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roosterforme · 1 month

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him.

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it.

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

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

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing.

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject.

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!"

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back.

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment.

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it.

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you.

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

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

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her.

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it.

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt.

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email.

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

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind.

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him.

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions.

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight.

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now.

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now.

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

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

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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loveinhawkins · 11 months

Text

Every so often, Eddie will get the bus to Starcourt Mall (because what else is there to do?) and watch the world go by.

It’s not like he’s above a cliché or two—maybe he wants to indulge in being a lone figure within the crowd. Maybe he just feels like wallowing in the aimlessness of it all, damn it.

This is where Wayne would point out that Eddie is exactly the opposite of aimless, what with how he’d stormed into the trailer last month, failed test results in hand and snarled, “Next year. I’ll fuckin’ show ‘em.”

But there’s a long time between now and the new school year starting, the summer stretching out before him like taffy. He’d tried to start his reading list early again, but that’s never done him much good; this time he’d gotten through one chapter of Moby-fucking-Dick before despairing.

So. People-watching at the mall it is.

It’s surprisingly not all that terrible an activity, apart from discovering which teachers are suddenly very passionate about jazzercise—a sight Eddie could’ve blissfully lived the rest of his life without seeing.

There’s also the confirmation that the Starcourt commercial he saw was not a vivid hallucination—that Scoops Ahoy is, in fact, real.

And so are the ridiculous sailor outfits.

Well, I’ll be damned, Eddie thinks.

Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are an incredibly unlikely duo. It’s like the universe abandoned all sense, spun a wheel and paired them up just for the fun of it.

When he joins the line for ice-cream, Eddie initially thinks he’ll find the whole thing laughable: seeing people forced to work together when usually the laws of the universe (and Hawkins High) would keep them as far apart as possible.

But then he discovers that the ice-cream parlor is packed, one hell of a bottleneck forming right up at the counter, where folks are waiting for a seemingly never-ending amount of floats to be poured.

It takes a while for Eddie to near the front of the line; enough time passes that he honestly feels kind of bad for even taking up a spot, for adding to the workload that has Robin shouting herself hoarse with every, “Next please!”

He strongly considers just leaving, but he hesitates for a moment too long, and unintentionally meets eyes with…

“Hi,” Steve says, pleasantly enough, if a little distracted as he prods at the soda machine. He smiles apologetically. “Be with you in a sec.”

Eddie almost wants to tell him you know it’s me, right? He doesn’t.

It’s not that he expects Steve to be mean, exactly; it’s just that he’s getting more than familiar with the whole post graduation routine. It’s like there’s a secret page in folks’ yearbooks, instructing them to look at anyone still attached to high school with either indifference or embarrassment—or both.

Steve must not have got the memo.

“Next!”

Robin beckons Eddie forward with a sweeping arm gesture, looks somewhere behind him and sighs in relief, puffing out her cheeks.

“Oh, thank God. You stopped the tide.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder; sure enough, he’s the last person left to order.

“Don’t think I’ve got that power, Buckley.”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Debatable.”

Eddie almost laughs. There was a rumour in his first attempt at senior year that he could curse people: it only came about because he ominously whispered some Pig Latin he’d once overheard Robin herself use during History, and Molly Pritchard crossed herself in horror.

“I’ll have a vanilla cup.”

“Ooh,” Robin says dryly, “adventurous.”

“Nothing wrong with a classic,” Eddie says.

Robin smirks as she rings him up. They don’t know each other that well, but there’s admittedly something nice in the distant familiarity they share; at the very least, she’s not gonna add to any potential awfulness when school starts again.

While Robin hands over his change, Steve is filling up a cup—Eddie would say he’s uncharacteristically quiet, except for the fact that he doesn’t actually know what truly is characteristic of Steve Harrington.

Plus he’s stuck on the fact that he only paid for one scoop, but the amount of ice-cream Steve manages to cram in is almost double that.

And he does this ridiculous little twirly thing with the scooper before he even reaches for the tray of vanilla.

Eddie tells himself he notices just because the move is so stupid; it’s definitely not because he’s noticing Steve’s hands in general. It’s just… eyes get drawn to movement. That’s all.

“Syrup?” Steve asks, nodding his head at the dispensers.

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Strawberry.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Oh, don’t do that, man. Get it with butterscotch.”

Robin’s eyes rise to the heavens, as if some longstanding argument has begun once again.

“And why should I do that, Harrington?” Eddie says.

“Because,” Steve says, like he’s patiently explaining that two plus two equals four, “butterscotch is better. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Robin parrots mockingly. She closes the register drawer and says, “I’m taking my break, Popeye. Try not to judge the customers too hard.”

Eddie’s pretty sure he hears Steve mutter under his breath as she leaves, “Seriously? You’re worse than me.”

His cup of ice-cream is under hostage, apparently. Steve still hasn’t pressed down on the damn syrup pump.

“This your usual sales technique?” Eddie says. “Browbeating the customers?”

“Only the lucky ones,” Steve returns mildly.

Eddie scoffs. “Fine. Gimme the damn butterscotch then.”

“Knew you’d come to your senses,” Steve says.

He hands the cup over without any more quips; just as he’s done with the syrup, a large family swoops in with multiple sundae orders.

Eddie eats the ice-cream while waiting for the bus back home. He grudgingly has to admit that the butterscotch isn’t bad.

But that’s not really what’s bugging him.

He has to know if it’s a fluke—if maybe, just maybe, Steve Harrington only deigned to talk to him because he was, like… delirious or something. Maybe the flood of demanding customers scrambled his brain.

Of course, when Eddie goes back to the mall, it’s purely to test his theory. Strictly observational—educational, even. Like… summer school. (Take that, O’Donnell.)

The bus drops them off a little bit before the mall actually opens, but they’re allowed inside anyway. Eddie inwardly cringes at the sight of grown adults tapping persistently on the windows of still closed stores. Jesus Christ, they’re worse than zombies.

Scoops Ahoy isn’t open yet either; Eddie’s soon witness to a very stressed looking Steve striding over to unlock the place.

He flits in and out of view for a while, taking mops round to the back, filling up the jars of toppings.

Eddie actually considers heading over to Waldenbooks to check if it’s open (it’s not like he’s coming here for one store in particular, obviously), but then he hears metal clacking against the tiles.

When he looks back at Scoops Ahoy, he spots a set of keys on the ground right at the entrance, Steve nowhere in sight.

Goddamn it. He’s gonna have to be a Good Samaritan. Ugh.

Eddie briefly looks up to the ceiling as if he can condemn the ways of the universe from here. Then he sighs, picks up the keys and steps into the store.

“Harrington, you dropped these—”

“Shit,” comes Steve’s voice from the back, followed by an almighty clatter.

Eddie hesitates before his curiosity inevitably wins out.

He goes behind the register, through the door and finds the aftermath of complete disaster: Steve standing in front of an entire vat of ice-cream that’s been dropped onto the floor. It’s splattered all up his legs, cookies and cream clinging to the hairs.

Holy shit, stop thinking about his leg hair, Eddie thinks.

Up until this point in time, he’d believed it was physically impossible to look anything other than comical in that stupid sailor outfit.

(Well. Almost.)

But right now Steve looks absolutely tragic. Like he’s a crew member on the Titanic levels of tragic, and he’s about to deliver the news that there’s simply no more lifeboats.

Steve meets Eddie’s gaze.

“That was limited edition,” he says pitifully.

They both look down at the floor.

“Well,” Eddie says. “It definitely is now. Still, uh, what’s the phrase? No use crying over spilled… ice-cream.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna cry over it,” Steve says. “I’m gonna scream.” For a moment he looks murderous. “Robin’s not coming in.”

“Is she sick?”

Steve snorts. “Sick my ass. No, she’s keeping The Hawk in business—gonna see a movie about an ice-cream parlor, something like that.”

“An ice-cream parlor,” Eddie echoes. “Um. Are you sure she didn’t just make it up?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s one of those foreign—never mind.”

He cuts himself off, lifts up one foot, as if he’s become aware of his predicament all over again.

“I was fine with her ditching, she can do whatever; it’s not like we have managers checking up on us. But I forgot a huge delivery was coming, and it’s Saturday so it’s gonna be crazy, so I’m not gonna have time to put all of it in the freezer or check the stock chart, so it’s all just gonna become fucking soup, Jesus, maybe I should just throw everything on the floor and—”

“I could help,” Eddie interrupts, because apparently a little alien has burrowed into his brain and now he just says things.

Steve stares at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry,” Eddie says. He wishes his brain-invading alien an immediate death. “Bad idea, just—”

“No, I mean why would you do that? Dude, it’s not like I can pay you or—”

“I don’t really have plans,” Eddie says—oh great, the alien hasn’t died! “Uh, you can pay me with, like, a name tag?” What? Stop talking. “Like a souvenir?” Stop! “Oh sorry,” Steve says, as if on automatic pilot. He pulls at his shirt. “We don’t have—our names are stitched on.”

I was kidding about the name tag. Actually, maybe you should just murder me instead.

By some miracle, Eddie’s expression must somehow still look fairly normal because Steve continues, deadly serious, “Munson. Are you sure?”

This is the time to back out—

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Look, man, it’s no big deal. I can clean this up and—”

A bell starts ringing from the front, being struck over and over again in the most obnoxious way possible.

Something in Steve’s eyes flickers, a shift from panic into planning mode, and Eddie has the sudden bizarre feeling that this is what the basketball team saw whenever a crisis timeout was called.

“You sure you’re okay if I leave you back here?” Steve asks, and the gravity with which he says it threatens to send Eddie into hysterics—Christ, you’d think they were in the goddamn trenches.

“Think I’ll survive,” Eddie says. “I’m basically cleaning up, and putting everything into the freezer?”

Steve nods. “And, um, a stock check too, if that’s okay? There’s a chart pinned up, you just gotta count the flavours and put, like, tally marks next to—”

“Oh my God, not tally marks,” Eddie drawls. “The horror.”

Steve huffs. “I was just—”

The bell rings even more insistently.

“Uh, think you’re needed on the front line,” Eddie says.

He nearly chokes on his own spit when Steve turns to just march right on out there.

“Harrington, wait! Your—your legs,” he says weakly.

Steve has the audacity to look puzzled. “What about them?”

They’re very long.

Eddie gestures silently to the ice-cream on the floor, then attempts a vague hovering motion in the direction of Steve’s legs.

Steve’s eyes go wide in realisation. His cheeks turn slightly red. “Oh! Yeah, um, thanks. Um. I’ll just…”

He disappears into the world’s tiniest restroom, comes back free of cookies and cream before heading out to the front.

Well, Eddie thinks to the mop he finds, this is definitely a situation.

It’s not the worst way he’s spent a few hours, apart from having to listen to a Sailor’s Hornpipe on loop through the speakers (he briefly wonders how Robin and Steve stay sane). He cleans up, gets the rest of the delivery into the freezer, even jots down some tally marks, wonder of wonders.

Steve will occasionally slide back the shutters and pop his head in, passing over a soda.

“Employee perks,” he says, then has to hurriedly retreat to keep serving.

Eddie keeps waiting for the stiltedness to set in, but it seems Steve’s far too busy for there to be any awkwardness.

At midday the shutter slides back again and Steve says, “Hey, can you do me one last thing, and I’ll never ask you for anything ever again, I swear.”

“Harrington, you’ve technically never asked me for anything. Gimme the mission.”

Turns out the mission is just to use some employee only coupons at Burger King so Steve can take his lunch.

Eddie returns to Scoops Ahoy with two burgers to find that Steve’s strategically placed a pile of chairs and wet floor signs at the threshold to deter people from entering.

There’s also a hand-drawn sign on top of one of the chairs: Out for Lunch. Underneath, there’s a horrendously bad drawing of a ship on choppy waves.

Eddie tries very hard to not find it endearing.

He gives Steve a burger, hops onto the table in the back and starts eating his own.

A quarter of the way through, he realises that he could leave now—he’s done everything Steve’s asked, and Steve’s already said he can manage the remaining shift on his own now that the delivery’s been put away.

Huh. Well, he’s already gone to all the effort of sitting here…

Steve’s quiet for most of his lunch. Eddie doesn’t mind; he enjoys his free food, comes up with a half-baked campaign idea before discarding it, counts every tile in the room…

Looks over.

Steve’s sat with one leg hunched up to his chest, a book resting on his knee—the cover’s folded over the back as he reads, the spine broken. Eddie doesn’t know why on earth it’s attractive, but it is; he feels like some mooning middle schooler, entranced by the way their stupid crush eats spaghetti or some bullshit like that.

But then again, there’s always been an easy grace to Steve Harrington.

A beeping noise; Steve checks his wristwatch with a sigh.

“Ugh.”

He leaves the book on the table, at just the right angle for Eddie to read the title: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.

“Is it good?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I’m only a couple chapters in, so…” Steve shrugs. “Honestly, it’s the most I’ve read since starting high school.”

And Eddie gets that: the senior years he’s suffered through have left him each time with a brain like a wrung out sponge, not even having the energy for Tolkien.

God. At this rate he’s never gonna read for fun ever again.

His face must do something because Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times before saying, a little hesitant, “Hey, I’m sorry you never, uh… made it through, y’know? You—you were so close, man.” Eddie doesn’t bother wasting time on being pissed that Steve knows some of the details: ‘test results’ and ‘confidentiality’ don’t exactly go together in Hawkins High.

“Yeah, uh. Thanks. Here’s hoping third time’s the charm.”

Steve claps his shoulder. “You’ll do it, it was just tough this year. Like, I scraped through, trust me.”

Eddie snorts—he would literally kill to have a handful of Steve’s grades.

“Think my definition of ‘scraped through’ is different to yours.”

He helps Steve disassemble the mountain of chairs, and now it really is obvious that he could just leave; he only has to take a few steps, and then he’s out of there.

But he pauses.

The store is still empty.

Eddie shuffles back from the doorway. “Ice-cream for the road?”

Steve laughs. “Sure. Least I can do.”

He doesn’t ask Eddie what he wants, just serves a vanilla cup with butterscotch syrup.

Eddie suddenly feels himself fighting a smile. “Think you’ve got an agenda, man.”

“Nope. Just giving you the superior choice, Munson.”

Then Steve picks up an empty cup and pours more butterscotch into it, nothing else. He knocks it back like a shot. “Gross,” Eddie says.

Steve flashes him a syrup-streaked grin.

It’s so… juvenile.

If it wasn’t for the fact that they’re in a mall, Eddie would almost think that he’d gone back a few years, made an unexpected temporary friend that goofed off with him in the back of the class.

He finishes his ice-cream as more people flock to the counter; in what seems like no time at all, Steve’s ushering Eddie out, pulling down the security grille.

It feels a bit like a soap bubble has burst. Like the bell’s unexpectedly rung at the end of last period, in a class he was actually enjoying, against all odds.

Steve does say, quite sincerely, “Thanks, Munson. You didn’t have to… you really saved my ass.”

Eddie’s about to clumsily work his way through some reply about how it was nothing, but then they really do have to go, because some stern-faced security guard’s staring like he might vaporise them.

It’s just one day, Eddie thinks. A… what’s-it-called. An anomaly.

But he goes back to the mall the next afternoon. He doesn’t bother to make up an excuse even in his own head.

Scoops Ahoy is somehow even more packed this time—Steve’s serving up samples while Robin’s back at the register, and when she sees Eddie coming, she points at the vanilla, mouths, “The classic?”

He chuckles, nods. “How was your movie, Buckley?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” she says serenely. “I was very sick.” She coughs delicately.

“Praying for your miraculous recovery.”

He gets vanilla with butterscotch syrup (just because Robin’s the closest to that particular dispenser, that’s all).

It’s so busy that once Robin’s finished at the register, she starts filling orders alongside Steve. When Eddie picks up his cup, they barely look at him, surrounded by other cups and plastic bowls laid out for ice-cream.

Figures. Eddie knows it’s not personal. Just. Soap bubble’s burst, and all that.

He’s almost out the store when he hears a whistle.

“Hey, Munson! Go long!”

“Fuck off, no,” Eddie says automatically, a response drilled into him from many a compulsory Phys Ed class.

But he turns, just in time to see Steve throw something at him. He catches it—it’s plastic, round—somehow manages to keep a hold of his ice-cream, too.

Steve gives a brief thumbs up, before he’s back to scooping. He still finds time to do that stupid twirl move again.

Once outside, Eddie opens up his hand. Snorts.

It’s a shitty white badge, chipped in several places. His name’s scrawled on it in red marker, a cartoony anchor in the upper right corner.

On the bus home, Eddie mulls over the thought of flicking through a couple chapters of The Hobbit, something like that. No pressure, no notes—no imagining the year ahead, a teacher looming over his shoulder. Just for fun.

There’s plenty of time.

He puts his souvenir in his pocket, takes another spoonful of ice-cream.

And he has to admit that butterscotch is pretty damn good.

#my second scoops fic! such a fun setting #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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fiction-is-life · 1 year

Note

Congratulations on 500 non-bot followers! I just joined the ranks after reading the angstly little treat you did for @eleanor-bradstreet 🤩

I would like to request a blurb for Anthony from your prompt list. #8 - "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while."

This is so fun!

Trapped and Titillated

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the follow, love, and for your kind words! I am so glad you liked Touchstone of Our Character! I had so much fun writing this request; it is quite a bit longer than a blurb, but I hope that makes up for the fact it has taken me so long to write it! Enjoy!

Summary: You are trapped with the Viscount.

Warnings: Angst, getting locked in a room, verbal fighting, steamy make out session, brotherly teasing

The door wouldn’t budge. Oh, I knew when that latch clicked, I was doomed. Utterly doomed. And it was all his fault.

“Well, you have done it now, my lord,” I seethed, letting the veneer of polite reserve fall away. It was always thin around him anyway.

Anthony Bridgerton had the audacity to raise one perfect, dark brow. “I have done it?” he intoned, his voice cutting through my rising panic, reinforcing who I was angry at.

“Yes,” I hissed. “You shut the door behind you, and now it is jammed. It may be hours before someone comes by and finds us, and what then?”

He took a step towards me, matching the one I had subconsciously taken, bringing us closer than society would deem acceptable. “As far as I am concerned, I have only done what was my right. This is my library in my home, and I may shut any door I please.”

“Not when an unmarried young lady is in said library - unaccompanied. Or have you forgotten the rules of the Ton while you were busy raking about the kingdom?” I knew I had struck my mark when I saw the Viscount’s eyes darken, his whole body tensing.

“Miss (Y/L/N), you do not know of what you speak,” he said through clenched teeth, and I shivered from the ice in his tone. Anthony certainly did not miss it. “I was raised a gentleman, Miss (Y/L/N), as a member of one of the most respected families in all of England, no less.”

I scoffed and raised my chin and matched his stance. We were practically nose-to-nose with each other. “Well, there must be an exception to every rule, my lord, and I suppose you are it.”

I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them, terrified at the way his features turned from red-hot anger to a cold, stony silence. I took a shaky breath. “M-my lord, I apologize. I believe I am overwrought from the events of today. Please forgive me,” I spoke in a rush, not daring to make eye contact with those dark depths again.

A long moment passed before he cleared his throat, his complexion returned to a more normal hue but his posture still stiff. “It looks like we'll be trapped for a while, Miss (Y/L/N). We may as well make ourselves comfortable," he spoke in a clipped, quiet tone. For some odd reason, I wished he would have yelled instead.

He must have noticed the look of panicked confusion on my face as I alternated between staring at him and the couches near the fire. “Do not fear, Miss (Y/L/N), I shall strive to reign in my more ungentlemanly urges. Your virtue is safe from me.”

I bit my lip, nodding at his words. They were what I wanted to hear. Right? Oh, dash it! I had never been prone to hysterics before, but something about being this close to the Viscount was making my thoughts and feelings a muddle. So, I did the only thing that felt safe.

I pretended to read.

I believed it was working, too. That is, until the Viscount cleared his throat again. I wanted to roll my eyes at the realization that the smallest of his gestures still commanded attention. I was looked over during a one-on-one conversation, but Lord Anthony Bridgerton could simply breathe in a certain way and every head would turn.

“Is there something you need, my lord?” I asked, my eyes still blindly trained on the pages in front of me so that I missed his growing smirk.

“You must be a great reader, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said.

I raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Yes, I do love a good book,” I returned, turning the page.

“You are most certainly a more avid reader than I.”

That made me look up at him, confusion wrinkling my brow. “Why do you say that, my lord?”

He openly smiled now, allowing me to see that little dimple in his one cheek. “I have never mastered the art of reading words that are upside-down.”

“What?” I looked down and finally saw what book I had picked up. It was a tome on new farming practices, and it was indeed upside down.

Well, I could not let him win that easily. “I find I absorb the words much better when it is more difficult to read them.” I looked down my nose as I had seen many women do. “I believe it is important to challenge oneself, so one does not become ignorant and vain.”

His features twisted into a wry grin. “Very true, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said in a tight voice. He crossed over to the sofa I was sitting on and sat down - far too close for comfort. “What are other pursuits that you find are challenging enough, may I ask?”

I knew he was goading me, but I simply could not back down from his challenge. “Any activities I find rewarding, I suppose.” I closed the book and tilted my head, staring him in the eye. “Making sound investments, helping run the household, volunteering for charities,” I listed, not even trying to mask the smugness in my tone. “Basically anything that contributes to society, unlike spending every night at gaming hells or with ladies of the night or -”

His lips crashed onto mine, cutting me off. I felt positively surrounded by him as he crushed me into the back of the sofa, his strong arms encircling my waist and pulling me into him. He smelled of bay rum and mint, and it was utterly intoxicating.

At first, I was too shocked to react, but as his lips moved insistently on my own, I started to follow his lead. He growled when I parted my lips, and my eyes shot open when he darted his tongue into my mouth, but it felt too good to pull away. So, I pulled him closer.

My hands tangled in his dark locks, and when my fingers caught on a knot, Anthony pulled back slightly, moaning. I gasped and pulled back. “Did I hurt you, my lord?” I asked, concerned.

He groaned again, his eyes darkening further. “Call me that again,” he growled, panting heavily.

My face twisted in confusion. “My lord?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his lips finding mine again. His hands wandered this time, sending pings of pleasure straight to my core. I couldn’t hold back my own noises when his strong hands found my breasts, my nipples pebbling embarrassingly.

I lost track of time as Anthony peppered wet kisses down my neck and over the swells of my breasts where my dress did not cover them. He started to work his hand under the skirt of my dress when a crash was heard on the other side of the library.

“Brother! Are you in here? I need to get away from all of the matchmaking endeavours mother has concocted,” the voice of Anthony’s brother, Benedict, was heard. Anthony’s head snapped up, a panicked look in his eyes.

“Stay here. I shall get rid of him,” Anthony whispered before rising from the sofa, straightening his jacket where I had mussed it. “Brother. You find me at an inopportune time. I was just leaving,” he called out to his brother, trying to prevent him from seeing me.

“Why? You already met with the steward this morning. You have nothing else planned until dinner.” Even I could hear the skepticism in Benedict’s voice as it grew closer.

“Well, yes, but I thought I might go for a ride,” Anthony hedged.

“Wonderful! I shall join you!”

“No!” Anthony shouted. “I mean, I was wishing to ride out alone this time,” he finished in a more tempered tone.

There was a long pause where I thought Benedict just may have believed the lie. “Are you sure you want to be alone? Because I think Miss (Y/L/N) might disagree.” I gasped. “I shall see you at dinner, brother, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said, a door closing behind him shortly after.

I sat up with a huff, my cheeks flaming a brighter red than they had been before. “I am sorry; I did not think anyone would follow me here -”

“What door did he come through?” I interrupted what was sure to be a very eloquent apology.

Now, the Viscount’s cheeks turned red and he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Well, um, he used the hidden entrance in the south wall.”

“Oh, you cad!” I screamed. “Open it. Now, my lord.”

Anthony silently moved toward the south wall, pulling a certain book back to reveal a hidden door. I gathered my dignity about me as I fixed my skirts. I caught a whiff of his cologne once more as I passed him, and for a brief moment, I wanted to turn back. Instead, I held my head high, giving the Viscount one of those superior looks other ladies had mastered. I wanted him to know I was not to be trifled with.

