlfriend was pushed up against some dumb blonde fan girl.

Jessie must have said something funny (of course she did) and the girl reached forwards, placing a hand on jessie’s cheek, using the opportunity to get infinitely closer.

The churning in your stomach had become a full scale tidal surge. You needed air, you needed to go home, you needed that woman to get off your girlfriend.

What could you have done? no one else knew she was yours.

Just as you turned to leave, Jessie looked around, locking eyes with you for a second before you were lost in the crowd.

you couldn’t stand there, you had to leave.

***

“Y/n! Y/n please wait up!” you could hear her yelling for you was you walked up the street but you couldn’t, wouldn’t stop.

“please Y/n. that wasn’t what it looked like!”

You spun round, cheeks red, temper rising.

“really Jessie. because to me it looked like you were having a nice time getting felt up by some groupie.” you yelled, causing jessie to stop abruptly.

“Babe-“

“Don’t babe me Fleming. I saw that girl in the crowd. That’s why you didn’t celebrate with me. Because you were too busy eye fucking some dumb blonde?”

“Don’t be crass y/n”

“Don’t be crass! Jesus, Fleming! You think I like to watch you getting all touchy with those girls? Do you think I enjoy that?”

you walked back a few steps only for Jessie to walk even closer.

“Don’t ben ridiculous…” she breathed.

“Jessie stop. You’re being mean.”

You started to turn around before remembering you would end up at your shared apartment soon enough.

“y/n look at me. please.” Jessie’s voice sounded needy, desperate. Maybe that’s why you turned. Suddenly she was a whole lot closer than she had been before.

“Y/n that girl… she is nothing to me. She cornered me at the bar while I was waiting for you, she kept… touching me. I felt gross but I- I didn’t know what to do!” Jessie’s eyes looked wet now as she talked.

“on the pitch when I went to take my corner she yelled… well she yelled something pretty fucking gross if i’m being honest. the only reason i gave her the time of day was because I was so upset.” Jessie sighed and looked down. She fiddled with her ring as she spoke.

You covered her hand with hers suddenly feeling the need to be nearer to her.

“Y/n I love you. I mean, I am in love with you. I think I have been for years now. Even before we went out I loved you.”

you looked at her, taken aback

“Jessie?”

“please I need you to know this. No one compares to you. No one. Don’t you ever feel second best because you are always first in my heart.” It was your turn to tear up now. Jessie wasn’t always the best with words, this was… a first to say the least.

“Jessie I want to tell people about us. I want to be your everything. I want there to be no room for doubt in anyone’s mind that i’m yours. Jessie please I just… I can’t do this anymore. I want to be with you and I want the whole world to know about it.”

Jessie grinned, her cheeks going red in the dim light. “darling, there is nothing i want more.”

she reached up and held your face, bringing you in for a deep kiss. You grabbed her waist, pushing her gently up against the building beside you and deepening the kiss until you were both panting.

Slowly you dipped your head and kissed her neck, listening to her sharp breath as you went.

“don’t ever talk to that girl again. understand”

Jessie looked down, mouth open and breathless.

“take me home Y/n”

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #chelsea fcw

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toxicanonymity · 9 months

Text

Late Night Dip 💦

2300 words, night walks!Joel x f!reader

thank you for the mood board @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

SUMMARY: Not much plot as usual. You go to the neighborhood pool after hours. Joel joins you for a late night dip and more of what you can't get enough of. A/N: CAN READ ALONE, but it’s in night walks (AU) with their dynamic established. Maybe a good chance to dip your feet. WARNINGS: I8+ mdni public, outdoor, oral f receiving, unsafe P in V in the pool, creampie / coming inside, kinda aggressive joel (to your delight), drugs (weed), references to stalking. PWP

Late one night, you text Joel to let him know you're going to take a dip. He had suggested a swim before but you hadn't taken him up on it yet. You don't exactly invite him, but his house is close to the pool and you imagine he'll show up. He texts back, “bet you’re gonna get real wet.”

It’s after closing so the whole property is dark except for one dim, flickering light by the tennis courts, and the moonlight. When you get to the pool, you reach over the fence to unlock it from the inside. Some leaves are congregating in the water at the shallow end. You carefully grab the net off the fence and fish them out. It's gratifying seeing the water clear. You dump the leaves over the fence without banging it on the fence, then hang the net back up. You dip your toe and the water is a little more chilly than you expect, but not awful. You sit down on a lounge chair, not ready to get in. You check your phone and Joel hasn't said anything else.

Before taking your cover-up off. You unwedge your swimsuit and your hand lingers in the crotch of your bottoms. Are you as wet as you feel? You dip your finger into the pool between your legs. Yeah.

Joel's disembodied voice says, "Mm. Already?" You turn around as he emerges from the woods. "Save some for me."

"Jesus. What are you doing back there?"

"like seein' ya get all horny for me." He probably cut through from his house. But he’s so . . . .stealthy. He just has that air about him. He’s like a cat, prowling around.

