#getting there 10 hours early paid off !!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

munson-blurbs · 10 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Summary: You and Eddie finally get some much-needed alone time, and a confrontation at the Hawkins Preschool talent show tests your commitment to each other.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), protected p in v, fingering, oral (m! receiving), lil bit of edging, broken condom, breeding kink, mentions of Eddie's past, bullying, fighting, Jason Carver's mere existence, mostly fluff and smut before the angst of the next two chapters

WC: 9.2k

Chapter 15/20

Divider credit to @saradika Cutie pie Eddie pic credit to @/sunceddie

You wake up to an alarm set a full hour later than it typically is on a Friday morning, and the extra rest has you walking on air. Or maybe this newfound floatiness comes from knowing Eddie will be arriving soon, the two of you playing hooky from work to spend the day together. Your insides ignite with a rebellious fire, like you’re skipping class to smoke cigarettes underneath the bleachers, rather than taking a paid sick day that you’ve rightfully accrued.

Sunlight streams through the window, just a bit brighter than the usual smears of pink and orange that you normally see when you awaken. And while you still have to drag your yet-to-be-caffeinated body out of bed, the walk to the bathroom seems slightly less daunting.

You can’t let Eddie in fast enough when the intercom buzzes thirty minutes later. You were never naïve to the fact that dating a parent would mean having less privacy; what you didn’t know was how strongly you’d crave him.

Your hands are all over him the moment he steps through the door, simultaneously too much and not enough. Fingers lazily drape across the nape of his neck, and you can feel that his hair is already frizzy from the early April rain. Your breath hitches when you catch a glimpse of the burgeoning outline along the seam of his gray sweatpants.

His lips find yours easily, aiming to meet in the middle, but you press on your toes and bring your core to his. Your pajama top is thin; not sheer, but flimsy enough that he can feel the way you react to the chill of his leather jacket.

“Hello to you, too,” he murmurs with a laugh, muffled by a kiss that catches him off-guard. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab breakfast first, but—”

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bedroom. “Sex first, food later.”

“Yes ma’am.” He uses his free hand to apply a quick smack to your ass, mesmerized at the way the supple flesh ripples underneath the flannel pants. Jesus, you’ve got him half-hard and you’re still in your pajamas.

He sits on the side of the bed, and you climb to straddle him, your inner thighs nudging his outer. “Been thinking about you,” you say, tugging his earlobe between your teeth.

Eddie pulls you even closer, one hand snaking up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s still cold from the rain and early morning frost, and his touch has your nipple pebbling. “What about me?”

“Well,” you trill, starting to slowly grind against the tented fabric of his pants. He exhales, a shiver of anticipation coursing through his veins. “I believe I promised my rockstar a reward for his amazing gig.” Your thoughts flit back to the night of Will’s party, when you’d snuck backstage and gotten a glimpse of him, his body pulsating with nerves that had almost immediately quelled at your touch. Another sensation had swept over him then, but that was an entirely different type of flutter.

Eddie nudges his nose against yours, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Your rockstar?” He adores the phrasing. Yours. Belonging to you. And you belong to him; he won’t ever allow you to forget it. “What kind of reward did my favorite groupie have in mind?”

You slide off of him, giggling at the pout he gives you as your body loses contact with his. “Patience, Rockstar,” you warn him, though it’s difficult to contain yourself when you’re salivating just being eye-level with his erection. Your fingers dig into his waistband, and for the second time today, you’re glad for his choice of clothing. You don’t think you could handle buttons and zippers and belt buckles. Not today.

He hisses when your palm brushes along his hardened length, stiffening even while covered by his boxer briefs. A small wet patch marks his tip, leaking precum, and you press a chaste kiss to it. Almost instantly, you feel the tendrils of his thigh hair against your bare arms as his legs reflexively snap shut like a Venus flytrap catching its prey.

“Too much?” you mumble against his happy trail. While you relish in the thought of overstimulating him, you want to keep him on edge as long as you can.

Eddie shakes his head, curls scratching against his shoulders. “Jus’ wasn’t expecting it. ‘Cause you were using your hands, but then I felt your…never mind, I’m gonna shut up now.” He settles back into the mattress and eagerly awaits your next move.

You don’t make him wait long, lips drawn to his shaft with a magnetic force. You only stop to shimmy his underwear down his legs, tossing them to the corner of the room. His cock is flush against his tummy; you catch yourself staring at the dusting of wispy curls that trail from his upper groin down to his heavy sack.

Your dominant hand wraps around the base while the other leans on his thigh for balance. You lean in and spit, letting your saliva dribble down his length before flattening your tongue to lick up the pearly bead forming at the tip. Eddie’s abdominal muscles contract and his fists clench, never taking his eyes off of the beautiful woman on her knees for him.

He lets out a soft moan as you hollow out your cheeks to take more of him into your mouth. A string of syllables that barely resemble words escapes him. “Mmm, yes, oh, sh–fucking hell–thas’ it…” He twists the bedsheets between his fingers, inhaling sharply as your tongue glides up and down his cock. “S’pretty, fuck, gorgeous girl.” He watches intently, staving off blinks so he doesn’t miss a moment of him disappearing between your lips.

He’d once thought that he could never want more than sloppy post-gig hook-ups in dive bar bathrooms with girls whose names he’d never learned, though he wouldn’t have made an effort to remember them anyway. Girls who had only offered their mouths so they could lay claim to his body; the opportunity to brag that they’d blown Eddie Munson before he got famous.

That was before you, before you’d shown him the intoxicating mixture of longing and belonging, of lust and…

You continue drawing him closer and closer to his orgasm, nose grazing his thatch of pubic hair. His hips buck slightly, but your mouth is so full of him that it threatens to evoke your gag reflex.

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Eddie blurts out, unfurling a hand from the sheets to cup your cheek. He pulls out, allowing you to take a deep breath.

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you tease with a wicked grin, wasting no time assuming your previous position.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie throws his head back. “You like gagging on my dick? Fucking hell, babe.”

“Mhm.” The gentle vibration has him twitching, and you know he can’t last much longer. You bring your attention to his tip, sucking and giving soft kitten licks while your hand takes care of the rest of his length. He’s so painfully hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed that way long after finishing.

“Jus’…just like that. Oh, fuuuuuck,” he groans, silently calling upon every ounce of willpower in his body to keep his pelvis still so he doesn’t disturb the beautiful rhythm you’ve found. “Gonna cum…shit, baby, if you don’t want it in your mouth, you gotta stop now.”

But you do want it in your mouth, so you don’t stop, feeling warm ropes adorning your tongue just seconds later. He’s panting, chest heaving as though he was the one putting in the effort, but he still notices the way you swallow his thick load without missing a beat.

“Did you just…oh, my God. You’re perfect.” He throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I can’t…nothing I do will ever compare to you, I swear.” He motions for you to lay down next to him, and immediately climbs on top of you, the sweat from his chest transferring to your shirt. “Off,” he mumbles, pulling it over your head before you get the chance to do it yourself.

His lips swoop down to your left breast, tongue flickering over the nipple, and his dominant hand travels into your panties and expertly finds your clit. You let out a tiny whimper, barely audible over Eddie’s own grunts, finding pleasure in making you feel good.

“This body,” he mumbles, mouth still attached to your chest, “has me in a goddamn chokehold. It’s all I think about.” That isn’t quite true; he certainly spends plenty of time daydreaming of you, though it isn’t always in such compromising positions. Sometimes, you’re sleeping next to him in bed as he presses gentle kisses to the nape of your neck. Other times, he’ll be cooking dinner and picture you passing him the salt or handing him a serving spoon to dish out whatever noodle-based concoction he’s conjured up. Whatever he’s doing, he imagines you by his side.

“Can you kiss me?” Your request is timid but dripping with need.

Eddie nods, bringing himself to eye level with you and closing the gap between your faces. You taste of minty toothpaste and of him, and he curses himself for diving in headfirst without remembering to kiss you. “M sorry,” he apologizes for the second time that morning, and you forgive him with a soft bite to his lower lip.

Your arms rest on his shoulders and your legs wrap around his calf muscles, desperate to remain as close as possible at all times. No, you can’t stay like this forever, so you’ve got to make it count. “Need you inside me, Eddie.” Your voice nearly cracks, tears pricking at your lash line as the craving for him grows stronger. “Please.”

Eddie musters up a terse laugh. “Sweetheart, I just came, like, five minutes ago. You gotta give me a second to bounce back.” He lowers himself so he can whisper in your ear, “let me take care of you while we wait, hm?”

As soon as you nod, he’s yanking down your pajama pants and panties in one fluid motion. You can’t miss the way his eyes light up once you’re fully on display for him, taking in every centimeter of your body like his existence depends upon it. He starts to shimmy his way down, but your murmured “mm-mm” captures his attention.

“Still want you kissing me,” you say, gazing adoringly into his deep brown eyes. “Maybe you could just use your fingers?”

His instinct is to protest; he’s been desperate to taste you again ever since his tongue last touched the most intimate part of you, but he can’t deny you what you want. He’ll do just about anything to keep a smile on your face.

Without further hesitation, Eddie’s lips are on yours. He braces himself on his elbows as his hands cradle your cheeks. You can feel the heat of his cock, still spent and flaccid, against the top of your thigh. He shifts slightly so he can press one thick finger into your pussy, dragging in and out so deliciously that you barely notice his tongue slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you moan.

“Y’like that?” It’s a gratuitous question; he can feel how much you like it in the way you’re clenching around him. “Gonna make my girl feel s’good.”

“Call me your girl again,” you whine, punctuating the plea with a gentle buck of your hips.

Eddie grins, ducking his head where your neck meets your collarbone and sucking lightly. It takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to mark you. He studies the moisture left behind by his lips and wishes it was the exquisite shades of blue and indigo that form when someone’s been claimed.

He slides a second finger inside you. “My sweet girl,” he coos, just a hint of patronization laced within his deep voice, “you like being mine? Belonging to me?”

Your stomach flips at his words; a gnawing hunger for Eddie Munson. “Love it. I…I love being your girl.” You allow your mind to clear, absorbing his gaze, his touch, his skin. The graceful arch of your back beckons him to move faster, tongue peeking from between his plush lips as he concentrates on your orgasm.

Each stroke within you inches you closer to euphoria. Eddie’s thumb is pressed to your clit, cementing his determination to tip you over the edge. He hits all the right spots, committing them to memory; his own personal pathway to the heavens.

It’s your turn to grab onto the bed sheets like a lifeline as pleasure surges through you. Your lips coat his in a warm layer of “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” the praise a victory chant to him. He waits until your eyelids flutter back open and your breathing steadies before taking his fingers from your center and into his mouth, licking your release off of his skin like a delicacy.

Your body may be splayed out on the bed, but your mind is adrift; its only focus is the float down from the high Eddie’s brought you to. If it weren’t for the throbbing reminder pressed to your leg, you might float right into the atmosphere.

You summon the willpower to prop yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he fists himself to temporarily ease the ache.

“Why’re you doing that when ‘m right here?” you mumble, wetting your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. You can only hope that there’s some semblance of a smile in your intoxicated expression. “Unless you…prefer your hand?”

“Fuck, no,” he grumbles, curls dancing along his shoulder blades as he loosens his grasp to dig through your top drawer. He shoves aside stray prescription bottles and various knickknacks that you’ve been meaning to go through until he finds what he’s been looking for.

He snatches up the teal box and practically tears the cardboard in half trying to open it. The snake of foil packets tumbles out and he scrambles for them, but you’re faster.

Wordlessly, you rip off one packet and carefully tear off the top. Eddie hisses as you roll the condom down his hardened length, more than ready to be inside you.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, pressing your palms to his soft pecs. “‘S that okay?”

“Is that—baby, if I ever say no to that offer, there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he laughs, already laying back on the bed. His hair splays across the pillow, brown curls swirling atop the cotton pillowcase like Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Eddie inhales sharply as you sit above him, sheathed cock pressed to your heat in anticipation. He reaches out and grabs your breasts, one in each hand, kneading them in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples, gauging your reaction before giving them a small pinch.

Your moan, coupled with the way you grind against him, confirms your satisfaction, but he still asks, “Y’like when I do that?”

You offer him a little smirk, cocking your brow as you cheekily reply, “You tell me.”

He doesn’t have time to respond before you lift yourself and gradually sink down onto him, soaking in every moment of the delectable stretch. Bracing yourself on his chest, you feel him bottom out so he’s filling you entirely.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” His hands move from your chest to your hips as he helps you adjust to the newfound fullness. “So tight. Feels‘mazing.”

“Just wanna take care of you, Eds. You’re so good to me; I wanna be good to you.” You bounce up and down, moving your hips so no part of your walls remains untouched by him.

He’s mesmerized at the jiggle of your flesh as it connects with his, momentarily rendering him speechless before he regains some composure. “You are. You’re so, so good for me. Can never get enough of my girl.”

You clench around him at the title ‘my girl’, earning you a smack to your ass. The sting makes you whimper, and he swiftly delivers another.

“You’re gonna make me cum too soon,” he huffs, blown-out pupils drifting from your eyes to where your bodies are joined.

You pause your movements to lean down, allowing him impossibly deep within you. “If it’s too much,” you murmur into his ear, hoping your edge-teetering tremble is hidden enough to effectively tease him, “maybe I should just…stop.” You slide your hips forward until only his tip breaches your hole.

Eddie’s jaw drops in complete disbelief. “You…you can’t fuckin’ do that to me.” You expect him to push the rest of his cock inside you and thrust until he’s completely spent, so you’re caught off-guard when he pulls out entirely. “All fours. Now.” He emphasizes his request with another spank, this one harder than the rest.

You oblige, palms pressed into the mattress and toes curled as you await him. He taps his shaft against your bottom once, twice, three times, and then plunges into your warmth.

“Ah—fuck—Eddie!” you cry, feeling the telltale twitch that informs you he’s close. Really fucking close. And then another sensation—a soft pop.

He realizes what it is before you do. “Fuckin’ condom broke!” he grumbles, pulling out again—even more begrudgingly than before—and tossing the split rubber to the floor. He opens a new one and rolls it on with lightning speed, eager to be enveloped in you once again.

“Wish we didn’t have to use those,” you mumble, willing yourself to stay steady despite the push from his pistoning hips. “Be so much easier without them.”

Picturing you taking him raw—you wanting to take him raw—is the last straw. “Yeah? You wanna feel all of me, baby?” he growls, nearly inaudible over the sound of his pelvis colliding with your ass. “Want me blowing my load so fuckin’ deep inside you?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling that delicate wave approaching the shoreline, desperate to crest. “That’s exactly what I want, Eddie.”

“Keep saying my name,” he orders, wrapping one arm around you so his middle finger lays on your clit. Every part he touches makes you weaker for him, scavenging for the relief of release.

“Eddie, feels s’good,” you moan, legs threatening to crumple beneath you. “No one makes me feel like this ‘cept you, fuck, Eddie!”

You finish around him, squeezing him until he’s spilling into the condom with a primal groan of your name. He stays draped over you for a beat before flopping back onto the bed.

“You are…” he turns to you and grins as he searches for the right word, “spectacular.” He gingerly removes the barrier from his dick, tying it in a knot and tossing it into the trash can next to your nightstand. “C’mere.”

You lay on his chest, the sweat cooling as it hits your cheek. “Did you work up an appetite?” you tease, kissing just below his tattoo of a demonic head, “I can grab us some cereal, or we might have some frozen Eggos I could throw in the toaster.”

Eddie smiles so wide it threatens to escape the confines of his cheeks. “Sex and breakfast? You spoil me, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well; we need energy to power us through round two.” You scoot upwards to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, the salt of his perspiration tangy on your lips. “Give me a few minutes, okay? Do you like syrup on your waffles?”

“And butter?” he asks with a hopeful smile, peering at you through long eyelashes that would have had you darting to Bradley’s Big Buy if you didn’t already have a stick of Land O’ Lakes in the fridge.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, Your Majesty,” you say, giving his bare thigh a small tap. “Would you also care for some freshly-squeezed orange juice? I can have the chef whip some up right away.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, slowly pushing himself up so he can help you in the kitchen. It dawns on him that he hasn’t felt this kind of peace after sex before; his mind has always been clouded with fears of getting too attached, of saying the wrong thing, of deluding someone into thinking he’s enough.

“God, I love you.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and he freezes in place, one leg through his underwear. “Fuck, I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, noting the red tinge forming on the tips of his ears. “I’d say that to anyone who offered me breakfast foods, too.” You give him room to accept the out, to brush off his confession as a slip of the tongue. There’s no use in awarding merit to an accidental comment, regardless of what your skipped heartbeat tells you.

He considers it, every synapse and neuron firing at warpspeed. Maybe he could convince himself that it was an accident if it was the first time he’d felt this, the way your sunshine radiates through him and warms him from within. But that was far from the truth.

“No,” he finds himself saying, grasping onto every morsel of confidence he can find, “it’s not because of the food. I love you.”

Your voice catches in your throat. You want to believe that he’s reciprocating your feelings, but something nags at you. “Are you sure it’s not because we just had sex? Because sometimes that—”

“No,” Eddie repeats himself, unfolding the waistband of his boxer briefs and walking to you. “Because it wasn’t about sex when you calmed me down after the parent-teacher conference. It wasn’t about sex when you taught Harris how to read and bowl and be a better person than I’ll ever be. It wasn’t about sex when you cheered me on during our last gig, and it wasn’t about sex when I saw you holding Ettie.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands as he gazes into your eyes. “And even after having sex, it isn’t about sex. It’s about you being the one for me. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips.

“I love you, too, Eddie.”

Just five words, six syllables, and he’s a goner. Seriousness melts into a sappy smile as he cradles your cheeks and presses the tip of his nose to yours. “Holy shit, we’re in love.”

You kiss him, tongue nudging his as your torsos meld together. If your stomach wasn’t gnawing for something to eat, you’d start round two right then and there.

Throwing on just a shirt and panties, you lead him into the kitchen before either of you can crawl back into bed. His hands never leave your body, snaking around your waist as you rifle through the freezer for the familiar yellow box. His head rests on your shoulder as you drop the waffles into the toaster and press the lever down.

