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13uswntimagines · 3 months

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The Royal Playbook (Alessia X Leah X Royal!R)

Summary: It wasn't often that you used your name or your titles, but to see your girlfriends, you would do just about anything. Even if it means going head-to-head with your new security.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, but otherwise nothing. It's a fluff piece.

Your life was complicated. Well… that may have been putting it lightly.

Everything in your life had been planned for you since well before you were born. You had a tutor, an etiquette instructor, and an equestrian coach from the moment you came screaming into the world. Along with a security detail and a personal team of butlers to help you navigate life.

It was simple, you would be academically trained, coached in diplomacy (and swordsmanship as was customary on Braavos), and exposed to different cultures so that you could continue to lead your country like your father and his mother before him. You would marry a foreign diplomat, and make political bonds that would strengthen your little island nation’s place in Europe.

Falling in love had never been a part of that plan.

Neither had your absolute obsession with football. Specifically, your obsession with English football.

But your parents had taken it in stride and were far more accepting than you had any right to believe they would be. They were supportive even after they found out you preferred the fairer sex, and they absolutely adored the women who had stolen your heart.

You happened to adore them too.

Well, something stronger than adore.

You would do anything for them.

They made you willing to break all of the carefully constructed rules you had grown up with. They made you forget the weight of responsibility that had been balanced on your shoulders since your coronation date was set the day you turned 16.

They treated you like Y/n instead of Her Majesty the heir to the throne. They made you feel normal.

It killed you that you couldn’t be… open with your relationship. That having the world know would put them in the firing line.

You sighed, leaning back into the leather seat as the SUV slowed, turning in front of the Emirates. The dark window tint blocked out the flashing lights, and the thousands of pounds of armor plating dulled the chanting from the throngs of people. The little flags on the cars in your motorcade told them all who was inside, even if they didn’t know which of the 4 cars you were in.

You shifted, tugging at the hem of your jersey. “Do you think we’ll make it in time for warmups?”

The new material was still tight on your skin, so much different than the cotton dress shirts you normally wore, and the two little names above your favorite number felt unnaturally… weighted.

They were in a way. As soon as a photographer caught a picture of them, your secret would be out.

“I’ve sent a team ahead to clear your entrance and the box you’ll be staying in, so as long as we can get through this crowd we should make it,” Davis said, glancing up at you in the rearview mirror. “I know they’re your favorite part,”

You hummed, glancing back out of the darkened windows at the masses of people dressed in white and red.

A part of you envied them.

You would never be able to walk into a stadium through its entrance. You would never get to see the mural of the team that existed in the main hall of the Emirates. You would never get to sit in the supporters section, surrounded by the various chants.

The other, larger part knew how much you despised being surrounded by people. How claustrophobic it made you feel, and how hard it made it for you to breathe.

But you still wondered if it would be different if those people weren’t carrying cameras and screaming for your attention. You wondered if watching your girlfriends do the things they loved would negate how incredibly uncomfortable you got when people were too close.

“It just completes the whole experience,” You mumbled into the glass.

Davis made a noise of agreement. “Yes, it does,”

He knew that one of the reasons you loved it so much was because it gave you time to not have to think. To just exist in a space where you weren’t the air to the throne. Where all that mattered was what was happening in front of you.

You didn’t have to say it for him to know.

He could read you like a book. He had experienced every day of your life with you. He acted more like a father than your own father did, and you trusted him implicitly.

The car inched forward, past another gaggle of people holding their phones up to video the caravan.

“We might have to go with plan b if Her Majesty wishes to see the warmups,” Your driver said more to Davis than to you.“There’s an obstruction ahead,”

Your eyebrows pulled tightly together as the car crawled forward through the growing crowd.

Your head of security made a gruff sound, already lifting his phone and speaking rapidly into the receiver.

You barely paid attention to what he was saying. It didn’t really matter anyway.

You knew he would explain when they had a plan, just like he had always done before.

The car came to a stop, and men dressed in bright yellow jackets came pouring out of an entrance you hadn’t recognized, forming a human tunnel.

Davis turned in his seat to face you.

“We’re going to go in a different entrance. I’ll guide you, Gabriel and Tomas will flank us,” He explained. “It’s 16 steps to the door. Stadium security will make sure that they’re unobstructed,”

You hummed. “Will you cover my back?”

It wasn’t that you were ashamed to wear your Loves names.

It actually made you incredibly proud and had a warmth blooming in your chest that was hard to explain.

But you weren’t quite ready to share that with the world yet.

You wanted to protect them from your world for as long as you could. To prevent the people who didn’t agree with your family’s policies from hurting them to get to you.

“My jacket will block you,” Davis assured you, understanding glinting in his eyes. “We’re ready whenever you are,”

You leaned back into the leather seat, glancing at the little walkway that had been created. Fans pressed against it, and you could imagine the wall of sound that would meet you.

You flipped your sunglasses down over your eyes. “Let’s get this over with,”

“I’ll get out and open your door,” Your security chief said, reiterating the protocol you always followed when you had to exit your car in a crowd.

You nodded, never looking away from the window.

You took a deep breath when the car door opened, letting in the onslaught of screams and cheers. They only got louder when Davis opened your door and held his hand out to help you out of the car.

He shielded you as soon as your feet were both on the ground, wrapping an arm over your shoulders, directly blocking the names on your back.

You tucked your face into his chest, closing your eyes at the roar of squeals and cheers that met you.

You never did like crowds.

You felt Tomas take up your other side and counted down the steps in your head as they guided you through the crowd. You didn’t look up at the calls of your name, or the blinding flashes of light, or the jostling that your security tried to protect you from.

This was routine.

The press didn’t pay for photos when your face wasn’t clearly visible.

You let out a long breath when the entrance doors closed solidly behind you.

“It’s over little commander,” Your burly chief of security mumbled into your hair when you didn’t immediately begin to untangle yourself from him, running his hand up and down your back.

You really didn’t like crowds.

You sucked in another long breath before carefully pulling away from him.

“Thank you,” You said, straightening your hair and jersey. Smiling just a bit at the name he had given you after an incident involving your country’s general and an assassin when you were five.

“I don’t think anyone caught a photo of your jersey, your majesty. The Captain's jacket was covering the lettering,” Gabriel added, glancing out the glass doors. “Though I think it’ll be harder to hide if we leave with guests. We’ll also need extra security,”

It made you sigh.

Gabriel was not a bad person, but he was young, and far too serious all of the time.

He hadn’t learned that you didn’t need to know all of the inner workings of their operation yet, or that you were the one who would dictate what you wanted.

You hadn’t even decided if your girlfriends would be leaving with you yet, and when you did, Davis would work it out.

He always figured it out.

“We’ll cross that bridge later,” Davis said, glaring at the younger guard (they would pull the SUV on the fucking field if that’s what it took), before his eyes returned to you, softening. “First, I believe your attendant is waiting to scan your ticket,”

Your eyes lit up at the prospect, looking past your burly squad towards a very shy looking girl.

“I can scan you in,” The girl's voice shook as she spoke, her eyes darting towards your guards before meeting yours again. “Your majesty,”

You rolled your eyes at the title.

You hated it as much now as you had when you first learned you would be your fathers successor. As much as when people started using when you were 16 and your coordination date was set for the day you turned 22.

Davis passed you a paper ticket and nudged you forward.

It was a superfluous detail that your girlfriends had teased you mercilessly about.

No one used paper tickets anymore, they said. Everything was mobile, not that you had ever needed an actual ticket.

You stepped towards the girl, holding out the ticket with a grin.

She very gently took it, running it under the little scanner. You walked past her after it beeped.

It was nice to get the full experience, even if it was a bit outdated.

“We’ll take that back,” Davis said, as the girl turned to throw the scrap of paper away.

He reached for the ticket, tucking it into his jacket for safe keeping.

“To the box little commander?” He asked you directly, stepping past the girl.

You shook your head, a smirk playing at your lips. “I think a little… exploration is in order first. Especially since we’ve never come into the stadium this way before,”

“Lead the way then,” He matched your smirk, gesturing for you to head down the hallway. “The mural you’re obsessed with is to the left,”

Your eyes brightened again and you looked down the hallway he had gestured to.

You would definitely have to check it out before warmups started.

******

Alessia and Leah were… distracted, even as they passed the ball back and forth.

Warmups had barely started and they couldn’t help the way their eyes kept falling to the box now occupied by a tall, bald man in a well-tailored suit, his aviators reflecting the field back at them.

They should have expected it. Tomas was always the first of your personal team to arrive to a location, but usually, you followed closely behind him.

“The queen has arrived,” Millie chuckled, intercepting the ball Leah had passed towards Alessia.

“She’s not queen yet,” Alessia huffed.

“How could I forget? The coronation isn’t for 2 more months,” Millie said, waving her arm dramatically.

Leah rolled her eyes. “3 more months, actually,”

“And Y/n isn’t exactly counting down the days,” Alessia added, stealing the ball back. “She doesn’t seem too keen on the title,”

“I’m not surprised,” Ella said, catching the ball when Alessia tried to pass it to Leah. “She got mobbed coming into the stadium,”

Leah’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought she was using the player entrance,”

You had discussed the plan with them in detail during your nightly phone conversation, asking about the location of the locker rooms in relation to the entrance your security wanted you to use.

They weren’t sure if you intended to surprise them before or after the match, but it didn’t really matter.

“Apparently not,” Ella said, skirting around the forward's outstretched leg and passing it to Millie. “I saw the clip before we came out here. Looked like they formed a wall of security and then ushered her in the front gate,”

Leah and Alessia shared a look.

They knew how much you disliked being in a crowd.

They could picture you tucked into your security chief’s chest like a small child, trying to hide yourself from the noise of the crowd. It was an image that had been splashed across front pages of newspapers more times than they could (or wanted) to count. It still never failed to break their hearts.

“I never realized how big her security team was,” Ella mumbled, glancing up at the box again. “Like physically. They’re fucking mountains,”

More of your team had joined Tomas, all wearing the same black suits and dark aviators, tall, and muscular.

They looked intimidating. Like they could take down any threat that would come at you.

Neither Alessia nor Leah had any doubt that they would.

Alessia shrugged. Frankly, they had both been very nervous too until you had actually introduced them to your security. They learned quickly to expect pranks from your security when they weren’t on duty, and that their protectiveness extended to them as well as you when they were.

Considering all 12 members of your team had given them the shovel talk, they knew you were in very good hands. Hands that looked out for your mental health as well as your physical health.

“Looks like she only brought half her team,” Leah hummed, counting the men in the suite, noting your missing head of security. He would certainly be wherever you were, and she found it slightly strange you weren’t in the box yet.

You hated missing warmups.

But then a group standing near the benches, behind Serina caught her eyes.

There were 4 tall, burly men surrounded by stadium workers dressed in bright orange vests.

“Maybe not,” Alessia mumbled, her gaze also falling to the growing crowd behind the benches. “She doesn’t usually try to come down to the field,”

“She’s never had to come through the front door before either,” Leah answered.

Ella wiggled her eyebrows, shimming between them. “Maybe she wants to do something wild before she has the weight of a country on her back,”

“She already has that,” Both blonde women said in unison, eyes snapping away from the sea of orange towards the midfielder.

“She’s had that since her father put her in charge of their trade negotiations,” Alessia added. “And their UK commerce,”

Frankly, you had been taking more and more responsibility for years. Trying to gain the trust of your people so the transition of power was an easy one. A safe one.

An uncontested one.

“And she’s been doing a bang-up job,” Leah said, just as Davis appeared in the mix of security next to a blonde man she had never seen before. “She’s actually coming in the field,”

“You mean we finally get to meet the Queen?” Millie said dramatically, standing on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of you, the ball forgotten at her feet.

Alessia slapped her stomach. “You’ve met her before. You tried to get her drunk after our Euros win and convince her to fly the England flag on her father’s palace,”

“Details,” Millie rolled her eyes, shoving the striker. “How can she see through the mass of people though?”

“It’s a special formation,” Leah grumbled, pushing Millie, and stealing the ball they had all disregarded as she moved it forward she saw Davis shift and the flash of a pair of aviators. You were certainly on the field. “Designed so she can see out but no one can see her. They’re trying not to draw attention,”

Ella snorted. “Well, they failed at that,”

It was true.

The fans in the stands seemed to be clamoring over themselves to see why there was a substantial crowd near the benches.

Leah and Alessia shared a look.

They both knew how much you hated attention. It was why you usually stayed in your box and came in through back entrances. They joked you were like a ghost coming to their games, never seen or heard.

But this. This was different.

Before they could respond Geriant clapped his hands, “Alright ladies let’s do some through balls on goal. Lineup,”

Leah tapped him the ball and followed Alessia to the back of the line.

There would be time later to figure out why you had come down in the field.

Right now they had to focus on beating Australia, especially if they wanted a good game kiss from you after the game.

You only kissed winners.

******

You shifted awkwardly as you leaned against the cool, stone wall outside the locker rooms, playing with the identification lanyard around your neck.

It wasn’t often that you used your… status to get into areas no fans could. That you finagled your way into the tunnel of the stadium after a game.

You were much more prone to letting your security whisk you in and out so you weren’t seen and no one knew if you were actually there, but today, you had been feeling bold.

Well, kind of.

Davis had been the one to suggest that seeing warmups at field level might be fun if you were going to venture to see the mural.

You had agreed.

And he had been right.

You had gotten to chat with Serina about tactics and formations while getting a close-up view of your girlfriends in action, even if it was just warmups.

You had gone back up to your fancy box for the game, but couldn’t resist Serina’s invitation to wait for the team in the tunnel after.

That’s how you ended up here, shifting nervously from foot to foot while the players made their mandatory lap around the field.

It wasn’t really being in the tunnel that had you on edge. It was that Davis had gone to coordinate your motorcade out of the stadium, and left you with Gabriel. You didn’t feel as… safe with the blonde man, and his seriousness was really starting to set you off.

You would have to very carefully bring it up with Davis later, though you hated doing anything that could potentially make his job harder.

“Can you, um, not stand so close please?” you mumbled, as he pressed more closely to you as players from the Australian team started to make their way down the tunnels. “I want to say hello to the players,”

Gabriel shook his head, standing firmly. “They haven’t been checked through security,”

“They just played a match,” You rolled your eyes, pushing him away from you, trying to create some space. “I doubt any of them are smuggling a weapon between here and the locker room, or have Ill intent,”

They were your friends. People, your girlfriends played with every day. People you had spent a lot of time with. People who saw you as a person and not as a title. They wouldn’t cause you harm.

“We can’t take that risk, Your Majesty,” Gabriel answered, already pressing back to pin you between his back and the wall, as his head whipped back and forth.

You shoved him off of you more harshly, stumbling with the force. “I told you to go away. Why don’t you go stand at the front of the tunnel if you’re so worried,”

You would have face-planted had strong arms not caught you.

“Whoa there Princess,” Leah’s warm voice chuckled in your ear, using the term of endearment that annoyed you when it came from anyone but your girlfriends. “You only had to fall for me once,”

“Leah,” Your shoulders instantly relaxed at her voice, and you looked up to meet her eyes. “You guys played so well!”

She smiled brilliantly at you, and you leaned up to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

It only lasted a second before a large hand appeared between you.

“No physical contact please,” Gabriel said, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “It’s policy,”

You glared at the side of his face.

You were definitely going to have to talk to Davis about this.

“What about me pretty girl?” Alessia asked, materializing to Gabriel’s right. “Do I not deserve a kiss too?

“You definitely do. That goal was a fucking banger,” You said, pulling away from the defender, and throwing out a foot mocking the way Alessia had smashed the ball. “Lee crossed it in and then woosh,”

You threw your arms out, mimicking the goal celebration that Alessia did. The one that reminded you of an airplane, right into her waiting grasp.

