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gavisuntiedboot · 9 months

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Just Pretend (Gavi X Reader)

Epilogue

Warnings: Mentions of injury, blood, stitches, SMUT, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, explicit language, and more that I can't remember.

Word Count: 12.8k (Fun Fact: If you have read all of JP, that's 186 pages single space of reading.)

A/N: Okay y'all, time to finally put this baby to rest. I was going to wait a little bit longer to do this next part, but with Gavi's injury I needed something to keep me off the Emergency Medicine Manual on ear lacerations. And now Joao is here??? It's just the right time. The universe said so.

Gif Credit: @worldcupwinner

Previously on Just Pretend

"She didn't look at the age. She didn't have to. Her eyes landed on the name: Pablo Martín Páez Gavira. One of the best young football players in the world had just used her as a banister. "Now that you know I'm not a kid, next time, you should let me buy you a drink.""

"He tried to think of something sad, something painful, anything besides the fact that you were leaning over him, touching him so gently while he was in his boxers."

""Don't you think it's a little desperate of you to take off work for a date?"

You looked up at him seething. He stood with his bag strapped over his shoulder, hands in his pockets, hood up to cover his wet hair. His eyes were stern and cold, the usual fire behind them having died down to leave frigid disgust. You would be lying if you said you didn't know about how the Barca men got rid of their sexual frustrations.

"Oh I'm sorry. Next time, Gavi, I'll be classy like you and have weekly sex in a club bathroom.""

"It broke him to see you like this - shaking and in tears in a club bathroom, while the man you were trying to impress was probably grinding on other girls. Gavi told himself it had nothing to do with you specifically, just fairness. You were objectively a good person, and you deserved to be treated well by everyone around you. He tugged your shoulder, bringing you in for a tight embrace. You tucked your head into his shoulder, allowing your tears to fall more freely now that he couldn't see you. Something in you began to calm. It was like Gavi had flipped a switch."

""You can yell at me all you want. You can be angry at the fact that I care about you. You can punch me," he hit on his chest, "right here if you want to. But I am not a child. Don't refer to me as one. So you can go an be upset and pretend that everything I do is selfish, but you know deep down that no matter how much you push me away, I'm looking out for your best interest." He opened the door and stepped aside.

"Drive safely, doctora.""

""No I'm serious. You were having a panic attack in your car. At least... At least come inside and eat something. Maybe have some tea? Anything. I just... want to make sure that you're okay before you leave me."

With wide eyes, you looked up at Gavi after this statement. His cheeks burned, realizing he had slipped up.

"Leave my house. Just come inside.""

""Can... can we do something? To help me sleep? But then promise you'll forget about it tomorrow?"

Pablo swallowed hard for the nth time that night. He hesitated. There was no way he could promise to forget a single moment of this night with you, but he could control himself from speaking about it, and that was all he really needed to do.

"Anything.""

""Don't leave." He said, voice dry and raspy. You weren't sure if he meant now or the club. You moved your hand to join it with the one on your wrist, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance, as he had done for you.

"Don't worry. I'll be right back.""

""I wish I could go back to then, sometimes."

"Why is that?"

"I had friends back then."

He looked at you in a strange manner, shifting one strand of hair behind your ear.

"Are we not friends, Doctora?"

"For better or worse, you're my best friend, Pablo.""

Gavi's heartstrings were so tight they were ready to snap. He had prayed to hear so many different things from you, but never realized that this recognition, this pride expressed so freely, would be the most meaningful. This was it. This was the moment. Suit on, trophy in hand, this was the moment to express how much needed you in his life in a different way. How much he needed to keep making you proud.

And now, months later...

The rays of early-morning light danced around the disheveled bedroom, bouncing across t-shirts and socks littering the floor and bedside table. They reflected across the buzzing phone screen, emitting a shrill beeping that disrupted the serenity that accompanied this time of the day. Try as he might to shield his ears with the fluff of his 'cuddling pillow', the sound penetrated through, stirring him from dreams of pretty eyes and soft lips. Squinting, the numbers on his screen prompted him to groan, rolling out of his warm sheets and onto the chill of the tile floor, needing to shower and dress before Pedri began his ritual of calling him on repeat until his butt was seated on the plush leather of the newly purchased Lambo.

The steam rippled off his sore muscles, and he lathered his mint-scented shampoo in his hands, Pablo cracked his first smile of the day at the thought of your hands on his shoulders the moment you got to work, or in the calm hours after. The whole house lingered with traces of you, but the bathroom was the worst. He had slowly but surely photographed everything in your own bathroom, replicating your set up in his much more luxurious marble shower. From hair to body to skincare, he had every bottle perfectly arranged for you to use on those days when the shared warmth of Pablo's body against yours was too much to overcome, and he lead you upstairs for a night in his arms. Or even better (and yet also worse), when the two of you remained entangled on what Gavi referred to as the "love sofa", waking up with muscle aches and bad breath, but always with the upmost feelings of content.

Every step of Pablo's morning had slowly but surely started revolving around you. He was floating, weightless in your alluring orbit. Su Sol. Su vida. The deodorant he rolled on was never out of stock under his cabinet, and it never would be since you cuddled into him and said he smelled like the ocean. He had spent his weeks in America (when not bedridden) searching for bottles of 1 million, the cologne that you secretly sprayed on the pillows before bed and onto every item of clothing you 'borrowed'. The hair gel was at the back of the cabinet, fated to collect dust because of a gentle run of your fingers and a whisper that you loved when Pablo was "all soft and fluffy".

And as he slipped on his training shirt, the ringing started. He knew it was Pedri informing him that he was at the door, and he hurried as much as possible, as to prevent the ring tone from driving him to the brink of madness. He scurried down the stairs, careful not to crack his head open while running in socks (well, not to crack it open again). He grabbed his bag from its hook by the door, slipping on his shoes. Before exiting, he looked at the wall beside the door. He ran his fingers up the taped photographs slowly. They dragged across the young faces of his old teammates, over is mother and father and sister on a white-sand beach, dancing past the collection of pictures from the Supercopa and the Ballon D'or, and rested on the only picture frame hanging on the wall. It was one of those tacky pink ones that stores sold on Valentine's day, with AMOR written in chunky red glitter. He was sat on your chair at work, your stethoscope around his neck and you perched in his lap in your red scrubs. His right cheek was smooshed from the force of the kiss you left on it, bright red lipstick already marking his other cheek and his lips. He leaned forward, placing a swift kiss to the cool glass, before running out the door to finally stop the incessant calls.

"You know if you had been three minutes later, we would have had to skip the coffee shop." Pedri said, pulling out before the passenger door was fully shut.

"I would rather walk to training than skip that."

"How much money do you make to be buying your girl a large coffee every morning?"

"I would sell my house to keep buying her coffee in the morning."

The words 'that's a little extreme' stopped on the tip of Pedri's tongue - if Gavi was not going to be extreme in his love, then who would be?

"And finally, Nicolas, we have the physio who will be overseeing much of your work. I'll be introducing you two now."

It was comforting to know that Dr. Gonzalez was just as dry with everyone. The muffled words came with a swift three knocks at the door, and he peaked his head in before you could release the permission from your lips.

"May we enter, Doctora?"

"Yes, of course, Dr. Gonzalez. I have no players on my schedule until 8:30. Please come in, make yourselves comfortable."

He entered with a tall, muscular boy behind him, his dark curls falling in front of his bright blue eyes. His scrubs shirt puckered in the chest area, in danger of bursting due to a deep breath. He shuffled in awkwardly, opting to stand behind Dr. Gonzalez rather than occupy the seat next to him.

"Now, Nicolas. Before you is a shining example of what the individuals in your program are capable of achieving. This is-"

"Oh! You're Doctora Gavira!"

There was a moment of radio silence that circled the room, before you had the courage to whisper out, "...what?"

"Nicolas, don't interrupt." Dr. Gonzalez decided to ignore what the new kid had just called you. "This is Doctora y/n y/l/n, who many people refer to as just Doctora. Please do not do that without her explicit permission. She joined us a little over a year ago from the same program you are in, and has been an effective technician who has brought medical success to the club. Barring any tragedies like pregnancy, she will become the club's Assistant Head of Physiotherapy. Despite your initial examination being slightly more disappointing than hers, we believe you can excel under her mentorship. You will be fired upon her first complaint. I'll leave you two alone now to be acquainted. Doctora, please allow him to shadow you through the medical examinations happening today. Thank you both."

Nicolas sat in shock at all the insults that had just been so casually shot through him while you smiled sweetly and waived your boss out the door. As soon as the click of the door was heard, your smile dropped and you were leaning menacingly over the desk.

"Okay, confess right now or lose your job: who told you to call me Doctora Gavira"

"What? I- no one! Are you not married to Gavi?"

"Where would you get that idea?" You asked while sitting back down, the visible tremble in the boy before you extinguishing the anger within you.

"Well, I walked into work this morning and you were getting out of your car and I was saying hey to Ronald who I met during my interview and I said 'oh who is that she's really cute' and he was like 'oh that's the Doctora and you should be careful saying stuff about her because she's Gavi's girl and he will rip your throat out and then she will sew it back into your body' and so after that I just assumed you were his wife because like footballers aren't usually that serious about their girlfriends and I follow a bunch of Gavi fan accounts and none even said that you were his girlfriend because there's this other girl who is actually kind of awful-"

His tangent was only interrupted by a soft knocking at your office door. You yelled for whatever angel to enter, grateful from the save from the worst verbal diarrhea you had seen in years. And it was the sweetest angel of all who poked his head through the door, hair freshly washed and frizzing slightly in the August humidity. He held a large chilled coffee in one hand, using the free one to rest his weight on the back of your chair. He leaned down to complete his routine with a good morning kiss, but the look you gave Pablo over the rim of your glasses made him hesitate. It was then that he noticed the individual sat across from you. Locking eyes with him, Pablo opted for a kiss on the crown of your head, muttering a gentle “Bon día, mi doctora.”

Nicolas' eyes followed the way your hand smoothed over Gavi's bicep in the most obvious way possible, and it had the young Sevillano tensing.

"Pablo," you started before he could come up with his own conclusions, "meet Nicolas. He's going to be training under me for his work placement."

"Nice to meet you, Pablo!" Shooting up out of his chair, he extended a sweaty handshake that was left hanging in the air.

"Gavi."

"Huh?"

"Call me Gavi."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought because-"

"You want to call me the same name my girlfriend does?" A smile played across Pablo's lips: he was obviously joking, but the intern before him shook like a leaf and sweat bullets, hand still frozen in the air. Letting out a soft laugh, Pablo took his hand, embracing the new intern and reassuring him that he wasn't about to be slaughtered.

"All the boys call me Gavi - don't want you to feel out of place. Welcome to the club. You have the best teacher - I would know."

"Right! Because she's you're girlfriend!"

"Because she's the physiotherapist that's been working on me for the last year..."

Silence once again.

"Nicolas, maybe you should go watch the warmups. I'll be out in a few minutes. Field is out the door to your left."

The boy sent you a look of gratitude to be freed from ... whatever that was. He all but ran out the door, leaving it slightly ajar as Pablo watched him turn the corner, finally having enough privacy to capture you in the delicate kiss he had been waiting for since he saw you a mere 10 hours ago.

"Bon dia, Pablito. Did you sleep well?"

"Not as well as when you're next to me."

Despite asking the same question for weeks on end, he always gave the same answer. It was about a month into the two of you officially dating when he asked you to move into his place. Of course you vehemently declined, citing reasons such as not being able to break your lease and not wanting to intrude on his space. But deep down there was the unspoken truth. Every day you held your breath waiting for Pablo's answer to change. To tell you that he had slept just fine on his own, and that he may sleep even better beside someone else. The day had yet to come, and a small part of you dared to hope it never would.

"That sounds rough. Any way I can make it up to you for going home?"

"Here? In your office? I mean if you insist..."

You smacked him playfully on the arm as both of your giggled filled your office space. Pablo was acutely aware of the fact that every time he spoke to you about the subject, it was in vague terms and half truths. Pablo wanted you to move in more than he wanted almost anything else. In his mind it was the perfect scenario: he would wake up with you enveloped by his arms, breathing rhythmically against his skin. You would get into the shower, hot water rolling down your spine as he laid out your scrubs (the red and black ones were his favorites). He would make you a coffee on the ridiculously expensive espresso machine that would be arriving in 7-14 business days - right after your school and work joint evaluation. The drive to work would be filled with soft melodies and hushed conversations. The drive home would be more vibrant, with Pablito on the AUX and the windows rolled down. And then he would get to come home and help you make dinner, trying not to burn or spill as he set two porcelain dining bowls on the coffee table, under the watchful, scowling eyes of the two of you frozen in a photo. Then he would lay his head back on the couch, his chin on your crown, running his fingers up and down your back to trace your spine. The TV would be playing reruns of the same show for the thousandth time, but it didn't matter. It was the best possible feeling Pablo knew: familiarity.

It was hard being a generational talent. Sure, it came with tons of admiration and praise, but it was also riddled with constant change. Changing your hometown for a big new city. Trading your neighborhood full of friends for an academy of classmates, who you were always reminded were your competition. Exchanging hugs from mom and home-cooked meals with yelled instructions and drills in the rain. Even now, after years of playing with the first team and reaping the success, Pablo couldn't help but think about how nice it would be to stay in one city all the time, taking one set of roads that he could memorize.

But now he had you. And not in the same way as before. In a sense, he always had you. No matter how much you were irritated with the boy, you were always a phone call away. You were always ready to help heal his ailments, despite the eye-rolls that came with it. And when he had come to you at his most vulnerable, trembling hands and open heart, you had been as you always were: ready to take him as he was and treat him with delicacy and love.

No matter where Gavi went, there was still something familiar with him. When he was on a red-eye to Madrid, he could lead against the curve of your shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair and feeling the warmth of your skin. On a tiring night after training, he could always come home and be beside you, tracing the curves of your body that he had memorized, every mark and dip on your skin a landmark that reminded him he was home. The sound of your voice was melodic and soothing, and he could never get enough of the way you said his name.

"Mi Pablito."

Now was no different. The sound of your scrubs shifting, the chill of your coffee against his palm, the way your lips moved against his, so soft with delicate pressure - all of it he already knew, and that was the best part.

"Are you going to come over tonight?"

He always asked. Again, he knew the answer was going to be a huff followed by a shy 'of course', and yet he asked anyways. He loved the stability and the routine. He loved hearing you say that he was the person you preferred to spend your time with.

"Mm of course, mi Pablito. But I might be a little late. I have a lot of paperwork."

"Late? As in, you wouldn't go home with me?" Pablo's pout was adorable, puffy and pink and complemented by his beautiful brown eyes that reflected the fluorescent lights.

"I'm going to try my best not to be here too long, but it's looking like I'm going to be a while. I have to finish the reports about your improvement over the last year for my evaluation next week, do the medical examinations for the new first team members, and now I have this new kid Nicolas."

"First team players? Iñigo and Oriol finished their exams weeks ago. Besides, tomorrow is deadline day. Why would they leave the medical exams until now." Pablo was already stripping off his shirt and laying in your table, ready for you to help with his persistent back pain. You had initially thought he was lying, searching for any reason to have your hands on him during business hours. But then you actually felt his latissimus and erector spinae, and they were so tensed that for a moment you thought about injecting a relaxer into his lower back. So every morning he came in for tension relief at your magical fingertips. But the coos of "aw poor baby" and you leaned over him for half an hour every morning was definitely not going to illicit any complaints.

