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lovebugism · 3 days

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u said 2 do ur worst for shy!r so…. steve and reader go to the hawkins snowball dance and a slow song comes on and its a uber romantic song (i’m talking taylor swift type romance) and steve ofc asks r to dance… she’s super shy so she keeps looking at the floor but then steve does the thing where you lift the other persons chin up so they’re looking into ur eyes… if u wanna elaborate on this :)

i changed this up a wee bit, but i hope u like it! — when steve is finally crowned prom king, all he can think about is getting a dance with his (sorta) secret girlfriend (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort, 1.2k)

Steve abandons his crown and scepter somewhere between the bleachers and the snack table. The thought of finding you is far more important than the chunks of plastic they give him.

The cold breeze of the early evening cools his warm cheeks, flushed red from the adrenaline and the alcohol. He finds you sitting on the wooden bench outside the gymnasium, pretty and all alone. The skirt of your fairy-tale dress billows around your calves. Elbows digging into your thighs, you prop your chin on your fists and pout softly beneath the pale moonlight.

You’re the prettiest thing Steve’s ever seen. The saddest, too, maybe.

“Been looking for you,” he says to announce his presence. The lopsided smile on his face is audible. You know it’s dancing on his pink mouth before you ever turn around to face him.

He’s a pretty thing in a sleek tux. Boyishly handsome. Sort of like he’s playing dress-up. The thought almost makes you smile.

“Sorry,” you apologize in a mousy voice, blinking up at him with sparkly, made-up eyes when he looms over you. “It got… really loud in there…”

“Well, Tommy spiked the punch, so… It was kinda inevitable,” Steve jokes with a lazy shrug, even though he isn’t really joking.

He watched the idiot steal his dad’s best liquor from the high-up cabinet two hours ago. The Hawkins High class of ’85 got drunk on it in record time. The school pulses with life accordingly. The brick behind you threatens to shake with it.

Your nose scrunches. “Is that why it tasted like gasoline?”

“Probably,” Steve grins.

He huffs and sits at the spare spot next to you. The old bench creaks in protest. He takes his first good breath all night when he’s finally alone with you. The fresh air and your perfume fill his lungs, smoother than silk. There’s a subtle euphoria and a distant nostalgia between it all.

He’s spent years chasing this feeling. He thought maybe being crowned prom king would solve all his problems. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. ‘Cause you did.

“You coming back inside?”

Your lips purse to the side of your mouth as you ponder the question. “I don’t know… Probably not.”

Steve’s freshly shaven face swirls with visible confusion. He loves a party — especially when he’s the life of it — so it’s hard for him to comprehend how other people don’t. Even though he knows, more than anyone else, that you’re made of something much more delicate than that.

“Why not?”

“Prom’s not really my scene, Steve,” you answer with a scoffed-out laugh.

He flashes you a crooked smile in return, painted silver in the moonlight. His cologne swaddles you in its musk when he leans over to nudge your shoulder. “You promised me a dance, remember?”

Your soft features harden into a frown. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, c’mon! You know you wanna dance with me,” he protests through a poorly bitten-back laugh.

“Why?” you press, meeting his beam with a lighthearted scowl. “So all your friends can laugh at me?”

“Screw ‘em! They’re assholes— who cares?”

“I care. ‘Cause you’re not the one they’re laughing at, King Steve.”

You spit the stupid nickname with playful venom in your tone, but Steve can’t help but smile at it, anyway. He’s a week away from graduating, halfway employed, and Hawkins High’s reigning prom king. It’s all slightly maddening — especially now that he’s got you.

He wonders if you applauded when he won that stupid crown. If you laughed at him about it, or if you were strangely proud. He’ll ask you about it later. After he gets that dance.

“Let ‘em laugh,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, averting your gaze with a sad smile. You wish it were that easy.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you tell him as the heavy bass inside the school starts to slow. Through the high-up frosted windows, you hear Girls on Film fade into Never Tear Us Apart.

“Sorry for wanting to dance with my girlfriend,” he teases to ease the tension. It comes out more serious than he intended, though, ‘cause he is sort of sorry. Nothing about your two worlds exactly meshes — yet here he is, still hopelessly trying to tangle them together.

You know this, so you sigh. “Sorry for not being prom queen,” you joke back, only partly serious. You blink at him with a pair of twinkling eyes — slightly smudged with mascara. The sparkles of your eyeshadow glint when they catch the moonlight.

“Don’t want you to be prom queen,” Steve confesses softly, smiling at you somehow softer. “I like you the way you are right now.”

You get a warm, tingly feeling in your stomach. It wells up your chest and into your throat until you feel like you might cry.

You roll your eyes at him when they start to burn, laughing softly to distract from the overwhelming feeling. Your gaze flits to the velvet night sky, speckled with twinkling stars, until you get the courage to look back at the boy beside you. His face glitters with something hopeful.

You swallow hard and ask, “You still want that dance or what?”

Steve glows with a boyish excitement. “Yeah! Are you kidding? Of course, I do.”

“Out here, though,” you tell him when he rises from the bench.

He smiles at the stern look in your delicate eyes. “Why? You ashamed of me or somthin’?” he jokes, as if he wasn’t named just prom king.

You stand before him with your arms crossed over the pretty corset of your dress. You bite back a smile. “I just wanna spend time with my boyfriend without it being on the cover of The Weekly Streak tomorrow,” you confess.

“Fair enough,” Steve nods, smoothing his wide hands over your sides.

Yours are much less confident. They tremble with a misplaced worry as they spread over his shoulders. Your fingers fidget on the satin lapels of his expensive suit. His longer ones guide you back and forth, swaying you gently to the slow beat of the muffled song.

—Don’t ask me, what you know is true…

Don’t have to tell you, I love your precious heart—

You get lost in it all before you mean to. The warmth of having him so close, swaddled in his big hands and deep cologne.

His honeyed gaze hasn’t yet wavered from you, but you don’t have the heart to meet it. He’s looking at you like he loves you. Like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Like you’re the fucking prom queen.

You don’t feel particularly deserving of any of it.

“Are you still having fun?” you ask with a scrunched nose, visibly riddled with feelings of inadequacy. You still haven’t quite figured out why he’d rather be out here with you than inside with everyone else — with Vicki Carmichael, the actual prom queen.

“Loads,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His hands squeeze reassuringly at your hips as he flashes you a crooked grin. “It’s not even a question, honestly. I’d choose you over those schmucks in there any day of the week.”

He nods his slicked-back hair to the pulsing brick a few feet away. A few gelled chestnut strands drape over his forehead. You fight the urge to push them back.

“Really?” you squeak with your pretty face, all dolled up, twisted with an innocent look of confusion.

You have no idea how beautiful you are, Steve thinks to himself.

“Yeah,” he nods, grinning wide and wearing all his adoration on his chiseled, golden face. He could hide it if he tried. “Tommy Hagan isn’t nearly as pretty to look at.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

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moodriingz · 19 hours

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The Prophecy | J. Hughes

Summary | You’ve given up on love until love hits you in the face (with a door)

Warnings | Unedited, one curse word, (really bad) angst

Author's Note | I finally finished all of my finals! So that means more regular stories so send in requests! This is also part of my 100 follower celebration!

Masterlist | 100 follower celebration

You never expected to feel so lost in a city you lived in for most of your adult life. You and your college boyfriend broke up after five years of dating. You met early in your freshman year and were stuck together like glue. He made you feel like you caught lightning in a bottle, so much so you were willing to do anything for him. So many of your friends thought you were going to get married and he had been hinting at it since you graduated a year ago.

You were blindsided when he said that he didn’t think you two should be together anymore and basically kicked you out of your shared apartment. Luckily Hannah, your best friend, offered to stay in her apartment until you could find one.

All you could think was that it was your fault. Why else would he end it so suddenly? He gave you little to no explanation. Even though you were still so young you felt like you would never find a love like his. It was like someone was betting against you. All you ever wanted was someone who wanted your company.