She leaned forward, brushing your nose with her. “You’re adorable,”

You closed the last millimeter, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss.

She tasted like mint gum, and blue Gatorade, and something so… Alessia. She tasted like home.

“And you look very fit with our names on your back,” Leah added, running her fingers across the bold letters across your shoulders before she wrapped her arms around the two of you.

You buried your face in Alessia’s chest to hide the red blooming across your cheeks, earning a giggle from both women.

“Your majesty, I don't feel comfortable with this situation,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat, and stepping into your space. He leaned down and lowered his voice like he thought it would prevent Leah and Alessia from hearing him. “We’re in too public of a place. It’s not befitting of the crown,”

You froze, your back going rigid.

It was one thing for him to not understand personal boundaries. For him to be hyper-vigilant.

You could chalk that up to his… newness.

But this. This you could not tolerate.

Your fingers caught Alessia’s top before she could pull away, forcing her to stay pressed against you, as your other hand reached back to hold Leah’s hip. You didn’t need them to move. You didn’t want them to move.

You took a deep breath before pulling your face out of Alessia’s chest to stare daggers at the bulky, blonde man.

“Call for backup,” You said, your voice deadly calm.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “There’s no need. I have it-“

“It wasn’t a request,” You cut him off icily. “Call for backup now, or I will do it myself,”

He paused at your tone, glancing at the teammates and friends that had been on their way to the locker room, also frozen at the foreign chill in your voice.

It was the tone you saved for meetings with world leaders you didn’t particularly like. Ones with foreign dignitaries who thought they could walk all over you, your family, and your country.

He took a step back, lowering his voice like he was talking to a child. “Your majesty, I don’t think this is a proper conversation to have with an audience,”

You weren’t in the mood to be scolded.

“And I don’t care what you think,” You bit back, letting go of Leah’s hip to reach up to your necklace, pressing the bottom button hidden on the pendant twice.

The signal that you needed assistance, but it wasn’t emergent or life-threatening.

Still, within 30 seconds Tomas was rounding the corner near the locker rooms, speed walking towards you. The crowd of white and yellow jerseys parted for him like he was Mosis.

You were slightly disappointed it wasn’t Davis, but Tomas would do.

“Little commander,” He nodded his head in greeting, his eyes flickering across the scene before returning to you. “How can I be of assistance,”

You appreciated that he had addressed you first.

That he acknowledged that you were the one in control here.

But Gabriel didn’t seem to get that message.

“Your presence isn’t needed,” The blonde security man huffed, “Her majesty is throwing a temper tantrum,”

Alessia’s fingers tightened around your hips, and you didn’t have to look at her to see the scowl pulling across her lips. Leah’s arms similarly squeezed around your shoulders and you knew daggers were being thrown his way.

Had this been any other circumstance you were sure the growing crowd of footballers would have oooed.

Not that you needed them.

You had this all under control.

“Take Gabriel to the exit,” You said evenly, command and… dominance, radiating through the simple words. “or to the dumpster or the Thames. I don’t really care but get him away from me. He is relieved of his duty,”

The blonde security man sputtered. “You can’t do that. I’m-“

“Actually I can,” You cut him off. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. Tomas, please remind Gabriel of the terms of his service,”

Tomas cleared his throat, suppressing a grin. “We serve at the pleasure of our charge, Her Majesty, Princess of Braavos, heir to the throne,”

Your chest puffed a bit at your full title.

One you generally despised, but it served its purpose here.

“And you certainly have not… pleasured me. Not that you’re capable,” Your lips turned upwards in a cruel smirk, as Alessia and Leah, and the surrounding crowd didn’t hold in their giggles. “Perhaps you should work on your listening, and little things called consent and common sense,”

“Let’s go,” Tomas caught Gabriel’s arms before he could protest or argue with you, not that there was anything he could say. The taller, balder security man made eye contact with you before he hauled Gabriel away. “Davis and Matthew will be by shortly. I’ve left Carson at the top of the tunnel and I’ll have him perform personal security until they arrive,”

You sent him a stiff nod, standing at your full height until they were out of sight before you let yourself collapse back into Alessia.

You would never. Could never truly be alone.

“I fucking hate doing that,” You groaned into her chest, and Leah leaned forward to press a kiss to the back of your neck.

“We know love,” The defender hummed into your soft skin, and Alessia made a sound of agreement, shooing the crowd of football players around you to go about their way.

“But on the bright side, you did look proper sexy,” Alessia said, gently pinching the skin just beneath the hem of your jersey. “Her Majesty, Princess of Braavos, heir to the throne,”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bugged from your lips at her terrible rendition of Tomas’ heavy accent. The one you worked incredibly hard to suppress.

It had come out slightly in the exchange, the only indicator that English was not your first language.

It was something that happened when you were annoyed, which was rare in itself. You didn’t like to wield your power, and thankfully, you usually didn’t have to in your personal life.

“For a second I thought you were going to yell at him in Valyrian,” Leah said, her lips working from the back of your neck up to just behind your ear.

You hummed. “I try not to do that in mixed company,”

Despite how much you had pushed against the mold of your upbringing, your impeccable manners could not be changed.

Plus you knew how much Leah and Alessia loved when you spoke in your native language. How… wound up… it made them. You didn’t want to associate your annoyance with that. Ever.

Alessia smirked. “So he can’t pleasure you?”

You rolled your eyes at the change in subject.

“No. He was only on my team for 3 days, and I wanted to strangle him for most of it,” Your lips pulled up in an impish smirk. “Plus I could tell that he’s never given out a feminominon in his fucking life,”

Leah mirrored the expression against your neck, and Alessia’s eyes sparkled.

“I think we could definitely show you what we know about feminominons,” Leah said, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Would you like to shower with us?”Alessia’s thumb ran over the skin just above your pants. “We promise we won’t bite, “

“Unless you ask nicely,” Leah finished, her teeth grazing over the wet skin she had just kissed.

It was sometimes scary how they could finish each other's thoughts, though you weren’t convinced that this had been their endgame all along.

You melted into them, the rest of your annoyance fading.

“I would love nothing more,”

They nodded at Carson as they dragged you towards the locker room, the shorter, muscular man shifting to stand by the door, already talking into his earpiece.

You just needed some time with your girls.

It’s what you wanted and the security team would respect that and leave you undisturbed.

They served at your pleasure after all, and so did your girlfriends apparently.

Well, at least at the moment, they would serve to pleasure you.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #leah williamson x reader #alessia russo x leah williamson x reader #royal!reader #Royal Playbook Universe

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 2 months

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a/n: i’m almost shocked at how fast this fic got written?? thanks to anon who indulged my fun little request for a new hockey to write about (inspired by @wyattjohnston ‘s post earlier about how there’s only fics for certain hockeys in the nhl fic tag and also bc i have so much fun writing for new guys in the fic exchanges!!)- how could i resist vancouver’s own prince charming? hope you guys enjoy because i had fun writing! ☺️

word count: 2.7k

tw: single dad!brock, nanny!reader, dirty talk, minor daddy kink, fingering (f receiving), handjob, dirty talk, nipple play

summary: you’re nothing but the nanny for brock’s daughter, until one night all the lines get blurred

Kya snuggles closer to you in her sleep, blonde hair tickling the underside of your chin. Her cheek is pressed up against your collarbone and her little body is hot, making you feel all sweaty where she’s connected to you.

The TV casts the room in a faint blue light, the low volume serving as white noise along with Kya’s little puffed air snores.

You think about moving her to her bed, but she’s so soft and cuddly when she hasn’t been lately and you can’t find it in your heart to get up. Unfortunately, the four-year-old has your heart in a vice-like grip and you’d do anything for her. Including being a human mattress.

So you stay on the couch, stroking her back and humming softly when she stirs briefly. Eventually, the clock ticks over to the eleven o’clock hour and you know it’s only a matter of time before Brock’s home and your shift is over. Not that you have to go very far to get home - your pool house turned bachelorette nanny pad is practically spitting distance from the back door. If you tilted to the left a bit and angled your neck, you’d be able to see the little planter with multicolored flowers that Kya had helped you plant last week.

And by help, you mean crushed a few daisies in her little fists and ate a mouthful of dirt before you could stop her.

A+ nannying for sure.

You’re still thinking about it when a familiar voice startles you from your thoughts.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Brock’s voice rumbles through the dark room, laughter around the edges.

Without thinking, you reply, “just thinking about the handful of dirt I let Kya eat last week.” Then you wince, wondering why Brock’s presence always makes you say the stupidest things.

He laughs fully now, stepping around the couch and dropping into the armchair. He’s in his post-game look - rumpled suit pants and button down with the sleeves rolled up, bare feet with his loafers kicked off in a pile at the front door, and blonde hair darkened from his shower. His palm rasps over the few days’ worth of stubble growing on his chin and his face splits into one of those smiles that makes Twitter (and you) swoon.

“She’s gotta get vitamins and minerals from somewhere, right?” He teases and your cheeks heat.

This.

This is why he makes you say the stupidest things. Because he’s a real-life Prince Charming with the personality to match.

You smile back at him, a reflex. “There are some leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry and want to get in your own vitamins and minerals,” you joke back, shifting Kya on your chest when she starts to slip.

Brock shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks. I’ll take Princess Ky upstairs and you can get some rest,” he stands, arms out to grab Kya.

Weirdly, you shift and hold her closer. “It’s, um, I don’t mind. She’s been really snuggly today and it’s nice,” you shrug one shoulder. “She watched a little bit of the first.”

“Yeah?” Brock’s face lights up. He loves it when you bring Kya to games and he gets to wave at her during warmups.

“Mhm,” you smirk, “she was obsessed with Quinn.”

Brock narrows his eyes at you, scrunching his nose in disgust. “Real nice,” he shakes his head, “making fun of the guy that your best friend over there belongs to.”

Your cheeks lift in a smile, your arms holding Kya comfortably. “Don’t be jealous of my bond with Ky. Daddy’s still her favorite.”

Something flickers across Brock’s face, there and gone before you can analyze it. He chuckles, says, “I better be since I pay for all those chicken nuggets she inhales like a freaking vacuum,” and excuses himself upstairs to change.

You watch him leave, chewing at your lower lip while you study the curve of his ass in his slacks, feeling awful even as you’re appreciating his form. Kya mumbles in her sleep, nonsense words and a ‘Daddy’ and your name, eyelids twitching as she dreams.

Brock’s back a few minutes later, comfortable in sweats and a threadbare t-shirt. Still barefoot, now he smells like mint toothpaste in addition to the locker room soap. “Sure you don’t want me to take her?” He asks, sitting down on the couch with you, a cushion’s worth of space between your bodies. “Feels like I should let you off the clock and hold my kid now that I’m home.”

“I really don’t mind,” you promise him. “Kya’s…she’s exactly what I want my own daughter to be one day.” You think maybe you’re over sharing, but it’s late and Brock just looks so domestic and comfortable. It’s easy to pretend when he looks like this. His eyes soften as he studies you and the way you’re holding Kya.

“She’s a pretty cool little girl,” he agrees warmly, reaching out to run a hand over her head. His palm

makes her hair staticky, fine strands lifted into the air. You blow at them gently, giggling when they stick to your face even after you try smoothing them back with a hand.

“You know,” he says too casually after a comfortable pause, “she, the other day when you were off, she said that she never wants you to leave.”

A little piece of your heart breaks with his words because you know one day you’ll have to leave. It’s easy right now, nannying for Kya while you get your Master’s, but what happens next year when you’re finished with school and you have to find a real

job.

Your face must show your distress, because Brock coughs slightly and rushes to say, stumbling over his words, “I didn’t mean, she’s four. You know, they say stuff all the time. When you do have to leave, it’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.”

He means well, you know that, but it doesn’t help and to your horror, your nose starts to burn and tears well in your eyes. You don’t really want to cry in front of Brock, not over something that’s at least a year away, but you feel the dam starting to break.

“Um, I do think I’ll head out for the night,” you say quietly, trying to not let your voice crack. You shift Kya in your arms and transfer her to Brock’s, making sure she stays asleep. “She really should be out for the night. So, um, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He takes her easily, arms practiced with adjusting her weight against his chest and her head on his shoulder. You jump up from the couch and wave over your shoulder, heading for the back door, ignoring Brock’s whispered shout of your name.

It’s so silly, to get so emotional about Kya outgrowing her need for a nanny, her need for you. But you’re more attached to Ky and Brock than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

Right now, your best option is to play your sad music playlist and cry, just to get it out of your system before getting back to normal in the morning.

The music helps. The crying helps more. The two glasses of wine help the most.

And then there’s a knock on the door, scaring the ever living shit out of you. It’s so late your visitor can only be one person.

“Brock?” His name is a question on your lips when you open the door, your brow furrowed.

“Hi,” he looks upset and your brain works sluggishly to figure out what could be bothering him. “Can I-?”

He gestures a little and you nod, stepping back automatically. “Yeah, of course. It’s your pool house,” you say. “Is Kya asleep?”

He nods, holds up the baby monitor. You can see Kya’s little body sprawled out on her bed and a smile curls your lips - she sleeps like a starfish, arms and legs akimbo. “She’s done for the night,” he replies quietly, setting the monitor on the little table you have next to the door for your keys.

Brock’s been in the pool house before, a million and one times. But this time, the air crackles like it does before a thunderstorm, your nerves on edge.

“What are -“

“I’m sorry.”

You and Brock speak over each other, words getting jumbled in the air. You giggle a little and Brock smiles, his shoulders relaxing.

“I’ll go,” he says, still smiling. His hands run through his hair, the strands flopping over his forehead before getting pushed back into place. “I’m sorry, for what I said. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Oh,” you aren’t expecting the apology and you start to excuse him, “I didn’t -“

“You did,” Brock cuts you off. “Your eyes are all red and I’m so sorry. I just thought, Ky loves you so much, that you’d want to hear what she said about you. I wasn’t thinking about - about you leaving.”

“I’ll have to eventually,” you shrug, the wine dulling the sharper edges of your emotions.

Brock’s jaw works and you wait for him to speak, patient like he’s Kya. A few seconds go by and he scratches at the back of his neck. “I’m not good at - I want you here, as long as you want to be here. I don’t care if Kya is a grown woman with her own kids, I’d want you here.” He pauses and his words sink in, battering at the boundary you’d built around your heart.

“What?” You whisper, hands fluttering at your sides. You suddenly don’t know what to do with them.

“I…I think, no, I am. I am definitely falling for you,” Brock says, tone firm and eyes soft, crinkled at the corners. Those damn blue eyes that have starred in a fantasy or two of yours. He reads your silence as negative, apparently, because he frowns and continues, “if I just made this uncomfortable, we can forget it ever happened.”

“No!” You nearly yelp, Brock’s eyes widening at your sudden increase in volume. “No,” you repeat quieter. “I don’t want to forget this happened. I’m just … surprised. I didn’t think you thought of me as anything but Ky’s nanny.”

His smile is contagious and you’re both grinning like idiots at each other.

“You haven’t been Ky’s nanny in my head for a long time,” he confesses. “Just been hoping you felt the same way.”

“Definitely feel the same way,” you giggle, feeling hysterical.

“Can I -?” He steps forward, into your space, and you nod, knowing what he’s asking. And then all you know is Brock’s mouth on yours, his hands warm on your waist, his hair soft under your fingertips. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you open your mouth. A groan fills the air and you’re not sure if it’s yours or his.