"Oh, well, there's still more medical procedures to be done. Fermin and Lamine have to be re-examined since Luca forgot tests 12.4 and 17.1. And Joao needs to get his examination." You placed your hands on Pablo's back, apologizing softly for how cold they were. Your first session after the two of you had gotten together, he threatened to burn every latex glove in the club. He hated the way they felt, and now that he was having a lot of skin-to-skin time, he felt that the gloves were pointless.

"Oh, I forgot that Cancelo had flown in. He's going to do wonders for our defense. Just like you're doing wonders for my back, mi amor." He allowed his eyes to flutter shut, breathing deeply and focusing on the feeling of your fingertips. Looking over your shoulder, you ensured the hallway was empty before leaning down to kiss the gentle dip where his spine was. It released a little giggle from Pablo, who tutted and said that you were trouble.

"Just relax. You think I would ever get you in trouble?"

"Oh I was in trouble the first moment that I saw you, mi Doctora."

Before you could respond, your office door swung open, and Nicolas' worried face was staring back at you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Doctora!! I should have knocked! I didn't realize you were... occupied."

"Why did you pause before- you know what, I don't want to know. What's up Nicolas?"

"Mister Xavi wanted me to tell you that Joao is here on the field, and that he should be examined as soon as possible so he can join the morning training."

Your fingers stilled and your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Gavi felt your shift but remained silent. When the two of you first started dating, he had been very protective, borderline your official spokesperson in the club. He would tell the other players you couldn't meet with them when he knew you had paperwork, and would react harshly to those who questioned your medical decisions. It had gotten you reprimanded by Dr. G, who had reminded you that your relationship should not interfere with your work. And you didn't need to be a genius to know that the players being too intimidated to get physiotherapy was 'interference with work'.

"I had him on the schedule for later this afternoon. I guess Mister wants him training earlier. I have 10 minutes left with Gavi, and then we'll both be out on the practice field."

Just as Gavi's eyes began to droop and his muscles relaxed enough for him to drift into a peaceful sleep, you were by his ear whispering for him to wake up.

"Come on, mi campeon - you have to go to training."

"Mm I don't want to," he mumbled as he rolled over, abs on display as he smiled up at you. "It's so nice and comfortable here."

You rested your hands on his hips, tracing them slowly up his slow stomach, leaving a trail of heat in your path. They continued upward until your palms lay flat on his pecs, and you leaned in to place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Stay here then. Take a little nap while I finish the medicals. In the meantime, they'll have Fermin take your place, and then he'll win the Golden Boy next year, and maybe he'll fall in love with his physio on the sidelines..."

"Ah yes, I can see it now," he said, "the beautiful story between Fermin and his physio... Nicolas."

You both burst out laughing at the mental image of the tall Nicolas sweeping Fermin into a homoerotic, Mbappe-Giroud embrace after he scored a goal. You walked over to the chair, tossing Gavi his training shirt and watching it slip back over the defined, rippling muscle, remaining taunt against his biceps. He opened the door for you, placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the field. The 9am sun was beaming on the late August grass, reflecting the dew on the grass and the beads of sweat glistening on the boys that were running laps and stretching (some better than others - you made a mental note of who you would probably be seeing later). Pablo shot you a quick wink before scurrying off towards his peers.

"Bon dia, Doctora!" The yell came from across the pitch, and was accompanied by the excited waves from Fermin and Balde, who were having the time of their lives making fun of their whipped friend. Pedri had been part of that group initially, joining in on the taunting before games about how he was looking for injuries just to have her run onto the field. He had lingered with the other boys in the locker room to point out any bruises or scratches that Pablo had acquired, teasing him about 'finally getting some'. But since you had become best friends with his crush/ nemesis, it had become a lot harder to make fun of the younger boy without repercussions.

The older players had been overjoyed for the two of you, especially uncle Lewy. His bond with Gavi was special to him, and far surpassed just their relationship on the field. He saw his younger self in Pablo, and couldn't help the feeling he got watching the boy fall in love. The way that Gavi was fiercely protective of you, so excited to watch you shine, reminded him of Anna and all the light she brought to his life. It was a sight that made everyone's chest swell - watching the two of you interlock fingers and walk to your car every evening, smiling sweetly and leaning against each other. Robert hoped that the happiness Gavi felt was lifelong.

"Bon dia, Mister." You approached the coach and he met you with a smile and a clap on the shoulder.

"Doctora, always a good morning when we have you with us during practice."

"I'm flattered, coach. I heard from Nicolas that you wanted me to do Joao's medical now? I was scheduled to oversee morning practice and complete his medical this afternoon. Has there been a change in what needs to be done today so I can adjust the schedule?" You asked, watching the players do their drills.

"Oh, I guess we didn't send out a memo. Not surprising, because the deal was finalized last night. You're correct, Cancelo is going to arrive within the hour and be examined in the afternoon. However, Joao had already arrived and is currently changing. I think his exam should go quickly, given that you can work off of his previous La Liga paperwork, which should be in your email. I would really appreciate if you could complete it now so that he can join the second half of this morning's training."

If the confusion wasn't evident across your face, you decided to vocalize it.

"Sorry, Mister, but isn't Cancelo Joao? Is there something I'm missing?"

"Oh," he laughed out, "my apologies. I announced it before warm-ups began, but you were still in your morning session with Gavi. The club has secured a loan deal for this season for Joao Felix from Atletico. He should be waiting for you in the hall by your office."

Gavi watched the color drain from your face from across the field, and you couldn't help the feeling of anxiety that flooded your system. If you hadn't heard the announcement, then neither had Pablo, and given your track record with Felix, you knew that it wasn't going to be his favorite news.

"Ah, that's great news!" You tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible. "I just need to get Nicolas so he can shadow me and give the boys some stretch instructions before you get started with the team drills. Do you mind?" Xavi indicated for you to step on the field, and you all but sprinted over to Gavi and his teammates. Nicolas stood there, trying his best not to die of anxiety while chatting with the players and taking notes on the specific stretches that each one of them has been assigned by you.

"Hi Doctora." The greeting came from Ferran, who, after several weeks of therapy, had reached out to you to apologize for his behavior. He was keeping his relationship professional, and the personal growth you had seen was surprising. It didn't erase the hurt he had caused you, but allowed you to work with him without wanting to punch him in the face. Maybe after some more time (and therapy), you could be as friendly with him as the boys were.

"Hi Ferran. Looking good, boys. Pedri, that right hamstring needs more work." You quickly shot out, receiving a sigh as he worked out his leg for the third time. The rest of the boys looked like they were ready to engage in small-talk, but you beat them to it.

"So, are you guys excited about the new signings coming in today?" You asked, bouncing on one leg to the other.

"Very. I think Felix is going to be a fantastic contribution to the last third of the field. Will really help our attacking power." Pedri said absent-mindedly, grimacing at the effort necessary to help release the tension in his thigh.

"Felix?" Gavi was obviously confused, eyebrows stitching together, making him look even more angry bird-like than usual.

"Oh, right, you weren't here." Fermin said, turning to his childhood friend. "They finalized Joao Felix. He's arriving today and training with us after his medical exam."

"Which I'm about to go do right now." You added on quickly, hoping to rip off the Band-Aid.

"You're going to be alone with Felix?" Gavi asked in what was probably a louder tone than intended. Pablo would never describe himself with the word 'jealous'. Why would he be? He knew what he brought to the table. He was cute, successful, and was absolutely head-over-heels in love with you in a way that bordered obsession. He knew that the Portuguese playboy had nothing on him in that respect. But whenever he thought back to the stories you had told him about your first meeting with Felix, or back to the Ballon D'or when he had so effortlessly wrapped himself around you, it made the bile rise in his throat.

"Well," you tried to ignore the looks of the players around you, with their ears pricked up and waiting waiting with baited breath for your response. "Not alone. Nicolas is going to be there."

Silence. A beat passed. The another. Then another and another until the silence grew almost unbearable.

"Alright, mi Doctora. See you during the break, then." Pablo's soft eyes reached yours, and you unexpectedly found not a singular trace of negative feeling. Not one heat flare of jealousy or anger crossed his features, and it was borderline unsettling.

Pablo's eyes remained trained on you as you re-emerged, Nicolas to your left and Joao flanking the right. The three of you spoke freely and lightly, and Gavi strained his ears to try and listen in on what had the trio giggling. As Nicolas departed to report back to Dr. G, you continued towards Pablo with Joao by your side.

"I know you two have met and shoved each other many times," You said, extending your hand to help pull Pablo to his feet. "But I thought it was time to introduce the two of you on friendly terms. Pablo, this is Joao Felix, our new striker. And Joao this is Gavi, our brilliant golden boy midfielder and," you waved at him to lean in closer, "my brilliant boyfriend." The wink you shot him had Pablo blushing like a schoolgirl, and Joao clapped him on the shoulder affectionately.

"Ay, look at that. Always the winner, irmao. The doutora was actually a big part in helping me come to the club of my dreams, so I'm really thankful for her."

"Really?" Pablo questioned.

"Remember? I told you I was reviewing his health profile. We did it together actually when I was over for-"

"For when Aurora was in town. You're right."

You left the boys shortly after, sitting at your desk anxiously. You knew that Gavi's reaction was... uncharacteristic at best. He had been very unhappy when he found out that you were reviewing his file for a transfer. Help was also a relative term...

"Mi vida, you can't be serious!"

"Pablo, they didn't ask me for my personal opinion on the matter. They sent me the medical profile of a player for a injury probability analysis and fitness examination. They didn't even include his full name."

"Right. J. F. from Atletico Madrid. What a mystery!"

Pablo flopped onto the bed, arms crossed and pouting as he got under the covers. He looked down at his lap, praying that you didn't use the J-word. He wasn't jealous. He wasn't. Feelings like jealousy and insecurity never found their way into his system. But he just... didn't like it. He didn't like the idea that someone was walking around thinking about you in a sinful manner. He replayed over and over in his head your account of the first time you had met 'Portugal boy'. How he 'hoped to see more of you'. Sick bastard. Your sweet, innocent mind had let the comment slide quickly, interpreting it as him wanting to see you around. But Pablo, who had spent the last year of his life trying to protect you from creeps and weirdos (his colleagues), he looked into it more deeply. See more of you meant see more of you, aka your body. Now Pablo was in bed seething at his own theories. Of Joao flirting with you, getting you alone, getting hard from your gentle touches as you simply did you job, and then...

"No. I don't like it. Just lie and say that he's too mentally ill for the club. We already have Ferran and Pedri - the club therapists are overworked." He pulled the covers up to his chin and turned his back to you, and you could tell that he was genuinely distressed. You crawled under the covers as well, your nightgown shifting up around your legs.

"Aw, lito, come here." You slid into the space behind him, tugging on his arm lightly to get him to unravel. He let himself go slack, allowing you to pull him into you. You turned him to lay on your chest, shell of his ear tuned into the rhythmic breathing of your heart. You pulled his arm around your waist, and he couldn't resist the urge to cuddle closer into you. One hand came up to gently rake your nails through his soft locks. The pressure of your lips on his crown allowed him to release a shaky breath. "Talk to me."

"I just... I don't know. When you bring him up it just turns my stomach." The pout could be heard in his voice as he brought the rest of his body into your side.

"Are you jealous?"

"No of course not." He breathed out all at once. "I would like to think our relationship is stronger than your old celebrity crush working with you." He felt the vibration of your chest as you giggled, and it lightened up the heavy feeling in his core. "But it just... doesn't feel good. Knowing there's someone else who wants you and gets to be so close to you."

You refrained from telling Pablo that was the literal definition of jealousy. And simultaneously, he refrained from telling you that a small, very very tiny part of his brain wasn't sure that you wouldn't leave him for Joao. The man was beautiful, there was absolutely no denying it, and had experience being in a long term committed relationship. It certainly didn't help that Joao was two years your senior. Pablo's insecurity around his age fluctuated in intensity, but was persistently present. It had gotten worse the more strangers found out about your relationship. When he told his friends back in Sevilla, he was met with wolf whistles and encouragement to 'improve quickly' before you left for someone more 'experienced'.

And now Pablo's brain was moving rapidly, thinking about all the small jabs his friends had made about your sexual life. "Just make sure she isn't faking it." That particular one had come from Pedri of all people, who rapidly realized his attempt at a harmless joke had sent the younger boy spiraling. Were you faking? Did you want someone who had slept with more women? Were your instructions about where he should move or how hard he should go normal? Or was that a product of sleeping with someone freshly 19?

"Do you wish I was older?"

Pablo had asked this question often, but always got the same answer. He always got the reassurance that you knew he needed in difficult moments.

"Of course not, Pablo. I don't wish anything about you, or about us, was different. Except maybe I wish we would have gotten together sooner." You punctuated the sentiment with another soft kiss to his head, cradling him close to your chest. He didn't relax this time, however. He followed up with a question that had been plaguing him since the two of you got together, but that he never had the courage to know the answer to.

"Do you... wish I was better at sex?"

You were frozen as Pablo buried his burning cheeks into your side, embarrassed by the way he had decided to phrase his query. You brought your hand up to grasp his chin and turn him to meet your eyes.

"Why would you ask that?"

"I don't know, it's just... something I've been thinking about."

"Has the sex not been good for you?"

"No! No of course not," he sat up on one elbow, trying to quickly remedy the situation so that you both wouldn't stay up until the early hours riddled with anxiety.

"I've just been thinking because... well one time me and the boys were talking..."

"Oh no here we go."

"And Pedri mentioned how it kind of takes a long time to get girls to finish."

"Mhm..."

"And then Fermin agreed."

"I can't believe you guys had this discussion in front of baby Fermin." You clasped a hand over your mouth.

"He's older than I am and that's not the point. Focus, mi doctora. So they were talking about things to make a girl finish faster and naturally I was confused because you don't take that long to finish."

"Pablo please tell me you didn't-"

"I obviously didn't say 'oh my girl cums in under 5 minutes', but I just disagreed with them." Your head was in your hands as he continued his story.

"So then they were like no no it takes forever, especially the first time. And I said that the last time I had sex with a new girl, it only took me like 10 minutes." You were bright red, unable to respond to the news that the team was hearing how long your average orgasm took.

"And then Pedri said that you might be faking it and that's why it didn't take a long time. And then I asked why a girl would fake it and he said because when the guy can't lay pipe well the girl gets bored and fakes it so the sex can end faster. And I know that I really like having sex with you but I don't know if you like having sex with me so-"

You interrupted Pablo by grabbing his chin and pulling him towards you, kissing his pouting lips mid sentence. It was too much - too adorable for you to control yourself.

"Pablito, I love you." You held his face in your hands, just watching the way his beautiful eyes reflected the low light of the bedside lamp.

"It's okay, you can tell me if I'm bad." He said softly, genuinely waiting for his feelings to be hurt.

"You're not bad, Pablo. Not even close. You're actually... okay don't start dancing when I say this but you're the best sex I've ever had."

You could feel the blood pool to his cheeks and the muscles tense to repress a smile.

"Is that so? Please feel free to elaborate." You rolled your eyes, knowing you were feeding his ego, but knowing he probably needed it in that moment.

"I've had sex with other people and none of them... well they never got me to finish, you know? I didn't even think I could finish during sex before you."

Pablo's head dripped to rest against your chest, face nestled in the valley of your breasts, breath labored against you. Your words were most certainly turning him on. He brought his hands to your thighs, playing with the hem of your satin slip, and you knew you were not going to be sleeping for the foreseeable future.