After a couple of weeks you were able to find a new apartment in a different part of town and you never felt so excited or rejuvenated. Hannah was trying to convince you to start dating again, but you told her it was too soon. You were scared someone was betting against your love life and you didn’t want to risk it yet.

Little did you know when you went to check out a new pizza place you would run into the cutest guy you’ve ever seen. It wasn’t a normal meeting though he almost gave you a concussion by hitting you with the door.

“I’m so sorry, are you ok? How many fingers am I holding up?” The stranger asks as he stares into your eyes looking for any signs of injury. Before you respond you notice his really tall friend recovering the pizza off the ground.

“I’m fine thank- why are you moving your finger in front of my eyes?” You ask confused about what he is doing.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t have a concussion. You hit your head pretty hard when you fell,” he said, still doing some concussion protocol? You’re not too certain what is happening honestly.

“I think I’m ok I really appreciate it though,” you say finally getting the opportunity to stand up as he backs up. You go to move inside before he stops you.

“Wait what’s your name?”

“Y/n,” You tell him before turning around to enter the shop and order your much deserved pizza.

Later you meet up with Hannah to debrief about both of your weeks. You almost forgot to tell her about the mystery pizza man until she mentions dating to you again.

“Hannah, I'm not going on a date right now. But there was this really cute guy who almost gave me a concussion the other night when I went to get pizza,” You say nonchalantly.

“What? Y/n why didn’t you tell me? What’s his name? Are you going out with him?” She babbles as you roll your eyes.

“No to all of those questions. I felt like such a fool because of my ex and I’m not doing that again.” You say with a shrug. Living alone has really forced you to think about your relationship and you realized that the end of your relationship was most likely your fault, and you definitely do not want to get into another relationship until you figure out how to stop it from happening again.

After dinner you and Hannah decide to hit a club that was only semi full until the hockey crowd filtered in after the game. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits though so the Devils must have won.

Little did you know is that your pizza mystery man was currently walking in the club with some of his teammates to celebrate. Hannah was a pretty big fan and spotted some of them almost instantly.

“Oh my gosh the Devils are here we should go say hey. Maybe you can find a date,” She wasn’t going to take no for an answer so you just let her pull you by the wrist.

Hannah finally stops when she’s face to face with Nico, who you only recognize because of all of his ads around town. Before you can introduce yourself someone calls out your name.

“Y/n,” Your mystery man. He says it shocked like he didn’t expect to see you again.

“You know Jack Hughes?” Hannah whispers into your ear. You just ignore her because maybe it's fate? Maybe it’s a cruel joke?

You don’t even know what to say, you’re so shocked by the turn of events. You never would’ve thought you’d meet him again. You thought your near concussion experience would be the last you see of him.

“I’m Jack by the way,” He says and you’re drawn in by his voice and his eyes that haven’t left yours.

“I think you owe me a drink for almost killing me,” You say, shocking yourself.

“In my defense I didn’t try to give you a concussion, my brother was distracting me,” He says leading you to the bar. You order your regular drink and he does the same before asking you if you’d want to talk for a bit.

The two of you talked for what seemed like minutes until Hannah came to find you to let you know that she’s leaving. You check the time and realize you should probably leave as well.

“I had an amazing night thanks for keeping me company,” You say getting up to leave.

“Wait let me give you my number,” Jack says standing up and you nod, handing him your phone.

You walk Hannah home because you’re much more sober than she is and all she can talk about is that you know Jack Hughes.

“You should go out with him, he's so cute and sweet.”

“Hannah I’m not dating right now and you know that,” You say, leading her to her door.

“Yeah I know but you just deserve to be happy, and I really think he would be perfect for you,” She said, drawing out her syllables. You say goodnight and make your way home which luckily isn’t too far from her apartment.

The next day you decide to listen to Hannah and reach out to Jack. You try texting him telling him that you had a great time talking to him last night, but the message never gets delivered. All you can do is feel idiotic. It wasn’t fate to run into him twice (physically or not). You feel so childish thinking maybe this was your chance.

You blame Hannah for getting your hopes up to think that maybe something could happen. You were starting to think that maybe it was some cruel joke fate was playing on you. You were almost compelled to pray to change your prophecy, but then you just started feeling even more insane. But, there must be a way to change it, right?

Later in the week you decide to work out of a cafe nearby and feel like the universe is playing some sick joke on you. As you look up your eyes meet with a pair of blue eyes staring you down. You smile shyly at the hockey player not knowing how to respond to someone who never responded to your text. Jack took that as an invitation to join you.

“You never called,” He says as he sits down.

“I texted but you never responded,” You say nervous you’d get turned down in person this time.

“What are you talking about? I was so excited to see you again because I wanted to get your number the first time we met but I thought it would be weird if I asked after almost giving you a head injury. I would’ve noticed if you texted me,” He rambles and you just pull out your phone to show him the message. He clicks around on your phone until his eyes get wide.

“I gave you the wrong number,” Jack says with a blush on his face. You feel that maybe your tables are turning. Instead of fate working against you, maybe they just wanted you two to meet a couple of times.

“Third times a charm right?” You smile at him as he fixes his number in your phone. You two fall into conversation once again before he checks the time.

“I have to go but I can’t leave until you agree to go on a date with me,” Jack says with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. You just nod knowing that someone was finally betting on your love life.

#hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hughes brothers #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #nj devils #jack hughes fic #jh86 #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x oc

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misshoneyimhome · 1 day

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you’re interning with the maple leafs athletic training department after graduating university in the health field. you’re new to the city & don’t know anyone. ur quiet and only engage with players when spoken too. it’s obvious ur intelligent and very career driven. you have an independent vibe. it’s clear ur not impressed or starstruck by players, but not in a rude way its just u aren’t interested in hockey as a sport only the health aspect as it relates to ur career, so ur vibe gives off very much *professional only here to get paid*😂….anyway willy thought you were stunning initially,but he was caught off guard since ur not his usual type and don’t have the same physical or aesthetic look as any other gf/vibe in the league. ur appearance is very feminine but u dress streetwear tomboy. ur slim but with an hourglass build athletic legs /big butt. u have big long curly hair that u let flow wild and don’t wear makeup but ur skin glows and thick dark eyelashes /rosey lips are striking. its clear willy is not the only one that finds u intriguing bc he’s noticed few players act “different” when u come around -and he can tell they’re crushing on you. they’re harmlessly flirtatious with u but ur oblivious. he knows someone will ask u out soon. how do you think willy reacts? does he make a move? does he feel jealous? he hasn’t even had a chance to introduce himself, yet he’s seen other players find an excuse to interact with u. he knew he was interested but didn’t expect to have to act so soon. does chill willy feel like he has competition or nah? can you write something to add or finish the plot or just take this concept and create ur own magic 😅 i have the vision but definitely not the skill or outlet lmao

Absolutely, babe! So, this was more than just something and I definitely enjoyed it 🤍 You provided me with so much inspiration, and I hope I've managed to convey your vision at least to some extent 😉

Perhaps there's room for a sequel, but I also believe it stands strong on its own - either way, my wish is for you to enjoy it 🤗

Warnings; none, it's pure fluff 🌺 maybe some language, but nothing out of the ordinary;

Word count; 5K

Song inspiration; "Lovestoned/ I Think She Knows" by Justin Timberlake

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny @justwanderingbutneverlost

・✶ ｡ﾟ

She’s got me Lovestoned I William Nylander 🖋️🌺

“She looks like a model Except she's got a little more ass Don't even bother Unless you've got that thing she likes I hope she's going home with me tonight”

Your heart raced with excitement as you followed your manager through the busy corridors of the Maple Leafs' training facility. The sound of skates scraping against the ice and the reverberation of pucks hitting the boards filled the atmosphere, adding to the tangible buzz of the surroundings.