But I knew this was not the end of my encounters with the Viscount.

My Masterlist

#500 Followers Celebration #answered asks #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton angst #anthony bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfiction

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sanjisprincesswifey · 4 months

Text

valentine's day

summary: spending valentine's day with the monster trio

notes: sanji, zoro, & luffy x implied female reader (separately), pure fluff

black leg sanji

sanji may know your favorite flower or candy, but he remains a teddy bear, roses, and box of chocolates kind of guy

for sanji, it’s the idea that you deserve love in its purest form; that all he wants to give you is the love people see in movies or read in books

it’s about the sentiment; he could give you your favorite flowers or candy any other day (and he does). today, on valentine’s day, it’s about him and how he wants to show you he loves you

he’ll plan a nice, romantic dinner that includes a sweet wine, dimly lit candles, and a meal perfectly curated for your palettes

again, to sanji it’s his way of proving to you that he loves you; he’s so in love with you, in fact, that you’re worthy of the love that others only dream of having. so tonight’s meal has been in preparation for weeks before the actual date

he can’t help but stray from the basics and put his own touches on everything.

sanji gets all giggly and flustered while he leaves small presents around the ship for you to find. small is a loose term though, in actuality the presents probably cost thousands of berry

finally, he pulls a couple all nighters to write you a handwritten love letter. it obviously starts off as a proclamation of his love and obsession with you, but around the second page he begins to explain just how much you mean to him. how he’s changed for the better and learned to love both himself and life so much more now that he has you.

the day consists of being wrapped up in your boyfriends long limbs practically every minute of the day, so many kisses you swear his lips must be tired, and words even sweeter than the candy he gives you

roronoa zoro

zoro gets lost walking on a straight path, you think he’ll remember a holiday?

i don’t know if he even knows what day it is normally

since he doesn’t even know what day it is, that most likely means he doesn’t even have a gift for you

sorry babe, but if you want to have a nice date you will have to plan it yourself

however, if you mention your concerns to someone who is more situationally aware (cough, cough, nami, robin, or sanji), he may remember to get you a gift

albeit, it won’t be wrapped and will most likely still be wearing the price tag, but it is a gift regardless

that being said, roronoa zoro is incredibly sentimental in his gift giving. just because he may be a bit forgetful does not mean that he doesn’t love you

he loves you so much he doesn’t need a day to remind you of that; he tells you every day in the way that he interacts with you

considering how much he loves you, remember to give him some reassurance about his airhead-ness. he doesn’t want to admit it, but he was actually a little worried it might jeopardize your relationship

monkey d luffy

knows valentine’s day is important to you so he’ll celebrate with you, but otherwise doesn’t really care much for the holiday besides all the candy, of course

luffy can’t be trusted with any money nami gives him as he’d spend it solely on meat, so he must resort to handmade gifts

but do not be fooled by the name! your captain is incredibly sweet, the handpicked flower bouquets contain all your favorite colors and all your favorite flowers. he insists on adventuring to a flower field and picking each flower individually claiming that it’ll only be right for you if he’s the one who does it

usopp, robin and nami then wrap it up all nice and pretty for that extra special touch

in classic luffy fashion, he’d also give you a box that has the appearance of a box of chocolates but inside contains a bunch of cool looking seashells or rocks that he, again, hand chose for you

no outside planning is done besides this though as dinner with luffy only sounds fun in theory; he’s a human vacuum cleaner, you wouldn’t get very far in your own meal before he’s swallowing up your food too

he’d love for you to join him for a dance under the moonlight though

his long, rubber arms wrap around you while his body sinks into yours as you rock back and forth to the music

and, of course, he is telling you he loves you every second of the day and every other day for the rest of your lives

ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ like this post? send me a request!

#black leg sanji #sanji x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #sanji headcanons #zoro headcanons #luffy headcanons

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am-i-interrupting · 2 months

Text

Affection | Vox x Fem!Reader

Summary: Vox and Valentino get into it. Vox looks for a way to get payback and stumbles upon you. He didn’t expect you to actually care.

Warnings: sex work, a bit of a mommy kink

He was used to the petty yelling, the constant spats, even the object throwing. What crossed the line was when he had to replace his screen.

Vox and Valentino got into a lot of arguments, normally started by the latter instead of the former. This one was bad though. Vox didn’t even want to think about it but it was all that was on his mind.

He was angry.

He was angry because it was easier to be angry rather than something else, something more vulnerable. He didn’t want to and couldn’t afford to be vulnerable right now. He had to hold onto this anger so he didn’t go crawling back to Valentino.

Currently, he was at his desk, looking through documents about ads that were just waiting for Vox’s stamp of approval. He stumbled upon yours and he paused.

He recognized you. Why?

He copied your name into a search bar and looked at your Sinstagram profile. Flipping through the pictures, he found one of you at a bar and that’s when he remembered.

Valentino tried to contract you and you’d basically laughed at him. You’d tossed back a shot and then turned to Valentino, asking if he needed you to pay for it since he was clearly so desperate for new recruits as he was only preying on people too stupidly drunk to realize how bad of an idea it was to say yes. Oh, he remembered Valentino seething that night.

He approved your ad but he couldn’t get you out of his head. He opened the closed tag again as he actually read through your ad.

You were advertising music. Which, when say side by side with your Sinstagram made sense as he saw a picture of you with Verosika Mayday. There wasn’t really anything interesting on the advert.

He scrolled up to the top of your Sinstagram in order to look at them in order from most to least relevant. That is when he caught sight of a link in your bio. He clicked it.

He was brought to a website. He wasn’t sure what he expected but he did raise an eyebrow nonetheless. It was an escort sight. A home page that had you and several other people scantily dressed with a description of what every person and the services you offered.

Maybe he was being more vindictive than he thought because he immediately clicked on the tab that sent him to your page and booked a time with you.

It was far out, months away in fact. He honestly had forgotten about it until he got an email the week before asking if he was still available and inviting him to a pre-session consultation. Not willing to back out and have it potentially mess with his image, he made the time.

He logged into a video call several days later and was greeted with you in the middle of putting on your makeup.

“Well, hello, Mr. Vox,” you said with a soft purr. He replied with a formal greeting of your name. “You’re a busy guy and I’m a busy gal so I’ll keep this quick. This is just a little meeting for boundaries. I know it bothers some people to make them in person so I’ve found this to be an easier way.

“I’ll go first. No hickies, no bruises, no scratches, no cuts, no burns, just no marks. It might be pretty and fun in the moment but it costs me later. Not everyone enjoys having sex with someone who’s clearly had it with someone else not long before. It may be part of my work but people do like an illusion.

“I don’t do bondage where I’m the one tied up. It’s nothing personal, just a safety issue. On the topic of safety, if you bring in anything that could be used as a weapon. I’m done and you’re leaving. All I need from you is that pretty little body of yours and payment. I’ll provide the rest.

“On the topic of payment, I know you’ve already made your upfront payments for this little consultation. The rest can be brought when you come in cash. Any questions so far?”

He surprised himself by saying, “Not so far, no.”

You we’re far more thorough than he thought. He’d bought time before but it was never this professionally done, even by Valentino’s standards. Granted, with Valentino’s sex workers, there was really only one rule, payment upfront. He didn’t give a fuck about anything else.

You though? You had clearly given this a lot of thought on all parts.

“Good, I’m glad,” you said. “Those are my hard rules. Everything else is a little more flexible. So, tell me, what is it you want from tonight?”

“To have a good time.”

“Of course, we all want to have a good time, Vox, but I’m talking specifics. Don’t be naive,” you said. “I have full confidence you know better. Maybe it’d be easier if I told you what I’m best at.”

The lid of your lipstick clicked closed. You looked at the camera, looking at him directly on his screen by proxy, for the first time.

“I can do just about anything your cold, dead heart desires but I enjoy specific things more than others. I’m a bit of a dominatrix, I’d you will. I enjoy the power and control of giving people what they need instead of what they want. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds to me like a very overlord thing to do,” he replied.

“Not there yet,” you said. “So, is that the role you prefer to play?”

“It’s one I play often.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that but do you prefer it?”

Vox didn’t know why he didn’t just say yes. He should have. It went with his image to say yes and that’s why he was still agreeing to do this even though he and Valentino weren’t on the worst of terms right now.

He hadn’t crawled back to Valentino yet. It’d been one of their longer spells away from one another. Five months without even falling back into bed once.

Perhaps that’s why he said what he said. He was pent up. He hadn’t had time to unwind and the person he normally would go to for that he was still upset with. That’s the reason he’d go with anyway.

“It’s the role I play most often,” he said.

“But is it the role you like?” you asked. When he didn’t answer you smiled, a more genuine one than any flirty or sarcastic one you’d shot his way before. “Stubborn, I’ll keep that noted.”

“I am not—“

“You’re proving my point. Now,” you stood up and rummaged through a drawer he couldn’t see, “pick a set for me.”

For the next several hours, Vox felt like he couldn’t focus. He was nervous. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been nervous over a one night stand.

He left early, leaving his assistant with double the workload but he didn’t care. He just needed to be out of the building.

He took Vark out on a walk to pass time but it still went by so slowly. It took what felt like days for it to finally be time to leave.

He’d call it considerate that he left without his usual suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie but in reality, he felt so hot, constricted with them on.

He traveled through the cameras and arrived at the address he’d been given, not a single person having seen him.

He knocked on the door and that sense of security was promptly shattered when it opened and he heard someone say, “Holy shit!” in response to seeing him.

He glared at the offending person as he stepped in. He recognized them from being pictured on your website. They quickly spun around and continued doing whatever it was they were in the process of.

He was led to a room which when opened revealed you inside. You were wearing a shear robe that gave him a peak at what was hiding underneath.

“I was promised secrecy,” he said. “Not to be gawked at by the employees.”

“So you don’t want to be gawked at me?” you asked. You smiled at your own joke. “Everyone here is under contracted lock and key to not say a single word about what goes on inside these walls. You’re image will be fine.”

“Contracted?”

“You said I had the makings of an overlord,” you replied. “Why are you suddenly surprised that I have contracts? Don’t worry, I assure you they’re much more ethically sourced than your co-worker’s.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of,” you said as you took several steps towards him, “why are you here? I’d imagine you could have any of Valentino’s contracted cash free. Why waste it on me? I’m not exactly cheap.”

You held out your hand and he reached into a pocket to retrieve the other part of your payment. You swiftly began counting it.

“You fuck one of Valentino’s pets, you’ve fucked them all,” he said. “They’re all too scared to be any fun after a while.”

“As much as I know that’s a true statement—“ you put the cash in a drawer of the bedside table— “I don’t believe it.”

He felt his eye twitch. “And what exactly would you—“

“Why don’t you take off your shirt and lay on the bed?” You walked towards him and ran your hands up his torso. “Or I could take it off for you.”

You began unbuttoning his shirt and for some reason, it made him drop all his irritation. When you finished, you bent down and licked all the way up his torso. You kissed and nipped at his collar bone.

His hands went to your sides but you spatted them away. The shirt fell to the ground.

You looked up at him, like you were daring him to kiss you. However, when he went to do just that, you stepped away.

“On the bed face down, mister,” you told him.

He huffed. Despite his mind telling him to grab you and pull you in for a kiss, take you and remind you of who exactly you were messing with, his body followed your instructions.

The mattress dipped as you straddled him. Something popped open (he tensed), a bottle clinked as it was set on the table, and then the sound of you rubbing your hands together went through the air.

Your hands, warm against his skin and slick with oil, began to rub up and down his back.

“Why are you here, Vox?” you asked. “I’m not stupid. I keep up with the news. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that the day you made an appointment was the same day you updated your status to single again? It’s still single now so what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“Uh-huh, and the fact that you visibly tensed as soon as I mentioned Valentino is just a coincidence,” you said. “Everything you say in these walls stays within them.”

“You’re the one who made the contracts,” he said. “You’re not under them.”

“True, but—“

You began to apply pressure with your thumb, grinding your thumb and hand in circles along his back.

“Oh, fuck.”

“—I also made them,” you said, basically repeating his words. “It means I place value in confidentiality.”

“Or covering you’re own— oh, fuck, right there— your own ass.”

“I could be.”

You leaned down and he felt toy trap his entire torso beneath you. He liked the feeling. He liked the feeling of you over him.

You got close to his face, “But I think we both know I’m not.” You moved back and he mourned the feeling as soon as it was gone. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You’re just very obviously tense and not just physically.”

You punctuated your sentence by rolling the palm of your hand at the base of his neck before squeezing it lightly. He couldn’t hold back a moan at the feeling of some tension leaving his body.

You continued on like that in silence for a while. You were working out the knots in his muscles and he was basically putty beneath your hands.

He’d never been treated like this before. He had couldn’t remember the last time he felt loose. There was always some kind of feeling of unease he constantly carried.

He didn’t even know he needed this because he’d never known that he could have it.

You leaned to once again lay over him but this time he could feel the entire weight of your body instead of just your warmth. You wrapped your arms underneath his shoulders and placed a kiss to his neck.

“Are you alright to continue?” you asked him as you nuzzled against his shoulder blade.

“I—“ He tried to search for some witty or snarky remark to make but all he could come up with was, “Yes.”

You cooed at him and slipped your hands out from underneath him to rub his back as you got off him. “Using your words, what a good boy,” you said and he hated, hated how that made him feel so warm inside. “Can you turn around for me? Yes, good.”

He closed his eyes and refused to look at you. You laughed but it didn’t feel mean. That didn’t make him feel any less embarrassed, however.

You did a wider, full handed version of the back massage you’d given him to his front as you began to roll your hips against his. He couldn’t hold back a whine.

“Oh, so pretty,” you said. “Such pretty noises from such a pretty boy.”

“Fuck,” it came out weak and pathetic.

Well, it was fitting then because that’s how he felt, weak and pathetic. Such simply praise shouldn’t be so effective.

“How does that feel?” you asked. “Come on, be a good boy. Tell me. Tell me how to make you feel good, baby.”

You were kissing on his neck and shoulders now.

“Good,” he choked out.

You hummed against his skin.

He could feel his fingers flex. His arms moved. He stopped them. He wanted to touch. He should be able to touch. He should be able to do what he wanted. He was the fucking Vox, overlord and creator of the biggest tech company in Hell. He shouldn’t need permission to do something.

You grabbed his hands and brought them up to the knot of your robe.

“You can touch me, baby,” you told him.

A whine forced its way out of his throat no matter how much he tried to keep it at bay.

He opened his eyes and you were so beautiful, grinding against him like you were made to. He could feel his cock straining against his pants. He wanted them off.

He settled for untying your robe. It fell to reveal the deep blue set he’d chosen for you earlier that day. It was sheer enough to show off your nipples through the cross crossed pattern of the bra. There was a silver chain that draped between the cups and further framed your breasts. Some traps went around your torso as part of the garter belt which held up your similarly colored stockings. You looked gorgeous.

You laughed and guided his hands up to your waist. Then up to your tits.

“I love the way you keeping whining for me,” you said. “You’re like a little pup.” Your eyes honed on his neck and your hand followed your gaze. You pressed on his neck, just enough to add some pressure. “That neck of yours looks like it was made to be collared and leashed.”

“Oh fuck.”

You leaned closer to his face. “Would you like that, baby?”

His fingers twitched around your breasts. He rubbed his thumbs over your clothes nipples as a silent apology. “Please.”

“Oh, such good manners.” You applied more pressure to his neck, not enough to cut off his air supply. He arched into your touch. “But not tonight. Some other time, I promise. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be seeing you plenty, baby.”

You went to nip at his neck. His hands wrapped around to your back to hold you in place. Your own traveled down his torso and to his belt.

You undid it. You pulled down his pants but not his underwear. You slipped from his grasp.

You put your hands on either side of his bulge and ran your fingers over it. His legs spread open further as he tried to push up but you quickly put an end to that little action.

Your hands on his hips, you hovered your head over him. You licked a stripe onto the fabric. You began to suck him off with the barrier of his boxers.

He knew he was whining. His eyes wanted to screw shut but he kept them open, too transfixed by the visage before him.

Your own eyes were closed. Your hands, perfectly constraining his boxers, were wrapped around his hips. The tips of your perfectly manicured hands were digging into his skin. Your tongue lulled out and lavished him.

He could cum from just this alone.

However, as soon as the thought came to him, you pulled away.

“No, no, no, please, please, let me come,” he said, words flowing from his mouth before he could stop them.

“Aw,” you said with a chuckle, “begging so soon? How sweet. Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get to come soon. I’ve just got to see that little dick of yours first.”

The small bit of degradation mixed with all the praise made him twitch.

He’d never gotten any negative comments on his dick before. Rather the opposite, Valentino had tried several times before to talk him into at least faceless camera work but he didn’t want to think of the moth right now.

You pulled his underwear down to reveal his cock. It was length, a deep blue like the rest of him except were it was flushed vibrantly at the tip. He was already leaking pre-come. Milky white against his flesh.

You leaned over to lick it up. His eyes rolled back at the simple action.

Your smirked before you took him all your mouth at once. You slowly pulled up and let your teeth pull at the hood of his tip.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

He thrusted up into what was now just air as he twitched, his whole body convulsing but he didn’t come. He was on the verge though.

You shushed him as you stroked his inner thigh with your nails.

“Be a good boy for me and hand me the lube,” you said before you began sucking on the skin above his pelvic bone.

His hand went to your hair as he closed his eyes and moaned. It took him a moment to open them again but you didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t feel rushed.

When was the last time he hadn’t felt rushed while having sex? He couldn’t even remember. It was always about getting back to work as soon as possible or Valentino’s quick hits. It was never really about him. It was about getting rid of his boner or Valentino’s as soon as possible.

He liked this. He liked this feeling of. . . being cared for?

God, he was so fucking pathetic. He could feel tears filling his eyes as he reached for the lube on the bedside table.

“Are you alright, baby?” you asked. “Do you need to stop.”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

“Okay, we don’t have to stop. We can keep on going,” you said as you poured some lube into your hands. “You just keep on being a good boy for me, alright? You can cry if you need to, baby. It’s okay to cry, you know.”

That permission made it worse. He felt his face flush as tears began to stream down his face. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. He shouldn’t be crying. He’d rarely ever cried. Much less during sex, especially sex that he was enjoying.

“Can you bend your— oh, such a good boy,” you said.

You hooked his bent knees over your legs and pulled him into your lap.

You wrapped your hands, covered in warm lube (when was the last time someone had took the time to warm up lube before touching him?), around his cock and began slowly twisting your hands up and down. He couldn’t stop the weak thrusts.

“I’m sorry,” he said, repeating the phrase like a prayer.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay,” you told him, petting his thigh. “You take what you need. You’ve been so good for me. So good. You deserve it.”

“Fuck.”

He threw his head back against the pillow and then looked down at you. He immediately met your eyes, so soft and understanding. It made his stomach queazy.

He watched as his dick slowly was covered then revealed by your hand. It curved around him so perfectly, glistening with a mixture of lube and the pre-come he was leaking. You twisted your hand in just the right way.

You covered his cock and then revealed the head. You thumb lingered and smeared the pre-come at his tip. The point of your nail ever so gently grazed his hole and that’s what did it.

The lights flickered in the room as he spasmed and came. His screen went blank as he blacked out.

A few seconds later, he came to with you by his side with a glass. You tilted his head up and cupped your hand under his lips as you forced him to drink, any water that spilled was dropped in your hand.

You grabbed a cloth and wipes at his screen.

“Are you okay, baby? Was that good?” you asked and he could only mutely nod. “Good.”

You went to pull him into an embrace but stopped and looked down at your body. “Do you wanna clean me up or do you want me to do it?”

He followed your gaze and saw his come covering your torso, a bit of it even clinging to your bra. He leaned to lick it off you. You reclined onto the thrown of pillows and let him, stroking his shoulders and arms as he did.

He licked up to your bra and then was met with the rough contrast of the lace-like fabric compared to your smooth skin. He reached around and undid the bra. You let it fall and he licked where the come had been. Then he began sucking on your breasts.

“Oh, fuck,” this time it was you.

Spurred on, he reached down between your thighs and began stroking. You were wet, so fucking wet. His fingers slid through your folds with no hint of resistance.

He rolled your clit between two knuckles.

“Oh, so good for mommy,” you said as you continued petting him. “So good.”

He whined at both the praise and the title you had given yourself.

He began stroking you with a different purpose now. He needed you to come. He looked up at you, still sucking on your tit. He needed to see it.

Your breath quickened. Your pets turned into a tight hold. It was your turn to whine as your head rolled back and your mouth lulled open.

“So good! So good for me, baby, just like that,” you said right before you became incoherent. You groaned and moved up into his touch.

He went back to the tower feeling better than he could ever remember. The set you’d worn tucked into his pant pocket. You insisted, saying you had plenty of other sets. Who was he to refuse?

“Where the fuck have you been?” Velvette asked.

“Out,” he said as he walked passed her, in no mood for her screeching.

“For over two hours with your location turned off? You didn’t even answer your fucking phone,” Valentino said, voice raising to nearly as yell towards the end.

“Yes,” Vox said as he continued walking.

He heard Valentino laugh as he must have seen the lingerie set in his back pocket. “Were you really so busy fucking a hole that you couldn’t answer me? I hope they were good.”

“Better than you ever were,” Vox said before he closed his bedroom door, unwilling to let his lax mood be ruined.

A few months later, Vox was still going to see you. Absolutely hooked and you both knew it but so were you. You didn’t even made him pay but he still slipped money into your pocket or your bra so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he was getting attached.

That was all thrown out the window when you released a new song. He wasn’t even halfway through watching the music video before he disappeared and found you, pulling you in for a bruising kiss and you knew exactly why.

The imagery in the music video was obvious. Pink smoke trying to creep into your studio only to be blocked, a deep blue body, TV screens everywhere. Then there were the lyrics:

I can give my babe affection without any type of infliction

You were just an intermission but I’m the center of attention

I’ve got him collared and leashed right where he needs to be

He’s down on his knees begging me with please

Better than any of his fantasies

Yeah, I’ve got his attention without infliction

#for the song I’m thinking chrissy chlapecka vibes just FYI #hazbin vox x reader #vox x reader

357 notes · View notes

junowritings · 3 months

Note

Can I request headcanons for Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with gn crush who can't genuinely can't tell if someone is being platonic or romantic to them?

Anon dear nothing but kisses thank you for the amazing request and requesting my fav Tiefs~

I'd wanted to leave the scenarios between each vague when I began this; I swear this started off small but it's now like 2am and ten pages long but here we are!

Also I've only just finished Act 2 so I may not have been too accurate with Haarlep and the others' act 3 moments but I do hope you enjoy~

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Haarlep

♡ You’ve certainly put yourself in it this time. Managing to earn the affections of an incubus like Haarlep? You’ve either done something very right, or so very very amusing.

♡ At the House of hope the lines between affection and lust have all but blurred for Haarlep long before you showed up snooping around in places you weren’t supposed to be. You aren’t the first one to be lured in and, if the place’s owner had its way, you most certainly wouldn’t be the last; but that doesn’t mean you can’t provide some worthwhile entertainment for the incubus you stumble across in Raphael’s quarters.

♡ The second you’d poked your head into the boudoir to snoop you’d caught Haarlep’s attention, if only for the fact that you most certainly shouldn’t have been poking around so brazenly. They’ve heard your name plenty of times; heard how you’ve toed the fine line of keeping Rapael on his toes at every turn without making an enemy of him - yet. You should know better than to test the limits like this - but you don’t, and that makes the thought of killing you so wasteful to Haarlep when there’s far more amusing ways to make use of you.

♡Maybe it was merely for curiosity’s sake that they allowed you to walk in and out of the place with your life and soul intact; the potential of getting to do something - or someone - fun too tempting to pass up on after wiling the days away with the same old faces. For you to come voluntarily traipsing round the corridors of Raphael’s very ‘home’? Knowing the consequences and either too brave or too foolish to heed them? Now that piques the incubus’ interest, enough that they’re willing to let you leave after they’ve had their fun. After all, they know you won’t be able to stay away for long.

