#TOTALLY UP TO YOU IF YOU WANT TO CONTINUE THIS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onaswife · 21 hours ago

Text

Your reflection, my secret.

Couple: Alexia x reader

AU!Omegaverse, Omega x Alpha

Note: with the help of @futbolfatale and @sachanobie were my great beta readers. First story over 5k (9,4k) words since I started writing. I hope you like it and sorry if there are any mistakes, I'll fix them this afternoon!

Summary: They met at La Masia when they were eleven. At first, Alexia couldn't stand her. Then, she couldn't be without her. They grew up together. They fell in love. They separated.

Years later, fate brings them together again in the place where it all began: FC Barcelona. But this time, there's more than one open wound… and a little girl with the eyes of an Alpha who never knew she was a mother.

2005, February.

It would be your first year at La Masia. You had always dreamed of being able to play soccer and appear on television like Messi, Thierry, or Ronaldinho. Alphas that are bigger and stronger than their competitors. You dreamed of being like them, shining on the field like they did, and winning as many trophies as they seemed to.

Your parents had received a new job opportunity in Barcelona, near La Masia, so you were quite excited to see this magnificent place, which was like a dream come true for you.

"Mommy, can we go see a Barcelona game?" you asked as you passed a large advertisement for the men's first team, unable to take your eyes off it, as if hypnotized by it. "I don't know, honey. I don't know if your father can take you," you nodded with a small, sad smile on your face.

You knew it was a nearly impossible choice to make. Your parents didn't earn much more than they needed to survive with you, so you had learned over the years not to ask for more than they gave you. Although you knew they both had good jobs, you preferred not to ask for much.

You continued walking through the vast, endless streets of Barcelona, enthralled by the sight of so many colors and so many smells. The smell of salt coming from the sea, the smell of bread and coffee that filled the streets, and the roses that were everywhere. Being an alpha means you have a heightened sense of some when compared to betas and omegas. Being able to smell even the tiniest details helped make everywhere you travel just a little bit more magical. Though it was a landscape that unconsciously made you smile. It wasn't as if the place you lived before wasn't as beautiful. They lived in a colorful city too, but it was a totally new experience in Barcelona, where the sun seemed to rest without a schedule above your head.

You were lost in your thoughts as you listened to your mom talking about what she would make for lunch and telling you about interesting things she had seen during those days. You looked up, and it was, in your opinion, the best decision.

You saw two things: first, the large letters indicating you were passing outside La Masia, and second, a girl who seemed to be the same age as you, with dark hair tied in a high ponytail, a height similar to yours, although she seemed a few inches taller.

You looked up at your mother, who was watching your dreamy gaze from above. "Someday you'll get there... with your father, we'll do our best, love." She squeezed your hand and continued walking by your side, with a firm step.

That day, you couldn't stop thinking about that girl, about how she seemed to own the place. You wanted to be her friend and be able to play with her, since you could tell how good she was at playing, you could see it in the confidence she exuded.

As evening fell, you walked back. You were alone, not very welcome at your new school, being a foreigner and not fluent in either of the two languages spoken in the city. You knew how to speak two languages, or rather, three. Your mother was Italian, born in Sicily, while your father was French, born in Montpellier. They met in Sicily when your father went on vacation there before starting university, and there he fell madly in love with the Italian girl with beautiful eyes. Although he didn't know any Italian (only Ciao and Salve, which were basically the same thing), they both fell deeply in love, regardless of the language barrier. This led to both languages being spoken at home. Later, you learned English at school, and you became more interested when you saw that the soccer players spoke more English.

You passed by the side of a soccer field, near where your mother bought the delicious pastries they used to eat for dessert at dinnertime. You watched with excitement as boys and girls played there, all wearing shirts of one of your Barcelona idols, having the fun you so wanted to.

You sighed, ready to continue walking home, until a really sweet-looking lady approached you, speaking Spanish to you, which you didn't understand at all. She seemed really confused when she didn't get a response, and you were afraid she might get angry and yell at you. Instead, she just pointed at the court, followed by a "play" sound.

You looked at the lady, then at the court, back at her, and back at the court one last time. She saw the doubt in your eyes, so she gently grabbed your arm and led you to the others.

You enjoyed that day like never before, until it ended. Your mom arrived, worried.

As soon as she saw you, she ran to hug you worriedly, examining you from head to toe while you giggled at the tickling she was doing. "Mom, I'm fine. The lady there let me play." Your smile had never been brighter than it was in that moment, making it impossible for your mother to stay mad at you.

She grabbed your hand as soon as she stood up and walked toward the kind woman from before. They exchanged a few words you didn't understand while they both laughed. You managed to understand that your mother had mentioned your name, and the lady was looking at you with a kind smile.

They stayed talking for about 20 minutes while you looked at the pitch. Your mood had really changed just by playing 30 minutes of the game, where you had scored 4 goals and provided 2 assists, in addition to nearly saving a spectacular goal that your team had almost scored. You looked at your mother, who seemed to be saying goodbye to the other woman, until someone, a tall man with black hair, approached you. The man looked like some kind of coach, with a cap and some papers under his arm.

You exchanged a few words. Mom looked at you happily, and the man smiled at you before leaving.

The walk was silent, but not awkward. You were worried that maybe someone had said something bad about you to your mother, while your mother was waiting to be able to break the news as soon as your father got home.

They arrived, but not before buying your favorite cake. As soon as they entered, you saw your dad sitting on the couch waiting for them with a big smile on his face. You let go of your mother's hand and ran to hug him. The normal behavior for a young alpha wasn't to be so cheerful, but with your parents, it was impossible not to be. They both loved and adored you with all their being, and you returned them with all the love you could.

"Mommy told me she was worried because you hadn't arrived," he whispered against your hair, leaving soft caresses on your back as you excitedly told him about your day, skipping school almost the entire day and only telling him about the game you had. He looked at your mother as she approached to greet her, and they both listened attentively as you talked nonstop, until you got out of your father's arms and began showing them how you had scored the goals you had.

You liked afternoons like this, when your mother didn't have to work late and your father came home early, telling you about his day or simply listening to you chatter about everything you'd seen during the day.

"Our little girl was seen by important people today," your mother finally spoke as you and your father sat at the table, staring with the same expression at the food your mother had placed in front of you both. "And they have a really good offer, which I know Y/N will like." She caressed your hair, and you instinctively looked at her, your mouth full of food and your eyes dreamy.

"So? Tell me more." Your father was in the same condition as you, his mouth full and his eyes full of anticipation for the new news.

"After the game today, a man approached us and..." He stopped as he began to put things in the refrigerator. You looked at your father, who was almost eager to listen.

"Please finish telling us," you both shouted in unison, practically in tears. Your mother finally returned to the table and sat down with you. "What was I telling you? I forgot," she had a mocking smile on her face, knowing what was making you lose your patience. "Someone saw our daughter playing, and what else?" your father explained and asked as he took your mother's hand. You did the same, looking at her with palpable anxiety on your face.

"Oh, yes."

"Oh, yes, what?"

"He was a recruiter," she answered simply enough, making you squeal in your seat while your father looked at her excitedly. "Recruiter of what, love?" You looked at your father with a look of disbelief.

"So he can join us in collecting garbage..." your mother responded sarcastically as she looked at him. "Soccer recruiter, love." You jumped out of your seat, looking at her expectantly.

"Where's he from, Mommy? A local team wants me to play? Did you hear, Daddy?" You spoke quickly, the excitement that seemed to rush through your body in a second.

"Barcelona, well, he said he was from La Masia."

You remained silent, your skin prickling, and you stared at a fixed spot on the table, where the food was getting colder with the passage of time and your emotions. They both knew you, so they waited for you to process the news. When you finally did, you started screaming and running around.

You calmed down a few minutes later and began to cry in your mother's arms as she stroked your hair. "I told you you'd make it, love, you're the best," she murmured, placing a kiss on one of your tear-stained cheeks. "This deserves a big celebration. We have to tell your grandparents."

That February 19th was the official day of your debut in professional soccer.

Being eleven years old and moving to a country whose language you don't understand isn't easy. It was even less so when you were the only French girl among dozens of Catalans who seemed to have known each other forever. But you didn't let that intimidation come your way. From the first day at La Masía, you ran through the hallways, greeting everyone with great energy, your accent strong, and your smile even bigger. You didn't understand a word anyone was saying, but that didn't stop you.

Alexia looked at you from afar, frowning. "That new girl spoke strangely, was too loud, and always wanted to hug everything," she murmured to her younger sister. For the first few weeks, she ignored you or simply pretended you didn't exist. Sometimes she would comment to Alba that the French girl was crazy, that she laughed at everything and spoke as if the world should understand her. Sometimes she would even refer to you as "French..." followed by an adjective for you.

But there was something... that caught her attention.

The way you trained seriously even though you didn't understand the instructions. How you celebrated every goal your teammates scored as if it were your own, how you laughed even when you lost.

Your parents' story seemed to repeat itself with you.

Your first interaction was during training. The team was divided into two teams of 7 to test their teamwork. You ended up on the same team as Alexia.

Both of you wanted the ball, but neither of you was willing to let it go. You were playing well, but it bothered you to hear Alexia yelling at you in Catalan to let her shine.

"Pass it!" Alexia yelled.

"You're marked," you replied.

"Do it anyway!"

"No!"

She kicked the ball away from you with a clean kick. She dribbled arrogantly, and you felt your face boil as she watched Alexia shake off both of her markers, but missed miserably on goal.

"Stubborn French girl," she muttered without looking at you, and you clenched your fists.

"Catalan autoritaire," you said, even more quietly. (Bossy Catalan)

The other girls laughed at the little argument.

You really tried to get along with Alexia. She was one of the few girls your age. Most were younger, and the others were about to make their debut with the first team, which frustrated you. You didn't know what else to do to make Alexia like you.

But nothing seemed to be enough.

Every attempt to fit in with Alexia ended in frustration. You didn't fully understand what she was saying, but you could read her gestures, her averted glances, her cold silences when you sat next to her in the cafeteria or on the bus. You had tried everything.

You had heard her tell one of your teammates that you were "too much," that you were always on top of her, that you didn't know when to stop. So you stopped talking so much, lowered your laughter, and held back in practice. Even when you scored a goal, you just raised your fist in silence. You stopped running up to your teammates to hug them, even though the urge to do so was still there in your chest.

You changed, you molded yourself, just to fit in with her. To please her. Until one afternoon, in the middle of practice, you realized how ridiculous it was.

Alexia had yelled at you again. You didn't know exactly what she said, but you immediately understood the annoyed tone. And then you stopped. With the ball still at your feet, you stared at her.

"Je suis fatiguee de ça," you muttered angrily, barely audible to the others. (I'm tired of this.)

She frowned.

"What?"

"I'm tired!" you blurted out, kicking the ball hard into the empty net.

That was the day you decided that if Alexia didn't like you the way you were, then there was no point in trying anymore. You went back to being yourself. You spoke loudly, laughed at silly things, and celebrated every play. The younger girls adored you. And Alexia... well, Alexia started looking at you differently, but she was still trying to keep her distance.

You entered the locker room happy about winning against Espanyol, a crushing 5-0 victory in your favor.

You had assisted two goals and scored two more, which made you quite happy. Therefore, you had started speaking French while explaining to your other teammates how excited you were, and they listened attentively even though they didn't understand a single word.

Alexia, on the other hand, was annoyed. She had missed a few passes, had a shot on goal that didn't even come close to landing, and felt beyond stressed seeing your overwhelming happiness.

"Això no és frança," she said as she passed by you and shoved you with her shoulder, making you frown. All the other girls on the team seemed dazzled by the victory, and Alexia seemed to be going through the worst defeat ever seen by humankind. (This is not France)

"Toujours aussi belle, Putellas." you replied back, watching her roll her eyes at your response. (As charming as ever, Putellas)

You felt the atmosphere in the locker room change; now there was a little more tension in the air, which you hated. You quickly grabbed your things and went straight to the showers, with the sole idea of being away from the brunette who was making you angry.

Unfortunately, you had to learn to live with her.

The rooms at La Masía weren't big enough, so you often had to give up sleeping alone to receive a bunk bed in your room and learn to socialize with the person who would now be your roommate.

In your case, and with your luck, you ended up sharing a room with Alexia Putellas.

"J'ai le droit de choisir dans quel lit je dors, c'était ma chambre" you argued as you picked up her suitcase and placed it on the floor, lying down on the bottom bunk. (I have the right to choose which bed I sleep in, this was my room.)

Alexia let out a grunt as she picked up her suitcase again, placing it almost on your lap. "Sí, però jo porto més temps aca." Her gaze was challenging, one eyebrow raised as that mocking smile returned to her lips. (Yes, but I've been here longer.)

"C'est peut-être pour ça qu'ils t'ont pris ta chambre, parce que tu es vieux" you muttered as you settled in, turning your back on her and accidentally knocking her suitcase to the floor again. (Maybe that's why they took your room away from you, because you're old.)

"Francesa sense modals" (French without manners)

"Catalan agaçant" (Annoying Catalan)

That same night, just as you were falling into Morpheus's arms, Alexia threw a pillow from above, landing right on your face.

"You're snoring. How annoying."

You groan, grabbing the pillow and throwing it back, hearing a groan coming from above.

"You're literally snoring like a donkey, shut up!"

Training was always physical; you had to learn how to play well with your body without committing fouls, how to make good tackles. That's why it wasn't unusual for you to end up with bruises after practice.

You never got angry when you were fouled; after all, everyone was learning to be better soccer players together, and to be better, you always have to make more effort and know how to fall and get back up again.

Although, of course, you didn't get angry with the girls who weren't Alexia.

You were in the regular rondo, just finishing training to go to class.

You had squeezed yourself between two defenders; you were closer than ever to scoring a spectacular goal.

You were...

Until you felt a pain spread from your shin up, leaving you lying on the ground while you clutched your foot, pain clearly shooting through your face. She, on the other hand, looked down at you, her face not showing much emotion.

"Deixa de fer espectacle i aixeca't, ni tan sols t'he pegat fort." you growled as soon as you heard her voice, because of course, who else would be more than happy to knock you down with the excuse that she was defending the goal. (Stop putting on a show and get up, I didn't even hit you hard.)

Again, you didn't understand anything she said, but judging by her tone of voice, you knew she must be downplaying your pain, maybe calling you overreacting.

You stood up while trying to plant your foot firmly, feeling a cramp run through your leg, but you continued anyway.

You were fighting for a ball, Alexia hovering behind you, ready to stop your advance and maybe knock you back to the ground. You spun around, stepping on the ball and throwing it back, causing it to pass between Alexia's legs.

"catalan lent" you muttered as you passed her, watching her face turn red with embarrassment. You, on the other hand, kept running. This time, you wouldn't let her slow you down. (slow Catalan)

Your team ended up winning the round. You seemed to have won more than that, watching Alexia retreat, fuming from her ears. A triumphant smile spread across your face.

Even so, you limped past her, your ankle still hurting when you put your foot down, but you pretended as best you could that it wasn't true.

The day continued normally, with a bit of pain and not being able to understand much of the class. You'd been here for at least two months and still didn't understand any Spanish or Catalan. It made you feel stupid not being able to learn another language, even though most of your classmates already knew how. Besides, they'd given you a personal tutor to help you learn the language.

It was already after 10:00, the time they had set for bedtime. You sighed, trying to understand for the eighth time the paragraph you had written in Catalan in front of you.

"Podries apagar la llum? Hi ha alguns que si volem dormir" you heard the angry voice of the girl upstairs. You quickly wiped the tear of frustration that left your eyes and threw your book against one of the desks they had set aside. Then you turned off the light next to your bed and settled in to sleep. (Could you turn off the light? There are some of us who do want to sleep.)

The next morning, you tried to ignore her, not listen to what she had to say. And it worked, until it was time to take a shower.

"Podries apurar-te? vull banyar-me també i ja portes aquí com 2 hores" you heard Alexia yell from outside the bathroom. You had only entered five minutes before she started screaming like a crazy woman. (Would you hurry up? I want to take a shower too, and you've already been here for two hours.)

You sighed, sitting on the toilet lid, while your left foot rested on the edge of the tub. It looked a little ugly, bruised near the bone, and seemed to be swollen. You stared at it for a few more seconds. When you reached out to touch it, the omega outside screamed again, causing you to jump and hit your ankle. You groaned at the sharp pain that shot through your foot again.