Freshly graduated from university with a degree in the healthcare field, you had long imagined this moment. Securing an internship with the athletic training department of one of the most esteemed sports teams in the league was a dream come true – an opportunity to apply your expertise and knowledge in a practical environment.

As you strolled, you couldn't help but admire the cutting-edge facilities surrounding you. From the fully equipped gym to the medical treatment rooms, every aspect was crafted to ensure the players received optimal care and resources.

And your manager, sensing your admiration, offered you a warm smile. "Welcome to the team miss y/l/n," they said, their tone brimming with pride. "We're delighted to have you join us."

You reciprocated the smile, thankful for the chance and eager to demonstrate your abilities. This was your moment to establish yourself in the realm of sports medicine, to glean knowledge from the experts and contribute to the team's triumphs.

And as you continued to explore the facility, a surge of excitement pulsed through you. This marked merely the beginning of your journey with the Maple Leafs, and you were resolute in seizing every opportunity that lay ahead.

As you settled into your role as an intern within both the Medical and Performance teams, your reserved and composed demeanour became apparent to those around you. You'd always been one to let your actions do the talking, and this remained unchanged in your new environment.

Focused and resolute, you approached each task with unwavering commitment; whether it involved aiding in rehabilitation exercises or conducting pre-season screenings, you handled each duty with precision and diligence.

While some might have mistaken your quiet nature for aloofness, those who took the time to understand you soon discovered there was more beneath the surface. You were intelligent, determined, and fiercely independent – a formidable presence in your own right.

Unlike many others in your position, you weren't swayed by the glamour of professional hockey. While you respected the sport and admired the players' athleticism, your focus lay solely on the health and well-being aspect, aligning with your career aspirations.

To you, the players were not celebrities to be idolised but individuals to be cared for – athletes whose welfare relied on your expertise. And you simply approached your responsibilities with professionalism and purpose, recognising the significance of your role in the team's success.

Yet, although you kept to yourself, speaking only, when necessary, your influence permeated the facility. Your dedication to excellence and the players' wellbeing garnered the respect and admiration of your colleagues. And as you delved deeper into your work, you found a profound sense of satisfaction, knowing you were making a meaningful impact on the athletes' lives and careers.

As the first two weeks of your internship with the team flew by faster than you’d expected, you quickly became fully engrossed in the dynamic world of professional hockey. The days were a whirlwind of absorbing new information, making acquaintances with staff and players, and engaging in hands-on tasks that put your skills and knowledge to the test.

With the start of the regular hockey season on the horizon, the gravity of the job began to dawn on you. However, far from feeling daunted, you embraced the challenge with enthusiasm and resolve. This was the culmination of your training, the result of your hard work, and you were prepared to demonstrate your worth.

With each passing day, your confidence in your abilities grew, and you found your rhythm within the team. Yet, while your focus remained on your duties, you gradually began to forge connections with those around you, as the staff and players greeted you with open arms, fostering a sense of camaraderie that made it easy to acclimate to your new surroundings. Your initial intention to maintain a professional distance slowly faded, and you somehow found yourself drawn into the team's social dynamics.

As time went on, laughter and friendly banter became commonplace during the long hours spent with your colleagues, and before you knew it, you were joining in with the playful teasing.

"Come on, Lou," you chuckled. "Who's the trickiest player?" you quipped.

"I can’t say..." Louis Rojas, the Head Strength and Conditioning Coach, chuckled in response. "But there are certainly a few who need a gentle nudge when it comes to the rehabilitation aspect of training..." he winked. "And I won't name names, but it seems like the longer they've been on the team, the more inflated their ego becomes."

It was all good-natured banter, naturally. From your perspective, each player had their own unique traits, but you understood why – this was the results of their lifelong dream, pursued with sacrifices of social life and late nights for early morning training sessions and weekend games.

And despite the jests, you felt like you were part of a close-knit family among your peers.

Whether it was the late nights after a defeat or the shared jubilation following a hard-fought victory, every experience drew you nearer to your team. And when a player sustained an injury, regardless of how minor, you felt the weight of responsibility, knowing you played a vital role in the team's support structure.

Even the players, initially unfamiliar with your reserved nature, began to open up to you as they became more acquainted. Despite any unintentional distance, they valued your commitment and professionalism, gradually extending their trust and respect.

And as you navigated through the highs and lows of the hockey beginning of the season alongside your newfound comrades, you couldn't help but sense a feeling of belonging – a realisation that, despite any initial hesitations, you were precisely where you were meant to be.

“She shuts the room down The way she walks and causes a fuss The baddest in town She's flawless like some uncut ice I hope she's going home with me tonight”

As the months went by, more players gradually began to get to know your personality a bit better, noticing the subtle sparks you unintentionally ignited. And one player, in particular, found himself increasingly drawn to you.

William Nylander hadn't anticipated this turn of events, being entirely focused on his career and having his best season yet. However, as the young Swedish forward observed you carrying out your duties with quiet resolve, he couldn't ignore the growing sense of curiosity that stirred within him. Unlike the typical women he encountered in the hockey world, you possessed a unique charm and allure that captured his attention from the outset.

Your appearance defied convention, blending elements of femininity with a distinctive streetwear tomboy aesthetic. Your slender yet athletic figure, accentuated by your hourglass figure, toned legs, and shapely posterior, intrigued him in a way he hadn't expected.

Your long, untamed curls flowed down your back, framing your face in a halo of natural beauty. And though you opted for minimal makeup, your natural radiance shone through, with thick, dark eyelashes framing your captivating eyes and rosy lips that seemed to beckon him. Yet, it wasn't solely your physical attributes that intrigued him – it was your confident and graceful demeanour, your unapologetic embrace of your individuality.

To William, you represented a refreshing departure from the predictable stereotypes usually found in the hockey world. He found himself drawn to your authenticity, your refusal to conform to societal norms. And as he observed you navigate the challenges of your role with quiet determination, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was far more to you than met the eye.

Yet, amidst his desirable interest, he couldn't help but think of how you might respond to his actions and thoughts. Would you reciprocate his attention, or would you maintain your professional composure, unaware of the impact you had on those around you?

Only time held the answer, but one thing was clear—William was determined to find out. And one day, he resolved to take action and initiate a conversation.

"Hey there, I'm Willy," he introduced himself, flashing his trademark smirk as he encountered you in the physio room shortly after a session where the performance team had discussed nutritious foods and home recipe ideas.

And as you tidied up the materials from the presentation, a soft chuckle escaped you. "Yes, I'm aware," you replied with a gentle smile.

"You are?" he inquired, a small hint of surprise in his tone.

"Well, of course," you chuckled once more, a mischievous glimmer in your eye as you neatly arranged the papers. "It's part of my job - I'm familiar with all of you, including your current physical condition and medical histories."

William couldn't contain his amusement at your response, his smirk broadening as he let out a soft chuckle. It wasn't often that someone managed to catch him off guard, but there was something about your effortless confidence that intrigued him.

"Ah, so you've been doing your homework on me, eh?" he teased, leaning casually against the nearby equipment rack with a playful glint in his eye.

"You could say that," you retorted with a grin, a touch of mischief flickering in your gaze. "But don't worry, your secrets are safe with me."

William smiled, a sense of warmth enveloping him at your relaxed banter. "Well, in that case, I hope it's all just good stuff," he quipped, flashing you a charming smile, his eyes gleaming with genuine interest.

"Oh, absolutely," you replied, feigning innocence. "Only the finest gossip about your impeccable physique and stellar health habits."

William laughed, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Well, I'm relieved to hear I've made such an impression," he joked, his smirk widening as he leaned in a little closer, a newfound sense of connection sparking between you.

And as the conversation flowed, the playful banter between you and William felt effortless, each exchange infused with light-hearted humour and genuine warmth. Despite starting off as acquaintances, it was evident that this spontaneous encounter held the promise of something more, leaving a sense of anticipation lingering in the air like a whisper of exciting possibilities.