♡ You keep coming back - of course you do. You’re fun to toy with - the most amusement that they’ve had in quite a while. Even with an unwanted guest squirming around in your head and time being a precious commodity when your corner of the world is on the line, you always have a penchant for coming back for more. And they are more than content to give you those reasons to keep coming back; you’ll never stray for long now that they’ve got their claws into you, of that they’re certain.

♡ Oftentimes your visits aren’t with the promise of fulfilling desires - at least not the carnal ones. Instead you make a habit of sneaking into Raphael’s boudoir just to keep them company, flashing them that mischievous grin as you stretch out onto that luxurious bed and eagerly pat the space beside you. Haarlep feigns the role of a lover well - they’ve had enough centuries to hone their craft after all. So even they know when the line between a mere amusement and something more affectionate begin to blur together when it comes to you. It's gradual, of course - those simple hours listening to you rattle away about the latest scandalous adventure as they gently card clawed fingers through your hair; watching those little twinges of content pleasure on your face as you lean into their touch almost instinctively.

♡ Haarlep is intimate by nature, always wanting to keep a hand on you at all times no matter the form that they take. Even in the most mundane circumstances you’ll find claws rubbing soft circles into your sides, a head perched upon the crook of your shoulder and warm breaths against your ear just close enough to get you to squirm or playfully push them away. If they’re feeling particularly greedy they’ll hide you away from the world within their wings, pulling your attention to focus purely on them as their tail curls loosely around your leg.

♡ The first night that you make the mistake of drifting off right there in the incubus’ arms is the day that Haarlep puts a face to the emotion that rattles awake within their chest. When was the last time they had felt such affection? Adored for merely existing? The concept of love is inherently foreign for someone like Haarlep, who has long released any such ties the moment they were contracted to be Raphael’s personal mirror in bed. And yet the feeling is relished nonetheless.

♡ Be it blind trust or mounting exhaustion that leads you to this they care not; they’re far more focused on engraving every little contour of your face to their mind, running a finger down the curve of your jaw with a pleased hum. Such a hopeless one they’ve managed to fall for - if only you knew just how much you drew them in.

♡ Haarlep knows full well that you must be a little clueless to keep willingly coming back to the incubus without thought of the potential consequences. One would mistake you for a fool, or someone who values their life so little - but you’re neither (most of the time), and it doesn’t take much for Haarlep to clock onto why that is. You’re hopeless at differentiating between platonic and romantic advances; poor thing. A better person would take pity on you, perhaps assuage your inner turmoil with a few simple words. But when the alternative is being able to get you squirm with just enough hints to keep you on your proverbial toes? Well, who could fault them for keeping you guessing?

♡ Out of all of them, Haarlep is more than happy to keep you spinning with this ‘will they won’t they’ game that they have circling around your head all of the time. Why waste a good thing with something so frivolous when they already have you right where they want you? Away from prying eyes, tucked away in their arms as they make your head spin with honeyed words and teasing remarks of your little conundrum. There’s no need to spoil the party by putting a name to the blatant feelings that lay thick in the air, is there?

♡That’s what they believe at least while they have you. But alas there’s always the inevitable departure - time is ticking on the surface world, your world. And you can’t spend all of your days in the House of Hope for them to seek out whenever they wish, though the idea becomes more and more appealing with each passing day. They're always reluctant to see you leave, hoping to tempt you back with teases and promises, all the while their hands are on your hips and his tail is back to curling around your ankle as though intent on convincing you to stay.

♡ They allow you to slip from their claws if you insist, but don’t think you won’t have eyes on you until the very second that you disappear through that portal, contemplating pulling you right back for one selfish reason or another. They have teased and pulled at your heartstrings about missing you before - a comment once said in jest to rile you up - but this time Haarlep’s the one who feels the familiar tug as they slink back to their familiar stage. There’s the ripple of shifting bones and infernal magic rippling through them as they don your form, standing before the mirror within Raphael’s quarters as they bring a hand up to affectionately caress the flesh of their - your - cheek. An imitation of the real thing, but it serves its purpose as they anticipate your return.

♡ Perhaps, they decide as they map out every inch of this reflection of you, they will wrap this little game up sooner than they thought. Better for the cat to snatch you up before a fox does, hm?

Dammon

♡ Nothing’s been easy since long before Dammon and the other Tieflings took up the journey to Baldur’s gate, hoping for a better life than the ones that they’re leaving behind. He’s had to leave a lot of things behind in pursuit of that better life - his forge and his tools, anything he couldn’t carry or risk going back for. Hells, he was limited to the clothes on his back and the essentials he’d been fortunate enough to take with him; but that was all he had left of his old life, and Dammon knows the others are the same. It’s not just material possessions either - any plans he once had about his future went up in smoke months ago, instead clinging to the hope of forging some kind of livelihood in the city when they finally arrived. Anything other than that? Any dreams of love? A partner? A family? A dream is all they’re set to remain as.

♡ Dammon’s thankful that there’s plenty of things to keep him busy. Sure the forge and tools at the grove don’t hold a candle to his setup back at his old place but it’s an excellent way to keep himself occupied whenever he finds himself getting restless and itching for the outlet of familiarity. While things remain a stalemate between the Tieflings and the druids, he passes the time helping where he can, repairing armor and weapons with what limited materials he has to make sure that no one’s going out there completely unarmed. It’s good work for now, and lets him stave off the pining, leaving the humored thoughts of kindling anything romantic with anyone for the lonely nights at his forge or tucked away in his books.

♡ That all changed once you came along of course.

♡ Your mere presence is a whirlwind of a tale in itself. Armor bashed and dented from something much larger than goblins, weapon looking as though it’s one good swing away from snapping in two. Hells, it looks like you took a tumble from a damned cliff and walked it off - a thought he admits to a few days after your first meeting. He decides it’s probably best not to ask when you laugh, patting his back with a shake of your head as you chuckle that he doesn’t know the half of it. Wherever you came from you’ve taken a hell of a beating, and yet you still look ready to take on the world as you amble over to his forge to browse his wares and introduce yourself to the tiefling.

♡ You make yourself known about the Grove, making fast friends with some and tolerable allies in others. Dammon’s firmly in the former category, and really enjoys having you around. Even if you don’t know much about smithing you humor him whenever he talks about his craft, listening with an eager ear whenever he gets that bright glint in his eye that signals he’s going to go on a tangent. Don’t mention it though - it will fluster him to the hells and back to know that you notice that kind of stuff. Not to mention you respect his space while he’s working. Dammon’s focus when his working is honed in on defining details and making each piece perfect in his own way, so it's easy to lose track of what’s going on around him when he’s bent over his forge with his newest labor of love.

♡ Maybe that’s why you’re able to catch him by surprise so often, startled out of his own reverie spotting you leaning against the beam of his makeshift workspace. You comment how amazing it is to see him so immersed in his craft - it’s inspiring, really - and that small appraisal alone has his face turning a lovely shade of copper. His work’s been praised before - it’s the highlight of his days seeing people genuinely appreciate the things he creates with his own hands. But being the one receiving such praise rather than the items he makes does something to his poor heart.

♡Dammon recognizes that he’s beginning to fall for you. It’s not something that hits him all at once, more like a gradual wave of affections that wash over him with each little greeting or rushed wave as you dart around the camp and back out again on the next adventure. It makes him feel…lighter, warmer. He’s tried to remain hopeful about what the future holds, to keep morale going in his own way; but he’s just as uncertain about it all as the others are. But having you around? Seeing the lengths that you go to - both from the issues at the Grove to the attack on the inn and the conflict at Moonrise? That kind of life that he had to push on the backburner feels feasible now - and you’re beginning to become an integral part of it at every turn.

♡ Dammon’s love language is acts of service, so you can expect him to go out of his way to do things for you to make your life easier. It starts off small; giving you discounts on anything you buy from him and little freebies he can spare whenever things aren’t so dire. Dammon always believes that you deserve more however, so eventually you can find him going out of his way to fashion whatever materials he can spare into things for you.

♡ He’s no jewel smith, but he knows his own craft well, so he’ll gift you things that he knows you’ll find useful - weapons . He’ll refuse any kind of payment you try to give him, assuring you that you deserve far more after all you’ve done as he gently presses your gold back into your palm with a warm smile, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary.

♡And yet you still wonder why the party strong-arms you into being the designated buyer whenever you stop by his forge for repairs or supplies - your lack of awareness is going to give Gale more gray hairs at this rate.

♡ The only problem with Dammon’s acts of service, is that it’s very easy to mistake these gestures as him just being a good person - which he is! You’ve seen how easily he goes out of his way to help others in a pinch. You were there when he went through all of that effort to help Karlach curb her infernal engine enough to give her the chance for closeness that she’d been deprived of for years. (after all she’d almost cracked your ribs returning the hug you’d given her to test if Dammon’s upgrade had worked.) It’s easy for you to rationalize all of his gifts as something that’s just platonic - you couldn’t hope for more, right?

♡ Dammon wishes so badly that you would.

♡Is certainly the most upfront about his crush out of all of the tieflings once he realizes that you struggle to discern any romantic intentions. Though he does worry that he’s the one misreading the situation and that you may not actually reciprocate the feelings he has for you, in the end it doesn’t stop him. He needs to get his feelings out there before they burn over - especially with what could very well be the end of the world dangling over everybody’s heads by the time you all finally reach Baldur’s gate. If he doesn’t do it now, he worries you’ll never get the chance to figure it out for yourself.

♡ He’ll call you away from your companions, asking for a moment of your time at the back of his shop. Tucked away in the far corner of his workplace, it reminds him of back at the Grove curled over his forge with you by his side watching him work with a quiet admiration. The memory gives him the confidence to reach for your hand, noting the way your eyes widen and your breath catches. You’ve fought gods and toppled cults, and yet you’re left speechless by his touch? As if the tiefling couldn’t fall for you any more.

♡ If he had his way, Dammon would give you something far better than just spilling his feelings, something more profound than just words. But he knows better, that you’re on borrowed time and a small moment whisked away in the back of his forge is all he can give you right now - with promises for a proper date and confession when you come back alive.

♡ Expect Dammon to go overboard with the gift though, because of course he won’t just leave it at words. He keeps flipping between something classic like flowers and sweet treats (maybe even craft some metalwork flowers himself?); or perhaps you’d like something more practical like a weapon or armor with custom engraving (that he absolutely put his signature on in the hopes it will remind you of him when you’re on the road.) In the end he decides to go with a combination of both, carefully tucked away somewhere safe to give to you whatever your answer may be.

Rolan

♡ The idea of a crush was, at the beginning, a laughable notion to Rolan. Back at the Grove his priority was focused on two things and two things alone - one, getting to Baldur’s gate to begin the apprenticeship he’s dreamed of for months; and two, getting Cal and Lia there with him in one piece. Anything beyond that was unimportant, at least, that’s what he told himself at the time to make the idea of leaving the Grove without the rest of them more palatable. But then of course some newcomer just had to step in during one of the bi-daily spats about it and that whole idea went up in the air along with whatever patience he may have had.

♡ You’d convinced him to stay, convinced him not to pack up and leave in just one conversation and he’d bended to your interjection just like that. Rolan still doesn’t know why he conceded, watching with furrowed brows as Lia rounded on you excited to figure out how you did that and Cal sighing in relief that the whole argument was finally over with. It doesn’t matter - soon you’ll be right back out of those gates, just another soul passing through, and you’d be gone as though you never existed in the first place.

♡ If only it was that simple, but no, you just had to stick around instead of carrying on your way. Perhaps it would have saved his heart the trouble if you hadn’t.

♡ His feelings are misplaced, mistaken for frustration watching you traipse around fixing problems he hasn’t been able to. At first it’s jealousy - another ugly feeling he won’t admit. How do you make helping people look so easy? Breathing life into the cracks that have formed between the two groups and patching them up as simply as you breathe?

♡ It doesn’t help that you stop by to see him every time, a habit that persists long after your time in the Grove. Rolan believes it’s out of pity and the wizard is ready to give you an earful about it. But the longer you stick around the more he has to come to terms with the fact that it’s nothing as malicious as that - you just enjoy coming to see him, for whatever reason. Rolan doesn’t know at what point your company becomes more than tolerable, even enjoyable - but the idea of it being anything more than that, with anyone much less you, is a far off notion.

♡ Of course he doesn’t expect to fall for someone, and he most certainly doesn’t expect it to be you. He’s a stubborn soul, who is just as reluctant to come to terms with his own feelings, much less the realization that these feelings aren’t the closely guarded secret he believed them to be.

♡ All it takes Cal makes an offhand comment once about how Rolan’s ‘complaints’ about you these days sound more like praises - that if he didn’t know any better it sounds like he actually loves having you around. And just like that Rolan very nearly chokes on the drink he was unfortunate enough to be imbibing in at the time.

♡ Him? Have feelings for YOU?! You, some wayward adventurer with a penchant for sticking your nose in where it doesn’t rightly belong out of some presumed sense of duty to this little wayward band of Tieflings? Who goes out of your way to seek out his company again and again no matter how harshly he comes off in return? Who humors his temper, grins at his sarcastic wit, and gives him that damned smile that sometimes makes the warmth in his chest feel like it’s shooting straight up to his throat threatening to spill-

♡ Oh.

♡ Oh no.

♡ The lightbulb pings simultaneously, and it's a good thing you’re not around to hear his siblings absolutely losing it over the knowledge that their brother is stuck pining over you. Not even a few weeks ago he was cussing you out over some perceived slight that was childish in hindsight, spurred on by his own feelings of helplessness. But now? You still made his blood boil, but gods if it didn’t feel like his blood burned for you now.

♡ Rolan’s way of flirting is by showing off to you. He believes that his greatest asset to impress you is his magic, and is fully prepared to use the arsenal of non-lethal spells at his disposal in an attempt to get you swooning. During the celebration at the Grove he remembers fondly the sound of your applause at his performance, your eyes alight with mirth as the sky right above your heads came alive with the results of his magic. The satisfaction of witnessing your face light up in the glow had been worth it; you’d rolled your eyes at his admittedly overdramatic bow but still grinned as your expression softened in embers of the campfire. It still has that warmth Rolan’s begun associating with you kindling in his chest, so he sets on impressing you every chance he gets, with the hope that just maybe it’ll be enough to kindle a warmth within you too.

♡ Rolan insists that he’s not outright confessing to you because surely you already know? Granted he hasn’t been the most…open, about his feelings, nor has he been very direct in his approach where others would have been bold…

♡ Oh who is he kidding - the thought of your rejection scared off any attempts to confess before this point. You’ve always been there - coming in every time there’s been mortal peril to save his life and the lives of his family again and again. It’s hard not to feel as though he’s got nothing to give every time you prove your resilience - would you even want him after you’ve seen him at his worst? He’d much rather live with the torment than know the answer to that question, even if it gnaws at him every night.

♡ Before you ask, yes there’s a betting pool on who’s going to confess first. What began as an inside joke spread like wildfire amongst the group the second Mol caught wind of the lucrative deal. Rolan doesn’t know what’s more mortifying - the fact that his affections are blatantly obvious enough to everyone around the pair of you, or that despite all of this you’re the only one who has no idea.

♡ Someone else is going to have to break the stalemate that’s going on here and convince him to confess. Not just for your sake or Rolan’s, but because your respective groups are getting fed up with the building tension with no-one saying anything. Gods you can’t both be this dense can you?

♡ Yes. Yes you can. And no one is having a good time right now.

♡ Fortunately for the both of you, the aftermath of Moonrise is when the dam finally breaks on all of the things that Rolan’s been holding back. Loose lips sink ships, and in Rolan’s case all of the drinks he’d imbibed earlier attempting to drown his sorrows at the last light inn have eased the filter that kept his feelings at bay. It’s made him far more prone to speaking his mind, not to mention that he’s still reeling from the rush of relief at seeing his siblings alive - yet another thing he has to thank you for - so much so that he’s seeking you out before he can think otherwise.

♡ He doesn’t have to go far; you and Rolan nearly butt heads as he goes to shoot up from his seat, and though you look worse for wear still bearing the bruises and battered gear of a battle well won he watches your expression light up. All it takes is seeing you’ve come back alive, that you’ve come straight to him before you’ve even thought to patch yourself up and his resolve crumbles.

♡ Rolan’s out of his chair and in your arms before you can blink, one hand winding through your hair and the other pressed against your back to stop you from falling flat on your ass with how swift he moves as he holds you like you’ll slip right through his fingers. He swears he can hear your heart hammering against his chest, too focused to notice the twitch of his tail curled round your leg. By the time he catches himself, Rolan practically goes rigid and pulls back, enough to see your face. The tiefling takes in your wide eyes and slack jaw with a sudden jolt of clarity that fuck, you really weren’t aware of what you were to him this whole time; and now he’s gone and-

♡ He opens his mouth again - whether to take it back or blame it on the drink. But before he can there’s arms around him, and suddenly he’s back in his chair with your face pressed into the crook of his neck, and he swears he sees a flash of red on your face enough to rival his own skin. You hold him tight enough that he has to focus a little to breathe, but it’s a sacrifice he makes gladly as his ears pick up on your hurried murmurs of ‘having no idea’ and ‘can’t believe it’ as you practically corner him into his seat.

♡ The moment is broken by the swift screech of “Finally!” from somewhere in the inn, and suddenly the world’s spinning again. Rolan’s glare over your shoulder in a bid to suss out the offending party is half-hearted, lacking any real bite in lieu of having someone far more important to focus his attention on.

Zevlor

♡ Welcome to slow burn two: electric boogaloo, and in this essay I will-

♡ Zevlor has not lived an easy life, even before the fall of Elturel; you can tell he’s got more than his fair share of scars and war stories behind those deep yellow eyes, the testament of a man who fights daily to hold the pieces of his hope and faith close to his heart. He’s a weathered soul, who many have relied on and put their faith in even in spite of his own perceived shortcomings. The tieflings that he leads to safe pastures are no different; they’re all hoping to find a better life at Baldur’s gate, and all of them turn to Zevlor to lead them all there.

♡ The relief is almost palpable when you arrive through those gates, dragging Aradin and his men in behind you. You’d made short work of the goblins fighting to tear their way inside, still plucking bits of arrow and guts from the battered shell of your armor as you’d wandered into the Grove alongside the rest of your party.

♡ He has every reason to believe that you’ll simply go on your way, knowing that you’re more than capable enough to handle the threats out on the road to leave the Grove in your peripherals without a second thought. Yet you don’t; instead you’re right back into the fray, pushing between the spat between himself and Aradin without hesitation with a sharp reminder that there’s more here at stake than some squabbling about something that could have - but didn’t - happen.

♡ Zevlor isn’t proud to admit that he’d hoped you’d be useful in easing tensions in the grove between the Tieflings and the druids. You’re a neutral third party, so to speak, and though he’s sure that the druids are set on locking down the grove and kicking them out to the wilds he hopes that someone like you will be able to at least buy them all some time. When that inevitably didn’t work he’s surprised to learn you’ve set your sights on the next best thing - forget just the goblins at the gate, you’re gearing your party up to take on the source at the heart of that camp.

♡ He’d be lying if he said he didn’t admire you from the beginning, a feeling that only becomes more profound the longer you’re around. Zevlor watches you humor Mattis’ salesmanship, sees you taking the time to train the others to better defend themselves and diffusing any quarrels on the daily rounds that you insist on joining the Tiefling on. It has a visible impact on the camp’s morale, and Zevlor has to wonder if you were truly just a passing adventurer or something more divine sent to them in their hour of need when he catches you conversing with the other tieflings, bringing smiles to their faces after months of hardships.

♡Another firm member of the ‘won’t broach the blatant pining in the room’ club. Zevlor’s lived long enough to put a name to the emotions that he’s feeling, and has taken the time to process what exactly that means when it comes to his feelings for you specifically. What he feels for you runs deeper than respect, deeper than the mere admiration that he held for you at your first encounter beyond the gates.

♡You consume his thoughts every second that you’re not close to his side. Worries himself into a panic each time you leave the safety of the grove wanting to follow but kept rooted with his own duties. You’re more than capable of defending yourself as you’ve demonstrated time and time again, but gods if he doesn’t lament not being there to protect you as ardently as you do to others. It would be selfish to want such a thing, but it doesn’t stop him from craving it in the least.

♡ Out of every single being on this list, there is none more reluctant to confess to you that he’s begun to fall for you than Zevlor. He knows this affection; wishes for nothing more than to allow himself this small act of greed keeping it close and savoring the warmth it provides. But unless you say something that is as far as he is willing to dare your relationship to progress.

♡ What really stops Zevlor from confessing is himself. He firmly believes that he’s simply not worthy of you. He’s a man who has made too many mistakes, made too many choices that have led to lives lost and consequences on those around him. Surely you deserve someone unmarred by that kind of life? Who can give you love uninhibited by the guilt and ghosts of one's past that plague him on so many sleepless nights?

♡ But oh how easily you’ve got this man curled around your finger, and you don’t even know it. Now that you’ve so thoroughly poured your life into the cracks of his soul, after everything you’ve done, that selfish want kindles a fire in his heart. He’d drop to his knees and pledge you his life if it meant having you look at him with a sliver of the affection he holds for you.

♡ The closest that Zevlor’s ever gotten to confessing to you was during the after party in the Grove. It had been the first time in who knows how long that Zevlor could try to shelve his worries for the future, to allow his guard to relax for the single night of revelry that this celebration offered. A respite like this was far too welcome, and Zevlor was about as ready to fall asleep where he stood as he was to wile the hours away enjoying the revelry.

♡ And there you were, the one responsible for it all leaning up against his side, thoroughly exhausted from doing the rounds around the camp but beaming with pride. His eyes were on you the moment you pressed a hand to his shoulder, golden eyes glowing in the light of the campfire taking in your ruddy cheeks and tired grin as you sighed over how good it was to finally see him smile.

♡ Perhaps it was the longing of a sentimental old tiefling, or being half drunk on the atmosphere that seeped into every fiber of the party, but in response he’d brought a hand to cover your own. Zevlor had guided it away from his shoulder and you’d allowed him to with ease. You’d watched with curious eyes as he’d brought your hand up just enough to brush his lips across your knuckles, ghosting over bruises and scrapes with an unspoken reverence.

♡ You’d never had the chance to ask him what you’d really meant to him back then - Alfira had interjected to veer you back over to the party, eager to show you the beginnings of her next song dedicated to your feats. And by the time you’d spun around to look for him again Zevlor had all but slipped away, gone for the rest of the night.

♡ By the time you reach Baldur’s gate you’re still struggling to discern Zevlor’s feelings from that night. That’s it; no one else can wait for you to realize the obvious anymore.

♡ Someone else is going to have to step in to give you a nudge in the right direction, and not a gentle nudge either - if you’re truly struggling to see how hard Zevlor is crushing on you you’re going to need an intervention. Don’t be surprised if your traveling party is the one to bite the arrow and do it. You have no idea whether to be confused or offended when they drag you aside to break it to you and ease their suffering. Astarion is griping on about how this started off entertaining but now is downright painful to watch you two eyeballing each other and not doing anything about it. Wyll is trying to stem the migraine he gets in his attempt to really drive home that you’re not just imagining all of these romantic moments you’ve had with Zevlor. And Lae’zel is several minutes away from clocking the entire group round the heads with the hilt of her sword for wasting time.

♡ She shoulders past the other two with a biting comment about their lack of efficiency before turning her attention back onto you. Her tone is sharp but not unkind as she quips that you’re wasting breath on your own perceptions of the tiefling’s actions. What you should focus on is what you want and how to get it. Besides, even a fool would notice the way he starts at your beck and call - she’d like to believe that you’re as competent as she thinks to put the pieces together.

♡ Lae’zel’s words do the trick. They watch your brain shoot through every train of thought you’ve been battling with all at once, eyes comically large and hand clamped over your mouth in a poor attempt to mask your scream of realization as you do exactly what she says. And then the next moment you’re scrambling past your companions, a frantic command for them to meet you back at the camp before you all but trip over the pavement beneath you in your haste to seek out the former hellrider.

♡ Once you find him, Zevlor almost jumps out of his skin with how hard you barrel through the door and into his home. He’s half a mind to worry that there’s something seriously wrong, immediately rounding to close the distance between you and place his hands upon your shoulders to keep you from falling flat on your face. The questions of concern die on his tongue the moment your hand cups his face, guiding him to look at your face and thumb brushing over the ridges of his cheek in such a way his mouth runs dry.