“Eds?”

“Yes, my love?” he murmurs, pecking a soft kiss behind your ear. You both could have sworn that there was nothing better than him calling you ‘my girl,’ but you’re unashamed to stand corrected.

“Could you make yourself useful and grab some plates? Maybe get the syrup or butter?” you tease, noting the dramatic pout developing on his face. “What?”

“I’m keepin’ you warm,” he protests, sliding his hands over the cotton fabric of your faded t-shirt and grabbing your breasts. “And you’re not wearing a bra, so I gotta hold ‘em for you.”

He eventually obliges, setting two Chinette plates on the countertop and padding over to the refrigerator. He plucks the condiments from the side door and places them in the center of the table.

“Cups, too,” you remind him with a cheeky grin, pointing to a cabinet to your right. “No drinking out of the carton in my house.”

“Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

The toaster chimes a charismatic ding! as the waffles jump out of their slots, and you carefully drop both onto one plate. “Here ya go,” you chirp, extending your arm so he can take his breakfast.

“Where’s yours?” His brows pinch together in confusion, a sly smile stretching his lips. “Don’t tell me I didn’t make you work up more of an appetite back there. Shit, shoulda had you ride me longer–”

Your hip collides with his in a purposeful shove. “I’m getting mine ready now. Go sit and eat, you horndog.”

Eddie drops the plate on the counter so quickly that the Eggos nearly fly off, pulling you from behind for a hug that squeezes all the air from your lungs. You squeal as he bites your neck and barks into it, solidifying that he has indeed earned the new nickname you’ve bestowed upon him.

He takes one of his waffles and places it on your empty plate. “We can eat together.”

You grab the orange juice from the fridge, giving the carton a shake before pouring the contents between the two glasses. It’s not until you sit down that you remember: “Oh, shit—utensils.” You start to get back up, but Eddie puts a hand out in a silent bid for you to stay seated, shuffling back to the kitchen. The drawer rattles as he pulls with just a bit too much strength, and he comes back with two knives and a single fork.

“You only got one—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t need it.” With that, he cuts off a hunk of butter and slathers it on top of his waffle, knife scraping against the little squares. He slathers every square inch in syrup, folds the waffle in half, and takes an exaggeratedly large bite.

“Eddie Munson!” you lightly chastise, still in shock at what you’ve witnessed. “Did you just eat that like a taco?”

“Sí, señorita.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, my God, I’m in love with a barbarian.” You reach for the bottle of Aunt Jemima and drizzle the sticky-sweetness onto your waffle. “What else is going on with you?” you ask, cutting the food into strips and spearing it with your fork. “Work’s good?”

“Work’s great, actually.” He starts to bring the waffle to his mouth but pauses just before taking a bite. Syrup drops onto the plate with a plop. “I almost forgot to tell you! The regional manager asked me to go to this thrift market in Indianapolis in a few weeks—all on the company’s dime—and try to snag some vintage records.”

“Eds, that’s amazing!” You leap up from your chair and lean in to kiss his syrupy lips.

He licks a smudge of butter from the side of his thumb. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part,” Eddie grins triumphantly. “The market just so happens to fall during spring break, and I was hoping you could join us?” His bare foot nudges yours under the table. “That is, if you think you can survive an entire weekend running after Harris?”

Your jaw drops in mock-offense. “One of us chases after children–plural–every day. Besides,” you add, taking a swig of juice, “Harris isn’t the one I’m worried about.” You gesture at his partially-demolished breakfast. “At least when he eats like this, he has the excuse of being a child.”

His reply is a flick of his left middle finger, his right hand busy jamming the remaining waffle-taco into his mouth. “And yet,” he retorts with his mouth full, “you can’t seem to get enough.”

He’s got you there: all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you now, the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkling as he stands. You allow your eyes to roam his body; not with lust, but adoration. Love.

Your cheek yearns to be pressed to his chest, your hand resting where the soft pudge of his tummy barely rolls over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. Your legs crave the connection of intertwining with his. You need his arms, biceps strong from lugging around music equipment and holding his son, wrapped around your torso and keeping you impossibly close. Keeping you safe.

You want to spend hours asking about the stories behind the tattoos that adorn his chest, whether meaningful or the result of sheer boredom. You want to curl up on the sofa and put on a movie, absorbing none of it as you spend the entire duration lost in his lips.

The brush of his thumb against your knuckles stirs you from your roaming thoughts.

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter, hand never leaving yours. “Shoot.”

“Is it…” you fumble for the right words, “why are you like this now?”

“I’m sorry?” His brows knit together in obvious confusion. “Why am I like…what?”

“This,” you repeat, gesticulating at the man before you, warm and tender and completely unlike the stranger you’d hooked up with nearly eight months ago. “Why is the guy who once kicked me out of his apartment currently having breakfast with me half-naked and inviting me on a trip with his son?” Your tone is inquisitive, curious, and Eddie heaves a silent sigh of relief when he doesn’t detect a hint of judgment.

He doesn’t answer your question outright; instead, he poses his own: “Do you not believe that I love you?” He bites his lower lip, mind churning with the early memories you’d made together, the ones he wishes he could lock away and never remember.

Your heart lurches at your accidental implication. “I do! Shit, Eddie, I know you love me. And I love you, too.” You pause to lift his hand to your mouth, leaving the gentlest of kisses along his fuzzy knuckles. “I guess I just wanna know why you even let yourself love me. Why you didn’t stick to the Cat-and-Mouse. Why…why you chose me.”

He exhales, an incredulous huff of laughter passing through his lips. “You wanna know why I started only having one-night stands? Or why I stopped?”

“Both?” you try.

“So, um,” his eyes look everywhere but at you, “I never really got attention until I moved to Chicago and started playing with that band. All of a sudden, women wanna sleep with me, and I don’t have to, like, beg them.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But they didn’t really want to fuck Eddie Munson; they just wanted to fuck the lead singer and guitarist of Hard Knox. Didn’t matter if it was me or some other random guy.

“One night, I’m…y’know…with this one girl, and I asked her to say my name.” His cheeks tinge red and he swallows hard. “And she looks at me with these wide eyes, and I realized she didn’t even fucking know it.”

“Did you know hers?” The question comes out before you can stop it, but you already know the answer.

He rubs his eyes with his whole palm. “After that, I realized that the only difference between the Eddie who got laid and the Eddie who didn’t was that no one I slept with really knew me. And if they ever figured out that I’m just this big ol’ nerd who spent high school playing Dungeons & Dragons, they’d…” He flexes his hands to make a poof! motion. “So I decided not to let them get to know me.”

“But then…”

“But then,” he acquiesces, “you show up at the bar, looking like a goddamn dream, and I put up that cocky lead singer persona on instinct. Because that’s the only version of me that women ever wanted to be with.” He sighs. “And then I let my guard down, ask you to spend the night, and I’m thinking, ‘I gotta get her outta here before she sees who I really am. Before she sees that I’m not a rockstar; I’m just a mediocre dad who sells weed to scrape by.’”

You move so quickly that you practically knock over your chair, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around the top of his chest. Your chin rests on his scalp, and he can feel the vibration in your throat as you murmur, “nothing about you is mediocre, Eddie Munson.”

He lays his head on your forearm, kissing it softly before lacing his fingers with yours. “Sometimes, I think I’m just buying time until you get sick of me.”

You shift your position so your lips can brush the side of his neck. “I didn’t fall for the guy on stage that night. I mean, yeah, you looked incredibly hot,” you tease and nip at his collarbone, “but I’m in love with Eddie Munson: the man who gets excited when his son reads a new word, who teases me for liking olives on my pizza, who knows the lyrics to every song ever made–including the ones he claims to hate.”

“Well, Eddie Munson–the real Eddie Munson–is so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.” He turns so he’s facing you, strong hands on your hips as he gazes up with starry eyes.

You cradle his cheeks, stooping down so your noses touch. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah.” The word is more breath than sound. “Yeah, I think I’m finally starting to believe that.”

The remainder of your day is spent having copious amounts of sex; Eddie had insisted on ‘making up for lost time,’ taking breaks only for a quick lunch and a shower.

“Come with me to pick up Harris,” Eddie says as he wraps the bath towel around his waist. Water drips from the ends of his curls down to the dimples on his lower back. “We’re going to Jeff and Viv’s after so he can meet Baby Ettie.”

You raise your eyebrows in amusement, bending over to dry your legs. “I took a sick day today,” you remind him. “I can’t just show up there in your car, like, ‘nothing to see here!’”

“I’ll park far away,” he says with a shrug. “No biggie.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I mean, I could tell Harris that Ms. Sweetheart was supposed to be with us, but she said no—”

You swat at his chest and he pulls back, feigning pain. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

That’s how you ended up hunched over in the passenger seat of Eddie’s sedan, hiding from any passersby who could potentially recognize you. It only takes a few minutes before you hear the sound of Harris’s little voice, chewing his dad’s ear off about his day at school.

“...and then me an’ Charlie traded me snacks, an’ no one even sawed us!” He’s cackling like it’s the funniest joke. “He had my pretzels and I had his gummies, and it was so silly!”

“Gummies, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue, “well, that explains the sugar rush.” Their voices get louder as they approach the car. “By the way, Har Bear, I have a surprise for you.”

As he says it, Harris opens the back door and hops into the car, eyes widening when he sees you sitting up front. “Ms. Sweetheart!” he exclaims, bouncing into his booster seat with pure exhilaration. “What are you doing in Daddy’s car?”

“I figured I could see Baby Ettie with you guys,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, a stark contrast to the little boy practically vibrating from excitement, “if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, yes, YES!” Harris shouts, his words aimed directly in Eddie’s ear as he tries buckling his son’s seatbelt.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, wincing as he massages the opening of his ear canal with his forefinger. “Take it down a notch, little man.” He fumbles with the belt until he hears the familiar click. He dons a deep voice to announce, “Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” and Harris draws his limbs inwards with a giggle while Eddie closes his door.

“Daddy? Can we listen to music?”

“Mhm.” Eddie reaches for the radio dial, then stops. “Should we let Ms. Sweetheart choose the tape? Since she’s our special guest?” He shoots you a grin that sends a flip-flopping sensation behind your ribs.

Harris taps his finger to his chin in contemplation. “Hmm…okay! Can she pick Metallica?”

“Not quite sure that’s how it works…” Eddie scrunches up his face and scratches at his jawline.

You turn around to face the boy, whose curly hair is now identically frizzy to his father’s. “Actually, Metallica sounds great to me,” you say, adding a thumbs-up for good measure.

“Metallica it is!” Eddie pops in the cassette, the mechanical wheels whirring for a moment before Fight Fire with Fire blares through the speakers. He rests his palm on the back of your seat as he backs out of the spot, tongue poking from his lips in concentration.

Harris alternates between headbanging to the music and babbling about school throughout the drive to Jeff and Viv’s. His energy seems endless as he hops out of the car and races to their front door.

“Har, remember,” Eddie calls out, “we have to be calm and gentle around the baby. Don’t wanna scare her.”

Harris nods as Jeff opens the door. “Mini Munson!” He gives a tired smile, stifling a yawn. “Ready to meet your new cousin?” He chuckles when Harris jumps up and down and squeals. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go ‘head and sit on the couch, kiddo.”

Harris follows Jeff’s instructions, and you and Eddie trail close behind him. Jess and Robin are also there; the latter woman is currently holding Ettie, lightly rocking the newborn in her arms.

“Do you wanna hold her?” she asks Harris, who looks to you and his dad in a silent plea for permission.

“Up to you, Har,” Eddie says with an encouraging smile. “We’ll help you, if you want.”

Harris nods, shuffling so his back is pressed up against the sofa. He squirms anxiously, kicking his feet as he waits for you and his dad to join him.

Eddie sits on his right side, and you take the empty space to his left. “I’ll help you hold her head,” you promise him. “You can hold your arms out like this,” you demonstrate, resting your forearms on your lap with your palms facing the ceiling, and Harris mimics your actions. “There ya go.”

Robin carefully walks over and places Ettie in Harris’s outstretched arms, ensuring that you’re supporting the baby’s head before she fully lets go. For a few moments, Harris just stares at the little girl, seemingly unsure how to react. Finally, he softly murmurs, “she’s so little!”

“Sure is,” Eddie laughs, poking at one of her tiny toes in amazement. “Would you believe that you were even more little when you were a baby?” His grin deepens when Harris’s jaw drops in disbelief. “It’s true! You were the tiniest little thing I’ve ever seen.” As he says it, a lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it before anyone notices the catch in his voice. You don’t need to hear it, though, and you use your free hand to discreetly rub his back in silent reassurance.

Harris purses his lips as he stares at his new cousin, clearly unaffected by the anecdote. “Does she do any tricks?”

His question has the entire group stifling laughter, and Eddie turns pink with embarrassment as he quickly explains, “she’s not a dog, buddy. And she was only born a few weeks ago, so she pretty much just eats, sleeps, and poops.”

“Ew,” Harris’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the last activity, though you’re willing to bet a large sum of money that he’s made at least one poop-related joke today. “So when can I teach her how to play Legos?”

“Not for a while,” Viv admits with a kind chuckle, “but when she’s ready, I promise that we’ll let her big cousin Harris show her how it’s done.”

Her answer placates him, at least temporarily, and he cautiously brushes his forefinger against Ettie’s scalp, smoothing down her wisps of hair. You take the moment to glance over at Eddie, only to find him looking right at you.

Hi, he mouths, though there’s so much more he wishes to say. When Harris was Ettie’s age, Eddie was exhausted, overwhelmed, constantly on the brink of breaking down. He’d sworn to himself and anyone else who would listen that he’d never go through the newborn stage again, but he’s mesmerized by the sight of you and Harris cuddling a baby. He wants this, he wants this with you, sleepless nights and spit-up stained clothes no longer strong enough deterrents.

Hi, you mouth back, suppressing words that ache to spill from your lips. Your pulse quickens at the way Eddie watches his son, not with scrutiny, but with admiration and awe, as though he can’t believe he’d created such a wonderful little human. Teaching children never translated over to a desire for motherhood, but you can suddenly picture yourself helping Harris hold your baby, a baby that symbolizes the love between you and Eddie.

“They look like a little family.” Robin’s attempted whisper grabs your attention; a brief scan of the room shows that everyone else is looking at her, too. Her cheeks flush a deep red and she mutters, “sorry,” swooping in to scoop Ettie into her arms.

An awkward silence hangs in the air until Jess clears her throat. “How was work today?” she asks you, and though you don’t have an actual answer to the question, you’re grateful for the subject change.

“I took the day off,” you reply nonchalantly. “Wanted to catch up on rest, y’know…” You trail off, hoping your non-answer suffices.

“What about you, Ed?” Jeff tries.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie stammers, nervously running a hand through his hair, “I also took the day off.”

Jeff’s gaze flits between the two of you until he finally manages an elongated, “…cool.”

Luckily, Harris is oblivious to the adults’ conversation. “Uncle Jeff, are you coming to my talent show next week?”

“Talent show?” Jeff glances at Eddie with an amused smirk.

“Uh, yeah, ‘s this parent-kid thing at his school,” Eddie hurriedly explains, trying not to trip over his words. He’s still stuck on what he’s implied by admitting that he’d also called out of work. “I didn’t know how busy you’d be with Ettie—”

Viv smiles. “I think he can sneak out for an hour to see his favorite nephew.”

“Robs and I can help out here if you need,” Jess offers to her sister, “as long as Jeff brings the camcorder so we have video evidence of this performance.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie shuts the idea down immediately, but his protest is drowned out by the sound of Harris cheering.

“Daddy and I are gonna—”

Eddie claps a ringed hand over his son’s mouth. “It’s a surprise.” He looks at you for a moment, bashfulness infiltrating his expression with a timid smile and downcast eyes, and you realize that the surprise is for you.

Harris wriggles out of Eddie’s grasp with a discontented sigh, sliding off the couch and onto thr floor. “I didn’t tell Ms. Sweetheart,” he protests, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he gathers any remaining patience.

Ettie puckers up her face and lets out a wail that seems far too big for her teeny body, but it serves as the perfect reason to leave. You hug everyone goodbye and give the cranky baby’s feet a gentle tickle before you head out the door. Harris gallops ahead, giving Eddie the opportunity to guide you with a soft press of his hand to the small of your back. Before he's fully outside, he leans in to Jeff, whispering “I told her,” ending the statement with a grin.

“My man!” Jeff grabs Eddie’s shoulder and gives it a small shake. “Let me know when to buy my tux for the wedding.”

“Jesus, you sound like Harris.”

Spending time at Hawkins Preschool outside of contracted work hours would normally be a scenario straight out of a nightmare. This afternoon; however, you’re here to see the most adorable little boy and his handsome dad perform some sort of mystery talent, which makes it all worthwhile.

The cafeteria has been transformed into an auditorium of sorts, with neat lines of metal folding chairs replacing the long tables that typically fill the space. An area at the front of the room has been sectioned off for the performances, and the entire place is abuzz with excitement about the adorableness that is about to ensue.

You spot Jeff and Wayne sitting in the third row from the back and you give them a little wave, bounding over to take the empty seat to Jeff’s left. The smile on your lips quickly transforms into a frown when you see him shake his head, placing his palm on the chair.

“I’m under strict orders to make sure you sit in the front row,” he says with a knowing smirk. He shoos you away, and you begrudgingly turn from their familiar faces, but not before catching a twinkle in Wayne’s eyes.

Soon after you find a seat close to the makeshift stage, Principal Sinclair steps up to the microphone.

“Welcome, friends and family, to our annual talent show fundraiser!” There’s a polite smattering of applause before she speaks again. “Our students—and their parents—have quite a show for you all. First up is Miss Abigail Carver and her mom, Chrissy, who will be performing a cheer routine!”

You clap as Abby and Chrissy step out, green and yellow pom-poms in hand. Your student recognizes you immediately, running over to give you a quick hug that elicits a resounding aww from the audience members. She rushes back to her spot as she and her mother cheer on the Hawkins Tigers in unison.