"Joel," you sigh and roll your eyes.

He lowers his voice, "say it again, baby" as he scales the fence.

He sits down on the pool chair next to you. He faces you and leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “waitin’ for me to get in?” He has a joint behind his ear.

You think out loud, "how many times have you spied on me?"

He smiles to himself and reaches for your thigh. You get butterflies at the contact. He slowly caresses your leg, shakes his head and says, "however many gets you off, pumpkin’.” Then he teases, “Don’t bother ya, huh?” He winks and gives your thigh a squeeze. “Gets ya hot and bothered.”

Your face burns and he looks pleased with himself when you change the subject. “Water’s chilly.”

Joel takes off his shirt, revealing the long necklace he was wearing when you saw him out before with the blazer and low cut shirt. You wonder if he went out tonight.

“C’mon. I’ll keep ya warm.”

He stands up and his crotch is at eye level. His swimsuit is mint green, mid-thigh. It looks good on him. He’s barely hard if at all. Why are you insulted? He’s been there all of five seconds. He reaches in his pocket and takes out his phone and a lighter. He puts the phone down on his shirt, along with his chain. He sits on the side of the pool and puts down the lighter and joint. Dozens of back and shoulder muscles all engage as he eases himself into the pool, and god his back looks nice. You have to imagine it looks even nicer when he’s fucking you.

—--

Once he’s standing, he turns around and rests his forearms on the edge. He sticks the joint in his mouth and blocks it from any light breeze as he lights it. You take your cover-up off, but still don’t make a move to get in. He tilts his head and checks you out, then exhales. He nods his head back toward the pool invitingly. “C’mon, sugar. Ain't that cold.” It's not, really. The profile of his messy hair and strong shoulders does something to you.

You stand up and adjust your top.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then mutters with a straight face, “Why bother.”

“Why bother. . .” you repeat contemplatively as you sit down at the edge of the pool. You wince as you put your feet in. Joel immediately nudges your knees open and puts himself between them, still holding the joint. Your feet graze his swimsuit. He takes a small puff and puts it aside on the cement. He reaches one hand up to touch your neck, running his fingers over the halter tie of your bikini top as he holds the smoke in his mouth. Then he slides his hand up to your head, looks at you darkly, and gets on his toes. You dip your head toward him as he exhales into your open mouth.

As you accept his breath, he pulls the string to untie your top. Your hands reflexively go to catch your swimsuit against both breasts and you narrowly avoid choking. Meanwhile, he pulls the string on your back.

You’re too busy finishing your inhale to say anything. Your hands hold the dangling swimsuit to your chest.

Joel pulls back and looks you in the eye. He reaches for your cleavage and forcefully yanks the strap between the cups, taking the swimsuit out from under your hands and tossing it aside. You turn your head and cough, then say, “What are you–”

“Shhhh.” Your hands are still over your breasts. His hands rest atop your thighs. You look down and watch his strong, masculine hands run up your thighs to your hips. He grabs your ass and nudges you closer to the edge. “C’mon.”

“It’s too cold.”

“not to get in.” He eyes your swimsuit bottoms. You scoot forward a little, and his broad torso keeps your thighs spread wide as you get closer. “Good girl,” he murmurs to your crotch. You feel exposed with your legs open outdoors, but it’s not like he hasn’t been between them plenty of times.

He doesn’t waste any time. He sinks down into the pool so his head is at cunt-level and plants his mouth right above the crotch of your swimsuit. He kneads your ass and presses his lips into your clothed mound, moving his lips slow but hard. There’s something really hot about him from this angle. His head between your legs, shoulder muscles flexing in the moonlight. He pushes his tongue against the fabric and devours you through the swimsuit. His head moves between your legs. Suddenly the cool air is on your ass. He’s untied your suit.

You finally let go of your breasts, resting your hands behind you. He moans into the front of your swimsuit, and his tongue pushes it aside. Then pulls it down gently with his teeth as his hands grab your ass. His lips latch onto your clit and he gives it a kiss, looking up at you. Then he pulls his head back and thumbs your folds. He gives a low whistle at how wet you are. “God damn.” He returns his head to your cunt. He licks between your entrance and your clit, then sucks. You finger his fluffy hair and he moans into you as he sucks and laps, then pries his head away and looks at you darkly.

—-

You sit up straighter and his mouth goes to your bare breast. He sucks your nipple and thumbs your clit. Then he releases your breast with a, “fuuck.” He looks back and forth between your breasts and sighs with a pained look on his face. Then one of his hands goes between his legs and that arm is slowly moving as he sucks your other tit. When he pulls his head back again, his voice is low and hungry. “Get in.” The look on his face makes you wonder how urgently he needs you and what he’ll do if you drag your feet.

“It’s too cold,” you say. It's not really--your feet are warm now that you've adjusted. You can feel how warm he is, too.

One corner of his mouth curls up, then his face darkens. “C’mon, baby.” He palms himself. “Know you want this cock.”