♡ When you finally blurt out what you came here for, asking through hurried breaths if he loves you Zevlor all but freezes beneath your touch. His eyes are wide, wild with the fear that you’ve come to turn him down and fully prepared to assure you that he’ll never burden you with his feelings ever again. That is till you continue for him. All it will take is a little reassurance on your part that he has nothing to fear, that you care for him in turn, and you’ll have this poor man practically crumbling into your awaiting arms as though you’ve slipped the weight of the world from his shoulders. Give him time, hold him for a little longer, and Zevlor will gladly regale you with the feelings he’d intended to leave unsaid for the rest of his days - he’d do anything you’d ask, after all.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 26 days

Text

Study Buddy 2

Warnings: this series will include dark elements which may include bullying, noncon or dubcon, or violent behaviour. Mind the warnings.

Summary: a group project leads to a tense partnership.

Character: Walter Marshall

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

You breeze through the book to your own surprise. Between your other classes and your part-time gig down at the shop, you make quick work of it. You sit to transcribe the notes you made by hand into the doc as your phone buzzes.

‘Should start writing. I can meet tomorrow.’

The message is as blunt as anything else he’s said to you. Your brief first meeting with Walter still sticks in your head. You look back to the document and see another cursor in the doc. Your words are backspaced and reworded before you. You sigh. It’s going to be one of those projects.

‘Sure. I work til 2. Library?’

You put your phone down again and ignore the edits as you continue to input your notes. You don’t know why you’re doing any of it. He seems intent on doing it all himself.

Buzz. You flip your cell and cup your chin as you read the screen. ‘Can’t make it there. Daughter’s sick. Meet me here.’

Here? As in his home? That’s a lot.

You don't get it. He suggested tomorrow then just as quickly pulls the rug out. It's like every answer you have is wrong.

‘Don't work day after.’

‘Tomorrow after 2 is fine. I'll send address.’

That's it. Even via text, you hear his unbending tone. How can you argue with that punctuation?

You just type OK and leave it be. Maybe you'll get murdered. It would at least be the end of your problems. Of all the group work you’ve ever done, he’s the least compromising person you’ve ever encountered. Usually you’d be happy to let someone else take the lead but something about his demeanour just comes off condescending.

Or maybe that’s your insecurity talking.

You continue your notes in the doc. You notice the other cursor, highlighted green, moving around the page. You try to ignore the changes in real-time being made to your own thoughts. This isn’t going to be easy. At least you’ll be able to say you earned your grade.

💻

It seems a bit reckless to be walking up to stranger’s house. In fact, after reading a thriller about murder, it rings in your head as a very unwise decision. That being said, you have to get this assignment done. It might not be worth your life but what choice do you have?

You compare the house number with the address in your phone. That’s the one. One-half of a faded old duplex. You stride up the narrow walk beside the bushes and climb up the concrete steps. You knock and wait.

You’re exhausted already. You don’t know if you’re ready for this. Work was no fun. It never is. Sorting packages is no glorious deed but it pays.

You wait and go to knock again. The door opens before your knuckles can meet the wood and you nearly rap against the chest of the man behind it. You give a sheepish cringe and rescind your hand.

“Uh, hi,” you utter awkwardly.

“Mm, hey,” Walter responds, “come on.”

He checks his watch as he backs up. It’s almost three. The buses were clogged down in the city’s core and you missed your connection to his neighbourhood. He probably wouldn’t care that you walked two blocks just to make up for the change in commute.

You step inside as he stands against the door. It’s a tight squeeze. You can smell the woodsy hint of his cologne as you brush by him. You stay on the mat and lift your foot to untie your boot with one hand. You waver as he sidles by you and switch feet. You leave the worn treads by the door.

He looks to his left and you see the hooks mounted on the wall, jackets already hung there. You take the hint and put yours with them. You swipe your bag back up and follow him down the entryway and through the second door on your left.

The kitchen is lit with an amber hue, the glass shade of the ceiling light lending a soft tint to the space. He points you to the round table across from the apron of the counter and you claim a chair quietly. You peer around curiously as he marches to the counter.

He doesn’t say a word as he fills a navy blue mug. You bop your foot under the table. You feel like you’re disturbing him but this was his idea.

“Coffee?” He asks. At least he’s kind enough to ask.

“Um, no, thanks,” you wilt out, “I’m all good.”

You reach to your bag to distract yourself. You open up your laptop as you put it on the table. He sits heavily to your right, his cup clunking down onto the wood. He drags over the notebook with loose leaves tucked between the pages.

“You mind typing?” He asks, “I’m no good with the small keys.”

“Sure, uh, let me just open up the notes...” you swirl your fingers around the touchpad as he exhales. Each breath sounds exasperated.

“You’re not one of those,” he wonders, “no coffee? What, you don’t like caffeine?”

“Um, well, I have one coffee in the morning but I don’t drink it after noon or my head hurts.”

“Mmm,” he hums flatly, “too bad.”

He lifts his cup and gulps again, elbows on the table as he hovers the mug between his hands. He seems like that type. No sleep, only coffee. It might explain his general demeanour.

“So, I’ll just make a second doc where we can put our draft,” you explain to another one of his rocky grumbles.

You hear something hoarser from down the hall. Coughing followed by horrid hacking. Then a moan as a door opens.

“Dad,” the thin voice wafts down ahead of the girl. She’s maybe fifteen, a blanket around her shoulders, as her reddened nose offers the only colour in her drawn face, “I need more cough syrup.”

“Faye,” he stands, his cup hitting the table just as harshly as before. “Go back to bed.”

“My head hurts,” she whimpers.

He stalks over to meet her by the fridge, “I know, sweetheart,” his softened tone surprises you, “go lay down and I’ll bring you some tea.” He opens the fridge and takes out a dark brown bottle, “here.” He hands her the syrup and she sniffles. He pats her arm gently, “don’t get me sick, kid.”

Her glazes eyes flit towards you as you sit with your hands over the keyboard. You look away meekly, caught.

“Who’s that, dad?” She asks.

“Schoolwork,” he gives the terse answer, “group project.”

“Oh,” she lets out the single syllable before she devolves back into a coughing fit.

“Lay down,” he demands.

As she retreats, he turns back and crosses to the counter. He flicks on the kettle and faces you, glaring over at you.

“Just a minute,” he says.

“Take your time,” you return gently, “she’s in rough shape.”

“Mm,” he rumbles, “I’m sure she doesn’t mind the time off school.”

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #night hunter #study buddy #au #series #drabble

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 3 months

Text

you'd know - j. drysdale

summary: jamie moves to philly! and doesn't sleep on cam's couch!

warnings: swearing? unedited (i'll do it later maybe), fluff, insinuation of sexual relations, the tr*de

word count: 3.1k

“What about this one?” Jamie asked, not for the first time in the last hour, sliding his tablet across the duvet to sit on your lap, you once more placing your book next to you on the covers, barely holding in the mildly amused tilt of your lips when you felt his eyes fixate intently on the side of your face as you swiped through the photos of houses in Philly.

It wasn’t the best one he’d shown you, by all means, but it had a certain charm about it that had you clicking the ‘favourite’ icon in the corner and passing the device back over to him without a word.

Even as you picked up your book again, eyes drifting to the clock in the corner of his screen, you couldn’t quite concentrate on the words printed on the page. Your mind hadn’t really been into reading these last couple of days; everything seemed to have happened pretty quickly with Jamie’s trade to Philly (of all places!), and then although he’d left his stuff in Cam’s apartment and taken up residence on the ginger’s couch, he’d mostly taken to staying over at yours – a vast change in dynamic since the start of your relationship in the summer. You’d gone from scheduled FaceTime calls and texts, and maybe only seeing each other in person once monthly since the season had started, to Jamie living within a five mile radius and sleeping over at yours almost every night.

Cam wasn’t complaining, by any means: an empty apartment was always going to be a positive thing for him, but it didn’t stop Jamie from sneaking back over each morning, unaware of the fact that Cam was very much alert to his sneaking out. He just didn’t want to be disrespectful or seem like he wasn’t appreciative of the offer of a couch, but…a bed with his girlfriend was always going to be the more appealing option, that much was certain.

You weren’t exactly complaining either, it was just a lot to adjust to. But the most shocking thing, not including Jamie’s trade to Philly, was probably the fact that you weren’t bothered by him being in your apartment or seeing him everyday.

It was just a little weird.

And now he was shopping for houses in your double bed (your room didn’t fit anything bigger), your roommate asleep in their room on the other side of the apartment, and asking for your opinion on each listing he showed, both of you fully aware of the fact that your lease was set to end in a matter of weeks.

“What about this one?” He asked once more, and instead of placing your book on the bed, you reached over to place it on top of the bedside table, surrendering to the fact that you weren’t about to get any reading done if he kept up this schtick.

You flicked through the photos, chewing the inside of your mouth as you scrolled down to read the information.

Like all the others, this one also had three bathrooms and four bedrooms, and you weren’t entirely sure if you were overthinking too much, but those factors seemed a little much for a guy to have in a house by himself. You had no doubt that Jamie intended to have some friends over every now and again, but all these houses he was showing were, for lack of better descriptions, family houses. Or, at least, houses for more than one person.

“I…” you started, hesitating slightly at actually bringing the topic up; the most serious conversation you guys had ever had was the one pertaining to the actual state of your relationship, and even then, you’d stopped calling it ‘fun’ only five months ago – and if your theory was correct…

You weren’t even sure.

“What’s up?” Jamie asked, leaning in ever-so-closely. His arm and shoulder was leant comfortably against yours, his head just shy of resting against your cheek so he could still see the screen clearly.

“Nothing,” you started, backing out of it slightly, before inhaling sharply and purposefully avoiding looking at him when you spoke the next few words out loud. How the fuck could you say this without sounding– “It’s just, these houses all have big back yards and loads of bathrooms and bedrooms.”

Jamie blinked, lips pressing together as his eyes flickered back down to the screen, “Do they?” He asked, unsurely taking the tablet out of your hands, and you had to catch your bottom lip with your teeth to stop yourself from smiling a little at his anxious antics.

So, you’d been right, then.

That was nice to know.

He pretended to frown, a crease between his brows and a look of concentration printed so…fakely onto his face that you were forced to sneak your way under his arm, head settling rather comfortably on his shoulder as he brought his arm around to tuck you into his side, both hands still attached to the tablet. He pressed a delicate kiss to your hair before resting his cheek on top of your head, his hum vibrating your bones.

“So,” you started, “you planning on having loads of people over with these houses?” You asked innocently, watching him with interest as he scrolled further down the listings. He’d made no move to edit his filters, which did nothing but confirm your suspicions.

He nodded, exhaling through his nose and clicking back onto the favourites page to scroll down and then back up again, a lot of thought going into clicking his clear favourite. It was a rather adorable house, if empty, barely-furnished photos were anything to go by; it just felt easy to picture him decorating the entire place with his stuff – and a bed. For him to sleep in, not a couch, with his own sheets on.

“I was thinking for special occasions, like Christmas and stuff, and I can’t go home because of work, that people might be open to the idea of staying here and celebrating in Philly.” He mumbled, flicking through the photos.

“People?” You echoed, head turning to your door after a bang echoed through your apartment.

The across-the-hall neighbours were almost nocturnal, you were sure of that.

“Y’know,” Jamie continued, pretending the bang wasn’t at all a disturbance, “family, friends. ‘N you.”

You blinked, focusing all the willpower you had into not grinning like an absolute fool and giving yourself away to him – not only because you knew he was keeping an eye on you, but because you wanted to tease him a little bit, not in a mean way, but gently – enough to get him to blush and admit to something.

“Is that why you’re asking for my opinion?” You asked, your fingers lazily and absent-mindedly trailing up and down his forearm.

He hummed again, and his lack of words had you pulling away from him a little. It wasn’t enough to break out of his hold, but enough to get him to lift his head from yours so you could see his face properly. His eyes were on you, but as soon as he seemed to register you weren’t moving anywhere, he turned his attention back to the tablet, ignoring his complete lack of answer and instead choosing to press his lips together to prevent himself from smiling, and avoiding your eyes completely.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah?” He mumbled, still not reacting.

You poked a finger to his cheek, his stubble providing a scratch that almost tickled, and he caught your hand, this time with a rather amused smile now freely on his face, and his eyes accusingly narrowed in your direction, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Didn’t I?” He furrowed his brows, tilting his head. His hand squeezed around yours three times, before he laced your fingers together.

You rolled your eyes fondly, “You know you didn’t.”

He sighed, switching his tablet off and placing it on the floor with a dull thud, shooting you a ‘just a moment’ look as he got himself comfy against the pillows, taking an exceptionally long amount of time to adjust the height at which he preferred the duvet to be pulled up.

“Come on.” He patted your pillow, and you followed, lying face-to-face, “Okay. So, I’ve been thinking that we should start factoring each other in a bit more. It’s been, like, nine months—”

You frowned, “Five.”

“Nine.” He argued, blue eyes confused at your own answer.

“Five – we weren’t even dating–”

“We might as well have been. We were doing everything we do now–”

“Except tell each other the truth.”

He blinked after a brief pause, “Fine. Five months, then. I guess I’m asking your opinion on the houses because you’re my girlfriend, and I want us both to like the house I’m going to buy because I’m hoping you’ll stay over every now and then. I want you to like it so you stay over.”

“Even if I didn’t like it I’d want to stay over.”

He breathed a laugh sorely lacking mirth, and you felt yourself frown at his shaking head and disbelieving eyes.

“That’s not the point.” He whispered.

You didn’t say anything or do anything to allude to what you were thinking; Jamie’s eyes were roving over your face searching for some kind of hint as to what was going through your head – trying to figure out if you’d caught on or if you were genuinely oblivious to what he was struggling to say.

“I’m not a mind-reader.” You replied, arching a brow and unable to hide the small tells of a smile on your face when he seemed to soften at your words.

He knew you were teasing him, but he also knew he wasn’t going to get what he wanted if he didn’t say it outright.

“I was hoping you’d help me decorate, like, help me pick out some furniture or what paint to get for the walls kind of thing. I know you’re not gonna be living with me, but I want you to stay over and feel comfortable enough to maybe, I don’t know, like…stay there when your roommate or neighbours are pissing you off, or to have a key, or to move in with me at some point in the future.” You could feel his hand tracing absentminded shapes into the sheets under the covers, and his eyes seemed intent on avoiding looking anywhere near your direction, instead choosing to dart from his pillow, to the vintage poster of Sidney Crosby on the back of your door, to your bedside light. Everywhere but you.

There was a brief moment when he was talking that you were almost a little worried he was going to ask you to move in then and there – and while that certainly wasn’t an unappealing option at all, you were still getting used to each other. Your relationship was pretty new, and Jamie was still adjusting, and the last thing either of you needed was to amp up the intensity at this moment in time when it could just as equally prove to be as disastrous as good.

But when he’d said ‘some point in the future’, all of that dissipated into thin air.

“The first house.” You mumbled, trying to catch his attention. It seemed to do the trick pretty effectively, because even though his eyes were wide, he was hanging on to everything you said with a look so intense that it rivalled the one you’d only seen him use on the ice. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was holding his breath, “That’s my favourite.”

He swallowed, pushing his head a little off the pillow, cheeks a little red at the insinuation behind your words, “It’s my favourite too.”

“I know.” You grinned, “But–”

He tensed.

“But I do think you should make some decisions only on your own, because it’s gonna be your house. If you need help or advice, that’s fine, but I think you also need to do this for yourself – get comfy in Philly.”

He twisted his mouth in consideration, “You’d tell me if you hated something that I picked though, right? Or if I–”

“If you pick it, I’ll probably like it.”

He blinked, before rolling his eyes, “That’s very reassuring–”

“I just mean, I liked your house in Anaheim and you did that up–” you cringed, “Well, partly–”

“Thanks for that reminder, yeah.” He quipped, nodding sarcastically.

He’d partly redecorated his house back in LA, but he’d never gotten round to finishing it because, well, he got traded, and it was still a bit of a stinger.

“Sorry.” You said, genuinely feeling guilty for having brought it up in such a profoundly important conversation.

He shrugged, smiling rather defeatedly, “It’s fine. I mean, I really like it here. I actually…” he hesitated, looking at you unsurely and rather guiltily, and you grinned, knowing he was about to say something very honest, “I prefer playing for the Flyers.”

Your jaw dropped, before you dissolved into laughter, “I can tell.”

“You can? Is it obvious?” He looked so concerned that your chest physically warmed at the sight, and you shook your head in response, but it was clear he could see through your little white lie.

There was a lull in the conversation after that, and he laid his head back down opposite you, blinking sleepily. There was something in the back of your mind, something related to what he’d said, that you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep properly without mentioning it to him at least, and just as you were about to open your mouth, he stopped you with a furrowed brow.

“What’s up?” He asked, and you halted.

You didn’t know why it was such a shock that he could read you so easily, but it was – in an entirely good way.

“Just, for a second earlier, I was worried you were gonna ask me to move in with you.” You admitted, watching him closely.

He paused for a second, taking in your words, before comically gasping, “Is the thought of moving in with me that horrific?”

“You’re just a really loud sleeper.” You played along, rolling your eyes and enjoying the gentle nudge to your shin.

You both knew that statement was wholly untrue; sure, he snored occasionally, but it wasn’t at a disruptable, pillow over your ears, no sleep, forcefully rolling him over level. And it was only when he had a cold.

“I can imagine it’s a pain, yeah. I shuffle, too, and I, oh, how could I forget? I steal the duvet and refuse to cuddle. That must be awful.” He groaned, the sound melting into one of soft laughter as he failed to keep up the act.

Of course, none of those things were true.

“Seriously, though?” He asked next, his amusement replaced by seriousness.

“I just think it’d have been too soon.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, “But also, for future reference, if I was asking you to move in with me, you’d know.”

A WHILE LATER (A YEAR AND A BIT)

You pulled a face, toothbrush frozen midway to your mouth, the splodge of toothpaste wobbling at the sudden halt. You were staring at the reflection of the man standing next to you, washing his face as though what he’d just said wasn’t both confusing or an entirely big deal if it meant what you thought.

He grabbed a towel from the radiator rack next to him, wiping his face, and it was when he looked back into the mirror, his eyes sliding from his reflection to your utterly stunned look of complete disbelief, that he faltered, a grave look appearing on his face.

You’d both just crawled out of bed, motivated by the knowledge that his parents were arriving in Philly later today and neither of you had completely finished tidying his house, because, lo and behold, the consequence of having multiple rooms and bathrooms meant that it’d take three times the amount of time to clean them all before guests arrived. Currently you were still in your PJs, and the only change Jamie had made to his appearance since getting out of bed was to pull a pair of joggers over his boxers.

It was an awfully domestic scene, and something that had been happening increasingly more often as of the last few months – again, you weren’t complaining – but that hypocrite—

“Say that again.” You said, lowering your toothbrush.

Jamie blinked, stuttering, “Say what again?”

“What you just said.”

“Why don’t I tidy out some of the cabinet so you can move your stuff in?” He said unsurely, his brows knitted in confusion, towel patting his face dry in a manner that meant he could still see you properly.

“Why would you need—Why?”

He froze like a deer caught in headlights – so, so, so adorably confused.

“So you can have space to put your stuff…” he trailed off, his mouth parting in realisation, “You’ve been here at least five out of seven days a week for the past four months, and even then you only went back to your apartment to bring back almost out of date food and some clean clothes.”

You turned to him for real this time, face-to-face, mildly unimpressed and mostly entertained because of his unawareness as to what it sounded like he was implying. Only, this time, you had a feeling you were right, and this time you weren’t the slightest bit worried about him asking.

Only, when you turned to face him, instead of the confusion written on his face – somewhere between the time it had taken you to blink and turn, he was on one knee on the tiles, a cheeky grin on his face that immediately let you know you’d been had and that had entirely been his intention all along.

It still didn’t stop your heart hammering madly in your chest at the sight of him in such a position, and even though you knew what he was and wasn’t about to ask, your mind was now skipping ahead to marriage.

“I know I promised you’d know when I asked you to move in with me, but I couldn’t resist messing with you a little bit–” he laughed and tried to dodge you when you lightly kicked his knee to throw him slightly off balance, but his neither his smile or his resilience faded, “and I figured this would be as obvious as it gets, so…” he inhaled, attempting to appear suddenly serious, “Will you please do me the honour of moving in with me?”

You were grinning, “No.”

There was a beat, and all in one moment his entire face seemed to drop as he looked even more befuddled towards the floor, mind presumably racing with just where he’d gone wrong this time, and if you didn’t know your own intentions, you’d say the silence was awkward, but you could never leave him looking that dejected for too long.

Your heart couldn't bear it.

“I’m kidding, ‘course I’ll move in with you.”

He sighed, pushing himself up to stand and taking your hand as an offer for help in the process, before rolling his eyes fondly and kissing your temple, “Yeah, I love you too.”

#jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale fic #jamie drysdale oneshot #jamie drysdale imagine #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #hockey imagine

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writerpetals · 7 months

Text

amateur | 🔞

; optional female lead smut | ☁️

“Have you ever watched it?”

“What? Everyone’s watched them before…”

You realize soon after moving into your dorm room in college, your roommate is adventurous. Which isn't a bad thing, because she is cute with her charming giggles and the way she bats her lashes, sexy with the way she carries herself, full of confidence and comfortable in her own skin. It doesn’t take long to realize you are attracted to her, and she takes every opportunity to let you know her feelings toward you as well as if it were a fun game.

“Yeah, but like girl on girl?” She glances over at you sitting on your bed with your books close by in an attempt to study for an exam coming up on Monday, but not having any luck with her many distractions.

“Yes, girl on girl. What’s your point?” You roll your eyes. Normally you would eat up her slick advances and the way she finds any opportunity to become flirty with you, no matter if she is talking about adult videos or whatever else her mind can come up with in the moment, but you really, really need to pass this test.

She sits on the opposite side of the room, laptop in front of her as her face continues to stay glued to the current scene she is watching. With a bite of her bottom lip, she earns butterflies in your stomach, and if you were to stare any longer, you would have to begin squeezing your thighs together.

“Come here…”

“I really need to finish reading this chapter.” You try to reason with her, but she remains relentless.

“Just… come here and give yourself a break. I want you to see this.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You will be.” She looks past the screen to glance at you, smirk on her face and her eyes half lidded.

Giving in, you sigh while tossing your book to the side to make your way over to her. You have to admit a break sounds nice. It will keep your eyes from blurring after staring at black and white pages for so long. You ease onto her bed, taking a seat to her left and finally getting to see what she has been so hooked on.

There on her screen shows a particularly risky scene, with two girls facing each other with their hands between their legs and their eyes focused on one another. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that’s what she was getting at the whole time.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No…” you answer her with honesty. The movie doesn’t make you uneasy. Watching it with her for the first time is what makes you uneasy, only because soon thoughts fill your head of what it would be like to take the place of the two girls. What would it be like to watch her that way? You already know it will turn you on if she were watching you as well.

“Do you want to try?”

“What?!” You turn your head to notice her begin to giggle. Sure, you are attracted to her, but the two of you have barely done more than share a drunken kiss before and now she is offering the unthinkable. Well, not the unthinkable. As a matter of fact, you have thought about it quite often, but it’s only a fantasy. You never actually believed you would be in such a position with her, and the images running through your mind leave you nearly breathless.

“What? It’s not bad. You know how many guys watch stuff like this and touch themselves together?” She has a point. “So?”

It’s tempting, and with the look on her face, it’s hard to say no.

Before you know it, you nod your head while watching as she pushes the laptop from resting on her legs to sitting in front of her on the bed. The movie continues to play as she leans against the wall, just as you do the same, before parting her legs and pushing her pajama shorts down just enough to allow her hand to slip inside.

You follow her lead with your heart racing, doing the same with your legs bent in front of you, pushing up your long t-shirt to reveal your panties underneath. You’re too shy to make eye contact as you slip your hand inside the flimsy fabric, feeling how aroused you already are without even realizing it. Your fingers graze upon silky flesh, discovering wet, hot heat dripping from your slit.