"Can you... can you keep talking, mi amor?" Who were you to deny your baby?

"You know it's not just the way you move your hands," you started as the material began to rise up your legs. "It's just you, Pablo. Just the thought of you gets me ... soaking." He let out a strangled moan against you, your words obviously having the desired effect.

"Sometimes I see you when we're at work, licking your lips or wiping your sweat with the hem of your shirt and I have to look away because otherwise," You stopped to let out a shaky breath as his hands rested on your hips, fingers ghosting the hem of your dampening panties.

"Otherwise I would have to lock my office door for a suspicious amount of time."

It was your turn to moan softly as he started kissing down your sternum, hands also moving your panties down to expose you to the cool air and Pablo's hungry eyes.

"Have you," he paused to kiss your ankle, the charm that hung there teasing him. He had seen it after your first night together, the blank tag hanging on the interlocking chain. He had stolen it one day after you look it off to shower, getting a stethoscope engraved into one side and a football onto the other. His favorite sight was to watch it dangle by his ear.

"Have you... ever," another kiss, up by your knee, "thought about me," kissed to your inner thigh now, "when you..." he trained off, hands reaching up to gentle massage your boobs while he centered his face, labored breathing hitting your soaking pussy.

"Yeah..." you breathed out, almost to the point of vibrating when he placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Tell me about it." He said, looking up through gorgeous lashes as he poked his tongue out, the tip teasing your clit in soft, delicate kitten licks.

"There was this one time... before we," you moved a hand to your breast, placing it over his. You needed the contact, needed more of Pablo. "Before we got together."

"Oh?" His verbal response was short, but the admission made him use the rest of his tongue, still licking slowly and deliberately, but now capturing more of you with his perfect mouth.

"I was watching you in- ah - in a match," he moved his hand off your chest to lace his fingers with yours. "And you wiped your brow with the hem of your shirt and- ah fuck Pablo." He was now flattening the length of his tongue against you, the soft pressure making you want to buck your hips up into his gorgeous face.

"I really want to hear this story, mi sol. So if I need to stop.."

"No!" You said while shooting up, tightening your hold on his hand. He resumed his pleasurable ministrations and you tried your hardest to form words.

"I saw the bottom of your abs and thought about what it would b-be like if I was on top of you..." He was getting more deliberate now, moving his tongue in figures and slipping it into you occasionally, which made your back arch off the mattress.

"And then you- fuck! You spit on the field and I just.. I.. I had to...Pablo fuck I can't!"

Your eyes were shut now, unable to do anything but whine as Pablo sucked on your clit, rolling it in his mouth before releasing it and fucking you slowly with his tongue. He pulled away completely, kissing you once before he came up to meet you at eye level.

"What did you do, mi amor?"

His eyes were looking at yours with such a delicateness that you almost came on the spot. He looked at your swollen lips, your blown out pupils, the way your chest heaved, and he was ready to pledge his life to worshipping you. He looked at you the way people looked at paintings of angels: in admiration of a beauty too great to be human. He kissed you slowly and deeply, fingers circling your slick entrance.

"It's okay, tell me."

"I... I got off on my couch to the thought of you spitting on me. Or, doing anything to me actually. You don't understand how much I love you, Pablo. Everything you do sets me on fire."

With that, he captured your lips again, swallowing the high pitched whine he elicited by slipping in his fingers. He pumped you slow and hard, making sure to feel every ridge within you, taking his time to find that one magic spot that would return the angel underneath him to heaven.

"I love you more, mi vida." He brought his lips down to your neck, kissing you sweetly, before moving his lips to join his hands. Suddenly it was all too much. His plump and swollen lips sucking on your clit as two of his fingers pumped in and out of you and a merciless pace, and moments later you were grinding onto his face, cutting off his air, and whimpering out how much you loved him and how good he was to you. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your body arched so far off the mattress you were sure you were floating. When you came down from your high and regained your vision, you brought Gavi up to you, kissing him passionately.

"You're amazing, Pablo. You're always so good to me. So, so good I love you."

"Yeah?" He was leaning over you now, watching you fight sleep while recovering from the power of the climax you had just reached. He kissed your neck sweetly, sucking gently on your throat to leave a beautiful bruise at the base - enough to be visible the next day, but not dark enough to where it couldn't be covered with some makeup.

"Yeah. You're so good, Pablo." You ran your fingers through his hair for the millionth time, keeping him pressed against you, the electricity running through you. You moved one hand down to Pablo's boxers, rubbing his weeping member over his boxers, making his movements falter. His breathing was heavy against you, and you felt his hips move to rut against your palm.

"If you're tired," he panted out, "we... we can stop. I don't want you-"

"No," you moved to sit up, pushing Pablo's shoulders so that your positions were reversed, with his back against the headboard and you straddling his hips. You moved down, lips on his pulse point while your hands helped him removed the boxers caging him in.

"I want to make you feel good, mi Pablito. Let me show you how good you are."

Your naked pussy, still slick from your arousal and Pablo's spit, moved against his leaking cock, the friction driving both of you crazy. You continued to suck on his neck, moving from behind his ear down to his collarbone, and making your way back up to his Adam's apple. It was romantic and slow and sensual, the way his shaft rocked back and forth between your lips.

"Mi amor, so good, I- fuck." It was his turn to be left speechless as you slowly seated yourself on the tip of his dick. Your forehead was pressed against his, and he opened his eyes to gaze into yours as you seated yourself fully. Hands met his hard chest as you struggled to breathe, the stretch too pleasurable for you to want to move an inch. Grabbing at your thighs and leaning back against the headboard, Pablo began lifting you up and fucking into you, slow and hard and deep. He was in 7th heaven, watching the way your eyes watered from the overwhelming feeling of being so full.

"You're so good lito - the best. Fuck, fuck, no one can fuck me like you can."

"Ay mi amor," he sped up, the praise going straight to his libido, "going to cum."

"Cum inside me. Please, Pablo. I'm yours. Make me yours."

He encircled the back of your neck and brought your lips together in a harsh clash of tongue and teeth as he came, moaning into your mouth. He brought a hand down to finish you off as well, forcing his eyes open to capture yours screwing shut in pleasure.

As the two of you laid down for bed, exhausted and ready for sleep, Pablo took his normal place on your chest, bringing up your leg over his waist. He loved to be this close to you.

"So, lito, you think those were real?"

"Your words can lie, mi Doctora, but you of all people should know that you can't fake that death grip. That was definitely real."

It had been a week since then, and the new season was three games deep. Gavi had his insecurities quelled slightly by your consistent affections (and after ensuring he could make you cum), but it didn't make him like Joao any more than before. He still harbored negative feelings towards the Portuguese player. To the other club members, it was understood that Gavi was upset over his childhood friend Ansu being replaced. But to you and his closest friends? It was evident that he wasn't happy with the immediate comfort Joao felt towards you.

"Good morning, doutora! Thank you so much for that late night session - you really worked out my thighs like magic."

"Oh, are you coming out with us to the club? You should - I want to see how you look when you're not all professional."

"The boys from Chelsea say Hi, doutora. They're all telling me how lucky I am to be working under you."

All these comments had gotten under Gavi's skin in the days they were training, and today was no different. While Gavi was running drills, Joao found you on the side of the field and began a conversation with you about F1.

"Oh yeah, it sucks sometimes, but I can't be anything other than a Ferrari fan. I was able to get Pablo into it as well because of the Netflix show."

"Oh, is he also a Ferrari boy?"

"Oh, well he is, but I think he just does that for me. He's secretly rooting for Hamilton every race."

And despite not knowing the topic of the conversation, it absolutely boiled Gavi's blood to watch you talk and laugh so freely with this man who so obviously wants you. His frustration came out on the field, gaining him swift corrections from Xavi to think with his brain and not whatever was angering him at that current moment. When training concluded, he stood near Joao in the locker room, listening to his conversation with Cancelo and Ferran. When the Portugese boy noticed the small Spaniard's stare, he turned to him.

"Great job in training today, Pablo."

"Gavi. Only my parents and my girlfriend call me Pablo."

"Ay, sorry, Gavi. Must have gotten confused after taking to y/n."

"Are you trying to fuck my girlfriend?"

The question sent a shock around the locker room, and suddenly, there was silence. Everyone waited with baited breath to hear the response to the question and the subsequent aftermath.

"What?"

"You have like forty guys on this team that you could be working to get closer to and yet at every opportunity you're beside my girlfriend. So, are you trying to fuck her?"

"No, of course not! I-"

"Then what are you doing?" Pablo knew he was making a scene and that he would be told off for it later, but at the present he didn't care. All he wanted was to understand the plot of his new teammate and potentially his girlfriend's new man.

"Gavi, can we step outside?" Joao's maturity was showing in this moment. He was not about to start a scene two days before he was meant to step on the grass of one of the best clubs in the world. Gavi angrily followed him out of the locker room, prepared to throw insults or punches: whatever the situation called for.

"Okay, Gavi. I'm going to be honest with you because we're teammates and I think we could end up being friends. And because I feel like there's no point in lying. When I first met your girl in London, I thought she was gorgeous."

"I don't know why you thought this would help you build a friendship with me." Gavi deadpanned, anger rising to his throat. His new teammate had 30 more seconds before he lost it completely.

"No I- what I'm trying to say is yes, I did have a crush on her. You're not delusional."

"I already knew that."

"Let me finish!"

"Talk faster!"

"I had a crush on her but then Kepa told me she was with you and I laid off but then I saw her at the ceremony and she said she wasn't dating anybody so then she said her feet hurt from the shoes and she wanted to go back to her room so I walked her there and I asked her out and she said no and I was confused because she was single and she said she was waiting for someone and I just kind of figured it was you because you're the only thing she talked about that entire night and I am very happy for the both of you but feelings don't just disintegrate and I don't want to be a douche who has feelings for your girlfriend so please just tolerate me until I get over mu crush!"

Joao yelled out his entire confession in one breath to answer Gavi's request for speed. It threw the younger boy for a loop, and he was silent for a long moment while he processed what he wanted to say in response.

"So.... you asked out my girlfriend and got rejected?"

"Yes, but before she was your girlfriend!"

"So when my girlfriend was single, free from the guilt of cheating, you asked her out and she rejected you because she was waiting for someone else?"

"Yes."

"Yes let's go!"

Joao was utterly confused by the reaction of the boy. He was ready for yelling, maybe to run for his life, but he never expected Gavi to be smiling, punching the air and celebrating. He turned back to Joao, pulling him into a tight hug and smacking him on the back with strength that bordered on malicious, and then beamed up at him.

"Oh we're going to be just fine. Welcome to the team."

It was the stuff of dreams and fantasy. You couldn't believe the scene before you. On the sidelines at the home game in a full Olympic stadium, the fans shouting at the top of their lungs. Barca had just scored the equalizer against Osasuna, and they were coming off the field, little blobs of neon teal ready to prep for the second half. Felix and Cancelo were stretching, ready to make an appearance. A streak flew towards you, and in the tunnel you were met with a grass-stained Gavi, who hugged your middle and kissed you passionately on the cheek.

"You're doing wonderfully, mi Pablito." You said as you walked towards Ilkay to re-bandage his fingers.

"So are you, mi Doctora."

"I haven't really done anything yet." You said as Gavi moved towards the huddle to hear the second half strategy from Xavi.

"And let's please keep it that way! Don't get blood on your new kit."

And it was almost like you had spoken it into existence. There was an electric energy on the grass in the first half, but when the Joaos came on, it was like something just clicked. There was magic dancing through the air, and it seemed like the ball never left Barca's last third. It was just a matter of getting the timing right. And God, was it breathtaking. The midfield was moving like shadows, unstoppable as they fed the ball to Felix. He worked with Balde on the left, lighting fast reflexes that had you on your feet in an instant. It was an impeccable cross, soaring high above the defense line and meeting perfectly with Gavi, who had somehow levitated a foot in the air, and then was catapulted into the far corner of the net. The roar of the crowd was deafening, and you grasped Nicolas harshly and shook him, nearly throwing him to the ground as you screamed with excitement. Gavi had just scored the goal that put them ahead with an assist from Joao. Twitter was going to go insane.

You jumped on the sidelines, hands digging into the pockets of your jacket. You had finally taken what you see as a rather bold step and gotten yourself a Barca kit. Not just any kit - a home kit with 'Gavi 6' in bright white lettering on the back. You had yet to show it to him, wanting it to be a surprise reward. And there was no more perfect time than today. You daydreamed about his reaction, seeing his name on you. You dared to picture a wide smile, and him pulling you close, whispering in your ear how sexy you looked telling the world you were his.

You exited your daydream in time to witness the horrific scene on the pitch. Osasuna were obviously not happy with the performance of the team, and as usual, Gavi got the brunt of the emotionally charged response. They were shoving him, triple-teaming him, using every opportunity to get him on the ground. As Gavi moved into the penalty area, one of the opposing players decided that he couldn't, under any circumstance, let him score again. His arm went up, and his elbow collided directly with Gavi's right ear. The rest was in slow motion - much like the day Gavi took a knee to the groin. You watched the blunt force cause his skull to recoil, and he fell rather limply to the grass. His teammates gathered around, but you weren't going to wait to be called cover. You grabbed you bag and began pulling on your gloves, but a yell caught your attention. It was Joao's voice that got through to you, and over the roar of fans and coaches and disgruntled teammates, you made out the word 'blood' on his lips, and watched as he pointed to his ear.

You sprinted. Nicolas tried to follow, but even with his long legs he couldn't keep up with your speed. Gavi was on the ground. One arm across his eyes, and you could hear him whimper in pain. You looked around his head and saw them: the bright red drops on the grass, all stemming from the side of Pablo's head.

"Pablo, where are you-"

"Ear. From my ear."

You grasped Gavi's hand, wanting to move his arm so you could see, and he moved his hand into yours so that he could clutch it, squeezing hard because of the pain. You soon saw why. You suppressed your gasp as to not spark fear within him. His ear had been split clearly, the blunt force trauma rupturing the skin and causing heavier bleeding than you had seen in a long time.

"You need to come off, Pablo. You're bleeding badly."

"I want to stay on. It doesn't hurt terribly."

"Pablo-"

"Please. Help me stay on."

You nodded, deciding it was better to act fast than to argue. You sat him up, getting the saline and irrigating his ear from the blood. The cut was worse than you had previously anticipated, as you saw cartilage peak through before for the crimson returned once again. You continued to quickly clean and clear blood, a small mound of blood and iodine soaked gauze forming beside you. There wasn't enough time to give him stitches- even the continuous ones would be too slow. Gauze and medical tape would certainly not be enough to keep his ear covered and clean for these last 15 minutes. And plus, his cartilage was oxidizing quickly. You needed to close the cut, and given the circumstances, there was really only one way to do it.

"Can you handle a little bit more pain?" You met Gavi's wide eyes, and he gave your hand a rough squeeze and nodded gently, trying not to move his head too much. You went to pull your hand from his and were met with resistance. He wasn't able to let go.

"Nicolas, gloves on and hand me the stapler."

He handed you the machine and you instructed him on how to place his hands, closing up the flesh and overlapping the skin. You lined up the gun and repressed the urge to close your eyes. You placed four quick staples in his ear, closing the cartilage in a quick way, heart aching at the sounds he made when each one pierced his skin. You cleaned out the blood one last time, and helped him rise to his feet, met with the cheers of 80,000 culers.