As the first few months progressed, William couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in dynamics whenever you were present. He observed how other players' demeanours changed, becoming more animated and flirtatious when you entered the room. And despite your apparent obliviousness to their advances, William couldn't shake the twinge of jealousy gnawing at him.

As it was, your responsibilities extended beyond mere observation and monitoring of the players' physical and mental well-being; at times, you were also required to engage with them physically. Whether it involved carrying out a soft massage to their legs or backs, aiding with stretches, or similar activities with the purpose of facilitating their recovery, ensuring the were swiftly back on their feet was part of your role.

And truth be told, when a young, attractive woman like yourself interacted closely with young men, some of whom were not in committed relationships, their minds often wandered. And consequently, comments occasionally slipped out, their mouths moving faster than their rational thoughts.

"You know, you can press harder, I can handle it."

"We could continue this session later, when it's more private."

"Your touch is amazing – it's really doing wonders... anything else you're good at?"

To you, these remarks seemed harmless, playful, and merely part of the camaraderie. You were accustomed to the tone, unaffected by it, and accepted it as part of the team dynamic, which was likely why the management allowed you to work in such close proximity to the players.

However, for William, these comments carried a weightier significance.

For some time now, William had been trying to forge a closer connection with you, seizing any opportunity to get to know you better amidst the limited time available. Yet, despite his efforts, you simply remained a staff member while he was a hockey player under your care. And he wasn't the only one deserving of your attention. Your professional interest extended to all the players, regardless of their role on the team, and it appeared that some others were making rather direct attempts at flirting.

A part of him had hoped for more time to cultivate a deeper bond with you before making a move. However, with each passing day, he felt the pressure mounting as he observed other players finding excuses to engage with you.

Despite his typically relaxed demeanour, the young Swede found himself torn between maintaining his composure and the urge to stake his claim before someone else did. It was an unfamiliar sensation; one he hadn't felt before. Usually, it would be the women vying for his attention. But you were different. You exuded nothing but a sense of calm, confidence, and independence that simply captivated him.

And as he deliberated his options, William realised that he needed to take action, to seize the moment before it slipped away.

"And now I walk around without a care She's got me hooked It just ain't fair, but I... I'm love stoned and I could swear That she knows"

Fortunately for William, an opportunity presented itself one evening, and he was determined not to let it slip by. It was a typical Wednesday training session, with a match scheduled for the following day, and during the ice time, he inadvertently made a small movement, aggravating his existing back injury.

While not severe, the coaching staff still insisted on him being checked before the upcoming game. And luckily, you were still at the facilities, having just finished up a report when he entered the medical treatment room.

"Hey y/n," he greeted softly, walking with a slight crook in his step, the pain from his lower back evident.

"Hey William, what's up?" you asked, noticing his discomfort. "Is everything okay?" you inquired, concern evident in your voice.

"Just call me Willy," he smiled. "But um... yeah, I sort of did something... I mean... Kniesy tackled me, and now I can feel it in my back..." he explained with a light chuckle.

"Well, how about you undress a bit, and then we can take a closer look at it?" you suggested with a sweet smile, to which he simply nodded.

"Usually, I take the girls out before they ask me to strip," he cheekily remarked as he began to undress before you.

Raising a brow, you flashed him a grin and a questioning look. "Do you really?"

This was the type of banter that most of the players appreciated about you. You weren't afraid to push boundaries and test their comfort zones.

"Maybe not," William admitted with a chuckle as he stood in front of you, only the physio table separating you, in nothing but his short shorts before you directed him to lie face down.

"Well, at least you admit it," you replied softly, surprising yourself by engaging in a more personal conversation than usual. "Most guys just act like they couldn't care less."

William was slightly taken aback by your candidness. While you'd shared conversations where you got to know each other better, you hadn't delved into deeper opinions before.

"Why wouldn't I care?" William smiled as he shifted his head to the side, meeting your gaze as you stood beside the table. "I mean, she's still a person, right?"

"I don't know, I'm just saying what most guys do," you replied.

"Well, maybe I'm not like most guys," William retorted, his wink adding to his cheekiness.

His comment took you by surprise, causing you to pause for a moment. Though you hadn't exactly considered any of the players as close friends or thought about them in a romantic way, there was something about this Swede that suddenly had you reconsidering.

Was he flirting with you?

No, you dismissed the thought. You were definitely not his type, or any of the players for that matter. After all, you were just there to help maintain their health so they could perform at their best.

Yet, as you thought about it, you couldn't deny that most of the players were indeed attractive. And given that you'd seen most of them in various stages of undress, you knew what they looked like from head to toe.

And you probably couldn't deny the allure of the players. Each had their own charm – some were sweet and kind, while others were more playful and cheekier. Yet, none of them displayed any meanness or cruelty. Even Reaves, who often projected a rough and tough exterior, revealed a tender side when speaking about his family. In fact, most of the players with families exhibited a similar dichotomy. Despite their tough demeanour on the ice, they were remarkably different behind the scenes.

Then there were the younger players, some single, some in relationships, all equally playful and lacking a certain level of maturity. However, you found their antics amusing and entertaining. Perhaps only Woll, the sweetheart of the team, was less inclined towards playful banter, but lively, nonetheless.

And despite your bit of familiarity with these players on a personal level by now, they remained nothing more than the team you were tasked with caring for and supporting as needed.

So, pushing aside any lingering thoughts, you focused your attention on the player's bare back, beginning to apply pressure to his tender muscles to locate the sore spot.

"How's this?" you inquired in your professional tone.

"It's good, but maybe you need to go a bit lower... that's where the pain is worst," William responded, the cheekiness in his voice fading as he sensed your seriousness.

And as you continued to massage his back, applying pressure to different muscle groups before focusing on his lower back, a few minutes passed.

"Here?" you asked, indicating the area.

William nodded lightly, then hesitated, feeling a twinge of awkwardness as he tried to pinpoint the exact location of his discomfort.

"Uh, yes, but..." he cleared his throat. "Maybe even lower..."

You sensed his slight nervousness, understanding what he was hinting at. Yet, you remained professional, knowing exactly how to address his injury and provide appropriate care.

"Willy, are you referring to your sciatic area?" you asked.

"What's that?" he chuckled.

"Well, it's one of the largest nerves in the body, extending from your lower back down each leg," you explained, smiling even though he couldn't see it.

"Oh, so, uh..." he trailed off, unsure how to ask, and you couldn't help but chuckle lightly, maintaining your professional demeanour.

“It means I'll have to massage your glute - as in your bum. It's one of the largest muscles where the nerve runs behind, but it seems like yours is cramping a little, pressing onto the nerve, which causes the pain."

William understood your explanation, and a smirk crossed his face as he imagined your perspective on his ass at that moment.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing else to do but for you to go ahead," he chuckled lightly.

Sensing his slightly cheeky demeanour once again, you aimed to bring the situation back to a professional tone.

"Willy, it's nothing sensual. And believe me, it's probably a lot more painful than pleasant," you reassured him.

"I think I can handle it," he replied with a cocky smile.

"We'll see about that."

And with his understanding, you went ahead and placed your elbow onto his cheek and started to circle it in order to loosen up the cramp muscle.

“Shit!” William exclaimed as he suddenly felt the pain course through his body.

One thing in particular that you’d become known for amongst the players, was that you were rather strong compared to your size. And you didn’t hold back when you knew that their injuries required force.

“Told you it wasn’t pleasant.” You grinned softly, as you continued to massage his cheek.

And as more minutes went by, William’s deep grunts only grew more incoherent and out of breath. He was nothing but sore, yet as you released your arm from his body, he felt a newfound release washing over him. As if your massage had healing powers, the pain slowly faded into nothing, and he didn’t feel the twinge in his lower back any longer.