Your chest crushes against Brock’s, bodies flush against each other. His cock is prominent against your thigh, hard and hot through the layers of fabric separating the two of you. For months, you’ve fantasised about this, wondered what it would feel like to get your hands on Brock and it’s better than you ever imagined. Hot and hard, his lips soft against yours, his hands gripping at your ass, dragging you closer and closer. Your hips chase his, involuntarily moving for relief.

“Brock,” you whine his name, surprising yourself with the neediness that colors your tone. He growls against your jaw and lifts you, arms braced under your ass, settling you on the countertop in your tiny kitchenette. He steps into the space created by your spread legs, your thighs at his hips, ankles locked at his lower back.

“Shit, wanted to do this for months,” he mumbles against your skin. His lips mark a hot trail down your neck and over the heated skin of your chest. His hands are down the back of your shorts, kneading at your ass.

His cock presses against your heated core and you moan, loudly and unashamed. Brock’s laugh is clearly delighted and he presses himself against you harder, drawing a strangled moan from your throat.

“Making such pretty noises for me,” he croons, dragging one hand up your side to grope at your breast, rolling your nipple until it’s a stiff peak. “What other noises are you going to make for Daddy?”

“Oh my god,” you keen, arousal flooding your panties. “Brock, oh my god, I need you to touch me.”

“What’s the magic word?” He replies, ducking his head to suck at your nipple over your shirt. The scrape of his teeth and the wet fabric makes you shiver, clit throbbing.

“Please,” you wail, grinding your hips against his.

“Please…?” He trails off and your heart pounds in your chest, pleasure coiling low in your stomach.

You sigh, a shaky exhale. “Please, Daddy, touch me. Please make me come,” you whisper the words in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

Brock whips your shirt off, tossing the fabric to the floor. You’re not wearing a bra and normally you’d be self-conscious, but Brock’s staring at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever seen and you’ve never felt hotter. “Christ,” he mutters, palming your breasts and kneading them tenderly. “So fucking gorgeous. Just, just fucking stay with me forever, please?”

You nod, agreeing. “Yours, I’m all yours, I promise,” you cradle his face in your hands and kiss him deeply, leaning in as close as you can.

Somehow, his shirt ends up on the floor with yours and your fingers can trace each muscle on his chest and stomach. You drag a nail over his nipple and his skin erupts in goosebumps, so you do it again, skimming your nails over his skin and scratching at his biceps.

“Mark me up,” Brock encourages you, lifting your ass off the counter with one hand so he can tug at your shorts and panties. “Make sure everyone knows I’m yours.”

He’s certainly doing the same, sucking bruises onto your skin. There’s a bite mark over your breast and it feels like his fingers dug bruises into the flesh of your ass.

“Just want you,” you blink away a sudden rush of tears, still in disbelief that this is happening. “Been thinking about you for so long, Brock.”

Your fingers dance down to the waist of his sweats, pushing at them until his cock springs free and you can get a good look at it. It’s just as perfect as his face, thick and long and hard as steel.

“Come on, honey,” his fingers swipe at your clit, making you inhale sharply and arch your back. “Put your hands on me. Touch me.”

You obey, wrapping your hands around his cock and stroking him. Softly at first until Brock grunts and wraps his hand around yours to increase the pressure and speed. “Like that,” he instructs you, leaving his hand in place and using the other to smear your arousal over your clit and inner thighs.

“I don’t have any condoms!” You gasp, Brock’s index finger teasing at your entrance. The thought hits suddenly, annoyingly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, kissing the moan from your mouth when he plunges his fingers into your cunt. “I’ll make you feel good just like this.”

Brock’s a man of his word.

He makes you come twice, once on his fingers and one on his tongue. The first time you make a mess of the counter, dripping all over the place. The second time he’s got you laid out on the couch, his stomach splattered with his own come from the handjob you’d given him.

And then he cuddles.

Wipes between your legs with a towel and wraps

you in his arms under a throw blanket. Kisses the crown of your head and tells you all the filthy things he’s thought about doing to you.

“Hey,” you pipe up, amusement bubbling in your chest, “do I get a bonus for every blowjob I provide?”

Brock’s surprised laughter vibrates at your back, shaking your entire body. His arms wrap around your chest and squeeze. “No,” he deadpans, sounding like he’s struggling to hold back his laughter, “but we probably should talk about your job.”

“Tomorrow,” you insist. “I love taking care of Ky. So we’ll work on a transition.”

The transition from Ky’s nanny to Brock’s wife and Ky’s mom takes about six months less than you anticipated.

“Best job promotion ever,” you tease Brock at the altar, Kya practically glued to your side and shouting her excitement when you kiss for the first time as husband and wife.

#brock boeser #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser x you #brock boeser fic #nhl fic

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starrynights-sunnyskies · 5 months

Text

⋆*·ﾟa clash to keep her ... misa x femreader (& zecira x reader)

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

when there's a familiar face amongst your opponents in today's match, misa's insecurities get the best of her and she fears she might have to step up her game for you to want to keep her forever.

or: a pouting misa being jealous of fellow goalie, zećira mušović, one of your closest friends and presumed ex.

as requested

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

Misa was very aware of the eyes on her as she walked onto the pitch for her pre-match warmup, people already calling out her name to hopefully get a reaction. She smiled towards the stands, hoping it had been directed to at least some of those who’d called out for her. People were slowly starting to find their seats in the arena, their chatter white noise together with the upbeat music softly echoing all around her. Today was another match day, one which Misa had set her eyes on ever since their opponent had been announced. Sweden was a strong national team, often landing quarter and half finals in tournaments and home to some key players to various clubs around Europe. She’d played a fair amount with Jakobsson at Real Madrid for a while, and Olofsson was one of her current teammates. She knew not to underestimate them, and that was exactly why she put her mind back into focus as soon as her cleats dug into the grass beneath her feet. She’d been put on the starting eleven, right at the top as number one, of course. It felt great knowing she could play another match, but that feeling was nothing compared to knowing she’d share the pitch with you, her girlfriend.

Though she’d gotten to know you little by little each time national camp had rolled around, the spark hadn’t properly ignited until a few weeks ago. Things were fresh, new, exciting and nervous, and Misa lapped every feeling up, having never felt like such a hopeless fool in love. It had been as strange as it had been fun to discover this new side to her, but she loved letting the feeling lead her even more each time her romantic gestures or surprises would earn her a smile from you. The way you would look at her, hold her and care for her had been nothing short of euphoric and if this lovey-dovey feeling would last, she desperately wished she could keep you around for a lifetime.

Misa approached the goal, gave the pole a good rattle and jumped up to hit the bar. This was her stage tonight and damn would she give a performance if she could. She took a few big sips of her bottle before throwing it beside the post, grabbing the gloves she’d secured behind her waistband and put them on. This was routine for her, and she should’ve acted on autopilot, but there was something different this time around.

Her eyes kept glancing at the tunnel, waiting, longing... and it distracted her, that much was clear. Even onlookers could see her staring at something invisible on the side of the pitch, but those who didn’t know why, thought nothing of it.

Misa had wanted to wait and walk out together, but you were going to take longer than usual and she needed to warmup with some of the strikers. You were getting taped up, your ankle still a vulnerable spot after the injury you’d gotten three months ago at your club. It had been nothing too serious, just a light sprain, but still, you knew to be careful with your body. It was always exciting to play a match, even if your current national team situation had taken that drive and enthusiasm down a couple of notches. Still, it was an honour to play the sport you loved most and to see people from all ages come together for the same reasons. Playing for both club and country had taken you to quite some countries throughout your career so far, and it had left you making friends from all over. Some teammates felt more like colleagues than friends, but those who you’d gotten close to, would always have a special place in your heart, no matter if you still played with them or not. It was why you were even more excited for the match ahead as you tied up your cleats, humming along to one of the songs that was playing in the locker room to keep the energy high.

There were a couple of familiar faces in the opposing team for you today— Kaneryd, Björn and Eriksson for example. But the one face you’d missed most was that of Zećira Mušović. You’d been contracted by Chelsea during the same transfer window as Zećira, and, as the new girls on the team, you had stuck to each other like glue. You’d been assigned a flat in the same building by the club, so carpooling had been a given from the get-go. She’d also helped you remove the hideous floral wallpaper all around your flat and in return, you had helped her carry all the furniture she’d bought at Ikea that day inside, her country’s trusted store even helping her out overseas. It had both come paired with loads of cursing in Spanish and Swedish though, but had ended in sighs of exhaustion and laughter. She’d knocked on your door the day after, a packet of her favourite Kafferep’s in her hand which she’d put in her bag to hand out as an introduction gift to everyone. A thing she had held onto after that, because each time she’d come back from Sweden, she had a new packet of cookies with your name on it in her suitcase. You’d invited her in and emptied the entire packet with some tea, to immerse yourselves to the English culture, and watched a match on your laptop, since your TV still hadn’t arrived. Zećira was fun, caring, easygoing and between your initial trouble speaking English and her laidback nature, your friendship worked like a charm.

It had been hard to move away from your familiarities for the first time in your life, having to adjust to a culture, country and language you didn’t know much of, but it had been easier to do while having a friend around, someone who could relate. She learned to understand your Spanglish and was one of the few who could pinch through your accent. It had helped pull you out of our shell, which in return had introduced you to the goofy side your friend had.

You discovered London together on days off, tried cafe’s and restaurants and binged every new show Netflix would put out. The Chelsea girls had quickly turned to calling the two of you Biggy and Smallz, in which you were obviously Smallz next to the tall tower that Zećira was. Still, you were not to be underestimated with your fiery nature on the field. You were a defending tower of your own when it came to your play, always stopping an attack or cheekily sneaking away the ball from someone's feet whenever you could. Having you play close to her had strengthened Zećira’s backline, making sure her wall extended to the group of defenders you were part of. Playing at Chelsea had ended up being one of the best experiences of your life. It had opened doors for you, if not career-wise, then definitely when it came to your personal life. You had been in your early twenties, afraid you’d missed out on a best friend after having focused so hard on football, but there she’d been, entering your life fashionably late but with Kafferep’s to make up for it. After your contract had ended and you’d felt the need to freshen things up and start somewhere new, and maybe play a little closer to home again, you’d been surprised by how well you’d kept in touch. It hadn't ever been that easy with other ex-teammates. Things would fade out eventually, you presumed, like it always would. Then again, Zećira wasn't just any teammate. You didn’t live in the same flat anymore, nor did you see each other every month, but Zećira never missed an important date, and she could always expect to wake up to a congratulatory message whenever she’d played a good match.

You hadn’t seen her in a while, which was the reason behind the pep in your step as you walked out of the locker room and saw a couple of yellow jerseys pass you. Your eyes looked around, hoping to find the red of your best friend’s goalie kit as you walked out the tunnel and onto the pitch, immediately feeling your cheeks dust with pink as people called out your name. It would never feel normal, which was exactly why you cherished it so much. The arena was slowly filling up, so you deemed it enough time to at least take a picture with the adorable kid waving your jersey in one hand and a marker in the other. The way his eyes lit up and widened in size as he saw you approach, made a wide grin of your own break out. He was too shocked at the entire thing to answer your questions whether he was excited or ready to cheer. You lovingly put a hand on his shoulder when he started to ramble to you about having your Chelsea Home and Away jersey as well as your current club’s, and that he’d watched the last national match with his teammates. A few pictures were in order after that, obviously, but you gently excused yourself as the arena filled up more, not wanting to throw a spanner in your warm up routine. But as you jumped down from the barrier, two gloved hands held your elbows to soften your landing.

“Hej, litet.”

You would recognise that Swedish twang out of a thousand.

Zećira looked down at you, eyes squeezed shut as her expression was one of pure joy. You squealed almost immediately, jumping into the arms that were already beckoning you into them. She pulled you to stand on your tippy toes as you hugged, and as she kept laughing, you couldn’t help but join her.

“What are you doing here?” She rose an eyebrow, feeling playful.

“I was trying to find the nearest tube station, but I don’t know how I ended up here.” You motioned around you, then at your kit, “Think I’ll just commit to it now.”

She rolled her eyes at you, immediately catching onto the reference from when you’d ended up getting lost in London’s web of metro lines. Each time you'd taken one and submerged from the Underground only to find out you were in the wrong distract, again, you'd laughed before descending the stairs and taking another one. You'd eventually found your way back to your flat, but the sun had set already and your bank account had been a couple of pounds lighter from all the unnecessary travelling. It was safe to say that you had tried to evade London's maze of metro lines as much as you could after that.

“Though, making sense of that tube map didn't take me as long to figure out than that gibberish you spoke to me in those first few weeks.”

She groaned and held her arm when you didn’t hold back and punched her, the pounding of your fist loud against her skin. She rubbed the spot, but it didn't make the mischief in her eyes disappear, “Ai-” She laughed, then pushed against your shoulder, letting you stumble back a step, but her eyes widened and her hands immediately pulled you towards her when you almost fell over the stack of practice cones behind you.

“Are you trying to get us down to ten players already?” You huffed out playfully, watching as she grinned again.

“Worth a try, but, hey, listen-” She put her hand in front of her mouth, voice turning to a whisper, “I have something for you, but only after the game. Kolakakor,“ She added as she watched your reaction.

You beamed at her, “You brought me cookies?! How did you even know I’d make it onto the roster this camp?”

Zećira shrugged, big gloved hands squeezing together as she answered nonchalantly, “I had a feeling. How’s the ankle?”

You pushed out your leg, turned it and twirled your ankle around, as if you were Cinderella showing off her glass slipper.

“Wow, you need new cleats.”

“And you need new gloves. Hell, Zeći, I can smell them from here.”

A playful glint appeared in her eyes, “Yeah, you can? How do they smell from here?” She pulled you into a headlock with one arm, the other moving close to your face as she planted a quick kiss on your hair.

“Smallz!” You heard a voice and matched it to Johanna, Kaneryd, and felt two slender arms join the huddle and trap you further into Zećira’s chest.

“Jojo! Don’t team up, help me!”

You heard the two Swedes laugh.

“Sorry, tonight you’re the opponent.” Johanna giggled, rubbing your back and smiling at you through Zećira’s hold as she waved goodbye to do some drills of her own. “We’ll catch up after we win!” She winked at you from over her shoulder.

“So, like, maybe in a couple of years, then?”

Johanna rolled her eyes and waved you off.

You sensed Zećira was slowly letting go and decided to seize the moment. Immediately, she pulled you tighter against her tall body, engulfing you, when she realised you were trying to flee.

“Let go or-”

“-or you’ll send your girlfriend after me?”

“They’re filming us, I can’t have them see me weak!”

"Let them film! Let them see the true you!" She laughed, knowing clips of your interaction would probably end up in multiple edits again. Oh, they couldn't be more wrong about the two of you.

Zećira rolled her eyes when you yelped. She let you go, watching in amusement as you let out an annoyed gruff while touching the hair she’d messed up and you’d spent so long perfecting in the mirror.

“So, tell me, how is the girlfriend?” She teased, poking at you before you playfully slapped her hand away. But before you could reply, you heard the staff call out for you and watched the last of your teammates walk onto the pitch.

“Raincheck?”

“Gotcha.” She winked, accepting your hug and watching you run to your side of the pitch to start your warmups, the smile not leaving her face.

Meanwhile, from under her goalpost, Misa had turned into a sour pouting mess.

She had perked up upon seeing you enter the pitch, had then watched with a soft smile as you interacted with the child, but had then felt her stomach drop when you didn’t come up to her, but was swooped away by her instead. She had watched the woman sling her arm around your torso and had watched her plant the softest kiss on your head. She had watched how you scrunched your nose and let her hold you, had seen the two of you laugh and play. Misa absentmindedly juggled the ball from one hand to the other, eyes zeroing in on the entire encounter, no longer focused on warming up with her teammates. She let out a groan as a ball hit her thigh, whoever had shot it not wanting to go easy on her. With furrowed brows, Misa turned to the presumed perpetrator, seeing a grinning Jenni giving her a look, hands on her hips in challenge.