You took a quick shower before heading out to your room, where your clothes were waiting for you. You didn't even look at the girl who shared your room, just walked past her, bumping her shoulder with yours while limping slightly.

One way or another, you ended up on the physio table while they checked your ankle. The coach had seen you limping and kicking with less power during training, making him suspicious and sending you for a checkup.

You didn't say a word when the physiotherapist began to gently press on your swollen ankle, the one you'd been trying to hide for a few days. You pressed your lips together, determined not to show any pain. You were an alpha; you couldn't cry over such minimal pain. Besides, it was already humiliating enough to be sent to the physios in front of everyone, especially when you'd tried to prove you didn't need anyone's help.

The bandage was already halfway across the table when you heard footsteps approaching. You thought it was the coach, maybe one of the girls waiting for her turn for physiotherapy. But your body tensed at the sound of that voice.

"Tu també ets aquí, Alexia?" someone said from the other table. It was Laura, another great center back on the U-12 team, one of the few who had also arrived from outside Catalonia (Are you here too, Alexia)

"Només tinc un punt tens a l'esquena," Alexia replied in her usual tone. (Just a sore hip.)

You didn't turn to look at her; you focused on the white ceiling, counting the imperfections in the paint so you wouldn't turn around and throw something, an object, or a word at her. You held your tongue to avoid further fights.

"Saps que ha estat coixejant des de dilluns, oi?" Laura continued, this time in a softer tone, more curious than accusatory, as she nodded toward you. (You knew she had been limping since Monday, right?)

Alexia didn't respond immediately. The sound of Velcro tightening the bandage filled the silence.

"No ho sé, estava jugant normalment, només vaig fer una entrada neta." She defended herself in a subdued voice, hoping to end this awkward conversation and get help quickly. (I don't know. I was playing normally, I just made a clean tackle.)

"Anyway, I should have said that before," Laura added with a sigh. Then, as if she couldn't help it, she added, "Although I think she didn't want them to see her as weak."

You understood that, and from the way your jaw tensed, it was clear it affected you too. You turned your head just a bit, just enough to catch a glimpse of Alexia, who was sitting with her leg dangling, not looking at you, but clearly listening to everything.

Her eyes lifted at the same time as yours. They met for a second. There was no mockery, but no regret either. Just that distant coldness, as if your presence was a constant nuisance.

"Maybe I didn't want certain people to know," you said quietly, in English, with a venomous edge.

Alexia frowned, obviously not understanding anything, but knowing it was coming from you.

"What?" she asked defiantly.

"Exactly," you whispered with a forced smile as you got off the table. The physical therapist ordered you to skip training for a few days, to go to classes, and to apply ice every few hours if the swelling and pain were still there.

You limped out of there, thanking him and not looking back, but knowing her gaze was following you.

The days seemed empty without training. You were restless without the constant exercise. You never really thought about how much you needed the release. It’s taught that young alphas need physical release, otherwise they can lash out at those around them, often physically. It was never something you had to worry about until now. All this pent-up energy is making you jittery.

Lessons are even worse; you can’t seem to focus on anything your teachers are saying. By the time you make it back to your room, your brain is buzzing. You find yourself knocking into objects you normally would have avoided easily. Your room is quiet, and Alexia sits on her bed, book in hand. The title is in Catalan, making it unintelligible to your French eyes. Alexia doesn’t even look up, which you guess could be preferred when compared to her usual snide comments. Her scent is calmer than usual and is missing the tang of sweat that often clings to her skin.

You take a seat at your desk, flipping open your maths book. You turn to the homework for the evening and have to think back to class. The equations on the page look completely unsolvable. You can’t seem to recall anything your teacher said about the subject. You flip back to the page before, but that seems to be of no help either. After spending five minutes staring at the page, you let out a quiet sigh. “Are you just going to stare at it until it solves itself?” Alexia’s voice shocks you. You had almost forgotten she was there. You hum noncommittally; you don’t want to engage in an argument with her. “You need to find the LCD,” you say, looking back at her. She hasn’t even looked up from her book. “ What?”

“The lowest common denominator. Look at the first question, 1/5 + 4/10, it would be ten, so you have to times the 1/5 by 2. It becomes 2/10, then you can add it to the 4/10.” Her explanation does make sense, but you won’t admit that to her. “I completed this unit last week,” she adds almost as an afterthought, though you know it was just to show off. You quickly write down 6/10 and move on to the other equations. Maybe Alexia is really a nice girl with a tough shell. She could have been testing you this whole time to make sure that you deserved to be her friend.

Scratch that whole maybe she is actually kind inside thought. Her ‘’nice’’ behavior lasted all of 5 days, then she was back to her old habits. You had been dealing with her nasty comments and overall bad attitude towards you for long enough. She has no right to treat you with such disrespect like that. You had never done anything to her in your time together.

You walk into your shared room to find her sitting at her desk, feet kicked up, still reading that dumb book from the other day. You push the door shut hard behind you, causing a shiver to travel down Alexia’s spine. You can see the way it moves over her skin. “Did you really need to do that, drama queen?” Alexia’s words are barely audible, but you still pick them up. A side effect of being an alpha, you suppose. “Excuse you.” You whip around, hand on your hip.

“You heard me.”

“Oh, I heard you, but you are going to wish I hadn’t.” You growl, stepping towards her.

“You can’t touch me. You’ll get expelled. It’s in the handbook… Oh, you probably couldn’t read that, you French brat. Since it is in Spanish”

“Je vais te tuer.” You growl, tackling her to the ground, taking her chair to the floor with you. She lets out a scream so loud you can feel your ears pop. (I’m going to kill you)

Before you can get more than a few hits in, someone is pulling you off of her and out of the room.

You really thought everything had changed. Alexia had been a new person to you, helping you with your math homework and seeming willing to help you with anything you needed.

It was like that until your ankle healed and you were playing normally again.

Your ankle was better. Not perfect, but strong enough to return to the rondo. You ran more cautiously, still a little tense, but you felt more confident with each pass. The ball rolled toward you. You controlled it immediately, spun, and darted between two defenders. When you looked up, you already knew who you were up against.

Alexia.

Part of you thought she would step aside, like she had the past few weeks. That she would still be the same person who explained to you that vermell was red and that in decibels, Alexia meant "my name is Alexia." But no. She bumped her shoulder into you and put her foot in just at the right moment to block the ball. It wasn't a violent tackle; it was precise and firm. And it knocked you to the ground.

The whistle didn't blow. It wasn't a foul.

You rolled on the ground, your heart pounding in your chest, and when you looked up, she was already walking away, the ball at her feet. She didn't even look at you.

You didn't need to either.

"Clair..." you mumbled in your French, your voice thick with disappointment. "Back to the same old thing."

You didn't look at her again for the rest of the training session. She didn't come near you either.

When the session was over, you went straight to the locker room, avoiding letting her notice how your eyes were starting to burn, though not from physical pain this time.

Later, in your room, you returned to your old routine: ignoring her.

You silently opened your language books, pretending not to notice her presence.

But she did speak.

"No és personal." That was all she said, sitting on the top bunk, her back against the wall, as if she didn't care much about explaining. (It's not personal.)

You didn't answer. Because for you, it was.

Alexia had been the only one who had seriously tried to help you during those difficult weeks. You had begun to trust her, really. And she, as soon as you returned to the camp, treated you as always.

Like competition.

Like an obstacle.

Like just another nuisance.

And you didn't understand. You didn't understand if it was because you were alpha. Or because you weren't Catalan. Or simply because you were you and she already hated you.

You only knew one thing: you weren't going to trust her again.

Even though something inside you, deep down, hurts more than your injured ankle.

New day, same routine. You woke up listening to Alexia complaining about your "messiness" (you had a pair of slippers lying next to YOUR bed).

"No pots ser més endreçatda? No t'aixecaràs?" she said as she stood beside you with her arms crossed, looking judgmental. (Can't you be more tidy? Aren't you going to get up?)

Alexia grunted, trying to pull the blanket off you while muttering in Catalan.

You recognized her instantly: her usual irritated tone, that half-anger-half-passive contempt. Her words were still difficult to understand, but you knew exactly when she was criticizing you. She could have said "good morning" like any normal person, but no, Alexia Putellas had to start the day with her favorite routine: annoying you.

From your side of the bed, you barely gave her a fleeting glance, still half asleep. Your hair was a mess, your face buried in the pillow, and you had no desire to interact with her. Without a word, you rolled over and wrapped yourself tightly under the blanket as if you could disappear from the world. Or at least from it.

"Ugh, you're so annoying..." Alexia grunted impatiently.

You heard her getting closer. Too close.

Suddenly, a sharp tug on the blanket made you grip the edges tightly. She was trying to pull it off you as if it were a personal battle.

"Stop!" you protested quietly, not moving, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Desperta't ara!" she muttered under her breath, still tugging, frustrated. Her voice was low but intense, as if she didn't want the other girls to hear her. (Wake up now!)

"Tu n'es pas ma mère!" you snapped in French (You're not my mother!)

"You're not my mother," she snorted, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, "perquè si ho fos, et faria saltar-te l'esmorzar per mandra." (because if I was, I'd make you skip breakfast for being lazy.)

You didn't quite understand, but the intonation was clear. A mockery. Something with "breakfast" and "lazy." The tone was enough to make you want to throw a pillow at her.

She gave one last tug at the blanket, managing to partially uncover you. It was then that you sat up abruptly, your hair disheveled and your eyes squinting in sheer annoyance.

"What's wrong with me, huh? Why are you always on top of me? God, you seem obsessed with me."

Alexia crossed her arms. Her Barça pajamas were a bit too big for her, and the brown lock of hair that always escaped from her bun fell over her left eyebrow, right where she frowned.

"Because you're a mess," she replied, with that coldness that characterizes hers.

"And what are you? The captain of the world order?"

"Almenys jo no faig que la nostra habitació sembli un camp de batalla…" (I don't even make our room look like a battlefield…)

"I don't even understand what you're saying!" you exclaimed, fed up. "You always talk as if I'm not here. As if it weren't even worth learning how to communicate with me."

That stopped her.

For a moment, silence filled the room. Tension hovered between both beds, between the floor and the walls of that shared room that seemed smaller every day.

Alexia looked at you, and for the first time, she didn't seem to have a quick answer. Her expression changed, not much, but enough for you to notice a slight hesitation. But she didn't say anything.

Instead, she turned around, grabbed her towel and toothbrush, and left the room with short, quick steps.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her.

You sighed, lying back down. You hated that your day started like this.

You hated even more how much that Omega managed to affect you.

And so the routine continued. Alexia bothering you, showing the other girls that she bothered an Alpha without consequences.

She felt like the queen of the place, wherever she went within La Masia.

You stared at where Alexia was standing.

You had asked permission to nest in a remote, hidden spot, not wanting to suffer any more shame from missing your parents and the smell of home.

But of course, Alexia had to find it and destroy it. Your mother's jackets were thrown inside a black bag, which they normally used for trash. You saw Alexia lift up your father's shirts, ready to throw them out with the rest of the clothes. You felt rage course through you, and in that moment, you understood the saying about "seeing red."

You approached with long strides, your breathing ragged and your fists clenched tightly. You stood behind her, and in a voice you'd never heard before, you spoke to her.

"What do you think you're doing with my things?" Your voice was authoritative. Even though you mispronounced the Spanish words, they sounded more threatening than ever.

Alexia stood stock-still, unmoving, fear creeping down her spine. She turned slowly, seeing your darker eyes and how you seemed ready to attack her. You, on the other hand, grabbed the things from her hands and then pushed her, throwing her aside so you could grab all of yours.

"You really like ruining everything around you. I don't know how you can pretend to be the best player when you're the worst human being," you spoke in a still furious tone, your eyes beginning to sting with tears of frustration, as you tried to calm yourself down so you wouldn't do something you'd regret.

"It's not authorized…"

"I don't care what you think, Alexia. I had permission to do it, but of course, Miss "I Like to Ruin Everything" had to show up and throw her typical tantrum," you said scathingly as you finished picking everything up. "Go to hell, Alexia, you're the worst human being."

You walked past her, pushing her shoulder harder than usual, knocking her to the ground. Before, you'd usually turn around to check on her after pushing her, but now you just kept walking without stopping to think about her and how she was doing. Alexia stood there, sprawled on her butt on the cold ground as she watched you walk furiously away with your parents' things under your arms, and for the first time, she felt truly guilty for making you feel that way.

This time, you came first, nothing more than letting yourself be trampled by a Catalan gâté. (Spoiled Catalan).

A week had passed since that incident…

Since the day you pushed her and left her lying on the ground, Alexia hadn’t bothered you again. No more comments about your shoes, no smug glances in the dining hall, no shoves during training. She didn’t even say anything in the shared room. She almost seemed... ashamed. For the first time since you'd arrived at La Masía, she seemed... absent. Not physically, of course, she was still at training, in the dining hall, in the dorm. But she wasn’t all over you like before, and that confused you more than you wanted to admit.

You, for your part, had rebuilt your little nest in another corner, this time in an even more hidden spot, with your parents’ clothes carefully folded and protected, far away from Alexia Putellas’ hands.

But she wouldn’t stop looking at you from afar. From the dining table or the opposite bench in the locker room. As if she wanted to approach but didn’t know how.

It was one afternoon, during practice on the smaller pitch, when she finally did. It was after you finished gathering your things, sweaty and tired, ready to head to the showers. She blocked your path. Her expression wasn’t arrogant this time, she looked... nervous.

“Hey,” she started, lowering her gaze. “I wanted... to say I’m sorry.”

You said nothing, simply looked at her with a frown. She went on, speaking a bit faster:

“I didn’t know you had permission to make that... nest. I didn’t know those were your parents’ things. I shouldn’t have touched anything.”

The silence that followed was cold and sharp.

“And you think that’s it? ‘I’m sorry’ and it’s all okay?” you spat, taking a step toward her. Alexia stepped back a little but held your gaze.

“No. I don’t think it’s okay. I’m just... trying to change.”

Your laugh was bitter. “Change? Why now? Because you can’t stand that I don’t react the same anymore?” Alexia opened her mouth, but you cut her off before she could speak: “What do you want from me, Alexia? For me to applaud you for apologizing? To forget everything you did? How alone you made me feel? How humiliating it was to see the others laugh while you dragged me down?”

Her expression hardened, hurt. “I had hard things going on too. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m just a kid, just like you…”

“No, Alexia! Don’t give me excuses!” you shouted, voice trembling. “You have no idea what it was like to come here without speaking the language well, without knowing anyone, without having my parents, the only people I could speak to freely without being afraid they’d laugh at my accent. And you decided I was the perfect target... and now you say you didn’t know how to handle it?”

There was a moment of silence. The field was nearly empty at that hour, only the distant thud of a ball could be heard. “Why do you hate me so much?” Alexia asked quietly, as if she didn’t want to hear herself say it.

“Because you made me hate my happiness... my identity.”

Alexia swallowed, pressed her lips together, and lowered her gaze. She wanted to say something else, but this time, you didn’t wait. You turned around and started walking toward the locker room.

“Wait!” she called out.

You didn’t stop.

“Please! Give me a chance! Just one... please.”

You stopped in your tracks. Hesitated for a few seconds as the cool afternoon air brushed your face. “One. And if you ever break something of mine again, physical or emotional, I swear I won’t ever speak to you or look at you again,” you said without turning, but loud enough for her to hear.

Alexia said nothing more. But you could feel she smiled right behind you. Not a smug smile, but one of relief. Because for the first time, she had the chance to show you that she could change. That maybe, just maybe, not everything was lost between the two of you.

But you weren’t ready to trust her yet. Not just yet.

It had been about three days since that exchange of words between you two.

Three days since Alexia seemed to change, and all she did was make you uncomfortable.

She stopped making biting comments, no longer waking up and yelling at you to get up. No, now she would simply shower first and then gently tap your shoulder, followed by a quiet, "The shower is ready for you."

You couldn't deny how tense this sudden change in her made you. Her tone of voice had shifted, it was almost the same one she used with her sister or with her other friends, which left you utterly confused.

You got up slowly, savoring the silence you hadn't realized you'd been needing so badly. You took a moment to look around the room, the sun already warming as it poured through the window beside your bed.

You stared out the window, watching how the first rays of sunlight lit up the training fields, making them appear golden. There was something you cherished more than anything else, being able to take your time and appreciate things. The stars at night, the way the sun set, and even waking up a bit earlier to watch the sunrise slowly—it all gave you a sense of peace.