“Fuck…” he let out a deep sigh as he caught his breath.

“Need a minute, Nylander?” you mocked playfully and flashed him a grin as your eyes met with his.

“Maybe…” he softly admitted, still a little numb from the intense feeling you had caused him.

“That’s good, that means it’s working.”

You turned around to remove your latex gloves, and as your turned back, William slowly rose and turned to his side to face you, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. Despite the discomfort of the massage, he recognised its necessity and appreciated your expertise.

"Thanks, y/n," he said sincerely, meeting your gaze as you turned back to face him.

"You're welcome, Willy," you replied with a warm smile, appreciating his gratitude.

A moment of silence followed as you both remained still, and the tension of the massage easing away. Then, suddenly, William's expression softened, and he cleared his throat, as if preparing to speak.

"Listen, y/n, I... uh... I just wanted to ask..." he trailed off, his cheeks colouring slightly.

You raised an eyebrow, curious about what he was trying to express. "Yes?" you prompted gently.

But before William could continue, the door to the physio room swung open, and one of the team trainers entered, interrupting the moment.

"Hey, William, everything okay? I heard you were having some trouble with your back," Dean inquired, concern evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine now, thanks to y/n," William replied, shooting you a grateful look.

Dean nodded, then turned to you with a smile. "Thanks for taking care of him, y/n. We appreciate it."

You nodded in acknowledgment, though you couldn't hide the slight disappointment you felt at the interruption, before he swiftly left the room again. However, William's reassuring smile lifted your spirits, sparking a sense of excitement within you. Perhaps there was more to his earlier words than you had initially thought.

And as William watched you, a surge of determination coursed through him. This was his moment, his opportunity to finally express what had been on his mind for so long. So, with a deep breath, he pushed himself up to sit, his gaze unwavering as he met yours. The lingering soreness in his back served as a reminder of your expertise and the connection they shared.

"So, this is it?" he asked, his voice soft yet filled with anticipation, a hint of vulnerability peeking through his confident facade.

"Well, for now," you replied with a smile. "But we'll need to keep an eye on you to ensure it doesn't happen again like that. Cramps like these often come back." You found yourself unintentionally delving into the details of the injury, your passion for health and well-being shining through. "And, um... it's good to have someone who understands the injury to provide follow-up care," you concluded, realising you had been speaking more than intended. "Sorry, I'm rambling," you added with a sincere smile.

But William simply chuckled softly, finding your passion endearing as you spoke about the injury. He couldn't tear his gaze away from you, captivated by both your expertise and your beauty.

"Anyway, we should probably get back," you suggested softly, your friendly smile causing a flutter in William's heart.

But he didn't want this moment to end, not yet. Summoning his usual confidence, William spoke before he could second-guess himself. "Y/n, do you want to go out with me?" he asked, the words tumbling out faster than he could skate.

You didn't quite catch his words over the echoing noise of the hallways. "Pardon?" you asked, turning to face him, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, William tried again. "I mean, since you've already massaged my ass... I was just thinking... maybe you want to go out with me... sometime?"

His question caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily stunned. Frozen in your position, you struggled to process the unexpected turn of events.

“Willy…” you started, unsure of how to respond. Could you go out with him, a player for the team you worked for? Had you overlooked any contractual restrictions regarding such situations?

Truth be told, you hadn't paid much attention to those details before, as they didn't seem relevant at the time. Yet here you were, faced with an unexpected situation.

As you hesitated, William sensed your uncertainty, a twinge of fear for rejection creeping into his mind. Had he overstepped the boundaries? Perhaps he had misread the signals or been too presumptuous. Chiding himself internally, he realised that charming you and engaging in physical contact were not enough to win your affections. You were different, and he needed to find a way to impress you.

"I mean," he interjected, attempting to ease the tension he had created. "I just know that, uhm, some of the other guys were, you know, thinking about asking you the same... so," he sighed, "Just thought I'd try and beat them to it," he added with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your confusion deepened at his explanation, feeling overwhelmed by the revelation. "Oh... wait, what?" you exclaimed, your mind racing at the thought of other players potentially having similar intentions.

You were baffled. Did the players talk about you when you weren’t there?

"You didn't know?" William looked at you, equally surprised, as his teammates hadn’t exactly been subtle in their flirting.

"Well, do I look like someone who knew?" you quipped, attempting to flash a crooked smile, causing William to simply let out a small laugh.

“Come on, they’ve all been flirting with you!” he chuckled.

“They have?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Well, now you know.”

You needed a moment to process it all. As you contemplated how to navigate this unexpected revelation, feeling unable to simply ignore it and return to your usual routine, you gazed at the Swede before you.

“But... why?”

Again, William laughed. “What do you mean why? Come on, y/n – you’re good-looking, funny, smart, and most of all, you don’t seem desperate or starstruck whenever you're around us,” he explained.

“Why would I be that?” you simply asked.

“Well, a lot of girls are, I mean, we’re hockey players,” William grinned confidently.

“Oh wow, please work on that self-confidence of yours,” you rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms. “Seriously, I don’t get why women would just throw themselves at your feet… you’re just… humans.”

“Well, they do,” William laughed again, his confident smirk still in place. “But I guess that’s just what we all like about you... that you don’t...”

“Hmm, I suppose I don’t,” you attempted a smile, still uncertain how to react to it all.

There was another moment of silence as the two of you simply stood before each other, your thoughts still swirling. However, as William hadn’t received a clear response, he let out a soft chuckle and decided to press on.

“So, do you?”

“Huh?” you blinked a few times, slowly returning to reality.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he chuckled once more. “Just for a coffee or something?”

He seemed genuinely serious about this, didn’t he? You thought. As you gazed into his deep ocean blue eyes, you couldn’t ignore the unexpected attraction you suddenly felt towards him. It might have been there for a while, but amidst your own musings, you hadn’t paid it much attention.

“Well, wouldn’t it be inappropriate?” you asked softly, still maintaining your professional demeanour despite the stirrings of emotion within you. But William simply shrugged in response.

“I don’t know… I mean, I guess in a way…” he let out a small sigh. “I just didn’t want to miss the chance, you know, in case you did want to…”

Once again, there was a lingering moment in the air. You couldn’t deny the temptation, given that you were, in fact, single, and had been missing a man’s touch ever since you’d focused so much on your internship. But a part of you felt like it would be wrong.

In a way, you worked for William. You couldn’t go out with him. What if it didn’t go well, and he’d hurt you or vice versa? Then it would just be awkward seeing each other every day. Or what if it went too well, but the management wouldn’t approve of it, and both of you would end up being hurt?

Your thoughts raced at a high speed, causing you to lightly gasp for air. Yet, your train of thoughts was interrupted by the door swinging open again and this time Lou entered.

“Oh hey,” he smiled. “You guys all done in here?”

“Yeah sorry, we just chatted,” William explained casually, as you remained frozen in position. “I better go.”

And as he left the room and Lou started to talk to you, you suddenly felt a wave of disappointment wash over you. Watching William leave with your indirect rejection of his proposal suddenly caused you to feel a sense of unease, perhaps making you realise that there was something more to it all.

Then as you realised you hadn’t heard a single word of what Lou had said, you excused yourself and hurriedly followed the Swedish player.

“Hey, Willy,” you called after him, causing him to halt and turn around. Trying to maintain your composure, you met him halfway and flashed him a sweet smile. “I suppose coffee wouldn’t be too bad,” you spoke softly, earning a smile from the taller player.

“Well then, I guess I’ll buy you a cup whenever there’s time,” he chuckled lightly, feeling a sense of relief.

“I’ll look forward to it,” you said with a soft smile, then turned around and forced yourself to refocus on work.

And as you walked away, William couldn’t help but bite his lip as he thought proudly about being the first to ask you out and your positive response. Finally, he could acknowledge all the emotions he’d been feeling for a while, and perhaps, just perhaps, you felt the same for him.