“Next time I’ll aim for your head, idiota,” She stopped the ball Misa had rolled back towards her, giving the girl some time to walk back to her goal.

“Shut up, or I’ll come for your fucking ankles, Jennifer.” She huffed, eyes furrowed and expression mirroring her feelings.

Jenni whistled, amused at how her friend had changed from focused and happy to play, to a jumble of sadness and annoyance, “Oh, do you say your prayers with that same dirty mouth?” Jenni glanced behind her, following Misa’s line of sight, face immediately breaking out into a bigger grin as she realised what was going on.

“I think you should go for her ankles instead.”

“Her hands, more like.” Misa mumbled out.

Jenni rolled her eyes, “You’re adorable, right now, you know that?”

The rage and offence on Misa’s face made Jenni only laugh louder.

“That’s only further proving my point.”

Misa pretended to kick the ball in front of her as hard as she could, only stopping last-minute, making Jenni shield herself and her laughter behind her arms for the shot that never followed.

“Oye, she’s bullying me-” Jenni’s voice bellowed across the field, catching the attention of multiple people standing around. No one reacted, knowing better after seeing the clownish grin on Jenni’s face.

“Just go up to her,” Jenni shrugged after Misa had blocked one of her shots and passed the ball back to her, “Stake your claim. Show her which goalie she should keep closer.”

“I don’t want to be that pathetic overly jealous new girlfriend and already scare her away."

"But you are the over jealous new girlfriend. At least, right now, you are."

Jenni took another few shots at the goal, sensing how Misa was losing her drive and concentration by the second.

"Then how about you go and be the confident girlfriend instead? Shake her hand, introduce yourself, show that you aren't afraid."

Misa only huffed, "You know that will only make me look even more jealous and protective, right? If I let her do her thing, it shows I have confidence in us and that I trust her. Which I do. I just don't trust her." She nudged her chin to the side of the pitch, where the two of you were still talking.

"Sure, you really ooze confidence right now," Jenni rolled her eyes, "I think you're giving way too much power to some stupid rumour, Misa."

"Well, I still don't want everyone to film the entire thing and put online how pathetic I am."

"Oh, so you'd rather have them film them now and give the internet the impression that they're girlfriends who are reuniting after some time apart?"

If looks could kill, Jenni would be buried in the earth beneath her feet right about now. Misa kicked the ball with pure intent to hurt, but Jenni only jumped aside, taking another ball lying nearby to kick back instead.

"She seems busy. And happy.”

“Busy and happy being smothered by someone other than you, you mean?” Jenni chuckled, “At least she has a type— broody brunettes with big hands and bushy eyebrows.”

Misa’s eyes flitted to you again, watching how your friend caught you from falling over with such tender care, it hurt her heart. Your relationship was so fresh that you hadn’t even had the ex-partners talk. You had yet to exchange awkward stories or reminisce on past heartbreaks. She hated it now, as she watched you and Zećira fall in easy conversation together, wondering if there’d been something between the two of you at some point like the gossips online had said. She'd seen the countless pictures and edits of the two of you on your tagged page. She shook her head, willing the thoughts away.

Though she was already falling fast and hard for you, she had yet to get to know everything about you. It often made her nervous about how deeply she was already falling in love with you. If she was feeling like this after this short amount of time, she didn't want to know the romantic fool she'd be within the next year. But right now, she hated how she knew that the Swede knew you better, while she was supposed to be the one to know you the best. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as a wave of insecurity suddenly washed over her. She’d stopped watching the two of you talk entirely as she’d seen the ease of which your conversation flowed, kicking the ball back to Jenni.

Your eyes finally found Misa’s as you approached them not long after. A shy smile accompanied with the most adorable wave was sent her way, turning Misa from a scowling grump into a pouting lovestruck fool. Her face softened immediately and she waved her gloved hand back at you.

“Misa and Y/N, sitting in a tree-”

Jenni dodged the ball being thrown at her.

“Say it louder and the entire arena will hear, why don’t you?”

“Sorry,” Jenni retreated, knowing she was one of the lucky few to already know about your relationship. Not as if the entire team hadn't already been gossiping though...

You jogged over, face bright and extra cheerful, but glowered playfully when Ona pulled you back by the hem of your jersey, redirecting your focus from your girlfriend to getting your body warmed up for the match. Misa had to make do with the apologetic smile you sent her, but a grin and thumbs up from her stopped you from feeling bad at the prickly pout on her face.

Minutes later, she stood in line at the kick-off, face stoic as she rushed passed and quickly shook every Swede's hand, making sure to squeeze a little tighter when glove met glove at the start of the line.

Misa liked how she had you close as soon as the match started, the red jersey with your name in yellow lettering never too far out of her sight. When the ball was on the Swedish side of the pitch and nowhere near her goal, she could feel her thoughts wander. But the worries and insecurities never lingered long when the Swedes swiped the ball back.

As the halftime whistle sounded and her stomach fluttered when she watched you wait for her to catch up to walk off the pitch together. But with the game still on the forefront of both your minds and your mind and body still reeling with adrenaline, there was no time to dwell on anything else but how to remain your advantage and up the score in the second half.

She sat down in her cubby, took quick gulps of her bottle and looked for you, realising your eyes were already on her as you wiped at your hairline with a towel. With her intense and focused gaze directed at your flushed face, she realised it reminded her of something. It seemed your mind went to the same place as she saw your expression change, your focus swaying ever so slightly. Misa swallowed and wiped her chin with the back of her hand, then gestured the bottle to you from across the room. You approached, your cleats tapping against the floor, and stood in front of her, looking down at her as you drank from her bottle. Misa’s arm wrapped around your legs, pulling you to stand against her as you all turned to listen to the new tactic being explained. Her strong hold and the soft yet dominant show of her love for you sent you reeling, but you distracted yourself by taking another few sips. You had always been touchy, hell, the entire national team was pretty comfortable and affectionate with each other, something some of your club teammates had playfully blamed your culture for. But that meant that none of your teammates batted an eye at the physical contact the two of you exchanged. Well, you thought they didn't.

You wanted to give the bottle back to Misa so she could finish it, but she gently pushed it back towards you with a gentle smile on her face, ushering you to empty it. Of course it would go against Misa’s nature to not put you first place. You leaned against her, hand resting on her shoulder as she welcomed your touch by pulling you in to stand even closer.

“How’s your ankle?” She softly whispered to not interrupt the talk.

You smiled reassuringly, “Good so far, don’t worry,”

As you listened how your practiced tactic was explained again to refresh your minds, your thoughts wandered off to how your Swedish friends were on the other side of the wall, discussing how to have you lose. Football was a funny sport, you realised— it was one that had helped you make a plethora of friends both among your national teammates and your club ones. No matter the match, there were always friends, connections and familiar faces. But on the pitch, the faces blurred and all you had eyes for was the ball they were trying to sneak passed you. You were used to playing against friends, but they were opponents on the pitch. After all, each match was just that— another match. What happened on the pitch, stayed there as well. Badmouthing, harsh shoves and nasty looks would all be laughed at afterwards.

A soft tap on your hip and the cacophony of cleats beating against the floor snapped you out of it. That, including the kiss you felt against your temple. Misa stood up, grabbed your hand and guided you out with her, back into the tunnel. A crowd of red and yellow jerseys gathered quickly, waiting for the ref to give the green light to walk back out onto the pitch. But you felt your girlfriend squeeze the living hell out of your hand the second a different shade of red flashed through your peripheral. You turned your head and watched as your friend and girlfriend locked eyes for the first time.

Zećira narrowed her eyes. Her face was pure focus and enmity. Immediately you turned to Misa, who straightened her back ever so slightly to try and gain some length on your tall friend. Misa’s face was set in stone— hard and hostile. Your eyes flitted back to your Swedish friend, feeling surprised and shocked at the interaction between the two, all while your girlfriend still squeezed your hand as if her life depended on it.

The Swedish goalkeeper then dipped her head in silent understanding and respect, something Misa reciprocated, but only after tilting her head and analysing the woman’s sincerity first.

The shrill sound of the ref’s whistle echoed around you, and off you all went again. Still, you couldn’t quite brush off the encounter you’d just witnessed. You had wanted to introduce the two to each other after the match, seeing as they were both important people in your life. You knew Zećira would suss out Misa first, wanting her judgements of your girlfriend to be based on her own experience, and not by your lovestruck and biased gushing. And you definitely knew Misa would at least be a little aloof and cautious, stemmed from her protectiveness over you, especially when meeting new people. But to have it go this way… you hadn’t expected it. You didn’t want to have to step into the role of mediator between your best friend and your girlfriend. The prospect of how this could further play out worried you.

As the game commenced, you kept muttering silent prayers, hoping that it had just been the adrenaline and rivalry that had fuelled the encounter between them. Like how you’d almost sent Magda plummeting to the ground during a corner kick just now and how you’d yelled at each other, but how you'd also know she would brush it off after the game with a smile.

She squared up to you, getting in your face, and as you felt Alexia’s and Irene’s hands tugging you away from the confrontation, your eyes flashed to those of Zećira who was tightly clutching the ball against her chest, watching it unfold in front of her. She seemed to say something to Magda in Swedish, something that made the woman retreat with a huff and a nasty look directed your way. Zećira's eyes didn't find yours again, and you hated it. You wanted her to look at you so you could try and read her eyes and confirm that your worries had been false, that your friend’s head had been in the game back in the tunnel, and that it had been the reason why her usual giddy smile hadn’t appeared.

You’d even glanced back towards Misa a couple of times during the rest of the game, only to see her so wrapped up in it, that you knew it was useless to try and find your answers while you were still playing.

At 95 minutes, the whistle sounded through the arena. Spain had won with one to nil, but just barely. Sweden had been a tough opponent today. They’d made you run in circles and try and lure you out, but you had stuck to the initial plan. The backline had been unwavering today, with Misa being the theoretical end boss waiting for them in the goal on the rare occasion they did pass through you all. The score could have been higher, had Zećira not been in the way the entire time. Granted, that was her job on the pitch, but still.

As you waved and clapped in gratefulness in response to the chants and cheers, your feet led you to the dreaded and inevitable moment that had filled you with worries for the past fifty minutes.

You met your girlfriend halfway as she’d already walked up to you and decided it was probably best to at least get rid of some of her adrenaline by signing stuff and chatting with fans. Then afterwards, you two could wind down in the locker room, freshen up, and hopefully the emotions would be dwindled enough so that Misa and Zećira could properly meet each other with rationality and a clear mind.

You kept glancing over to your girlfriend every now and then in between photos. You noticed how she always knew when to answer your glances. That, or maybe she'd been staring all along. But there seemed nothing off about her behaviour, or the look in her eyes, not right now at least.

With your hand on her lower back, you leaned in so that she could hear you over the noise, “I’m going back in to check with physio, you finish up.”

Misa glanced at your face over her shoulder. You saw the thought in her eyes before she could open her mouth, “I’ll be fine, mi cielita, it doesn’t hurt, it’s just precautionary.”

You knew there were eyes and phones on you, so you played it off friendly and disappeared off the field.

After getting the all-clear from physio, you walked to the locker room. It was quietly buzzing inside, everyone winding down in their own way. Some girls were chatting or sitting by themselves and scrolling through their phone, some were showering or listening to music and then… there were the gossips. Of course, it was all fun and games and only ever ended in fits of giggles. You had to admit that you often even enjoyed listening in or adding a comment or two of your own. All innocent amusement, of course.

You could hear them mutter amongst each other, but your ears perked the second you heard your girlfriend’s name enter their conversation.

“-at Misa? Did you see the way she was before the match?”

“With Jenni?”

“Yeah, but also before that?”

“Why?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look both so distraught and prickly at the same time.”

“It's Misa."

"Yeah but, did you really not see the pout on her face the entire time?”

“Uh, I’m sorry if I was busy making sure to warm up instead of diving headfirst into another injury.”

“You always miss out on these things-”

“-no, I don’t, because I have you three to keep me up to date, don’t I?”

“I’m pretty sure I know why she was like that though because when-”

You pretended to busy yourself by undressing, carefully placing your stuff in the cubby behind you. Their voices turned to a hushed whisper you could no longer hear from your side of the locker room, and when you looked up to see if they had perhaps stopped talking altogether, you saw four sets of eyes already on you.

They all quickly looked away, not realising you had caught their entire conversation, too. They went back to their whispers and glances but fell silent when Misa walked into the locker room.

Misa pulled her hair out of her bun, aimlessly threw her gloves in her cubby and forcefully started to tear the tape off her hands, not even wincing as it pulled at her flesh. You watched as they watched, Misa only adding substance to their gossiping with the moody frown on her face as she sat down, legs sticking out and head falling back against her locker. Her behaviour stuck out like a sore thumb after the match she had just played. There was no need to look this sullen after having stopped attempt after attempt from the Swedish side. They’d won. She hadn’t conceded a single goal, and it had not been out of lack of trying on the opposing side. It was obvious that something else was going on.

Their eyes flitted back to you, clearly seeing if you would act on it. It was as if Misa’s mind linked with theirs momentarily as her eyes found yours and she opened one of her arms, a silent request for you to keep her company.

“What’s wrong?” Alexia’s gentle voice wondered, stopping you in your tracks and making you readjust the straps of your sports bra to pretend you hadn’t just meant to walk over to Misa.

Misa looked up at her friend, shrugged, and kicked off her cleats.

“Well, that’s not reassuring,” Alexia sat down beside her, observing her quietly, “You’re being weird.”

Misa grumbled, “Weird how?”

“You haven’t said a word ever since leaving the locker room a few hours ago. And you’re brooding.” She added.

“I’m not-”

Alexia gave her a look, rose her eyebrows and signalled to Misa’s face, who immediately rubbed the frown off it and wiped the pout away.

You met Alexia’s eyes momentarily as your Capitana leaned in, whispering, “If you want to be lowkey about it… you’re doing an awful job so far, amiga.”

You felt their eyes on you and didn’t want to make things too obvious. So, you grabbed your toiletries and left for the showers, feeling one particular set of eyes burn in the back of your head as you walked away from her.

Misa walked in not long after, locking eyes with you as you rinsed the shampoo out of your hair. Her body moved behind the blurred glass panel between you.

“Misa?”

Her head popped around your panel before her name had so much rolled off your tongue, as if she had been desperately waiting for you to call out for her. You smiled and wiped the soapy foam across her eyebrows away before it could drip into her eyes.

You then leaned in, pinching her chin between thumb and finger to pull her closer, and planted a chaste kiss on her wet lips. Her hand immediately rested on the curve of your hip and she leaned in for another one. You felt her melt into it, deepening it, tongue colliding with yours in a sensual kiss. You both ignored how the risk was high that one of your teammates could walk in. You pulled back and snuck another quick kiss against her lips. You scrunched your nose, hand sliding to cup her cheek instead, “I really like you,” You winked playfully and gave her a soft slap against her cheek, then turned around to continue your shower routine.

Her eyes still watched as the water fell around you and onto your skin. The water pelting down, the steam and the smell of your lovely conditioner masking the entire room made the entire thing that more intoxicating.

“You’re waisting water, cielita.” You tutted.

She chuckled lowly at your tone before turning back to her shower.