Your friend, on the other hand, isn’t shy in the least, already making noises as her head tilts back and you dare to look between her legs to see her hand pleasuring herself. Biting your lip, you do as she does, rubbing yourself in small, circular motions and not being able to tear your eyes away from between her thighs.

She continues her motions, quickening her pace as you do the same, forgetting all your embarrassment and getting lost in the moment. You hear moans from the screen due to the movie, but soon they become drowned out by the both of you. She whimpers, causing you to look up and realize she has been watching you the whole time, her eyes switching between the way your face twists in pleasure to the way your hand remains busy between your trembling thighs.

Together, you continue touching yourselves, keeping your eyes on what the other is doing, until you feel the pleasure begin to swell between your legs. With thighs twitching, and you finally closing your eyes to give in to the moment with your head lolling back, you are sent over the edge, rolling your hips against your hand only slightly to ride out the waves of your orgasm.

Watching you finish causes her to come closer to her own peak. You open your eyes long enough to see her motions between her thighs quicken, falling into her own pleasure with a moan and a gasp. You watch her come undone before you, watching her thighs tighten around her hand and her brows furrow as she shuts her eyes tight.

A second later she opens them to look at you, and you look back, surprised that actually happened.

“Wow,” she giggles, breathless from still coming down.

“I can’t believe… oh my God…” Suddenly, your embarrassment takes over, causing you to jump off her bed, legs still trembling and making it difficult to keep your balance, before making your way to your own bed.

“Don’t be shy!” She laughs harder, closing her laptop to stop the movie from playing. “That was fun… and hot.”

“And embarrassing!” By now your head becomes shoved into your pillows, causing all your words to release mumbled and nearly unheard.

“Not embarrassing. Hot.” You can’t take her word for it, even if you are proud to even get so close to your extremely hot roommate.

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webslingingslasher · 2 years

Text

Do you remember?

Fun fact, I have been writing this piece off and on for about a year now. The fact I think it's finally done and ready to be shared is insane.

Pairing: MCU! Peter Parker X Stark!Reader

Genre: Fluffy, some angst.

Word Count: 6K

Summary: You told Peter you love him, he's not sure you understand what you said. You're acting like you didn't know what you said. Do you remember what you said?

Warnings: mentions of sex while intoxicated, not hammered but tipsy. no assult here baby, not on my page! also, not really stark! reader, her dad is Tony and thats it.

Peter loved and hated working with Tony alone.

Tony was the best mentor Peter could’ve dreamed of but ever since he started dating you time alone with Tony always felt off. Peter was his protege but when he became your boyfriend Tony wanted to test him further, that because his daughter had feelings for him, it was his fault. Not that he’s complaining because thank god you did but Tony didn’t have to ask questions about your relationship and back Peter in a corner with certain questions and take pride when he falters.

So when Tony told him about the sudden three day trip and they would have to do an entire suit reset and build it made him want to stomp in the lab with lead filled boots. To make matters worse he knew it would be an all night thing and you weren’t going to be around.

Tony was on one side of the lab at his own station working on the new Spider-Man suit upgrade hunched over a table, he turned every so often and would grunt at Peter looking for his approval. Peter sat on the opposite side of the lab at his own station tinkering with his web shooters, he was helping Tony update the technology with each suit upgrade; the suit got taser webs so did his shooters.

It was nearing midnight, he had been hiding in the lab for half the day with Tony. He had come over after a quick after school patrol knowing he wouldn’t be able to go out later that night. Peter showed up with a giant Delmar’s sub, the kind he could only get with a hookup. He had splurged knowing it would most likely be the last time he saw you this evening. His half of the sub had extra pickles and yours had onion, he did surrender to your request of keeping it unsmooshed. One time you gave into his claims of it being the superior way to have a sub but gagged when you told him that you “hate to break his spirits but that’s sog heaven.”

You, on the other hand, had plans with MJ to go to a small bar to watch a band play tonight. Not your style but the headliner was MJ’s favorite and she had no one else to ask. Ned promised he would have gone but bars downtown gross him out. (When MJ pointed out he had never been to a bar downtown he blinked at her and said “yeah, because they’re gross”)

When 9:30 rolled around you made your way into the lab to say goodbye to your boys. Adorned in a mid length dress to help you look a bit older than what you were, you paired it with some small heels.

“Bye Bye, I'll miss you.” You walked to your boyfriend, when he looked up from the screwdriver and disc in his hand, eyebrows furrowed, obviously not happy with his task being more frustrating than he had hoped, had smiled when he saw your face.

“Bye Bye, I’ll miss you more.” He leant up and puckered his lips and you met his mouth quickly. “Call me if you need me,” he mumbled when he pulled away, pressing two more pecks to your sticky lips.

“Bye father, love you.” You called behind your shoulder already walking towards the glass door.

“Bye daughter, be safe.” Tony shot back, not even looking up.

Then called out to you, “Heels in a bar isn’t a good idea.”

Peter smiled and watched you pout, you held a foot out and wiggled an ankle before leaving the room, definitely on your way to change into actual shoes.

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

Then sometime around 11:40 Peter's phone rang, your contact photo popping up across his screen. A small smile involuntarily creeping unto his face

“It hasn't even been two hours yet!” He laughed into the phone, “Peter? It's MJ.” She didn’t laugh at his joke, his heart already speeding up. “Where’s y/n? Is she okay?” His response was quick, Tony looking around his shoulder at the kid sitting straight in the office chair.

“Yeah, sh-“ MJ couldn't even answer his question before he heard a loud voice in the background, “Is that Peter? Tell him I miss him! Where is he? Peter, where are you?” MJ pulled the phone from her ear slightly “Hold on, I'm asking him.”

“Peter!” he heard your voice cut back in whining.

“Y/N!” MJ hissed at you so you would be silenced for a moment.

“Is she-“ Peter began to form the question, MJ beating him to the punch

“Drunk? Yes. Very.” She turned to make sure you were still next to her, you twisted from side to side playing with a stand of hair mumbling to the cover song that a band was blasting through the bar rattling both of your chests.

“Peter, some men kept buying me drinks and wouldn’t take no as an answer so I need you to come save me.” You shot into the phone, tired and annoyed you just wanted your boyfriend with you.

“She kept asking for you. I gave it an hour before I called, she’s pretty drunk.” She sighed into the phone a little disappointed she wouldn’t see the last performance.

“I'll be there in 10 minutes. Wait outside if it’s safe.” He instructed MJ before hanging up and standing on his feet.

He looked at his mentor and girlfriend's dad who was already staring at him. “Y/N got drunk at the bar and wants me to come get her.” He filled Tony in so he wouldn’t panic like Peter had.

“Like father, like daughter.” He chuckled before turning back around to get the update time on the suit and sighed at the estimated time.

“I'm going to get her and help her to bed then we can finish, okay Mr Stark?” Peter asked his boss.

“Get her home in one piece.” He waved him off.

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

“How long is ten minutes?” You asked MJ.

You were sitting outside the small bar, vines pressing into your backs where they were growing up the wall, dust settling into your bare thighs.

“Ten minutes”. She quickly replied

“Oh. Okay.” You swept your hand over some dirt in the concrete. You were silent for less than ten seconds, “It hasn’t been ten minutes?” You scrunch your face.

“It’s been-“ She pauses to look at your phone, “Seven minutes.” You nod.

“You know one of the things I love about Peter is that he’s very punctual.” You gave MJ a knowing look, “when he actually shows up I mean.” She nodded knowing what you meant.

“He's still a really good boyfriend though.” You begin plucking weeds growing between the concrete cracks.

“I miss Peter, has it been ten minutes?” You went to look at MJ once more when you heard

“I missed you too, and it’s been nine minutes.” You gasped at the boy in front of you, surprised as if you weren't aware he’d be showing up.

You looked at MJ next to you and slapped her arm, “See! what did I tell you, punctual!”

You raised your hands palm up gripping at Peter so he could help pull you up. Once you were standing he pulled you into his side tightly placing you under an arm so you wouldn’t wobble when he offered his hand to MJ.

Before all three of you could walk away from the bar you looked at Peter “I missed you. Can I have a kiss now please?” you already had your mouth in his face, not really giving him a choice but he laughed anyway and gave you three quick kisses.

You pulled back looking at your boyfriend, a lust driven haze swallowed your eyes “Can we have sex when we get home?” You asked. Peter choked on his air and MJ busted out laughing, your eyes swept from MJ to Peter not understanding the joke until Peter said “not in front of our friends.”

Peter gave MJ the car to get home and walked you the shortest distance home, figuring the walk would help sober you up.

“And then I told him I was only a baby and he was still buying me drinks! I was okay with one or two but then he wouldn’t stop telling me to drink and I was wasting alcohol and then I got really scared.” You were explaining the night to Peter, talking with your hands, watching your face shift into a million emotions.

“Is that when MJ called me?” Peter continued to learn the story

You nodded frantically, “Yes. Thank you for saving me.” You smiled at him before interlocking your hands and swinging them.

“I love dating Peter, don't get me wrong but I like when I get to date Spider-Man too.”

“Can I piggyback?” You huffed in the middle of the street, annoyed with walking.

Peter knelt down in front of you and hooked his hand around your knees to help push you around his back, the perks to a super strength boyfriend- they can carry you for miles.

Resting a chin on his shoulder you had your arms wrapped around his neck one hand loosely pointing at objects and giving them a life story, “and that lamp post Petey, imagine the things it’s seen. Imagine how long it’s been there!”

Talking to him about the things you saw on the way home from “way up here!” and a small game of i-spy you kept losing because you kept forgetting what color Peter said he saw.

“Can we have sex?” You whispered in his ear, cautious to look around you to avoid the embarrassment he had the first time you asked.

“Let me get you home first and ready for bed.” He replied sternly before lifting you higher on his back.

“Okay!” You took that as a win, and settled back into his shoulder.

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

“Are you hungry?” Were the first words Peter asked when you walked into the kitchen.

“Oh my god, I was just about to say I was starving.” Your eyes widened at him, “We are seriously made for eachother.” You clapped him on the chest before asking him for a bowl of cereal.

Two bowls of Coco Pops later, Peter had finally gotten you upstairs in your room and had helped you undress.

“What pajamas do you want?” He stood in your closet waiting for you to tell him what shirt.

“Yours!” You yipped back.

“Mine what?” He looked down at himself, he was wearing a normal outfit. Jeans, shirt, hoodie.

“Shirt.” You pointed at his shirt, and so did he. “The one I'm wearing?” His girlfriend nodded her head enthusiastically, taking her bra off as he shrugged his shoulders and gave her what she wanted.

“Wash your face, brush your teeth.” He instructed her next. He watched her stand in the mirror for a minute, “do you need any help?” she shook her head.

“I'm going to go update your dad, I’ll be right back okay?” He waited for an answer before leaving, zipping his hoodie over his bare skin.

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

“Y/N‘s okay.” Peter knocked on the glass next to him so he wouldn’t sneak up on Tony.

“Good, is she in bed?” He was ready to finish for the night, they were set back a good thirty minutes to an hour now.

He shook his head, “She’s brushing her teeth and wants me to stay with her until she falls asleep. It won’t be long though.” He promises.

“Take care of her.” The elder Stark waved him off once more.

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

“Okay I read this at least four times in the mirror,” you turned when you saw your boyfriend reappear behind you. “And I still don’t understand what it means.” You were referencing the shirt you were in. It had a science joke on it, or maybe math.

“It says find x, and the x is circled.”

“oooooh,” You dragged out. “I knew that.” You quickly added.

You stepped in front of him and gave him a hug, holding on, you looked up “teeth brushed, face washed, can we have sex now?”

Peter brushed some hair from your face, “are you okay?” He asked quietly.

“Are you asking if I'm sober?” You kissed his palm.

“What's the last ten letters of the alphabet backwards?” Peter asked, holding your hand with one and scratching down your back with another.

“z,y,x,w,v,u,t,s,r,q” You replied

“Who won the 2016 presidential election?”

“Don’t make me say it.” You bit back.

Peter muffled a laugh, “How many fingers am I holding up?” He lifted his hand in a peace sign, you squint your eyes and concentrated, “Twelve.”

“Seems sober to me.” He told you.

“Sex time?” You looked up at him.

“Sex time.” He deadpanned.

“Fuck yes! You’re the best boyfriend ever. I love you.” You squealed and pressed a fast kiss to his mouth before you hopped into your bed, fixing the pillows.

Peter stood solid in the ground. He wasn’t sure if you were so sober now, his heart was suddenly red hot and he felt like he needed to lay down. Those words had never come from your mouth before and you shot them with such ease it almost unsettled him.

He loves you. He knows that for certain, he just didn’t know you did. And he’s not even sure you understand what you just said because his ears are ringing and you're humming on your bed kicking your feet.

“Y/N?” he cautions your name, before he goes forward with the kisses and coos he wants to be sure they’re on the same page

“Peter!” You call back.

“Are you gonna get me naked or am I gonna get me naked?” You asked him before he was able to say anything more to you.

Peter started to unzip his hoodie, he figured if she was playing dumb so would he.

Drunk words sober thoughts rant in the back of his head but he pushed that to the back of his mind. He could analyze this another day, as of right now his beautiful tipsy girlfriend was begging him for sex and he wasn’t going to let her down.

Walking his way towards you he bent down to kiss you before getting on top of you, not missing the loud squeal you produced when he ran his hands under the shirt you were wearing preparing to take it off.

He pulled back slightly looking down at your wide eyes sparkling in the moonlight creeping between the cracks in the blinds.

Your cheeks flushed and a cheek hurting smile adored your face, he’s never loved you more in this moment but instead of filling you in on his thoughts he whispered a “Shhh..” before placing his lips on yours delicately.

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

Watching you sleep on Peter's chest has never felt like this before.

He’s always thought you were beautiful, and he always thought he loved you but having your weight on him, soft snores coming from your mouth while his hands ran down your naked back he felt different.

When you told him you loved him, intentional or not, something changed. He felt it immediately.

Peter had always been caring and would stop at nothing to keep you safe but after tonight the feeling deepened. It went from keeping you safe to a sense of protection, he felt like it was his personal duty to harm whatever came in your path.

He moved a piece of hair from your face as it dawned on him, he told himself “I would kill for her.” He felt his heart get loud in his chest and ears and felt his feet clam up, he hadn’t felt like this before.

It’s never been so black and white, he knew at that moment had everyone ever tried to hurt you he would do anything in his power possible to keep you safe and protected.

And suddenly he had to leave. He didn’t like that feeling. He's a good guy, he’s the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, he keeps the city safe. So the idea of him being so okay with hurting anyone who ever tries to touch you scares him.

He was thinking like a villain; heros will protect the many at the cost of one but villains protect one at the cost of many, and he would destroy New York for you.

Gently removing himself from the bed he slowly gets dressed before heading back to the lab with your dad to finish the nightly task before the early morning.

Sliding back into the lab he threw himself down into the chair focused on his web shooters.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked the protege already sensing something was off, standing to his full height and turning to Peter directly.

Peter didn’t look up but responded, “She said she loves me”

Tony's eyebrows went up, “Did you say it back?”

“No. I don't even think she realized she said it.” He twisted the screwdriver in his hand.

“Is that why you're upset?” Tony asked back, arms crossed over his shoulders.

“No.” Peter shook his head, he didn’t want to have this conversation with his girlfriend's dad but seeing as he was also a superhero he was probably one of the only people that could truly understand it.

“She was laying on top of me just sleeping, and this feeling came over me and sent me into a panic. I always thought I would protect my friends and May the best I could but just seeing her tonight I realized that I would die for her.” He paused, “I would kill for her.” Peter finally looked up and locked eyes with his mentor and girlfriends father hoping he would understand

He nodded, letting him continue “I've never felt that way before. I feel responsible for keeping my city safe but I've never felt responsible for another person before.”

“And it’s fucking terrifying.” He let out in a breath, his chest already feeling lighter. “I really love her, Mr. Stark.” His eyes started to sting, whether it was from tears or exhaustion he wasn’t sure.

Tony nodded his head before coming closer and sitting across the bench from him.

“When Y/N was born, after I held her for the first time I told everyone I was going downstairs for coffee but I actually went into the garden and just cried because I had never had a feeling like that before in my life.” He spoke softly but sincerely.

“When Y/N told me how much she had liked you before she even told you I immediately felt a pressure coming off of me, because I knew no matter what she was always going to be safe and cared for with you.”

“It’s scary to feel so strongly about someone else but seeing it recipucated makes it all worth it, and super powers or not Y/N would die for you too. Not that you’d ever let her.” He laughed at the end, but meant every word. His daughter was one of the strongest people he knew.

Peter smiled at that.

“I know.”

Tony slapped his hand on the table, “Now how about you say we finish this up and get a few hours of sleep in before the trip tomorrow?”

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

About an hour later you woke up, groggy with a pounding headache and an empty bed. Pulling yourself to the bathroom to pee, you put Peter's shirt back on and some slippers before making your way to the lab.

Walking in Peter's head looked up at you before clicking his tongue at you, “What are you doing up?” he joked.

“What are you not doing in bed with me?” You asked back before sitting down on his lap, your head falling into his neck.

He wrapped his arm around you holding his web shooter in one and screwdriver in the other still trying to piece them back together.

“How much longer?” You asked huffing at the fluorescent lighting.

“Maybe 10 minutes.” Peter replied softly knowing you're still on the brink of sleep.

“I have a really bad headache.” He could feel you frowning in his neck.

Pausing his hand movements he pulled you tighter “Do you want me to get you some medicine?”

You nodded but tightened your hold on him when he went to stand up, “you can finish first, I’ll just sleep here.” You snuggled deeper into him finally finding the perfect position that blocked all the lights out.

Peter went back to working and sure enough felt your body get heavier and a bit more loose as you actually dropped back to sleep.

Ten minutes ended up being almost twenty five but once he was done and Tony left the lab with a “Goodnight, be ready by 7:15,” He had started to run his hand down your back trying to slowly wake you back up.

“Let's go to bed, okay?” He whispered in your ear.

Still more than half asleep, you nodded but kept your eyes closed and pressed yourself to Peter so he would keep you balanced while he walked you to your room.

Stopping at the kitchen to get you a water bottle and some pills for your headache and then finally back to your room to cuddle for the night.

When you finally laid back into bed with him you shoved your face into his bare chest, your legs intertwined with his, you grabbed onto his hair with one hand too tired to scratch at it. He nudged you anyways and you started to run your fingers through his curls and he gave a contempt sigh, you shuffled your hips closer to his and pressed around his body tighter.

You broke the quiet moment with a whisper.

“You’re not allowed to leave.”

Peter laid his head on top of yours.

“You know what I hate about Spider-Man?”

No. He never talks bad about his alter ego, always going on about responsibilities and stopping bad things from happening, he has never complained or ragged on him. You shook your head into his chest, your hand still reached over your head, still dragging fingers through his own.

“I hate we’re two people in the same body. Sometimes when I take off the suit I wish I was actually taking it off. Like, I lost all responsibilities and I was just Peter Parker. A normal 18 year old, about to graduate having a dope ass intern gig and dating Tony Stark’s daughter and not sharing that with Spider-Man. I wish it was a switch I could turn on and off, and when I'm with you, I really hate having to leave to go be, him.”

He sighed and you tugged at his hair to show you were listening and waiting for more.

“Sometimes, it just feels,” Peter stopped when his voice cracked. You knew that was a warning sign from Peter, he was about to cry. He laughed to hide a sob, he stayed quiet. You stayed on his chest, you turned your mouth in to press three small kisses, “Feels like what?” You whispered against his skin.

He shook his head, if he stayed silent one more time you knew he was already crying but trying to hide it. “Petey?” Your head bounced from his chest when he let out a sob, his breathing getting loud, you sat up to face him watching him hold a hand over his mouth as another one was on his chest trying to ground his breaths. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, he choked out another sob on his hand, you tried to pull his head to your chest but he pushed you away.

"It just feels unfair."

You’ve only seen him this bad once before, it was after a mental breakdown, similar to this one. It was just a combination of everything happening at once.

He and you had a fight, May was mad about something, he was getting his ass beat nightly and couldn’t even catch the guy and couldn’t get Tony to help because he pissed off his girlfriend, and therefore Tony was pissed at Peter.

And he was trying to study for the upcoming SAT while trying not to think of you being mad at him and how he was going to fix that, while also thinking about that guy still kicking his ass and his suit tech failing after various beatings but he was banned from the tower until he made up with Y/N, per word of her father.

And, trying not to think about May being pissed about something still, and not remembering what it was but it was probably a big fuck up on his end and reached his breaking point while in this spiral May came through his door and asked him “Why haven’t you taken the trash out? Or brought the laundry down? Or wash the dishes? Or anything I asked you?” Her tone was bitter, she sure was pissed.

Then Peter turned his head to his desk, saw his phone resting on his PSAT workbook unlocked with your messages open but with nothing new. He snapped the pencil in his hand and sobbed. He cried so hard and suddenly May ran to him to grab him from dropping to the floor, “Peter?” He wouldn’t stop, he was babbling between not being able to breathe, his sobs were full of chokes and coughs.

“Sorry-” “Tired” “Y/N” “Fight” “Banned” “Stressed” “Sacred” Were bits and pieces of the words May heard from him, sorry was a favorite he was using on loop. “Peter, what can I do? You need to calm down.” She was rubbing at his chest like she did when he was a baby, it would always calm him down. Sometimes she would catch you doing the same thing, “Y/N” He nearly screamed it with his cry, “I can call her, I can call her,” May fumbled for her phone in her pocket.

You looked at your phone light up with May’s contact photo, your brows furrowed. She never calls you. Texts, sure. But Calls? No. You almost thought it was Peter but you didn’t block his number or anything so there was no reason.

“Hello?”

She heard cries and heaving breathing in the background

“Y/N, you need to come over right now.”

May was quick to the point. You heard a chorus of ‘Sorry’ in the background and coughing and sniffles.

“Is he okay?”

“No.”

Your heart hurts. You’ve never heard anything like this from him.

“I’m on my way. Can he hold the phone?”

You heard May ask the question, a shuffling sound played, the trading of hands.

You knew Peter was on the phone, the sobs ceased but he still couldn’t catch his breath, you heard sharp quick intakes every few seconds, no doubt tears still falling down his face.

“Peter? Petey, listen to me. I’m on my way to come see you, okay? I need you to catch your breath, can you do that? I’m coming, Peter. I promise.”

“M’ Sorry.” His voice was squeaky, he was forcing the words out.

“I’m not mad. I’m not mad I promise. I just miss you and want you to be okay. I’m on my way right now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

He pushed the phone back to May and she ended the call. His crying stopped, his breathing slowed. He was calm for a couple minutes. Then he remembered the fight, again. And about the SAT’s and how he’s still not done with that guy from three nights ago and started all over again.

You remember how broken he looked then, how stress piled on him and crushed him entirely. His plate was so overloaded it cracked the glass. You sat next to him on the floor and straddled his hips, you pressed yourself to him and repeated ‘I’m here’ over and over.

But tonight he was rejecting your help.

“It just feels so unfair”

He felt so shameful using these words. It was his secret, he always thought about it but there was nothing he could change about it so why complain?

“It is unfair, Pete.”

“It’s really unfair,” You added. “It really sucks you have to miss out on things in your life to do things in another life you didn’t ask for. It’s actually kind of shitty, I don’t know how you don’t complain more.” You were honest but you got a laugh from Peter and kept going, you were slowing his brain.

“Seriously, babe. Could you imagine if I had powers? Do you know how much I would drag on about it? ‘Oh my god, I had to, like, save a child today. Ugh,’ Or, i’d be like, ‘bro they asked me to hold a ferry together, ME!’” You smiled at Peter’s face brightening up. “I would never shut up about it. You’re braver than the marines for never talking shit on the web man.”

“Web man?” He gave a guttural laugh

“You’re a good person and you don’t deserve half the shit life throws at you.”

“What’s the other half of shit I do deserve?”

“Me.”