Next is another student of yours, Joshua Harrington. His dad hoists a Fisher Price basketball hoop and places it on the ground so the two of them can show off their “slam dunks.”

After a few more students from other classes, it’s finally the moment you’ve been waiting for.

“Please welcome Harris Munson and his dad, Eddie, who will be singing a song!”

No sooner do you call out, “Yay, Harris!” do you hear it:

“Freak.”

It’s low enough that no one else catches it; you probably wouldn’t have, either, if the culprit wasn’t sitting directly behind you. You turn around to see Jason Carver, camcorder by his side, poorly stifling a snicker.

Your hands clench, balled into fists, so tight that you feel your fingernails digging into your palms. It’s too tempting to smash his camera—no, smash his stupid face—but you inhale and then exhale for three seconds apiece. Today is about Harris and Eddie, and no overgrown bully is going to ruin that.

Still, you have to bite back a smile at the thought of Jason sporting a black eye, courtesy of the Freak’s girlfriend herself.

When Harris and Eddie take to the performance space, your anger evaporates and your heart becomes heavy with emotion. Harris is front and center, body slightly turned as he watches his dad get settled on a wooden stool and gives his acoustic guitar a tune. The boy dons a black suit that’s a size too big for him, his hands barely peeking out of the sleeves. He’s got on a tie that has to have been borrowed from an adult; you can’t imagine Eddie or Wayne wearing one, so maybe Jeff loaned it. The best part is the fedora that rests atop his messy mop of curls.

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart!” he says with a grin so wide it likely hurts his cheeks, letting out a shriek of delight when you wave. “This song is for you!”

Eddie murmurs a soft, “two, three, four,” and strums a melody that immediately has your eyes welling with tears.

“You make me feel so young,” Harris croons, mouth right up to the mic, “you make me feel so spring has sprung!”

To anyone else, it seems like a silly play on the fact that he is, in fact, young. You know it’s so much more.

“And every time I see you grin, I’m such a happy individual!”

He’s singing Frank Sinatra. He’s dressed as Frank Sinatra. And you know it had to be Eddie’s idea, considering Harris’s musical repertoire teeters between Raffi and Metallica.

He skips a few verses, and when he does, Eddie locks eyes with you and offers a tiny close-mouthed smile.

“And even when I’m old and gray I’m gonna feel the way I do today ‘Cause you make me feel so young!”

You choke down the sob that threatens to escape as they circle back to the chorus. The memory of Grandma’s final Thanksgiving, consisting of singing along to Fly Me to the Moon and sharing store-brand Oreos, soars around your mind. The way she had so easily slipped back into her old self, if only for a moment. The way Eddie had held you and kissed your scalp, protecting you from a force no one could see but everyone could feel.

“You make me feel so young You make me feel so young Ooh, you make me feel so young!”

The song ends and you leap to your feet, cheering just as loudly as you did the other night at the Hideout for Corroded Coffin. You swipe at a stray tear and force yourself to look at your boyfriend, so effortlessly beautiful in a black t-shirt and jeans.

Thank you, you mouth.

I love you, comes his silent reply.

You gaze into each other’s eyes for another beat before you feel a thud against your legs. Harris stands right before you, ignoring the way all of the other kids proceeded out the door after their performances.

“Are those happy tears?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern as he notices your stained cheeks. When you nod, still too overcome with emotion to speak aloud, his face splits into a grin. “Good.” His arms wrap around your waist in a hug that nearly has you toppling over, and you rest your hand on his upper back to steady yourself.

“Easy, Har Bear,” Eddie’s voice is strong but tender, and your entire body relaxes in his presence. You want to pull him in by his belt loops and kiss him, running your fingers through his curls until you’re both smiling too hard to continue. If only you weren’t at your place of work, if only all eyes weren’t on you, if only–

“Looks like the Freak’s got a crush.”

A smattering of the audience members laugh at this, no one more so than the instigator himself. You whirl around reflexively, eyes narrowing at the smug blonde man behind you. Eddie takes a small step forward, quietly telling Harris to go back with his friends as he zeroes in on his longtime nemesis.

He’s going to hit him, you realize, noting the subtle clench of his jaw and twitch of his flexing bicep. I have to stop him before he does something he regrets.

Eddie’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jason’s collar and pulling him in with a jolt. There’s a soft gasp from the crowd followed by silence as everyone waits for Eddie’s next move. You can hear the scraping of metal chairs on the ground as Wayne and Jeff scramble to mitigate the situation before it can escalate further.

To your surprise–and relief–Eddie doesn’t throw any punches; instead, he grits his teeth and hisses, low enough so only you and Jason can hear:

“Don’t ever talk about her again.”

He lets go with a small shove, and Jason stumbles back just as Principal Sinclair arrives to break it up. While time came to a screeching halt, the whole interaction spanned fewer than ten seconds.

Wayne and Jeff reach him first, guiding him out of the cafeteria. The older man keeps his eyes on his nephew, but Jeff shoots Jason a steely glare, insinuating that Jason had better heed Eddie’s warning if he wants to live to see his daughter go to kindergarten. You follow behind and attempt to keep your composure.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie breathes as soon as the four of you are alone. “I shouldn’t have…I just fuckin’ hate that guy.” His eyes dance with anxiety, not sure whether to look at you, his friend, his uncle, or the ground.

You take his hands in yours, imploring him to focus on you as you reach up to brush his curls off of his face. “It’s okay–”

Eddie shakes his head. “I ruined everything. This was supposed to be about Harris, and about making you happy…” He takes a step back, rubbing his eyes with a low, exasperated, “fuck!”

“Baby–”

“I’m gonna get Harris,” Eddie starts to walk away, speaking to himself as though you hadn’t said a word, but he stops in his tracks when Wayne puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to your girl,” he says simply, motioning for Jeff to come fetch Harris with him.

Eddie doesn’t dare protest, trudging back to face you. He’d fucked up royally, and he knew it. What was he thinking, putting his hands on Jason Carver in the middle of a goddamn preschool talent show?

“Eddie,” you take his hand in yours and give it a squeeze, “it’s okay. I’m not mad; I just wish he didn’t get under your skin like that.” You rub your thumb along his forefinger. “He’s not worth it, I promise.”

“I just…” Eddie mumbles, thoughts too scrambled to find the words he needs. He heaves a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have done it here.”

You can’t really argue with that; out of all of the places Eddie could fight Jason, your job wasn’t your favorite option.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You press onto your toes to whisper in his ear. “I almost did the same thing earlier today.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, nudging the toe of your shoe against his scuffed sneaker. “And I have a feeling most people in this town would agree with me.” The notion makes Eddie smile, and you continue. “Let me take you and Ol’ Brown Eyes out for ice cream to celebrate your amazing performance. Please?” You throw a puppy-dog look his way, though he needs little convincing.

Still, a nagging thought tugs at him that he has to resolve before can allow himself to relax. “There might be people there. People we know.” People like Jason Carver and Carol Perkins, he silently adds. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…we can just grab a half-gallon from Bradley’s and bring it home.”

You shake your head, effectively turning down his offer. “I’m taking my boyfriend and his adorable son to Scoops Ahoy, and the three of us are gonna split a fudge sundae,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Are you sure you’re okay with people knowing about us? Being branded ‘The Freak’s Girlfriend’? Hearing people gossip about whatever the Hawkins rumor mill has churned out?

The sensation of your lips on his tempers the overworked gear shifts in his brain. When you pull back, you’re smiling at him.

“Positive.”

tag list (now closed):

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights

@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @lost-in-the-stars03 @aysheashea @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiemunsonslittlemetalhead

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee

@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday @augustsgetawaycar @let-love-bleeds-red @inesven @tanyaherondale @theintimatewriter

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

1K notes · View notes

blarshwritezz · 2 months

Text

Yandere Clone x Reader

Male Yan x gn reader

TW - general yandere behavior, torture, manipulation

Clone!Yan wasn't even supposed to exist. If only your boyfriend had never agreed to that stupid experiement.

It was sketchy, but paid hella good money, and the two of you were going through hard times. You guys really needed the cash. Especially since he was starting to consider proposing.

You told him it was too risky. You told him there were much better ways to make money. Safer ways. But he was blinded by all those zeros. 10 million sure does motivate someone. Even you were considering joining in too.

The day he left for it, you nearly cried. It's been a long time since you had to spend a night without him.

But finally, he came back a week later! Something was just...different. When he held you, he seemed stronger than usual. He seemed to blink less, and stare at you more. He was getting very jealous very easily. Sure he had some slight jealousy issues before he went off, but it wasn't ever this bad...

At first, you considered it side effects of whatever those awful people did, or that it was just because he missed you. But it only seemed to get worse...

You'd notice him eating less, exercising less, doing everything he usually did less...

He used the money from the experiment to buy the two of you a lovely little home somewhere peaceful. Nothing fancy, the two of you didn't need too much. Just a quaint little home in the suburbs.

In that home, you realized there was always this suspicious locked room. When you asked him about it, he just said, "Oh, that? Yeah, I think it's pretty weird too. I guess the previous owners just locked it and forgot to give us the key."

Lately, he's seemed pretty dismissive when you were worried.

But some nights, you swore you heard strange noises coming from that room. Things like scratching, muffled screams, faint groans, and even whispers of your name.

One night, you had enough. It was one of those rare nights where your boyfriend would get up, presumably to use the restroom or get a glass of water, and not return for over an hour.

Silently, you crept down the hall. The door to that room was slightly ajar, the light of the moon peaking out. You got just close to peak in and what you saw was not only horrifying but confusing as well.

There was your boyfriend, holding a bloody pen, standing above...himself? But a grotesque and mutilated version of himself.

You backed away in horror, only to crash into something behind you, making a loud noise. Nearly instantly, your "boyfriend" was at the door staring at you.

"Oh dear, my lovely [Y/N]...you weren't supposed to see this yet. It was going to be a surprise." The man spoke, a twisted grin on his face. "I guess now I have to tell you early."

He grabbed your arm and dragged you into the room. No matter how much you struggled, no matter how strong you were, he was more powerful. His bruising grip could have broken your bone, but he was being oh so careful with you.

"You see, my dearest, this man you called your boyfriend was just pathetic...he didn't have the balls to give you everything you deserve. But I can. I can be perfect for you. I'm him, but better in every way." He whispered, his cold breath against your neck as he held you tight and forced you to look at the man who could hardly be recognized as your sweet boyfriend.

"I won't ever age, or change, or ever go against you. Why, I was made for you..."

You were so confused, and he could tell. But your words were stuck in your throat. It was a good thing he could read you so well.

"Don't you remember? All those months ago, the experiment? The scientists who created me needed a dumb test monkey down on their luck, and your old boyfriend was perfect for that role. They took his skin, his blood, his hair, every bit of DNA they could to make me. The only thing missing was the transference of subconscious, and well, the only thing he could think of was you. So naturally, the only thing I can think of, is you~"

He wrapped his artificial arms around your waist tightly, making sure you didn't fall over. You felt like you would be sick...

"Unfortunately, I have to keep him alive. If he dies, I will too. But I recently decided to take out his eyes. That way he'll never get to see you again. Only I should have such an honor."

He started kissing your neck, making you feel even more disgusted. Right in front of you was your beloved boyfriend, the very one you hoped to spend your life with, turned to this shell of what he once was. You could hardly even see his skin tone beneath all the blood.

"Don't worry, just rest. You'll never have to see that failure again..." With those last few words, he covered your mouth with a cloth. You were already paralyzed in fear, too terrified to fight back this time.

He watched you for the rest of the night...and the next day...and the next night, and the next day, and the next night. Never once were you free from the thing that claimed to be your boyfriend.

Or rather, husband now. He was so glad you finally agreed! Not that you had much of a choice.

Yea, feeling this one! Different style than usual, woo!

#x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #blarsh writes #yandere clone #clone yandere #male yandere #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #gender neutral reader #gn reader #yandere x gn reader

307 notes · View notes

oracle-of-dream · 6 months

Text

Regular Maintenance

Minors DNI

Summary: Your car is been acting up, so badly to the point where you can’t put off going to get it fixed anymore. You’re forced to take your car to the only car shop you can afford and meet the handsome mechanic who’s willing to take a look at your problem.

Warnings: Pet names, Male reader, blowjob, cum swallowing, teasing

Word Count: 2.6k

Sitting on the couch, your stomach groaned and grumbled with hunger. You checked the clock. 10 pm… too early to try and sleep, not that your stomach would let you away way. Finally mustering the strength, you go check out the fridge and the pantry to find nothing to eat. Well, nothing that isn’t a 20-step plan and that was a no-go. Scoping up your phone and opening Ubereats, there somehow were no drivers delivering at this hour.

“Really? It’s not even midnight.” You huffed.

You looked at your car keys hanging on their hook by the garage. You knew it was a risk, but starving wasn’t really an option. You’re parents said they’d take it to the shop for you, but it would take them three days before they’d be able to. Three whole days of not being able to come and go freely was torture. Especially when you were so hungry. You figured, one little drive couldn’t hurt. Just making a run you’ve made several times in your car, and you’re favorite place was right around the corner. You’ve made the drive a hundred times, and could even do it in the dead of night while blindfolded. There’s no way it would be destroyed or something.

You took your keys, opened the garage, and started the car. The dashboard blinked with the service engine light, warning you in a menacing orange hue. Don’t be stupid, just wait… You took a moment to really think if it was worth it. But your stomach reminded you how much you wanted to eat something. Starting at the driveway, you pulled onto the street and everything was smooth. Perfect even. You got to the drive-thru, ordered, paid, and got the food with no issues. But on the way back home. You had to eat, and just a bite couldn’t hurt. You looked away for just a moment to reach in the bag, and when you looked back… a giant pothole was in your path, too close for you to swerve out of the way of. You braced as you felt your car dip and slam into the pavement, your dashboard lit up in anger, and the car slowly came to a stop… You turned the key once, twice, and a third time before realizing what you’d done. You killed your car. It was too late at night to call your parents, they’d bite your head off if you told them you not only went out in the car but then hit the pothole too. You stepped out of your car and lifted the hood, staring hopelessly to see if there was some big sign to help you fix the car enough to get home.

After a few minutes of Google searching and sitting hopelessly next to your car, a sleek black sports car pulled up in front of your car and parked. A man with reddish hair stepped out, you couldn’t see his face very well which put you on guard.

“Hey, you stuck?” The man called.

You put your phone up to your ear like you were on the phone, “yeah, Mom! Thanks so much for coming to me so late, so you’re a few blocks away?” You emphasized the last few words as you walked toward the driver's seat of the car.

The man kept walking closer. “Excuse me, dude,” he jogged to catch you.

You got to the handle and pulled, but the door was locked. You let out an exasperated sigh as you could see your keys in your seat.

“Yikes. Locked out too, huh?” The man was right behind you. “If you want, I can help you.”

You turned to see a man in his early twenties with a leather jacket, a sleeveless white shirt, and black pants. His shirt had black stains on it, and he smelled like gasoline. “You know how to fix cars?”

He nodded. “It’s what I do, fixed her other there myself,” he said pointing at the car we drove. “So you need a hand, or do your parent have you taken care of?”

You awkwardly nodded. “I think they may not be able to fix this, so I’d really owe you if you could help me.”

The man put his hand out. “I’m Eric, you are?”

“Y/n.”

“Got it, so let’s get those keys first and then we can see what this little lady’s issue is.” He rubbed the hood of the car affectionately, like a dog he’d just met.

Eric went back to his car and opened the trunk to pull out a toolbelt and some other stuff. He slung the toolbelt across his body pulled a few pieces out and unlocked the door with ease. He then looked over the front of the car and looked over at the engine and other car guts.

“It looks like something got knocked out of place. I can push it back in, but there’s some other stuff I wanna take a look at too. It could be dangerous driving it.” Eric put his tools back in his car. “So why don’t we go to my shop, I can get a better look at everything there and I think I have some spare parts that could work here.”

“You said it was dangerous for my car–”

He shook his head, “I’ll have it towed over. You can ride in my car with me. We’ll be in the car the whole time, so you don’t need to worry. I promise I won’t steal her, but I can’t promise about you…”

You let his last sentence hang in the air as he looked at you for a reaction.

“I’m kidding, I’m sorry, that was a bad one.”

“No, no, it was fine! I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Eric rubbed his jaw in embarrassment. “You can wait in my car while I call the tow truck if you want. It’ll probably take a few for it to get here.”

You didn’t want to sit in his car alone, but also you didn’t want to just stand there awkwardly. But then you remembered the whole reason you came out there in the first place. You went to your car and pulled out your bag of food. It was a little cold, but your stomach was begging for relief. You sat on the hood of your car while Eric called the tow truck, munching on your food.

Eric wrapped up the call and walked over to you, noticing you eating. “Let me have a bite,” Eric demanded.

You put yourself between him and the food. “Why should I?”

“Because I’m the one who’s helping you. That’s the least you could do… I’m so hungry.”

You begrudgingly handed him the food. Eric held your hand and lifted it to his mouth as he moved down to meet you halfway. His hands were rough and strong, almost squishing your hand in his. He didn’t ask for more after his bite, seemingly satisfied.

The truck didn’t take long to arrive and hook your car up to the back. Eric got into his car, and you joined him, the smooth leather interior took your breath away. It was so clean and smelled so nice, it didn’t feel like Eric was the one who owned it at all.

It was a short and quiet drive to Eric’s place. You didn’t know what to say, not even thank you felt right at the moment. And every time you tried to muster the courage to speak, Eric would glance in your direction which made you look away shyly.

The tow truck followed Eric’s car to the shop and your car was placed on a platform so it could be raised and Eric would look at it.

Eric took off his leather jacket, revealing his muscular arms. He worked on the car for maybe thirty minutes, giving you time to look around the place. It was cluttered and small. There were pictures of Eric in front of luxury cars with other people standing next to him, but one picture stuck out to you. It felt like a family photo, even though no one in the picture looked like Eric. It was Eric and nine other men, sitting at a table happily enjoying a night together.

“Find something?” Eric’s voice hummed in your ear, making you jump. He smiled as you turned around to him. He was covered in marks from oil, grease, and probably other stuff that you couldn’t tell.