You started your morning routine as you did every day. First, you went to the bathroom to do your business and take a shower.

After that, you got dressed and walked toward your study materials. But something interrupted your routine.

If I ever made you feel alone, today I want you to know that loneliness weighs heavier when you're the one who causes it.

You stood still, staring at the note resting on one of your Spanish books. You didn’t move, simply frozen, looking at Alexia’s neat handwriting.

That was the beginning, Alexia’s written words, found in every corner of your room.

You were about to go to bed after a long day. Alexia had plans to watch movies with some friends, so you'd be alone for the next two hours. You walked slowly, wrapping your shoulders in your blanket, heading toward the bed.

You pulled back the covers, and one of your pillows lifted just enough to reveal a folded piece of white paper written in black ink, standing out among your bedding. You moved closer, and with that same slowness, you picked up the note between your fingers.

I’m not leaving it because I think I deserve forgiveness, I’m leaving it because I don’t know how to say it out loud. I’m sorry for the silence, for the laughter I stole, and the hurt I caused you.

Neither note had a signature, but to you it was obvious who had written them. It had to be Alexia—she shared the same room, had access to all your things, and no one else could’ve done it.

And that was just the beginning—notes started appearing everywhere. Inside your shoes that peeked out from under the bed, inside your pencil case among pens and highlighters, inside your textbooks and notebooks, in the bathroom near the shower, in your wardrobe. They were everywhere. And even though part of you wanted to be mad at her, you felt a strange warmth blooming in your chest.

No matter how much you tried to hate her… You were starting to tolerate her, and maybe, even crave her presence.

Days passed, and the notes didn't stop.

At first, they seemed strange, even invasive, but little by little, they became part of your routine. You almost began to search for them unconsciously, as if your fingers were leading themselves to the most unlikely places: under the chair cushion, inside the sleeve of your jacket, or in the back of your Catalan notebook. And every time you found one, you stopped. You took a deep breath. You read. And you felt something inside you soften, something you had held tense since you arrived at La Masía.

Some notes were brief, others a little longer. Some sounded like apologies, others like confessions, others simply like loose thoughts that she couldn't seem to share out loud.

One of them, written in shakier handwriting than the previous ones.

There are times when I want to talk to you, but I don't know where to start. Sometimes all I get is anger because I'm scared. You... you scare me, and I don't know why. But you also make me laugh. And when you're not around, I miss you.

You found that one in your water bottle the night before a game.

And you, without knowing why, put it in your backpack. Not to read it later. Just... so you wouldn't lose it.

You started to change with her too. Not drastically or obviously. But you could see it in your gestures. You no longer closed your eyes so much when Alexia entered the room. You no longer answered her with monosyllables. In fact, a few nights ago, while you were both eating some snacks you had taken from the kitchen, you were both laughing. You laughed when she tried to ask for more bars and choked on her laughter, making you laugh even harder.

The truth is, there was a part of you that wanted to ask her about the grades. I wanted to know if she wrote them alone or if she was inspired by something, if it was harder for her to let go or think about what to say. But you didn't. Not yet.

Because there was something special in that silence. In that secret language that seemed to form between you from the remains of a relationship broken too soon.

And that night, just before going to sleep, as you stirred your sheets with a tired sigh, you found another note. A smaller one this time.

I don't know how to apologize. But if you let me, I can try to be better to you, every day. -A

And this time, you didn't just keep it. You fell asleep with the folded note under your pillow.

It was November, and the sky outside was cloudy, but it wasn't raining. It was just that quiet chill that made the hallways silent and the air a little slower. The bedroom lights were off, except for the dim lamp on your nightstand, whose golden light fell on the two figures sitting on the bed.

You both shared a large blanket up to their waists, their legs crossed, shoulders almost touching. Each held an identical juice box with a straw, the kind you'd adored since you arrived, and which Alexia had learned to hide to surprise her on days like this.

"They're cold," you murmured with a lazy smile, taking a slow sip of your juice.

"I left them by the window so you'd like them better," Alexia replied, shrugging as if it were obvious. Then she glanced at her. "You like it when they're like this, don't you?"

You nodded, unable to hide your surprise. "Yeah... how did you know?"

"You said it once," Alexia replied, lowering her gaze to her own thoughts. "A long time ago. I wrote it down in my head... like other things about you that I thought were important to remember," she said as a sweet smile began to appear on her face.

You watched her for a few seconds; you didn't say anything, but the silence was comfortable, familiar.

The sound of a long breath enveloped you, while the dull walls of the bedroom were filled with that warm tranquility that only happens to someone who has already become home.

"You know what I like to do sometimes?" you whispered, tilting your head at her. "Look at the stars."

"The stars?" Alexia looked at you, genuinely curious.

"Yeah... when I lived in France, we used to go out into the yard with my parents and lie on the grass. We didn't talk much. We just... watched. I like that. It's like everything is so vast and peaceful at the same time." You took another sip of juice, smiling to yourself. "You can't see them here almost ever."

"We could still watch," Alexia said suddenly, with quiet determination. "Even if there aren't any stars. We can still try."

You turned your head toward her. "Why watch if there aren't any? Wouldn't it be a waste of time, do you think?"

Alexia snorted as she paused to sip her juice. "That's all behind me. I guess it's nice to have a moment like this."

They were silent for a few seconds. The juice straw fizzed with the last sip. You smiled through pursed lips. "That sounds so much like you," you murmured, not wanting to share a look for long. It made your heart beat a little faster.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "And what am I like, according to you?"

You hesitated for a few seconds, your eyes lowering to the blanket you shared. Your fingers played with the empty cardboard box.

"Sometimes you're clumsy with words, but you don't forget anything important. You act tough, but you care more than anyone. And... well, you give me my favorite juices when it's cold."

Alexia looked at her as if she didn't know what to do with everything she was feeling. "And you" now it was her turn "you're the only thing that makes me stay in this bed without complaining. Even if it's messy."

You both laughed softly. But something settled between them in that moment. Something soft, warm, strange.

Neither you nor Alexia knew what it was exactly. They couldn't name it; they only knew they wanted to stay there, like this. A little longer.

They thought it was friendship. Just friendship.

So you both ignored it. You kept it to themselves. You disguised it with laughter and deep conversations for both of you. Because, at eleven years old, no one had explained to them what it meant to want someone to never stop looking at you as if you were the brightest star in the sky.

But of course, not everyone can have a happy ending, right?

It was early December, three days before the end of term and the end of vacation, when all the girls received the news.

The U-12 girls' team would be folded.

No more games with Barcelona, no more laughter in the cafeteria, and worst of all... no more chatting until midnight with Alexia while gazing at the stars.

The news was a crushing blow to you. Like a punch straight to the pit of your stomach that took your breath away and left you constantly dizzy. You didn't know how to handle the situation, not now that everything seemed to be going so well with the omega, who was finally starting to love you... even if it was just as a friend.

That night, both of them arrived at the room at the same time. You were coming from extra training. Alexia, from a physio session. They looked at each other in silence, unsure how to talk about what they both knew already.

It was you who opened the door. Tears were beginning to sting your eyes. You let Alexia in first. Then you entered, gently closing the door behind you.

Alexia sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. You stood for a few seconds, staring out the window before sinking down onto the bed with a shaky sigh.

"I don't want this to end," you murmured, almost without a voice.

"Me neither," Alexia replied softly.

There was a long silence. Only the faint hum of the heater filled the room.

"So what are we going to do now?" you finally asked, without turning around, your eyes fixed on the dark sky that didn't show a single star.

Alexia didn't respond immediately. She just got up, crossed the room, and sat next to you on the bed. Her hands were cold. She placed them on her knees, uncertain.

"We can..." she swallowed. We can make the next three days worth it. As if they were the last. Because... they are, aren't they?

You turned to her. Her eyes were red. You couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from unshed tears. Maybe from both.

"I don't want to forget you," you confessed, your voice breaking. It was the most honest thing you'd said in weeks.

Alexia looked up at you. Her chin trembled a little before she let out a small sob, brief, but strong enough to make you break down too.

The two of you hugged. An awkward embrace, kneeling on the bed, as if the whole world were crumbling in your arms.

"I won't forget you," Alexia promised against your shoulder. "Even if years pass. Even if you live in another country."

You didn't respond, just closed your eyes. I wish it were true. I wish time wouldn't do what it always does.

They didn't sleep well that night. They laughed. They cried. They told each other secrets they'd never spoken out loud. And the following days were as if they were in a movie: full of improvised memories, of almost desperate laughter, as if they knew they were clinging to a thin thread that would soon break.

Three days later, Alexia said goodbye with a long hug, as if she could memorize your shape. "See you soon," unaware that that "soon" would turn into six years of distance.

You left for France, to your grandparents' house, where a small local soccer school offered you a new opportunity. Life went on.

So did time.

And in 2011, now seventeen, your steps brought you back to Barcelona. You had grown. Changed. But there was something that hadn't.

And there she was.

Alexia.

Taller, more confident. But when you saw her, you knew: she still remembered how your favorite juices tasted when it was cold.

And you still remembered that, once upon a time, she promised you she wouldn't forget you.

#woso x reader #woso omegaverse #barca femeni #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

203 notes · View notes

miumura · 2 days ago

Text

SOULMATE UNDERCOVER ⌕ TAESAN SMAU

023 — calligraphy partner ( 3.4K+ … BUT ITS CUTE I PROMISE )

There was truly no point in complaining. In fact, you should be grateful that everything has unfolded this way. After all, getting closer to Han Taesan wasn’t just something you’ve always been plotting on for centuries—it was simply a move made for Find My Lover that seems to backfire.

But, no one knew he was part of Soulmate Tracker—yet.

You really shouldn’t care about when someone would finally find out about his identity, however, you still found yourself not wanting to tell anyone. It was odd, really.

The instinct to protect yourself—or, more than that, him.

Or maybe, it was the unsettling realization that the person who had somehow caught your interest was none other than your supposed biggest business rival.

Yeah. That would totally be a fun confession to make.

“Y/N!”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Jiwoo’s voice. She stood by the classroom exit, her body half-leaning through the doorway as she waved at you with a bright smile. “Calligraphy club meeting today,” she reminded you.

You blinked, glancing down at your phone. Time had slipped away from you without notice. Letting out a quiet exclamation, you shot her a thumbs-up before watching her disappear down the hall.

With little care, you hurriedly stuffed your notebooks into your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder as you made your way to the calligraphy room.

As expected, the moment you stepped inside, the room was filled with soft chatter, members scattered around in small groups. Your eyes instinctively searched for a familiar face, only to notice something unusual—Sunghoon wasn’t here.

And that was odd enough. He was always here.

Shrugging it off for now, you spotted an empty seat and made your way toward it, draping your bag over the back of the chair before sitting down. The conversations around you continued, but soon, Yuna’s voice rang through the room, signaling that the meeting would start soon. One by one, students returned to their seats.

That’s when you saw him.

Taesan.

He was walking in your direction, walking past people effortlessly. You didn’t think much of it at first—until he got closer.

And closer.

Your gaze instantly flickered toward the chair beside you. You noticed that black bag that was just sitting onto top.

It seemed like his things were already there.

Yeah. No. He was definitely heading your way.

The moment his eyes landed on you, you caught the way his expression shifted—his usual relaxed demeanor faltering for a split second before his eyes widened slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be right there. Right next to his seat.

You quickly mouthed a ‘hello,’ lifting your hand in a small wave. Taesan hesitated for a moment before mirroring the gesture, offering a small awkward smile in return. Without wasting another second, he slipped into his seat, doing his best to act natural—normal.

He couldn’t afford to seem awkward, not when there was already a lingering worry gnawing at him. The last thing he needed was to make it even more obvious that he was concerned about you figuring out who he was.

Still, despite the nagging thought at the back of his mind, he couldn’t deny it—he was glad to see you here today.

Despite his worries, soon Taesan would find a way to drown out his thoughts by the Vice President of the Calligraphy club. One by one, heads turned toward the front as Yuna clapped her hands together, calling for everyone’s attention.

Usually, Sunghoon would be the one standing up front, explaining the rules before letting everyone test out the writing equipment. But with him being absent today, Yuna had taken over, effortlessly stepping into his role. She went through the usual routine—discussing the room’s guidelines, reminding everyone where to store the tools when finished, and reminding the group of upcoming meetings.

Everything was going as expected. That was until Yuna decided to change things up.

“Now that’s over with—pair with the person next to you! Left or right—it doesn’t really matter! Just go and practice writing together!” she announced cheerfully.

For a moment, the room was silent. Some people blinked in surprise before hesitantly turning to the person beside them. A quiet murmur spread throughout the group as pairs naturally formed.

Your eyes darted to the left, but just as you were about to ask them to pair up, they turned the other way, choosing their friend instead.

Well, shoot. That meant only one thing.

You had to be paired with Taesan.

“I guess you’re my partner then?” Taesan tried to sound casual, though he couldn’t ignore the underlying awkwardness of the situation. This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined working with you—not like he had much choice.

He couldn’t just keep avoiding you forever.

“Yeah,” you replied curtly, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips, making it impossible for him to tell if you were indifferent or amused.

Taesan hummed in acknowledgment, his fingers absentmindedly drumming against his thigh as his leg bounced restlessly beneath the table. He hated sitting still—especially in moments like this.

Without much thought, he blurted out, “Do you want me to get the supplies?”

“Huh?” You blinked, as if your mind had drifted elsewhere for a moment. “Oh—yeah, sure, if that’s okay with you.”

“Just give me a moment,” he said, pushing himself up before he could overthink it.

Taesan returned, his hands full with the materials—several sheets of paper, two calligraphy pens, ink, pencils, and erasers. Seeing his struggle, you wordlessly pulled out his chair for him, earning a quiet “thank you” from him as he carefully set everything down in the middle of the table.

He gestured for you to pick first, watching as you selected your items before grabbing his own. Though he tried to act like nothing was wrong, there was something oddly nerve-wracking about sitting so close to you, sharing the same set of supplies.

“Alright, now that everyone’s settled,” Yuna spoke up, scanning the room before continuing. “Since we’ve been practicing writing our own names, let’s switch things up. With your partner, instead of writing your own name, you’ll be writing theirs! This will help expand your calligraphy skills and get used to different letter formations after last week’s alphabet practice.”

Murmurs of excitement and amusement filled the room as people exchanged glances with their partners. You turned to Taesan, your gaze lingering for a moment.

“Well,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “Looks like I’ll have to make your name look good.”

Taesan let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “I will have to say the same thing. But no pressure or anything, right?”

You nodded, preparing all the materials before you started. After twisting open the ink bottle, you selected one of the dip pens closest to you. The metal nib dipped into the dark liquid, and you tapped it lightly against the rim of the bottle to quickly remove any excess.

Holding the pen at a precise 45-degree angle—just as you'd been taught—you slowly began writing. Calligraphy was something you were still getting the hang of, and while you had made progress, you were still very far off from being perfect. The moment the nib touched the paper, the ink bled slightly, feathering out in an uncontrolled spread.

Your strokes, which you intended to be clean and precise, came out rough and uneven.

Frustration spread across your face as you attempted to regain control, only to make things worse. Ink pooled over, forming thick, unintended blobs, while other parts of your letters faded into unreadable, inconsistent lines.

Letting out a small, exasperated huff, you snatched the cloth Yuna had thankfully provided on each table, dabbing at the excess ink in an attempt to salvage your work. But as you set the cloth aside, your paper was left with a horrible mess—smudges surrounding the barely legible "Tae," the only part of Taesan’s name you had managed to get down before everything went wrong.

It was frustrating. You had been doing well during last week's practice, yet now, it felt as if you had forgotten everything.

And Taesan picked up on that. When you first let out a sigh, he was peeking through the corner of his eye, watching you murmur under your breath as your shoulders tensed up. Considering how the only cloth set on the table was occupied by you, it was obvious that you were displeased with your work. While he wasn’t the type to compare, it was hard to ignore how he had already finished writing your full name while you had barely made it through three letters of his.

Still, he reminded himself that you had only joined the club a month ago—and because of his suggestion, no less. The realization made him feel a little guilty.

"Y/N," his voice broke through your thoughts, pulling your attention toward him. You turned your head, humming in acknowledgment as you met his gaze.

He grabbed a fresh sheet from the stack between you both and slid it closer. “Do you want to see how I write my name? It might help you get the hang of it.”