Peter sighed and laid on you this time. He kissed your temple, they didn’t need to say anything more. He was soaking up this moment, in just five hours he would be up and on a quinjet to a top secret location he would find out on the way, and be missing your warmth for three days. He would normally tell you he would never deserve you but he let you win tonight.

“Good night, baby.”

“Good night, Petey.”

Peter woke to Tony pushing on his shoulder, “Get up kid, let’s go.” He lifted his head from his girlfriend's shoulder and turned towards Tony and gave him a death glare.

He removed himself from the bed with a groan when Tony left the room. Peter watched your body lay unmoving and moved around the room silently collecting his things. He pulled on his suit and folded up his clothes on the floor and grabbed his phone and the small bag he would be taking with him on the trip.

He moved to your side of the bed, you were still squished in as if Peter’s weight was still resting on you, soft snores billowed from your mouth, hair combed around your face and he moved his hand across your forehead to clear it. When he moved his hand across your face you lent into it, a subconscious movement that had you leaning into his touch. He sighed and felt upset to be leaving, it would only be two nights away, he could deal with that.

“Hey baby?” He lent down to kiss across your face, trying to wake you to say goodbye always hurt him.

You whined and pressed your cheek further into the pillow. Peter kissed the cheek facing him a few times before he tried again.

“Baby, I’m leaving. Give me a kiss before I go.”

Your eyes opened for a moment seeing your boyfriend sitting over you, his red and blue suit contoured to his body. It was too early for him to be Spider-Man.

“It’s too early for Spidey.”

“I know. It’s a good thing he can sleep on the plane.”

You opened your eyes again, awake for now. You studied his face, he looked okay.

“I thought we said you were staying home.”

“Next time,” he smiled.

He would’ve added a ‘promise’ to it but he wouldn’t make a promise to something he knew he couldn’t keep.

You make a ‘psh’ sound, “Yeah, right.”

“Two minutes, Underoos.” Tony’s voice belted from the hallway.

“C’mon. One kiss, and I’ll be back before you miss me.”

You leaned up to kiss him. It was a soft kiss, a goodbye kiss, an I’ll miss you kiss, an be safe, I need you kiss.

He pulled away and turned to leave when you called from the bed,

“I love you, Peter. Be safe.”

His head never whipped around so quickly, his face with a smile you’ve never seen before.

“You remember!”

He wanted to tell you those words last night so badly but was terrified you said it in a moment of recklessness and wanted to make sure they counted when he said them.

He jumped full force onto the bed barely catching himself before he flattened you. He was pressing kisses all over your face while you were giggling trying to push him off, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” was thrown with each kiss to a new spot.

“Of course I remember! I love you and I want you to know it.”

“I love you too, and I want you to know it.”

Tony interrupted the moment,

“Now. Spider.”

He nodded at you, “Be careful when I’m gone Y/N. You need either one of us just call, we’ll be around. I’ll see you in three days, okay?”

“Okay. Bye dad. I love you, be safe.”

Tony looked to Peter for him to follow him out of the room.

“I love you Petey.”

“I love you too.”

#peter parker blurb #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker angst #peter parker x stark!daughter #peter parker imagine #peter parker mcu #peter parker #my writing

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bennett-mikealson · 3 months

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A Reddit post is triggering this rant but it has to be said (even though I’m sure I’ve said it before on this page).

Caroline‘s "girl boss" moment telling Tyler She wasn't going to continue to feel guilty after sleeping with Klaus was not a "girl boss" moment. Caroline slept with the man that caused Tyler, an immense amount of pain and trauma, and also killed, not only his hybrid friends that he was trying to free from Klaus, but his mother.

In the scene Caroline says " your hybrid bite just killed someone and no one even batted an eye. I sleep with the wrong guy once weeks ago and I don't hear the end of it how is that fair".

First of you're comparing two different things. The only valid comparison that Caroline could’ve made to her situation was Elena getting with Damon after all the BS he has done to everyone and the fact that that’s Stefan brother. But she knew not to do that bc everybody had something to say about Elena getting Damon (especially her). Second, the person he killed (Nadia) he did it to SAVE YOUR LIFE so, why are you bringing that up like he did it for nothing or for fun?????? It's not adding up.

Then she rants about how being a good vampire doesn’t come easy and she has the same impulses as Tyler so she’s allowed to make mistakes and says " yes I slept with Klaus, but that was after you walked away from me that was my choice and I’m living with it and I don’t need to be hearing about it every five seconds, so just get over it or get out of my life, but I’m done feeling guilty".

Why is she talking like she’s the victim? Why is she talking as if that guilt she’s feeling isn’t deserved bc she hurt someone who lost his freedom (at one point), friends and mother all at the hands of the man that you slept with? why are you continually pushing and pushing (and unnecessarily, inserting yourself in his life every chance you got) him to forgive you instead of giving him that time to get over what you did like he continued to ask you to do? Tyler shouldn’t of had to forgive you on your terms, Caroline when YOU WERE THE ONE WHO MADE THE MISTAKE.

it’s interesting how Caroline continuously told Elena to stick with Stefan even after he went on his little revenge hunt for Klaus but she can’t give Tyler that same energy. I understand one situation is when they thought they could kill Klaus and the other was when they knew that killing Klaus wasn't possible but how come you can’t let Tyler work through his anger from the pain Klaus caused him like you were able to do with Stefan?

That's what's not fair.

(Sidenote: Didnt Caroline cheat on Tyler with Jesse?)

#vampire diaries #pro tyler lockwood #tyler lockwood #anti caroline forbes #tvdu #anti klaus mikaelson #anti klaroline

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

Text

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 5

Warnings: SMUT!! MDNI or if you're uncomfortable! Profanity!! Swearing!! Ferran and Martin (based on the reactions I think they deserve their own warning)!!

Word Count: 11.2K (fun fact! If you've read the whole story, you've read 46 pages!)

A/N: I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, BUT THERE'S A LOT I WANTED TO INCLUDE IN THIS PART (AS YOU CAN TELL BY THE WORD COUNT)

[Incoming Facetime call from: Gavi]

"Gavi, you're going to have to learn to live without seeing my face 24/7. I don't want you experiencing withdrawal symptoms while I sleep."

"I just had a question about- is that a jar of pickles?"

"Yes. I felt like having a snack."

"You're disgusting."

"Listen, I brought several things back from university life in America, and a pickle addiction was one of them. Let me have little joys in life. What did you call me for? Besides to shame me for my midnight guilty pleasures?"

This was the 7th time in two weeks that Gavi had Facetimed you at odd hours. After your little heart-to-heart while drunk in the club, and him covering for you at work the next morning, he caved into the impulsive thoughts and called you, wanting to make sure you were okay.

"Gavi it's 10pm. If you want me to help you hide a body, call me during working hours."

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding at the sound of your voice. You were okay. Like actually okay. All of the distress in your voice, the shakiness, the panic - it had all disappeared. You were back to your cool self, and it filled him with a warm and gooey sense of relief. He kept you on the phone for about 10 minutes before his internal monologue told him it was enough, and he went to bed with a strange tightness in his chest.

For the first three weeks, it had been strictly texts and phone calls. Gavi was still sending you his daily little updates, some relevant, most not.

[Gavi]: Compression socks are really tight on my shins. Feels like they're cutting off my blood flow.

[Gavi]: pedri keeps telling me to eat bananas to help with my back cramps. Fact or cap?

[Gavi]: saw someone on tiktok make a Joao Felix thirst trap. Anything you want to confess?

This texting remained constant, and then he supplemented with phone calls. After the check-up call, he had to find new excuses to call you. He started scheduling his early-morning sessions over the phone instead of over text, asking about your life in the meantime. He started "forgetting" things in your office, calling to tell you he would be there before practice to pick them up. It hadn't annoyed you, per se, but confused you. Why was Gavi so comfortable calling you and just talking about random things on the phone? Initially, you had joked with him to stop calling you so frequently.

"Gavi, personal number. Personal. You should keep all work related stuff to emails only. I don't get paid to listen to you ramble about Game of Thrones."

"I know you well enough by now to know that if you didn't want to hear my voice, you would hang up."

He wasn't exactly wrong. You were not one to shy away from hanging up in someone's face if you were irritated (you had done it to Ferran the one time he called you from Gavi's phone). You also didn't really have anyone else to talk to. Angelika, despite acting unemployed, worked for a design house in the city, and her designs had been approved as part of the new line. She now spent every waking moment working on the spring/summer collection that needed to be shown in February. She had even stopped bugging you to go to the club. The only times you heard from her were when she sent "Hey I'm alive just busy" texts, or on the weekends when she begged you to drive her to the far fabric stores. There weren't many other people that you wanted to talk to. Your friends in the US were several hours behind. Your friends in Barcelona were kind of exhausting, and not who you wanted to hear from after a long day of work. And Martin?

Martin was ... interesting. You definitely liked being with him in person. Your dinners were romantic. Martin always picked you up and took you to the nicest restaurant, allowing you to order the expensive plates that would actually make you full. He always complimented your dress and your eyes and the way you looked despite having a long day at work. He was a theoretical great boyfriend. You liked going out with him every 3-4 days. You liked getting good morning and good night texts and the hot pre-game selfies whenever you checked your phone between shifts at work. But in those late nights when you were bored and lonely, and your TV shows were all boring you, Martin was not the first person you thought of calling.

While he was great over dinner, he wasn't the most entertaining or comforting presence. He had a habit of downplaying a lot of the things you were feeling or going through.

"Baby, people make sexual comments all the time. Just look at how people on Twitter talk about the players. You should be more flattered than anything that he complimented your ass."

That was the last time you ever called him after a long and tiring day of work. Your text messages were filled with only pleasant conversations. A good goal he scored in practice. Praise you received from the rest of the medical staff for your progress. Never your frustration with your job or your life or the sad boring things that regular, not famous not football players went through.

"It's like 7pm this is not a midnight snack."

The sound of Gavi's voice brought you back from your abstract thoughts. You looked at his face lit up on the screen. His hair was a little wild and still slightly damp from his shower. He was in a white t-shirt that hugged his shoulders. He placed his phone down so that he could show you his complaint.

"Remember how we were talking about my knee and thigh tightness? I've been trying to work out the muscle for a while but it's not helping."

He moved back from the camera, letting his black gym shorts and legs come in to the frame. He lifted his left short leg, showing off the pronounced muscles in his thigh. You brought the phone a little closer to your face, focusing on his leg. He flexed the muscle, and you swallowed hard. You had seen some of the best legs in football laying in front of you - so why was Gavi's slightly blurry form on FaceTime overwhelming you?

"Have you been doing the routine I gave you to improve blood flow? It looks like you haven't."

"It's hard to do! I tried multiple times and I'm just in pain every time. We just have a match tomorrow and like it's kind of uncomfortable. It's fine I can just play through it if you don't have any other recommendations."

This made you sit up. If there was one thing that would get both of you in deep shit, it was Gavi playing through a known and documented discomfort.

"You're not going to do that. If you get injured during the match then I-"

"Awe doctora, you're concerned about me getting injured?"

He got up close to the camera, smiling cheekily and feigning shyness. You rolled your eyes.

"If you get injured in the match I will get in trouble because your muscle tightness is in your file. So you have two options: do the blood flow massage I told you to, or I need to email Xavi now and tell him you should be playing a maximum of 60 minutes in tomorrow's match."

This statement made Gavi sober up, looking instantly more serious.

"We're not telling Mister Xavi anything. I actually don't know how to do the blood flow stuff without feeling like I'm peeling off my own skin."

"Would it kill you not to play all 90 minutes tomorrow?"

"Yes." There was not one indication, neither in his tone or on his face, that he was kidding. Gavi's love for football was evident, but it was deeper than most people saw. Barca wasn't just his club - it was the air he breathed, the blood in his veins. It was his family, his brotherhood since he was a child. It was the greatest love he had ever experienced, and he was honestly willing to lay his life down if it meant making Mister and the boys proud. He would die for this club.

"You know what doctora? You can just do it for me tomorrow morning before the match."

"You can't play right after we literally batter your muscles to increase blood flow. You have to do it within the next few hours to have enough time to rest. I wish you told me this morning, I could have..." Your sentence trailed as you looked at your front door. Your car keys were sitting in the dish. You had been thinking about going out to get some dinner, too tired to wait for chicken to defrost.

"Hello? Can you focus on the crisis at hand instead of daydreaming?"

"What if I came over and did it for you now?"

Gavi's eyes got wide and he stared at his screen. He was trying to process the information that had just slithered into his brain. You? At his house? At night? Alone???

"Wait." He said, and then hung up the call. You looked at your screen in confusion.

He stabilized his hands enough to find the contact.

*Calling: ~banana king pepi~ *

"Pick up pick up pick up pick up-"

"Hello?"

"Help. Me."

Pedri paused his game, much to the dismay of his brother, who was about to score a virtual goal.

"Pablo I know you didn't go to regular school, but you should know that in an emergency you should call the police."

"Y/n asked to come to my house."

Pedri bit back a laugh, removing the controller from his lap and putting the call on speaker so Fernando could be a part of the drama.

"You finally confessed that you're in love with her and want to kick her boyfriend's teeth in?"

"I'm not in love with her, we're just friends. That second part you might be right about." Gavi summarized your reasons for coming over quickly, asking Pedri for some sage advice while he and Fer raised their eyebrows at each other in amusement.

"As long as you have condoms, invite her over Hermano."

"I don't like her like that."

"Then why are you nervous about her coming to your place?" That was a good question. He didn't know why the idea of seeing you outside of work put all his internal systems on high alert, but it did. His hands were sweating at the prospect of opening the door and seeing you standing there in something other than scrubs.

"I'm not. I'm just going to tell her to come over. No need to make a big deal about it."

"Have fun Pablito." Fernando chimed in. Gavi scoffed and hung up. He called you once again.

"Where did you go?"

"Pedri called me to make sure we were going to the stadium together tomorrow. So, are you going to come here?"

"You never gave me an address. Or a yes for that matter." You laughed out. Your heart beat began to pick up. Did Gavi not want you at his place? Did he have another girl there? 'Why would he be calling you if another girl was there?' I don't know, brain, men are weird.

"Oh. Yeah. Yes. To coming over. I want you to. I'll text you the address right now." Something in your chest tightened at this statement. Your phone dinged, and you looked at the address Gavi had sent you.

"Cool. I'll be there in 20."

The drive to Gavi's place was calm. Old One Direction played over your car's aging speakers. The chilly night air came through the rolled down windows, winter finally making its first appearances in the middle of November. As you got closer to your destination, the surroundings started to look familiar.

Gavi was looking at the street from the window of his bedroom. In his La Masia shirt and black shorts, he had perched for all 18 minutes that it took you to drive over, right after he tidied the house. He didn't want you to think he was a teenage slob. If Gavi really thought about it, he would have admitted: all he wanted was for you to respect him - see him as a man. Someone put together and capable.

You parked at the bottom of his building, texting that you had arrived. He tried not to, but he ran down the whole staircase, swinging the door open before you had gotten out of the car.

"Hey. You know you live like walking distance from Martin?" You said, approaching the front door. Gavi's face soured at this news. He was never subtle about his distaste for Martin. After that night at the club, he had made it very obvious that he thought you should break up with Martin, or at least give him a stern talking to for leaving you to stumble around drunk and alone - especially since he was the one forcing drinks on you.

"Wonderful. I'll make sure to go and give him a nice neighborly gift."

"Like what? A black eye?"

"I was just thinking of pissing in his bushes but now that you mention it I really do think "bruised" is a good look on him..." He lifted his hand to his chin to look like he was thinking. You shoved him off balance, walking towards the door.

"Lets go, Gavi. I get cranky if I don't get all my beauty sleep."

He walked into the house first, holding the door open for you. You were honestly impressed: the place did not look like a teenager's house. The bottom floor was a spacious living room and dining room, with the kitchen connected by a low wall. The tan walls had vintage Barca and Spain National Team posters hung on them. There was a large TV mounted on the wall, a PS5 placed on the shelf beneath it, a pile of games stacked high. His couch was a long L shape. black leather wrapping around a black coffee table.

"You have a Barca coffee table book?" You asked, giggling slightly as you picked up the massive picture book.

"I've been with the club since I was like 11. Everything I own I have it in Barca colors."

You looked over at the stairs and the soft glow from the top of them. Something in you was dying to know what Gavi's bedroom looked like. How many hoodies he owned, what color his sheets were, how many pillows he slept on...

You shook yourself from this line of thinking. Despite the two of you getting closer and friendlier, Gavi was still technically just your coworker. You shouldn't want to know all these things about him.

"Ok where is the stone I gave you?" You put your hand out expectantly, and he dropped the black massage gua sha in it. Gavi moved to lay on the couch, mimicking what he would do in your office.

"Before you sit down, what have you been using as lubricant?"

He snapped his head at you, cheeks and the tips of his ears turning pink.

"I, I, um, lub- why do you need to know what kind of lubricant I use? That's a really personal question?"

You stared at him in confusion, wondering why he had gotten shy and stuttery at the question.

"So I can use that lubricant on you now?" He stood up, swallowing hard. He took several deep breaths before saying:

"y/n, I didn't invite you here to do anything sexual. If this is a joke that Pedri asked you to play it's-"

"Pablo you brainless bitch. I meant what have you been using as massage lubricant, because you're not supposed to scrape the stone across your dry skin."

You both stared at each other for a long moment. You had one brow raised, smirk playing on your lips. You were holding back a laugh at the thought: Gavi was thinking you wanted to know what he used to jerk off. Or sleep with someone. That second thought made you slightly nauseous. Gavi's eyes were wide, his mouth still open in shock. You had the courage to speak first.

"I see that the reason you have been feeling pain is because you have been giving yourself microabruises. Go get some oil or lotion so I can do this for you, and I expect my gas money in full tomorrow on my desk."

"Can you, uh, turn around?"

"Why?"

"I don't... I don't want you seeing where I got the lotion from."

"See now Pablo, if you had just gone upstairs, I would have thought it was from the cabinet or the bathroom. But since you've made it weird, you've confirmed that it's from your bedside table. Just go before you make this situation more sexually awkward."

“No but I-“

You held up one finger to your lips to silence him, then pointed in the direction of the stairs. He shuffled past you awkwardly and then took off, taking the stairs two at a time. You laughed to yourself. It was always funny seeing glimpses of innocence and youth in Gavi, especially since he was always pushing himself to act older and more mature.

Pablo was not having a good time. He ran to his bathroom to splash cold water on his now violently blushing face. He thought you would be able to see the mess of clothes in his bedroom if he opened the door. Now the conversation had shifted into an oddly sexual realm, and he didn’t know how to deal. The idea of sex didn’t usually embarrass him - it bothered him when the guys would talk about nothing else, but he thought he had finally reached a level of maturity where he could say “pussy” and not giggle. So why was he so damn shy right now? Why was he embarrassed to his core that you had mentioned him jerking off?

Pablo would describe his masturbatory habits as efficient. Once he and his teammates at La Masía turned 14, the medical staff had all sat them down for “the talk”. Obviously there was the parental stuff about safe sex and all that, but from a sports aspect he knew: sexual frustration is bad for performance. So a couple nights a week he would rub one out hoping to ensure optimal performance. Lately, however, he has lessened his “alone time” significantly. Since Ferran had shown him that picture of you, since he started daydreaming about holding your hand, the feel of your skin, he was borderline afraid to jerk off. He didn’t want to see your face. Coming to terms with the fact that he liked your company was already too overwhelming. Pablo was convinced this was a waiting game: you were just new and exciting. Eventually he would see another picture of another girl, and you would go back to “that one girl physio”, and he could jerk in peace.

He came back downstairs, sheepishly handing you a tube of lotion, and then quickly laying on the couch, hoping to avoid your line of sight.

“Lotion for Men? Gavi, you know that your skin won’t melt off it the product doesn’t say ‘for men’ right?”

“We had a media intern last year that saw a tube of strawberry chapstick in my bag, and she sent the picture to 3 or 4 gossip instagram pages, saying ‘look! Stuff for women! Gavi has a girlfriend!’ So now I only use stuff that can’t be mistaken as something for my nonexistent girlfriend.”

“What if they think you have a boyfriend instead?”

“That might be ideal actually. Then maybe I could go home without being mobbed.”

You smiled at Gavi, who was now more relaxed and far less red. His arms were crossed behind his head, legs stretched out and shorts rolled up slightly so you could access the upper parts of his thighs. You placed some lotion on his legs and began rubbing it in.

“Wow. Does the rest of the team know you offer private massage services?” He asked, resting his head and looking up at the ceiling.

“Obviously not. You think Ferran would ever leave me alone if he knew this was an option?”

Gavi laughed loudly at this. Watching you reject and diss Ferran on an almost daily basis was the highlight of training. Sometimes your responses were so creative that he would run to write them down before the end of the break. His personal favorite was when Ferran asked when you two were finally going to go on a date, and you replied with ‘After my lobotomy next week so my brain is immune to mind numbing conversation with you’.

But as he looked down at you, Pablo noticed that your face was twisted in distain. You began moving the stone around his thighs, working in sweeping downward motions. The frown lines etched hard into your skin, eyes narrowed in concentration and slight disgust.

“Does Ferran make you uncomfortable?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“So the answer is yes he does.” Gavi’s voice was lowering with genuine concern. He and the team, the coaches, and even the rest of the physical staff only really laughed at or brushed off your daily interactions with the player. He hadn’t realized how deeply the comments were bothering you. But now it was evident as you swallowed and started working his thigh a little harder.

“I don’t want to speak ill of your friend.”

“If he’s bothering you, you should have told me. Or someone else on the team. We could have made him stop.”

“But why wasn’t me telling him I didn’t like it enough to make him stop?”

You pressed harder into Gavi now, stone running alone the muscles in his calf. You should have been using a lighter hand, but emotion you had been suppressing for months was all bubbling to the surface.

“You’re going kind of hard on my leg…”

“Why does it have to be you or Xavi or Dr. Gonzalez? Why do my words hold so little weight? So little value?”

“Okay this is painful now-“

“Why does it have to be one of you to say ‘hey, you shouldn’t make sexual remarks to someone on staff’? You think he tells anyone else their ass looks good in scrubs? Or that he’s glad their office has a door with a lock? No. It’s just me. Because I’m a girl he can talk about fucking me in broad daylight around the whole squad, and I have to shut up and keep him happy or I lose my job. It’s just so-“

“Ay fuck y/n!” Gavi yelled out, grabbing your wrist and tugging it forcefully to get you to stop your abuse on his leg. You grabbed his other thigh with your free hand, digging your fingers into the flesh. He looked you in the eyes, and finally noticed the tears starting to form.

“I know how you feel.”

"No you fucking don't, Pablo!" You yelled back, hand digging into his thigh, the other still in his grasp. This is when the first tear finally fell. I had been weighing on you for weeks - the slow realization that you were never going to respected in the way you deserved. A part of you knew that Martin was contributing to this burden as well. The arch of his brow when you talked about sports medicine terms, the mocking smile that played on his lips. The way he had adopted Ferran's disgusting little pet name of 'nurse'. You were disintegrating from the inside, and knowing that the others thought it was a joke, that Pablo thought it was a joke, was the final straw.

Gavi could do nothing but stare. His eyes softened, taking in your slumped form. It was like watching Hercules fall to his knees. Like watch the stars were falling from the sky and hitting the Earth in a fiery blaze. Watching you, who was normally so cool, so confident, so self assured, shake with silent tears was breaking something in Gavi. The way you said his name made his heart physically ache. You rarely diverted from his nickname to use his first name. 'When you did, it usually indicated a serious tone 'Pablo' meant there was something serious, something heavy. Now that heaviness was against your throat, suffocating you, and you were tired of carrying it.

Gavi stopped thinking. He acted on impulse only. He tugged the wrist that was in his hand, pulling you in. Your head met with his hard chest, and you felt one arm circle your shoulder. You remained like this for a long moment: up against Gavi, his arm pressing you into his chest, his shirt soaking up the wetness on your cheeks.

"'m sorry. I wont let him talk to you that way anymore."

You composed yourself, pushing yourself off Gavi and wiping your eyes. You looked away, embarrassed that you'd made him comfort you - that you'd broken down in front of him.

"It's okay. I can deal with Ferran."

"But you shouldn't have to."