“Did you finish?”

“Yep. It was a pretty simple fix for someone like me–some real old parts needed to go. So I got those all installed for you. She should be good to go.”

“Thank you so much!” You hugged Eric instinctively. “How much do I owe you for all this?”

Eric chucked. “Don’t worry about it! No charge this time, just promise you’ll come back.”

“Eric, please, I couldn’t just walk out like this. I’m not that kind of person.”

“How about a kiss then?” Eric raised an eyebrow at you.

You felt warm in your face. “I-I don’t know about all that–”

He sighed. “How about your number then?”

“No, I just meant–”

“Wow, no number or kiss? You’re playing hard to get, aren’t you?”

“I’m not–”

Eric stepped forward, making you stop talking. “How about. I take a kiss. And you give me your number?”

You didn’t know how to reply.

Eric let one hand pull you into him by your hair, and the other to cup your face. “One last chance to back off.”

You just close your eyes, feeling the rough skin of Eric’s hand on your face drop away as you feel his soft lips on yours. He moved his hand to the back of your neck, encouraging you to press more into him. You opened your mouth into the kiss, Eric didn’t miss a beat to slide his tongue into the gap and let your tongues finally meet. Gently he guided you backward until your back was against the way. You’re hands felt hot and numb, but still, you let them do whatever they wanted. You felt his neck, his back, his chest, and slowly moved down his torso.

Eric stopped your hands as they reached his belt. He stopped kissing you, letting you collect your breath. “Sorry, I just said a kiss. Anything below the belt requires a second visit.” He winked.

You felt dizzy from the kiss, your body tingled all over. You’d never been so forward with someone, so it was… different. Eric was different.

“I took my kiss. Now, you wanna give me your number? Again, your choice.”

You fumbled your phone out of your pocket and gave it to him.

“You’re so cute, ya know?” Eric chuckled as he added his number to your phone and texted himself so he had your number. “Text me when you get back home. And don’t feel bad about calling me if you have any more car troubles… Or if you just miss me.”

You nodded, “I will.”

“Good boy. Now get home, it’s late.” Eric kissed you one more time on the cheek as he walked you to your car, opened the door, and sat you down in the driver’s seat.

You turned the key and the engine started with a happy purr. The engine light was gone, and you’d never felt your car start so smoothly before.

“Thank you, Eric.” You said again.

“You’re welcome, babe. Make sure to come to see me again, I’m not really a one-time kind of guy. And if I find out you went to some other garage to get your car looked at, you’ll break my heart.”

You nodded as you reversed out of Eric’s shop. He walked with you and watched you drive away. You could see him staring from your mirror until you turned the corner. Once you got home, you checked your messages.

“Home yet, prince?”

“Yeah. Good guess.”

“I know! I’m just that amazing. But you should sleep now.”

“I will. What about you?”

“I’m almost home now. I’ll be dreaming of you, so do the same and dream of me too, okay?”

“We haven’t even been on a date and we’ve kissed and we’re dreaming of each other?”

“So you will dream of me? You’re so amazing, and such an obedient boy too. I like that.”

You blushed. You could hear his voice teasing your ears as you read his message. “Shut up! I’m going to bed.”

“Good night, y/n. Sweet Angel.”

“Good night, weirdo.”

You stared at his last message. Your heart fluttered, imagining him calling you sweet angel. Your eyelids started feeling heavy. So you put your phone down and finally laid down to sleep.

When you opened your eyes, you were lying in the back seat of Eric’s car. You could tell it was his from the smell. You sit up and realize you’re not alone. Eric was sitting next to you, your head was just resting on his leg…

“Waiting for me, Angel?” Eric unbuttoned the front button of his pants. His legs spread to make room, a smirk spreading across his lips.

You crawled over to him. His hand immediately moved to receive you, holding the back of your head as he guided you to his cock that strained against his clothes. You hadn’t even touched him yet…

“I need you, baby. Be a good boy and help me?” He almost sang as he tossed his pants and underwear down. His cock stood proudly, pink and leaking. You lean down and gift him soft kisses around the head. “More…” Eric moaned, his eyes struggling to stay open as he watched his head disappear into your mouth. His legs jerked, threatening to close as the wet warmth around him.

“Jesus, keep going,” he groans as you take more into your mouth. His hips buck as you give him more, licking up the shaft slowly. His head is thrown back into the leather of the seat just as you go for the gold. You open your eyes and look up at him, his eyes sealed shut with his eyebrow scrunched and his forehead slightly wet. His mouth was hung open, breathing hard between grunts and moans.

You moan in joy around him, making his breath hitch for a moment.

“Let me drive for sec Angel.” Eric gripped your head in place, gently thrusting into your mouth before building up speed. You start to meet him in time with his thrusts, making his timing stutter and his back arching so much that he starts moving out of his seat. “I’m gonna lose it, you’re gonna suck it right out of me!” His hands move from your head to his neck and the headrest, holding on for dear life as his arms flex. “More! More! I’m right there, so close, sweet boy!”

The climax was enough to make him scream as his cum shot into your mouth, your tongue running wild all over him, swallowing everything he gave you. His legs squirm as you keep sucking, milking him for all he’s worth. “Oh god, please! Please, just–” Eric couldn’t even hold it together to speak.

You started to enjoy his begging, continuing to lick on his overstimulated member. “I’m begging, please!” You finally release him, making his whole body flop down into his seat as he heaved breaths to calm back down.

“I’m gonna get you back for that…” Eric groaned between breaths.

You were exhausted and ended up falling asleep on his bare thigh, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing

When you open your eyes, you’re in your bed again… Your phone is next to you.

“Angel, I had a pretty good dream about us.” Eric texted.

“I had a pretty good one too.”

“Oh? You did dream of me!? What did we do?”

You swallowed, thinking about your dream. “Maybe it would be better if I showed you…”

“Name a place and I’ll meet you there.”

#the boyz x reader #the boyz #the boyz fanfic #the boyz imagines #the boyz eric #the boyz smut #kpop x male reader #oracle of dreams #kpop x male reader smut #tbz #eric sohn #eric sohn x reader

545 notes · View notes

fandomwritingbit · 8 months

Text

William Afton x fem reader

Babysitter

A/N: This is a second stab at the babysitter trope because it’s just delightfully filthy, it’s not at all connected to the go I had before (which you can find - here). Also this is my first time writing somnophilia so I hope it’s good.

Synop: Reader is a regular babysitter for William, one night she stays the night as he is working a late shift. He comes home annoyed and the sight of her asleep is just too tempting.

Warnings: smut, non/dub con, somnophilia, age gap, inappropriate relationship.

You pull the duvet cover up over one of the children you’re babysitting, her voice catching your attention with its whiny tone. “I can’t believe you’re making us go to bed this early.”

You smile at her and shake your head. “Lizzie, it’s half nine on a school night. You know the rules.” She pouts looking at you with pleading eyes. You know that she just wants to stay up and spend some time with you, it’s not surprising, with two brothers it’s no wonder she wants some time with another girl. She looks up to you and as sweet as it is, you know better than to delay her bed time.

“Pleease, y/n.” She tries again and you chuckle as you turn on her nightlight then her big light off, coming back over to prop her pillows up.

“Nope.” You say through a grin, “Now lie down if you want tucking in.” She does, though her dissatisfied expression doesn’t shift. And so, bringing the duvet up under her chin you tuck it tight at her sides, just how she likes, knowing that despite the whinging she’ll be asleep in 10 minutes tops. You stand up and head for her door, stopping just before you leave, “Night night, Lizzie. Remember the quicker you get to sleep the sooner we can make breakfast in the morning.” The little lass smiles and you notice the sleepiness of it even in the low light of the room.

Elizabeth is asleep before you can gather your stuff and lock up downstairs, just as you thought. So you go about checking on Evan asleep in his room as of an hour or so ago, happy to find him still settled. They’re good kids, never any trouble really. You’ve babysat for the Afton kids many times, as a local young lass with a liking for extra pocket money it was a handy job. You would pick the two youngest up from school, take them home and cook dinner, help with homework, all the good stuff. Their dad worked long shifts at his restaurant, so usually you’d stay and put the children to bed, getting yourself home once he’d come back. But tonight was different, Mr Afton had told you he won’t be back til the middle of the night and offered you to spend the night in the spare room; which you took him up on.

The room is probably the smallest one in the house, not that you mind, it is a double bed with an end table and a chest of drawers. You put your bag on top of it, taking out your wash bag and heading to the bathroom, where you then ready yourself for bed. As it’s only one night you didn’t bring any pjs, only your clothes for the morning, so you strip down to your panties, take off your bra and keep the shirt you’ve been wearing today on, thinking that that should be good enough to sleep in. Yes, it’s revealing but if you need to tend to the kids you can always put your trousers back on.

You don’t notice your discarded bra, abandoned on the bathroom floor.

Once in bed you set your alarm for seven in the morning, knowing you’ll have to help Mr Afton with the school run tomorrow. Again you don’t mind and you’re paid well for your time. And you like Mr Afton. God, how can you not? Such a handsome bloke, lean and sharp. Smart as anything too, you’ve listened to him talk on the phone, all business, shrewd and confident. Yeah, you like him alright.

William gets home in the early hours, some time after 3am and the happy silence of his home isn’t enough to quell his silent anger. An incident at the restaurant has left him with paperwork up to his nose and a tonne of wasted stock, and with rent and utility on the way he was stressed to all hell. Even after staying nearly all night, there was still some much to do when he went back in tomorrow afternoon, and lord knows Henry won’t be helping much.

He moves through his house as quiet as he can, careful not to wake anyone up even with his terrible mood. Poking his head in on his children, he smiles in satisfaction at your work. You’re such a good little lass, looking after them so well, you’re more than worth what he pays you. Honestly, the kids love you, even Michael isn’t annoyed by your presence and he couldn’t ask for a prettier thing to be milling around his house. He chuckles at that thought, you’re a damned tease even if you don’t realise it. What with all your tight jeans and shirts that pull away when you bend down, it’s hard for him not to look at you, but so far that’s all he’s done. That and a bit of harmless flirting.

He pops into the bathroom to wash his face, hoping that will help clear away the stress of the day, except he doesn’t make it as far as the sink. Stopping still at the sight of your bra left on the floor. It’s a surprise to say the least, you’ve never struck him as the black lacy type, least of all when looking after his kids. And especially so given you’re not a careless individual. He grins as he picks it up, rubbing his thumb over the peak of the cup where your nipple would harden at such an action. The image goes straight to his cock, he’d wager you are much too inexperienced to wear such an article.

It would be a shame to just leave it there all night, so he keeps it in his clasp as he leaves the room, a naughty idea crossing his mind.

But as he passes the spare room that he notices you’ve left the door cracked open. He’s not delusional, he knows it’ll be to hear the kids if they need you, but a very persuasive part of him wonders if you could have left it open for him. After leaving your bra in the bathroom it doesn’t seem outlandish, rather like you’ve left him a trail to follow and he wouldn’t dream of denying that invitation.

The light from the hall cuts through the room as he cracks it open, his eyes quickly finding your sleeping frame laid on the bed and an almost sinister smirk creeps across his face. Such a lovely girl just laid there, having no clue that he was taking in the sight of you. Whether you did do this on purpose or not is irrelevant to him, there is only so much teasing a man can take.

He stands there in the doorway for a moment listening to the tickly feeling in his chest of doing something he knows he shouldn’t, his silhouette casting a large shadow into the room. It’s a familiar feeling but one that just never dulls.

Still careful to be silent, William slowly enters the room, reaching behind himself to close the door, the room remaining dimly lit due to a lamppost outside the window. His hands move automatically to the buttons of his shirt, still unsure of what he was going to do even as he took it off, dropping it down to the floor. His belt was harder to take off without the suspect clinking noise but he manages it and his trousers follow suit. Standing over you there with his cock rock hard behind his boxers, he feels like some all powerful monster and it’s just delicious.

The bed dips as he gets in beside you, lifting the duvet up and scooching in until his chest is pressed against your back, your warmth utterly intoxicating. You stir, a soft sleepy moan leaving your lips that makes his dick twitch. This is wrong in so many ways but he doesn't care, especially when his cold hand finds your leg, tracing up to the soft skin of your thigh and groaning when he feels the fabric of your panties. Though he skims over them for now, eager to feel more of you. It’s so easy for him to reach up under that shirt, trailing up over your stomach whilst softly grinding his stiffness into your behind, the knowledge of no bra making precum coat the tip of his cock.

A cold hand grabs your breast, gently squeezing your flesh before taking your nipple between his fingers and tugging it lightly, it hardens instantly which makes him grin wolfishly. You again stir, arching your back into him, your behind rubbing against his erection. Your body subconsciously leans into the touch so he can’t help but give you what you want, largely because it’s what he needs.

So he shifts position, lifting your leg forwards to gain access to the part of you that was calling for him. He traces over your clothed pussy, brushing over your clit a few times and feeling your body tense with the slight stimulation.

“Is that what you like, sweetheart huh?” He whispers, his breath spreading goosebumps along your skin, it doesn’t wake you but it’s close to. The throbbing of his cock makes him want you to notice. From there he slides his fingers under the fabric, immediately finding your core slick and gooey, he glides them through your folds, gradually becoming more risky with how he grinds his hips into you. The stimulation makes you moan, your eyes fluttering open and body instinctively trying to pull away, but he holds you firm, his other arms sliding under you to clamp over your mouth, disguising the sounds that tear from your throat.

He shushes you repeatedly, his voice low in your ear, “Shush, sweetheart. It’s alright.” You’re ravaged by confusion, unable to tell if this was real, the fingers coated in your slick teasing your entrance and rubbing your clit felt achingly so, but how could this happen- it couldn't possibly be happening.

You groan something into his hand and he briefly pulls it away enough to hear you, prompting you to say it again with a hum. Your brows are knitted as you speak, still trying to pull yourself away from him and the growing feeling building in your core. “...Mr Afton?” He grins into the back of your neck when you say his name like that.

“Yes, lovely.”

You moan as his fingers find a perfect rhythm on your clit rubbing it vigorously and making the coil in your stomach tighter by the minute. “What… what are you doing?” It’s hard to speak, you’re so shocked that he’s doing this, that you’re living through it right now and that it feels so good.

He doesn’t answer you, just chuckles into your skin, you aren’t riving away from him anymore but rather grabbing at the quilt now sticking to your sweaty skin, unable to decide if you want all this to stop or if you need him to continue. Your lower stomach is riddled with knots that are just begging to snap, the sensation completely overwhelming. You’re moaning pathetically, causing him to shush you again, you sound so good right now he’s dying to relieve himself somehow and just rubbing against you isn’t enough anymore, not when he knows how sweet and wet you are for him. And just, just as you’re screwing your eyes up ready to slam into your climax he stops, leaving your pussy twitching on the brink of your end.

“Mr Aftonnn.” You whine, devastated that ecstasy was ripped from your tongue and desperate to feel it again. He moves behind you, pulling down his boxers enough to let his cock out, hissing as he strokes himself. You feel him pressing against your behind, then the stickiness of his precum smearing on your skin.

“You gonna let me fuck that sweet little pussy?” The sound of his voice is so insanely dirty it has your head spinning, you nod, not remembering that he can’t see you. “Huh?” He prompts again, sliding his cock between your legs, the head notching against your entrance in such a way that it almost makes you jump.

“Yes. Please.” You manage your voice hazy with tiredness and arousal, he doesn’t wait a moment, pressing himself inside the size of him stretching you to accommodate him. You whimper before he even gets to the hilt, your hands balled up in the sheets.

He groans, sniggering slightly at how good you feel around him and unable to resist he starts fucking you. It’s an earth-shatteringly slow pace that has his tip pressing flush into your sweet spot, each time feeling like he was stealing the air from your lungs. The bed creaks with the movement, though he only just notices over the pretty sounds you’re making. You can’t help it, your orgasm is raising its head almost immediately and you want it so bad that you’re begging incoherently, grabbing at his hand which has found itself squeezing your breasts. And despite trying to keep the noise down his pace grows faster and more needy, the lewd sound of your wet cunt taking him in becoming more frequent. He’s muttering the dirtiest of things in your ear, mixed in with praise for how good you feel and how well you’re doing. And it’s too much. Shuddering you hit your climax hard, muscles tensing as your wall clamp down around him and fluttering in the most perfect way.

He grunts, fucking you more selfishly as your tightness begs him to cum. His pace wavers before he does shoving himself as deep as possible as he bursts inside you, filling you up without thinking. You gasp a little, still reeling from your orgasm but still aware enough to feel the sensation of his cum leaking out of you as he pulls out, leaving your cunt twitching.

“Such a good girl.”

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf smut #william afton x you #fnaf movie #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #cw noncon #cw dubcon #cw somnophilia

1K notes · View notes

clixxx7 · 16 days

Text

i hate that autism has become seen as more of a 'quirky personality' that what it is, which is a disability.

I dont just spend my days flapping my hands around and being cute autistic girl despite what people think when they notice i have autism. It completely effects every aspect of my life, i cannot go to school or communicate properly, i can have extreme verbal shutdowns that go on for weeks, i have meltdowns that last hours on end of hitting myself in the head and trying to quite literally get my skin off bc it feels 'wrong', i don't have cute special interests like trains or mermaids and i will force myself to stay up for days to create extremely detailed and long analysis' of whatever criminal has recently become my obsession. I cannot recognise hunger until its painful and makes me feel sick, i cannot recognise the feeling of being full until its painful and makes me feel sick. I cannot recognise needing to go to the toilet until I'm literally about to piss myself. Because of my autism i have hypermobility and lax joints which increases risk of early arthritis by a lot, both my ankles and knees are fucked and i can randomly collapse after just taking and step and my ankle or knee gives out. Extreme phobias i have like emetophobia and nyctophobia are all linked to autism, panic attacks and anxiety attacks i have are all linked to autism, my insomnia and severe burn-outs are all linked to autism.