You sigh. “So why don’t you get out and give it to me?”

He wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your chest. His scruff scratches your breast as he commands into your skin, “get the fuck in here.” His arms tighten around you and he pulls you into the pool, leaving your swimsuit behind. Your legs wrap around his waist as he falls back with you. He holds you by the ass and helps gravity pull you down against him so you feel him rock-hard through his swimsuit. He sighs "yeah," and you whimper at the contact. He moves you by your ass and grinds your front against his hardness and you take a deep breath. Your nipples are hard. He’s keeping you warm, just like he said. You don’t even care that you’re completely nude in the neighborhood pool.

You’re in the middle of the 4’ section, aching for him to be in you. Your arms are resting on his shoulders with your wrists crossed behind his neck. He reaches between you and urgently tugs down his waistband. You look down into the water as he holds his cock straight and guides you by the ass, covering his tip with your cunt, nestling himself for entry. He pushes his tip inside, and pulls you down hard on his cock, parting your walls in one go and bottoming out with a grunt. He sighs “fuck yeah,” tilts his pelvis back, removing half his length, then closes his eyes with a twitch of his perfect nose. He meets you with a sharp thrust as he pulls you down even harder and sighs.

His voice is hushed. “Been wantin’ it all week, right?” His mouth hangs open as he wraps his arms around you and manhandles you on his cock. He snarls and sighs. He breathes heavily, moving you up and down. “Yeahh. He takes a deep breath and reads your face, sheathing himself inside you as he wets his lips. Then his lips latch onto yours. He feeds you his tongue in rhythm with his cock. He moans into your mouth and slowly moves his lips with yours as he fucks himself with your body. You help with your legs pulling you onto his cock in his rhythm. You break the kiss with a moan. As many times as you’ve had it now, it still gives you butterflies all over, the way he fills you up.

Still sheathed in your warmth, begins to slowly make his way back toward the wall. When he gets there, he puts his arm behind you, protecting you from the ledge. He bounces you on his cock as he picks up the joint and takes a drag. You latch onto his neck and he exhales “ohhh, baby.” Then he puts the joint down and backs a foot away from the wall. He grabs your ass with both hands and breathes “fuck” as he ups the intensity again. You sigh.

“So” He pulls you down, “damn,” thrusting hard, “hot, baby.” He’s hitting your g-spot. “God damn,” he whispers. “God, this ass.” He squeezes the cheeks.

“Fuck, Joel-”

“Turn around for me,” he lifts you off him and turns you around. You grab the ledge of the pool and it’s not even a split-second before he shoves into you from the back with a grunt and thank God you're so wet with your own slick. His arm snakes in front of you and he grabs your breast as he stuffs you with his cock. His lips latch onto the side of your neck and he moans “Mmm” as he kisses then nibbles at your neck. Your core feels dizzy with mounting pleasure, and pressure builds with every thrust. His teeth bear down on your neck and then he sucks gently, then hard. You wince at the thought of the mark.

Joel’s mouth breaks away. “Relax,” he murmurs as he buries his length inside you. “God damn.” He reaches for the joint. He gropes your breast and fucks you a little slower, pressing his chest all the way up against you as he takes a drag. He looks at the joint as he exhales, then he reaches around you and brings the joint in front of your lips. You take a puff. He sets it back down and ups his intensity again. You sigh as you exhale. He whispers, “hell yeah.”

He brings one hand to your clit and another to your breast and fondles you as he fucks you harder. You begin to whimper on the edge of bliss and he says, “Yeah, come on this cock, baby.” He works your clit and bottoms out with each harsh thrust. “Fuck yeah, c’mon.” Your whole abdomen tightens, then your head falls back as you see stars. You moan and he palms your breast. He fucks you through it as you flutter around him. “God, yeah,” he pants, “Oh yeah, fuck—nngg” He groans and slams his cock into you. He begins to pulse, releasing his warm seed. He hums, “mmm” as he slowly plunges to the hilt a few more times, emptying his balls. Your cunt spasms lighter and you sigh.

Joel bends his knees and noses your ear. He wraps you in a hug, still inside you. When he begins to pull out, You tighten your legs on him, trying to keep him.

Something rustles in the dark. It’s just a raccoon at the treeline, but you’re suddenly very aware of your full nudity. You stand upright, letting his cock slide out of you as you push yourself up out of the water.

“Ok,” he whispers. He pulls you back onto him, pivots to the side and holds onto the ledge with one hand, letting you lay back on his chest as you both come down from your high. You lay like that for a minute or two, feeling his breathing against your back as his cock softens.

“Up for a dip any time, pumpkin,” he says in a hushed voice as he hands you your bikini top.

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Night Walks AU for more of this menace starting when you meet him.

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed it.

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All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot

nw tags on @toxicfics reblog

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#night walks!joel #nightwalks☠️#tw drugs #cw drugs #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x female reader #dark!joel miller #creepy!joel miller #horny!joel miller #toxic dilf summer #tw stalking

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