Then, you heard knocking against the panel beside you and you watched as a heart appeared on the fogged panel. Next, an I and a U appeared on either sides of the heart. The adorable message immediately turned your insides to mush. With your relationship still fairly new, you were still in the giddy phase where lingering touches could make you blush. You were still discovering little things about her. Silly little things, like how it felt to have the weight of her hands on your hips and how that would make your heart beat faster, how the butterflies in your stomach would go insane when she looked at you in a way she hadn’t before, or when you learned something new that could make her smile. You hadn’t dared to tell her you loved her already, but with Misa continuing to make your heart do somersaults with gestures like these, you knew it was only a matter of time.

Patri and Claudia walked into the showers, sparing you only an acknowledging glance before doing their own thing. More teammates started to pile in after that.

You pulled a towel off the hook and wrapped it around you, cursing when you realised you hadn’t taken a smaller one with you for your hair, when a hand appeared, holding one out for you.

Misa.

“What about your hair?”

You heard the love in her voice as she chuckled, “I’ll be fine, it’s just water,”

“I have a spare one-” Salma offered you, but Misa appeared and pushed the towel against your chest, wanting you to accept hers.

You missed the way your teammates gave each other a look, or how they realised Misa had chosen the shower right next to yours when she’d had plenty of others to choose from before they had all walked in. They weren’t stupid. Some giggled, others playfully side-eyed each other or whispered something behind their hands.

“Wait- use one of my spare shirts then-” You pulled one out of your toiletry bag, “It’s microfibre.” You saw the puzzled look on Misa’s face as to why in the hell that would matter, “It’s better for your hair,” You merely shrugged, missing the soft smile she sent your way. Of course, you’d know such adorable things. It almost made her forget what she was trying to push to the back of her mind.

You sat in your assigned cubby, dressed in comfortable clothing and applying a fragrance when Misa walked towards her bag. She smiled cheekily before throwing on her clothes and motioning for you to come and sit with her— attempt number two. She opened her arms and slid down slightly, a clear invitation to sit on her lap. And so you did, arms wrapping around her neck as you watched her answer a quick text before her attention went back to you.

“What?”

You shook your head, “Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing when they say it's nothing,” She chuckled and you grinned along, liking how she finally seemed at ease again now that she had you in her arms.

“What’s this now? They?!”

She shrugged, waved a hand around, looking all smug, “Eh, you know.”

You played along, “I most certainly do not! Are there others?!”

She mumbled against your neck, inhaling the mixed scent of your body wash, shampoo and fragrance. Her voice was low, “Do you really want to know?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

Misa’s teeth softly dig into the flesh of your collarbone, biting down very slowly to ease you into the pleasurable pain. She muttered against your skin, “I could tell you?” She looked up at you, her hand massaging the flesh of your thigh, “Or I could show you how you’re the only one for me?”

Before your cheeks could flush at her hooded eyes, a knock sounded on the door of the locker room. Then again a few seconds later, when no one had replied. The girls who hadn’t already left for the bus or to chat with family and friends after the match, were either still showering or all huddled up in front of the mirrors. So, you quickly jumped up from Misa’s lap, ignoring how she slapped your butt as you did.

Your head popped outside as you opened the door, eyes immediately brightening as you saw a freshly showered and snug looking Zećira standing there, backpack in one hand, a packet of cookies in the other.

“Sorry, but we don't buy at the door.”

“No buying, I come bearing gifts,” She laughed, noticing how you glanced behind you. You didn’t want to open the door fully now that some of the girls were changing, in case some staff walked by and peered inside. “We’ll come right out-”

She nodded in salute and stepped to the side as you closed the door. Misa immediately knew what this meant and dread filled her all over again.

“Love, there’s someone I really want you to meet.” You started gently, a reassuring smile to match as you offered your hand to her. You saw the gears in her head turning as she bit her lip, she was far away in thought and worries. Misa snapped out of it when you wiggled your fingers in front of her, “Trust me. Come on, babe.”

She let you pull her up and you immediately pulled her against you and into an embrace.

“You’re both really important to me and I’d love for you to know one another.” You muttered into her damp hair, and she melted at the mellowness of it.

Misa nodded and patted your back, a quiet plea to be let go of. No matter how much she enjoyed having you in her arms, she needed to prepare herself. And she could not do such a thing if she kept hearing her heartbeat thud in her ears, something that was entirely your doing. If what was about to happen would be anything like the swift encounter she’d already had with your friend, well, she needed to toughen up.

With her hand in yours, you stepped out into the hallway. Zećira pushed herself off the wall when she heard the door open and her eyes immediately flitted to Misa’s, who looked like a shy toddler with her hand in yours. Misa was aware of that, so she immediately straightened her back, realising that it had been a pathetic attempt at wanting to seem as tall as the woman in front of her. She felt you start to swing your intertwined hands between you and, even if she loved you for it, she hated how it wounded her tough act right now. Misa felt embarrassed about how she seriously doubted your judgement skills if you had ever decided to befriend this tall and brooding Scandi.

Zećira’s eyes narrowed, trying to gage the woman you had fallen for, trying to sense if she had to scare the living hell out of her or not. Misa answered her intense look the same way she’d done in the tunnel— her head tilting and her lips tightly pressed together. She rose an eyebrow as the goalie in front of her stuck out her hand and looked down at her, daring her to shake her hand. Misa’s hand immediately fell into Zećira’s, accepting the challenge, both women squeezing so hard that their knuckles turned white.

“Good game,” Zećira nodded, like the good sport she was.

“Good game,” Misa repeated, feeling pathetic how her brain hadn’t been able to come up with something better on the spot.

“I’m Zećira,” Your friend smiled a tightlipped smile, squeezing Misa’s hand even tighter.

“Oh, I’ve heard,” Misa rose an eyebrow, having to fight the urge to look at her with disdain, “Misa.”

Your girlfriend immediately wound her arm around you the second she let go of the handshake, making it known that the two of them were only shaking hands because she was your girlfriend.

It was then when you realised why Misa had been so quiet all along... acting so off. She was jealous. You looked at her in another light then, noticed the tension in her face, the fire in her eyes. Your heartbeat quickened at the realisation that she had to like you a lot in order for her to grow this jealous. It worked you up, you shamefully admitted. If only she knew she didn't need to worry for even a second that you wouldn't be hers. You took the slightest step closer against Misa, hoping it would make it clear to her that you longed to be around her, no matter how much you loved your friend.

You felt dizzy the way your eyes had followed the two women and their display of dominance, like a damn tennis match. They stared at each other for an agonising beat, and you were about to get into your role as mediator when Zećira suddenly let out a chuckle. A genuine one, not a sarcastic or hostile one. She started grinning then, and her twinkling eyes of amusement took in the incredulous questioning look on your face.

“I almost had you there, didn’t I?” She directed at Misa, who looked just as taken back. Then she turned to you, "She didn't falter for even one second, I like her!"

Zećira continued, as if she hadn't just given the women in front of her major whiplash, “Well, I didn’t bring enough cookies for three… especially not with her appetite, but we’ll divide equally." She pried open the container, "We just have to keep an eye on that one so she won't eat the entire thing herself,” She smiled at your girlfriend as if she’d known her for weeks already, and you shook your head, snapping out of it.

You cleared your throat, feeling yourself relax again now that you realised Zeći's demeanour had been an act to see how Misa would react, “How generous of you. Do I have to get Johanna test these for me or can I trust that you haven’t put salt instead of sugar in them just to spite me?”

Zećira’s laugh echoed across the walls, remembering that one time she had done that. On accident though, even if she still didn't have you entirely convinced. She shook the box with cookies, knowing you would want to dive in right away. Then, she turned to Misa, “I promise they’re really good. They’re... caramelly… don’t you guys like that? Dulce... something-something?”

“Dulce de leche?” You wondered, watching as your friend snapped her fingers in eureka, “How stereotypical of you. And that’s originally South-American, idiot.”

“Hey, I’m trying!”

She was right, you had to give it to her. Which reminded you…

You quickly nudged Misa, who cleared her throat and grabbed a cookie, muttering a silent thank you. She had quietly watched the entire encounter turn a 180, and she was still trying to wrap her head around it all. She continued to stare at Zećira before finally looking at you, feeling the way you immediately clung to her as soon as you could. Then she looked back toward Zećira. There were zero signs of malice, resentment, bitterness or jealousy in the now kind eyes of your friend as she watched the two of you all loved up. The entire turn of events had alienated Misa and made her think that it was simply an act Zećira was upholding for your sake, but Misa saw the sincerity in which the Swede carried herself around you two as she ushered you to the seats in the hallway.

Your girlfriend grinned bashfully when you planted a kiss on her lips before grabbing a cookie of your own, diving in right after. You groaned at the taste, having missed her Kafferep surprises.

“No salt,” Misa put her thumb up after taking a bite, finally loosening up when she realised the coast was clear and that the threat she thought she had to deal with had passed. Or better yet, hadn't been there to begin with.

You grinned up at your girlfriend, happy how she was starting to warm up to your friend and joining in on the banter. You knew she had the best dry banter anyway, it was part of her charm and how she’d captured your attention.

You attentively brushed some crumbs from Misa’s t-shirt, hand falling to hers right after. Zećira’s expression softened as she watched the ease and comfort of which you acted around each other, “So, you’re the lucky one who’s finally got her wrapped around someone's finger, huh?”

Misa turned to you, face finally breaking out into a wide grin. She hated how she had doubted your relationship for even a second, but she wholly blamed it on the fact that it was just so good, that it simply seemed too good to be true. But it wasn't. Life could be harsh, but sometimes, it could give you the most wonderful presents at the most random moments.

She realised it then as she looked right into your eyes, "I am the lucky one, indeed.”

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

songs:

she calls me daddy - king mala

kiss or kill - stela cole

the less i know the better - tame impala

people i don't like - upsahl

#misa rodriguez x reader #woso x reader #zecira musovic x reader #woso imagine

347 notes · View notes

reysdriver · 6 months

Text

Exit Stage Right | R.L

You and your daughter miss Remus while he's performing for a stadium of fans, so much that you have to see him before the concert is over — dad!rockstar!remus x mom!reader fluff

warnings: a little angsty if you squint rlly hard, but nothing else

words: 2.4k

a/n: I promised rockstar!remus a while ago, but I've been to 2 concerts in the last 2 weeks, which just so happens to be finals season, so I've been simultaneously busy as hell and itching to write this. I hope you like how it turned out!

Your daughter Olive was no stranger to loud noises.

Remus had a room to practise drumming in your house, it’s normal to encounter a chaotic mess of fans and paparazzi when you left the house as a family, and she just about had the loudest uncles in the world. Though you tried to limit the amount of noise she took in, Olive’s little ears had definitely adapted to her hectic little life.

But all that noise in her daily life was no match for a rock concert in a sold-out stadium. Those decibel levels would for sure be far too high for her little ears to handle.

It wasn’t as easy of a decision on what you should do with her tonight, though. You were getting cabin fever with all the identical hotel rooms you’ve been living in while The Marauders were on their tour, and you suspected Olive was in the same boat.

So, you decided to go back to the old days when the band first started going on long tours, when you would stay in the dressing room for the length of the performance. You and Remus figured it would be soundproof enough backstage, but you still insisted on pulling out the baby headphones you had bought just in case before she was even born. You were only planning on using them if it got especially loud backstage, yet you tried them on anyway.

They were massive on her, but they kept her safe and happy. Plus, she was pretty damn adorable with them on—not that she wasn’t all the time, but definitely cuter than normal with those giant headphones.

Waiting for the show to start, Remus bounced Olive on his lap while you watched the rest of the guys run through their current individual pre-show rituals.

It had been quite a while since you’ve been backstage with the band right before a show, and you honestly forgot how entertaining it was.

James was trying to solve the same Rubik’s cube he’s been working on for years to warm up his fingers, Peter was doing the daily crossword in the local newspaper, and Sirius was trying to multitask by doing his vocal warmups and his makeup at the same time.

It was really a terrible combination of tasks, as Sirius kept on messing up his eyeliner and then trying to suppress his favourite swear words for your daughter’s sake.

You wanted to tell him off, but it was really too fun to watch for you to intervene.

A minute or so after Sirius finally finished his look, the boys’ manager knocked on the dressing room door and reminded them that they have to go on stage soon.

Remus thanked him, and the guys all started getting ready to go. He kept Olive in his arms for as long as he could, until it was just the three of you in the room after everyone was already headed to the stage.

When he finally had to let her go, Remus made sure he gave you both a proper goodbye.

“I’ll be back soon. Just over 2 hours, then we can all go home.” He kissed you softly, but deeply. He always does this as a way of saying goodbye, kissing you like he might never do it again, but he doesn’t want you to think about it.

When his lips left yours and he slouched down to blow a raspberry on Olive’s tummy, you sighed quietly. “A hotel, not home.”

He looked at you sympathetically as he collected his drumsticks from the table beside you and stored them in his back pocket for the time being.

“Isn’t home anywhere where we’re all together?” He said, trying to lift your spirits. “But we’ll be home home soon enough. And I won’t be on tour again for a while, and we can be all together as much as we want.”

That did make you feel better. Even though you loved that Remus was living his dream with his best friends and giving you and Olive a great life, it did get stressful from time to time.

Privacy violations by paparazzi and media outlets, insecurity that sometimes got the best of you on both sides of the relationship, and of course, The Marauders going on world tours that were fun, but still somewhat torture. They made it so you had to choose between leaving home for months, or being away from Remus—not that there was any difference between those two.

You didn’t want to get emotional right when Remus had to go perform, so you smiled and reminded him that it was time for you to part ways for the evening.

“They’re waiting for you out there.”

A grin graced your husband’s face. “They can wait a little longer.”

“They paid to see you.” You reminded him.

“And I'll personally refund all of them if I don't go out.”

“Then we'll be out of money, and we'll both have to get new jobs and we'll never have any time with just the three of us.”

Remus pretended to think over your point for a second. “You’re right. I guess I have to go out and perform, then.”

“Put on a good show, honey. We'll see you soon.”

While saying goodbye to him, you raised Olive’s arm so you could wave at Remus for her as he walked out of the dressing room. Her face was already forming a pout when she watched her dad leave to go do his job, but you wouldn’t let that morph into anything more.

You turned her around so you could both look at each other, then you pressed a kiss to her chubby cheek.

“None of that, sweetheart. We’ll see him again in no time.”

Laying her down beside you on the couch, you reach down into the baby bag you never go anywhere without and pick out some of her favourite toys from their specific pocket; hopefully those will keep her distracted and happy.

◆◇◆◇◆

The toys didn’t work as well as you thought they would. They kept Olive busy for about an hour, but she seemed to snap out of her happy baby daze out of nowhere.

She started crying and nothing was working to calm her down. She wasn’t hungry, she didn’t need to be changed, and nothing you had brought for this very reason was working.

You knew the only thing that could quell her upset was outside and on the stage, playing drums for a stadium of fans. But even though she and Remus both wished they could spend all hours of the day together, you just didn’t know how that could work.

And then you remembered the headphones.

The sound backstage hadn’t been that loud at all while The Marauders were playing, so you honestly hadn’t thought about them since you and Remus packed them before you left the hotel.

But this could work. You could use them to help both you and Olive right now. So that’s what you did.

You dug through your bag and pulled the noise-cancelling headphones from the bottom of the bag, where they had sat untouched for the longest time. After picking them up with a tiny ‘aha’, you smiled at your daughter and told her that she would soon be seeing her dad.

She had calmed down somewhat due to the mere mention of Remus, but she was still wailing in your arms. You bounced her lightly while you walked down the halls of the stadium.

“It’s okay, honey.” You cooed at Olive, despite the fact that she couldn’t hear a thing. “You’re gonna tire yourself out and fall asleep before you even get to see Daddy. We don’t want that, do we?”

Although, maybe her crying herself to sleep wouldn’t be so bad.

It still wasn’t an option in your mind. Your daughter wanted to see her dad, so over to Remus you’ll go.