#my asks #wn88 imagine #william nylander imagine #william nylander x reader #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

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goosewithtwoos · 2 days

Text

TOO SWEET

pairing: bob x reader

summary: bobs just too sweet

“You’re just,” you struggle to find the right words. “too sweet.”

Bob furrows his brow. “Too sweet?” He asks, placing down his tea.

“Yeah, that’s you’re problem. You’re too sweet. You let people walk over you. You need to have a bit of a backbone if you want to be respected.” You explain.

The two of you were sitting in his living room, having just come back from a morning run. You hated cardio - weight lifting was a much better workout in your opinion - but Bob was a runner and had wanted you to join him for a run for so long you finally gave in.

His Naval Academy shirt was faded in stark contrast to his blue PT shorts. You’d never be caught dead in PT uniform outside of the work day but somehow he made it work.

During the run, he had been explaining how this new command was trying to keep him from hops and began training him as an unmanned aircraft system operator. Of course, it was nice to have this extra knowledge but he was a WSO and should be treated as such. He talked for most of the run, mainly because you couldn’t speak for more than three sentences without getting winded, so now was your time to offer advice.

“There’s nothing wrong with being firm.” You sip your now lukewarm coffee, making a flippant gesture with your hand.

Bob shifted in his seat. “I don’t want to seem belligerent. It is a good opportunity.”

“But it’s keeping you from your primary job.” You roll your eyes. “Come on, Bobby, you don’t actually want to be some drone operator, do you?”

His eyes dipped. “No.”

“There you go!” You exclaim. “Tell them that. Exactly like that. You want to be a WSO. You’re amazing at your job anyways, they’d be stupid to keep you from it.”

A light dust of pink began to cover Bobs’ cheeks. You knew he had a hard time receiving compliments and always tried to brush them off. Your current attempts at getting him to accept compliments was exposure therapy and you tried to interject as many as possible during your conversations.

“I’m not that good…” He mumbles into his tea as he takes another sip.

You snap your fingers at him, shaking your head. “This is what I mean. You’re letting people get into your head. Take the compliment.” He dipped his head lower, taking another lengthy sip to avoid speaking. “This is where you say, ‘You’re right’ and ‘Thank you, I know I’m amazing’.”

“I can’t say that if it’s not true.”

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to kill him or squish him. He was so adorable and yet made you want to pull your hair out. It was quite a confusing mix.

“Robert. For once, if you’ve ever loved me, take the compliment.” You say, placing down your cup.

He shrugs a little which makes you gasp in mock horror before he smiles. “Of course I love you but it’s just hard to accept.”

You shrink back in your seat, crossing your legs. “Who hurt you?” You mumble more to yourself than to him. “Have you ever taken a compliment?”

“Of course!” He cries.

You raise a brow. “Three examples, now.”

“One, when I received my acceptance to the Academy and had my college counselor beaming with pride. She told me I had done well.” He looked proud of himself remembering that one. “Two, when I graduated and my grandmother came to see me, she said that I was the smartest in the family. And three, when I-“ His voice cut off and his ears went red.

“When?” You press, leaning forward ever so slightly.

He waves you off. “Let me think of something else. It was a bad example.”

“No, no, no,” you push. “Tell me.”

He turned away, unable to meet your eyes. “When I…I went…” his voice was growing smaller by the second. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand ever so slightly before finishing the statement. “on a girl and she called me a good boy.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter that came out of you. You’d never assumed Bob would have a praise kink, and especially not one that consisted of him being called a good boy.

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Bob was completely red by this point, opting to drink his tea rather than respond.

“I mean, were you being a good boy?” He chokes.

Sputtering, he looks at you, eyes full of panic. “I can’t answer that!”

“Oh, come on, you can tell me. I told you about my…incidents.” Incidents was a polite way to put it. Bob was the first person you’d go to whenever something had gone awry during on of your hookups due to his understanding and nonjudgmental nature. No matter what you’d say, he’d listen and nod, telling you it was always the mans fault and even though you might have called him someone else’s name, it was his problem for not having a more memorable name.

“I think I was.” He says quietly, shrugging ever so slightly.

“I bet you were.” You hum, finishing off your coffee.

Bob just stares, eyes wide and lips slightly apart. His breath hitched as he tried to form a coherent sentence. A sound that slightly resembles “Huh?” come from him and you roll your eyes.

“You’re always such a good boy, Bobby.” You mean it as a joke. You were saying it in a slightly mocking tone. So why did the words feel so right? Why were they so smooth on your lips? And why - God, why - did they seem to have such an impact on both you and him?

Something changed in his eyes. They glossed over with a feeling you didn’t think you’d ever see in him. Desire. Need.

“Say it again.” It wasn’t a question, he was demanding. Damn his pretty blue eyes.

You swallow hard. This had implications. You could tell how badly he needed it and what it was doing to him. You didn’t want to just fuck with his emotions. But you did mean it. He was a good boy. He’d always helped you with reports and post-flight write ups. He always went out of his way to make sure you were okay. He was such a good boy.

“You’re a good boy.”

His breath was coming out a bit harder now, and his hands had curled into fists like he was trying to keep himself from reaching out and touching you. Not like that would have been a bad thing.

“Can…” His voice failed him. He tried again. “Can I show you?”

“Show me how you’re a good boy?” You ask. Your heart was starting to race. You’d never seen this side of him before. He nods fervently. “Okay.”

It was barely a whisper. You weren’t even sure if a sound came out or you’d just mouthed the words but once you’d said them, that was all he needed.

He grabs you by the back of the head, tangling his fingers through your hair, and pulls you into a lip bruising kiss. This was definitely not sweet. This was needy, urgent, like he wanted to devour you. You kissed back, allowing yourself to melt into him. He was taking and you’d give him everything.

He leaned farther into you, pressing you backwards until you were laying on the couch. He was over you, pressing all his body weight down, and you could feel what suspiciously felt like him grinding against your thigh.

Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Your hips buck up, desperately trying to chase the friction against him.

His glasses felt cold against your skin and you smiled ever so slightly.

He moans into your mouth and pulls a hand from your hair down to your chest. Your hands grip into his shirt as he paws at you, feeling your ribs, waist, hips, anything he can get his hands on.

“Need to taste you.” He groans out, like it was paining him not to be nose deep within you. “Bet you taste so good.”

You’d never seen a man so worked up before. Bob was panting like he was in heat. And it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“I’m still sweaty.” You say between a laugh. He moved down to your neck, nipping at the soft skin, finding any open area and leaving a mark. He groans, pressing himself down against your thigh again.

“Bet it just makes you taste better.”

Your mind was short circuiting. Was this really the same Bob who once cried while watching a nature documentary because a penguin carried around a rock instead of an egg? The same Bob who called you when he got drunk to confess that he’d once stolen a phone charger from some gas station during a cross country trip when he’d lost his wallet at a Waffle House? Somehow, it was.

And this same Bob was pushing your shirt up and pulling your shorts down.

He looks up at you and it was a sight to behold. His mouth was slightly ajar, and his pupils blown completely wide.

“Hold these?” He asks, taking off his glasses and passing them up to you. You put them on, more as a joke than anything, but the moment he saw you wearing them, he surges forwards and kisses you again.

“So pretty.” He moans. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

You would normally feel self conscious but something about him made you feel so safe and secure. You trusted him with everything. He really was -

“Such a good boy.” You murmur as he began sliding down your body again. He stops, dropping his head so his forehead presses against your lower abdomen.

“Again.” He whispers. You could feel his breath tickling ever so slightly.

“Fuck, Robert, you’re such a good boy.” Your hand runs through his hair, pulling slightly before letting go.

He lets out a whimper before getting back to the task at hand, removing your shorts entirely, leaving you in just your underwear with your shirt pushed all the way up. He finds his place between your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders. It probably wasn’t the most comfortable position for him but in that moment, you were sure he couldn’t care less.