“If you don’t mind,” you brightened, thankful that you were getting help without having to ask for it.

Taesan scooted his chair closer to you, moving his left arm away so you could see him writing the letters. He pressed his left hand’s fingers onto the corner of the paper, writing in soft but delicate strokes.

“That’s how I write my T’s…and my A’s,” Taesan demonstrated, taking it slowly one by one. “And you could always write them like this.”

Taesan was very careful. You eyed down at the paper, watching how carefully the nib of the dip pen was moving. You watched how he didn’t go too slow nor too fast—it was just at the right pace for you to be able to pick up a few things or two. You hummed in acknowledgment after every letter he wrote, allowing yourself to make mental notes.

Once Taesan was done with the last letter, he peeked to look at you. Without hesitation, your attention shifted back to your paper. “Thank you,” you murmured, already lifting your pen to try again.

Taesan bit back a smile. Every so often, you would glance at his sheet, referencing his work before returning to your own, your head tilting slightly with each comparison. It was endearing—watching you so intently focused that you didn’t notice how he had stopped working on his own practice sheets, entirely fixated on your progress instead.

“Is this good?” you turned to ask Taesan, who was already looking at your paper. “The letters seem a little…blotched still.”

The right side of his face was pressed onto the palm of his hand with his facial expression seeming relaxed. He picked up his head, nodding in approval while throwing a small thumbs up at that.

It was like he really was watching you this entire time.

“If you’re worried about your letters looking weird,” Taesan fixed his posture to show you once again. “Hold the pen like….this.”

He raised his own pen, positioning it between his thumb and index finger—like holding a pencil but with a subtle shift in angle. With light movements, he replicated the same flawless letters on a scrap piece of paper, demonstrating how the adjustment helped him write.

You mimicked his hold, lifting your hand for him to see. Your body turned slightly toward him, your eyebrows raised in a silent, questioning look—is this right?

“For a stronger grip,” Taesan set down his dip pen, focusing entirely on your hand. His fingers brushed against yours as he adjusted their placement, guiding them along the wooden handle. He shifted your wrist slightly, ensuring the pen was angled just right. “Hold it like that.”

You nodded, warmth creeping up your face at the proximity, but you quickly turned back to your paper. Taking a deep breath, you attempted the letters again. The difference was instant—the strokes felt smoother, more controlled. A quiet exclamation of surprise left your lips.

From beside you, you heard a hum of approval. When you glanced up, Taesan was watching, a small smile tugging at his lips before he let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re doing a great job, Y/N.”

You should’ve expected a compliment—it was natural for someone giving you tips to acknowledge your improvement. But still, hearing it from him made you feel shy.

Well… maybe it was because it was Taesan, after all.

“Thank you for helping me,” you trailed off, trying to formulate your words together. “when you could have focused on writing my name instead.”

“Well, I’ve already written your name several times,” Taesan pushed all the papers he had more to your view, to which he had hidden under a bigger sheet of paper to not make you feel overwhelmed with his sudden progress. Your mouth dropped in awe, eyes trailed upon each design of the letters as they were all different.

“Whoa,” you breathed out, mouth slightly agape. “You were seriously doing all of this while I was struggling with three letters?”

Taesan let out that soft, sweet laugh of his, watching as you ran your fingers over the paper. Feeling like you needed to respond, you gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, to which he only chuckled more.

At some point, you had convinced yourself that you’d match his dedication—writing his name over and over until you filled five pages, just like he had done with yours. But as you glanced down at your own attempts, the one he had guided you through stood out among the rest. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t recreate it with the same precision.

Taesan noticed. He found your persistence endearing, but even so, he eventually told you that it was okay to stop.

Compared to the rest of the club members, the two of you were now completely unoccupied, sitting idly as the others continued working. It wasn’t long before Yuna took notice, her gaze flicking toward you both.

“Are you guys done?” she chimed in, effectively bursting the little bubble you and Taesan had been caught in.

You both turned to her, nodding in slow unison.

Yuna clasped her hands together with a bright smile. “That’s perfect, actually—I have a favor to ask you both.”

Taesan’s expression shifted the moment Yuna spoke, his brows twitching ever so slightly. He didn’t seem particularly thrilled, but he wasn’t exactly protesting against it either. Either way, Taesan felt like he already knew what was coming.

You glanced between him and Yuna, sensing there was something sudden in the air. Before you could question it, Yuna slid a card and a folded sheet of paper across the table.

“Help us buy snacks for the club, will you?” she asked, her tone light but expectant. “The list of everything we need is on there.”

Without a word, Taesan grabbed the list without hesitation while he pushed back his chair and stood up. You followed his lead, taking the card before the two of you made your way out of the clubroom.

The walk was quiet at first, the only sounds coming from your synchronized footsteps against the pavement. You debated whether or not to break the silence— although it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it felt noticeable after spending so much time talking during the name practice.

Deciding to speak up, you pulled the card from your pocket, holding it between your fingers as you turned to Taesan.

“Do you guys usually run errands like this?” you asked, examining the card before stuffing it back into your pocket. “For the club, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Taesan replied easily. “Whenever the club earns money, we set some aside for snacks. The responsibility of buying them rotates, so everyone takes turns.”

You nodded, humming in response. That made sense.

For a moment, you considered asking something else—keeping the conversation going—but you weren’t sure what else to say. Taesan didn’t seem inclined to talk either, so you let the quiet settle between you again.

It wasn’t long before the familiar glow of the convenience store lights came into view. The moment you stepped inside, you both agreed to divide the list between you.

Surprisingly, the visit at the store with Taesan wasn’t awkward—you two just had a steady back-and-forth of small talk. You learned that Taesan had a soft spot for chocolates and puddings, while he discovered that, along with chocolates, you had a preference for gummies. It wasn’t anything particularly deep, but it still felt natural and not forced.

Once the snacks were gathered, the two of you made your way back to school, stepping into the club that was already winding down for the day. They had started to begin cleaning up after themselves.

Taesan, ever insistent, carried the full plastic bags himself despite your offer to help. When you both got noticed by Yuna, she beamed at the sight, whispering a quick thank-you to both of you before clapping her hands together to get everyone’s attention once again.

“Snacks are here!” she announced. A collective cheer rippled through the room as people gravitated toward the table, momentarily forgetting their duties.

Taesan wasted no time setting the bags down and rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll help with the cleanup. You can stay and help Yuna set up the snacks.”

You gave a small nod, watching as he disappeared, already reaching for a pile of supplies that needed organizing. Turning to Yuna, you joined her in arranging the snacks, staying by her side as members wandered over to grab their share. One by one, they went in and out, leaving only a few stray items behind.

Almost everyone had taken their pick—except for you and Taesan.

Your gaze naturally drifted toward the back of the room, where Taesan was still at work, most likely still storing away supplies. He hadn’t even paused to grab something for himself.

“Y/N.” Yuna’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned to find her already slinging her bag over her shoulder. “The teacher just called for me, so I have to go. Just take a snack for yourself and head out when you’re ready, okay?”

You gave a quick nod, watching as she made her way toward the door. But just before stepping out, she turned back hastily, as if remembering something.

“Oh, and let Taesan know too. He just needs to lock up when he’s done. He’s always helping out, so he knows what to do.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

Your attention shifted to the table, where a few leftover snacks remained—some that had been overlooked by the others, and coincidentally, both yours and Taesan’s favorites.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

Attempting to peer toward the back, you could only hear the faint rustling of boxes, the sounds traveling the room with ease. Even when no one was around to see, Taesan seemed to have kept going, ensuring everything was left in perfect order.

He really was a generous person.

You quickly gathered your belongings, reaching for the pack of gummies, slipping it into your bag while heading towards the exit.

“I’ll be leaving now—bye, Taesan! Yuna just asked for you to close up like usual!” you called out, making sure your voice was loud enough as your fingers curled around the cold metal doorknob. “Oh, it’s Y/N, by the way! Again, thanks for helping me today!”

Taesan, mid-motion as he placed the lid on the last box he was organizing, paused at the sound of the door clicking shut. He stood still for a moment before glancing toward the now empty room. A quiet chuckle escaped him, shaking his head in amusement.

You had to be clear that it was you as if he doesn’t already know your voice.

His gaze drifted toward the table where you had stood just moments ago. There, among the leftover snacks, sat two neatly placed chocolate bars and a cup of pudding—the very ones he had told you he liked at the convenience store… and the other being an extra chocolate bar that you had left for him.

It was the one that he noticed you picking out earlier.

As if that wasn’t enough for his expression to soften, next to the sweets was the piece of calligraphy paper with his name written in your handwriting.

Taesan let out a breath of surprise, his lips subconsciously started curling upwards. He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder before carefully picking up the pudding and his favorite chocolate bar, slipping it into one of the side pouches. His fingers brushed over the calligraphy paper as he took a moment to analyze it once more, running his thumb over the now dried strokes of his name.

After another quiet moment, he neatly placed the paper inside his bag, securing it before making his way toward the exit. As he walked, he got and unwrapped the chocolate bar of the brand that you chose, taking a bite while the faintest hint of a smile remained to linger on his face.

Was it normal that this chocolate bar was sweeter than usual?

🗒️ NOTE — heh 😈 could’ve made this maybe a bit longer but i decided to spare you guys since its a smau 🙏 (blame me for being in that long fic mindset 😵.. at the time...) andddd if you reached this far.... starting tomorrow, i will be doing daily posting for su !! i hope you all continue showing much love to this beloved smau series of mines ❤️‍🩹

previous — next — masterlist

› SOULMATE UNDERCOVER TL ( OPEN ) ──── @haruharua @en-dream @nekotoni @nicholasluvbot @asteroidzs @kazukazukiiii @hollxe1 @niinaskrr @mochamvgz @koocreampie @onlyjungchan @ijustwannareadstuff20 @amarecerasus @banez @kekaekeke @jungwonbropls @uncasings @yoonzns @winteringdream @8makes1atom @heeheesang @liyaliar @jmclouds @eunandonly @stantxtforabetterlife @zclread @yuyita-rosier @enzstr @lov3lyaaru @hyunjinslongasslegs @nujeskz @starfallia @sfnctzen @raccooniniii @jvngw0nlvr @yvesrama @socollectionmoom @bbyinni @milktea-academia @letwiiparkjay @xngelsthesis @silv3rst0ne @astrae4 @prodkwh @anqelkoz @minisodelover @kaixlix @renisprobablyonthetoilet @w3willris3 @eternallyhyucks

116 notes · View notes

frost-eyed-autumn · 1 day ago

Text

He scoffs a little, and its hard to tell if its pretense or if he's genuinely -- if very mildly -- insulted at being teased and called a hypocrite. Somehow, he seems to catch a hard time from people any time he's trying to be at least a little bit considerate, whether the attempt actually lands or not.

"Well its not like I know what chemicals do or don't exist where you come from... or if they're called the same thing." It's said in a mutter. Almost a pout really, if pouting could be a tone, sliding his gaze off elsewhere for a moment.

There's a little moment of pause longer than there needs to be as he looks back, still internally chewing on that momentary prod like he's reluctant to totally let it go, but he inevitably does anyway.

Even if there's still just a little bit of drag to his voice at first when he answers, like he's not sure if he should really continue or try to justify himself.

"...I mean... space has some pretty interesting stuff. But so does Earth. It's just interesting things in general."

For all the world he gets called stupid by enough people to want to punch (people he already usually wants to punch for other reasons), he had a pretty deep fascination with... well... everything. An insatiable curiosity for learning.

Admittedly, there are still a lot of areas where he lacks compared to where he should probably be, but losing all of his memories before the age of seven, and then having to survive the slums where the entirety of his 'education' -- if one could call it that -- was from other children who knew only the basic necessities of finding enough food not to starve and a place warm enough not to freeze to death in their sleep and how to avoid traffickers and violent thugs didn't exactly lend much to the kind of knowledge that got most people ahead in life.

He'd always had street smarts, but book smarts weren't much of a privilege until he was into his teen years and then under the employ of the mafia. Considering his extremely limited life experience, the novelty of everything he didn't know was extremely alluring.

Considering there's never a lack of new things to learn in the modern age, he'd picked up a lot of admittedly niche pieces of information that held no relevance to his line of work whatsoever, and very seldom came up in conversation.

So maybe he got caught up in a little bit of info-dumping. Just a little.

"We have fairy tales here too, and other stuff... but most things get categorized as either science fiction or fantasy. ...well... I guess there's more stuff than that, but those are the most popular, anyway. I guess because people are just more fascinated with stuff that doesn't exist and being imaginative than whatever mundane stuff they have going on in their own lives."

𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 it a point to note that the whole thing was caused by 'magic' in a world that had lost access to most of it? Or would that just make things more complicated? In the end, economy of action makes the decision for her- it would take too much time to 'write' it all out without expanding on strange terminology he might not understand. And while she wouldn't mind having the 'talk', she doubts reading all of that while eating is anything either of them really wants to deal with.

(She could make the Cat explain again, but honestly she might snap its neck in plain sight and she'd definitely get some looks for that, illusion or no.)

He's right in assuming she doesn't really know the ins and outs of how it all worked though. In the end, she'd been collateral damage for a situation she hadn't orchestrated. Her... punishment, maybe, for being so dead-set on murder had been to be tossed to her apparent death like trash.

...honestly, maybe she should have gone back, just to kick Cinder's ass.

Chewing on a takoyaki, she's about to interject and say that she can figure it out herself if it's too much to explain but Chuuya... Chuuya is already talking. Head cocking, her eyes blink, swap colors in her surprise as Chuuya goes into it at length. He explains the concept easily enough, shows her what he means, goes on a tangent about the different ways in which they've been interpreted and she feels her lips twitch as she leans her chin on her hand, pulling some of her noodles to her mouth as she listens.

Some of the things he shows her make her think of fucked up Grimm, which she doesn't mention, but keeps in mind to bring up later. Instead, when he finishes, she gives him an amused little squint of the eyes and asks:

And you thought me talking about being from another world was strange?

They have an entire genre in this universe, apparently, about just that- though not in the same way. Neo slurps up her noodles, and then flicks her tongue out at him a little after she swallows.

You're such a hypocrite, Chuuya.

Not that she has a leg to stand on, given some of her own idiosyncrasies, but she thinks this is genuinely funny. Especially with the detail he's gone into explaining it to her. It's nice, actually; he sounds kind of into it- or at least being able to be a know-it-all about it- and his voice is nice to listen to. Still, regardless of how cute he sounds trying to act like a professor, Neo can't help but give him a little grief- after all, she's made a few explosives in her time, even if some of them used Dust rather than chemicals. Didn't mean she didn't know what they did.

I've never been big on science, but I do know what methane is, thanks. That said, are you into aliens, or is it more space? Or maybe just weird things that you wouldn't know how to explain? Huh. Kind of explains why you're so curious about me, doesn't it?

Neo scoops up more noodles, blowing on them lightly before gulping down a mouthful that would make her etiquette teachers die of mortification.

Either way, thanks. We don't really... have that kind of thing on Remnant. Mostly just fairy tales. Though all things considered, I don't think going into space would have been something we'd consider. I mean... what if there were even weirder, more fucked up Grimm up there? They're bad enough on the planet.

Making sure to swallow her noodles again before she 'laughs', Neo shakes her head, pausing to take a drink. She has to give Chuuya credit- this is the best time she's had in ages- and she genuinely can't remember the last time someone made her actually want to laugh like this.

Or maybe we were just too dumb to realize that was the only way to escape them.

#t: Opportunity #paramythas #Canon verse #ic

215 notes · View notes

theonlyonesora · 22 hours ago

Text

The Man Who Married Me

PAIRING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader x Max Verstappen

CH – 35

The thick stack of papers sat in front of you like a loaded weapon.

Every asset, every line, every cold valuation — a price tag stamped on the remains of a life built together.

Italy. London. Monaco. Miami.

Twelve cars, each one with a memory you didn’t want. The watch collection he used to joke about, the art you both curated together like a gallery of love letters. The jet you used to fly to secret vacations. The yacht you never really liked but stayed on anyway because he liked it.

And then there was the number: 735 million.

Brian, as always, was the calm in the storm. Crisp suit, fingers steepled over the desk, voice steady. “First hearing will be online, right after Baku. You don’t have to say much. Just stay calm. Do not engage emotionally. Do not take any bait they throw.”

You nodded, arms crossed.