"Come on - you need to be seen by Dr. G on the side before you can continue playing. Make sure they didn't crack your skull."

As you ushered him to the sidelines, the penalty review completed and granted to the blaugrana. Dr. G looked over your work, nodding to Gavi that he could go back onto the field.

"Good work, doctora. He will need reinforced stitches after the match concludes, but you're more than capable."

"Of course, sir."

The boys were all aggregated around the penalty box, clapping Gavi on the shoulder as he returned. Lewy raised an eyebrow in his direction, and Gavi gave him a thumbs up in response.

"Don't worry about me - worry about scoring." He called, falling into place beside Pedri and Joao. His Canarian friend placed an arm around his shoulder, bringing him in silently. It was a nasty hit, one of the worst in a long time, and seeing the blood stop dripping onto Gavi's jersey allowed him to finally breathe more easily.

"You okay?" Joao finally asked, eyes still trained on the preparation for the penalty attempt.

"I can still hear, so I guess I'm fine." Gavi replied, arms crossed over his chest but tone remaining light.

"Scars are sexy anyways." Pedri added, sending Gavi a suggestive look.

"Yeah, Van Gogh didn't get any bitches until that ear was gone." Joao's comment caught the Spanish boys off guard, causing them both to double over in laughter. Gavi gave him a playful elbow to the side as Pedri praised is comedy, and from the sidelines your relaxed slightly, watching your Pablo bond with his teammates. The penalty was brilliant and efficient, and after 15 minutes of you clenching Nicolas' arm and watching for a sprouting of red to emerge on Pablo's head, the final whistle sounded, and the boys approached the crowd to celebrate a hard-earned victory.

The players all shuffled into the tunnel, and Gavi quickly found you, walking with you off the field and placing a hand on the small of your back.

"I'm sorry, mi Doctora - I got blood on my kit." He said softly as the two of you walked through the tunnels, and you couldn't stop yourself from throwing both arms around him and kissing his soft pout. As you moved your arms away, you noticed the red droplets littering the light material of your staff uniform.

"It's okay, mi Pablito, looks like I did too. I can do you stitches at home, but blood is a biohazard, so we need to put this with the medical laundry before we leave."

The two of you walked to the locker room, walking into a closed area just behind that was used for medical exams.

"Can you turn around?" You asked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

"What haven't I seen before?" He asked cheekily, and you rolled your eyes as you pushed his shoulders to make him face the wall. He peeled off his own stained shirt, toeing off his boots and rolling his socks down to relieve the pressure on his calves.

"Can I turn around now?" He asked almost mockingly, and after your agreement, he turned to face you, but meeting your back instead. It took him a moment to understand what was going on, opening his mouth to ask what was going on, but his eyes focused and the words died on his tongue. In bright white text, the saw his name curved around your shoulder blades, his number sitting perfectly in the dip of your back.

"You... my shirt?" He couldn't bring himself to articulate his question more clearly. You knew what he meant, looking over your shoulder, and Pablo was absolutely certain his brain was going to short circuit. It was like there was a halo of light surrounding you, your soft eyes behind beautiful fluttering lashes. Pink lips peaked from above your shoulder, your hair gathered to keep your back exposed. You were wearing his name. You were at work wearing his name, about to walk outside and proudly show off that you were Gavi's. And despite him saying it repeatedly, that was the moment it really clicked in his head. He had you. We were his.

And while he was lifting you up to kiss him, hands harsh on the soft fabric inscribed with his name, people were a step behind, speculating about you being Gavi's as well.

@88rizzing: ok i finally beat @/gaviraconcubine to it - look at these videos from gavis injury. is he holding the girl doctors hand??

412 likes 8 retweets 17 replies

@bigbootybarca: ???? does it just hurt that bad or are they f*******

@alanaTV: yall he's literally getting his ear STAPLED let the man hold onto something

@marcusrashfussy: isnt this the one who ppl posted after the bdor? like the one who hugged gavi?

@gaviraconcubine: ok u got me w that one @/88rizzing but have you seen them walking into the tunnel with gavi on her waist???

881 likes 37 retweets 262 replies

@88rizzing: are you fucking kidding me

@v1scab4rca: AYO??? GUYS ITS PABLO GAVIRIZZ

@4rmy-gyal-4: the bath is ready someone hand me the toaster

@arabianmadridi: at least hes not with the zionest god bless

@loonastansbrazil: @/88rizzing @/gaviraconcubine i got both of yall. i got this pic of them walking out of the stadium.

9,907 likes 424 retweets 1455 replies

The photo was one of the worst quality things on twitter. It was blurry and crooked and extremely zoomed in, but there was no doubt about the subject. Gavi was in his training shirt and his grass stained shorts, socks rolled down to his ankles and Nike slides taking the place of his usual dripped out sneakers. His head was turned to the left, his entire side profile visible. The smile that spread across his face was blinding even in the photo's limited pictures, and his fingers were threaded between those of another person. Your face was turned towards Gavi as well, distorted by your hair on your shoulder. But your back, turned squarely to the camera, was clear as Day with the large '6' contrasting the stripes. The internet was going wild at the thought that he young football star had bagged his doctor.

"Not to be the bearer of bad news, mi doctora," Pablo started, laying on your couch with his head on the pillow, injured ear in the air, "but Twitter found out that you're obsessed with me."

Your laugh was faint but audible, and your footsteps coming swiftly down Gavi's staircase. The sutures and other medications were in your hand, and you moved to sit on the couch, laying the pillow and Pablo's head across your lap.

"Well, took them long enough. I've been publicly thirsting over you forever now." You picked up your gloves and tweezers, about to begin the painstaking process of pulling out the staples so that you could drain his ear.

"Can I grab something before you start?" He said, and you paused midair. "Alright, but quickly. I don't want the numbing cream to wear off. I'm tired of you crying on the pillows."

"That was only one time!" He yelled over his shoulder, running up to his bedroom despite your please for him to not run in socks on the tile. He came back downstairs with a large book and a paper bag from the supermarket. He laid back down on your lap, snuggling his cheek into the pillow.

"Okay, I'm ready. Rip my ear open."

You pulled the first staple and watched for his reactions. of which there were very few. You took this as a sign to continue. As you pulled out the second staple, struggling not to tear his skin because it was wedged under the third, you asked.

"When did you start reading, Pablo?"

"Don't worry, it's a picture book." He giggled slightly and cracked open the book. On the first page, sprawled in boyish handwriting and black sharpie, was the title: My Precious Moments.

"What is this?"

"Keep working, mi doctora. I'll read it to you."

He hissed slightly as you pulled out the final staple, and you began the process of cleaning. He turned the first page, and you let out a laugh that surprised even yourself. The first page was your official school photo that Gavi had printed out, your wide smile and white coat looking crisp. He had surrounded your picture with red hearts, a thousand of them all over the page.

"This is Doctora y/n y/l/n," Pablo began reading, and you gently moved the iodine across his skin. "But we never call her that. We call her Mi doctora. She's the most wonderful beautiful sexy fantastic amazing girl, and she's dating you, her Pablito."

He turned the page as you threaded the nylon thread into the needle to begin closing him up. The next page was a collage of newspaper and magazine clippings of Gavi's best moments.

"This is you, footballer Pablo Gavi. Handsome, talented, and always a winner."

"You forgot humble, mi amor." You said with a smirk.

"Oh, you're right. I'll have to add that in later."

He flipped the page once again, and it was a copy of the photo you gave him for Christmas. Around it were several post it notes taped to the pages. They all said various things in Pablo's signature handwriting: 'doctora number - DO NOT LOSE!', 'see girl dr tmr morning for leg stuff', 'doctora coffee order', etc.

"This is you and doctora before she liked you. We definitely already liked her, but we're kind of stubborn."

"What are those? You asked while never taking your eyes off of them.

"They're all the notes I have about you. The ones that I kept around so I wouldn't forget."

You tried to keep the tears out of your eyes, needing one more stitch to be done with Pablo's ear. He turned the page again, and it was a collection of photos of the two of you from the Supercopa, with you and Gavi both holding onto the trophy.

"This is after doctora broke up with her crusty boyfriend. look at how happy everyone is!"

You laughed once again, having to put down the needle and just let out the joy, allowing it to take over your entire body. You picked up the stapler again, placing four quick staples in his ear as he flipped the page again. You pressed onto the newly patched ear, applying gentle pressure. The pages were filled with printed out photos: the sunset over the sea, a bush of bright pink flowers, a fluffy dog smiling widely. An array of beautiful, ordinary things.

"These are all the things we took pictures of while thinking about the doctora. The sun, the moon, bracelets on street stalls, dogs at the park, butterflies on the football field. All the beautiful things that you wanted to capture and give to her. You just didn't know why, yet."

You tapped his shoulder, indicating that he could sit up. He rested his back across the couch, lifting one arm to invite you to lay against his chest. Nuzzling into his side, your head rested against the dip connecting his shoulder to his collar. The next page was from the end of the league, all the stupid selfies the two of you had taken with the La Liga trophy.

"This is when doctora decided to stay in the club. We're so lucky that she decide to do that, because it gave us the time to grow some balls and confess to her. And also, your first La Liga win (in general and with this hottie)."

You kissed Pablo's cheek, whispering how amazing he was against his skin.

"Hold on, I'm about to get more amazing." He said, turning the page. It was only two pictures. The first was a picture of him on stage holding his Kopa trophy, smiling brightly at the crowd. The second was the one Pedri had took while you two were preoccupied with your first "I never want to let you go" kiss. The two of you were wrapped around each other, lips locked, and Pablo's trophy sitting in the bottom of the frame.

"This is the day that we finally became a man. You got a cute award, and you got the love of your life. And we better not be sitting over this and reading it because we fumbled her. Break your face before you fumble Doctora. She'll fix it for you."

The tears were flowing freely now, and you hugged closer against Gavi. You had never been treated so specially by anyone in your life. And here was Pablito, so busy and occupied with being a world class footballer taking the time to make a scrap book of you. He turned the page one more time, and it was a collection of selfies that you had taken with him at home, all cut into hearts and stick on haphazardly. But to you it was the most stunning sight in the world.

"And here you two are. In your favorite place in the world (at home on the couch) with your favorite person. In love in a way that would have made you nauseous last year. So here is a place for you to keep all the precious moments of the two of you, so that you can never forget how far you have come."

He placed the book in your hands, and moved to get up, grabbing the bag he brought down earlier. Your tear-stained cheeks were rosy, and you couldn't even begin to articulate how you felt. He sat back down, pulling you into his lap and cuddling you in his arms. His head was resting against your shoulder, peppering soft kisses to your neck.

"I know it's a little obvious now, mi doctora, but I love pictures. I don't think I ever realized how much pictures meant to me until you gave me one. But when I look at you, I wish I could photograph you every second and then play back every moment. I wish that we could be frozen in these moments, happy and feeling like there was nothing in the world besides each other. But then I realized that no matter the moment, that's how I feel. Every time I'm with you, I feel invincible. I feel like I'm at the happiest I will ever be. And it's all because of you. You are what I want beside me, forever."

He placed the supermarket bag in your hands. You reached in, pulling out a pale blue jewelry box. Your eyes widened, and you swiveled around to face your love.

"Pablo... is this... I look terrible."

"Don't worry, mi amor. It's not a ring. Not yet anyways. We can't get married while you're still in school, cause I don't want our wedding to overshadow your graduation."

"You've thought about a wedding? Our wedding?"

"Of course." He placed a long kiss to the side of your neck. "I've thought about our wedding since before we got together. We're going to get married in the summer, of course. So that we can be tan and gorgeous - not that you're not always gorgeous, but you'll just glow against the white. Like an angel. Or a princess. Or both. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but in my little fantasies before I go to sleep, you're in this long white dress, like something from Disney. And then it would be between seasons, so I can take you on a proper looong honeymoon. Four weeks in a private beach where you pack only bikinis and lingerie. Now come on open it - I got this weeks ago when we were in Madrid and you had to stay for an exam."

You opened the box slowly, not knowing what to hope for exactly. In front of you was a traditional Spanish necklace, almost resembling a rosary. It was silver and pearls chained together, ending in large silver heart with filigree etched into the metal. The lines formed into a cursive 'P' in the center.

"P for Pablo?" You asked with sniffles and tears.

"Yes of course. But that's not even the best part." He whispered, hands coming up to join yours. He grasped the heart and pulled until you heard a faint click, and it was only then that you noticed the hinges. It was a locket. You gently separated the halves, and staring back at you was a black and white photo. It was of you and Pablo, one night when you were laying on his couch like the two of you somehow always did. You were trying to fix yourself in your camera, and Pablo pulled your chin down to kiss you, and you hand snapped a picture. For a few weeks, it was his lock screen, and you had to admit you were disappointed when he changed it to a different photo. But now, seeing it here, feeling the gentle touch of his fingers against your skin as he placed the necklace on you, you had never felt more loved or in love.

"I love you, Pablo. I love being with you. I love being yours."

Those were the only words that felt appropriate at the moment.

"I love you more, mi doctora. I feel like I'm going to love you forever. And that thought used to terrify me. But now, it's something for me to look forward to. Waking up every day to love you."

He reached back into the back, pulling out a small suede pouch in the same light blue. He placed it in your hands as well.

"You're spoiling me now Pablo."

"That's my job."

Pulling the strings, you opened the pouch, reaching in and feeling metal. You pulled on the chain and it slowly rose, ending in a silver key. It was also engraved with the words 'el hogar' on the side.

"I know that we talked about you moving in, but I never want to make you uncomfortable. So for right now, this is just a necklace with a key as the charm." He hooked it around your neck, and it sat beautifully above your pearls. "And when you want, you can use it as a key to your boyfriend's house, for whatever you want really." He turned you to face him, pressing his lips right between your collar bones. "And when you feel like you're ready, it can be a key to our house."

"Our house. I like the sound of that."