He licks you through your panties, moaning when your legs tense around his head.

“Please.” You moan when his tongue presses especially well against your clit. “Need you so bad.”

He eyes flit up to yours again, his glasses having fallen partially down your face so you could see just over the rims, and it was a miracle you didn’t come right then and there.

Feral, a man possessed.

He doesn’t even bother taking them off properly, he just pulls your panties to the side and dives in.

It was good. God, it was so fucking good. Your hand finds his hair again, pulling him impossibly closer to you. It was like he knew your body better than you did, the way he could alternate between fucking you with his tongue to sucking on your clit.

“Fuck, Robert,” you cry out. “You’re such a good boy. Oh my God, so good. Such a good boy, holy shit.” You were babbling at this point, the words didn’t make much sense in your mind but your mouth just kept moving. “My sweet boy, my good boy, fuck honey, you’re amazing.”

He pulls away and you want to cry. He presses kisses against your thigh while you try to remember how to breath properly.

“You taste so good. Wanna keep you here forever so I can have this forever.” He says.

You nod in agreement. “Please. You can. Anytime you want.”

His groan sends vibrations through you. You’re mind is a daze. Your hand cups his cheek, gently rubbing the side of his face. His stubble feels rough under your skin but the coarseness only makes your heart swell more.

“Gonna make me come like a good boy?” You ask, voice barely a whisper.

He responds by diving back in, tongue licking up your slit, collecting your wetness on his lips. Your back arches again, hips bucking. His glasses begin to slip off but your mind can’t care about anything other than the man who’s head is currently between your legs, showing you more pleasure than any man has shown you before.

He wraps his arm around so that his hands are free and you can feel his biceps tensing under your legs. The thought of his muscles had never turned you on before but suddenly, it caused a rush of heat to shoot through you.

His thumb comes down to play with your clit while his mouth still works your slit. The light teasing circles from his finger was such a different feeling from how his relentless and eager tongue was bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You could feel that cool in your stomach tightening. Your hips were bucking more frequently and when you felt his index finger run across your folds, you knew you were a goner.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Robert, please.” You moan.

“You don’t gotta beg.” He tells you, resting his head on your thigh for a moment, taking you in. His fingers were still working you, keeping you right on the edge. “I’ll give you everything you need.” His accent was thicker than normal and you wanted to see just how deep it could get. Another time though, you didn’t want any distractions from this current event.

When his mouth connects with your clit, you swear it was a religious experience, and you were coming before you even realized it.

“Good boy, good boy, good boy.” You keep repeating as he works you down from your high. Finally, once he deems you to be clean enough, he lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you uh…do you want anything for yourself?”

He looks to the side sheepishly. “I’m…good.” You sit up quickly and look at him. A wet spot stains his crotch just barely visible in his PT shorts. The thought of him coming just from eating you out sends another wave through you.

Perhaps a five minute intermission before round two wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

#top gun smut #bob floyd #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader smut #top gun maverick #top gun #bob floyd fucks #top gun x reader #tgm #tgm smut #i love bob so much y’all don’t understand

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clockways · 2 days

Text

After undergrad, I was done living with people. People didn’t turn off alarm clocks or clean up their messes or, perhaps, people even blamed you for their mental breakdown. I had had enough of people.

But I couldn’t live alone.

Luckily, I knew the perfect solution. See, other than the semesters of undergrad, I had always lived with cats. There were also dogs and hamsters and reptiles, but cats were the constant. It was a noble line going all the way back to Yoda, whom my mother got to be her cat in college.

It was only the start of summer, and I was already surreptitiously walking past the adoption area of the pet store. It was a good thing I did.

There in the cage, the only animal in the whole adoption area, was a tiny kitten. As soon as he saw me, he started to meow and kneed and reach through the bars. It was probably as close to love at first sight as I will ever get.

After finding out when adoption was and leaving and coming back at what was the wrong time and talking to the kitten through the glass—I finally was able to hold him.

He was perfect.

This little kitten with brown so deep it was black and a white underside and a very pink nose settled right into my arms and purred up a storm. I adopted him then and there.

Depressingly, with this adoption center, the little boy had to go back to get sniped before I could take him home. I often joked that the poor guy never had a lick of testosterone in his body with how early it all happened. (That didn’t stop in from growing into quite a tall, long cat, mind you.)

While he came home without his balls, he also came home with a kitten cold. My poor little perfect boy was sick to the point that he could die. Cats, if you didn’t know, don’t eat if they can’t smell. Stinky food was bought, force feeding was attempted, and in the end it was some Vick’s in hot water that cleared his sinuses up enough to eat.

Now that he was well, it was finally time to find the right name. Name is a process in my family. In rather reverse fae rules, by giving the pets the right name, they are cemented as family. My mother even adds them to the family bible.

This boy took two tries.

His first name was Underwood as you see, once he got is energy back, he was constantly walking across my lap and the laptop that had a pretty permanent place in it. My friends swiftly got used to getting ‘kitten messages’ sent to them. Annoyingly, some of the same friends wouldn’t stop calling him Carrie, even after I asked them not to, and I decided that I wasn’t going to put up with that for the next fourteen plus years.

As he was my ‘squirmy worm’ for his lack of desire to be held and ability to pop right out of a hold due to his silky fur, I combined the two and, finally, he found his right name of Wormwood. (This also, unbeknownst at the time, started the naming convention for my next two cats.)

Wormwood and I went off to graduate school not much later. The old but passable apartment I was in had a (rather shoddily) screened in porch. It became Worm’s favorite spot to sit, even in the middle of Texas heat.

Paper balls were discovered to be his favorite thing, followed by very tiny pompoms. If I was ignoring him, he’d knock my remote off my table to play. Even with that playing, I often joked that Worm was my semi mobile throw pillow. He loved to lounge and nap to the extreme, even for a cat.

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Worm never wanted other cats in his life, though he managed to accept Bugsy—my Siamese mutt—into our home in time, though Worm never ceded the foot of the bed to him. Together, we three moved back in with my parents (to total a too many five cats) until I could afford my own place. Worm had to suffer through another new brother, Beetle, about three years ago. Then not quite two years ago we moved to a new state.

All three boys did wonderful on the very long drive, and I like to think that it was worth it because of the fabulous sunroom in the new house. All of them had their favorite spots to sit out there and soak up the sun.

This winter, Worm took a turn. He dropped some weight while I was gone on a trip. I got him a heated bed that became his very favorite thing in the whole house. He would just melt into it.

Then it got worse.

I took him to the vet, and he had gone from about fifteen pounds down to five and a half. Blood work was clean though, so we increased his food and changed some things around.

Tueaday he was quite ill.

Wednesday was the first time there was a moment where he wasn’t there mentally. It felt like it was going to be time.

Thursday, today, I found him laying in a sunbeam. He didn’t even ask for food. At eleven today I took him to the vet. For about an hour before I held him, resting against my chest, and the two of us sat in the sun, listening to the birds.

I think he was ready to rest. He hardly moved at the vet during the shot and then… then he was gone.

And I had to leave him.

For sixteen years, nearly half my life, he has been my family and one of my best friends. I would have been so lost without him. I’m so sad to have to say goodbye, but I’m glad that he can rest now.

I’m glad that it was a pretty day and that we got to sit in the sun together and listen to the birds.

#clockwayspets #cw pet death

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callsign-rogueone · 1 day

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one for the books - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Scribe!Reader part of my Valentine’s Day Celly (better late than never?) words: 1.7k (got a little carried away here, oops) 🏷: IRON FLAME SPOILERS. scribe reader who is referred to as a woman one time, and has painted nails, but no pronouns used. just some meet-cute fluff with reader and Gare. love at first sight. it's weird writing him with anyone other than Angel, but I hope y'all will still like it anyway 🥺

Garrick wanders through the rows of bookshelves in search of someone who actually knows what they’re doing, so he won’t have to spend the entire day looking at the titles of every book in this massive library.