“They’re going to come hard, and they’re going to come smart,” he continued. “But I’ve seen Lewis’s team before. They know you’re smart, and that’s why they’ll try to paint you as vindictive. But I’ll handle it.”

You didn’t have the strength to answer. Not yet.

Brian leaned forward slightly. “You earned everything you had in that marriage. You built it with him. This isn’t about revenge. It’s about what you’re owed.”

Your phone buzzed. A message from Lizzie.

LIZZIE [3:21 PM] "Don't worry. There's nothing my husband can’t win. I don’t hang out with losers, so relax."

You let out a quiet snort, then turned to Max, who had been silently reading on your couch. He looked up, one brow raised.

“What?” he asked.

“Lizzie,” you said, tossing your phone on the coffee table. “She says I'll be fine, cause she don't walk with losers.”

Max grinned. “She’s not wrong.”

He moved closer, kneeling beside your chair. “But are you okay?”

You hesitated, then let your hand fall into his.

“No,” you whispered. “But I will be.”

His thumb brushed across your skin.

"Good," he said. "Because you’re not losing this. Not the money, not the house... not yourself.”

And in that moment, with the divorce papers on your desk and your heart in pieces, you didn’t feel small. You felt like fire.

Because this wasn’t the end. It was the opening statement.

The cold blue glow of the monitor was the only light in the room.

You sat beside Brian in your London apartment, hair tied back, face composed like armor. He had papers spread across the desk, tabs open on his sleek laptop. The call connected.

Baku appeared on your screen, framed with the sterile white walls of a hotel conference room. Lewis sat there, surrounded by his team. He looked tired. He looked… older. But his jaw was set, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

You didn’t look at him.

The hearing began.

Statements, confirmations, lists of assets — familiar numbers thrown around like trading cards.

Then, the fire lit.

Lewis’s lawyer leaned forward, sharp and prepared. “There appears to be a discrepancy in the total valuation. 735 million was the estimate, but your client is declaring only 585 million. Is this correct, Mr. Hall?”

Brian didn’t blink. “It is.”

The opposing lawyer arched a brow. “And what happened to the 150 million in shares from Mercedes?”

You looked straight into the camera. “I sold them.”

Silence.

“And the money?”

“I spent it.”

That was the match dropped into gasoline.

“You spent it?” Lewis’s lawyer repeated, incredulous. “You spent 150 million dollars?”

Brian sat forward calmly. “She was advised by her husband to do as she pleased with her shares. He had no claim over them and was aware she was emotionally overwhelmed after being suspended from her position. His encouragement came in the form of, and I quote, ‘Sell it all. Take a vacation. Be reckless.’”

Lewis shifted uncomfortably.

“That doesn’t imply permission to burn through 150 million,” the lawyer snapped.

Brian shrugged. “Well, she took it as such and she acted accordingly, at her husband's suggestion.”

Lewis’s lawyer turned to him. “Mr. Hamilton, did you or did you not advise your wife to liquidate and spend her shares?”

Lewis's voice cracked as he finally spoke. “Yes, but… I didn’t think she’d actually—”

“You told me to do it,” you interrupted softly. “I was crying, and you told me to be reckless. To not look back.”

He turned his eyes on you. “You recorded it?”

You didn’t flinch. “It was a Teams call. On my work laptop I recorded all meetings, Lewis — you know that.”

He looked wounded. “That wasn’t a meeting.”

“No. It was a goodbye.”

The judge cleared his throat, gaze falling to Lewis. “Mr. Hamilton, did you, or did you not, say those words to your wife?”

Lewis nodded once. “I did.”

The silence that followed felt like an entire room exhaling.

Then, the ruling.

“This court sees no cause to demand restitution of the 150 million. The spending was executed with verbal consent from her spouse, and no formal limitation or objection was provided at the time.”

You closed your eyes.

“The divorce separation will proceed on the revised marital sum of 585 million.”

The gavel came down digitally. Just a sound effect. Just another line on the calendar.

But it still felt like thunder. The screen went dark.

Brian let out a slow breath beside you. “One battle down.” You nodded, gaze fixed on the blank screen. “And a few more to go.”

It started as a whisper.

One vague tweet. A single blurry screenshot. Then came the avalanche.

By Tuesday morning, every media outlet — from Sky Sports to Page Six, from The Guardian to TMZ — was plastered with the same headline:

"The Hamiltons’ $585 Million Divorce: Inside the Most Expensive Split in Motorsport History"

Your face and Lewis's appeared side by side like dueling titans — former golden couple turned legal adversaries.

The leaks came fast. Someone — maybe from Ferrari, maybe from Mercedes, maybe just someone greedy enough — had spilled everything.

All four homes. The car collection: the vintage McLaren, the Maybach, the two Ferraris, the electric Porsche - Twelve vehicles. The yacht, Solstice. The art collection, including the now-infamous Sorayama painting of you. The 22 luxury watches. The $150 million in shares you had cashed out. And the jet — the jet — a source of wild speculation for years, now confirmed.

"Private Jet Drama: Who Keeps the Sky in the Divorce?"

The internet was ablaze.

The finance community dove into breakdowns of joint assets. TikToks did storytimes, lip-syncing to imagined courtroom drama. Fashion bloggers posted throwbacks of you at races, calling it “the end of the F1 WAG era.”

Then came the op-eds.

“Why didn’t they have a prenup?” “Was the marriage doomed from the open-relationship clause?” “Is this the fall of the Hamilton brand?”

And worst of all — the comments.

They were split down the middle like a custody war.

“She’s going after the bag. Classic.” “She sacrificed her entire career for him and got thrown under the bus.” “He’s still in love with her. You can see it in his eyes.” “She’s reckless. Who spends 150M just like that?” “Have you ever been betrayed and fired in the same week? Let her breathe.”

Some women rallied behind you like it was war.

“He took her best years, humiliated her publicly, and now wants to play victim? Not here baby” “SHE was the powerhouse behind Mercedes’ growth. SHE ran the show.”

And then came the Ferrari fans — claiming Lewis was "finally free" and would now “rise again” as the solo knight in red.

And as for Roscoe…

Even he wasn’t safe from speculation.

“Joint custody?” “Did she say goodbye? Who cried more?” “Who does Roscoe love more?”

You turned off your phone after three hours of watching your entire life get dissected like an autopsy.

In a quiet room in London, you sat cross-legged on your bed, staring at the now-blank screen.

Your voice was gone. Your name was now a headline. Your marriage a tabloid myth. Your power? Dented.

But never destroyed.

Brian had warned you: It’ll get worse before it gets better.

And Lewis? He hadn’t called. Not yet.

Maybe he wouldn’t. But for now, it didn’t matter. You had money. You had time. You had a war to plan. And you were no longer playing nice.

TAG LIST: @virtualperfectioncat , @starrgir1 , @the-secret-formulaone, @anunstablefangirl, @tillyt04, @dakotapaigelove, @loadedwafflefries, @forensicheart, @lorena-mv33, @d0llyh3rtz, @teenagetoadghostwobbler, @mizelophsun11, @herdetectivetheorist

106 notes · View notes

marrymekatemartin · 2 days ago

Note

sarah strong is your teammate/ roommate/ best friend with heavy undisclosed tension. you go out one day and you end up buying a puppy in a cvs parking lot without letting sarah know.

a family - S.S

pairing: bsfw/tension!sarah x reader word count: 764 warnings: rushed ahh fic a/n: I’m sorry this is total crap I just don’t trust myself to actually give myself time to work on it cause ik I’ll never get it done

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

“Can we get a dog?” You beg, tugging at Sarah’s sleeve. You were making the walk from practice to your dorms unbearable, with your constant nagging, but you weren’t giving up.

It being your time of the month wasn’t helping, you were emotional and desperate for a dog, you weren’t backing down any time soon.

“No, what are we? A married couple?” Sarah sighs, trying to shake you off as she bites back a grin.

“Okay, can I get a dog?”

“What’s the difference between you having a dog and us having a dog?”

“Well, nothing.”

“So why would my answer be different?”

You whine, following her into your dorm. “Sauurrrrr!”

She groans, lightly whacking the back of your head at your use of KK’s nickname for her.

“We’re not getting a dog! What about a goldfish?! They’re cute!” She says, falling onto the couch with a sigh.

“I don’t want a goldfish I want a puppy!” You whine, dropping to your knees in front of her. “Pleaseee Sarah? Please can we get a puppy?”

Sarah turns red, at the sight of you at her feet, begging her for a dog.

“…maybe one day, after uni.” She sighs, her expression softening, as yours scrunches up in confusion.

“Why would we still be living together after uni?”

She freezes, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “I didn’t mean- …I mean I wouldn’t, be opposed- just, you know, why not? It’s working so far, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” you whisper in response, the room falling into a heavy silence.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You went out for a walk almost immediately after, in hopes to clear your mind.

You know exactly where to go, the park. It was childish, but you loved the swings, and the swing set at this park was where you spent most of your time.

What you didn’t expect was to make a stop at the pharmacy, even though you’d changed your tampon less than four hours ago, it’s starting to feel uncomfortable, like you need a new one.

You emerge from the cvs, ready to continue your walk to the park. But you’re not ready to find a small puppy, in a box with a blanket.

You rush over, looking around for anybody who might own the dog. There’s a man, maybe in his late thirties.

“Is this your dog?” You ask, cautiously stepping closer.

“Hm?” He looks up, “oh, nah, he’s for sale, two hundred bucks.”

And you know this is the perfect time to use your emergency money, money you carry with you everywhere in case something happens.

You dig through your pocket and find your wallet, handing him four fifty dollar bills.

He raises his eyebrows in amusement, taking the money and gesturing for you to take the puppy.

The dog’s very excited, wagging his tail and panting as you carefully lift the box up.

You don’t bother with the park, you don’t bother worrying about the fact that you’d just bought a puppy in a cvs parking lot from a random man for two hundred dollars, you don’t bother worrying about how little interaction there had been, you don’t know why he’s selling this dog. He could have rabies, he could be sick, or a biter, or not neutered, you don’t care, cause he was yours.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“I’m home!” You call as you step through the door to your dorm, kicking off your shoes before lifting the puppy out of the box, smiling as you feel his fur for the first time.

“Awee, hi, hi.” You coo, giggling when he licks your face.

“Dude?!” You look up at the sound of Sarah’s voice, just pouting and holding the dog closer.

“I’m not giving him back, you just have to get used to it.”

She looks at you in shock, unable to form a sentence at the sight in front of her.

“…you bought, a dog? In the twenty minutes you were gone, you bought a dog?”

“Please? Sarah, I love him!” You plead, walking closer and holding the wriggling and tail wagging puppy closer to your chest.

“Just look at him!”

She sighs, reaching out a hand to stroke the dog’s head. “I can’t believe you…” she mumbles, her gentle strokes turning into proper petting when the dog lifts his head up and barks softly.

You smile, knowing there’s no way she’s making you give the dog back after this. “We can be a family,” you say quietly, heat creeping up your neck at your own words.

Sarah smile, wrapping an arm around you and petting the dog lovingly. “Yeah, a family.”

═════════════════════════════ taglist: @let-zizi-yap (ik u wish ur taglist was this long, im js like that😼)

#lgbtqia+#wlw #lesbian #sarah strong #sarah strong fluff #sarah strong x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #wbb fanfiction #wbb x reader #wbb #wnba basketball #womens basketball #wnba x reader #wnba players #wnba #uconn womens basketball #sarah strong uconn

111 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 21 hours ago

Note

omg would you plz plz write “did you ever stop and think that maybe just maybe the person you’re looking for is me?” + “did i do something wrong?” for jason??? love you sm! ❤️

prompt list here to pick from

Jason could hear you sigh as though you were halfway across Gotham and not within your shared apartment, once again disheartened from yet another failed date -the fith one within the week- not that you would think he was keeping count, but he was. He was also just as tired as you by these failed dates but for a completely different reason, one that he had said to himself multiple times was selfish and greedy of him, yet it couldn't be helped.

Jason was so lost within his own mind that he didn't reganise you had kicked off of your shoes nor dicarded your coat until you were slumped into the space next to him, indicated by the shift in weight on the semi-comfortable couch, leaning your head back to look up at the ceiling in questioning. 'did i do something wrong?' He heard you mutter to yourself before continuing, 'all these dates and still i'm left to be reminded of how awful this town truly is, i mean It's Gotham for fuck sake i'm not asking for a prince charming, but at least someone who's not a total fucking drug peddeling scumbag.'

Gotham isn't a town where love blossoms, Jason knew it's too much of a dangerous to even start something true, even situationships were not great to have in Gotham but at least with those you weren't excpected to give your heart to someone who will soon forget it. He too wants love, yet knows it wont be a president for him. He was relegagted to the position of a pinning friend forced to listen to the escapdes of the one that unkowingly holds his heart within their hands, talking of how they couldn't find the one amongst these dates; if they weren't the one for you then who was?

He must've said it aloud for you were looking at him with unshed tears of exhaustion brimming your eyes, swallowing thickly as a small smile grace your lips just as you listed off your most desired atributes in a partner as if you were listing off what you needed from a shopping list. 'Strong, kind, has a dedicated collection of well read books that smell like they've lived a liftime themselves but deeply cared for, someone who is rough in how he shows care but his touch is gentle and soft.' You kept this far away look in your eyes as though you were reminising on a memory Jason wasn't clued in on, yet to him you looked beautiful even as you had silent tears streaming down your cheeks, pratically glowing as the tableside lamp he kept on for his reading.

'i want someone who would call me an idiot but in a way that sounds oddly like i love you and i care about you, i want someone who would read me to sleep when my mind wont let me, and lastly a man who would let me trace his scars and kiss them even when he hates them more then anything.' You finished your list as that whimsicle smile left your lips in replace of a frown but that from didn't last too long as Jason sets aside his book, reaches over and gingerly wipes away the tears that had collected in the corners of your eyes with the delicacy of a feather with his thumbs, the rest of his fingers captured your cheeks and jaw as though they were made of porcelain; halting any and all thoughts within your head as all you could think of in that moment were his calloused touch.

'call me selfish, call me concited, call me self obsessed for ever thinking this but did you ever stop and think that maybe just mayve the person you're looking for is me?' Jason asks once he was satisfied with seeing you with a tear free face, allowing his hands to just rest and hold your face so that you wouldn't look anywhere else that wasn't him, never having liked the fact that you had to look eslewhere for your perfect man when he was right here the entire time. Yet Jason guessed he had to leave it to time to give him the opertunity he's alaways wanted but didn't feel he was allowed, didn't feel as though he had deserved the right to be with you.

However you stole his clothes more then enough and wearing them freely in his apartment after spending the night, as if you didn't know what that shit did to a weak minded man like him; a man so desperate for touch that he still remebered the brief touch you graced the back of his hand, still tingling the skin there upon remeberance as though his own body was telling him of how far gone he was in the depths of you.

'or am i reading too far into it, please tell me i am so that i can make a headstart in moving on-' Jason then adds when you only kept looking at him with wide eyes, eyes that made a realisation or have been caught on, with your mouth slightly agape in a form of speechlessness and was about to pull away his hands from your face.

'no.' You told him, holding his hands in place with your own, keeping them to your cheeks as your thumbs caress the backs of his with the intention of memorising the veins within them, and how far they extend before you couldn't feel them anymore. 'no you're not conceited or selfish or self obsessed for thinking that becuase it's true. it's all true.' You continued as everything beyond Jason became a muted blur, the lights became brighter and highlighted him in a way where you could see to wear and tear upon his face, the scars and more but could only see him as a statue; one of which that has seen war through his stone eyes but still manage to keep ahold of his beauty, even if he claimed it was besmirched.

'all of it?' jason asks.

'all of it.' you echoed, affirming him and feeling a weight lift off of your chest upon seeing him smile, feeling light and fuzzy within the head as he rests his forehead agaisnt yours, lips a mere whisper from your own that brings a want and a need to close the gap deep within your gut.

'you think being calling you idiot is a way of saying i love you?' Jason chuckles as he echoes what you had said earlier as he takes enjoyment in your sound of embaressemant, as though you were hoping he wouldn't have remebered that, but should've know better becuase he remebered everything about you as though it was his sole purpose in life.

‘Only when you do it.’ You tried to defend yourself but it didn’t do much for you as it only made Jason laugh harder, the most beautiful laughter you have ever heard leaving a man’s lips as though it were a choir of angles, an alluring symphony that could make you do anything just to hear it again.