And its not just me:

Just 30% of autistic adults in the UK are in any form of paid employment. This is amongst the lowest rates of employment for people with additional needs or disabilities. Seven out of ten autistic people have a mental health condition such as anxiety, depression or OCD. Autistic people are more likely to be in abusive relationships and, from childhood, are more likely to experience sexual and emotional abuse. It’s estimated that autistic women are three times likelier to be sexually assaulted than non-autistic women. 1/3 of autistic people are fully non verbal and will never speak. 70–80% of children and adults with autism experience or have experienced mental health problems in their lifetime. At least 3 in 4 autistic children have experienced or exerience bullying. About 50% of autistic people deal with substance abuse or addiction at some point. Nearly nine in 10 autistic women have been victims of sexual violence.

Autism isnt a personality trait its a disability and people need to recognise that, having autism sucks balls man, it takes so many opportunities and careers from you, especially because the world is made for neurotypical people and allistics.

#actually autistic #autism #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #neuroscience #disabled #disability #ableism #someone kill clixx #asc #asd #actually disabled

194 notes · View notes

algae-tm · 13 days

Text

KILL BILL P.10

Charles Leclerc x ex! Reader, Oscar Piastri x Reader

Author’s note : So I don’t write narrative or rather I don’t write fanfic narrative, but there’s so much I want to say in this fic that feels clunky putting in like a text message. So here y’all go. I’m not 100% satisfied with the Oscar bit but also I started writing at 2 and it’s now 3:30 am so I’m gunna go to bed and then probably write some more in the coming days, do not worry we will get more in depth Oscar lore! - Algae 🌱

••••

Despite almost being 20 years old, Charles had been just a boy when you met him. A boy with a chip on his shoulder and the world at his feet—a dangerous combination that should’ve sent you running but had the opposite effect. When you first saw him, you could practically see the gears turning in his head. He paid you no attention, probably didn’t even realise you were loitering on the outskirts of his garage, watching the mechanics run around in a dazed frenzy, but you were enthralled by him.

He stood steadfastly in front of his car, with a pinched look adorning his face, forehead creased, and eyebrows drawn together. Anyone else would’ve written him off as confused, overwhelmed, not fit to have signed a contract saying he’d be battling in F1 alongside the greats—they still wrote him off as an emotionally unstable boy. But even before you had ever spoken to him, you understood what hardly anyone else did. You understood that, while Charles Leclerc was still a boy, he was more calculating than confused. And in the years of knowing him that followed, as you’d watched him progress to f1, as you’d watched him win races, that statement would prove to be true time and time again.

As the memories of your early encounters with Charles flooded your mind, you couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. He had been so young, so full of ambition and determination. You had admired him from afar, drawn to his intensity and drive to succeed. Despite the chaos of the racing world swirling around him, he had always seemed to have a clear vision of where he was going.

But somewhere along the way, things had changed. The pressures of fame and success had taken their toll, turning him into a shell of the boy you’d met. The boy with the fire in his eyes had become a man weighed down by expectations and responsibilities. And in the process, he had pushed you away, convinced that you didn't understand the sacrifices he had to make. Convinced that he held you captive in a life you weren’t ready to lead.

Charles may have told you some bullshit excuse about children and the future but you had always been able to see through him and despite this separation nothing had changed. From the arguments in the months leading to the breakup you knew he was putting an unnecessary amount of pressure on himself, putting all his hopes and aspirations on Ferrari, despite how often that had proven to be a mistake. Yes, the stupid misunderstanding of your future together was a large part of the reason you broke up, but you had a incessant feeling that Charles had felt trapped in his life, in his racing, and had attributed that trapped feeling to you.

You did not want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. You didn’t want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind on the 8 hour flight from JFK to Nice, and as you drove down to Monaco you couldn’t help but think about your parents. You had grown up with parents who had no business staying together, yet just couldn’t leave each others orbits. And no matter how much you cursed this dynamic as a child, you were worried that it was something you were bound to repeat. As you pulled in to the hotel you had decided to meet Charles at - nice neutral territory, you realised even if you didn’t get back together, you were going to forgive him. And it would be the easiest thing you had ever done. You checked in. Getting the key from the concierge as they told you someone had already checked in earlier.

You spotted him immediately. He was sitting at a small table near the window, a glass of something amber in front of him. He looked up as you approached, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. There he was, the man you had loved for so long, the man who had been your everything. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You sat down opposite him, your heart in your throat.

"Charlie," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hi," he replied, his eyes searching yours. "You look good."

"Thanks. You too."

There was an awkward silence, both of you unsure of how to begin. Finally, Charles took a deep breath. "I'm glad you came," he said. "I wasn't sure if you would."

"I needed to see you," you admitted. "I needed to know if... if there's still something here."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "I've missed you," he said quietly. "It's been strange, not having you around."

"I've missed you too," you replied, your voice cracking slightly. "But I don't know if missing each other is enough."

Charles looked down at his glass, his fingers tracing the rim. "I know," he said softly. "I've been thinking a lot about us, about what went wrong. And I realise now that I wasn't fair to you. I was so focused on my career, that I had built a different reality in my head, and that I didn't see what it was doing to us. I'm sorry."

His words hit you hard, the sincerity in his voice bringing tears to your eyes. "I'm sorry too," you said. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to say you had nothing to be sorry for, but you continued, eyes downcast "I wasn't always patient, I didn’t like that I couldn’t get a read on you. I just - I wanted us to be happy.”

"I wanted that too," he said, finally looking up at you. "And maybe we can be, but we need to be honest with each other. We need to figure out what we really want."

You nodded, wiping away a tear. "I don't know if I can go back to how things were," you said. "It hurt too much."

Charles reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I don't want to go back," he said. "I want to move forward. I want us to be better."

His touch was familiar, comforting, but it also reminded you of the pain you had endured. You pulled your hand away gently, needing to keep some distance. "I'm seeing someone else," you said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Charles looked taken aback, his eyes widening slightly. "Oscar," he said, more a statement than a question, “so you’re actually seeing him?”

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. "It’s still new, fuck it’s really new, and it wasn't planned," you said quickly. "It just... happened. After we broke up, he was there for me. He wanted me, and it started off as this petty way to make you jealous but I feel something more for him."

Charles was silent for a moment, processing this new information. "Do you love him?" he asked finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"No," you admitted. You could practically feel a weight lift of Charles’ shoulders "I do care about him. A lot."

He nodded slowly, his expression pained. "I understand," he said. "I can't expect you to wait for me, to put your life on hold. But I still love you, and I think we could have a future together, if we both want it."

He held out his hand to you, and maybe you were going to regret it in the future but you took it.

INSTA

carlossainz55 posted on his story

(Image 1 caption : summer with friends. Image 2 caption : reunited )

seen by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 2,344,234 others

User31 : brother what?

Used42 : oh my god please tell me they’re back together!!!

charles_leclerc : y/n isn’t going to like this. delete it now for your health

lewishamilton : so that’s where she is… tell her to message me

y/bff/n : oh brother this guy STINKS.

user32 : bop

yourusername : delete this now

carlossainz55 has deleted his story

••••

You hadn’t been ignoring Oscar, okay maybe you had just slightly. But spending the short break with Charles was, okay you don’t know what it was. You were confused. Really fucking confused. Being around Charles had encompassed you, like it always did. The week and a bit you had spent with him was a whirlwind of emotions. You spent time with Charles, talking about everything and nothing, rediscovering the things that had brought you together in the first place. You laughed together, reminisced about the good times, and shared your hopes and fears. It was comforting, but it also made you realise how much you had both changed.

But Oscar Piastri was something new. Not just new something novel, he brought fresh perspectives, and the way he made you feel was so different from how you felt with Charles, and something in you said you had to give him a chance. So you guess you had been ignoring him, but only due to the fear that he’d want answers you wouldn’t be able to give. The weeks after your ‘not date’ had been filled with constant phone calls, and texts, and despite the constant feeling to remind him that you weren’t dating you both knew that wasn’t true, you both knew there was something there. So you couldn’t blame Oscar for his eagerness, in fact you relished in it, you knew Oscar was playing it up to make you laugh, make you open up more and it was working. He deserved much better than you.

••••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie

@c-losur3

@chuxk-lerclerk

@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

#charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #charles leclerc x black!reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one smau #f1 #oscar piastri social media au #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri fanfic

155 notes · View notes

onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 11 months

Text

Playing Pretend (Part 10)

Two fools in love waste no time.

Roy Kent x Reader

2.1k words

Warnings: Language, suggestive fluff & allusions to smutty things, one instance of violence that is very well-deserved

Author's Note: Ahh, I'm kind of sad to be done with this! But I'm so glad y'all enjoyed it. Might do a little epilogue down the line... we'll see! 😘

Series Masterlist

“Your crown is crooked.” You reached up and readjusted it, letting your fingers caress Roy’s thick curls as you fixed the flower crown, more than a little amazed he’d continued to wear it throughout the reception.

He watched you with the widest, happiest eyes, so full of love he was afraid he might burst at any moment. The two of you had spent the last couple of hours managing to be even more insufferable than you’d been pretending to be the last few days: unable to keep your eyes off each other’s lovestruck faces, exchanging eager kisses every couple of minutes, clinging to each other as if afraid the other might disappear at any moment.

It was enough to make Jim sick.

Late into the night- really early into the morning- after all the drinking and dancing and kissing, you gave Roy a meaningful look, nodding towards the house with raised eyebrows.

Roy Kent did not need to be told twice.

He gripped your hip tightly and practically sprinted towards the house, towards the promise of the room and the bed you shared. After years of pushing these kinds of thoughts to the back of his mind, Roy was more than a bit eager to make those fantasies reality.

Just as Roy was about to open the backdoor people had slowly disappeared through all evening, the groom approached, drunkenness clear on his face. “Think you have a dance for your brother-in-law?” Jim asked, eyes lingering on the spot where Roy held you.

Love bubble properly burst, you shuffled closer to Roy. Even if it wasn’t your ex-boyfriend-turned-new-brother-in-law asking you to dance, you were hesitant to remove yourself from Roy’s embrace, and even more hesitant to put off the activities you had planned. Not when you’d spent practically your whole life dreaming of this man.

“Don’t think she wants to, mate,” Roy grumbled, his smile faltering for the first time since you’d returned from under the willow tree. “Go find your wife or somethin’.”

Absolutely not what Jim wanted to hear. “Oh, fuck off, Kent,” he groaned, loud enough to capture the attention of a couple of people walking nearby. “Think you’re so fucking great because you get paid to kick a ball around? Think you’re so fucking great because she always liked you better?”

Roy rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on you; you wondered if you’d have bruises on your hip in the morning. “Seriously, Jim. Get the fuck over yourself. Go drink some fucking coffee.”

Even if he was sober, Jim wouldn’t have listened. Not to Roy Kent of all people. “Oi, you going to ask for a turn with my wife when you’re finished here? You clearly love my sloppy seconds.”

That was more than enough for Roy. Jim could talk all the shit he wanted to about Roy’s career and Roy himself; but to talk about you? Fuck that.

It felt good. All those years of watching Jim with his tongue practically down your throat, hands possessively on your body, leading you on, and eventually breaking your heart twice, all his bullshit made it feel so damn good when Roy’s fist connected with Jim’s jaw.

Jim crumpled to the ground immediately. Roy didn’t stick around to watch the people who rushed over to help the groom up; instead, he yanked the door open and ushered you inside, adrenaline pumping through his body. All you could do was gaze up at his steely expression, so different from the soft, love-filled looks you’d been basking in all night.

In the seclusion of a staircase, away from the party and the people who’d just witnessed what was sure to be the most talked-about moment of the weekend, Roy came to a halt, cupping your face in his free hand.

“Alright there, love?”

Love.

His gentle voice soothed all the anxiety that had been bubbling beneath your skin since the moment Jim had asked for a dance. All you could do was nod, gripping Roy wherever your hands could reach. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, hoping the gesture would erase any embarrassment he’d just caused you.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “I just… the way he fucking talked about you…” He shook his head, where the flower crown still sat, although crooked again. “No one gets to talk about you that way. Fucking ever.” He pressed his mouth to yours, a bit rougher now, letting his kiss tell you what he was thinking: because you’re mine.

Fighting off the temptation to go at it right there in the stairway, you had enough sense to tug him the rest of the way up the stairs, not stopping until the door to your room was closed and locked behind you. In an instant, your back was pressed to that door and Roy’s lips were on your neck, the footballer lacking the patience to make it to bed.

Suddenly, he started chuckling into the crook of your neck, his beard scratching against your skin.

His laugh was infectious. “What’s so damn funny?” you hummed, hands skimming down his back, a certain part of your brain wondering why he still had a shirt on.

He shook his head, pulling back a smidge so he could gaze up at you, eyes sparkling. “I think we can safely say we’re uninvited from the fucking brunch tomorrow.”

The giggles you shared filled the room as you finally tumbled into bed.

It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up in Roy Kent’s arms, but it definitely was your favorite instance so far. Unlike before, you didn’t panic or try to escape; instead, you nuzzled closer, engulfed in his scent, wondering if he’d let you wear his shirts to sleep every night. He probably would. Roy had a hard time saying no to you before; it would be damn near impossible now.

His eyes were still closed as he tightened his grip around you, almost afraid to open them and discover that the night before- the whole weekend really- had been some wonderful dream. But when he did finally will himself to open his eyes, Roy felt himself melt at the sight of you.

Yeah, he’d thought you were a goddess last night in your dress and flower crown, the one that sat on the nightstand now, the one he’d probably keep forever. But this morning you looked fucking ethereal in his shirt, your hair still holding some of its curl from the wedding (despite his best efforts to ruin it the night before), your still swollen lips curved into a smile as you gazed at him.

“Morning,” he mumbled, pulling you against his bare chest. He wondered how soon was too soon to ask if he could wake up like this every morning.

You pressed a small kiss to his chest, right above his heart, the heart that you now knew belonged to you. “Morning.”

He let his hand snake up the shirt you wore- his shirt- to stroke your bare back, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of you shivering in response to his touch. “Kind of thinking we should get up and head home soon.”

“Don’t want to bump into the newlyweds? Find out if you broke the groom’s jaw?” you teased, pretending that the sight of Roy Kent punching your ex wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever witnessed, something you’d be replaying in your mind over and over again.

He let out a small huff of a laugh. “Actually, I need to get home. ’ve got plans later today.”

“Oh.” You didn’t bother hiding your disappointment; you’d been hoping to spend the day together, holed up in your new little love bubble, maybe a lazy day at his place, maybe watching His Girl Friday for the millionth time.

“Yeah, I have a date.”

Roy savored the confusion on your face before he saw delight replace it. You were so precious to him, always so sweet and adorable and endearing. And now you were his.

You stole a brief kiss, your heart swelling at the idea that you were Roy’s plans. “So, five-star restaurant or Tesco?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He laughed as he turned and pulled you on top of him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

It was neither. Instead, after he reluctantly dropped you off at home so you could get ready, Roy went all out planning a romantic picnic, packing foods he knew you loved and a bottle of wine that he remembered you enjoying. He also packed plenty of biscuits, wondering with amusement if you’d still be interested in feeding him sweets now that you didn’t have any witnesses to impress. He added the blanket you liked to use when you came over and stopped to pick up flowers before driving to your place.

He did nothing to hide his enthusiasm when you opened the door in a sundress that drove him fucking mad, inspiring him to immediately pull you into a heated kiss before you could even say ‘hello’. You responded immediately, returning the kiss with fervor as you gripped his hips, as if the two of you hadn’t just seen each other a couple of hours ago when he dropped you off with a kiss just as harsh as this one.

It was forever before you finally managed to pull away and huff, “Hi there.”

“Hey.” He pressed his lips to yours again, tempted to forget about the picnic and just spend the rest of his life doing this. But again, you deserved to be romanced properly. “Ready to go?”

You were completely giddy when he got you in the car and explained his plan. Roy Kent had planned you a picnic?

It was quite literally a dream come true to sit on a blanket in a park with Roy, sharing a meal, watching the sunset. When he brought out the biscuits, you instinctively held one up to his mouth, blushing when his lips very purposely brushed your fingers in a rather seductive manner.

Once the food was put away, Roy laid down, letting his head rest in your lap, savoring the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair gently. If he could stay like this forever, he’d probably be a lot less grumpy. Already you made the imaginary black cloud that often hovered over him seem far away.

Your mobile pinged, interrupting the absolute bliss the two of you shared. You read it to yourself with an amused hum.

“My sister’s mad at you.” Your matter-of-fact tone caught Roy off-guard.

Roy rolled his eyes. “Oh, tell Lauren to get over it. If anything, she should be pissed at her fucking husband for being his usual prickish self.”

You shook your head. “Not Lauren. Jen.”

“Why the fuck is Jen mad at me?” Your older sister adored Roy; what could he have done to change that?

A smile played on your lips. “She owes Paul thirty quid. He’d bet that you’d hit Jim by the end of the weekend.”

Roy snorted, immediately relieved and amused. “Well, that was a stupid fucking bet.” He reached out for one of your hands, intertwining your fingers. “I’m shocked I made it to the reception without punching that twat.”

“Yeah, I was kind of impressed you resisted for so long.” Your free hand resumed stroking Roy’s hair, resisting the urge to grab a fistful and tug, the way you had last night; you liked the sounds that particular move prompted to spill out of Roy’s mouth.

He gazed up at you, completely unaware of the dirty thoughts running through your mind. His own thoughts were somewhere completely different. “Got a friendly next weekend.” He pressed a light kiss to the hand he held. “You’ll be there?”

Your heart was full. Going to a match as Roy Kent’s girl? Your sixteen-year-old self would be screaming her head off. Instead, you decided to tease him a bit. “I’ll be there. I’m sure I have a Jamie Tartt kit lying around somewhere.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed, although the corners of his lips tugged upwards. “Oi. Don’t you dare wear another man’s name. Unless you want me to start punching again. I have no fucking problem knocking Tartt’s teeth out.”

Something about his growling voice and threatening words, along with the playful intensity of his gaze, had a fiery feeling starting in your tummy. “That’s kind of tempting,” you murmured. You couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty at the way aggressive Roy kind of turned you on.