His smile was infectious. "So do I."

~~~~~~~~~

A/N:

And there it is!! Just Pretend, signed sealed and delivered for your pleasure! I am really happy with how this came out tbh, and hope you all enjoy. I have exams and school for the next two weeks so I might be MIA from writing, but I should be back soon. Please if you feel so inclined leave a comment, a reblog, or a message in my ask box about your thoughts/ feelings, and see y'all soon!

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9 @lavie3nrose @ge0rg1ewaa @i8yul @lovefordilfs271 @remuslupinluver @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @kaismybabe @notanenthucutlet @fullsun9890 @venomwh0re @renaissancewhxre @gaviandgrizisgirl @altgojo @urmomdotcom5678 @eliseline @invidia-of-alhambra @pixwls @stell4rrrs @80sloverry @car1no-xx @mrsgavira @888bear @kylianmbappee @ivyhrry @gaviypedrisbride @grlwithprblms @dessxoxsworld @user6373738 @sideeblogsstuff @halaxxx @berriesaren

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auteurdelabre · 5 months

Text

Daddy Morales (one shot)

Rating: 18+ mdni!!!!

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f! Reader

Warnings: Daddy kink, oral (m receiving), power imbalance, infidelity, finger sucking, public sex (truck) dirty talk. Gentle Dom Frankie.

Authors note: I took a poll and you wanted this! This is glorified pwp. Just so horny for Frankie these days. Came to me in a daydream. I blame the fever I've got. Frankie fever.

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Frankie has come to despise date night. What started as a prompt from their couples counselor as a way to connect has swiftly become an evening every week for his wife Carmen to shit on everything he does.

It always starts the same - dinner out where she complains that they can't really afford it on his salary. This is usually followed by observations that her other friends wives don't need to worry about this. That they're good with their money. That if Frankie hadn't been caught on the job with coke they'd be set.

And he sits there listening, head slightly bowed under his baseball cap and he takes it. He takes it because it's true. He fucked up doing coke. He fucked up back in Columbia. He's always fucking up.

He thinks there's a sick part of Carmen that enjoys how beaten down he is. A part of her that feels superior. He was a pilot and she a secretary when they met. When he didn't work for a year because of his license being revoked she supported them and she likes to remind Frankie of this. Often.

But tonight is the last straw.

"You're a shit father, Frank."

There's a lot Frankie will shoulder. Shitty provider, sure. Emotionally distant husband, yep. But a shitty father? No. That's where he draws the line.

"You're never around," Carmen insists, eyes out the window as the truck rumbles into the driveway. "And when you are you're sleeping. Luca barely knows what you look like."

"I'm doing shift work to save money that you say we need," Frankie grits out, fingers curling around the steering wheel. "Flying helicopters isn't a 9-5. You've always known that."

"We wouldn't be in this mess if your coke-"

"Oh don't fucking start that shit again," Frankie all but shouts as they exit the truck and walk towards their front door. "Every spare minute I have, I spend with my son. Can you say the same?"

Carmen's cheeks go red. She knows he's alluding to her shopping trips and visits to the salon. Yeah, Frankie fucked up for a bit but Carmen has always had a spending problem.

She is furious but she drops her voice so it doesn't carry as he unlocks the front door and they push inside.

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"What else is new?" he growls, tension high. "Just go to fucking bed. We'll talk tomorrow."

He and Carmen both end their bickering as they come around the corner to see you in front of the television. It's on low in the background while you read your textbook.

You've been babysitting his son Luca for months now. Always on time, always cheerful, always thankful when he drives you home. You're doing your masters in education. You talk about your future with the kind of hope Frankie used to at your age.

Carmen doesn't even say hello. She just rushes upstairs to their bedroom and slams the door behind her. Frankie winces at the sound and you start, dropping your book.

"Oh hi Mr Morales," you say cautiously. "I didn't realize you were home. Luca is already asleep."

Frankie gives a wan smile, striding over and grabbing your fallen textbook. He shoves it into your hand, smiling down at you.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Ready for me to take you home?"

He watches you gather up your bag and books, eyes floating away when you bend over to grab one of the books under the couch.

He walks you to the truck, waiting until you have your seatbelt on before turning over the engine.

You don't live too far but Frankie always drives you home at night. He doesn't trust the big bad world outside his doorstep, especially not with a sweet thing like you.

You chat about Luca the entire drive and Frankie is pleased to hear that his son was well behaved.

It's not until Frankie parks in front of your apartment building that you suddenly grow somber. You want to say something, that much is clear. But he sees the hesitation in you. Sees the way that you gnaw at the corner of your mouth in concern.

"What's up?"

"I'm sorry I know this probably isn't my place," you blurt. "But Is everything okay Mr. Morales? You seem off."

He's heartened in the delicate way you speak to him. Maybe that's why he lets it all spill out without thinking.

"Uh no, actually. Apparently I'm a terrible father," Frankie says with a humorless laugh.

"What? No you're not!"

He's surprised by how emphatically you say that. He glances up to see the sheen to your eyes and his heart lurches.

"I've been your babysitter for months now and I've seen how you are with your son," you tell him, coming to shuffle so close to him on the bench seat of the truck that he feels your thigh press against his.

When he turns his head he can see the size of your quickly expanding pupils.

"You're the most wonderful father I sit for," you say passionately. "You know Luca says that? He tells me every night when I tuck him into bed that he's so happy you're his Daddy."

For some reason this comment is what breaks Frankie. Knowing how his son feels about him. The kindness you're showing him. The quiet comfort just being near you brings him. He isn't thinking when he lets his forehead fall to your shoulder, eyes wet with tears.

He doesn't even take time to think of how inappropriate this is but you hold him regardless, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders. When he feels your gentle embrace he clings to you, tears spilling from his eyes as you whisper soothing words of comfort.

"You're a good Daddy," you say as he nudges his face into your shoulder. He feels your fingers glide through his hair soothingly. "So good."

At the sound of Daddy in your hushed voice at his ear Frankie feels his traitorous cock lengthen in his jeans. He jerks back slightly in shame, pulling his face from your neck and gazing at you, suddenly affronted with a very disturbing fact.

You're incredibly attractive.

He's never realized how enticing you are. Sure you're a good looking woman, but he's never noticed how your breasts fill out your sweatshirt until just now. Maybe he's forced himself not to notice.

What the fuck are you thinking?

You're just sitting there beside him in the truck with a concerned look in your face. He feels disgusting for thinking of you in that way when all you've tried to do is comfort him.

"You're the best Daddy," you say in a voice so sweet Frankie actually feels his cock twitch. His pulse ticks along with it as he watches you drag your tongue over your lower lip.

You don't even realize what you're doing.

And as if in a trance Frankie watches his own hand go to yours. You make a little sound of surprise when he takes your wrist in his grip, tugging gently. Your arm goes limp, allowing him to guide your hand between his legs. He drags your slack fingers over his hard cock overtop his jeans.

He watches your eyes widen in surprise, fingers trembling as you realize what's happening.

"S'okay," he reassures you. "Go ahead."

He urges your hand underneath his boxers, eyelids fluttering when your tentative fingers graze the head. But he is silent when you begin stroking him with gentle tugs.

Fuck that feels good. It's been months since he and Carmen have fucked. She's so mad at him so often he's often forced to find his relief in the shower most mornings, coming against the tile with a whimper.

He feels his hips jump when the tip of his head begins to bead with precome and you use it to aid in your strokes. He sees you staring at him, aroused and flushed.

He watches your delicate hand wrapped around him, fingers not even able to span the entire width of him. He sees his cocks rosy head appear and disappear with every stroke of your sweet hand.

It looks debauched.

He should stop you.

"So big," you say softly, eyes wide on Frankie's burning face as your hand works over his weeping cock.

"Ever seen one this big before?"

You shake your head, blushing prettily. Frankie smiles gently at this, head tilting forward as he watches you jerk him off.

She's my babysitter. I'm married. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Frankie pulls your hand off of him gently, his palm sliding up your spine. He feels as you quiver under his touch and his balls tighten.

"Should stop," he says breathily heavily. You don't say anything, but he thinks you look disappointed.

Unconsciously his hand goes to your face, thumb trailing over your damp lower lip. He pulls it down gently, showing him your slick bottom teeth. For some reason this makes him groan.

He feels his breath catch when your mouth moves forward to capture his thumb in your mouth. His eyes are transfixed, watching as you suck the digit into your mouth, your eyes never leaving his.

Frankie moans gently when your tongue circles his thumb inside your wet mouth, the promise of more.

"You're such a good Daddy," you murmur from around his thumb, eyes growing heavy-lidded. Frankie glances around, thankful it's dark and that the parking lot of the apartment is deserted.

He slowly removes the finger, dragging it down over your lower lip, urging your mouth to part. His wide palm moves to the back of your head, carding through your soft tresses.

"Show Daddy how good," Frankie whispers.

You allow him to slowly guide your face to his cock, your tongue darting out to lick the beads of arousal already there in the slit. Frankie gasps at the sensation, hand tightening in your hair. He feels his cock aching when you turn your eyes up on him, smirking.

Frankie groans something in Spanish, his hand pressing firmer now against the back of your head. He relishes in the fact that you don't even hesitate to take him fully into your mouth.

Frankie let's out a string of garbled noises as he begins to thrust shallowly into your scorching mouth, sure not to overwhelm you. You take it all with your hands on his thigh, moaning in pleasure.

He lifts his hand from the back of your head, watching as you bob your mouth up and down his cock without direction. You feel eager and you twist your tongue, flicking the underside of the mushroom head of his cock.

You pull off only to lick at him, long rapid stripes like he's melting ice cream. Frankie listens to the wet sounds you make as you do this, feeling his spine tingle.

"You're doing so good," Frankie manages to get out between whimpers. "Fuck, your tongue is..Mmmm... Oh fuck, yeah you like sucking Daddy's cock don't you?"

You hum around his cock in approval before he feels your hand coming to the base of his cock and stroking. Frankie gasps raggedly at that, letting out little whimpers as he gets closer to his release.

"Daddy's gonna give you his come now," Frankie grunts out, hand back to your head, but just resting there. "And you're not gonna waste a drop, right babygirl?"

You pull off of him slowly, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to the glossy head of his cock.

"No Daddy," you tell him earnestly. "Gonna swallow it all for you."

Frankie stares at you as your mouth descends once against upon his cock, slipping him deep into your throat. Frankie cannot believe this is happening. That he's actually fucking the mouth of his babysitter and about to come down her throat.

This is so wrong. I'm sick.

You must sense his hesitation because he feels your head drifting.

"Want it Daddy," you gurgle from around his cock, eyes tilted up at him from his lap. "Please?"

Everything in Frankie comes alive at this request.

"Fuck yeah babygirl. Take all of Daddy's come. Uh huh, just like that. Yeah down that tight little throat. You suck Daddy dry."

Frankie finally comes with a shudder when you begin whimpering around his cock, pulsing into your waiting mouth as he cries out your name, his hips bucking into your mouth until they stutter to a stop.

You swallow every drop just like you promised.

He watches you slowly pull yourself off his slick cock, wiping your mouth delicately with the back of your hand. Your face is flushed, mouth slick and Frankie wants nothing more than to go up to your apartment and fuck you until morning.

"Goodnight Mr. Morales," you say with a soft smile.

Frankie can only offer a dazed nod and a scratchy goodbye as you exit the truck with your purse slung over one shoulder and your textbooks gathered into your arms.

He waits until you're safely inside the lobby of the building before he turns the truck on rumbles towards home. Home to his too-small house and his upset wife.

But at least he knows he's a good Daddy.

#frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #catfish #pedro pascal smut #filthy smut #smut smut smut #smut #power imbalance #fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #francisco morales

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shanastoryteller · 1 year

Note

happy birthday!! i would love to read something about zagreus!!!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Thanatos has seen the courtyard maintained by Queen Persephone, is well aware of the poms that liter the realm thanks to her influence, but this is something different.

"Than?" Zagreus asks nervously.

Even in Elysium the trees and fields are washed out, half there and half not, ethereal in the way of loss rather than beauty.

This is lush.

There are fields of strange fruits and vegetables growing, acres of rolling hills and forests, all of if glittering as brightly as the gemstones that litter the realm. There are people down there, working and planting, and others talking and laughing, buildings carved from stone and built from mudbricks and grown from twisting oaks.

They've stepped out onto a balcony, high enough to see for miles, and nowhere in the underworld is there this much space. It's all rooms and sections, constantly shifting, nothing allowed to just be be. Except here.

"Say something," Zagreus says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You're making me nervous."

"Where are we?" he asks. They're still in the underworld, but in none of the three levels or on the river, and that's all that should be, all that should exist. There is nothing else.

Zagreus swallows. "Um, well, it doesn't have a name exactly. Or it does, I guess. Everyone keeps calling it the Prince's Court, even though I think that's stupid."

The Prince's Court. He and Megaera had heard whispers of that. They thought it referred to Zagreus, and his growing power, and the people he kept close. Him, and Meg, and Dusa, except it turns out it had nothing to do with them at all.

"Have you lost your mind?" he demands, finally tearing his eyes away to glare at Zagreus. "Doing something like this in Hades's realm - he's going to kill you and make it stick-"

"This isn't my father's realm," he interrupts and Thanatos sputters. "No, I'm serious. Stop freaking out and focus."

"I'm not freaking out," he retorts but he grudgingly listens, if only so he can then continue yelling without interruption.

Hades's power is not limitless, as Zagreus has demonstrated so many times, but it is ever present, settling like a cloak over his domain and keeping it tightly within his grasp, not letting anything escape his attention or control.

Thanatos frowns then stretches his senses further.

It's only Zagreus.

The power he'd felt from his friend and brother and the person he loved most, something that he'd once had to press close and breathe in to feel and then later had ballooned to a comfortable presence that hung around Zagreus's shoulders.

They're standing so close now that he hadn't even thought it was strange that his power was all around them. But it's not because of that. It's because in this place, of open spaces and flourishing fruits and smiling people, it's Zagreus who holds it steady.

Not Hades.

"Why would you do this," he whispers, "why wouldn't you just challenge him for the throne if that's what you wanted?"

This is so much worse. An inevitable civil war, father against son, in a way so much bigger than their fights on the surface.

He makes a face. "Why would I want that? The underworld is depressing. And dealing with all those spirits is a lot of work. This is better. Besides, then I'd just inherit his curse, and then I'd have to work my way around it all over again. No thanks."

"What are you talking about?" he demands. "You're cursed too."

Zagreus grins, bright and happy and Thanatos can't return it because this is insane and he's insane and it's all going to end in misery. "Race you to the mountaintop."

Before Thanatos can say how ridiculous that is, a chaos rift appears behind Zagreus and he steps back and slips inside it, the rift closing before Thanatos can follow him.

Chaos is involved in this too? His grandparent, who has never take an interest in the affairs of the underworld and who has enough power to tip the scales in any direction they choose.

This just gets worse and worse.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #screamingmadvoid #hades game

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yeehaw4yoongi · 2 years

Text

Iced Americano | JJK

Pairing: jk x barista female reader

Rating: 18+ | minors dni | nsfw

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: drinking alcohol, kissing, some swearing, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, mentions of cum, titty play, mentions of food/eating, mentions of milk (but literally just milk nothing nasty is being done with the milk), shower sex, dom-ish jk

Genre: fluff, smut, non-idol au, strangers to lovers, some angst

Summary: You wake up thinking today would be like any other day but you were wrong.

A/N: Hi tumblr! This is my first stab at writing any kind of fanfic. I'm new to all the warnings, categories, and abbreviations so please bear with me. Thinking about doing a part 2 since I feel like there is so much build up in this half, so if you enjoyed it, please comment, reblog, and like!

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Today started like most of your days do. The alarm yanks you out of your slumber at 4:30AM and you drag yourself to the shower. You have about half an hour to get to the bus so you can make it to work at 6:00AM. You sprint to your stop and make it just as the bus pulls up. You won’t be late today.