"It's not your job to protect me, Pablo."

You finished the rest of your job in silence. Your fingers moved expertly around his skin, working out the muscle and pressing into his flesh, a soft gasp or hiss from Gavi being the only sound to fill the room. Your anger was irrational, but you couldn't quell it. You had gotten this far in life without the protection or defense of anyone, and you weren't prepared to be coddled now. You finished quickly, wiping your hands on your pant legs and moving to grab your bag.

"I'm going to go now. Get some sleep for tomorrow's match against Betis. Good night." You tried to walk past Gavi without looking up, but he blocked your path.

"You're in my way."

"You're not leaving while you're upset."

"You want me to stop being upset? Stop pretending you give a shit about my feelings. You want to look like a man? Telling off Ferran so people think you're a good person?" You shoved past Gavi once again, and once again he moved in front of you, blocking the door completely.

"Just because you're older than me doesn't mean I'll let you disrespect me in my own house. I'm not pretending to give a shit. I do give about your comfort and your feelings because last I check, we're friends. I've been waiting to break Ferran's shins for weeks, I've just been waiting for you to say so."

"You think it would make me feel better for you to hurt a teammate? Could you be any more juvenile?"

Gavi took a step towards you, arms crossed over his chest, breathing more heavy. He looked you straight in the eye, not allowing you to break from the gaze.

"You can yell at me all you want. You can be angry at the fact that I care about you. You can punch me," he hit on his chest, "right here if you want to. But I am not a child. Don't refer to me as one. So you can go an be upset and pretend that everything I do is selfish, but you know deep down that no matter how much you push me away, I'm looking out for your best interest." He opened the door and stepped aside.

"Drive safely, doctora."

You walked to your car, turning to gaze at Gavi, who leaned against the door frame, watching you intently. You were the most confusing person he had ever met. You were stubborn and easily irritated. You refused to accept help. You were fucking frustrating. But as he watched you walk to your car, something warm filled his body. He didn't want you to leave. He wanted to rush after you, pull you into his chest again, and take you upstairs. He wanted you to see the mess in his bedroom. He wanted you to lay on the couch. And the drive didn't feel like you were going home. It felt like you had left something important behind.

The next morning you were up before your alarm. You couldn't find sleep or peace. Your words to Gavi had eaten you alive all through the night. You knew you had been too harsh, projected too far onto him, but you hadn't been thinking straight. It hurt differently to think that he was laughing at your expense. The guilt followed you around all morning as you prepared yourself for the match. You slicked back your hair, pulling it away from your face, and dressed in the slacks and pullover that all the field medics were regulated to wear. But as you sipped your lukewarm coffee, the guilt still sat in your stomach, swirling and festering and making you nauseous. So you swallowed your pride with your last sip of coffee and pressed the call button.

"Uh, hello? Am I late?" Gavi's voice asked, raspy and dripping with the remnants of sleep. He sounded like a child who was woken up for school.

"Oh no, you're not late. I'm up early... couldn't sleep."

"Why not?" Gavi was now fully awake after processing that you had called him. His heartrate elevated slowly, the sound of your voice helping the tiredness slip away from his very being.

"I... I feel guilty about yesterday. I shouldn't have taken out all my anger on you and your thigh tissue. I really appreciate you looking out for me. I guess I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Gavi was leaning against his sink, swaying back and forth and smiling stupidly. You were thinking about him. You appreciated him. It made him swell with pride. He listened intently to the rest of your apology, hypnotized by the sound of your voice.

"There's no need to apologize doctora. I understand that you were upset."

"But I still feel bad. I was.. pretty mean to you yesterday. I want to make sure that you're not still upset with me."

Gavi looked into the mirror, smiling and dancing at your response.

"If you really want to make it up to me, I would like to cash in my favor."

You were in the process of grabbing your keys when you paused, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"Favor? I don't remember owing you any favors."

"La doctora, you don't remember? Let me refresh your memory. You go home drunk and don't set an alarm. I come up with a wonderful and convincing excuse for Dr. G so that you don't get in trouble. You owe me, and I quote, anything I want. Ring any bells?"

You scrunched your face and groaned in distain. You remembered rather vividly now the promise you had made.

"Alright Gavi, hit me with it. I can take it. How am I repaying you saving my job?" You heard a low chuckle from the other side of the line.

"You'll be driving me home from the stadium starting today until we break for Christmas."

"What?!"

"You'll be driving me home. Pedri is working with Adidas for several campaigns over the next month, and it'll be a pain getting home after practice. Since you know the way now, you can get there easily. And hey, you can even visit Martin afterwards."

You started your car, thinking about the ask. It was on your way home anyways to drive by Gavi's neighborhood. And it would probably make you both even after your missteps.

"Fine. We will discuss further in the stadium when I see you. Go go, prep for the match. I want us to win today."

"We are going to win for sure. Give us a harder goal."

"Don't be arrogant Gavi. See you at noon."

Matchday at the camp was always extremely hectic, but especially for the medical staff. Meetings started at 9am despite the game not beginning until 3pm. All the equipment had to be approved by La Liga through inspection. Your wardrobe was inspected as well, and once again you were told off for not removing your rings. You pulled them off your fingers begrudgingly, hearing once again the lecture about rings tearing gloves. You were already over the match by the time the players started to arrive.

You made your way to the locker room to do some checks on players with pre-listed discomforts, making suggestions to prevent injury during the game. You were greeted warmly by the players as you pulled out your clipboard and pen. You made your way around, telling certain players to wear compression socks, and instructing others to stretch in certain ways. You made your way over to Pedri and Gavi, pulling out your notes.

"Pedri, how is that right thigh?"

"Amazing, y/n. I've been using resistance bands nightly like you instructed. I feel as flexible as playdoh."

"Always great to hear. Also congrats about the expanded Adidas contract." Pedri lifted his shirt over his head and looked at you somewhat confused.

"Ah thank you but... which contract specifically?"

Gavi's eyes were wide in panic. He had forgotten to fill in Pedri about his little white lie. It was true that Pedri had some filming with Adidas, but it would take about 3 days max. There was no reason that Gavi could pinpoint that would make him lie to get you to drive him home for 4 weeks. But he did it anyways, and now he needed to make sure it didn't collapse because of a lapse in communication.

"Gavi told me you'd be filming with Adidas, so I'll be driving him home until the Christmas break."

Pedri shot a look to the younger boy, one eyebrow arched, and found the expression of desperation on his face. The smile crept onto Pedri's face, proud of his friend for finally making some sort of move with you, even if he was yet to admit it was made because of the crush he was harboring.

"Oh that's right! They have us filming a lot of content at night to show off the color of these new boots, so it's really helpful that you'll be taking little Gavi home."

The sigh of relief was almost a little too loud. Gavi would fill Pedri in later, but for now, he was glad that he hadn't been caught in the lie.

"Anytime. Now onto little Gavi himself - how is the thigh tension?" You worked on Gavi, evaluating his physical form.

"I didn't know the nurse was making house visits today!"

Your jaw clenched and eye twitched at the sound of Ferran's voice. You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, and continued to check for signs of bruising and distress, crouched close to the ground to inspect Gavi's thighs.

"Wow Pablito, got her on her knees for you? You'll have to tell me the secret."

"Ferran, you couldn't get a dog to love you if you were covered in bacon. Be quiet and get changed so you can sit on the bench for 90 minutes."

You looked up at Gavi, shocked at his response. You squeezed his thigh, causing him to meet your concerned gaze.

"Gavi, tell me to shut up again and you'll be preparing for a prolonged hospital stay."

"I'd like to see you fucking try, Torres." Gavi moved from his place, approaching Ferran, before a hand from Pedri gripped his shoulder. One of the assistant coaches noticed the argument and rushed over, eager to prevent his players from killing each other.

"What the hell is going on?"

Ferran looked at Gavi with disgust, and then turned his eyes to rest on your chest.

"I think y/n is creating an uncomfortable environment in the locker room. I'd prefer if she wasn't here." He said, smirk playing on his lips. Your face paled, the colors draining and nausea bubbling. The last thing you needed was a complaint from a player.

"She wasn't doing anything except looking at my leg. She didn't even speak." Gavi responded, voice high and a touch too loud to be respectful.

"y/n, it may be better if you leave for field inspection. Send in Antonio to continue current problem rounds."

You nodded and walked out of the locker room, feeling utterly embarrassed. All you ever wanted was to make a good impression and be respected, and it seemed that no one paid your wellbeing any mind. You bit back your feelings and went to find Antonio. Gavi was not as merciful.

"What mental deficiencies do you suffer from that would make you say that? What if she loses her job?"

"She won't lose her job. She'll get a warning because of player complaints, and then she'll come to me and do whatever I ask to get the complaint removed. Just want to watch her bend over that desk just once before they realize she's incompetent."

"Say nasty shit about y/n in front of me again and I'll kick your fucking teeth in."

Ferran wanted to laugh, but the sound died in his throat when he saw the look in Gavi's eyes. His eyes were angry, cold-blooded, and murderous.

"You wouldn't dare." He retorted, trying to regain some confidence by calling the bluff.

"We play football for a living. I can make it look like a fucking accident." With that, Gavi left the locker room, ready to be away from Ferran and his punchable face.

Normally, you loved being on the sidelines for matches. You got to watch all the action as it occurred, and you got hands-on experience with the Barca players and the visiting teams (maybe it was bad, but you prayed Joao would need medical attention when Atletico was at Camp Nou). You got to enjoy every aspect of your job, and feel like you had come a significant way in your journey. Normally. Today, you wish you were at home or in your office or anywhere but the sidelines. Word had gotten back to both the coaching staff and the rest of the team about the little disagreement in the locker room, and now all eyes were on you. Xavi gave you the normal courtesy head nod, but gave you specific instructions to stay away from the bench and the players. It was a mortifying experience, and you prayed this game would end quickly and painlessly.

Your wish was granted in the first half. The team was playing cohesively and relatively safely, with a couple fouls here and there but no injuries requiring any attention. Lewandowsky scored a goal in the 34th minute, putting the team in the lead 1-0 at the half (during which, you were asked not to be in the locker room or the tunnel). This only made you feel worse. Player complaint were the kiss of death for any aspiring professionals in sports. You get into a disagreement with a player? You're gone. Why? Because there are thousands of physios and photographers and water boys, but only onw left forward worth 48 million Euros.

In the second half, however, you did not get your wish. Areal collisions came one after the other, requiring you to rapidly check players for any sort of head trauma. In the 67th minute, Gavi assisted Pedri with an amazing goal from deep in the box. You jumped when you saw the ball hit the back of the net. Pedri did his signature goal celebrations, and after he pulled away, your eyes locked with Gavi. He raised his eyebrows at you and you returned the gesture, and then he resumed the aggressive attacking. At minute 70, you were contemplating packing your things. The intensity of the match had died down significantly. Barca were passively looking for a third goal, and were not as prone to injury. This all changed in minute 72, when the midfielder decided he hated Gavi. Dribbling with the ball, Gavi was trying to turn to give him more options to pass or dribble, but he was surrounded by three people. As he tried to break free, the Betis player's knee collided with Gavi's groin. Hard.

The sound of the collision and then the fall to the ground sounded like it was heard in the entirety of the stadium. Your jaw went slack and eyes went wide. Gavi was on the floor, unmoving. You didn't even think, using enough brain power to grab the medical bag at your side, and then sprinted across the field to Gavi. There was a crowd of players surrounding him now, creating a tight ring of people. You approached the group, placing your hands on the nearest person, and then shoving.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY! MEDIC! MOVE!"

You finally go the bodies to disperse, and laying there was Gavi, tears in his eyes and whimpering from pain. He had one arm slung over his face, and the other gripped his shirt in immense pain. When he saw you approach, he looked at you with pleading eyes, begging for anything that would stop the throbbing pain he was experiencing.

"Gavi, where did you get kneed exactly? Where is the most intense pain?" You asked, kneeling to the ground and pulling on your gloved.

"My... my dick. I got kneed in the dick and it feels like hell." He replied. He was in too much pain to be shy. His dick fucking hurt, and he wanted anything to soothe the pain as quickly as possible.

"Gavi, I'm going to touch you now, okay?" You asked, hand hovering over the area. He nodded, not fully processing what you were saying or what was happening. You placed your hand over his dick and his eyes shot open. You began to massage the area slightly, moving your hand around, trying to prevent receptors of pain from activating and working to increase blood flow to the area.

And increase blood flow you did. Gavi felt the blood begin to pool in his shorts, and now that the pain was subsiding the embarrassment was returning, he took in what was actually happening. You had one hand on his cock and balls, moving them around slowly, and one on his hip, making sure the area wasn't sensitive. You looked up at Gavi, who was still in somewhat intense pain.

"Here, give me your hand." You placed your hand atop his, guiding it to his injury.

"Keep moving your hand around where you got kneed, and we'll get you on the bench. I would give you ice but I don't think that's idea here. Can you walk alone?" Gavi nodded, and you and the medical staff cleared the field. Gavi walked to the bench himself, earning cheers and love from all the fans in the stadium. He sat on the bench, continuing to massage his bruised genitals, and trying to make his blush subside by the end of the match.

After a stunning 3-0 win, you were ready to go to bed and never wake up again. Your whole body ached, and you had gotten dizzy from the sun exposure mixed with the biting chill of late November. You were barely able to drag your body to the players area - which you still could not enter. You received an email on your phone saying that Dr. Gonzalez would speak to you personally regarding the player complaint. Just as you were ready to burst into tears, Gavi emerged from the locker room, Pedri trailing close behind.

"Enjoy the game today?" Pedri asked, pulling you out of your trance.

"Loved it. I just wish Gavi could stop running into people so I could have a better viewing experience."

Gavi took this as an opportunity to enter the discussion, groaning on about how the other teams bullied him and were extra tough on him as the three of you walked to the garage.

"See you tomorrow, Pedri." You waved, unlocking your car and climbing into the driver's seat. He waived at you, and approached Gavi to hug him goodbye. As he pulled the younger boy in he whispered in his ear.

"I don't know how you thought of this little lie, but now you're going to be alone with her every day for four weeks. Ready to admit that you like her?" Gavi let out a fake laugh, playfully slapping Pedri on the shoulder.

"I don't like her like that. I just want to relieve some burden off of you, Hermano."

"Mhm yeah I'm sure. Just try not to get hard watching her drive on your first ride home. Wait until day 4 or 5." With that, Pedri walked to his own car, getting ready to call Fernando and update him about the circus that was Pablo's love life, and enjoying only being mobbed by 1/2 the normal amount of fans.

Gavi walked to your car quickly, climbing in and tossing his bag in the back. He tried not to think about Pedri's words. He was perfectly capable of sitting next to you, his friend, without being aroused just because you were a girl. At least he hoped he was. He was not hunched over and thinking deeply. Why did he decide that this was the best way for you to repay him? It's not like Pedri had ever complained about chauffeuring him around. And it's not like he didn't enjoy rides home with Pedri, listening to Quevedo and making idle conversation. But lately he just wanted to be around you - make sure you were okay.

The ring of your phone broke Gavi's train of thought. You answered on your car's speaker.

"Hola Martin. How are you doing?"

The sound of Martin's voice twisted Gavi's intestines, making him nauseous and fatigued. He hated the sound of his voice, the thought of his face, the words that he strung together and decided to say to you.

"Hola sexy. How are you doing this evening?"

You rolled your eyes. You knew exactly why Martin had chosen to call at this time. You had texted him earlier in the day, asking if he would be home that evening so you could drop by. This had led to a brief inquisition, with Martin wondering why you wanted to see him suddenly, and why you would be in his neighborhood. Once he found out it was because you would be in a car with Gavi alone, something in his behavior switched. He suddenly wanted to be a doting boyfriend who called and checked up on you.

"I'm doing well. You're on speaker in the car. I'm driving Gavi home right now."

"Are you still coming over afterwards? I've missed you so bad." Martin whined out that last part in such an animated way that it made you want to laugh. You knew what he was doing. He wanted to assert his dominance over Gavi, and make it think that you were going to swiftly go get railed by Martin right after you delivered Gavi at his doorstep. the truth was, despite dating Martin for several months now, you two had yet to go all the way. There had of course been kissing and some heavy petting, but no articles of clothing had never his the floor.

"I'll see how I'm feeling after Gavi leaves and call you then. Bye Martin." You said quickly, hanging up the call once you took a quick look at the disgusted look Gavi had plastered on.

"I'd mock you if I didn't think I would throw up." He said, trying to be lighthearted but failing. You didn't reply, feeling slightly embarrassed that he had to listen to your boyfriend's weak attempts to prove his manliness.

"No it's okay, go ahead and mock my boyfriend who moans on the phone when other people can hear." Your laugh was also stiff and forced. The call had made the air thicker and the mood more tense. You handed Gavi the phone, instructing him to play some music so that you weren't sat in the awkward silence that Martin seemed to always create between the two of you.

"This is a lot of pressure now on me. I'm never on AUX." He says, scrolling through his music. He pressed the song, and the sound poured from the speakers.

"Enrique Iglesias? Isn't he before your time?" You asked, smiling from ear to ear. You loved Cuando Me Enamoro, and the familiarity helped release the tension from your shoulders. As the song played, you started softly singing along. You opened the cover of the moon roof, allowing more of the street light to enter the car.

Gavi turned to look at you, examining your features. Your eyes were soft, focused on the road ahead of you. Your fingers drummed against the steering wheel to the beat. You had one leg up as you drove, leaning into the door slightly. Your lips moved along with the lyrics, singing contently. Gavi could not move his eyes from the sight. Your lips forming every letter were drawing in his focus, hypnotizing him. He never wanted to look away from the soft pink flesh. His thoughts began escaping his control. He wanted to hear you sing louder. He wanted to hear you speak, watching those lips talk about anything your heart held a passion for. He wondered what they would feel like against the pads of his fingers. He imagined what it would be like to kiss them - softly at first, just to feel their warmth and softness. Then harder, to interlock with his own, to bite them, pull them, have them stretched around him, make them cry out his name.

"Pablo?"

He snapped up, giving himself whiplash. Gavi had not noticed that he had rested himself on the center console, leaning against his palm and daydreaming so deeply it drowned out the sound of your voice calling his name.

"Sorry to disturb your deep pondering, but we're here." He looked up at you, vision still rose tinted from the deep dive he had conducted on your lips. His mouth hung open, wanting to say something, but the words would not form in his head. He wanted to touch you. He wanted you to be closer. But he couldn't say it. So instead he extended his hand for a fist bump, coupled with a quick mutter of 'goodnight'. He grabbed his bag, quickly closing the door and digging for his keys.

"Gavi?"

He looked back at you. Your eyes locked for a moment. His hazel eyes conveyed an emotion that you couldn't understand. You didn't want to look away from him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" There was a plead in the question that didn't escape either of you. It was a request. You wanted to see him. His eyes softened, crinkling at the sides as a smile spread across his space.

"Of course, doctora. Drive safe, and let me know when you get home."

Your eyes remained locked until Gavi shut his front door. He leaned against it breathing deeply, as you leaned your head against your steering wheel. You both felt a deep longing for the other, the feeling of "I miss you" sinking in as soon as the door clicked. But he got off the door, and you turned your engine back on, and you both ignored the feeling that something was missing.

Gavi was proud of himself. He was only half hard after leaving the car, despite the most sinful and inappropriate thoughts about your lips festering in his mind. He tried to eat, but he had no appetite. All he wanted to do was call you, text you, read your old messages. He threw his phone on his bed. He didn't understand why you now took up so much of his headspace and thought. He went to shower for the third time that day, hoping to relieve the tension permanently etched into his limbs.

You knocked on Martin's door for a third time. You had called him from Gavi's to let him know you were coming. He answered the phone out of breath and rushed, telling you to just come over, and hanging up quickly. It was night and day from the concerned lover that had called earlier. On the drive over you rationalized his behavior. Did you really have time for a boyfriend that wanted to talk to you often and be with you and have sex and sleepovers? No. You were busy and focused on advancing your career. So maybe Martin and his distance and indifference was actually perfect.

He finally opened the door after three rounds of knocking and two phone calls.

"You're here sooner than I expected." He said, cheeks slightly pink and breathing fast.

"Yeah Gavi lives really close by. Can I come in?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at his form, which blocked the entryway entirely.

"Uh," he looked over his shoulder before responding, "yeah sure. Come in." You entered his house, removing your shoes at the door. Martin had called you "backwards" the first time you did this at his house. As a person in medicine, you couldn't comprehend tracking the entire bacteria ecosystem onto the floor of his house, but it was one of those things you just agreed to disagree on.

"Making sure the other girlfriend left before letting me in?" You laughed, and he spun around quickly, grabbing you by the shoulders and leaning down to look at you.

"I know you make a lot of jokes, but this can't be one of them," he said, his tone somber and serious. "Don't ever joke about me being a cheater. It's not who I am and I am a better person than that." You were shocked by his sudden change in mood, putting your hands up in surrender and apologizing.

Gavi laid awake in bed, legs tangled in the sheets, moving from one side to the other, unable to find a single moment of rest. He checked the phone on his nightstand every couple of minutes, waiting to see your name light up the screen. Why weren't you home? It had been over an hour since you had left his house. Martin was definitely not interesting enough to keep you at his place for so long, especially after a match day. The longer he thought about it, the more the sweat pooled on his brow and the dread seeped into him. Maybe you two were having sex. Maybe you would be spending the night at his house, and Gavi would never get the "I'm home" text. He tried to calm himself, but everything irritated him. Why did you have to leave him to go to your stupid boyfriend's house? Why did he want you to tell Martin to fuck off and lay on the couch with him? Why did he want to know so badly if you two were having sex?

As with most news he got about your relationship, he heard the tip from Ansu who obviously heard it from Ferran: after three months together, you and Martin had still not had sex. After the initial 'why the hell are you guys talking about this', Gavi started to listen to Ansu's gossip as he packed his things after practice. He heard about Martin's complaints.

"Apparently, he told Ferran that she will kiss him and touch him and make him hard, then she will pull away and go home. He said first it was like exciting - ya know, being teased, playing hard to get. But now he's kind of getting impatient ya know. Ferran told him to get another girl."

"To break up with y/n?" Gavi asked a little more enthusiastically than he intended. Pedri looked up from his phone and raised an eyebrow at Gavi, but refrained from making a comment. He wanted to go home, and he knew the longer this conversation continued, the longer it would be till he could sit in front of his TV and play FIFA.

"No not to break up with her. Ferran was like 'oh you know she's wife material like she is good in front of cameras and will look nice for your Wikipedia page. But if you want to have sex just go to a girl in a club and sleep with her and then do the couple shit with y/n when you feel like it. You already set her expectations low."

Pedri swears to this day he saw the smoke rise from Gavi's ears at the suggestion that Martin cheat on you. In football and in life, Gavi hated cheats. He wanted to tell you, but was advised against it.

"Unless we hear that he is actually cheating on her, there's no need to hurt her feelings or add stress to her life."

So now he sat in bed, frustrated in more than one way, as he thought about you and Martin having sex. He closed his eyes, hoping to conjure up a new mental image, but all he saw was you. You were in the same sweatshirt and leggings that you had come over in the other day. Martin was nowhere to be seen. You were in the living room, laying on the soft leather of the couch, beckoning Gavi over.

He felt the blood begin to pool and his cock start to harden. He threw one arm over his eyes, groaning loudly. It had become a common occurrence for him to get horny when thinking about you, but usually he could will the image away by reminding himself that you two were friends and would not be anything more. Usually. Today it wasn't working. The image of you on his couch, licking your lips and calling him over refused to disappear. The tighter he closed his eyes the stronger it got.

He moved his hand to palm his aching erection through the fabric of the boxers he had worn to sleep. The you in his head was standing now, playing with the hem of your sweatshirt. The sight of skin (imaginary as it was), encouraged him further, and set his very skin ablaze. He pushed down his boxers, stroking himself slowly now. In his head now, you had slowly stripped away your sweatshirt, leaving you in a bra and tight leggings that cupped your ass in the most sensual ways. He was panting now, breathing heavily, switching between stroking his cock and playing with the head. In his mind you stripped off your leggings, leaving you in just your bra and panties for him to stare at, taking in the sight of your body. Beads of precum formed at the head, which he spread around, teasing his most sensitive nerves. He knew once he came you would disappear, and he didn't want to be without you.