You also felt a bit embarrassed at how obvious it was. “Should we go ahead and clean up?” He raised his thick eyebrows at you. “Could head back to my place if you want. Put on a movie.” He pressed a deep kiss to the palm of your hand. “And not watch it.”

“Roy Kent,” you gasped dramatically. “You are quite forward.”

He shrugged, sitting up. “Just have a lot of lost time to make up for.” With that, he pulled you close, pressing yet another kiss to your lips, promising to never waste another moment.

#roy kent playing pretend #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

408 notes · View notes

subwaysurf45 · 1 year

Text

Going Out and Coming In

Summary: having you come out to the club was always a treat in Bucky’s eyes, you were never one to party like the rest of them. With all the alcohol and music bumping through your viens it’s hard to keep your hands off of Bucky, and he knows it too.

Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Reader

Words: 5k

Warnings: SMUT: edgining, denial, oral (m4f), praise kink. Alcohol, drunk reader, the tiniest amount of peer pressure, fluff anf fun!

Masterlist

You: Hey just got out of class, want me to grab a coffee for you?

Bucky: E-Transfer: $10

Bucky: Sure, just that coffee you got me last time, forget the name of it but it was really good!

You: are we going to pass over the E-Transfer like it didn’t happen?

Bucky: Yes

Bucky: No questions. Just coffee.

After reading the texts you just stood in line with the feeling of a blush creeping on your face, you accepted the money and had it ready when you walked up to the cash. It was a nice coffee shop you went to all the time and had recently introduced to your no-label-but-you’re-very-exclusive-friend-who-is-also-a-boy. He wanted to meet you between classes for an hour so you sent him the address, he was there when you showed up and kept looking around the small coffee shop, a smile staying on his face. That felt like forever ago, now you went on a coffee run whenever you were heading over to his place after classes.

“Hi, can I get two vanilla lattes?” you asked and the barista nodded. You paid and waited off to the side, sending a text to Bucky to let him know you were coming over soon.

He sent a winky face as a response, you cleared it away and saw your lock screen. Bucky asked if you wanted to see his family after a while of hanging out, it was around eight months into the labelless relationship and his mom was asking about who he posted on his Instagram. You went with him back home and met everyone, one night the entire family went out for dinner. His mom had taken out her phone and asked you two to pose, Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders, you leaned into his hold and placed a hand on his chest for support. When the countdown hit one Bucky leaned over and kissed your cheek, leaving the photo to capture your surprised face. He had kept that as his lock screen forever, even now after two and half years.

Both drinks were ready, you walked off of campus and to the apartment buildings that you both lived in. you didn’t live together but you both lived in the same building but on different floors, it was really nice to be able to walk up a few staircases to give him a goodnight kiss. Speaking of stairs, when you reached level eight- the elevator was broken -you were basically sweating.

With your foot you kicked the door, Bucky opened it with a smile on his face. He could tell you were out of breath from walking up all those stairs but chose not to comment on it, he just giggled to himself and let you walk all the way in.

“Hey, Baby,” he hugged you once the coffees were put down, “thanks for the coffee.”

“It was your money,” you laughed in his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

“Whatever,” he whispered. After taking a few sips he followed you into his room, Sam and Steve were both at class but they’d be back in time to hit the club. “Do you need to study?” He asked over his shoulder as he fell back onto his bed, you nodded and assumed a spot as his desk.

Early on in your relationship you had been open about your small issue with being too attached to your grades, Bucky thought nothing of it until exam season rolled around and you were up very late studying every day. You had lied once and said you were heading home, Bucky trusted his gut and went to the library to find you curled up in a blanket, looking like you were going to stay there for a long time.

Even when you two would hang out between classes you’d still get your studying in somehow, Bucky had to learn to accept it or else you wouldn’t be present because you’d be thinking of everything you were missing out on.

When everything you needed to get done was done you crawled onto his navy sheets and curled on his chest, Bucky wrapped his arms around you and held you close. He had noticed you had been down the past few days, there were assignments getting in the way of your relationship and you tried your best to balance but it was hard, all you ever knew was focus on your school and nothing else.

“I think tonight is going to be good for you,” Bucky whispered as he planted a kiss on your head, “seeing your friends, getting a few drinks in you, being outside of your dorm and all that,” Bucky rubbed your back, “the guys miss you, Nat misses you a lot.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“And that’s not to make you feel guilty,” he reached over and drank his coffee, “it’s to remind you that you’ve got people in your corner who love you and care about you more than your grades, alright?”

“Alright,” you looked up at him and kissed his jaw line, his lips were too far away.

Getting ready together was alway something you looked forward to, you would hog the bathroom while you did your makeup and Bucky would have to lean over you to add the product to his hair. The music would be playing from the speaker and the both of you would dance around one another.

Your dress was black, one you had worn before. You had added a bit of volume to your hair and did a little more than your normal makeup routine. Bucky was sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone while you did the final touches. You sprayed your setting spray that you were convinced was just water and tapped a little more lip gloss on your lips.

“I’m ready!” you sang, walked out into the main room. You thought Bucky was just going to be there but Sam and Steve were there as well, pregaming. “Oh,” you laughed, “I didn’t hear you guys come in.”

“We’re spies,” Natasha came from behind you and hugged you, making you turn around and hug her properly. With a smile you squeezed her tightly, you hadn’t seen her in a while and it was so nice to hug her.

“The uber is going to be here in five,” Sam said as he poured another shot, “want one?” he tipped the top of the bottle towards you.

“Sure,” you nodded, looking over to see Bucky walk over.

Alcohol was always weird for you, it’s not that you were a complete lightweight but compared to Bucky you were. Weed on the other hand sat better with your system but you couldn’t smoke in the club, you were also out of gummies. If you were at a house party that was way more casual you’d break out a joint or find someone with a bowl you could use, but clubs were much different.

Natasha set up her camera, it was a tradition to record the first group shot. You stood beside Bucky as his hand reached around to hold your waist, immediately feeling warm. Everyone counted down and took back the shot, it burned for a second before swallowing. You never understood why people try to keep from making a face, everyone knew vodka tasted awful and you let it show.

Everyone laughed and you hid your face in Bucky’s chest, trying not to completely embarrass yourself in front of Natasha’s story due to your pure disgust towards the taste. Bucky laughed and rubbed your back, “how’re you feeling?” he giggled in your ear and laughed as you looked up at him, “the first one is the hardest.”

“I know,” you sighed, “I just want my drink and not shots.”

“It’s a shots night, baby!” Natasha cheered and headed to the door, the car was here.

The drive was quick, you could walk but it was too cold for the dresses you and Natasha were wearing. You had been to this club before many times, it’s not like you had never been to a single party before but for every three times Bucky goes out, you go out once. You definitely were a homebody.

You could hear the club before you were inside, the base making the neon lights flicker from how old they were. You were there at the perfect time, allowing you to get in free. Once you had squeezed through the door you quickly turned around and grabbed Bucky’s hand, holding it tightly as you moved through the dancefloor to try and find a spot to hunker down for the night.

It was loud and people were already sweating alcohol, there was no care that there was a group trying to squeeze through, people were throwing their arms around and trying to make a mosh pit which was something you would never take part in - no matter how drunk you were.

Once you found an area you all squished in the booth, Steve didn’t sit down and took everyone’s drink order. You needed to get tipsy before getting on the floor and that shot was starting to buzz, you were sitting on Bucky’s thigh as you looked around to see everyone dancing.

Sam went out and found his date, you hadn’t seen her before but then again, most of Sam’s dates are like single use plastic to him. She was tall with extremely tanned skin, when she waved you knew right away it was fake tan, she hadn’t rubbed it in properly on her hands.

Wanting to tell Bucky you looked over your shoulder to find him already looking at you, letting his chin rest on your shoulder blade. He smiled at you and kissed your cheek, “I’m serious if you get too overwhelmed, you have to tell me.”

You looked around to see no one was paying attention to you two, “I know but I don’t want to be babied, I don’t want you asking every five seconds or I'll just get annoyed, okay?” Bucky nodded quickly, silently saying duh. “You know my tell-tale signs.”

“I do,” he kissed your cheek again, “and I’ll only get overprotective if I see a guy look below your waist or if you squeeze my hand three times.” He nodded with you before turning back to Steve and taking his drink, you took yours as well and began to drink right away.

“So, Sammy,” you cleared your throat, “how many times have you taken in the fact that you two share the same name?” you asked the girl who sat beside Sam.

“My name is actually Samantha,” she laughed, “but I’ve definitely thought about it.” Everyone laughed, “no one really calls me that, only Sammy.”

“I’ll make sure to call you that then,” you smiled and held out your drink, clinking the plastic with hers.

Everyone took their turn going to get drinks before you all migrated to the dance floor, dancing around and singing to the popular songs. The great thing about going out with everyone was how they got along on the dance floor, there was no shoving or grabbing, just making eye contact with someone and doing the same stupid dance move until you both doubled over in laughter.

You, Natasha, and Sammy created your own group and found your way to the bar, drunkenly ordering and doing shots to Nat’s request. She recorded some but kept ordering them, Sammy had no issue throwing them back. They laughed when you pucker your lips to try and fight the burn, the chaser did nothing at all.

“Let’s head back!” Natasha yelled over the music, you had felt pretty good up until then. The moment you pushed off the bar and began to walk the shots hit you like a wave, you stumbled for a moment and grabbed Natasha’s elbow and followed her back.

Through the sea of people you saw Bucky laughing with his friends, holding his beer and jumping around. The lights and the thin layer of sweat made him look amazing, his smile flashed as the strobe lights passed his face. You could feel his charm from across the floor, it was why you fell in love with him. The closer you got the harder you bit your lip, feeling your need to be near him grow stronger.

Who knew what alcohol made you feel like this but from the way he was looking, you could pull him to a bathroom stall right now and get down on both knees without question, there was something about him in that particular moment that made you swoon.

The boys were still dancing, you quickly found Bucky and took hold of both his wrists. His eyes searched your face but before he could ask if you were okay you leaned up and kissed him. When you pulled away you kept his bottom lip wedged between your teeth, he jolted back with an ‘ow’ and reached up to touch his lip, a bit of blood was on his finger.

You giggled and wrapped yourself around his neck, tucking your face in his sweet spot and licking a stripe before starting to suck, his large hands gripped your waist before pushing you back slightly.

“What did you drink up there?” he said with a smirk, you could tell he was loving this.

“A fucking love potion I guess,” you said out of breath, “because I could literally mount you right now back at the booth and fuck your brains out,” you went back to his neck and left another start of a bruise

When you pulled back Bucky was looking up at the ceiling, everyone else had no idea what was going on and just thought you were being clingy. His nostrils were flared as he tried to calm himself, you were giggling and fiddling with his shirt collar.

“I should get drunk more often because I’m fucking loving it and I’m loving the moment right now,” you laughed and Bucky kissed your forehead.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” he laughed and pulled you in for a hug, “but you being this horny is going to be the death of me, you know I can’t control myself, baby,” he whispered in your ear, feeling his hot breath rush down your neck your grip his biceps harder, nails digging into his skin.

Suddenly you were deep in the dance floor, jumping around and singing to the songs as loud as you could. Most of the time you and Bucky were in your own world, touching each other all the time as you danced. But other times a circle was formed and you all watched one another dance, holding hands and blending in with the other groups. The drinks were starting to wear off from all the physical activity so you all headed to the bar again, shooting back a few more shots even though deep down you wanted to sip a drink but that wasn’t practical for what you were doing on the floor.

“One more!” They cheered towards the bartender.

“One less for me!” you called out and he nodded, pouring everyone a shot except for you.

“Come on, y/n!” Nat laughed, “it’s only one more, I wanted to take a video this time.”

“Let me record it,” you held your hand out but quickly finding Bucky’s forearm for balance, the sudden movements after the shots made you realize just how many you actually had, again. In another world you could take another, but right now you were fully at your limit and honestly a little above it.

“No!” Sammy chimed in now, “one last group shot.”

“No guys,” you shook your head and immediately placed your other hand on Bucky’s forearm, your heels were not helping with your lack of balance. They attempted to cheer you until you squeezed Bucky’s hand three times.

“She said no, alright?” it was almost like he hadn’t drank all night, but he definitely did. “So she’ll record and we all drink,” he looked down at you and kissed your forehead for what seemed like the millionth time tonight.

You held the phone out as they all shot one back, after swallowing first Bucky reached out and took the phone, flipping it around so you could wave as well. With the amount of drinks flowing in everyone’s system they all forgot about what just happened and headed back in, Bucky waited for a moment before turning to you.

His eyes were hooded and it was cute to see him fight towards sobriety in case you needed him, “can I ask if you’re okay?” he smiled and leaded forward and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I’m okay, thank you for that,” you kissed his cheek and took his hand as he helped you walk back towards the group.

Midnight had come and gone but the party kept moving, it seemed to only get more packed as the time went on. You had drank some water a while ago and was in a perfect spot while everyone else got more and more drunk. Bucky was the second to switch to water, he was gone but had enough in him to string a sentence together.

“I could not operate a motorized vehicle right now,” Sam said to you at one point, completely unprompted. You laughed and nodded along, looking at Bucky as he laughed too.

The songs got progressively more sexual as well, there was nothing better than looking at the girls when a song came on and you all screamed, feeling extremely confident as you screamed the words in front of the boys who were dumbfounded.

One came on where you immediately looked at Bucky and finger wagged him closer, feeling how you felt at the beginning of the night when the lights looked so perfect on him. The attraction was coming back and it didn’t help that this was your favourite club song. He knew what was coming as he came closer to you, roughly grabbing at your hips and feeling around. Everyone else screamed, never seeing this side of you that often.

Bucky flipped you around so you were facing the group, letting his hands wander to your front and rest low on your stomach. Your head leaned back against his shoulder and one hand moved up to touch his neck, your ass was pressed against his hips. His face showed no signs of embarrassment for being hard.

You sang the song to his ear, looking up at him. Natasha started recording but Bucky quickly swatted the phone away, not wanting it to be recorded for your sake but also because he wanted to be in the moment.

When it ended you kissed him and bit his bottom lip again, hearing him groan as he squeezed your ass again because you turned around to kiss him properly. Again, due to the alcohol the group forgot it happened quickly as they moved on to the next thing that caught their attention.

Bucky leaned down to your ear again, “baby,” he was close to a moan, “you’re so fuck sexy, like, you have no idea what you do to me- drinks or not.” the two of you made out for a while, not caring who was looking at you both. Your hands tugged at his hair and his hands went almost everywhere, if you weren’t tired when you got home you knew you were getting a great night of sex.

Soon enough the lights flicked on and the music died down, you all managed to get out of the club but had to walk home. Bucky had two water bottles in his hand as he caught up to you all later, claiming it was all they had left.

Everyone was in the same boat, extremely drunk and walking home. Your hand was held tightly with Bucky’s, “you know…” you giggled and looked up at him, “my apartment is closer, you don’t need to climb all those flights of stairs.

“Sounds good to me,” he was thinking you were just inviting him over, actually thinking the only reason you wanted him over was because it was three staircases closer.

“And…” you took a long sip of water, “my roommate is out of town so…we can be loud, y’know?”

His pupils expanded faster than ever before, “oh?” he muttered and rubbed his nose against your ear, “you know, you’ve been a big tease all night, I don’t know if you’re all bark and no bite.”

You shifted and walked backwards, “from what I remember I bit you a lot,” your bottom lip was wedged between your teeth, knowing you were just riling him up.

The moment you turned into your apartment complex Bucky turned to the group, “I’m going to y/n’s apartment,” he announced and the group began to laugh, “just let me know if you can hear us from three levels up.”

“Bucky!” you slapped his chest but before you could say anything Bucky turned out of the stairwell and onto your floor, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. “You need my keys,” you laughed as he fished them out of his pocket because you didn’t want to bring a purse.

When your back hit the mattress he was quick to crawl over you, putting all his weight on you as he slotted himself between your legs, making your dress ride up. His lips were quick to move away from your lips and down to your neck, sucking a biting all around. You two had been together long enough to know where each other’s spots were and what you both liked, Bucky could always get you going right above your collarbone and used it to his advantage.

Your back arched as he lifted the dress up and over your head, going back in between your breasts and shaking his head around, making you laugh and play with his air. Your bra was off next and Bucky was still fully dressed, the stark difference in modesty made you want to cover up but Bucky’s hand pinning your wrists back with force couldn’t let you do that.

Bucky kissed all the way down before hooking his fingers and pulling down your underwear, kissing back up your knees and thighs to keep you waiting. When it came to Bucky eating you out it was all about teasing, he knew how to make cum in ten seconds if he hit the spots you liked, but he wanted to make a game out of it; he always did.

He kissed, licked, sucked, bit, everything, he did everything to your pussy. Your hands would move from playing with your nipples to add extra stimulation to gripping his hair, your entire body was restless until his arms hooked around your hips and his hands clasped on your stomach to keep you from moving.

Even after many years, “a little to your left,” you were still helping each other out, “holy fuck, yes Bucky,” you sighed, “right there, fuck, right there please don’t stop, please,” you begged and begged even when he slowed down and pulled away for a moment, causing you to groaned and looked down at him.

When you were done whining he went back in, “you like when I tease you?”

“I never have,” you laughed as he bumped his nose against your clit.

“I know,” he giggled and went back in, lapping his tongue against your clit and then wrapping his lips around to suck gently, your moans became louder and more frequent so he backed off again. You were so frustrated you tugged his hair hard, “ow!” he laughed as he looked up at you, “that actually hurt.”

“Please, Bucky, please,” you gripped your breasts harshly, “I’m fucking beginning you, I feel so good right now, baby, so fucking good, just make me come,” you looked down to see a smirk on his face, “you have no- oh yes!” you dropped your head back against the pillow and closed your eyes, your mouth falling open instantly.

Bucky got into it as well, making out with your pussy and moaning to himself. He got pleasure out of getting you there, especially when you begged for it.

“There you go, pretty, fall apart,” he kept you so close for so long, “I know you want to let it out, you deserve it,” his voice sent vibrations up your spine and to your head which make it fuzzy, “pretty girl just needs to be worshiped, huh?” his hands broke out from the clasp and two fingers found your entrance so he could talk, “who’s my pretty girl?”