Once you got to the stage door, a burly security guard gave you a questioning look. You supposed he wasn’t used to a woman and a baby wanting to go into the wings during a rock concert. But he was just there to do his job, not judge, so he let you through when you showed him your ID.

You kept checking Olive’s face to see her expressions and gauge if everything was too loud for her. Her look didn’t deviate from the bothered expression her face took on when you started walking with her, so you assumed the headphones were cancelling out the noise, just as they were made for.

Nobody who was working backstage seemed to mind you being there, so you found an extra stool in a dark corner and pulled it so you could sit and watch the band.

Based just on how Olive was moving in your arms, you knew she had spotted her dad behind the cymbals he was smashing across the stage. Pointing towards Remus, you whispered to her again even though she couldn’t hear you. “Look! Who’s that? Who’s over there?”

She seemed to be cheered up enough just from seeing Remus, so your hypothesis was proven correct. Things were shaping up to be a good night.

You swayed and headbanged—as lightly as possible—since just because Olive couldn’t enjoy the loud music doesn’t mean you had to ignore it too.

The current song ended, and James was talking to the crowd while Sirius drank some much-needed water after all that singing. While taking a swig, the two familiar faces in the wings of the stage caught his eye, and he just had to share what he was seeing with the drummer.

He practically skipped over to Remus, who was also catching his breath from performing and pointed you out. Your husband’s eyes scanned the area until he found you, and his face immediately broke out into a smile—and so did your daughter’s.

Back in the dressing room, you were hesitant if you should leave at all or if you should just wait out Olive’s tantrum, but the matching looks on your husband and daughter’s faces right now was proof that you made the right decision.

Olive made grabby hands towards her dad across the stage, and Remus waved right back and blew a kiss in your direction. You weren’t quite sure if it was aimed at you or your little girl, but it made you blush either way.

He pointed to the setlist taped to the ground beside him and hid his hand behind his bass drum so the audience wouldn’t see his gesture; he held up three fingers to let you know there would be three more songs until he could get up and give you two his full attention. You knew they would most definitely be doing an encore after they finished, but at least they could all have a small break after the main show.

You nodded to show him you understood, but his attention was already grabbed back by James giving him the sign that it was time to get back into the music. Not even taking more than a second to prepare, Remus was back in the groove and started playing the next song on the list, effortlessly and perfectly.

The last few songs of the main set were some of your favourites from the band’s discography, but you had to admit that you couldn’t enjoy them as much as you usually would.

It was mainly because you were somewhat scared of an impending mood swing out of your daughter now that her father’s attention had left her, but also because these three songs were standing in between you and your husband like a brick wall right now. You just had to remind yourself that once they hit that last note and said their goodbyes to the crowd, that wall would be temporarily smashed once more.

But now, they were at the end of the concert. The crowd was cheering like they just had the best night of their lives—you don’t doubt that they did—and Remus was throwing his sticks into the sea of hands desperate for a morsel of The Marauders.

His rockstar persona was dropped the second those drumsticks left his hands, and he was rushing to the wings to be with you and Olive, a wide smile strung across his cheeks.

He pulled you two out into the hall so the crowd’s noise could be in the background. He knew they would be cheering for an encore in a minute; as much as he loved that sound, he would rather hear you.

“She was getting pretty fussy and I knew you were the only thing that would calm her down.” You explained to Remus before he could even ask.

You were afraid he would be upset with you bringing her outside of the dressing room, but he didn’t seem fazed at all. He gently took Olive from your arms and cooed over her.

“You missed me so much you dragged your mum out here so you could see me, huh?” Remus asked her. “You know I missed you too, princess. Both of you.”

“Yeah? Maybe you should get the guys to shorten the setlist so you aren’t away from us for too long, then.”

He didn’t respond, but you know that he had brought up the idea of shorter tours to the others now that he and James were both fathers.

You watched lovingly as Remus kept moving Olive’s hand away from the glitter on his face that she was so desirous to touch. You wished you all could stay in this moment forever, but the audience’s chants for an encore were getting louder and louder and you knew the scene in front of you couldn’t last much longer.

Right on schedule, James strutted up and tapped Remus on the shoulder with a brand new pair of drumsticks.

“We’ve gotta go back out there, mate. Time to part ways with your girls once again.”

Remus wouldn’t put up a fight. He handed Olive back to you and blew one more kiss at you two as a goodbye.

The doors opened and a cacophony of fan cheers hit your ears. It was a lot, but it just reminded you that all those people were waiting for your husband, so you could wait a few more minutes.

Just two final songs, then you could all go home.

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tenmissedcalls · 1 year

Text

What a Shame

So you’re just friends. Only friends. And you’ve spent months convincing yourself you’re okay with that. (min ho x reader)

wc: 1.4k~

an: so i really didn’t think i would get this invested in this show... but here we are. this is a warmup for a longer fic i might end up posting. enjoy!

You’re starting to regret agreeing to come to this party.

The music is loud, bass pumping in your veins while you down your third mocktail of the evening. You’ve been camped out by the bar this entire evening, and you’re pretty sure the bartender is starting to feel bad for you. But Kitty and Q are nowhere to be seen, and your nerves get the better of you every time you consider joining the crowds on the dance floor.

It doesn’t help that you’re increasingly insecure about getting all dressed up just to sit in the corner all night. Q had absolutely gushed over your outfit when you arrived, but suddenly it feels tight in all the wrong places and it hadn’t even been worth it, not when the guy you’d been hoping to notice you has barely looked your way all evening.

But he certainly noticed Kitty, you think, trying to quell the bitter feelings roiling in your stomach. Not that you blame him. She looks incredible, really, and you’re more than happy for her that she’s starting to move on. You’ve never thought of yourself as the jealous type. It just has your mind turning over itself anxiously and you wave down the bartender for another mocktail to bury your feelings in.

This really isn’t your scene. You’re starting to consider taking the walk back to your dorm, given your curfew has already come and gone. You’re sure your friends wouldn’t mind, wherever they are. So you slide off the bar stool, legs stiff from sitting still for so long, when suddenly a hand grabs yours and you’re pulled face-to-face with a clearly intoxicated Kitty.

“How many drinks have you had?” you ask her, voice raised over the noise. Your mouth pulls itself into a frown when you smell the alcohol on your breath, and you do your best to steer her over to a chair.

“Only… thirteen?” she begins, and the evident panic on your face has her own eyes widening. “No! Thirteen sips, not drinks. Thirteen sips,” she clarifies, and you heave a sigh in relief. You’re not even sure where she’s getting the alcohol from, but you’re sure more than enough students have smuggled in flasks of vodka.

“Are you having fun?” she shouts, louder than she has to, and now your expression is turning back into a frown. It’s not that you’re not trying - you’ve been to more than a few parties, and they’re usually enjoyable enough. But tonight is different, for reasons you can’t really put a finger on.

Kitty notices immediately, even though she’s clearly verging on more than tipsy at this point. Her eyes narrow, and you try to backtrack as quickly as you can by forcing a smile onto your face.

“No! Yes. Yes, I’m having fun,” you blurt out, even though you’re starting to get a headache and the lights on the dance floor suddenly seem far too bright.

Kitty shakes her head. “Don’t lie to me,” she pouts, and you suppress your laughter. “I know how to make you feel better- go find Min Ho,” she says, oblivious to the effect his name has on you.

Suddenly, you’re frozen. Right - he’s the reason you even came to this party in the first place (not that you want to admit it). It’s a strange dichotomy, the way he has you on edge and yet you’ve never felt more at ease than when you’re with him. And almost like it’s fate, you look up and there he is in the crowds.

He looks… good. Far too good. It’s unfair, really, the way he seems to glow in the lights. It’s effortless for him, the way his confidence spills over itself on the dance floor. You think you could lose yourself forever in the cut of his jawline and the spread of his shoulders. You don’t even like the color of the suit he’s wearing and yet he’s pulling it off in a way that makes you weak in the knees. You find yourself wishing for some of the alcohol that Kitty’s been drinking, because your nerves have your stomach twisting itself into knots.

“What do you mean?” you ask Kitty, voice wavering. She rolls her eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is - you feel like you’ve never been vulnerable than when you look at him.

“You like him, don’t you? Go dance with him,” she says like she’s stating something as undeniable as the fact that the sky is blue. You stare at her, bewildered, for long enough that she physically grabs you and pushes you gently toward the dance floor. You don’t even dance, you think distantly to yourself.

You forget that Kitty has this innate ability to pick up on people’s feelings - not that you’re willing to believe have any for him. Yes, he’s so pretty it makes your chest hurt. Yes, you’ve found yourself laughing at his stupid jokes in chemistry class more than you’d like to admit. Yes, you think that underneath his layers and layers of charm and charisma and defensiveness, he’s sweet and funny and smarter than he gives himself credit for. Yes, maybe you’d like to think that between the lingering glances and the lingering touches and the way he smiles at you, he’s caught feelings too. But you also know he’s not the type for commitment, and you’ve entrenched yourself firmly in the friend zone before he can hurt you. You can’t help but compare yourself to all the others falling over themselves for his attention, either.

So you’re just friends. Only friends. And you’ve spent months convincing yourself you’re okay with that.

And then you’re there, pulled into the mass of people dancing. Whatever song is playing is the kind that’ll be stuck in your head for the next week, and when you suck in a breath it tastes like teenage mistakes and rose-tinted memories. It’s almost overwhelming, and you lose sight of him immediately, until-

“You’re here!”

His hand is on your elbow as he pulls you through the crowd, and the physical contact feels like pure electricity running through your nerves. His mouth curls into a smile at the sight of you, and it’s like it’s just the two of you on the dance floor all of the sudden. You don’t know whether you love or hate the fact that he has this effect on you.

“I couldn’t miss the best party of the year, could I?” you tell him, tilting your head up to look at him.

Oh.

It’s like he’s drinking in the sight of you, eyes dragging up and down your face and lingering far too long on your lips. You wonder how embarrassing it would be if your legs gave out right now.

“You… haven’t had anything to drink, have you?” you ask, voice strained, even though you know he would never, especially at his own party. He laughs.

“Of course not. Why do you ask?” he replies, leaning down ever so slightly, and the sudden eye contact has you flustered beyond belief. “What’s got you so shy all of a sudden? Is it me? I have that effect on people.”

“No! Of course not-” you sputter, although you’re sure he can see right through you. Normally you’d laugh his cockiness off, but something about being in such close proximity to him has your thoughts scrambled. Your mind races to think of an excuse for your jitteriness. “I just - we’re trying to help Kitty have her first kiss, and -”

You slap a hand over your mouth. Bad excuse, you chide yourself mentally. You’re sure Min Ho doesn’t want to hear about it, especially since he’s firmly siding with Dae over the whole issue, and something about the phrase first kiss has you feeling almost nauseous.

“Oh, a first kiss. You too?” Min Ho asks teasingly.

“No, I’m just…” you trail off. The truth is you don’t really know why you’re here, when you really think about it. Yes, Kitty had convinced you to come by mentioning that the party was being thrown by Min Ho. But now that you’re here, you’re more than painfully aware of your feelings for him, and you’re at a loss as to how to deal with them. And now you’re thinking about it - kissing him.

You turn your head back towards him, eyes sticking to the dip of his throat disappearing into his collar.

“What a shame,” he whispers, hand still lingering on your arm and you swear you see stars when he leans in closer. Your hand instinctively reaches up to hold onto his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Come find me if you change your mind.”

And then he’s slipping back into the party with a wink, leaving you completely and utterly breathless.

#xo kitty x reader #min ho x reader #KINDA NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS...#pls im so embarrassed abt the effect this show has had on me /lh #i see all of u asking for min ho content tho. so i am here to hopefully provide #(BTW THIS IS A SELF SHIP BLOG DONT FOLLOW ME FOR FICS)#all my moots pls look away /lh #🎐 my writing

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suempu · 5 months

Text

tw: nonconsensual kissing. graphic wording.

"you look lonely."

ivan sighs while you situate yourself on the sofa beside him. his room is pitch dark, save for the light from the tv broadcast.

mindless advertisements and commercials mix and buzz into the air, creating a fog of background noise. and you wonder whose poor soul is getting killed on that stage at this very moment.

you spread your arm and dramatically bring him into a side hug. "nothing a bit of booze won't fix. ha ha ha!!" exclaiming with the vigor of an alcoholic, ivan can only groan in frustration.

"i'm not getting wasted with you." his eyes look worn down, mouth wrinkling into a frown as he tries to hide the agony behind a stone cold face.

a part of him is comforted by your presence, a sense of normality washes over him. as if you two were still children playing across the fake fields and staring at the equally as fake sky, laughing as you tackled each other to the ground and picked flowers.

"too late, i brought the good shit." you snicker as you bring out weird looking bottles. you're not exactly sure how safe these are for humans but the aliens seem to love it so, who cares? "this was hard to steal by the way, i got it from those private rooms."

ivan stares at you for a moment and eventually rests his head on your shoulder. he looks at you, cold ice wall melting down and you're met with the sight of absolute pain and distress on his pretty face when he sighs.

"why does it have to feel like this?" he whispers, voice cracking from the amount of vocal training and warmups he's been forced to endure that day.

you take a deep breath and open a bottle, careful with your movements as his heavy head rested on your arm. "what? wanna runaway? you know i wouldn't hesitate if you asked." chuckling as you tried reading the labels.

ivan knows though. you're the closest thing he's got to a friend. you'd do anything for him and with him. and of course he'd do the same but... you're not the person he holds nearest to his heart.

"it's funny," he watches as you sniff the alcoholic aroma before taking a sip. "no matter how much they make us do these—things, no matter how much it hurts... why is this thing in my chest more painful?"

your face falls blank, glaring at the bottle before taking a big chug. you hope it'll get rid of your own pain, wash away all the emotions and feelings of him.

and its funny. because what kind of weird fucking love hexagon is this?

you despise till.

you wish you could tear his bones out and wear his skin, take out his tongue and say all the things ivan has always wanted to hear and keep his heart for your own.

"i wish i knew the answer to that."

looking down at him and seeing his exhausted face, makes your heart break. you want to gather yours and his shattered pieces and construct a deformed statue of love and just hope it'll be enough for him. enough to replace the burning loneliness he's been forced to go through.

but no. even if he were to love you, it'd take a million years to pass, thousands of stars to die, and hundreds of planets to explode until then.

you bump your forehead into his and watch as his eyes widen. smirking to yourself, you think, what more could i lose?

"let's be lonely together then. just this once."

you whisper before kissing him.

#alien stage #ivan x reader #alien stage x reader #x reader

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vncannyvalleygrrl · 3 months

Note

If you are still writing Smiling Friends stuff, can you please add your general/dating/nsfw headcanons for Allan Red? Thank you in advance!

sorry this was posted a bit late! but of course dear anon <3

Allan Red Headcanons

includes general, dating, and nsfw headcanons (mdni)

General

Has a Masters degree in engineering. He decided to work at Smiling Friends just as a way to make easy money during college, but he decided to make it his full time career after graduating. Mostly keeps track of stock and buying supplies, but he occasionally does smiling jobs when told to.

His brain is like a calculator, ask him any super hard math question and he will answer it in seconds. Charlie has done this several times to annoy him during slow days.

Has nerve damage from being crucified :(

Allan is very particular about cleanliness. His apartment is spotless and his hygiene is impeccable.

He has a few sensory issues. He hates things like the texture of certain foods, certain scents, and loud noises.

He is never late to anything, ever. Even if it's storming outside and 15 cars have crashed into each other, he will still arrive at work right on time. He isn't really sure how he does it either.

Isn't very good with some social cues. Struggles with other's personal space, having attitude, and emotions.