As you ride down the dark city streets you make a list of everything that needs to be done to open the cafe by 7:00AM. You take inventory of everyone out and about already hard at work. Street sweepers and stall keepers mill around setting the scene for the world that has yet to wake. Despite the start time, you love the opening shift. It’s where humans on different paths cross as night transitions into the morning. Party people with pupils the size of the moon and 9 to 5’ers alike find themselves convening in the queue for coffee. The day goes by as usual. Taking orders, making light conversation, steaming milk, and cleaning up empty cups make the morning go by quickly, and before you know it’s nearly time for the shift change. By now the freshness of the morning ceases to exist. You’re covered in coffee grounds and sweat has taken its toll on your makeup. You switch out the till drawer and head to the office to count the morning’s takings. Once you finish, you collect your bag and head back into the bustling cafe. It’s a small space so you weave your way through the crowded shop. You stop by the counter on your way out to bid your workmate adieu and that’s when you notice him.

His tall slender frame leans against the counter as he orders an iced americano. He reaches for his wallet and you notice the tattoos on his hands. You don’t allow yourself to keep looking. Instead, you push passed him and the other people queuing and head for the door. One of your workmates shouts behind you “see you tomorrow!” and as you turn around to wave you meet eyes with Iced Americano. For a split second, your heart plummets into your stomach. He looks down at his phone and you’re released from his grip. He seems unfazed but the depth of his glance has shaken you. Walking down the street toward the bus you brush off the interaction. This city is full of attractive people. You serve them every day. What made him different?

“Never mind,” you tell yourself as you climb the steps to the top deck of the bus. You have errands to run and a friend’s birthday dinner to go to tonight. As the afternoon wanes you forget about Iced Americano and go about getting ready for the evening’s festivities. You make your best effort. The restaurant you’re going to for the party is one of the nicest Italian places in town and you want to look the part.

The city sparkles as you make your way through town in the cold. You see the restaurant down the road. The warmth practically flows out of the windows. As you enter, you’re met with a scene of beauty. Peach-colored light is defused through sheer fabric dressed around each of the fixtures that hang from the ceiling. They reflect off of the polished brass glass rack hanging above the marble-top bar and bathe the marble walls in a rose gold hue. Vintage mirrors hang above a row of pale blue booth seats that run parallel to the bar and give way to the dining room. You stand at the door and take it all in. Scanning the dining room you realize you’re the first of your group to arrive. The maitre d’ pulls out one of the plush mint green bar stools and motions for you to take a seat. You order yourself a glass of wine and pass the time looking through your phone. As you wait, the bar fills up around you. Your phone buzzes and it’s your friend saying they’re nearly there. You motion to the bartender to close out your tab. He places the bill on the bar. When you look down you see something familiar out of the corner of your eye- a tattoo and more importantly the hand it belongs to. How long had Iced Americano been there? Your eyes never leave the tray the receipt is on as you slide it towards you. That’s when you hear his voice. “What wine are you drinking?” You mess up your signature but decide there’s no way he was talking to you and so you push the tray back toward the bartender and place your card back in your wallet. It’s when you get up to tell the maitre d’ your group has almost arrived that you meet Iced Americano’s gaze. Turns out he was talking to you. He looks at you with an inquisitive brow as he awaits your response.

“I, I uh, it’s the Cabernet” you manage to blurt out through your shock. The bartender nods at Iced Americano and he orders the Cabernet. “Thank you,” he says with a wide smile. You stand there looking up at him for what was probably only 2 seconds but feels like much longer. Just then your friends swan in and swallow you up in their hugs and kisses of greeting. You look back at Iced Americano and smile and give him a small wave as you head to your table.

Your seat at the table faces one of the mirrors hung on the walls. You and your friends order two bottles of wine and some small plates to start. You’re wrapped up in the comfort of their company. Everyone is sharing the highlights of their day and listening as the birthday girl lists off all of the presents she’s gotten. As the server brings the wine and serves a sample to your friend you look up into the mirror. Sitting at the table directly behind you is Iced Americano with two others. His seat at the table gives you a clear view of his face in the mirror’s reflection. You try your best to stay engaged in the conversation happening at your table but the image in the mirror pulls your gaze back to it. His face is kind and his eyes are soft and doe-like. The curve of his jaw is sharp. Even through the vintage mirror, you can tell his bone structure resembles that of a statue. You’ve lost yourself in his image and he must have felt you staring because his eyes look up to meet yours. You’re rendered breathless but you don’t divert your eyes. The server pours your glass of wine and you refocus on the table.

Several food courses and drinks go by before the bill inevitably arrives. Your party wraps up and as you collect your things to leave you steal another glance at Iced Americano in the mirror hoping it won’t be the last. You make your way out with your group and wait with them as each of their cabs arrive. Standing alone on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant you watch your Uber get closer and closer to picking you up but you’re not ready to go home yet. You look behind you through the restaurant window and see Iced Americano sitting at the bar. You decide to throw caution to the wind and cancel the Uber.

The liquid courage running through your veins makes it easy, a little too easy, to take the seat directly next to the man that has captured your attention. You don’t say anything to him as the weight of your decision begins to hit you. It’s too late now, and when the bartender asks what you would like you say, “He and I will have an espresso martini,” and motion to Iced Americano sitting next to you. He looks at you with a surprised look and you grin. “Did you order that for me?” he asks with a chuckle. You nod. “What’s your name?” you ask. He responds, “My name is Jungkook. It’s nice to meet you.”

You sit at the bar nursing your drinks and talking. He’s in town working for a couple of days. You mention being a barista but don’t mention where. You talk about traveling and the places you’ve been, comparing notes on cities you’ve both visited. He is incredibly well-traveled and regales you with stories about his time spent on the road. As you chat the restaurant starts closing down. Eventually, the bartender makes the last call and Jungkook asks if you’d like to take a bottle of wine to go. The idea sends a tingle up your spine. You initially thought the espresso martini would be the nightcap but your shift doesn’t start until the afternoon the next day, and why wouldn’t you get a bottle of wine to go? You answer him, “I’d love to. I know a place we can go with it.”

When you step outside the cold air hits your lungs and the warm blur from inside the restaurant sharpens. You are greeted by the sounds of cabs passing by and people chatting and laughing as they make their way to the train station. The city lights shine and wrap you up. You feel safe under them. The libations from dinner and the impromptu nightcap make your mind feel light and optimistic like anything could happen. As though somehow this moment is the beginning of your life.

You start walking down the road and turn to see if Jungkook is following you. He’s still standing at the door holding the wine and thanking the staff for a wonderful meal and exquisite service. Waiting for him a few paces along the sidewalk you take the opportunity to admire his whole form. He’s tall with broad strong shoulders. His turtleneck hugs his arms and chest and his slacks are perfectly tailored - a statue. As he walks toward you he asks, “Where do we go next?”

The two of you make your way through town passing the theatre district down to the river. You find a bench along the bank and take a seat to watch boats pass while lights on the other side twinkle in the background. He had the forethought to ask the bartender to uncork the wine but you both forgot cups. He playfully pulls the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottle and then hands it to you. It’s cold out but you don’t feel it. Maybe it’s the wine? Maybe it’s him? Either way, you never feel uncomfortable. You talk with him about what brought you to the city and how you love being there. He listens intently and seems to hang on to your every word. Time flies as you take turns drinking the wine and before you know it, the bottle is empty. You sit there with him in the dark a bit longer looking out over the water. The silence between you is pleasant. You can feel his arm up against yours and you fight the urge to take his hand at that moment.

He looks at his phone and breaks the silence, “Let’s walk back to where I’m staying and I can get you a cab back home.” By now, you know that even if you didn’t desperately want to walk him home, you’ve had so much wine that there’s no way you can get into a vehicle without walking it off a bit. As you stroll up to the beautiful historic hotel, you see there’s a town car parked in the front. “This is for you,” Jungkook says with a smile and motions to the car. Going home is the last thing you want to do but you don’t want to force anything. You thank him for the ride and tell him you hope he has a great remainder of his stay in town. As you turn toward the car, Jungkook takes your hand in his and pulls you toward him into a hug. You breathe him in and he smells like clean fresh laundry. “Thank you for showing me around,” he says releasing you, “I had a great time.” You go to respond but don’t get the chance. He leans in and gives you a gentle kiss on the lips. “I’ll see you around,” he whispers in your ear with a sly smile and you stand there stunned. He notices that you’ve been caught off guard and walks to the side of the car and opens the door. That’s your cue. You get into the backseat and he closes the door behind you, giving a small wave as the car pulls away from the hotel.

Your whole body buzzes as you ride through the city. When you get home you realize you never exchanged numbers. As you sink into bed you replay the events of the evening in your mind. Every look, every word, every brush of his arm against yours. The kiss cycles over and over. Even if it was just tonight, it was worth it.

The next day you have a slow morning. By some miracle, you aren’t hungover but the booze has made you feel sluggish. You think about Jungkook as you get ready for work that afternoon and while heading to the bus stop. You think about him as you ride through town and as you walk to the cafe. You can’t shake him and you don’t want to. Deep down you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. What are the chances of you seeing him again? Despite you trying to manage your expectations, you watch the cafe door your entire shift hoping he’ll appear there. Patron after patron comes in. No Jungkook. Finally, you give up hope that he’ll come in but that doesn’t stop you from thinking about the night before. You spend the rest of the shift on autopilot, stuck in your endless daydream. You close up the shop and head back home. You have to open up the next day and can’t afford another late night. Riding the bus, your mind drifts to last night. It remembers the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. It remembers the feeling of his lips pushed against yours and the feeling of his breath on your ear.

Once again, your alarm startles you awake at 4:30AM. Another day, another shift. You’ve accepted the idea that your evening with Jungkook was only a brief encounter and one of the many perks of living in the city. You never know who you’ll meet and what will happen. The memory will live fondly in the back of your mind for a while until time inevitably reduces it to a blip on the timeline of your life. The shift goes by as normal and you greet and serve the first arrivals into the shop. The morning is peppered with the regular corporate types and rave stragglers. You spend your time chatting, catching up with them, and listening to what they have planned for the rest of their day. As the lunch rush starts to pick up, the queue for service extends to just outside of the door. You’re nearing the end of your shift but there’s still a lot to do, so you move from the till to behind the coffee machine to help your workmate with the influx of coffee orders flooding in.

As you steam the milk at the end of the counter, you grow tired and the awareness of what’s happening around you disappears. It’s just you and the milk pitcher. You watch the milk swirl around in the jug making sure not to burn it. With your focus on the upcoming orders you never see Jungkook enter the cafe, but now he is standing at the end of the counter and says, “Hi” breaking your focus. When you look up and see who the greeting comes from, you almost don’t believe your eyes. The chances of you meeting again seemed slim and yet here he is. You realize that you’re fully staring at him, mouth agape. You try to respond like someone who has spoken before but your “Hey! How are you?” comes out as more of an abrupt shout. He doesn't skip a beat and tells you that he was meant to leave town the day before but that he still had some things to wrap up and extended his trip a few days. You’re delighted by this news but you do your best to stay cool and nonchalant. His drink is a few places behind others in line but none of the other patrons matter anymore. You make each drink and just slide them to the end of the counter as you and Jungkook chat. He didn’t know you worked here and mentioned how he was in the cafe a few days ago. You pretend not to remember. Finally, his drink is up. Unlike the coffees before his, you take extra care and gently slide the drink directly toward him. He asks you for a lid and as you go to put it on, there is a brief fumble. He doesn’t anticipate you putting the lid on for him and reaches to secure it as you place it on top of his cup. His slender fingers and soft palm land directly on the top of your hand. You both look up at each other and giggle. He takes a sip of his drink and thanks you for making it just right. You swoon and he notices. He says that he’s been given tickets to a show later that night and asks if you’d like to go with him. You exchange a glance with your workmate standing to your left. She has completely stopped making espresso shots and is waiting for you to respond to him while nodding her head as though to say, “Say yes, fool!”. You quickly turn back to face Jungkook and tell him, “sounds great”. Noticing that the number of people waiting for their coffee has caused a crowd to form, he takes a pen from his bag and writes his number on a napkin, and hands it to you. “Send me your address. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

As soon as you finish work you text him your address. [See you soon.] he replies. You race home and start the process of getting ready. No task is spared as you prep for a night on the town with quite possibly the most beautiful man on the planet. You try on all of your clothes and then all of your roommate’s clothes before finally deciding on what you’ll wear. You put on the designer perfume your grandmother gave you for your birthday. Promptly at 7:00PM your phone buzzes. You give yourself a last look and take a deep breath. When you open the front door, there is Jungkook sitting on the street in an Aston Martin. He gets out of the car and goes around the other side to open the passenger door. He’s wearing black combat boots, fitted black trousers, and a knit charcoal grey crew neck sweater over a white collared shirt. You walk toward him and he takes your hand to help you into the car. He gets into the driver’s seat but before he puts the car back into gear, he looks over at you and says, “You look amazing.” You thank him and reciprocate the compliment even though “amazing” doesn’t even begin to describe how gorgeous he looks. He is fucking hot with his black hair combed in a way that exposes a bit of his forehead. You fight the urge to lick your lips as you watch him wrap his tattooed fingers around the steering wheel.

You arrive at an elite member’s only Burlesque club in Soho. The hostess shows you to a cozy private booth with soft cushioned upholstery and oversized pillows that line the back. As the two of you settle in, the manager stops by the table to drop off a complimentary bottle of champagne. Jungkook smiles when he sees her and stands up to greet her with a hug and cheek kiss, as though they’ve met before. He introduces you and she winks as she greets you. She says, “Any friend of JK is a friend of mine. If you need anything at all, just ask for me.” A server comes by and takes your drink and food order just as the lights in the club dim and the spotlight flicks onto the stage. Jungkook makes sure your glass never runs dry as one beautiful woman after another takes the stage. Each one of their performances is glamorous and sensual. As the show goes on, the two of you inch closer and closer to each other until he takes his arm and puts it over your shoulder. You allow yourself to let your guard down and lean your head to the side to rest it in the nook where his chest meets his shoulder. You stay there until the show is over.

The club isn’t far from his hotel and as you stroll down the street it dawns on you that that’s the direction you’re heading in. You brace yourself for another town car. When the hotel is just within eyeshot, Jungkook makes a random but smooth turn onto a narrow alley and points out some street art on the wall. As you follow behind him trying to see what he’s talking about he turns around and slowly walks back toward you until you’ve backed yourself onto the wall opposite of the one he was looking at. He walks right up to the point where you’re nearly touching and then stops. You turn your gaze upward to look him in the eyes and he says, “I’m just kidding. I wanted a private place to kiss you.” He leans in and lays a small kiss on your lips. And then another. You kiss him back as you slowly wrap your arms around his waist and draw him in closer. For a few moments, the two of you stand there entwined seemingly suspended in time. It feels like you’re levitating. He opens his mouth and slides his tongue into yours, triggering all the butterflies in your stomach to a frenzy. Pulling back, he lays a few more small kisses on your lips before bringing your arms up around his neck and wrapping his arms around your back to pull you into him again. You stand there in silence breathing in unison. As you stroke the hair that grazes the nape of his neck he leans into yours and kisses it softly. Kissing your neck he says, “Do you,” another kiss, “want,” another kiss, “to come up,” another kiss, “with me?” You reply into the night sky as your head rolls back, and his kisses drift further down your neck, “Absolutely”.