‘Okay whatever floats your boat weirdo.’ Jason says through laughter as he presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling his hands away from your face in favour to pulling you into his chest, his hand sneaking across your waist as the other drapes your legs across his lap, stroking them as you made yourself comfortable against his chest and hear his heart lull you into a relaxed state.

‘I hate you now.’ You mutter.

‘Well tough shit,’ Jason replied a she pinched your thigh, making you glare at him, ‘you’re not getting rid of me now. I’m your problem, you must take care of me and deal with me accordingly.’ He adds, feeling as though everything had finally come up his way in this small moment, a moment that only you two would know about and that’s all Jason needs to know that he’s made it in life. He couldn’t help but feel giddy inside, acting like a little shit now that the air was cleared and truths were revealed, that his long awaited desire for love didn’t seem that undeserving anymore nor unrealistic: at least not when he’s got you in his lap like he did now as though it was something you did since forever, which would be true to some extent but this felt different and a very good kind of different.

‘Then I’ll guess I will have to deal with you for the rest of my life?’ You say playfully, kissing the underside of his jaw, near enough to a small scar.

‘That’s the plan.’ Jason hums.

‘Then i know i will have lived a life well loved.’ You tell him in a soft tone as you burrow yourself into his chest, feeling him tighten his grip on you as he kisses your head, finding himself getting comfortable with the idea of getting to love you for the rest of your lives and become even more comfortable with that idea knowing he’d get to start now like he wanted.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc fluff #jason todd drabble #jason todd imagines #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagines #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #dc fic

89 notes · View notes

analytic-chaoticism · 3 days ago

Text

What is HS:BC's Fanontinuum?

I haven't posted on Tumblr in a very long time, but HS:BC is so good that I have to throw my stupidly triangular hat into the ring over today's upd8; how could you not be driven to analysis by the reappearance of a notably living Nepeta, let alone one accompanied by a discomfiting woobified Gamzee spoof? This shit is gold.

TL;DR: I think Paradox Space—the short-lived but widely-loved sister project to Homestuck, which published short comics written and illustrated (primarily) by fans to explore inconsequential 'what if?' scenarios—is returning in some form, finally capitalizing on post-canon's premise by explicitly exploring the relationship between canon and fanon in-text.

In [S] 8R8K, Vriska stole what little Light (truth, relevance, i.e., canonicity) remained in the Candy continuity and used her immense, largely unknown Hell Tier powers to escape the inescapable gravity of Al's Green Sun-Black Hole: the metacosmic event horizon that demarcated the existential boundaries of Candy, isolating it from the rest of canon 'for its own good.' The door of a child's bedroom, locked from the outside by an authoritative parent, now broken open. Consequently, Candy is (supposedly) speeding toward dissolution (total non-canonicity, the breakdown of existential meaning, the inability of any reasonable audience to give a shit, oblivion, etc.). When canon is taken from you, or you forsake it yourself, what are you left with? Fanon.

That's what Homestuck post-canon is About, philosophically and as an artistic endeavour: exploring (and in some cases, ratcheting up) the tension between canon and fanon. Asking what it means for something about a story to be true, relevant, and essential—if these things should even matter to anyone in the first place. In HS:BC, they matter a lot to two people: Ultimate Dirk and Al.

Ultimate Dirk and Al are aware of Homestuck. They are aware that, from our frame of reference, they are fictional characters in a webcomic, and that their continued existence as they understand it is contingent on our continued readership. Dirk believes the story should continue indefinitely because he doesn't want himself and his friends to fade into oblivion once the story ends and the audience moves on. Al is a Bible-thumping Protestant who thinks of Homestuck as an untouchable sacred text, a story with a defined beginning and end, told exactly as it needed to be by true divinity. Both are ideologically opposed to fanon because they don't want to lead meaningless, non-canonical lives where they and the people they care about are misinterpreted and flanderized.

According to Al, this house, which represents Homestuck as an existential frame of reference, has been shaped by "the beliefs and desires of those far beyond even my grasp [...] it is all that we are/were and its current form is representative of what those outsiders think we are/should be." In other words, this house represents fanon. In her mind, the canon house—AKA the SBURB logo, with its standard house-like configuration—was perfectly respectable. It was The Way Things Are Meant To Be. A lovely, traditional home. It has become towering, deformed, labyrinthine, and non-Euclidian. In her mind, the fanonized house is "abominable." Its growth is purposeless, divergent, and self-indulgent, unguided by sufficient meaning or coherent themes—the things that give a story and its characters social and artistic purpose. It is her goal to 'curb the growth' of the house and 'bolt the recalcitrant items of furniture (see: the characters)' into their proper places. She is a canon purist: she doesn't desire dissolution, but she also wants the fans to place the original text on a pedestal and to keep their grubby paws off it once they have. She wants to be preserved in amber and admired archeologically, a story passed down for generations that honours the intelligent design responsible for the creation of her literary world.

The premise of the Epilogues was creating an off-ramp from the highway of canon, inviting fans to imagine their own sequel. It wanted to blur the lines between canon and fanon by giving co-writers artistic authority over the official story, divesting Hussie of some of their "power." It wanted the story and the characters within it to be many ways, changing—living and breathing—forever. There's a lot to say about canon and fanon and Homestuck's post-canon as an artistic project, but I won't do that here. The important part is that fanon hasn't really been represented in HS:BC yet. The conflict between canon and fanon exists in the story, the project has presented its questions about the nature of canon and authority in art to the audience, but... nobody and nothing in the text has really represented fanon. Until now.

Enter the Fanontinuum. Why was Crowbar the one to come across Nepeta's inexplicable talk show? Because this sequence is a reference to one of the most popular Paradox Space comics, The Inaugural Death of Mister Seven.

When we join Crowbar in this Intermission, he laments the pointlessness of his existence. As a member of the Felt, he was created by SBURB for the express purpose of maintaining canonicity according to the dicta of Lord English's Alpha Timeline. The Inaugural Death (which was one of the few Paradox Space comics written by Hussie) followed Crowbar on an average day working as the third-in-command of the Felt. In Homestuck proper, the Felt don't need to be particularly deep or interesting people: they just need to exist, conceptually, to maintain the story's internal logic. In The Inaugural Death—a dubiously canonical comic posted literally outside the confines of MSPA—Crowbar and the Felt were given the narrative's undivided and unhurried attention, affording them a much greater degree of personality and interiority. That's something that supplementary material or transformative work can do that canon can't: dedicate a functionally limitless amount of time to examining any character(s) in any setting and configuration, just for the sake of it. For entertainment. For love. For hate.

So it's no coincidence that Candy!Crowbar, feeling shafted by the narrative in a continuity hurtling towards the point of non-canonical no-return, stumbles upon an extra-dimensional space referencing the dubiously canonical comic where he was the star. The paneling, the font, the shape of the speech bubbles: all of it is taken directly from Paradox Space's standard format. Haven's style clearly draws influence from J. N. Wiedle's work on The Inaugural Death and the visual style of Crowbar's narration directly emulates The Inaugural Death. The Fanontinuum is inarguably connecting itself to Paradox Space.

Before the update was posted today, several fan projects—from fanventures like Burning Down the House to fangames like Strife Project to fan animators like Project Soundpage—all posted variants of the same meme: "anyone else hear that ominous bell tolling???? 🤣🤣🤣 no?? just me?????? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭." Clearly, the HICU has reached out to these projects with the intent to collaborate in some official capacity. I won't pretend I know how. These projects are in a much wider variety of mediums than webcomics and they're already ongoing, so it doesn't seem like a strict relaunch of Paradox Space. Maybe it's about hosting fan projects on an official site? Maybe it will also be like Paradox Space and there will be new dubiously canonical/explicitly fanonical comics? Only time will tell! Either way, this is exactly what post-canon needed, philosophically: fanon actually integrated into the sequel in a meaningful way, an oppositional force to canon and its dictatorial, antagonistic champions.

So, 1) what's the deal with Nepeta and Lil' Mr. Gamby, and 2) what and where is the Fanontinuum in-universe?

Nepeta is perhaps the most obvious avatar of the Fanontinuum. By their own admission in the author commentary, Hussie created Nepeta to be a largely irrelevant side character. Like Crowbar and the Felt, her existence was utilitarian, helping to build out the world and support the arcs of more important, more interesting characters. Despite the intended humility of her existence, Nepeta is widely beloved by the fandom. Arguably, she's the most popular of the irrelevant trolls. If there's one character the fandom at large would like to explore without the limitations of canon, it would be Nepeta. It's fitting, then, that she would introduce us to the Fanontinuum, a presumed existential frame of reference that allows fans to explore the potential of characters outside the stringency of canon. Lil' Mr. Gamby—a fusion between a hippy and the Joker—is clearly a reference to the eternally popular woobified version of Gamzee that exists in fanon: the poor, vulnerable, victimized Gamzee who was good at heart but brainwashed by Lil' Cal—a Gamzee who, by Word of God (again, Hussie's author commentary), never existed. Only in the Fanontinuum can such a wooby Gamzee be without threatening the suspension of disbelief, as he would if he were mischaracterized this way in canonical continuities. That's the double-edged sword of fanon: it has the capacity to suck and be stupid, just as it has the capacity to be really fucking cool and compelling. Gamby represents the former and Nepeta the latter. It's also worth noting that this Nepeta is wearing Dave-esque shades, clearly influenced by Davepeta, the most relevant version of Nepeta who introduced us to the Ultimate Self: the awareness of all possible versions of yourself, canon and fanon alike. The Fanontinuum are where these versions will finally collide.

Some people have assumed that the Fanontinuum is occurring in some sort of afterlife, but it was revealed at the end of the Intermission that this Nepeta is alive. While we can't say the same for the Nepetas in the audience with any certainty, I'm willing to bet that they all have normal eyes too. That means the Fanontinuum is not an afterlife in-universe, and these aren't Nepetas from doomed timelines. Other people have suggested that this is another dubiously canonical dimension akin to Midnight City. I believe that these are all living Nepetas birthed from the primordial chaos of fanon. The Fanontinuum is not any one place in space or time: it is the collective unconscious (or collective conscious?) of fans, an omnipresent void that different interpretations of characters can arise from at any time. Note that I do not say alternate versions, a term that would not be inappropriate but which does come with baggage in Homestuck: I don't believe that these Nepetas come from alternate timelines that branch off from the continuities depicted in Homestuck, HS:BC, or any other official Homestuck story. These are intended to represent Nepetas originating from fan discourse and transformative works with no strict relation to canon. They don't need history or reason or purpose, they just are. There's an almost cosmic horror element to it, really. While I'm proposing that the Fanontinuum is another existential frame of reference with no specific spatiotemporal location, it only makes sense that it would first breach HS:BC via Candy, a continuity critically low in canonicity and approaching the oblivion Dirk and Al associate with fanon.

So that's what I think about the Fanontinuum! Assuming I'm right, then this is exactly the direction I thought that post-canon (and HS:BC specifically) was going and needed to go, so I can't wait to see what happens next.

#HS2 #HSBC #Homestuck^2 #Homestuck: Beyond Canon

82 notes · View notes

sailorsoons · 2 days ago

Text

Resonance | Teaser (y.jh)

Pairing: Jeonghan x f. reader

Summary: ORBITAL RESONANCE /ˈôrbədl/ /ˈrezənəns/ (noun):

(1.) Occurs when orbiting bodies exert regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other, usually because their orbital periods are related by a ratio of small integers. (2.) Phenomenon where you and Jeonghan have circled one another for years, constantly applying force and influence over one another in cycles.

Total Series Word Count: 51.2k

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Romantic Drama

Type: Angst, smut, fluff

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Teaser Warnings: Flirting, implied friends with repressed romantic feelings, a little bit of tension, recreational drinking.

A/N: I am literally on a Jeonghan brain rot journey that cannot be stopped. Please note that if you're already on my permanent tag list, you do NOT need to sign up for the series tag list.

Main Masterlist | Ask | Resonance Tag List | Playlist

COMING AUGUST 15

“I’m her soulmate,” Jeonghan scoffs. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

It’s a joke but the weight of it hits you right in the chest. Your eyes drift to Jeonghan, who isn’t looking at you. He continues his conversation with Seungcheol, turning so that he’s leaning into you, abandoning his quest to finish the entire carton of strawberries.

Their conversation falls on deaf ears as you study Jeonghan. It’s so easy for him to call you his soulmate. He’s done it before, calling you his better half, his twin flame, the love of his life. It’s always in half-joking cadences, a lightness to them that doesn’t fit the heaviness of the terms he uses.

You and Jeonghan are complicated. You have been since high school. Jeonghan likes to chase you, but you’ve always been too afraid to let him catch you. He wants to catch you, to be sure, but you’re not sure he wants to keep you.

Jeonghan keeps nothing. He thrills in the pursuit of something, playing a game of give and take until he gets what he wants. Eventually, he gets bored and moves onto the next thing, ready to feel the exhilaration again.

“Where’s the friend you made?” You ask Jeonghan when Seungcheol dismisses himself from the kitchen, ready to kick everyone out of his apartment. “Aren’t you worried?”

Jeonghan’s eyes alight on you, mouth quirking. “So that is why you were frowning earlier.”

“I wasn’t frowning, Jeonghan.”

He hums, unconvinced as he closes the strawberry carton and heads to the fridge. It’s cold in the kitchen without him pressed close to you. He keeps his back to you as he says, “She’ll be waiting. Don’t worry.”

“You’re always so sure?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you going to invite her to Europe?”

That gets a snort out of him. He closes the fridge and leans against it, crossing his hands over his chest. “Absolutely not. Our relationship will have expired by then.”

“Harsh.”

He shakes his head. “This one has a shelf life of a single night. She knows that.”

You want to ask does she? You’re not so sure. Jeonghan always seems confident that he and all of his encounters are on the same page, but you’re never really sure. Perhaps they are at first, but Jeonghan is hard to be casual with for long before the desire for something more sets in.

He inspires madness even in the most uncommitted of partners. You’ve long called it the Jeonghan effect, his uncanny ability to infect people with mania like the Maniae of Greek mythology. You’ve managed to hold off on his effects long enough, but you’ve seen it happen time and time again.

You wonder when it’ll be your turn to suffer the madness.

Jeonghan’s hand is warm as he helps you down from the counter. Together, you enter the party proper to see swaths of people heading toward the door. Sure enough, the girl that Jeonghan had been talking to earlier is lingering in the living room. Her friends look ready to leave but her eyes are scanning the groups of people, standing on her tiptoes as she searches.

Her eyes land on Jeonghan and her mouth twitches, relief washing over her features. Then she glances at you and her brow furrows, mouth turning down quickly. You see the conflict on her face as Jeonghan checks his phone, typing something as the two of you pause just outside the entryway to the kitchen.

“Your One-Night-Shelf-Life doesn’t look happy,” you note, glancing at him.

“She’ll get over it. There’s nothing to be jealous of.” Jeonghan pauses and looks up from his phone, raising his brows. “Unless…? Say the word, love. I’m yours.”

Like always, the offer hangs in the air, equal parts real and fake. Like always, you roll your eyes, blowing it off and not even taking a second to think about the sincerity of Jeonghan’s words. You smack him on the chest with the back of your hand, walking by him and rolling your eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Fine. Don’t be late.”

“With you? Never.”

“Bye, Jeonghan.”

“Bye, my love.”

LIke always, you leave Jeonghan and refuse to turn around, because like always, he pockets his phone and stalks back over to end the chase for the night, destined to restart it the moment the sun comes up.

#jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader #svt smut #yoon jeonghan fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt imagines #yoon jeonghan x you #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan fic #jeonghan angst #jeonghan x you

129 notes · View notes

stevenose · 1 day ago

Text

warm ways (18+)

day 2 of the august writing challenge [link]

today’s word: sandcastle

contents: a very found family vacation 🤍; steve x reader; gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; sweet and whiny and needy steve who fucks you very nicely <3; shower sex!!

“come on,” steve whines, sitting behind you.

his body’s hot, chest pressed against your back. you’re sitting under an umbrella, but the sun is still scorching.

“no,” you repeat, filling your tiny bucket with sand. you know you look pathetic, but you don’t quite care. “i told dustin i would make a better sandcastle than him. this is serious shit, steve.”

he scoffs behind you and throws himself backwards dramatically, landing on the beach towel with a little oof!.