It doesn’t take long for him to find the only scribe who’d come with them to Aretia: Violet’s friend, Jesinia, who had helped them sneak into the Archives to get the journals. Who happens to be Deaf. He hadn’t thought about that part.

He waves a hello, racking his brain for the letters of the alphabet and spelling out his request at a snail’s pace, hoping he’s moving his hands correctly. I… n-e-e-d…

Jesinia takes pity on him, holding up a hand to stop him and darting back into the maze of shelves, leaving him standing there thoroughly embarrassed -- he really needs to add “study sign” to his list of things to do after this whole wyvern thing is resolved and Tyrrendor is freed again. Whenever that will be.

He’s expecting her to come back with a pen and paper, so he can write it down, but she emerges thirty seconds later with another scribe in tow, one he’s never met before -- the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Jesinia gestures to you with a soft smile, and leaves.

He blinks once, twice, taking you in.

You’ve taken some creative liberties with the uniform, wearing the beige scribes’ robes open with a plain shirt and pants underneath, the hood down to expose your face and hair, a pair of glasses perched atop your head and a clipboard in hand, your nails long and painted a pale pink -- a few of them have started to chip, but it’s endearing; comforting to find a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect presence.

You’re equally entranced. The fortress is crawling with riders -- you’re one of maybe five students here who are anything else -- but this one in particular makes your heart race.

It’s as if the gods pulled a knight from the pages of one of your fantasy novels and dropped him in front of you in this library; broad and tall, muscled and tattooed, two longswords strapped across his back… he’d be intimidating without the nervous smile on his face and the blush dusting his cheeks, the afternoon light coming through the windows and making him glow.

“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” you ask after a moment, hoping you don’t sound as flustered as you feel.

The scar running down the side of his face moves as he speaks -- more quietly than you’d been expecting. “Riorson sent me; he wants everything you have about wards.”

You blow out a nervous breath. “Okay, uh… I’m still not totally sure how this library is organized, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“We can look together, then,” he offers, giving you a knee-weakening smile.

You don’t know if you can spend the rest of your afternoon with this man and not make a complete fool of yourself, but you’ll just have to try your best. “Sounds like a plan.”

You realize you don’t know each other’s names, having been too busy staring at each other to make proper introductions.

“Garrick,” he offers, extending a hand to shake.

You’re really supposed to refer to him as Lieutenant, since he’s graduated and you haven’t, but you still repeat the word softly, trying it out. “Nice to meet you, Garrick.”

He already owes Xaden Riorson his life, but hearing you say his name, feeling the softness of your hand against his… he decides he’ll be in the boy’s debt well into the afterlife, too.

“I’ll start on one end, you on the other, and meet in the middle?” you ask. “Anything with wards, magic, or protection in the title would be a good start.”

He hums in acknowledgement, heading down to the end of the row.

“I haven’t been in here in ages,” he admits, scanning the rows of shelves for anything that could be useful. “I lived most of my life here before the revolution,” he adds quickly, explaining.

Small talk is good. You can do small talk.

“It must have been interesting growing up in a fortress like this,” you respond, too shy to ask him for his likely incredibly-tragic life story outright, and you’re technically on the job right now, so you should be focusing on the task at hand.

He picks another volume off the top shelf, keeping his feet flat on the ground and barely having to stretch for it. “It was. There were a few dozen of us kids around, always underfoot and meddling. We used to play hide and seek in here, and see how long we could stay before the scribes found us and kicked us out.”

You laugh, a sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing. You may be a librarian, but you’re the polar opposite of the typical strict and stiff scribes he’s used to -- young and lovely and not afraid to laugh and talk among the books, to let them hear your voice and know that they’re appreciated. They’re lucky to have someone like you watching over them.

Since you’re grasping at straws here, you decide to cast a broad net and pull down anything that could be even a little bit helpful -- and you’re finding more than you’d thought, likely because the Tyrrish basically invented wards.

You really should have brought a cart, but it’s no issue for him -- he’s holding at least ten thick volumes at once with complete ease.

“I got it,” he offers, shifting the tall stack he’s amassed into one arm and taking yours with the other. Seeing a man like him with an armful of books is hotter than it should be. Everything about him is hotter than it should be.

He sets the stack on the nearest table, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair before he sits down.

Your eyes linger on the relic winding around his arm like a plume of black smoke, contrasting against the pale muscle. You know it was intended as way to mark them as the descendants of those who had committed treason, to set them apart from their peers and to force them to enroll in the rider’s quadrant, but he looks like he didn’t have too much trouble in his days at Basgiath, if the two dozen patches on his flight jacket are any metric.

It suits him. He’d look incomplete without the relic and the thick scar on the side of his face. It would be rude to ask how he got it, but the curiosity still tugs at you. You want to know everything about him.

You realize you’re staring, and pull your eyes away as quickly as you can manage, worried that he’ll think you’re judging him -- though you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t on his side.

You each take a book off the top and crack it open, scanning for anything that could help. “Did he say anything more specific? Or why he needs this?”

“Nope. But he’s always been vague and mysterious, even when we were kids, before he had all those shadows following him around.”

“I’ve only seen him twice, but that sounds accurate.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “He may be all cold and broody all the time, but he’s a good guy. I’ve always considered him my best friend.”

You’re thinking of the best way to keep him talking when Jesinia knocks on the side of a nearby shelf to get your attention. Done with my transcribing. What’s next?

Thank you. You can leave for the day.

Jesinia gives you a sly smile. You don’t want help? Or do you just want to be alone with him because you think he’s handsome?

She’d told you that Garrick’s sign was rusty, that he could only fingerspell, but you still turn away from him as you respond, praying he didn’t understand what she just said.

Two can play at this game. I’ve been meaning to ask, how is that redhead boy who keeps coming by to talk to you? I’m sure he’d like to see you for another sign lesson tonight.

She reddens, realizing you know about her crush on the rider, and bails out of the conversation while she still can. Goodnight!

There’s that lovely laugh again as you turn back to him, seeing him watching you -- now you really hope he didn’t understand. He quickly returns his gaze to the book in front of him, which definitely isn’t modern Navarrian or any of the other languages you know. It must be Tyrrish.

“You can read this?” you ask with rapt curiosity, leaning forward to take a better look at it.

“About every fifth word or so,” he answers. “There aren’t many fluent speakers left, since it was outlawed decades ago and kids aren’t taught it in school. I don’t see the symbol for “wards” anywhere, but that might be too obvious.”

“No language should ever be outlawed,” you respond, perhaps a little too hotly. “There must be so much valuable information that was lost in translation or destroyed entirely after the wars. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to become a scribe, to try to save as much as I could. But so many of the texts in the Archives have been translated over and over, and I can’t help but wonder if some things were left out on purpose.”

Another smile. “Well-said. Into the “maybe” pile, then?”

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you realize how long you’d been talking. “That’s the only pile we have,” you sigh, stretching.

He’d shown up around four, and it’s nearing seven now, your body automatically responding to the hour and telling you to pack things up, but that’s one of the nicest things about the library here -- unlike the Archives at Basgiath, you can work here through the night, and not be booted out at seven on the dot.

You’d asked the Lieutenant Colonel about it when he’d come by one day, and he’d told you there wasn’t any sort of magical time-sealing-lock on the library, just a normal wooden door charmed to be fireproof -- so you’d stayed in one of the armchairs until midnight reading, just because you could.

“Well,” he offers, “I know it’s a grave sin to eat in the library, so how about we take a break, get ourselves some dinner, and pick this back up after?”

Smooth. Very smooth.

“I’d like that,” you answer, your heart fluttering. “I’d like that a lot.”

#garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #reader insert #imagine #mine #valentine's day celly

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