He has the worst back problems.

HatehateHATES the smell of alcohol and cigarettes. He was raised around smokers and drinkers, quickly growing to hate how the smells burnt his sensitive nose.

Allan is a huge history buff, especially regarding ancient human and critter civilizations. Originally wanted to be a historian, but he wanted to broaden his intellect.

Has once read the entire dictionary, front to back, because he was bored.

It's very hard for him to apologize for anything.

Dating Him

It'll take Allan awhile to come to terms with his crush. Sure, he has one-night-stands all the time, sexing up random women and men alike for the fun of it. He knows he's hot and can get away with it. But dating? This is new territory.

Before you started dating him, it was very apparent that something was up with him. His shoulders were tensed, talking with his jaw tight, you had never seen this much emotion from Allan before (even if it was discomfort.)

You're not sure how it happened, but one day he admitted his feelings to you. You could barely hear his confession because his teeth were clenched but he seemed to feel a lot better once it was over with.

Kind of iffy about physical intimacy. He's ok with hugs and simple hand holding, but he takes awhile to warm up to the idea of cuddling. When he eventually does though, his long, lanky limbs are wrapped around your legs, arms, anything he can get a hold on. Theres a 70% chance he will fall asleep on you.

He's good at baking pastries! His favorite thing to bake is anything sweet like cakes and brownies. Allan has a bit of a sweet-tooth, though he enjoys trying new foods in general despite having texture issues. If you know any cool recipes, especially from your own culture, he will gladly try anything you make.

In general, you just need to be patient with Allan if you plan on dating him. He's not used to committing to commitment.

Isn't the best with verbal communication, so he leaves notes around your house/apartment to remind you that he loves you.

Remembers every anniversary or special event for you.

Lowkey possessive. He won't go up to others and confront them if he sees them looking at you (he will if they're being an asshole about it), but he gives them the most wicked, obvious side-eye. Puts an arm around you for good measure.

🚨 NSFW 🚨

While he isn't used to dating, he is very familiar with sex. To him, dating is very confusing, bedding someone isn't.

If you don't know each other, he seems like the perfect lover. Starts off with warmup, dirty talk, teasing, the whole 9-yards. By the end of the warmup (which can last up to 20 minutes), you're practically frothing at the mouth to be screwed.

If you two are dating though, it's a different story. Make out sessions and actual sex don't happen until much later in the relationship, but it is worth the wait.

He follows your pace instead of his own, going as fast or slow as you need. He's much more concerned about your own pleasure than his when he actually cares about you.

Please ride his face. RIDE HIS FACE. Use his nose to hold onto him, his head to clench between your knees, he does not care.

Knows how to use his hands. His abnormally long fingers aren't just useful for grasping his beloved cheese.

Allan's voice is much more hoarse when he's thrusting himself into you. Enjoys being close and personal with your face when he's inside of you, it gives him the opportunity to kiss you or groan into your ear.

There's not much aftercare if it's just a one-night-stand, simply letting you do your own thing after he's came.

But if you're dating? You might as well be a royal. Need water? A shower? Just want some cuddles? He follows your every word. He's trying his best to show he cares without actually saying it.

Shower sex. SHOWER SEX.

#smiling friends headcanons #allan red #alan red #allan red x reader #alan red x reader #smiling friends x reader

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dreaming-of-lu · 2 months

Text

Dizzy With Love

Hihi!! Some of you may be familiar with my writing already over on the other blog, but if you're not, hello! I am The Wizard and I am finally writing stuff for here too :3 Expect a lot of whump and hurt/comfort, as that’s what I like to write the most (who doesn't love tenderly caring for each other?), and perhaps some stuff going into disability and gender if I feel like it/others are interested. This one was mostly just a little warmup, some Twilight fretting over an injured reader. Hope you enjoy!

- Wizard anon

Content: Twilight focus, concussed reader (gn), committed relationship. Wordcount: 565

----

“Hey there, darlin’,” you hear from above you.

Your head pounds something awful; everything spinning without you even opening your eyes. The light is too bright against your closed eyelids, and you can feel each individual item of clothing on your skin. There’s something else, too, that you can’t quite grab on to yet in the daze of semi-consciousness – are you even conscious? Everything feels fuzzy, faraway, like your head is filled with cloth. But you must've made some sort of noise, because whoever’s voice that is expects you to reply.

You try. All you manage is a groan.

“Shh, shhh, I got you. Up you come, now.”

The entire world lurches, head crashing into pain as you're propped up against something soft. You reach out towards it blindly, gripping tightly the soft fur you find. Fur?

“Hyrule’s just headin’ over here now, it’ll be all better soon,” Twilight murmurs, pulling you closer. You now recognise the pelt underneath your hand, and the warmth and softness of the body you are leant against. You let yourself slump, riding out the dizziness in the safety of Twilight’s embrace, face tucked into his chest. When there’s sounds of movement closing in you press your cheek further against him defiantly.

“He needs to take a look at you, darlin’.” Twilight rubs his hand up your arm soothingly. A whine exits your throat.

“Just a head injury?” Hyrule’s voice now, trying to keep soft but still too loud and too grating and too much.

Twilight keeps rubbing your arm as he replies, “And some stubbornness,” with a chuckle, and despite its similar grate, the rumble of it against you settles something deep inside. A soothing that spreads to your head when the familiar feeling of Hyrule’s magic washes over you.

Finally opening your eyes, you look up at Twilight and Hyrule blearily.

“...Thank you.”

Hyrule just smiles back, before he’s being called over to elsewhere, and leaves you and Twilight to your embrace.

“You’re okay now…?” Twilight’s grip tightens, and his gaze down at you is a complicated mix of anger and fondness and worry. Brows knitted, frown tugging at his lips, relief clear in his eyes.

It is in this moment, that you remember the hit you took was meant for him.

…Whoops.

He presses your face back into his chest, arms squeezing around your back like he’s terrified to let go.

“Do not do that again. You scared me.” He almost whispers that second part, afraid to admit it, and you snake your arms up until one hand is rubbing his back while the other is tangled in his hair.

“I’m sorry.” You say it mostly as a formality, a soothing of his nerves. You’d do it again in a heartbeat. And you know if the roles were reversed, he’d do and say the same. You’re both silly like that.

“I don't need you to put yourself in danger because of me,” he stresses.

“I know.” You do, you know he’s strong, and capable, and good at what he does, but—

“Then why on earth did you do that?”

“Because I love you, Link.” Why wouldn't you want to protect him anyway?

Twilight looks down at you, frown still pulling at his lips, searching your face for something you cannot decipher. Then, he’s sighing and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too.”

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

🧙anon, respectively, as always, i am eating your writing up. I am so soft, you don't understand.

#submission #wizard anon writing #linked universe x reader #link x reader #lu twilight x reader

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mariahcarreyyy · 6 months

Note

congratulations on 2k 💙

📝 + charles leclerc x fem!reader + one where she recently joins motogp and he supports her all the time? fluff please, tysm! 🫶🏻🤞🏻

# 📝 send a prompt and a driver for me to write a short blurb or scenerio !

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

To say you were nervous would be an understatement.

You had a few tells that were noticed by Charles in quick succession: bouncing your leg, standing up and pacing, picking at your fingernails, religiously repeating the warmups your physio had suggested prior.

"Mon amour, please sit down," Charles laments, his eyes darting back and forth from his place on your couch. "I'm getting nervous looking at you, and I don't even have a race this weekend."

But another race weekend for Charles doesn't compare to this, and all he says now only brings you a slight sense of false security. First race, first female rider, and your only chance to prove yourself to—well, to everyone.

Ignoring Charles' pleas only made you feel a bit guilty; instead, you occupied yourself with stretching and easing the knots in your shoulders. Fool-proof plan. Except for the fact that Charles has never taken 'no' for an answer a day in his life.

He stands up with an exhaled huff, grabbing your shoulders in the middle of your motorhome. "Stop it. There's no reason for you to be doing this."

"Did somebody hit you in the head? I have a race in, like, ten minutes, Charlie."

"Yes, and?"

The idiocracy from Ferrari must've seeped into his brain, but his lips parted again before you could reply.

"They wouldn't have picked you if they thought you were a bad rider," Charles murmurs, sliding a soft hand to cup your cheek. "Relax. Please."

You sigh, leaning into his touch and slightly rubbing your cheekbones against it. Meeting his eyes, you have to refrain from directly looking away; he looks at you so fondly that you consider ditching the race altogether and cuddling up to him instead.

A soft noise of agreement slips past your throat again. "Okay," you bite your lip when Charles grasps your wrist and leads you to the couch.

He presses a kiss on your temple, and for a moment, the worries abandon your thoughts.

authors note. i was a bit stuck on an idea for this but yeahhh im back to writingg (hopefully)