“we aren’t going to have sex here, anyway,” you continue absentmindedly, busy with ensuring that the sand you’ve just placed doesn’t crack. “gotta take me all the way back to the hotel for that.”

he groans and props himself up on his elbows.

“they have showers here! private showers. showers for you and me.”

you hum. “help me build this and i might consider maybe going with you.”

an hour later, your sandcastle looks like shit. you would go so far as to say that steve was sabotaging you. touching you where he shouldn’t have, whispering in your ear what to do. like he knew. which he definitely didn’t. but his tone worked on you enough to make you hurry and ruin your progress.

now, you’re caught between steve and the wall of the shower stall, cool water dripping over you while steve ruts into your warm cunt.

it’s incredible. you can’t get away from him and it feels so good. you have to take whatever he wants to give you, which happens to be sweet, but very needy, sex.

“no marks,” you rasp, breaking through your haze when you realize his lips have been on your neck way too long.

steve mouths at your collarbone, rutting in and out of you. deep. hard. “like they don’t know what we’re doing in here.”

his fingers swipe over your clit and you moan, louder than you should.

steve chuckles. “you’re worried about hickeys while moaning like that.”

“can’t help it,” you pant, “feels so good.”

water drips down his face and plasters his hair to his forehead. one strong arm cages you in. you want to sink your teeth into his biceps.

“you feel so good. jesus, i love you.”

you clench down on him, a string tightening in your lower stomach. “love you, i love you, please —!”

and steve’s such a giver. pounds into you a little harder, makes you scared that you’ll slip from his thrusts. he keeps his lips on yours to seal any moans you try to whimper out.

you cum first. always. then steve pulls out, jerks his slick cock off with his hand, and groans deep while spilling over your stomach.

you take a moment to catch your breath. steve kindly helps clean you up, hands gently caressing you before pulling your swim bottoms back up. he tucks himself into his trunks, and you both step out into the hot air again.

“christ, can we go back in?” you murmur. “too goddamn hot out here.”

“you want a round two?”

you roll your eyes, though your pussy is totally convinced. “that’s not what i’m sayi—“

you almost collide with robin as she rounds the corner, hidden by tall grass and the side of the building. she scoffs immediately.

“you two are sick,” she groans, stomping past you. then she turns back around swiftly. “can you at least tell me which stall it was so that i don’t go in the same one?!”

#this one isn’t good i’m sorry gang 💔#but you know what. we ball #august25 #category: blurbs

93 notes · View notes

blossomcola · 2 days ago

Note

i’m so obsessed with annie moon 😭 can you write about her moreeee plssss 🥺 i have a thought about g!p mean girl annie keep teasing nerd reader 😋

pairing. mean girl!gp annie moon x sub!fem reader.

content warnings. blackmail, semi public sex.

i can easily see her as a mean girl 🫠 maybe it’s because annie is a rich girl or maybe it’s because of the attitude and behavior she usually shows, but annie totally gives me the vibe of the popular, rich girl from the movies who’s always looking for a target to make her new toy and object of ridicule... and bad luck for you because that ends up being you, the quiet and reserved student who only attends classes to study and see your friends! it’s not an option to try to escape from her clutches because annie knows how to handle herself and make sure that absolutely no one tries to help you, not even students or teachers 🥰 her family is high–powered and everyone knows it, so trying to go against her word is a gigantic mistake because she can ruin anyone’s life in just a snap! but unfortunately you didn’t know this until you ended up being her prey with no escape :(

although it is somewhat curious because she does not treat you the same as her usual victims; annie stopped being intimidating and practically a bully with her new target, not stalking you in the halls at school and threatening you to give her your lunch money or do her homework like some kind of personal slave, but she always seems to be flirting with you or at least having a suggestive glint in her eyes whenever she talks to you??? annie doesn’t even speak to you in a bad way because it seems more like a conversation between two people who want to fuck each other and will jump on each other at any moment… maybe it turns her on a little bit because despite being a “nerd” you always command respect and don’t let her words affect you! anyone else would let themselves be walked over and not respond to annie every time she’s a bitch, but seeing how you always defend yourself makes her want to fuck the attitude out of you 🥰 of course she doesn’t bother to hide how big her massive obsession with you is and it’s noticeable every time she has a word exchange with you, mixing what would be a poisonous comment with a clear flirtation.

“nice glasses, (y/n). i wonder if you also wear them on... other occasions.”

“don’t look at me like that, four–eyes. unless you want me to do something about it.”

“what’s in that little notebook of yours? math equations or daydreams about me bending you over your desk?”

it’s no surprise to anyone when you two end up fucking anywhere in the school when the opportunity arises! annie bending you over a random desk in the library during your “study date” after seeing how you get all moody when she struggles to answer questions about the upcoming exam, having no choice but to fuck the attitude out of you after noticing how grumpy you got over her being somewhat of an idiot 🫩 or maybe under the stands during a game between the school team and the neighboring school, joking that it would be hilarious if someone looked down and noticed her fucking your brains out while the whole school was focused on the football game… i can see her taking pictures every time she’s fucking you because she wants a nice memory of her encounters with you, the real reason may be to use the photos as blackmail in case you didn't want to continue having fun with her... who knows, maybe she needs to have something with which to play with your emotions and be able to have you eating out of the palm of her hand, just in case!🥰

#annie moon #annie moon x fem reader #annie moon x reader #annie moon smut #g!p annie moon #adp #adp x fem reader #adp x reader #adp smut #allday project #allday project x fem reader #allday project x reader #allday project smut

71 notes · View notes

whyvaine · 8 hours ago

Text

a second song— sophia laforteza

𝄞𝄢 genre: fluff

𝄞𝄢 synopsis: sophia chose y/n’s brother, but her heart always belonged to y/n. now she wants a second chance

nico found y/n alone in their backyard, her guitar in her lap, but she wasn’t playing just staring down at the strings like they used to mean something else.

he hesitated before sitting next to her. “i know.”

y/n didn’t look up. “know what?”

“about sophia,” nico said softly. “about how you felt.”

her fingers froze. she kept her eyes down. “doesn’t matter now.”

“it matters to me,” he said. “because i should’ve asked you first. i should’ve seen it. and i shouldn’t have dragged you into that harana just to get my heart broken and break yours too.”

she finally looked at him. surprised. a little hurt. “you broke up with her?”

he nodded. “we weren’t right. and maybe i was too caught up in liking the idea of her to notice how distant she really was.”

nico nudged her knee with his. “but you always looked at her like she was your favorite chord. i just didn’t listen close enough.”

y/n let out a shaky breath. something in her chest cracked open.

“you’re still my favorite duet partner,” he added, teasing gently. “and if we’re performing next week, i want it to be with you not because i want to impress anyone, but because we make good music together. always have.”

y/n didn’t say anything right away, but she finally reached for her guitar again.

“only if you carry the amp this time.”

“deal,” nico grinned.

—————————————————————————

on the day of the performance, sophia almost didn’t go.

she’d already made her choice weeks ago and let fear decide for her. pretend she wasn’t watching y/n from across the courtyard, wondering what if, what if, what if.

but then came the voices in the hallway:

“if i wasn’t straight, i’d totally date y/n.”

“can’t believe sophia picked nico over her.”

“y/n looks so good onstage. like, stupidly good.”

it wasn’t the attention y/n was getting that rattled her.

it was the regret.

she sat alone in the back of the auditorium as the crowd hushed. her hands twisted in her lap. when the spotlight hit the stage, she saw them:

nico, tall and easy with a mic in hand.

and y/n, quiet beside him with her guitar in her arms.

sophia’s heart stuttered. everything else blurred out.

as the performance began, flashes of memory hit her hard. the first time y/n shyly complimented her handwriting. the way her voice trembled when asking sophia to stay after class. the single red string tied to her guitar case, one sophia now recognized as a silent confession.

and that night, the harana.

how could she have missed it? y/n hadn’t just played a song. she poured out a piece of herself. and sophia had turned away.

but now? all sophia saw was y/n.

how the music moved through her fingers. how her shoulders stayed strong even when her eyes avoided the crowd. how everything about her screamed i’ve moved on.

sophia felt like she couldn’t breathe.

the applause came like a wave loud and proud

but sophia was already moving.

—————————————————————————

she found y/n backstage, alone in the hallway, crouched beside her guitar case.

“y/n.”

y/n turned slowly. surprised. wary. “you’re here.”

“i heard you play,” sophia said, stepping forward. “and it reminded me of that night.”

“don’t,” y/n said softly. “it’s over. you made your choice.”

“i made the wrong one.”

y/n looked at her for a long second. unreadable.

“i didn’t understand what i was running from,” sophia continued. “not until i saw you just now. and all i could think was how could i let go of something so loud, and brave, and real?”

she reached into her pocket and pulled something out: a silver ring.

“you left this at my house,” she said. “i kept it. not because i forgot but because i couldn’t let go.”

y/n looked down at the ring in her palm. her fingers curled around it slowly.

“i know i hurt you,” sophia said, voice breaking. “but i’m not scared anymore. i want to try. if you’ll let me.”

a pause.

then y/n stepped forward. just enough for their hands to brush.

“you’re still late,” she murmured.

“i know,” sophia whispered. “but i’m here now.”

—————————————————————————

130 notes · View notes

flipppyflopp · 1 day ago

Text

“It’s so hard to sleep the day before your birthday. I can’t wait to see what surprises are in store!” 🎉✨

Happy (late) birthday to my twst oc: Finn Lyder! His birthday really snuck up on me this year and I was left totally unprepared. Luckily, I was able to whip up a quick birthday card for his big day!

Of course since the birthday cards feature pajamas this year, I just had to create some for Finn. I decided on a hoodie and sweatpant combo for Finn with colors inspired by Flynn Rider’s outfit. For some little details and nods to Tangled, I have Pascal with his footprints, and the phrase “New Dream” on his hoodie in reference to Flynn telling Rapuzel to go find a new dream.

Birthday card template by @thoselethalarts

Below is a vignette for Finn in the style of the Room Relaxation cards! Enjoy!

———

(Library)

Finn: Ugh, why does Professor Crewel make us memorize so many different alchemical formulas!?

Riddle: The alchemical formulas simply lay the foundation for the upcoming unit on divinations. The calculations in that unit hinge on proper knowledge of each formula.

Finn: I’m doomed.

Riddle: Not if you continue reviewing the flashcards I gave you before bed like I instructed in our previous session. Speaking of, have you been reviewing like you’re supposed to?

Finn: Um…maybe?

Riddle: Finn, I’ll make you clean the stables after our club time is over if you don’t tell the truth.

Finn: Ok, fine! I’ve missed a day or two since our session last week. But, I am trying, it’s just been so busy with Equestrian Club and Vil has been starting weekly practices for the Interdorm Spelldrive Tournament, I’m so exhausted I crash right when I hit my bed.

Riddle: I can see that you’re trying, but if you truly want to succeed, then you will need to review every night.

Finn: Ok, I understand.

Riddle: Good, then continue to review the flashcards and I’ll quiz you on them next week. Make sure to read pages 164 through 168 as we’ll be adding in those formulas as well.

Finn: Do the formulas ever end?

Riddle: Lucky for you, they do. This will be the last set you need to know for the unit. Unless you have any other questions, I have to return to Heartslabyul.

Finn: Actually, I do.

Finn: Here.

Riddle: A letter?

Finn: An invitation, actually. It’s for my birthday. I’m throwing a party in the Pomefiore gardens after classes let out for the day, with Vil’s blessing of course. It’ll be like a picnic with games and food, a grand old time celebrating me.

Riddle: It sounds like fun, but…I’m not sure what my presence would contribute.

Finn: Well, I want you there, so that’s all that matters, right?

Riddle: But others might-

Finn: Whoa! Look at the time! I gotta run, Riddle! I promised to help Epel with scrubbing the ballroom tonight, so I’ll see you later!

Riddle: …

Riddle: Would it really be alright to go?

———

(Pomefiore - Ballroom)

Finn: Alright, that’s the final mirror washed and dried!

Finn: Huh? Epel, don’t lay down just because you’re tired! You’ll get the floor dirty and we’ll have to scrub it again!

Finn: Come on- Wait, someone’s coming! Get up!

Finn: Hi, Vil! Epel and I just finished cleaning the mirrors. Don’t they look ravishing?

Finn: What? No, you must’ve misheard me. I was telling Epel to not lay down the brushes. Why would Epel lay down while we’re cleaning? That’s crazy…Did I mention that your makeup looks great today? Did you use a new eyeliner?

Finn: Well if that’s all, I’m going to go shower and hit the hay since tomorrow’s my big day. I’ll see you both tomorrow!

Finn: Hate to run off and leave Epel, but I’ve got to study those alchemical formulas and I can’t risk wasting time to wash the floors again.

Finn: I’ll make it up to Epel by making sure he gets a big slice of cake tomorrow with a ton of icing. Yeah, that’ll be good.

(Pomefiore - Dorm Room)

Finn: Ahhh a hot shower after a long day feels so nice.

Finn: Looks like I’ve got the room to myself for now. Roommates must still be at Board Game Club.

Finn: Well, just gotta finish reviewing those flashcards and I can sleep.

Finn: Let’s see they should be in my desk drawer. Wait what’s this? “Survey on Quality Life Improvements for the Student Body.” Oh, that’s right they passed that out in homeroom yesterday. Guess I should fill it out now before I forget.

Finn: What do I want improved? Hmm…the dorm’s perfect as is. Got my own bed, a dresser, a desk, I don’t need much more than that.

Finn: I don’t mind sharing a room since I’ve always shared a room when I lived in the orphanage.

Finn: Hmm…there’s gotta be something that’s a hassle. I can’t put anything about classes or professors since you have to have those, it is a school after all.

Finn: If I write “no homework” that will just get thrown out. What could I write?

Finn: Oh I know! I’ll write “Mail should be directly delivered to the dorms.” It is such a pain having to run halfway across campus to the post office and then run all the way back to the dorm after classes.

Finn: It doesn’t help that Zel writes and sends packages often so I have to carry quite the load sometimes.

Finn: Having the mail ready to be picked up at the dorm would be so handy.

Finn: Well, that’s done. Now to study those flashcards.

Finn: Actually, let me set my alarm first so I don’t oversleep. That wouldn’t be good on my special day.

Finn: There. Now, I’ll just go ahead and get in bed so I’m nice and comfy while I study.

Finn: Done! I’ll just flip through these for a couple minutes, then I’m off to sleep.

———

(Pomefiore - Dorm Room)

Finn: Mmm…time to get up already?

Finn: I better hurry up to the wash room to wake myself up. If I stay in this bed another second, I think I’ll go back to sleep.

(Pomefiore - Wash Room)

Finn: Washing my face with cold water wakes me right up in the morning.

Finn: Let me get all my skin care bottles and start on that.

Finn: Vil is quite particular about our skincare routines, always checking up on what we’re putting on our faces.

Finn: Even though I think it’s a bit excessive, I can’t deny that my skin looks soft and dewy afterwards.

Finn: If only it didn’t take like ten minutes to do.

Finn: For my hair, I’ll make sure the part is slight to the side. Then, I’ll just put a little gel on my hands and comb it through giving it a nice windswept look.

Finn: I gotta thank Sebek during Equestrian Club for the gel recommendation. This one holds really well and doesn’t make my hair feel stiff.

Finn: Last, but not least, time for some cosmetics.

Finn: It is my birthday, so maybe I should go for something out of my usual.

Finn: I’m not one to go crazy on the eyeshadow or eyeliner, but I’m feeling a bit bold today.

Finn: I’ll go with a nude glitter eyeshadow, just something to give a little pop to my appearance.

Finn: Then a quick swipe of some lip oil and gloss, and done!

Finn: I’d say I’m birthday ready.

Finn: Better go grab my books and hurry on to class.

Finn: I’m running a bit ahead of schedule, so I should bring my flashcards along and study before class too.

(Pomefiore Dorm - Gardens)

Finn: Alright, here’s some more cookies from the kitchen.

Finn: Don’t worry about it Epel, I can do work on my birthday. Besides, I want some more sweets too.

Riddle: Um…hello, Finn.

Finn: WHOA! Riddle!

Riddle: Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Were you not expecting me to show?

Finn: No, I mean yes, I mean-

Finn: I really wanted you to come, but I wasn’t so sure after yesterday. Thanks for coming Riddle.

Riddle: I had to honor the invitation you gave me. And, I had to check to make sure you studied your flash cards.

Finn: I actually studied them last night and this morning. Feel free to quiz me after a slice of cake.