Your heart pounds as you walk through the hotel doors but you aren’t nervous. Facing the front of the mirrored elevator doors, Jungkook stands behind you. He admires your reflections for a moment and you watch him as he drapes his left arm over the front of you while using his right hand to caress the left side of your face and turn it up to the right to meet his for a kiss. The doors ding open and you walk into the elevator. He pushes a button near the top floor and the doors close.

You are standing on opposite sides of the elevator and with each floor that passes the tension between you grows. It takes everything you have not to throw yourself on him but you test the waters and ask, “Why are you all the way over there?”. His demeanor shifts and when his gaze meets yours, you see a fire burning in his eyes. He takes the two steps across the elevator, looks over at the buttons, and smashes the Emergency stop. The elevator halts. Facing you, Jungkook raises his hand and places his thumb on your lip, applying some pressure while moving it carefully and with purpose until your mouth is slightly open. He starts to lean in, slowly sliding his thumb and index finger down to the tip of your chin, and lifts your face until your mouths meet in a deep and passionate French kiss. Your face rests gently in the palms of his hands. The way he kisses you feels like he needs you to breathe. “Can I touch you?”, he asks, his voice nearly a whisper but not quite. As he waits for your response, once again you find yourself answering into the sky but this time you’re met with your reflection in the mirrored ceiling of the elevator. You look yourself in the eyes as they roll back into your head and you whisper, “Please”.

When the elevator doors open Jungkook slides his fingers out from your now-damp underwear and leads you into an immaculately decorated suite. He flicks on a lamp and then another and you stop at the end of the entryway to take in the space.

As you admire your surroundings, Jungkook asks if you’d like a glass of wine while he pulls back a heavy curtain to reveal a private terrace with a breathtaking view of the city. You walk over to where he’s standing by the window and look out. The city lights twinkle in a panorama. He asks you again if you’d like some wine but you are too distracted by flashbacks of the elevator ride up when he slid his middle and ring fingers inside of you as he rubbed your clit with the bottom of his palm to notice Jungkook waiting for your response whilst you look out over the city. He clears his throat and you are suddenly very aware of him waiting and see him looking at you out of the corner of your eye.

You turn toward him and say, “I think I want something stronger,” as you move your hand over the front of his trousers to find what you actually want. You land on the task at hand and you feel him twitch slightly under your palm, as he begins to harden at your touch. Looking up at his face, his eyes are closed and he lets out a soft moan as he exhales. You keep your hand where it is for a bit longer before moving it up toward his waist until your fingers are touching the bottom of his sweater giving it a light tug to signal that it’s time for him to take it off. He crosses his arms over his torso, reaching to where your hands are resting near his waist, and pulls the sweater up and over his head. While his arms are still mid-air, you reach up and start unbuttoning the white collared shirt. You lay a kiss on the skin that is exposed with each undone button. He is breathing heavier now. You only get halfway through unbuttoning his shirt before he takes you by the waist and turns you toward the window. He puts his hand on your back and presses you into it just enough to indicate that he’s the one in control. His hand moves down your back to your hips and guides them into place. His other hand is busy lifting your skirt and resting the fabric on your lower back to expose your ass. “If you want something stronger, that’s what you’ll get”. You hear his zipper coming down and his belt clink as he unbuckles. The glass is cold against your palms and arms. The city continues to glow in front of you as you feel him slide your panties down.

The anticipation begins to bubble over and every part of your body throbs and screams out for him. You let out a whine when he starts teasing you with his tip, before slowly and gently sliding every inch of him inside of you. You both moan softly and relish the first moment your bodies fully meet each other. Jungkook pulls out nearly leaving you but slides himself deep inside you again. He repeats this a few times and then proceeds to slowly and steadily fuck you from behind. Each thrust is deliberate and forces you to feel all of him as he strokes your g-spot. You can feel the pressure inside of you starting to build and he can too. He gradually quickens his pace remaining consistent with the depth and cadence of his strokes. Your head gets cloudy as your orgasm continues to mount. “Fuck!” you exclaim as Jungkook starts to hammer into you with a rhythm where you cease to see straight anymore. You try to regain your composure but all you can do is plead with him not to stop- never stop. “I won’t,” he barks through gritted teeth. You come so hard that your legs nearly give out and he’s quick to catch you with one arm around your torso to keep you from buckling. He never misses a beat and the waves of your orgasm keep crashing over you.

When he feels you reach the other side of pleasure, he pulls himself out of your warmth and gently rubs the head of his cock across your ass cheeks as he releases onto them. You feel the warm trickles of his cum roll down as he steps back to admire his work. Still bent over and facing the window you look back at him over your right shoulder and see him standing there with a naughty smile stretched across his face while he pulls up his trousers. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says. In an effort not to make a mess of your skirt, you unzip it and bring it up over your body and head. You drape it over one of the armchairs and hear the shower turn on in the other room. As you walk toward the sound you remove your top and drop it onto the floor.

Entering the bathroom you are met with a fully naked Jungkook. The form that you’ve admired through turtlenecks and fitted trousers is now on full display. He has a striking physique and you can tell that he takes time to maintain it. He is lean but still muscular. He’s strong but has made an effort not to overdo it so that it looks almost effortless. You can see all of his tattoos now and you’re surprised by how many there are.

Steam spills over the top of the walk-in shower and he opens the door and beckons for you to get in. He takes the sponge hanging on the wall and squeezes some soap onto it. The scent of gardenia wafts through the steam as he creates a lather and drags the sponge along the different parts of your body, paying particular attention to your ass making sure to remove whatever is still left of him. He wrings out the sponge and hangs it back on the wall. As the warm water continues to cascade down, you turn to face him and wrap your arms around his waist to pull his body close to yours. You rest your head on his chest and feel him breathe. Still captured in your embrace, Jungkook turns the two of you as a unit so that you are facing him as he slowly sits down on the banquette that is built into the shower. You continue to stand. You place your hands under his chin and tilt his head so that he’s looking straight up into your eyes. You lean down to kiss him. He kisses you back gently and when you move your head to change angles you catch a peek of his face through your partially closed eyes. His brow is furrowed as though he is savoring every second of this kiss. His expression is soft and sincere. It makes you feel like at that moment, you belong to each other. Like you want to take care of him. To protect his heart. To make sure he always feels cherished. You start to lose yourself in your head as you continue to caress him. The emotions rising into your throat border on heartbreaking. You know this is a fleeting moment. Nothing is promised after tonight.

You pull back from the kiss and start to straighten your stance, while he glides his mouth down your neck and chest until he has one of your breasts in his mouth. You feel his tongue circling your nipple as his hand takes your other breast into it. He rubs his thumb over your other nipple while using his free arm to keep you close to him. Gently, you comb your fingers through the wet hair on the back of his head and hold it as he transfers his mouth to your other breast. You reach down between his legs as he continues to suck on your tits and find that he is hard.

Jungkook adjusts so that he is sitting on the very edge of the banquette to make it easier for you to straddle him. As you lower yourself down onto him, he pulls you in so close that it’s hard to tell where he starts and you stop. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and your face is pressed against the side of his. Once you feel that he is completely inside of you, you start rocking your hips back and forth slowly. He moans when he feels your core grip around his cock. Breathing in unison, every slight movement becomes more gratifying than the last, transporting you to an alternate realm. Nothing else exists as you allow yourself to surrender to the intimacy of this moment. No one can see you. No one will ever know the energy exchanged here tonight. It belongs solely to the two of you. “Give it all to me, baby,” Jungkook coos in your ear, as though he’s cheering you to the finish. Your ears pop when you come and for a moment you are totally paralyzed as you let out a silent scream and throw your head back while palpable bliss courses between you. As you slowly grind on him you bring your face to his eye level and kiss him while he comes inside of you. Even after he’s finished you stay connected on the banquette while the water continues to run so you can stay in this moment as long as possible.

Dawn starts to shine over the city skyline as you climb into the big hotel bed. Jungkook pulls the heavy curtain across the window and the room descends into nearly pitch darkness. He crawls into bed next to you. You’re both still naked and your skin is warm and clean. The two of you lay in the darkness talking for a while. You talk about how beautiful the burlesque dancers were at the show and about how delicious the food was. Your conversation wanders aimlessly as you curl up into the nook of his neck and he reaches down to pull your leg over him. He holds on to the bottom of your thigh to keep it draped over him. His breathing starts to deepen and you are lulled to sleep by every inhale and exhale. You smell gardenias as you doze off.

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explosionkatsu · 1 year

Text

“Age doesn’t matter” 10

Dad!Bakugo x F!Babysitter!Teacher!Reader

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Days have passed and you're finally discharged from the hospital. You were happy of course, especially when you remembered what Katsuki offered you.

"What I'm trying to say. No one will take care of Kazui. I can't always rely on my parents. My friends are heroes as well. Since you mentioned you used to be a babysitter. I would like to hire you."

You looked at him surprised once again. Are you in heaven? Are sure you're still alive?

“M-me?” Y/n stutters placing a shaking hand on her chest.

“The fuck am I talking to.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. Are you really even a teacher? “I don't need to repeat myself. If you fucking reject it, it's fine.”

“N-no! I was just surprised!” Y/n immediately shut Katsuki. “I-i was just surprised, honestly.” Finally, Y/n smiled. “I didn't expect you to say that. It makes my heart melt. I’m happy.”

After that day, Katsuki dropped you off at your apartment. He’s been stopping by to visit you at the hospital after his shift which you don't mind. But you often think you were bothering him which he says you're not.

Now here you are getting ready to leave your apartment to babysit Kazui.

Y/n grabbed her keys from the counter and left, securing the door behind her. Better safe than sorry is what they say.

It's a good day for her. Of course, you were trying to ignore the new insecurities. You kept reminding yourself that the scars you got were a sign of your boldness.

Yes yes.

A soft smile appeared on your lips. Bravery isn't something you should be insecure about. You were even glad you protected Kazui. Not an ounce of regret you were feeling. So you took a step towards your destination only to realize Katsuki didn't give you their address.

Great.

Y/n mentally smack herself. How could she forget to ask for the address? So much for being confident.

Y/n grabs her phone from her bag deciding to call Katsuki. Boy, she was glad she had his number due to school purposes. While standing a few meters away from her apartment, she clicked the call button and placed her phone in her ear waiting.

It just so happens that it's Katsuki's day off.

Due to exhaustion, Katsuki overslept which we all know is pretty rare. So, when he realized this, he panicked and rapidly stumbled out of his bed reaching for his phone. But as soon as he saw what day it was. He relaxed while on the carpeted floor.

Katsuki still decided to get up though. Slowly, he got off the floor and stretched, snapping a few bones, and stepped out of his bedroom, not even bothering to pick up his thick shroud nor fix his bed.

“Kazui? Are you awake?” Katsuki shouted as he made his way to his son’s bedroom.

He quietly flares the door open only to see a sleeping Kazui, snuggling comfortably on his bed. The sight made Katsuki smile. He was glad Kazui was okay. His treasure. Even though sometimes Kazui can be a brat, he loves him more than he even loves himself. More than he loves his job. His barefoot quietly made contact with the floor as he walked closer to Kazui. Carefully, he bent down kissing Kazui's forehead making him squirm but went back to sleep.

After this, Katsuki left Kazui’s bedroom and made his way to his kitchen. Now that he’s fully awake, he needs breakfast. He was scratching his head as he strides down the stairs, yawning a bit. Once he reached the kitchen, he placed his phone on the countertop and reached for the refrigerator handle only to get interrupted by his phone ringing.

It’s too fucking early for a phone call, unless it’s his company finally realizing they needed his guidance on some work issue. Probably? Who would even call this early anyway. Groaning, he reached for his phone and took a closer look to check who was the caller. Almost instantly, he picked it up.

“Good morning, Bakugo-san.”

God. Hearing your voice early in the morning sends a shiver down his spines. Not that kind of shiver you perverts.

“The hell I said about formalities, hah?” Katsuki said ignoring that his voice is still raspy.

“O-oh! I’m sorry. I forgot, haha.”

Fuck, was he in heaven right now? Unconsciously, Katsuki lips turned into a small smile. “The hell do you want this early.”

“W-well.” Why the hell are you even stuttering? Hell you can even defeat Izuku stuttering, “I kinda forgot to ask for your address..”

Oh yeah, now that you mentioned it, you’ll babysit Kazui today. “I’ll message it to you.” Katsuki simply said.

“Thank you, Bakugo!”

He can hear the happiness in your voice. Weird.

“Can’t pick you up. No one will watch over Kazui.” Katsuki mumbled finally reaching for the refrigerator handle and pulling it open to check the contents inside.

“You don’t have to! I can get there on my own!”

“I’ll be waiting then.”

“See you!”

When the call ended, Katsuki was staring blanky in the fridge. Why the fuck he said he’ll be waiting? He groaned out loud this time. Why the hell is he sounding desperate? Is he desperate? Oh, hell nah.

Eijiro was glad he was off duty as well. That means he can visit Kazui and spend time with him. But his main priority right now is to find the location an intel told him.

Location where Katsuki’s ex-wife is.

Just thinking about this made his blood boil. Of course, he’ll never hurt a woman. It wouldn’t be very manly of him. But this one made him want to be unmanly.

Fists inside his pocket, he reached the said location. Eijiro was standing in front of a huge house, face staring blankly at it.

It’s now or never.

Eijiro gradually made his way to the front door. He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Few seconds only passed when the door opened. His eyes hardened when he laid his eyes on her.

“I’ll join you in a minute babe!” She was giggling. But stopped when she saw who it was.

“K-kirishima.”

Eijiro didn’t say anything. He was staring at her intently.

“H-how did you-

“I came here to give you this.” His voice was low, so very not like his usual tone handing her a bunch of documents.

“What’s this?” she asked curiously as she raised a shaking hand and reached for the documents from his grasp.

“Discover it yourself.” Eijiro glared.

Gulping. She shakingly flipped the folder open in her hands and read its content.

A divorce paper with Katsuki’s name in it but without his signature, whilst the next paper was a warrant of arrest for abandoning Katsuki and Kazui.

“Ms. *, you are under arrest for abandoning your child.”

A sudden sound of a police automobile was heard making her panic.

“N-no.” She plead. “No! Please!!”

“The court will deal with you.” Eijiro left the scene as soon as the police arrived and dealt with her.

It was wrong that Katsuki didn’t know about this, but he’ll do anything for his buddy and his nephew.

“You’re free, Katsuki.” Eijiro mumled as he disappeared from the scene.

Meanwhile, while cooking breakfast, Katsuki suddenly felt a huge weight disappear from his chest.

#bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x you

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brbsoulnomming · 7 months

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 25

-----

The silence that echoes through Forest Hills is deafening. It's never been this quiet, not in the whole time that Eddie'd lived here, and if that doesn't drive home how alone they are out here, nothing will.

For a long moment, the only thing he can hear is the sound of his own heart beating.

"Put all that stuff on the ground," Jason orders. "Slowly."

It's not like Eddie's in a position to argue with the guy pointing a gun at them. And yet -

"Don't you read the news?" he bitches as he slowly crouches down to put his boxes on the ground. "I was cleared of all charges."

Jason scoffs. "You may have the police and the news fooled, but you can't trick me. I know what you did to Chrissy and Patrick. I know it was you, I saw you at the lake."

"Whatever you thought you saw-" Eddie starts.