“Me,” you said in a heartbeat.

“Yeah you are,” he pushed in and out, making you grip his finger as tight as possible, “who’s my smart girl?”

“Me,” it was more strained, you were so close but he was holding back just enough to keep you right on the tipping point.

“Who deserves the world, huh?” he sucked your inner thigh to leave a mark he’d definitely looked back at later. “Don’t quit on me know, pretty, who deserved everything, my smart girl, my pretty girl?”

“B-Bucky-!” you wanted to tell him you were so unbelievably close, your pussy gripping him as tight as possible, you could barely form a sentence let alone answer his question.

“No no no,” he laughed and gently placed one kiss on your clit, making you convulse as his finger kept working you there, “it’s not me, baby, who is it?”

The pressure was almost unbelievable, tears formed in your eyes from how long you had been edged and denied. You could feel the pulse begin and your stomach clench, the coil was about to snap. “M-me, holy fuck, yes!” you screamed.

“And who deserves to come?” he asked but before you could answer his lips attached to your clit for the final time and made you see white, you let out the most pornographic moan you had ever heard, it almost didn’t sound like you. You could barely hear it from how loud you were screaming Bucky’s name but you heard him groan as you came, making your orgasm that much more intense.

Bucky kept going to bring you down from your high, he slowed down as your entire body convulsed. Your moans were short as you tried to push his head away but at the same time you wanted to stay in your euphoric state forever. His kisses slowed until he planned the final one before gently working his way up your body and back to your lips, your eyes were closed and tears from overstimulation fell back to your pillow.

Bucky gently held you tight as you continued to let out the shocks, wrapping your arms around him as he whispered more praises into your ear.

“Bucky,” you sighed, “I need a bit before we keep going,” you wiped your forehead with the back of your wrist, “I can’t feel my legs.”

“All good baby,” he kissed your cheek, “we don’t need to do anymore,” he laughed, “you made me cum,” he whispered and kissed your earlobe.

“What?” you whispered, you couldn’t tell if he was still hard because he was still fully clothed; his socks were still on.

“I told you getting you off gets me off, baby,” he was out of breath, “that was crazy, you- wow,” he sighed and kissed you again, you could taste yourself on his lips but that didn’t stop you from slipping your tongue into his mouth.

“I didn’t know I had that power,” you tugged on the bottom of his shirt so he could get undressed, once he was down to his boxers he quickly left to get a rag.

“The power you have over me…” Bucky shook his head to himself as he smiled, gently wiping between your legs and your tights, “...you have no fucking idea,” he looked over at you with a wide smile.

You were blissed out, both arms thrown over your head and your eyes were closed. The alcohol, fresh orgasm, and the love from Bucky made you feel like the only girl in the world. You were so content in the moment you didn’t want to leave it.

Once Bucky got in bed he pulled you close, tangling every limb with you and letting you rest your head on his chest. He played with your hair for a while, twisting one strand around his finger as you listened to his heart beat.

“Did you have a fun night?” He asked gently, checking to see if you were awake.

All you could do was nod and let out a happy sound, “I hate shots.”

Bucky tried to conceal his laugh to keep you on the road to sleep, holding you tighter, “you’re adorable,” he whispered, “but I’m glad you had a good night, I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

You hummed and curled further into him, letting the warmth swiftly put you to sleep. You could still feel him rub your back or play with your hair, sending tingles down your entire body. The hangover in the morning was going to be one hell of a headache but in this moment you were happy right where you were.

Taglist:

@jackiehollanderr @tylard-blog1 @readingbooksanddrinkingtea-blog @linzc-reader @hotleaf-juice @honeybunchesofbucky @seybox @yaszx @happyt0exist @sky0401 @striving4averagegirl @searchf0rtheskyline @aya-fay @wbyss @luvrsbian

If you would like to be added please send as ask, I won’t reply but just know I’ll see it and that’s the only way!

1K notes · View notes

heich0e · 1 year

Text

leave the light on - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 10 in the bff!osamu series tags: childhood friends to lovers, tw instant coffee mention, miscommunication, confessions, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Onigiri Miya closes early on Sunday nights.

It’s not for lack of business—the shop would certainly take in enough revenue to justify staying open regular hours an extra day per week, especially on a weekend. But in the early days of Onigiri Miya, when it was just a one-man show, Osamu needed at least one night that he could count on having off. The workweek business—office workers and students going through their routine hustle and bustle—kept him going, enough so that Sunday nights weren’t a make or break for him, and he was able to start shuttering in the early afternoon once per week.

He remembers those early days. Sweet talking vendors to bring down the cost of produce and haggling with the grubby, bleary eyed men at fish market stalls at the crack of dawn for a deal on the catch of the day. Promising suppliers that he’d be able to get them their money in a couple of weeks if they’d just give him some more time. Standing on the road, because Onigiri Miya was just a street stall back then, trying to coax people in and try his food. To convince them to take a chance on him. He remembers burns on his hands and cuts on his fingers and an ache in his bones that ran so marrow-deep he forgot what it felt like to not be so sore. Sunday nights were the only night he had to relax. The only night he had to sit down, to take off his hat, and to have a beer—or, even more frequently, pass out on his couch in his uniform at 8pm and sleep right through to his alarm the next morning.

Closing early on Sundays had been your idea, way back when— suggested to him gently while he rested with his head in your lap in your tiny student apartment after another 16 hour workday. He still remembers the worry in your eyes as you brushed his hair back from his tired face.

Nowadays things aren’t so hectic. Osamu’s got a good team of people around him to help Onigiri Miya run smoothly—a team who he trusts and values. It doesn’t all fall onto his shoulders in the same way that it used to: he doesn’t have to be there for every open and every close, his bills are paid, he’s not fighting to lure people in off the street just in the hope that he can scrape by for another week.

Now when he closes early on Sunday, it’s more for the sake of his staff than anything else. Occasionally Osamu will take the night off, too; he’ll go home and catch up on housework, run an errand or two, or even grab dinner—usually with you, though evidently not so much lately. But most Sundays he stays behind after his last employee heads out for the night; locking up behind them, switching off the sign in the window to tell the world the shop is closed, and then holing himself up in his office to do some admin. He’ll grab a plate of whatever’s leftover from the day’s service and a cold can of beer from the fridge, put on a rerun of Atsumu’s game from the night before, and get to work shuffling through the paperwork that he’s left to pile up over the past seven days.

Osamu hates paperwork.

It’s not that it’s particularly challenging work—the really hard stuff is left to his bookkeeper after all. It’s just tedious, a mindless task in many ways, and he always finds his thoughts drifting as he sorts through invoices and inventory registers: catching himself being inattentive halfway through a spreadsheet, and having to force himself to go back to the beginning just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything in his carelessness.

You used to help him with this kind of work, or at least keep him company while he got through it—sitting on the lumpy couch crammed into one corner of his little office and pretending like you weren’t asleep each time Osamu caught you with your eyes closed. More often than not, he’d throw his jacket over you to keep you warm while you napped and then rush through the last of his work so that he could wake you up and get you home. But just having you there on those late nights was enough for him; your presence was the thing that helped.

Coffee is his only saving grace, these days.

Samu shuffles out to the front of the shop on one such Sunday evening, taking off his baseball cap and ruffling the hair underneath tiredly. He’d finally gotten a trim, and he’s glad that things feel a bit more normal again as he rakes his fingers through it—his mother had been right when she remarked that it was getting too long the week before. He tosses his hat down on the front counter of Onigiri Miya, rounding the end to grab a sachet of instant coffee from behind the bar where he keeps his emergency stash.

The overhead lights in the shop are off, but there’s enough brightness filtering out from the still-lit kitchen that he doesn’t need to struggle to see as he prepares himself some hot water to add to the mug in front of him. He tips the granulated contents of his instant coffee sachet into the bottom after ripping it open with his teeth, tapping the empty plastic packaging against the edge of the cup to make sure it all comes out. The kettle behind him hums quietly as it heats to boiling, and Osamu sighs, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

He stares out at the restaurant—his restaurant, as hard as he still finds it to believe some days—his gaze sweeping over the tables with their corresponding chairs resting atop them. One of the staff had mopped the floors at the end of the night, which left them still slightly wet and glistening. There’s light filtering in through the front windows from the streetlights and the other shops that line the Osaka street outside, and their glow catches in the water that hasn’t yet dried from the tile.

Osamu’s eyes suddenly snap up to the glass that lines the front of the restaurant.

There’s a silhouetted figure—so familiar he could trace it even with his eyes closed, from memory alone—standing on the other side of the door.

Osamu blinks, thinking that the paperwork must have finally gotten the best of him, or maybe that the beer he’d had earlier is inexplicably hitting him too hard. But no matter how many times he squeezes his eyes shut, the familiar shape stays where it is on the other side of the glass each time he opens them again.

His heartbeat thumps, loud and wet, in his ears.

Like the shot of a gun, the man stumbles gracelessly into action: loping around the end of the bar and slipping slightly on the wet tile as he heads towards the door. He fiddles with the lock as he struggles to unlatch it, accidentally trying to force it the wrong way in his haste before eventually getting it right. When he finally throws open the door, a gust of cool night air flooding into the restaurant along with it, he takes in a deep, gasping breath.

“Hey.”

His voice is shaky when he greets you—mostly air and very little shape to the word.

You stare at him from a few paces away, your arms crossed firmly over your chest and a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth. Osamu thinks you look pretty when you’re mad. He always has. But it’s worse now because he knows all too well that he shouldn’t—because he knows you’re mad at him.

You seem to have something to say, he can tell as much from the almost spiteful glint in your eyes, but you stay tightlipped as you simply stare at him.

“D’ya… wanna come in?” Osamu asks, still holding the door open. He nods his head back into the shop. “Still got some stuff prepped, I could make ya—“

“You’re a jerk.”

Osamu blinks, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he agrees plainly after a moment, thinking it’s only fair of you to say given then circumstances.

His concurrence only seems to upset you more.

“Like, you’re a real asshole, y’know that?” You’re nearly spitting you’re so angry, your features twisted up in contempt. Your arms uncross and drop down to your sides, and Osamu watches as your hands ball into fists. He’s the one who taught you how to throw a punch, years and years ago now, and he’s wondering if he’s about to experience a practical demonstration of his teaching abilities firsthand.

“I don’t necessarily disagree.” He nods, agreeing with you once more, though this time his response is slower, more hesitant—not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he’s not sure that it’s what you want to hear.

“Ugh!” Your following exclamation is loud, and palpably frustrated, all but confirming his suspicions. “You…!”

Your tone is climbing with every passing second, and Osamu looks furtively up and down the road around the two of you. It’s late in the evening but there are still a few people out, and he sees heads turning in your direction at the commotion.

“Hey,” he says, his own voice dropping in volume but still pleading all the same. “My name’s on the door and we’re gettin’ some weird looks. I wanna hear everythin’ you have to say, but could you please just say it to me inside?”

You look at him blankly, your lips puckering into a petulant, unhappy pout. You seem like you want to say no, to keep causing a scene, and for a second Osamu really thinks you’re about to round in on him again. Instead you trudge forward, stomping past him over the threshold of Onigiri Miya.

Osamu hesitates for a moment after you pass, half in shock and half in relief, and then he lets the door swing closed and locks it behind him for good measure—he’s not sure he wants any unsuspecting people coming in search of onigiri and stumbling upon a brawl.

It’s dim in the restaurant when he turns to face you, but he can still see your fury burning in the dark.

Neither of you say anything.

“You can keep goin’ if you want,” Osamu is eventually the first to speak, and he means what he says. This is the least of the punishment he deserves, after all. And hearing you yell at him is markedly better than the silence.

“Martyrdom doesn’t suit you at all,” you mutter sullenly.

Osamu sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I just wantcha to say whatcha came here to say.”

You begin to pace as you work through your thoughts, slowly walking back and forth in front of the counter, picking at your cuticles. You’d put a fair amount of distance between the two of you, and he’s sure it was intentional. Osamu keeps himself confined to the entryway near the door, while you walk a path back and forth along the length of the service counter. His eyes follow every step you take, like a captivated child watching fish at the aquarium.

“I had a terrible dream last night,—” you finally force the words out, your feet stilling against the shiny tile as your pacing comes to a sudden halt.

Osamu decides to just do the right thing and shut the hell up for once, giving you the floor.

“—I was going to buy 30 kilos of rice from Kita-san’s farm—”

That’s a lot of rice, Osamu wants to note, but his lips part to let the words through and then he decides better of it.

“—and I was there, at the farm, and then Kita-san started telling me that you got married and had a baby. A baby, Samu! Kita-san standing there telling me all these terrible things with that big bag of rice in my hands, and I couldn’t even get mad at him because he’s Kita! So I just had to listen to him go on and on and on about the venue and the flowers and the baby name that you picked out. And the more he’d tell me the worse it was, and the bag of rice just kept getting heavier.” Your teeth bite down so hard into your lip as you suck in a breath that Osamu's amazed he doesn’t see blood. “I was hearing all of these things—terrible things—and all I could think was that I should have been there to see all of that for myself. I shouldn’t have been hearing about it from someone else. And I realized that you were living a whole life apart from me, a life that I didn’t know about or get to be a part of, and it just kept getting worse and worse and I woke up and I felt like I was going to scream.”

You’re out of breath by the time you finish your rambling thought, your chest heaving and your eyes wild and your mouth faintly wet. You look to him, and Osamu doesn’t see that same indignation in your eyes anymore, only hurt. He watches as the expression hardens again, whets itself like a blade—sharpened not in anger, but rather in resolve. In resignation.

“That day. I looked for you first.”

Osamu feels lost now. Are you still talking about that dream?

You understand without him saying it, and explain yourself further. “In high school. The day that I kissed Suna.”

Osamu’s stomach drops, all of the blood rushing to his head so quickly that the shop begins to spin a little around him. He can hear his pulse in his ears. He can feel it in his throat. He can’t help the twist of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, writhing and ugly though it may be, at the mere mention of his friend’s name. He doesn’t have the right to feel the way he feels, but it happens all the same.

“I looked for you,” you keep going, like you’ve broken a seal and have to let it all out. Osamu doesn’t dare try to stop you. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He watches on like it’s a conversation that’s happening not with him but rather to him. “You were eating lunch with Tsumu in your classroom. I realized he would have had a fit if he knew that I was asking you and not him. I thought about asking him but…”

Osamu can’t feel his fingers from how tightly his hands are balled into fists at his side. His lungs burn in his chest—the breath he’s holding having long since lost the oxygen his body needs, though he can’t seem to draw in another.

“If it wasn’t you, I didn’t care who it was. So I asked Suna.”

The young man processes your words slowly. Incompletely. Like only every third word seems to register.

“Ya wanted me to be yer first kiss?” It’s not the question he ought to ask you but it’s the one his brain chooses to spit out.

Your reply is frustrated, but with an unmistakably melancholic rasp running through it. “Yeah. I did.”

Somewhere distantly, Osamu recognizes a sharp, stinging pain. An ache as part of him realizes that it could have been him. All along. All this time. Him. But the pain is muted, because part of him—most of him—still doesn’t quite understand.

“I think that was the first time I realized it.”

Osamu watches your face, maps the achingly familiar lines and dips and curves of your features as he tries to read meaning in the space between your words. But he still finds nothing.

“I liked you, Samu. More than I should have. Differently than I liked Tsumu, or Suna, or any other guy.” You laugh, but it’s a hollow, watery sound. “I realized it and it was awful.”

You’re waiting for him to say something, but Osamu is at a loss for words. No, that’s not quite it either. It’s not that he has nothing to say, but that he has everything he wants to say to you. To ask you. But he doesn’t know where to start, or how to sort through them, or even how to will his lips, teeth, and tongue to shape any of them.

“You… Y’know ya don’t have to say this,” his voice is tight, like a rope drawn to secure a knot not unlike the one in his throat, when he finally manages to speak. “Ya don’t have to pretend or convince yourself that you… felt the same as me. I care about ya too much to ever ask that.”

You laugh—a single, sharp, distinctly mirthless ha!—as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “There you go again not letting me have any say, Samu!” You punctuate your exclamation with a frustrated little sound. “Stop deciding things all on your own and just listen to me.”

That shuts him up again.

“I thought I was over it,”—you begin to pace once more, your steps slow and measured—“I really did. I told myself it would never happen and moved on because I never ever wanted to fuck things up between us. Between any of us.

“You told me that you’ve loved me your whole life, but you don’t know if or when something changed. I do. I had a singular moment that I could point to where I realized that if I did or said the wrong thing after that, I could fuck up something that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Even if you felt the same way I did, there’s no guarantee that something like that would work out. But if we tried and it didn’t work, we wouldn’t be able to just go back to how things were. So I told myself that no matter what I wouldn’t. No matter how hard it was or how awful it felt. I could get over it if it meant I never had to lose you. And it was fine. For years it was fine. We were fine. Everything was fine. And then I lost you anyway.”

You suddenly stop pacing and crouch down, your arms winding themselves around your knees as if to comfort yourself.

“That night, when you…” You swallow, and risk a glance up at him. “I don’t think I’m over it.”

Osamu feels like he might die. Maybe he did already. Maybe this is his life passing before his eyes, because it’s always been you anyway.

“But it’s scary, Samu,” your voice is so small, so vulnerable, when you speak to him again. You’re trembling as you hold yourself. “Aren’t you scared?”

Osamu is suddenly reminded of that fall day in the woods, so many years ago now. Reminded of two kids who didn’t know what they were doing. Who didn’t know anything. But who knew each other.

Slowly, Osamu crouches too—his joints cracking in protestation as he drops his body down to your level. Your eyes never leave his.

“Yeah,” he says, after a moment. Soft but sure. “‘Course I am.”

You let out a soggy, incredulous laugh, but it somehow doesn’t feel out of place. He watches as you reach up and scrub at your eyes.

“I love you,” Osamu says, because it’s true. Because there’s no other words he can possibly think to say in this situation. Because it’s the only thing that he has in his mind.

You look over at him, sniffling a little, wiping at your running nose with the back of your hand in a way that Osamu absolutely should not find as endearing as he does. “How can you just say it like that? Like it’s so easy?”