Riddle: Confident, are we?

Finn: Only because I have such a great tutor.

Riddle: Oh, um, thank you, Finn. Happy birthday.

Finn: Thanks Riddle.

Finn: Alright, cake is this way! Oh, and afterwards we’re playing cards for snacks, so prepare to stay awhile.

Riddle: But I’ve got to study-

Finn: What? No studying on my birthday! It’s time to live it up!

#finnegan lyder #finn lyder #riddle rosehearts #pomefiore #heartslabyul #tangled #twst #twisted wonderland #ツイステ #ツイステッドワンダーランド #twst fanart #twisted wonderland fanart #twst oc #art #my art #fanart #doodle

61 notes · View notes

buckysgrace · 2 days ago

Note

I have a craving for a scoop of caramelised banana with choco pretzels on a cake cone with extra chocolate chips🥵

I hope this works!! I realized I probably should've asked what you wanted fixed so if you want something different please let me know, I will redo it!! I hope you enjoy!!

Nancy and Steve didn't happen in this so he remains King!Steve!! Reader and Steve are of age in this of course :)

CW: p n v sex!!

“Looks nice.” The voice from above you made you jump, his shadow casting over the pages of the book you were reading. You squinted your eyes, peering up at the boy in front of you.

His brown hair was pushed off of his forehead, long and curling against the nape of his neck. His pants hugged his hips nicely, though he had discarded his jacket a long time ago. His white button up shirt was partially untucked, the top few buttons undone and exposing his chest hair.

“I didn’t know King Steve could read.” You teased as you sat up a bit, tired of craning your head up towards him. He snorted, hands resting on his hips as he shook his head at you.

You didn’t really talk to Steve, at least not that much. You had some similar friends, but you thought that he did too much to try and impress the people around you. You were sure he would be lost without his little group that treated him like royalty.

“Why are you reading at a dance?” He asked instead, eyebrows raised as he invited himself to the empty seat by you. You cleared your throat, not wanting to go into too many details on how Eddie Munson had apparently forgotten about tonight. Not that you were totally surprised. You were both just friends anyways, but it still hurt.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to woo Wheeler?” You shot back the rumors you had heard instead, wondering why he wasn’t out there dancing with anyone else.

“Oh, are you jealous?” he replied with a smirk, “because you sound pretty upset.” He sighed dramatically as he sat back, resting his arm on the back of the chair and spreading his legs apart.

“I’m not jealous, I feel bad for her.” You replied in a matter of fact way, sticking your nose up as you looked at him again. You didn’t want him to think you were as easy as the other girls, but the truth was that you were just as crazy about him.

“Do you?” He repeated again, still looking at you in amusement. He was playing with you, but you didn’t mind. It wasn’t going to go anywhere. You wouldn’t let yourself be another notch on his belt.

“Yeah, you’re going to leave her high and dry like you always do.” You told him dramatically, speaking with your hands as he pushed his fingers through his hair.

“Do I always do that?” He questioned you slowly, pretending to be surprised as he gestured to himself.

“Mhm, it’s known,” you told him a second later, “girls talk.” You clarified quickly, not wanting him to think that you actually cared. But maybe that made it worse.

“Ah, I see,” he grinned at you from ear to ear, “what else do they say?” He looped one of his feet underneath your chair, tugging you forward until your legs were flush against his. You snorted.

“I don’t care enough to know.” You tried again, shrugging your shoulders. Okay, you knew a few things but you weren’t going to repeat those out loud. At least not to him.

“Doesn’t sound like that’s true.” He continued, making you jump as he reached forward and touched your neck. You looked at him surprised, eyes wide until you realized he was fixing the necklace on your skin.

“You just wish I was obsessed with you like everyone else.” You breathed out, wishing you sounded a lot more snarky than you did. You pressed your fingers tightly into your book, trying to pretend like you weren’t shaking.

“Mhm, would you be less mean to me?” He asked, making your lips part in surprise. You were mean to him?

“I am not mean to you.” You defended yourself, eyebrows furrowing together as you looked at him in disbelief. He gave his shoulders a little shrug, looking around before he glanced back towards you.

“I don’t know, you’re kind of a bitch.” He added, making you scoff as he pressed his lips together. He looked a little too sincere for your liking.

“Are you serious?” You asked him a second later, closing your book in case you needed to toss it at his head. He grinned.

“No, but it got you all worked up,” he teased as he tugged at the hem of your dress, “so what do you say?” He asked, leaving you even more confused.

“About what?” You asked a second later, watching as he looked at you in surprise. He tsked as he spoke to you again.

“Coming back to my place,” he said with a little snort, “and I thought you were smart.” He continued on, making you gape at his suggestion.

“What about your parents?” You asked him seriously, all too aware of the way he continued to play with your dress.

“They’re on a business trip,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, “c’mon, you wouldn’t want to leave me all alone in that big house.” He continued, pouting his lips out playfully before you did the same thing. You hated to admit that it was a cute look on him.

“Oh my God, that sounds so awful.” You told him in exasperation, watching the way he chuckled at you. He nodded his head, taking a drink from his punch.

“It’s pretty lonely.” He told you, making you lean back in your chair. You breathed in deeply, wondering if this was still part of his game.

“Why don’t you ask Wheeler to join you?” You asked him instead, fully aware of the way he’d been following her around like a lost puppy.

“She wouldn’t come.” He replied, still smiling as he watched you. He tugged your chair closer again, making you sigh.

“Too much of a prude?” you continued on, laughing a little bit, “no, I think I’m good too.” You said as you nodded your head, not wanting to get hurt like all the other girls did.

“I’ll make it worth your while.” He added enthusiastically, taking another large drink from his cup. You watched him, trying not to stare at the liquid that trickled down the side of his lips.

“Right.” You said slowly, still all too aware of the way he continued to stare at you. You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling yourself beginning to sway.

“We could go to your place instead.” He suggested casually, making your eyes widen at his suggestion. You didn’t need to give your poor father a heart attack.

“My place?” You sputtered back for clarification, sure that you had heard him wrong. He nodded, smiling gleefully.

“Yeah, why not?” He asked, looking like he honestly didn’t know why it would be a big deal. You shook your head, well aware of the way he was teasing you now.

“Did you hit your head?” you asked with a little giggle, insides warming as he brushed his thumb across your ear, “not my house.” You told him as you wagged his finger in his direction, making him laugh.

“Okay, mine then,” he nodded his head, grinning, “works with me.” He suggested again, eyebrows raised as he watched you. You considered your options for a moment, wondering when you’d get this chance again. Probably never.

“Steve-,”

“I just want you to have some fun.” He added sweetly, making you breathe in deeply. This was pretty sucky, but you didn’t want to admit that.

“Who says I’m not having fun right now?” You questioned him, feeling like talking to him was the best part of the night. At least you hadn’t been completely ignored.

“Come on,” he teased as he looked down at your book on your lap, “this is fun?” He asked as he tugged on the book again, making you chew on your inner cheek. Reading about romance only did so much. Maybe it was time you experienced it.

“Alright,” you agreed with him a moment later, “fine, but only because this dance is lame.” You added, trying to pretend like you didn’t notice the way his eyes lit up. You wondered what you were getting yourself into.

Twenty minutes later you found yourself in his house, not getting much time to look around other than when you kicked your shoes off at the entrance. You briefly saw the living room, surprised at all the expensive things that filled the room. You heard that he had a pool, but you didn’t get a chance to glimpse at it before he was leading you upstairs.

“Your house is huge.” You told him seriously, feeling lost as you followed him up the staircase. He looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows as he looked down at you.

“Yeah?” he said with a little smile, “impressed?” He teased as you brought your hand over your chest, just to make sure that he wasn’t peeking.

“With your parents, absolutely.” You played right back, accepting his hand as you reached the top of the staircase. He guided you down the hall, leading you into a room a moment later.

“This is my room,” he presented to you, “it’s not too bad.” He shrugged his shoulders as you drank it in, wondering if he had purposely matched the curtains to the wallpaper or if that had been something his mom had picked out for him.

“Nice,” you grinned as you pointed towards the bikini model, enjoying the way he rolled his eyes, “it looks nice in here.” You told him honestly. Much more cozy than you thought it would be. It definitely looked like he lived here, unlike the brief glances that you got of the rest of the house. A lot of it looked like it was set up to show off their expenses, rather than to be comfortable.

“The bed is really nice.” He pointed out, eyebrows cocked as he continued to hold one of your hands. He tugged you a little closer to him, making you snort. Though, you hated to admit that he was charming. Something about his smile, the way he looked at you made you melt.

No snide remarks came forward as you looked at the different colors that swam in his eyes, soft greens and browns as you found your shoulders relaxing. You breathed in deeply, feeling something tugging you forward as your lips met his.

His kisses were slow and steady, soft on your mouth as he pressed his large hands against your hips. Every little movement made your heart race faster, your body pulsing underneath his touch as you savored the feeling of his lips dragging against your own.

Steve undressed you slowly, taking his time as if he was unwrapping a valuable present. Somehow it made you feel more nervous, made you feel like he might actually care for you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, reminding yourself that this would be no different than the other girls he had been with.

His lips were soft against yours as he kissed you, his mouth molding against yours sweetly as his hands traced across your soft sides. He whispered little compliments to you, making your heart hammer roughly inside of your chest as he laid you back against his bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered out at last, hazel eyes dancing across your features as you did your best to keep from floating away, “so fucking gorgeous.” He hummed as he sat back, beginning to messily toss his clothes aside.

You watched greedily, breathing in the image of his hairy chest and the moles that decorated his skin. Your eyes wandered down lower, a little gasp leaving your lips as you took in the image of his hard cock resting against his stomach.

You had heard girls talk before, but you always figured they had been exaggerating the sheer size of Steve’s cock. You knew now that they were honest, your throat growing dry as you watched as he slid a condom over the head of his dick. He was long and thick, girthier in the middle. You sat up on your elbows.

“Like what you see?” He asked with a cocky expression as he dragged his dick along your wet folds, making you gasp softly. You spread your legs further, inviting him closer to you as his heavy cock fell against your soaked hole.

“Careful,” you warned him gently, taking one last deep breath to force yourself to relax. This wasn’t the first time you’d ever had sex, but Steve was a lot bigger than he had been, “just go slow.” You commanded softly, meeting warm hazel eyes again.

Steve did exactly as you said, pushing his cock into you slowly as he tossed his head back in pleasure. The sounds that left his lips made your clit ache as he stretched your walls around him, bullying his way inside of your tight heat.

You whimpered as you reached forward and held onto him, digging your nails into his skin as your cunt ached around his thick girth. You glanced down every so often to confirm that there was still more of him to fit inside of you, stretching you in an indescribable pain. It hurt, but not terribly. The pain was sort of nice, intense.

“That’s it,” his groans came out broken as he continued to squeeze the base of his cock, watching the way your pussy wrapped around his girth, “so pretty like this. Such a good girl.” He hummed, making your heart swell from the praise.

His hair fell messily against his sweaty forehead as he bottomed out inside of you, making jolts of electricity shoot down the length of your body. You whimpered, thighs trembling as he shushed you gently.

“Doin’ so good,” he moaned softly, lips grazing yours as your walls stretched around his thick girth, “mhm, you feel so good wrapped around me.” He praised, voice coming out raspily as he looked down at where your cunt was hugging his cock tightly.

You inhaled sharply, feeling like every little movement just pulled him in deeper. You had never been filled so deeply before, stuffed so full. Your mind grew foggy from pleasure, insides twisting tightly together.

The pleasure burned deep inside of you as he slowly pulled out, then slammed his cock back into your slick pussy. Your moans broke free easily, bouncing off the walls in his room as he began to build a steady rhythm.

Bliss slowly burned white hot deep inside of you, erasing the ache that had filled you a few minutes ago. The curve of his cock fit inside of you perfectly, his long length dragging against your bundle of nerves with each little movement.

“Fuck,” you cursed, pulse racing as his chest slid against your own. You gasped, looking down at where your cunt was hugging his thick girth, “feels so good.” You told him honestly, sure that it would inflate his ego even more.

He groaned at your words, shivering lightly as your nails scraped along his skin. His eyebrows were slightly knitted together, pink lips parted as he continued to drag you along the curve of his cock. Your slick was dripping along his girth, allowing him to push into you harder each time.

You found it hard to concentrate on anything but the pleasure, wondering how you’d live without feeling him buried inside of you again. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt made your mind race, your insides twisting from how intense it all was. You never wanted him to stop.

“Jesus,” he groaned as he dragged a hand down between your bodies, rubbing his thumb slowly over your sensitive clit. You cried out at the sensation, your moans mingling with his, “you feel so good, honey. So good around my cock. You like that?” He spit out all at once, voice all raspy and broken up.

A gasp left your lips as he pressed down on your lower abdomen, stretching your skin to expose the bulge that formed every time he pushed his throbbing cock deeper inside of you. You whined at the sensation, mind feeling hazy as you realized just how deep he was inside of you.

You pushed your fingers through the damp hair on his head, brushing it out of the way so you could see him clearer. He groaned at the feeling, hazy eyes staring down at you as you continued to rut your hips up against him. Little whimpers continued to fall from your lips each time his cock dragged back inside of you, hitting the spot inside of you that made you see stars.

Your heels dug into his skin as he rutted himself deeper inside of you, flames drifting through your body as his cock pulsed roughly inside of you. Every curve and ridge of his cock slid against your cunt nicely, fitting like a missing puzzle piece. Like you were made for him, for this.

He groaned lowly as he continued to rub at your clit, teasing your sensitive bud as fresh waves of pleasure crashed through your body. He handled you so easily, like he knew exactly what to do to make you whimper and squirm. Your thighs roughly pressed against his hips, squeezing him as the fierce sensations crushed over you.

“Oh my God,” you whined as you tossed your head back, your fingertips digging into his shoulder blades as he continually dragged his cock in and out of your weeping walls. The sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room in a filthy melody, making your toes curl from the sensation that filled you, “right there, oh fuck. Steve, fuck!” You chanted, your muscles contracting at the feeling of your high beginning to crash over you.

His body was warm and sweaty against yours, making you croon as the tip of his cock continually nudged the bundle of nerves inside of you. Your nails dug into his skin, scratching at his flesh once again.

Your clit throbbed in pleasure as it all came crashing down on you, thick waves of pleasure drowning you intensely as your walls clamped down around his girthy cock. You shook as you came around his cock, trembling as you did so. Your mind grew foggy from the sensation, the whines rolling off of your tongue easily.

“God,” he groaned, his movements becoming slower as he buried himself deeper into your soaked cunt. You felt your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the pleasure continued to burn, your entire body shivering as he bottomed out against you, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” He cursed, whining as he came deep inside of you.

You memorized the lines of pleasure on his face, how his eyes slowly rolled into the back of his head and the way he bit down on his swollen lips. His skin was flushed, sweat collecting across his forehead as he pressed down against you rougher.

You whimpered as you traced your hands down the front of his body, through his thick chest hair as you secretly wished you could feel his spunk splattering your walls. Your chest rose and fell harshly, nipples brushing against his skin as he peered down at you with a little grin on his lips.

“See,” he told you breathlessly, eyes twinkling, “told you it would be worth your while.” He replied in a matter of fact way, making you roll your eyes this time. You were too tired to fully smack him away, leaving you to push against his shoulder instead.

It was nice just lying there with him, feeling as if you could feel his heartbeat from underneath your skin. You tried to hide the disappointment when he rolled off of you, lazily getting up to toss the condom away. You gulped as you covered yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed.

“I can take you back if you want,” he offered, speaking the words that you knew would come forth. You wouldn’t be allowed to stay overnight, no one ever was that special, “I have practice in the morning.” He explained as he redressed himself, tossing your dress back onto the bed.

“Yeah,” you gulped, nodding your head in agreement, “that would be nice.” You didn’t want to be stuck in a car with him, but you also didn’t feel safe enough to walk home. Not when it was this late.

“Hey,” he said softly, drifting you out of your thoughts as he touched your chin, “I had fun.” He stated at last, like it was some big deal. You forced a smile onto your lips, wishing you could’ve been more than that.

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington smut #King!Steve #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x female!reader #Steve harrington x female reader #Steve Harrington x fem reader #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x reader smut #Steve Harrington imagine #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve Harrington request #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x Y/N #Steve Harrington x you smut #Steve Harrington fic #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction

89 notes · View notes