The real you was in a similar position: seductive and shirtless. You were currently under Martin, shirt having been discarded somewhere in the living room as he pressed you into the couch. He broke from you to pull off his shirt, then captured your lips once again. You move fervently to match his pace. He kneaded your breasts between his hands. Rough. Everything Martin did was fast and rough. And you tried to keep up, but the only sounds leaving you were heavy breaths from exertion, not arousal.

The scene in Gavi's head switched perspectives. He was now on the couch, legs spread open, inviting you in. You walked towards him slowly, and he drank in the sight of you. You crawled onto his lap, straddling him, and rested your forehead against his. Your eyes, your lips, your breasts - the image of all three sent shock waves through his body and straight to his cock. He gripped it now. He wanted to turn to his nightstand, grab something to lubricate with and stroke in earnest, but he was afraid he would lose the vision of you.

In Martin's house, the real you was searching for an escape. Martin was kissing your neck, grinding into you like a dog in heat. After a few minutes he noticed that you had gone silent, even your breathing relaxing now. He came up to look at you. What kind of girl didn't get turned on from activities like this? He decided to switch positions so that you were laying on top of him, and he dug his fingers into your hips and ass pressing your clothed core against him. He was unmistakably hard, but you felt nothing. There was no pool in your panties or heat in your loins. You were kissing him hard but felt, well, indifferent. Like you might rather be doing laundry.

In Gavi's head, you were a puddle. He had captured your lips between his own, kissing you deeply as you rocked against him, the kiss only breaking when he hit your sweet spot, causing you to moan out. He let his hands roam your bare skin, and he could almost feel the warmth. Fingers resting on your waist, he moved with you, rutting against each other and chasing your release. He looked down at the two of you, watching the wet spot on your panties grow as you ground your clit into his hard-on. He moved to your neck, kissing and suckling until little marks bloomed on the skin. You whimpered out, and now Gavi wanted to do everything in his power to make you moan in earnest. You were looking at him with those gorgeous eyes, begging, pleading, imploring Gavi to do more. And he wanted to do so much more.

The action ended for the real you rather quickly. Martin was pushing you against him, bruising your pelvic bone as he chased his own orgasm, almost forgetting that you weren't a sex doll. You decided to help finish him off quickly and go back to your place. Maybe you would still have time for that laundry. You placed your hands on either side of his head, his face basically buried in your breasts, and you started to grind into him earnestly, rocking your hips in a way that you knew drive men crazy. Within 45 seconds he was cumming in his pants, moaning loudly, and pressing into you so hard you were worried it would leave marks. You gave him a quick kiss and tugged your shirt back on. You both exchanged words about seeing each other soon, and you walked out of his house to your car alone and unsatisfied.

Gavi was almost in pain. His cock was angry and throbbing, begging for him to stroke himself in earnest. But he couldn't do it dry, and he would rather remove his cock entirely than lose this dream of you. You were now in front of him, on your knees, touching his upper thighs. He felt the ghostly sensation on his skin as he remembered every time you pressed your fingers into the muscular flesh in your office (or on his couch). You pulled down his boxers, and his cock sprung free. You leaned over and let your tongue hang from your mouth, your drool flowing on to his cock. Gavi brought his hand up and spit in his palm, pretending it was you. He brought it back down and began stroking, long fluid motions from base to tip. You were also stroking him, looking up at him with those big innocent "fuck me" eyes, and he couldn't stop himself from moaning out.

He wanted you. He wanted you to be on your knees for him, on his lap, under him in bed. He wanted you. He had never been harder in his life. And then he got to those lips. Those pink perfect lips that spoke to him so gently, teased him, called out his name - in his mind he watched them stretch over his cock. His self restraint snapped. He brought his hand up again, spitting into his palm multiple times, and beginning to stroke his cock rapidly. He wished it was you. He wished it was your smaller hand wrapped around him, so he could guide you to stroke it in just the way he liked. He was playing with the head of his cock now, imagining your lips sinking deeper and deeper over him, looking up at him with tears in your pretty eyes.

There was no more pretending and no more care. The sheets were thrown off, the room filled with heavy breaths, groans, and the squelching sound of Gavi pumping his cock. His dream you had pulled of and was now leaving gently kisses on his cock, licking the head shyly. Your lips were red and swollen, a product of his passionate kisses and his member. Gavi was almost there. He squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, trying to see you, imagine you more clearly. You were alternating licking at his slit and sucking on his head. He was gone. Moans of your name mixed with "please" filled his room. He wished you were there. He wanted to feel your skin, the smooth warmth under his finger tips. He wanted to hear your voice, soft and silky and telling him how good he was going. He was so, so close. He had never edged himself this much in his life, but he wanted to keep watching you.

The dream you pulled off of the head of Gavi's cock, placing a kiss on it, before crawling back up his body. He tried to capture your lips in yet another kiss, but he couldn't. He felt you drape yourself over his thigh, grinding into the muscle there as you pumped his cock for him. He fisted his own cock at a bruising pace. He would deal with the consequences afterwards. Now he was ready to cum to you, for you. You leaned into his ear, still riding his thigh, one hand wrapped around him, and you moaned out,

"Pablo."

His orgasm washed over him in a tidal wave, knocking the air out of him. He moaned your name out loudly, filling the whole house with his sounds of pleasure. Cum landed on his chest, and he continued to pump himself through the orgasm, thinking of you and riding out his high. When it was over, he calmed himself and worked to slow his breathing. His eyes were still screwed shut, but you weren't there anymore. He was alone and covered in his own load, and he was still thinking about you.

Once he had composed himself (and his legs were stable enough for him to walk, he went to the bathroom and cleaned himself, donning a new pair of boxers to actually sleep in. Once he returned to his bed, he saw his phone light up.

[Doctora]: I just got home. Have a good night Pablo

His chest got tight again as he laid in bed, staring at your words to him. You hadn't forgotten. He set his alarm and laid down, the exhaustion from his orgasm settling in now and making his eyelids heavy. When he closed his eyes, he saw you again. This time you were fully clothes - in one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats. You were in bed next to him, arm stretched out, beckoning him to come closer to you. Gavi hugged one of his pillows close to his chest, imagining it was you sleeping in his arms, and drifted off.

[Gavi]: Have a good night, doctora. Dream of me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: not proofread because I don't feel like it. I hope you al enjoy this part! I think this is the last part of 'exposition'/ setting up their dynamic, so relationship building will start in the next chapter, so I hope you all stick with me for the rest of the story! I love hearing all your reactions in the comments, so please don't be shy to comment! Or if you're a little shy, feel free to send me an anon ask!

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

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httplilyyy · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 || 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐇 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍

pairing: leah williamson x reader

request: ‘hope you’re doing well! i just want to say that i absolutely love your fics and when i saw that your requests were open again i almost screamed bc i have been holding onto this idea just for you. i actually saw this idea on my college love letters instagram page that said “if we're both single by a certain age we will marry each other" is always a fun story concept but it could be even better if the pact is made between rivals (r x leah) as a drunken dare and they go on to sabotage each other's relationships because they've been secretly in love all along.’

summary: you hated each other, right? so why the hell do you want to kiss her?

warnings: swearing (that’s pretty much it)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i’m alive mfs, i kinda changed the request a little but i hope that’s alright. let’s also ignore the fact that this is my first post of 2023 and it’s march also a huge thank you for 850 followers :)

woso masterlist

Your fingers tapped absentmindedly on the glass in your hand. The smell of cheap booze and sweat lingered in the air. Watching as drunken bodies swarmed the dance floor, you leaned your back against the bar.

You don't know how many drinks you’ve had, you didn’t know what was going on, who you were with or where you were. But what you did know was how much you hated her.

You swirled the straw in your glass, watching on as, out of all the clubs in London, she happened to be in the same one as you.

No matter how drunk or sober you were, you always found something in you to dislike every little thing about her.

Whilst some people would call you petty and childish, they didn't know how the feeling was reciprocated.

From the moment you joined Arsenal one thing was made clear. Leah Williamson did not like you. Whatever you did, good or bad, Leah always found something to make her dislike for you more prominent.

At first it was little comments here and there, out of shot from your teammates but it soon escalated into making it her personal mission and life goal to hate you in front of anyone at any time and at any place.

No matter what you did you could never get Leah to like you, so, if you can't beat them, join them.

Every comment leah made, you retaliated and leah didn't like it. Not one bit.

“Of course you're here.” Leah sighed as she stood beside you, ordering herself another drink.

You didnt turn to look at her, your focus still lingering on everyone else. Breathing through your nose, you gave a disgruntled hum with a small nod of your head.

“Not in the talkative mood tonight, y/n?” Leah questioned, a teasing undertone to her voice as she cocked her head to the side, looking at your side profile.

“Nope.” You replied, popping the ‘p’.

“That's unlike you.” Leah said. “Normally you’re going on and on about how much you hate me.”

“Mhm, maybe I've run out of energy.” You shrugged your shoulders, finally turning your head to look at her.

“Woah, who are you and what have you done to y/n?” Leah chuckled, the alcohol definitely present in her system.

“Very funny, good night Leah.” You said, your voice holding little emotion; sounding somewhat like a robot.

You placed your drink onto the bar counter and walked away from the defender; whose eyes stared at your back curiously.

Just as you were about to make your way out of the club, you felt a cold hand grab onto your arm. Turning around, you were met with a, now very noticeable, drunk Leah.

Sighing to yourself, your head dropped to the floor as you tried to regain any type of courage.

“And where do you think you’re going y/l/n?” Leah questioned, her voice coming out slurred.

“Home.” You deadpanned, removing Leah’s hand from your arm.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Leah pondered, eyebrows furrowing.

“A lot actually, I'll be away from you.” You said, giving a sarcastic smile before walking away again.

“Hey! Wait, one dance.” Leah shouted, catching up to you.

“I’m sorry?” You questioned incredulously, turning around to look back at Leah.

“One dance,” Leah pleaded, “and then you can go.”

“No?” You said, chuckling to yourself at how drunk Leah was.

“Come on. Stop being a party pooper.” Leah said, pulling on your arm and the two of you slowly made your way to the dance floor.

“Fine. One dance,” you huffed, giving in, “but that's it.”

A beaming smile took over Leah’s face as she dragged you in between all the bodies that littered the dance floor, planting the two of you right in the middle.

“Kill me now.” You muttered to yourself, standing as stiff as a board, freezing even more when Leah took a hold of your hands and placed them onto her waist.

“Let loose y/l/n.” Leah whispered into your ear before she turned around and started to dance.

Loud music drowned out your thoughts allowing you to forget about everything going on around you.

For a moment you forgot who you were with, what you were doing and where you were, allowing your mind to go somewhere else.

One dance seemed to turn into four and before you knew it you had been dancing with Leah for minutes on end.

Just as you were about to get lost in another dance, a body crashed into yours from behind, snapping you from whatever trace you were currently kept in.

Finally snapping back to your senses, you pulled your hands away from Leah and made your way out of the club, not uttering a single word to the blonde defender rushing behind you.

Letting out an exhale of air once you walked outside you rummaged around in your pockets for your phone only to come up short til you heard your name from over your shoulder.

“Looking for something?” Leah questioned as she walked towards you, your phone in hand.

“How did you get my phone?” You wondered as you tried to reach for your phone but Leah moved it out of your reach.

“That's for me to know and for you to find out.” Leah chuckled as she tapped your phone on your chest.

“Look leah,” you sighed exasperatedly, “just give me my phone, I need to call an uber.”

“How about I propose a deal?”

“I- yeah fine, whatever just give me my phone.” You said, throwing your hands up in the air as your patience grew very thin.

“Let's say I give you back your phone only if you agree to us getting married by a certain age- if we are single of course.”

“No chance.” You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief at the words that just came out of Leah's mouth.

“Fine, I get to keep your phone then.” Leah said, shrugging her shoulders before walking away and down the road.

“Fuck my life.” You muttered, looking up into the sky as your shoulders sagged.

You took one cleansing breath in before shaking your head and running to catch up with a certain blonde defender.

“I’ll do it.” You said, finally catching up to Leah, walking beside her.

“Finally came to your senses have you?” Leah questioned, the teasing tone coming back in full force.

“Don’t. I can't believe I agreed,” you sighed, “can I have my phone back now?”

“One more thing-”

“Oh what now?”

“You give me a ride home too.”

“Yeah, fine, okay.”

After you booked an uber, the two of you waited on the side of the road. You would occasionally turn your head to look at the blonde beside you, noticing that she hugged herself, shivering from the cold.

“Here.” You muttered, handing your jacket in front of Leah.

She looked at you confused for a second, before she gingerly reached her hand out and took the clothing from your hand.

A small ‘thank you’ fell from her lips as she slipped your jacket on, unconsciously pulling the material up to her nose, taking in your perfume that lingered on it.

The two of you didn't have to wait much longer and before you knew it, you were holding a car door open for Leah, letting her get into the uber before you.

The journey to Leah’s was short and the two of you were soon pulling up outside her place.

“Walk me to my door?” Leah asked, a small smile gracing her lips.

“I might as well, huh?” You replied, rolling your eyes although there was no malicious intent behind the action.

Promising the driver you would only be a couple of minutes, you exited the car and walked around to Leah’s side before opening her door. You held out your hand and she graciously took it in hers, pulling herself up and out of the car.

Shutting the door behind her, you walked her up to her front door where you stopped and waited for the blonde to open it.

After a little struggle, Leah managed to get her door open and she stepped into her place, turning around, one hand on the door the other fiddling with her keys.

“You’re a real piece of work, y’know.” You smiled, shaking your head.

“You love me though.” Leah joked, looking at her feet.

“In your dreams,” you laughed, “make sure you have some water and paracetamol in the morning.”

“Awh, you care about me.”

“Piss off, I'm going to be best friends with your hangover in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah, goodbye y/l/n.” Leah smiled.

“Night.” You said, replying with a similar smile.

Just as you were about to back away from Leah’s doorstep her cold hand grasped your arm again for the second time that night. Stopping in your tracks, eyebrows raised, you wondered what Leah was going to say.

She looked a little conflicted, not knowing what to say so she didn’t say anything, giving you a little peck on your cheek before pulling away and walking back into her place with a smile not leaving her face.

Your eyebrows rose even higher than they were before and you let out a breathy chuckle before making your way back to the uber and back to your place.

The next morning you had training, begrudgingly getting out of bed, you got ready for the day. The journey wasn’t bad, although you felt a headache creeping its way into your head.

Suddenly, you regretted the amount of alcohol you consumed yesterday. You don't remember much from last night, only a few things here and there albeit they were still a little fuzzy.

You soon met up with the other girls and conversed as you walked onto the pitch. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a certain defender who looked like they had been to hell and back.

Letting out a quiet snicker, you walked past her shaking your head with a smile. Leah noticed and sent a sneer your way, not that you cared and that only aggravated her more.

Time went by quickly and before you knew it training had finished. You were walking back to your car when Katie came running up to you.

“Hey y/n!” Katie shouted, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“What's up?” You smiled, turning around to face her.

“Me and a couple of the girls are going bowling later and we wondered if you wanted to come?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s not like I've got anything else to do.” You shrugged.

“Cool, I'll send you the address.”

“Yeah, no problem, see you later.”

It was around six in the afternoon when you pulled your car up to the bowling alley. Getting out of your car you slid your phone into your pocket before walking into the place. You knew immediately where to go from the loud noise coming from a particular group.

Sending them a smile you walked up to them but it soon dropped, not enough for anyone to notice, but it was safe to say you didn't think you were going to enjoy tonight.

Standing next to Beth, Leah was typing away on her phone. Once the blonde looked up from her phone she sent you a look which can only be described as unfriendly. To everyone else, however, they seemed to miss the way the two of you interacted and put you both into a pair.

It was you and Leah, Manu and Viv, Beth and Katie, Lotte and Steph as well as Rafa and Jen. You had very low hopes and you had a strong feeling that instead of hitting the pins Leah may end up hitting you.

Beth and Katie were to go first and it was safe to say that you didn't think they were going to win. Whilst you watched as everyone took their turns you were sat beside Leah. the two of you sitting like statues.

You thought it was because of the hatred Leah had towards you but it was completely the opposite. All the defender could think about was last night, when she kissed you on the cheek.

She didn't know why she did it but it felt right. But she knew it shouldn't have. The fact that it was so wrong was why it felt so right. Leah knew she shouldn't be feeling the way she is but she couldn't help it.

The only reason why Leah acted like she hated you was because she was afraid of getting hurt. Before she could do anything about it she was already too far down the rabbit hole for her to get out.

Leah just had to accept the fact that you’d never like her the way she liked you, and she was fine with having you in her life as an ‘enemy’ rather than not having you in her life at all.

Whilst Leah was so caught up in her own thoughts she missed the way that you looked at her. Like she was the only person in the world. Although you wouldn't tell her that.

The two of you were pining over each other and the only thing stopping you both from telling your true feelings is the fake hatred you had created.

As time went on and as the little arguments grew and grew they turned into true feelings but you never really did hate her. You were using it as a defence system, afraid of getting hurt.

The two of you were so afraid of getting hurt you didnt realise it was already too painful for you both. Too painful to realise you could be together if you weren't stupid. Too painful to realise you were falling and you were falling hard.

It was finally your turn and you stood up, grabbing a bowling ball. You looked back at Leah, searching for any kind of encouragement from her but she was too focused on the floor.

Sighing to yourself quietly, you took a quick cleansing breath and acted as if it was a match final, and you were going to win.

With your first bowl of the evening you managed to get a strike causing an uproar from the girls, snapping Leah from whatever state she was in.

Turning her head towards the noise she noticed you had put the two of you in the lead and she let out a small smile, watching on as you dodged the playful insults being thrown in your way as you sat back beside Leah.

“Guess I won't have a go this round, huh?” Leah said, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, my bad.” You replied, scratching the back of your neck.

“We’re winning, it doesn't matter.” Leah shrugged, turning to watch Manu as she bowled.

“Yeah.” You whispered, trying to fight off the smile that slowly crept onto your face.

It was the fifth round when everyone started to get hungry so you volunteered to go and get some food. After asking what everyone wanted you set off to the little snack bar.

“Hey.” You said, walking up to the bar.

“Hey, what can I get for you?” The lady asked, standing behind the counter. You weren't going to lie, she was beautiful but she didn’t come anywhere near to Leah

You told her what everyone had ordered and she left you to get all your food. As you waited you drummed your fingers on the counter. She was back before you knew it and handed you your food.

“Hopefully that's not all for you.” She chuckled, nodding to the food stacked in your arms.

“I don’t think I'll even get what is mine with how hungry my friends always are.” You replied with a chuckle of your own.

“Well, you're always welcome to come back.”

“Now, is that a marketing line or an excuse to see me again?” You questioned with a raise of your eyebrow.

“Depends on your answer.” She responded.

“I guess you’ll have to find out later.” You smiled, looking back at your friends who were waving you over.

“If i’m not here just ask for Holly.”

“Yea-” You started a reply but was cut off as someone spoke over you.

“I think they will be fine.” You didn’t need to turn around to notice who it was, sending a look of apology to Holly, you walked back to your friends with Leah.

“What was that for?” You asked.

“What?” Leah replied, acting oblivious.

“Back there, I was talking to her.”

“You were taking too long and everyone is hungry.” Leah said, dodging the real reason.

“Whatever.” You muttered, speeding up so you walked ahead of her.

Everyone cheered once you placed down all the food that you had brought and were quick to tuck in.

You sat down in your original place and fiddled with the receipt, not bothering to touch your food, once you realised there was writing on the back. You turned the receipt over and in blue writing was a number scribbled down with ‘text me’ underneath it.

Letting a smile take over your features, you looked over your shoulder and caught Holly’s eye, sending her a quick wink before finally opening the packet of crisps you bought.

Leah, who was sitting in front of you instead of next to you, watched the whole interaction and couldn't help the frown that formed on her face, anger bubbling from deep inside.

“What have you got there y/l/n?” Leah asked before she could stop herself and you looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Everyone turned to face you where you were sitting, struggling to find something to say.

“Y/n’s got someone's number.” Steph said as she looked over your shoulder and the girls ‘oohed’ teasingly.

“Leave me alone.” You chuckled, putting the receipt in your pocket.

“You going to text them?” Lotte questioned and you didn't miss the way Leah rolled her eyes.

“I don't know, do you think I should Leah?” You said, looking at Leah with a challenging look on your face.

“Why are you asking me?”

“It's just that you don’t like me, so you won’t mind me asking them out, right?

“No.” Leah said, a little too quickly gaining a look from a couple of the girls.

“No, as in you don’t mind or..?”

“I- I don’t-” Leah struggled, “just do what you want.”

Before you could even comprehend what was going on, Leah had gotten up rather abruptly and made her way into the toilets.

“What was that about?” You questioned, looking at the other girls.

“I think you should go talk to her.” Viv suggested.

“Why? I mean, you see how much we don’t like each other.”

“Actually, we see how much you love each other.” Beth corrected.

“You’re joking,” you laughed, “she hates my guts.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“How do you feel about her?” Jen joined in.

“Okay, there's no need for you to gang up on me.” You said, raising your hands up in defence.

“Just go talk to her. I think you both need to have a one on one conversation.” Rafa said.

“Fine, but if we end up killing each other, it's not my fault.” You sighed, getting up from your seat and making your way to the bathroom.

As you walked into the toilets you saw Leah splash her face with some water. At the sound of the door being closed, Leah looked into the mirror and her eyes caught yours.

“How was the hangover this morning?” You asked, not really knowing what else to say.

“What are you doing in here, y/n?” Leah wondered, ignoring what you had said and getting straight to the point.

“I came to check on you,” you shrugged, “the girls made me do it.”

“How kind of you.” Leah said sarcastically.

“Why’d you run off?” You questioned, walking closer to her.

“Like you care.”

“I did ask.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I don't mind complicated.” You said, leaning back against the sink.

“I don't know.” Leah mumbled, looking at her hands. “I guess I got hurt.”

“How?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“Seeing you talk to that girl-”

“Holly.”

“-yes her, I don't know, I guess it hurt knowing that I couldn’t make you smile like she did.”

“So you're jealous? That's why you interrupted our conversation.”

“No, tha- I- no. I'm not jealous.”

“So if i were to go back out-” You said, pointing your thumb towards the door.

“No.” Leah said quickly, grabbing onto your arm.

And that's when you felt it. Her cold hands on your arm sending sparks up to your heart, setting your whole body alight. Her chest was moving up and down, her gaze actively avoiding yours.

“You know, all of this would be so much easier if I actually hated you.” You whispered, your right hand coming up to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“What do you mean?” Leah asked, her gaze finally meeting yours.

“I never hated you and I never will.”

You cupped her cheek and ran your thumb along her cheekbone. Leah leant into your touch, unable to stop herself from the overwhelming feelings bubbling inside her.

Before either of you could realise what you were doing, you were both leaning in. Leah's grip tightened and her breath got caught in her throat. Hesitantly, you placed your lips on hers.

The sudden action had stunned Leah, her breath catching in her throat. She did not expect you to kiss her now. As her brain started to register what was going on, she kissed you back, putting her hands on your waist pulling you closer.

The two of you were caught up in your own small world, getting lost in the kiss. It wasn't rushed nor hungry, it was passionate and slow. You ended the kiss as you needed to breathe, getting a soft whine of protest from Leah.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You said breathlessly.

“Kiss me again.” Leah said, not letting go of your waist.

“But- mmph”

You moved your hand from Leah’s cheek to bury your fingers in her hair, the other hand sprawled out on the small of Leah’s back, pulling her closer until your chests were pressed together. The defender clutched the bottom of your shirt, feeling as it slowly rode upwards.

Her cold fingers splayed across your stomach, gently scratching your skin. You finally broke the kiss once again and you leaned your forehead against hers.

“For the record, I still hate you.” Leah smiled, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“No you don't.” You chuckled.

“No I don't.” Leah said, shaking her head slightly, placing another peck to your lips.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson imagines #woso #woso imagine #woso imagines

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