Osamu wants to laugh too, like you did earlier, but he worries that the sound might come off as almost hysterical thanks to the misplaced hope he can feel simmering in the pit of his stomach. “Sayin’ it’s the hard part, that’s why it took me so long. But I’ve spent forever lovin’ ya. S’always been the easiest bit.”

You choke back a sob, your head hanging defeatedly as your body slackens. You’re a ghost of the angry little thing that was outside of his door only a few minutes earlier, but more yourself now than Osamu has seen you in weeks.

“What about you?” he poses the question so quietly he might worry you didn’t hear him if not for how silent the dark shop is around you both.

“What do you mean?” You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. You’re stalling, trying to buy yourself time that’s run out now.

“Do you love me?” he asks, praying to anyone who’s listening that he’s been a good enough man up until this point to deserve the answer that he wants to hear more than anything else in the world.

“Of course I do,” you say evasively, refusing to meet his gaze. But it’s not the same. It’s not enough.

“But are you in love with me?” Osamu finally dares to ask.

There’s a stretch of the most painful, profound silence that either of you have ever experienced. It goes on for an eternity, though the clock hands in the corner say differently.

You still refuse to look at him, your gaze fixed instead to a point on the wall on the other side of the restaurant. Osamu watches how the light from the windows catches in the tears that cling to your bottom lashes.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, barely a whisper. You speak the confession like it’s the most terrifying thing imaginable. Like it's wretched.

And it is maybe, but Osamu’s never felt happier to hear anything in all his life—he feels a rush of something so visceral and elated flowing through him, he thinks he might pass out.

“Can I touch ya?” he asks hesitantly, his voice thick and unlike its normal tone. He hardly recognizes it as his own.

You peek over at him for the first time, and Osamu revels in the feeling of having your eyes on him. Delights in watching you watch him and knowing that behind the gaze is the same feeling as the one he holds inside of himself. You consider it for a moment, and he doesn’t dare rush you, but eventually—mercifully—you nod.

Osamu inches forward slowly and wraps you in his arms. Your body relaxes into his hold instantly, and he pulls you into his lap on the tiled floor. He holds you so tightly that he’s scared he might break you, but he still can’t find it in himself to be more delicate. You cling to him anyway.

It’s the first time he’s touched you in months, but every inch of you is still known to him. Still familiar in every way that matters. You smell the same. You feel the same. You’re soft and warm just like always. Osamu buries his face into the crook of your neck, and your fingers eventually lift to play with the hair at his nape. He holds you, and holds you, and holds you more—sating a thirst that’s been building for longer than the time the two of you have been apart.

And you let him.

You hold him too, in the same way.

“If I kiss ya, you gonna cry again?” Osamu asks you quietly after a while, his lips brushing against your throat as he murmurs the words.

You snort, your fingers twisting into the material of his t-shirt at his shoulders. Osamu peels himself away from you and looks up, and finds that your faces are so close. Too close, in any other circumstance.

His palm lifts, cupping your cheek in his hand, running his thumb against the smooth skin underneath.

“Shut up, Samu,” you say, a little smile twisting up the corner of your mouth.

And Osamu happily obliges by pressing his lips to yours.

#osamu miya x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #hq drabble #hq writing #writing #bff!osamu

605 notes · View notes

rorywritesjunk · 7 months

Text

I can't tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story. Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He's young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him. Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy's in his early 20s. He's an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. There's 3 new characters thrown in because why not? Future Wife gets a name as well! A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he's a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. I just started on the 4th chapter but I'm excited to write it out! I had fun with the original fic and decided to write the prequel to how they met. Enjoy! Title comes from "Wake Me Up" by Avicii. TAGLIST (if you want to be added just let me know!): @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates (I didn't add others from the previous story because I didn't want to assume you'd want to be added, so please let me know if you want to be tagged<3)

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 1

He burst into the shop like waves crashing against the rocks: loud and violent. The door slammed open, catching the two teen girls by surprise while your boss looked at him disapprovingly. The young man glared at her as he stomped up to the desk, removing his jacket with a flourish before throwing it down onto the counter.

“I need this repaired now!” He demanded as he dropped three buttons down on top of the fabric. “These damn things fell off!”

The older woman glared at him and crossed her arms. She wasn't bothered by some demanding young pirate like him. She was used to it having her shop in a town that was frequented by pirates of all experiences and ages. The upside was that the pirates paid well for her shop’s services, but the downside was the up and coming pirates with egos the size of the sea.

“And?” The shopkeeper retorted. “You come in here demanding help like that? Why should we help?”

He didn't expect the pushback and it showed on his face. “B-Because my coat is ruined and needs to be fixed!” He pointed to the three buttons that had fallen off, loose threads still attached to them. “I need these to be put back on!”

“Hm, one of my girls could do it, but I don't know if I want your business.”

“Excuse me?!” The pirate exclaimed. “Do you know who you're talking to?!”

“No, not at all.”

Before the pirate could explode into a tirade you stepped into the shop from the backroom, frowning as you came to see what the noise was about. There was your boss, not taking any shit from the young pirate who looked like he had steam coming out of his ears. The other two apprentices were working at a table nearby, watching the exchange take place.

“What's going on?” You asked as you walked over to your boss. You saw the coat and reached out to touch the fabric. “Oh, this is lovely. What's wrong with it?”

“The buttons fell off.” The pirate told you, jaw clenched as he glared at your boss. The older woman didn't back down, arms crossed as she stared right back at him.

“Oh, I can fix that.” You said as you collected the buttons and picked up the coat. You smiled at the pirate; he swallowed heavily and looked uncomfortable with you taking his things away like that. “Can you give me about an hour?”

Your boss turned her attention to you with her eyes narrowed. “You don't have to, I was about to kick him out.”

“I don't mind.” You said with a smile. “We shouldn't turn business away.”

Your boss grumbled and looked at the pirate. “Tell me your name and then come back in an hour, do you understand?”

He didn't hear her at first, too busy staring at you as you walked away with the buttons in one hand and his coat draped over your arm. Why did you offer to help after he just made a scene? The boss was glaring at him and waved her hand in front of his face.

“Young man? Your name?” She insisted. He finally looked at her, a scowl on his face once more.

“Captain Buggy the Clown.”

She said nothing as she wrote his name down on a claim ticket. She tore the ticket and gave one half to him. “One hour and you better have berry to pay.”

He snatched it out of her hand, glaring at her as he turned to storm out of the shop. Your boss just shook her head. She loved having you around but at the same time you caused as much trouble as the ruffian pirates who came by. Hopefully he would just be a one time customer.

When he returned an hour later, you were at the counter. His coat was hanging up behind you, the buttons reattached and shining like new coins. The rest looked brand new as well. He frowned as you looked up from your book. You smiled brightly when you saw him and he avoided your gaze, turning his attention back to his fixed coat.

“You're back!” You beamed as you turned to get the coat for him. “I fixed the three that fell off and made sure the rest were properly sewn on as well, so you shouldn't have any problems with them.”

Buggy took the coat from you, inspecting the buttons by tugging on them. They were secured, even better than before, and they all looked like they had been polished by how shiny they were. He looked at you suspiciously as he put his coat back on. You walked around the counter to him and he took a step back. Without a word you smoothed out the shoulders of the coat, ensuring they laid flat before you reached down to lift the hem of the coat up, pointing to the inside.

“The lining was starting to come undone so I mended that for you as well.” You pointed out before dropping it and straightening back up. Buggy’s face started to redden as he continued to scowl.

“I'm not paying you for extra work!” He snapped. You smiled at him and shook your head.

“It's a courtesy.” You told him as you went to grab his bill. “You're paying just for the three buttons I sewed back on, everything else I chose to do.”

He took the bill from you, scowl now a frown. “Why?”

“Hm? Why what?”

“Why did you do all that extra mending?” He asked, suspicion in his voice as he reached into his pocket for payment. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh!” You chuckled and shook your head. “Nothing, but pirates pass through here all the time and I don't want you to have to come back for more services, you know. I figured if I got your coat into a newer condition you wouldn't have to come back.”

Honestly, you were providing the ultimate customer service to him, but Buggy thought it was almost insulting you didn't want him to come back. Sure, once he got back on his ship he wouldn't come back this way, but at the same time…

He glared at you and grabbed your hand, slamming the payment onto your palm. His cheeks were red like his nose at that moment, and before you could check to see if he paid the right amount he hurried from the shop, door slamming behind him. You shrugged and went behind the counter, counting out the berry. He paid over what the cost of services were and you sighed. He didn't even wait for his change.

“He was scary.” Livia whined over dinner that night as you stood at the stove, stirring the soup while Edith set the table. “Is that pirate going to come back?”

“No, I don't think he will.” You assured her as you flashed her a smile. “I made sure his coat was like new, so don't worry.”

“Why were you even nice to him?” Edith asked with a frown. “He was a jerk to Miss Pins.”

“I was taught to be nice to everyone because you don't know everyone's story, you know?” You told the younger girls. They were newer apprentices for Miss Pins while you were nearing the end of your 10 year apprenticeship. The two were only 14 and 15, whereas you were about to turn 24 with your birthday a few months away. “He could be really nice and just having a bad day.”

“Or he's just mean “ Livia said, making a face. “And did you see his nose? D’you think that was real or fake?”

“I bet it was fake.” Edith said as she sat down. “It seems like a lot of pirates have themes and stuff. I heard there was one who had a crew called the Black Cats and I think his ship has cats on it.” She looked over at you. “So that clown pirate is probably wearing it just for show.”

You just shrugged as you checked the flavor of the soup before adding in some ginger to it. “I wouldn’t know, but dinner is ready. Livia, can you go get Miss Pins? And Edith, can you slice some bread for us?”

Livia pushed away from the table and bounced out of the kitchen to go find their caretaker. Edith looked at you as she started cutting some slices of bread.

“He was really mean, you know.” She said as she put the pieces on a plate. “I don’t think you should have been so nice to him. What if he comes back?”

“I’ll still be nice to him because there’s no reason not to be.” You told her as you went to the table to grab the bowls one by one, filling them with soup. “And he wasn’t a threat, just loud.”

“I didn’t like how loud he was.” Edith sighed.

“If he comes back, just call for me and I’ll help him.” You assured her. “Honestly.”

The younger girl didn’t look convinced but didn’t say anything. Livia returned a few minutes later with Miss Pins and everyone sat down. Dinner was always a peaceful affair, discussing how the day went and what to expect for the next day. Mostly it was assigning the younger girls chores and tasks while you helped Miss Pins with the running of the shop. You had some errands to run in the morning before the shop opened, grabbing groceries and just stretching your legs.

When everyone finished, you took care of cleaning the kitchen while the two girls went to their shared room. Your boss looked at you from her place at the table.

“If that pirate shows up again, you turn him away.” She told you. “I didn’t like him one bit.”

“He’s not the first one to act like that.” You replied as you wiped down the counter. “And he won’t be the last.”

“I didn’t care for him.”

You grinned at your boss. “You don’t like anyone who comes in the door if they aren’t kissing your feet and saying how wonderful you are.”

“Well, they should be saying how wonderful I am since I’m the only one on this damn island willing to help those pesky pirates.” She retorted as she glared at you. “I’m serious, if he comes in you turn him away.”

“Okay, okay. If he comes in I’ll tell him we’re closed.” You smiled. “I don’t think he’d believe me but I’ll make sure to tell him.”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

150 notes · View notes

octuscle · 9 months

Text

Gym Motivation

Lord knows Michael wasn't one of the little guys. He had an impressive body for a 17-year-old. But after going through a growth spurt with a decent weight gain, his weight stagnated. Despite lifting iron at least three times a week for two to three hours at the gym, he had gained maybe a pound in the last two months. It was frustrating. It was most frustrating when Vlad was working out. Vlad was barely older than Michael. Maybe 22 or 23 years old. But Vlad was a colossus. The ground shook under his steps. The air shook when he performed the last repetition with a shout at the end of a set. And the air was thick with fresh and old sweat when he walked through the gym. Vlad rarely spoke to any of the other visitors to the gym. Mostly to gain access to the dumbbells or some piece of equipment. Never had anyone dared to not make room for Vlad immediately.

"Little brother, are you going to be here much longer?" Vlad's booming bass with its heavy Slavic accent went through Michael's entire body. The colossus stood behind the barbell bench, the bulge of his cock just above Michael's head. Michael's throat went dry, and not just because of the smell of sweat and musk. He shook his head. Vlad added a 20-pound plate on either side of the barbell bar without being asked. "I'm going to help you get big, little brother. Come on, ten reps." Michael gave it his all, embarrassing himself in front of his idol was out of the question. With a loud cry, he set the dumbbell down after the tenth repetition. He had never lifted such a weight before. Vlad added 50 kg twice, gestured for Michael to get up, and laid himself down on the barbell bench. "You help when Vlad can't anymore." Michael nodded, even though he knew he had no chance of catching that weight if needed. But Vlad didn't need any help, either.

It was 10:30 p.m. when the janitor switched the lights to emergency and told them he was locking up in fifteen minutes. The gym was deserted. Michael was exhausted. Vlad stripped off his sweaty tank top and did a double biceps pose in front of the mirror. "Good workout, but now Vlad horny." He pulled the waistband of his workout shorts down and his boner jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. Michael didn't need to think, he got on his knees and sucked the fattest balls he had ever seen. And after a few minutes Vlad cummed his massive load into Michael's face. After that he turned around without a word and left. Completely alone in the studio, Michael took off his T-shirt and used it to wipe everything he hadn't been able to swallow out of the corners of his mouth. He also did a double biceps pose. And he was convinced that he had gained mass.

At 06:30, Michael woke up. Fuck, those had been wild dreams. Wet dreams. His boxers, pubic hair, and the Treasury Trail between his abs were cum-encrusted. Michael did three sets of pushups and three sets of situps and went to the bathroom. Before showering, he did another double biceps pose. The workout yesterday had really paid off. Michael loved the bush in his armpits. For a senior in high school, he really had plenty of body hair.

Michael skipped shaving for once today. He was running late as it was. As he gulped down his protein shake and lean curds, his mother reminded him that today was her mother's birthday. Michael loved his baba. But talking to her on the phone was exhausting. Despite her American husband, she had never learned to speak English properly. And Michael had learned little Bulgarian from his mother. But a "Happy Birthday" she would understand. Because of the time difference, Michael made the call right on the way to school.

It was hard to concentrate at school. Michael scribbled pictures of massive mounds of muscle with huge dicks in his notebooks. And he couldn't wait to get back to the gym. Even though he knew Vlad was never here this early, he was disappointed not to hear the colossus' groan as he entered the Gym at 5:00 PM. Motivated by yesterday's workout, Michael put on more weights than he usually did. And he also felt stronger than usual. And while he proudly lifted 280 kg on the leg press, he took in the scent of clenched manhood behind him. "Little brother, are you warming up? Hold on, let me put some weights on." And though he needed all the blood in his legs, Michael got a boner.

At 10:30 p.m., Vlad dropped his barbell with a crash after the last set. "Come on, little brother!" he said, heading toward the locker room. Again, the gym was deserted. And again Vlad's monstrous cock popped out of his pants. "No blowjob today, fuck today!" Michael could hardly wait. Never before had a man fucked him. And never had he felt like he did the moment Vlad shot his load. Vlad caught the cum dripping from Michael's ass with his calloused hands and made Michael lick his hands like a dog. And with his hands still wet from spit and cum, Vlad jerked Michael off afterwards. And massaged the load Michael had cum on his chest into his stomach and pecs with vigorous movements. "Gives hair on chest" grinned Vlad.

When Mikael woke up the next morning, he could already smell fresh pitki. This meant that his mother was once again homesick for her hometown Sofia. Mikael knew that. Then she hummed Bulgarian folk songs all day, spoke only Bulgarian to him and his father (which was less difficult for Mikael, who had grown up bilingual, than for his father), and cooked oodles of Bulgarian home cooking. Oh well, Mikael thought to himself as he washed down his breakfast with a gallon of protein shake, Vlad will be pleased. Because, as usual, his mother had packed a large portion of pitki for his colleague.

Of course, his father would have preferred it if Mikael had gone to college and studied law as well. But maybe he would do that again. So go to college and study mechanical engineering. But right now, he wanted nothing more than to fix truck engines. He and Vlad were a well-rehearsed and unbeatable team. And if the two of them could work bare-chested, they were even better. At least according to their own convictions. Especially on a Friday, when the weekend was already within reach. At 3:00 p.m., the two beefcakes swapped their mechanic overalls for sweatshorts and tank tops and headed to the gym.

Those who regularly worked out at the gym knew the two beefcakes and knew that it got loud when they lifted weights. And they also knew that the smell the two gave off could have a numbing as well as an aphrodisiac effect. And those who knew the two better knew that on Fridays they both ended their workouts with a sauna session. No wonder that, apart from Mikael's and Vlad's regular place, the sauna was full at 8:00 pm. Not a few hoped to be allowed to blow one of the two or even to be fucked by them. But also today Vlad cum in Mikael's face. And Mikael in Vlad's.

Also on Saturday morning Mikhail's and Vlad's day started early. In their father's trucking company, they worked around the clock. Their parents taught them on a daily basis that as Bulgarian immigrants they had to work harder than anyone else. And Mikail and Vlad worked harder than any of their employees. One of their drivers had dropped out and Vlad had to fill in. That sucked. That meant that their joint training was cancelled today. On the other hand, Mikhail was happy if he got a chance to catch up with his big brother. He would also work out harder than everyone else at the gym today.

And there was one more advantage to working out alone: He had the free choice of which bro from the gym would be allowed to suck his sweaty balls and cock afterwards.

Inspiration for the story by @windysidewalk. Pic of Mikhail found @woolf200

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #muscle transformation #tank top

360 notes · View notes

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

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9

#pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavi slow burn #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #gavi x reader #gavi #gavi x you #gavi fluff #fc barca #footballer imagine #footballer #pablo gavi fluff #gavi fic #pablo gavi fanfiction #gavi fanfic #gavisuntiedboot #gavi imagine

704 notes · View notes