"Don't!" Jason shouts. "You think I haven't already heard it? My own family and friends telling me I'm crazy, that I'm just grieving? I know what I saw, you freak!"

"Hey, hey," Steve says. "No one's saying you didn't see anything, okay, just that it wasn't what it looked like."

Eddie can hear the crunch of gravel again, and he risks darting his eyes away from Jason towards Steve. There's a flash of hurt when he sees that Steve is moving away from Eddie's side - until he sees that Steve may have put his box down, but he's still holding his bat.

It's not over his shoulder anymore. Now it's held like a weapon, and he twirls it like a fucking maniac who's just screaming to draw attention from the guy pointing a gun at them.

Eddie's hindbrain notes that it's extremely attractive, just like it did when he saw Steve ripping a demobat in two, and he firmly tells it to shut the fuck up.

Jason shifts the gun so it's pointed entirely at Steve, instead of just hovering between the two of them, and even in the light of the sunset Eddie can see the hint of satisfaction in Steve's eyes, and -

Of fucking course his stupid soulmate is trying to make himself a bigger target to Jason.

Fuck that.

Eddie opens his mouth to try to get Jason's attention back, but Steve beats him to it.

"I don't want to fight you, Jason, even if you didn't have a gun," Steve says.

The prickle of a lie springs up on the back of Eddie's calf, and he briefly wonders what the hell Steve's doing before it hits him - Robin.

This could work, all they have to do is stall long enough for Robin to get help sent over here.

"This isn't about what anyone wants," Jason snaps. "This is about justice for Chrissy and Patrick, I'm just the only one willing to step up and do anything about it."

Steve snorts, spreading his arms and swinging the bat in a low motion. "Look around, man. You're sitting in Forest Hills, after it got wrecked, with a gun pointed at me. That's what you're calling justice?"

"You can still leave, Harrington," Jason says. "I don't have any beef with you. You're one of us, you know? You were one of the greats. You can leave right now, and it won't matter that this freak got you under his spell."

Steve's grip on the bat tightens. "I'm not going anywhere, Carver. You think you can shoot me enough times to bring me down before I get close enough to use this?"

Jason's determined expression falters, the gun lowering just the tiniest bit, and for a moment Eddie thinks they might have him.

Then the gun swings around and points straight at Eddie, and the look in Jason's eyes goes dark with hate.

"No," Jason says. "But I can shoot him before you get to me. You don't want that, do you Harrington?"

Fuck.

"Come on, man, I-" Eddie starts, then immediately clamps his mouth shut when he sees Jason's finger slide over the trigger.

"One more word from either of you and I shoot you right here," Jason says.

Eddie can't see anything but the barrel of Jason's gun right now, so he has no idea what Steve's doing, but he's just as silent as Eddie.

"Here's what we're going to do." Jason pulls something out of his pocket, tosses it at Steve. It hits the gravel with a faintly metallic clink. "You're going to toss that bat away. Then you're going to put those on, handcuff yourself to the railing right there. The Freak and I are going to take a little walk, and you're going to tell me everything you did to them. If the police won't make you confess, I will."

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"No, man, come on, leave Steve out of this, I'll go with you, just don't-"

"You want to die right now, Munson?" Jason asks. "I told you to shut up."

"All right, Jason, all right," Steve says. "I'll do it, okay? I'm going to toss the bat away."

Eddie risks a look over at Steve, sees him toss the bat aside somewhere and slowly pick up the handcuffs Jason threw at him.

"It's okay, Eddie," Steve says when he catches him looking. "It's going to be okay."

It isn't a lie, but at the moment, Eddie's not entirely sure how the fuck anything about this is going to be okay.

Steve cinches one cuff around his wrist, then takes a few steps back towards the trailer. He has to twist at a little bit of an awkward angle, but he manages to hook the chain of the handcuffs through one of the slightly warped rails of the front porch. Then he snaps the other cuff shut over his other wrist.

"Let's go, Munson," Jason says.

Eddie looks back over to him, and Jason makes a motion out towards the woods.

Jesus Christ, the woods again.

Eddie swallows, trying to tell himself that one pissed off jock with a gun is a lot better odds than a dozen of them, or a swarm of demobats, but with said gun pointed right at him he's not sure how convinced he is of that.

"Hey, Munson?" Steve calls.

Eddie doesn't look at him, but he hears Jason's footsteps slow a little, like he's waiting to see what parting words Steve has to say.

"I'm not going to be able to get out of this," Steve says. His voice sounds genuine, like he's admitting to something he doesn't want to, but Eddie feels the prickle of words being written on the side of his knee. "I can't come after you."

More words, along the back of his shoulder.

"Just do what he says, okay?" Steve asks.

No words this time, but Eddie gets the message loud and clear. He's not sure how Steve's decided he can get himself out of the handcuffs, and he wants to tell him not to hurt himself, but Jason's footsteps have picked up again.

"You heard him," Jason says, triumphant and vicious. "Get moving."

Eddie does, and even though there's still a pit of dread at the bottom of his stomach, and his heart is racing, and his hands are clammy with fear - there's still hope there.

He's not an NPC anymore.

He has Steve, and he has Robin, and he knows there's people on his side coming for him. He's part of the party now, and he realizes that not only does he trust them completely - but he believes without a doubt that they won't leave him behind.

Eddie's not going to die, not today.

All he has to do is stall Jason long enough for them to come find him.

"Do I get an idea about where we're going?" Eddie asks.

"Lover's Lake," Jason replies.

"Didn't know you had that kind of outing planned for us." The words are out of Eddie's mouth before he's even finished thinking them.

He regrets them immediately, even before he gets a hard push between his shoulder blades.

Eddie stumbles, his footing slipping over the slick forest floor, and he barely manages to avoid ending up on the ground. There's a flare of pain in his side from the quick, jerking motions he'd had to do, and his left leg twinges a little, but nothing too bad.

Still, it's a reminder that he needs to be careful.

"You shut your disgusting mouth," Jason spits at him. "We're going to the last site where you cast your Satanic spell. You're going to tell me everything you did, and then you're going to undo the curse you put on Hawkins."

Jesus Christ, Jason's completely lost it.

He guesses it's not surprising, considering what Jason saw with Patrick, but any amount of empathy Eddie might have had for the guy was completely gone the moment Jason pulled a gun on them and made Steve handcuff himself to that railing.

Eddie saw terrible things, too, and somehow he managed not to start waving guns around and threatening to kill people.

He remembers what Steve said, about experiencing something like this making you see yourself in a different light, finding things out about yourself that you might not like. Despite what Steve'd told him, he's still struggling with how instinctive it was for him to run and how much of a coward it makes him feel like, but you know what? He'd rather be a coward than end up like Jason.

If he wasn't concerned Jason might actually shoot him for saying something again, he might point out the irony of it all - that the scary Freak saw Vecna's attack and went into hiding, while the golden boy went on a murderous warpath.

Instead, he focuses on trying to move as slowly as possible, dragging his feet through the dirt and leaves and kicking up rocks and pinecones.

For one - he doesn't actually want to get to Lover's Lake. Sure, the trek there is long enough that it'd give Steve plenty of time to get loose and Robin time to bring in the calvary, but then they'd all have to get out to the lake, too, and that's way too far for Eddie's comfort. For another - he needs to leave some kind of trail for Steve to be able to follow.

It pisses Jason off eventually, because the next thing he knows he's getting another hard shove against his back.

"Pick your feet up," Jason snarls.

Eddie hadn't been expecting this push, though, and this time he's not quick enough to keep himself standing upright. He stumbles, twists a little to avoid falling face first, and ends up on his ass in the leaves and dirt.

The pain in his side flares again, and fuck, he's going to be so pissed if he reopened one of his bite wounds just after he got the stitches out.

"Get up," Jason orders.

"Give me a minute, come on," Eddie says. "I'm not used to this."

Jason snorts in disbelief. "Should've thought of that before you picked this place to do all your Satanic rituals."

Eddie groans, pushing himself up into a crouch. He looks up - and realizes Jason's gotten cocky. The gun isn't pointed directly at him anymore, it's just held loosely in Jason's hand, pointed more at the ground than anything else.

His heart rate picks up as Eddie decides - fuck, okay, yeah, he's doing this.

He hangs his head down, making his breathing harsh and ragged like he's panting for air, and hears Jason give a mean little laugh.

"Sorry you skipped out on so much P.E. now, aren't you, Freak?" Jason taunts.

Eddie's hands dig into the ground under him, picking up a double handful of dirt and pine needles.

Then he surges up, throwing it all in Jason's face.

"Fuck!" Jason shouts, dropping the gun as he instinctively throws his hands up to try to protect his face.

Eddie doubts he has time to bend down and scramble for it, so he kicks it instead, sending it skittering away before he books it to hide behind a grove of trees.

"Get back out here, you freak!" Jason shouts. "You think I can't take you even without a gun?"

Part of Eddie wants to retort that Jason's ability to take him even without a gun is a) kind of in question, considering Eddie's both stronger than he looks and pretty fucking scrappy, when he isn't recovering from nearly dying; and b) exactly why he won't be coming back out, but, well.

Eddie's smart enough to know that saying anything will just draw attention to where he is, so for once, he shuts the hell up.

"Don't think you can get away from me," Jason says. "I won't stop until you've been brought to real justice. You killed Chrissy! She was beautiful, and perfect, and she should be alive right now, not you!"

Eddie bites the inside of his mouth, hard enough that he tastes copper, to avoid making any kind of sound. Part of him still thinks that's true, but he won't give Jason the satisfaction of admitting it to him.

"She was my soulmate!" Jason yells. "She never once told a lie, and neither did I! Neither of us had any words on our skin, we were perfect together, and you took her from me!"

All right, maybe Jason was a little delusional even before all of this.

"You took her from me, and I won't let you-"

Jason cuts off with a choked sounding noise. It's enough like the sounds Chrissy and Patrick had made choking on their own blood that Eddie feels a surge of panic, and he risks peeking out from his hiding spot to see if he's just gotten even more fucked.

But Jason isn't floating above the ground.

Or at least, not more than an inch or so, as his feet scrabble on the slippery pine needles.

Steve is right behind him, and the metal chain of the handcuffs still around Steve's wrists is pressed tight to Jason's neck. Steve's got him pinned back against him, using the few inches of height he's got on Jason to prevent him from getting his feet solidly on the ground.

"Next time you tell someone to handcuff themselves to something," Steve says conversationally. "You should make sure they can't rip it free."

Jesus fucking Christ, Steve needs to stop doing things like this, or Eddie's not going to survive it.

Metaphorically.

Literally, he's very grateful for Steve continuing to do things like this to ensure Eddie's continued survival.

"You okay, Eddie?" Steve calls.

"Yeah," Eddie replies, finally coming out from his hiding spot. "I'm, uh, a little banged up, but otherwise good."

Seeing him seems to spur Jason on, though, because instead of scrambling at the chain around his neck, he tries to knock his head back into Steve's.

Steve seems ready for that, because he's got his body angled so Jason's head falls back against his shoulder. Still, the motion sets both of them rocking back, and though Steve keeps his balance, Eddie hurries over to help.

He's almost there when Jason balls up his fist and slams it back into Steve's face. Steve doesn't let go, so he does it again, and again, and again, and by the time Eddie's there, the last hit must have been enough for Steve's grip to loosen.

Jason slips from Steve's grasp, pushing both of them as he scrambles away. He's choking and sputtering, stumbling over himself, and he makes it only a few paces away before he's on his hands and knees on the ground, sucking in ragged gasps of air.

"You can't take both of us, Jason," Steve says.

Jason scrambles back more, then manages to get himself to his feet.

It's only when Eddie sees the gun again that he realizes Jason wasn't trying to scramble away from them, he was trying to scramble to something.

Shit.

"I'll go with you," Eddie says. "Same plan, okay? You want me to go to Lover's Lake, tell you everything and undo the curse? Just leave Steve out of this."

Steve glares at him, but Eddie doesn't care. Jason looks even more unstable than before, and Eddie's not letting Steve get shot because of him.

Jason shakes his head. Eddie's not sure if it's in response to him, or if he's just trying to clear it after getting choked, but he guesses it doesn't really matter.

Jason's got the gun pointed right at him, and doesn't seem to be inclined to start moving again.

"You said you wanted justice, but that's not really what this is about, is it? It's revenge. You're in pain, and you want Eddie to suffer, too," Steve says.

"What's wrong with that?" Jason demands. His voice sounds absolutely wrecked, like every word is hurting as it's pulled from his throat, and yet he keeps talking anyway. "He deserves it! He deserves to be punished for what he did to Chrissy and Patrick, for what he's done to me!"

"This isn't how you punish him," Steve says. "You think he's in league with Satan, right? So you kill him, and then what happens?"

"He goes to Hell!" Jason shouts. "He goes to Hell where someone like him belongs, where-"

Jason cuts off, and Steve smiles.

"Yeah," he says. "He goes to Hell where he belongs. What kind of nice welcome you think someone in league with Satan's gonna get? Maybe a throne, maybe a new army to command?"

"Maybe I'll get to be a duke," Eddie adds. "A Lord of Hell, that sounds pretty damn good."

"Shut up!" Jason hisses at him.

Still, he falters, and Eddie can practically see the cogs working behind his brain. "It's worth the risk," Jason says, but he doesn't sound as sure as before. "I can't just let him stay here and do it again. He won't confess, the police won't do anything, so this is the only option."

The gun is still pointed right at Eddie, and he contemplates the merits of moving to hide behind a tree again. Jason's barely standing, he's pretty sure the guy's aim is going to be shit right now.

He's pretty confident both he and Steve can get under cover quicker than Jason can shoot.

"You can teach him a real lesson. He took your soulmate from you, you take his from him," Steve says.

Jesus Christ, Eddie's going to kill him.

Jason laughs, harsh and mean. "A freak like this doesn't have a soulmate."

"Steve, don't you fucking dare," Eddie says, too terrified by what he knows Steve is doing to worry about keeping his mouth shut like Jason demanded.

"Yeah, he does," Steve says, completely ignoring Eddie.

The fucker.

Steve taps his chest with his still cuffed together hands. "You're looking at him."

Jason turns his focus entirely on Steve, and Steve gives a significant look to Eddie.

Eddie knows exactly what he wants. He wants Eddie to make a break for it while Steve has Jason's attention. Eddie assumes that Steve's noticed Jason's physical state the same as Eddie has, and drawn the same damn conclusion - only he wanted to make sure that Jason's gun was pointed at him before they both ran for it.

Never mind that Eddie'd just had the same plan when the gun was on him. He's not willing to risk it when it's pointed at Steve, and fuck, when they get out of this, that's probably something they're going to have to talk about.

Right now, he stubbornly stays right where he is.

"You? No way," Jason says.

"Why do you think Eddie kept asking you to leave me alone? You think he'd give himself up for someone if he wasn't soul bonded to them?" Steve asks.

"Don't listen to him," Eddie says. "I'm the one you want."

"He's not denying it, is he?" Steve says. "Because he knows if he does, I can show you the lie and prove it."

Fuck.

"Come on, Carver," Steve goads. "You said he took your soulmate from you. Don't you want to make him feel the same pain? I'm right here, all you gotta do is come get me."

No, nope, this isn't happening.

"Steve, stop, please," Eddie begs.

Shockingly - it works. Steve looks at him, and whatever he sees in Eddie's eyes must make him realize exactly how much Eddie does not want 'Steve throws himself in front of danger and takes the hits so no one else has to' to be Plan A here.

Jason's head keeps snapping back and forth between the two of them, but this time Steve stays quiet, not trying to get Jason's attention on him.

Instead, Steve tilts his head at him, and Eddie nods.

Run.

They both book it, in opposite directions, and sure enough, Jason must be too scrambled to act quickly enough to shoot either of them. For several long, terrifying moments, Eddie expects to hear the sound of gunshots, but all he hears is Jason's labored breathing and the sound of him stumbling a little as if trying to chase after one of them.

Eddie has no idea how much time passes as he stays hidden, listening to the those halting footsteps come closer, then veer away, then come close again. Jason's silent this time - either realizing that nothing he says is going to get them to come out, or in too much pain to keep talking.

Then, finally, there's the thundering sound of more footsteps approaching.

Before all of this, Eddie's first thought probably would have been oh fuck, Jason's buddies are here.

Now?

Now he has a soulmate - two soulmates, really - and a whole Party that he knows will always have his back.

Now he feels a giddy rush of relief even before he hears Hopper shouting, "Jason Carver, put your gun down," and Chief Powell echoing, "On your knees, now!"

They're okay, they're going to be okay.

Reaching the end now! I think I'm looking at one more part and potentially an epilogue.

-----

Part 26

Tag list (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fic #steddie soulmate au #jason carver

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