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possamble · 5 months

Text

farcille postcanon characterization warmup that got way out of hand. beware, here be spoilers, dragoncock, and bottoming as an extreme sport.

~~~

Marcille has always loved Falin’s voice. Soft, high, airy and girlish—it was always as gentle as the rest of her, even in the midst of pitched combat. When things went to hell in a handbasket, it was always Falin’s whispery incantations that kept Marcille grounded as blood and monster guts sailed through the air.

And that hasn’t changed. No amount of dragon could really change that, Marcille thinks. Yes, she she has moments when her voice becomes rough and ragged and guttural, mostly when she’s swinging her mace or her fists, or gritting her teeth through a monster claw stuck into her side. But maybe that urge to growl was always there, and she’s just finally able to voice it now. Marcille finds that she’s loud at times she would have been silent before—grunting with exertion when she would have grimaced quietly, singing some nonsense melody over a mundane task when she would have hummed it under her breath—and that’s a good thing.

But otherwise, nothing has changed. Falin’s voice is as delicate as ever, chiming in a lilting giggle behind a dainty gesture of her hand. Rustling like pages of well-loved books as she casts her protective wards, or ponders over how to cook a new monster, or murmurs right into Marcille’s ear while she…

Well. While she’s got Marcille bent over her own desk with her nightgown pooled at her ankles. Marcille’s not sure if it’s rude or considerate that she didn’t get a chance to dress herself before she had a girthy cock shoved up her cunt first thing in the morning.

“Marcille,” Falin whispers, unfairly shaky as if she’s the one getting fucked within an inch of her life. She’s mouthing at Marcille’s neck, draped over her and pressing as close as possible in every way, gripping Marcille’s hands tight and keening like she’s found heaven between her legs. “Marcille, Marcille…”

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that she gets to do that, that she gets to sound like that—with that sweet voice she’s always had, now making obscene little noises that are still whispery fine and almost ethereal coming from her mouth. These quiet, barely voiced sighs that puff against Marcille’s ear, the dulcet moans that thrum against her skin, and that demure little gasp when she thrusts a little harder and somehow finds even more space inside Marcille to bottom out in—

“Marcille…” she whimpers like she’s in pain, on the verge of tears, fingers tight between Marcille’s as they grip the edge of the rattling desk together. “You feel—so good, oh… You’re”—another moan buried just behind her ear—"so wet, so good…”

It’s not like Marcille got the chance to be anything else right now, did she? Not when Falin fell upon her just as she was sorting through her documents, pressed against her back and already unfastening the clasps of her gown and slipping it off her shoulders. She was fully naked before she even got a playful good morning whispered into her ear—it’s a miracle she had the forethought to push her papers out of the way just before Falin had her wrapped around her finger in the most literal sense.

Well. Fingers in the plural, really, since she always starts with two. Usually while pawing at Marcille’s tit with her other hand until her stupid knees give out and she ends up buckling over whatever surface is nearby—in this case, her desk, mercifully free of any uncapped inkwells at the moment. Now slathered with sweat that makes her tits slip and slide along the wooden varnish, of course, but otherwise non-disastrous.

Hopefully her nightgown is catching most of the mess running down her thighs, or she’s going to have to make the most humiliating request to the castle staff about her carpets for the third time this month—

“Yes…!” Falin digs her heels in and fucks her even harder, taken with some kind of mindless momentum all of a sudden. “I love you,” she pants in that stupid—feathery, daisy-light tone that has no business being this sweet while she’s ravaging Marcille like this— “you’re perfect, you’re perfect—”

Marcille’s going to die like this. This is how she’s going to go: Bleating like an animal with her cheek stuck to her desk with drool, eyes just permanently rolled back in her head, toes barely touching the floor as Falin keeps fucking her further onto the desk. She hasn’t said a single coherent word since her second orgasm however many minutes ago, just broken into an endless stream of guttural noises as her cunt slobbers and squelches around Falin’s cock almost as loudly as she’s wailing.

“Marcille,” Falin keens, sounding like a bashful princess ravished to breathlessness—just something straight out of a high-minded erotica novel—all while hammering Marcille into the desk at a shallow, breakneck pace. “You feel—feel s–o good, you’re perfect, oh—oh, you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, I love you, I love you—”

For the love of—fuck. Marcille can distantly hear herself scream, can feel the desk digging into her as she flails, her grasp on sanity getting thinner and thinner with each word that tumbles out of Falin’s mouth and shoots straight through her nerves. She’s—good god, she’s not usually this talkative. It’s almost always Marcille begging and blabbering about how much she wants Falin’s cock, how good it feels, how she wants it harder and faster and more, screaming and crying Falin’s name over and over—

But now, in the absence of Marcille’s pathetic yapping—after she’s already fucked the words out of Marcille so thoroughly—Falin’s taken it upon herself to murmur a stream of honeyed nonsense into her ear, her frail and gentle voice breaking with desperation—and fuck, it’s not fair.

“Yes, yes, oh—” Falin sobs into her neck. “I love it—I love it when you sound like this, I love you—you’re so good, so good for me, my Marcille—”

No, no, no, she can’t do that, she can’t do that—she can’t say that, in that voice, while her cock is so deep in Marcille there’s hardly room for anything else, battering all her nerve endings and rearranging her so that there’s nothing left but her, Falin, Falin—

“Ah!” Falin cries out, like she’s the one getting reamed against her stupid fucking desk so hard she can barely breathe— “Yes, please, please—please say my name again!”

Well. She can beg all she fucking wants, but it’s not going to be pretty and she has no one to blame but herself—it’s her fault Marcille can hardly speak, it’s her fault her name is only coming in rough wails with both syllables separated with heaving, crying breaths. Marcille gives it her all, scrapes whatever intelligence she has left to speak, and sounds like a dying animal in a way that can’t possibly be anything but hideous to listen to—

And still, Falin sobs, as if in utter ecstasy as she fucks Marcille so hard the desk starts scraping along the floor in harsh jumps.

“Yes, yes—ah—” Her voice, not so whispery gentle now but still so melodious and clear, sounding out from deep in her chest— “I—love—you—” she weeps, punctuated by the hard slams of the desk against the floor as she drops the rapid pace in favor of mercilessly hard thrusts— “Beautiful—perfect—mine!”

Then she finally, finally comes—not that it stops her, not with how she thrusts with every spurt. Like she’s not just satisfied with letting it spill out, like she needs to fuck it into Marcille with all her strength, once, twice, then one last time, stuffing her cunt absolutely full with searing heat—

And Marcille doesn’t even realize she’s coming until she’s unceremoniously ejected out the other side of the high, that telltale swoop of vertigo rushing through her veins. The orgasm doesn't even have the grace to let her go limp with afterglow, of course, and she’s left there convulsing and twitching like a drowning fish. With her jaw pressed to the desk, she can actually hear her teeth chatter from how hard she’s shaking, Falin’s warm weight on her be damned.

(One day. One day, she’ll stop embarrassing herself like this—one day she’ll finish like a normal person during sex, instead of going off like a cheap firework every half hour and wringing an orgasm out of herself as soon as she feels Falin finish inside her, whether or not she even had one left in her to begin with.)

“M-Marcille,” Falin stammers, her voice breathless but now shy and girlish again as she slowly untangles their hands. “Are you—are you okay?”

The gall. To ask her that, when she’s nothing but a sweaty carcass slung over her desk, still twitching erratically. To be so gentle as she straightens up and kisses the back of her neck, tenderly brushing her hair to the side as she pulls out ever so slowly—

And still. Not. Slowly. Enough—apparently! Not with the sparks that explode in Marcille’s eyes again, utterly unclear if this is another orgasm or just a particularly brutal aftershock! She just goes squeaking and shaking and sliding off the desk onto her knees, hands clapped over her cunt like they’re going to protect her from the lightning racing up and down her spine. She doesn’t even know where she landed, really, convulsing and closing her thighs around her hand as cum and slick drools into her palms, falling forward and— and smacking her head against the edge of her desk.

“Oh!” Feathered arms clasp around her before she can slide past the wood with her sweaty forehead and land on her face. “Careful—are you okay?”

The gall. The audacity. The—something, or whatever, fuck, Marcille doesn’t even care anymore. Her head throbs with an oncoming bruise, she can’t feel her legs, she can feel her pussy way too much, and it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen apart on the spot—

“Okay… let’s…” There’s some maneuvering going on, but hell if Marcille can actually tell what Falin’s doing. “Here, let’s take a bath—I’ll go draw some water.”

Marcille whines, because no—she doesn’t know where she is, she just twists until her face finds feathers and buries herself there. She even manages to bring one cum-covered hand to grip at the quils, because this mess is Falin’s fault and if she doesn't like it then she can wash it off herself—but she’s not allowed to leave.

A little chuckle under her breath—and it’s so fucking cute and girlish like she hasn’t just demolished a full grown woman to the brink of unconsciousness, but Marcille can’t even find it in herself to be mad. Falin can ask her whatever the hell she wants, do whatever the hell she wants, so long as she doesn’t let go.

“I’m bringing you with me, I promise,” Falin whispers so tenderly, pressing a kiss to Marcille’s head. There’s arms tightening around her back and under her knees, and she feels herself being lifted. “I wouldn’t leave you like that…”

Better not, Marcille grumbles to herself. Not sure if it made it past her mouth, but it doesn’t matter. Falin’s going to take responsibility for turning her morning into—into this, even if it means having to draw some bathwater with an elf clinging to her the entire time. She’s going to be the one to wash her off, bring her their missed breakfast, and tell everyone why she wasn’t there at the morning meeting—

Maybe not that last part.

“I’m sorry,” she hears, in that soft and whispery tone she’s loved for so many years. That voice that didn’t change, even with everything that happened—everything that Marcille did to her, and it’s—

It would be so, incredibly stupid if she started crying out of nowhere.

“Liar,” she whines, digging the indignant annoyance back up to pout like a spoiled brat. “You liked… every second…”

Another giggle that so infuriatingly lovely. “I did.” The sound of a squeaky valve turning, then rushing water that slaps against stone. “Did you?”

Marcille just grumbles again and clings even tighter. Falin just laughs a little louder and strokes her hair, too kind to demand an answer in so many words—or, perhaps, impishly content to let Marcille incriminate herself with her silence, as she so often does.

#farcille #fic #nsft #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #so this was just supposed to be a characterization exercise #bc i could feel my falin slipping and needed to recalibrate around her having a hayami saori voice regardless of what she's doing #and partially bc i wanted to see what my marcille narration would sound like #results: i think i did okay on recalibrating falin and reaffirming her intrinsic gentleness so i dont go too hard on the dragoning cliches #marcille narration is a little too sardonic bc im definitely borrowing from my other twinky whitegirls but i can work on it #and im so so incredibly mean to marcille this is so funny #i don't even know if this is sexy or not im so sorry i was actually laughing while i was writing #the dragoness of melini #I GUESS?? THIS COULD BE CONSIDERED A FOLLOW UP??

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sathavious · 1 year

Text

bro-code.ᐟ | y.itadori x f!reader

synopsis : You're megumi's little sister, that means hands off you according to bro-code, only problem is yuuji's so in love with you. Will he risk going against his best friend and breaking bro-code?

warnings : profanity, somewhat mean yuuji, making out, megumi walks in, mutual pining, they’re shirtless.

wc : 2.5k

You were Megumi's sister, he'd known you since the start of high school, and his feelings for you just continued to grow.

5:10 pm

you heard a knock on your door, You open it and you see your brother's cute best friend Yuuji standing outside the door with what looked like a disk for a console game in his hand.

"Megumi home yet? He was supposed to be here to play with me"

Yuuji says breaking the silence.

You snap out of it, realizing you had been staring at him for the past 2 minutes.

"No sorry he isn't, You're welcome to stay inside and wait for him."

You shrug and give him an awkward smile pointing to the inside of your apartment, the tension in the air getting thicker and thicker.

"Sure! I'll come in and wait for him."

Yuuji says, entering your apartment and making himself comfortable on the couch.

You shut the door and follow him.

Although the both of you know each other, you've never had a conversation that lasted more than 5 minutes. 'This is going to be awkward' The both of you seem to share the same thought, unaware of how the other feels.

"Yuuji, why don't you text him."

You say trying hard to find any reason to talk to him.

"That's.. a good idea."

Yuuji says, pulling out his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

"Hey dude, how long until you get here? I'm already here, you're sister let me in."-5:16 pm

Yuuji texts Megumi, and his phone buzzes again a minute later.

"Got busy with something, be there by 8."-5:17 pm

He shuts off his phone and puts it on the coffee table, stretching his feet out and getting comfortable. 'I'm gonna spend almost 3 hours alone with her? I really hope I don't bore her or make her hate me.' Yuuji thinks to himself, looking at you.

"Megumi's gonna be home by 8, I'm gonna wait here for him, if that's alright with you."

Yuuji asks you, hoping you say yes.

"Yeah, sure if you don't mind being alone with me."

You respond, letting out a small laugh at the end of your sentence. He lets out an awkward chuckle in response.

'This is my chance.' The both of you think to yourself as you clear your throat trying not to let the conversation die.

"You said you were going to play with him right? How about we play to kill the time? I'm not as good as Megumi but I'm sure you at least won't die of boredom."

You say, your eyes lighting up with a glimmer.

"Sure, I hope you're not a sore loser because I'm not going to go easy on you."

He says as he gets up and turns on the TV and the console then proceeds to enter the disk, handing you the controller as he sits back on the couch.

"I'd like to see you try to win."

You say, clearly excited to play as you take the controller and ask.

"You ready Yuuji? Better start getting ready to lose now."

"As if, I'm gonna win."

Yuuji says as he sets up a custom FIFA match for you.

"Need a recap of the controls? Don't want you saying you didn't know how to do that after you lose."

"Nah I'm good."

You and Yuuji share a cocky smile as you divert your attention back to the screen. 3…2…1..START the TV screen reads as the room gets silent, the only sounds heard are the beeping of the controller and the game noises.

6:07 pm

Game over. Yuuji wins!

He looks at you with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Sucks to suck loser."

He chuckles and gives you a fake look of sympathy.

"That was only warmup, Let's play more, best of 3."

You say pouting and looking away.

"Sure princess. I'd be happy to defeat you a second time."

Yuuji says, leaning in closer to you as his voice gets deeper and his eyes glisten. He's clearly trying to flirt but doesn't want to make it too obvious.

You blush at the nickname but you try not to let it bother you. 'It probably meant nothing,' you say to yourself as you brush it off and give him a serious glare.

"Let's go then. The loser does whatever the winner wants."

"Sure what are you waiting for."

He says with a determined look on his face. He was gonna win at any cost.

You turn your attention back to the screen again as you play another round.

6:51 pm

Game over. Yuuji wins.

Your face turns into a face of defeat as you look down trying not to meet eyes with him.

"Getting shy now that you lost princess?"

Yuuji says as he moves in ever so close to you.

"The loser does whatever the winner wants."

He reminds you as you're rendered speechless, your face inches away from his as you feel yourself getting redder. You take a good look at him, analyzing his face.

He's so fucking pretty. He has pretty brown eyes, long eyelashes, plump pink lips, and a good smile, he has an undercut with pink dye and he smells like the ocean mist. He's not that muscular but just enough to the point where he has buff arms and toned abs. You're so in love with him and you've barely ever spoken to him. You just want to kiss him so bad. You snap out of your trance as you say.

"What do you want me to do pretty boy?"

Your crush on him is so fucking obvious, he doesn't seem to mind though, in fact, it looks like he's planning something.

'Shit, Megumi's gonna kill me for breaking bro code but I've come so far, no use backing down now.'

Yuuji thinks to himself, upon hearing you call him a pretty boy, his face is stained with a deep pink hue.

'I'm gonna do it.' he thinks to himself.

He leans closer to you his lips slightly parted.

"What? Are you too scared now pretty boy, You don't have to do it you know you could jus-"

He closed his eyes as he placed a gentle kiss on your lips, not wanting to pull away but he did, his mind started overthinking as he opened his eyes to look at you.

You're brains scrambled, and you're dazed for a second, it's clear you enjoyed the kiss, you pause for a second as you move closer to him, reducing the distance he put between you.

"If you wanted to do that you could've just told me, you didn't have to stop me mid-sentence. Although I'm not opposed to it either."

You say smirking as you look at him, your face turning to a dark hue of red as you give him a small but comforting smile.

"I've wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea. Wait does this mean you like me? Because I like you, I've liked you for so long, didn't know how to say it thought."

He says kinda embarrassed but also happy after that kiss.

"God yes, I like you so so much."

You say laughing as you grab his hand and intertwine it with yours.

"Does this mean we can y-you know um date and stuff?"

Yuuji asks, his eyes lighting up as he looks at you, curious about how you answer his question.

“Of course Yuuji my pretty boy”

You respond giving him a soft smile.

You both were still visibly flustered, eyes meeting each other, as you leaned closer feeling his warm breath on your face.

“I guess this is a good time…”

Yuuji says as he looks at your mouth, wanting to kiss you again, his eyes are still locked onto yours, waiting for you to say something.

“Good time to what?”

You ask, leaning in even closer.

“To do this princess.”

Yuuji pauses before he softly presses his lips against yours kissing you deeply with his eyes closed, his hands wrapping around you, he holds you close to him as he deepens the kiss.

“..so good…baby...”

You say mumbling as you grab onto him bringing him closer.

He kept going, closing his eyes as he kissed you. It was hard for him to stop now, not that he wanted to. He pulled away for a moment, opening his eyes as he breathed heavily.

“Your lips are so addictive I can’t stop.”

Yuuji looked at you as he spoke, slightly parting his lips. He was planning on doing something.

He got closer to you, kissing you again.

You felt his tongue run against your lower lip. His hands come over to your head, as they run through your hair.

“You’re making me want to do this princess.”

His tongue went further in, touching the roof of your mouth as his eyes stayed on yours.

“Don’t stop pretty boy…”

You say letting out soft whimpers and moans.

He had a playful look in his eyes as he kept going, he got a little more aggressive as his tongue got deeper.

You rake your fingers through his pink fluffy hair as your other hand cups his cheeks bringing him impossibly closer.

He let out a low moan when he felt how you were pulling him in closer. He was clearly very flustered.

Your hand pulls on his hair causing him to let out a few more moans as your other hand drops from his cheek to his shirt tugging on it.

He broke away from the kiss for a moment, pulling his shirt off as he threw it to the side cupping your face and kissing you again.

His actions were flirty and playful as he kept kissing you, you could see his toned body and muscles now.

“Gosh, baby you’re so hot.”

You say between muffled kisses as you stare intently at his body.

His face went a little red, his heart beating a lot more, you really were making him flustered.

“mm I’m really glad you think so princess.”

His tongue went deeper again as he kept kissing you.

You move your hand to his abdomen, tracing the outlines of his well-defined body as your other hand remains in his hair, pulling harder.

He gets a little more confident and seductive as he moves his hand down to tug on your shirt, pulling it off you.

Your face went redder, he was teasing you, and he knew exactly what to do.

“..your body is perfect just like you princess…”

He says completely pulling your shirt off you, now kissing and sucking on your neck as one of his hands grabs your waist pulling you closer and the other one fiddles with your chest then moves to your hair.

He leaves deep purple marks on your neck then goes back to kissing you.

All sounds drown out as the both of you continue making out completely mesmerized and your faces turning bright red.

7:37 pm

Just then the keys jingle and the door opens Of course the both of you, too involved with each other don't hear when it happens, and when Megumi walks in, he sees the both of you on his couch he says with his voice raised

“WHAT THE FUCK YUUJI??”

Both of you pause for a moment as you pull away your eyes widening in shock. You turn around to look at a disappointed Megumi as he sighs

“You’re really breaking bro code I thought I told you my sister was off-limits.”

Megumi says to Yuuji as he facepalms himself.

“And you…”

He says turning around to you.

“You’re really not that innocent either. Kissing MY best friend on MY couch…”

He’s furious at you, you can feel it in his eyes as you look down avoiding Megumi’s gaze lips parted but not saying anything.

“You’re both shirtless too what the fuck were you even planning on doing. Is this a one-time thing that’s going to make it awkward for me to hang out with either of you again or do you actually like each other.”

Megumi is so mad. That's what you and Yuuji think as you both share a glance.

“I'm sorry bro but I really like her, I really do.”

Yuuji says pleading to Megumi as he hands you your shirt.

You put your shirt back on as you say.

“It's true Megumi I really like him too..”

You say trying to calm Megumi down and explain to him that you and Yuuji have liked each other for a long time and are dating now.

He freaks out a little but eventually comes to terms with everything.

“If you really like each other it’s fine. It's okay to break bro code if your feelings for each other are genuine. Next time though, don't make out on my couch.”

He says huffing as he looks at you and lets out a little laugh. Megumi really is the worst, you think to yourself.

You grab a pillow off the couch and hit him in the face.

“Go away now you’re ruining the moment.”

You say, Yuuji and you laughing at Megumi’s annoyed expression.

“Gross, get a room.”

He says as he walks away going to his room and putting headphones on.

“The moment’s ruined now isn't it?.”

Yuuji breaks the silence looking at you with a soft smile.

“Totally. Megumi’s a dickhead.”

You respond breaking out in laughter.

“I really do like you though princess.”

Yuuji says sounding a little more nervous now.

“Me too. I really like you too pretty boy.”

You say blushing a little more.

“Lunch date tomorrow? An official date now that you’re my girlfriend and I’m your boyfriend. I’ll pick you up at 12.”

Yuuji shrugs, not meeting your gaze as he asks you.

“I would love to.”

You say giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He ruffles your hair and gives you a kiss on your forehead as he says.

“Gonna go hang out with Megumi’s now, bet he’s probably pissed. See you tomorrow, princess.”

He winks at you as he gets off the couch.

“Yeah, he’s probably pissed. I’ll be in my room then. See you tomorrow indeed, pretty boy.”

You say pouting as you get off the couch too making your way to your room.

He goes to Megumi’s room apologizes and then hangs out with him.

“I know you broke bro code but I think I can make an exception.”

Megumi says as he invites Yuuji next to him on the bed flicking his forehead and then handing Yuuji a controller.

“Thanks. I promise not to break her heart.”

Yuuji says smiling

“Good. I’ll kill you if you do.”

Megumi says with a serious expression on his face.

You walk into your room closing the door behind you as you plop onto your bed smiling after what happened. You look for your headphones as you listen to your playlist and text your best friend about what happened.

Both you and Yuuji were still smiley and blushing. Still thinking about each other.

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