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mochimooon · 6 months

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DTF Only (Happy Hour) - porco galliard x reader 18+

pairing: Porco Galliard x afab! Reader summary: Your first match sent you a message and Porco wants to spend Happy Hour with you. word count: 3500+ notes: Part 2 (although can be seen as Part 1) of DTF Only. Been a minute since I've written for this guy, and congrats! He's your first match! :) warnings: smut, explicit content, explicit language, alcohol consumption, semi-public sex, sex in a restroom, vaginal sex, mirror sex, motor boating ☻ masterpost☻

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ !!

The initial thrill of swiping left and right wore off by the time you went to bed, and if not for the notifications, you would have forgotten all about Tinder.

Opening up the app, you’re surprised to see you’ve matched with several guys. But around last night’s margaritas, you don’t remember any of them.

Regardless, you’re hit with another wave of serotonin, reading the first message you received earlier this morning.

Hey You’re cute. You like football?

Before replying, you tap on the guy—Porco’s—profile.

You blink. He’s blond, like Colt.

It’s not something that’ll deter you, only something that you couldn’t help noticing and as you peruse his profile the similarities end there.

He’s a different shade of blond and wears his hair in a different style too, polished, slick back over an undercut. He’s built like he spends more time at the gym than anywhere else.

His bio is brief, not much to the imagination.

Gym, sports, beer. Happy Hour is my fav time of the day 🏈😎

Scrolling through his pictures, you’re not surprised. Most of them are gym selfies, all of which you approve of, with the last photo of him sporting a jersey at a football game.

He’s not a bad-looking guy at all, and it’s too soon to judge him based on his profile. With nothing to lose you tap out a reply.

Hey Porco! I’m no expert on football, but I like happy hour !

You’re not sure what to expect. It’s weird messaging someone you’ve never met. How do you even know he’s real? Online dating is so foreign and bizarre, you’re not sure you’ll get used to it.

The response arrives a few minutes later.

lol! I don’t judge 😉 My team’s playing today. At the bar right now to watch them win!! Drop by have some beer with me?

That was quick, but you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. The app is meant to get people to meet. It’s just weird…you can’t get over the concept.

You consider the invite. It’s so sudden. But you had no other reason stopping you from meeting up with him.

Without any plans for your Sunday, you agree. Guess this is it. Your first match and you’re already going to meet in person.

You had heard stories of ghosting, slow fades, catfishing, etc. The most common trend Ymir and Pieck had mentioned was becoming a pen pal, keeping communication on the app only and never actually meeting. Porco’s already proven to be an outlier.

“He looks pissed off in every picture,” Ymir says over the phone as you get ready to meet Porco. “Even the ones where he’s smiling…”

“That could just be his face,” Pieck says in answer, though she sounds dubious.

Because it’s your first time meeting a stranger online, you let your friends know where you’ll be, much to their excitement that you’ve taken to Tinder at ease.

“I think he’s cute.” You grab your keys. “He seems like a sports junkie, not sure what else we can talk about. I know nothing about sports.”

“You’re not there for the game,” Pieck supplies.

Nerves tickle at the idea of hooking up so soon with a stranger. Is that really what people do on Tinder? Years in a committed relationship, online dating stories never felt real, but now that you’re single, it’s time to find out.

“I mean it’s the middle of the day,” you trail off, indifferent. “Do you really think he’s going to want to hook-up? He might be more interested in the game.”

“Pfft. What?” Ymir laughs. “Men always make time for their dicks. It wouldn’t matter if you were meeting at a funeral. Trust, he’d find a way to get his kicks in.”

You hear Pieck laugh, and the tension defuses a little.

“That’s a stretch, Ymir,” you chuckle.

“But she’s right!” Pieck says. “Guys on Tinder have no shame. It’s why they’re on it.”

“Don’t overthink anything,” Ymir adds. “To have fun, you’re going to have to have the same clownish confidence.”

“Alright, well I need to get going.”

“Remember the code word if you want us to bail you out!” Pieck hurries to say.

Heading down the hall, you sigh. “Right. Cholula. Got to go.”

Before you end the call, you catch Ymir’s send off. “Good luck, champ!”

…

Football, sports, the like, none are your area of expertise. You could count on one finger the number of football games you’ve gone to—zero.

But happy hour makes you a good sport, and it also lures in the entire neighborhood.

The bar is packed, almost bordering a fire hazard. It’s impossible to see much other than droves of people, and it’s even harder to hear over the jeering over the game.

You squeeze by, craning your head, rising on your tiptoes for a sight of Porco. He had said he was at the bar, so you shove your way through, ignoring the disgruntled looks that are sent your way.

Sidling away from a few football fans, you think you see him or at least the back of his head. A burst of nerves flutter in your stomach. This might be him.

A man with a blond undercut with a gaze transfixed to the TV screen. It’s only when you approach closer to where the empty bar stool is that you recognize the scowl from the pictures.

“Porco?”

He turns, the scowl deepening for a moment in confusion. But it’s replaced with a faint smile as the man himself says your name.

“You made it.” He pulls you into a one-armed hug that would feel like nothing to someone else, but to you it’s tight against muscle, hidden away in his bomber jacket. “Saved you this seat.”

You take the lone barstool at his side, impressed that he managed to keep it vacant from the patrons desperately looking for a spot to watch the game. But as a stranger bumps into Porco’s elbow by accident, the man’s scowl drills into them, and they skitter off.

“Also, got you an IPA, and I placed an order for some nosh. Hope you like nachos,” Porco briefs you.

Reeling back from meeting your first ever Tinder match in person, you’re a little flustered as you take a seat. “Oh, um, thanks. Nachos are fine as long as they’re not spicy.”

He cuts you a humored look. “Tough shit, I love spice. I asked for extra jalapenos.”

The response is so blunt, you don’t even feel affronted, only mildly pricked.

“Okay…” Your eyes drift towards the TV screen. “So, who’s your team?”

It becomes a twenty-minute run down, from Porco’s favorite team and why; who they’re up against, and why they’re going to lose (his exact words). During that time, the nachos arrive, piled with cheese and an absurd amount of jalapenos you try to avoid. It’s no use. The spice has you reaching for your IPA, signaling for Porco to order you both another round.

It’s not all about him, though. You tell him a bit about yourself, and he takes enough interest that you’re endeared by him, despite his blunt and somewhat bossy persona.

And when the game is in full swing, the tension in the bar simmers hot. As does your gaze watching Porco.

Hazel eyes are fixed on the screen right now, his team close to scoring a touchdown, nothing else matters in that moment. While his focus is elsewhere, you can’t tears yours away from him.

The scowl in his brows knit tighter together as he grits his teeth, the tension running down his jaw and strong neck. Porco doesn’t have to try at all to look this good, and your mind wanders, envisioning his face with a flush and hair messed up.

You don’t catch what happens next but become aware of Porco’s hiss of irritation before he turns to you, blinking.

It’s not your intent to be shameless. You want to blame it on the IPA, however you know that’s not true. Something about the air becomes stagnant with heat. The rolling frustration throughout the bar, from supporters of either team fill the space like a thick cloud, dialing up every nerve in your body.

Meanwhile, Porco’s full attention is on you this time. You can feel the drag of his eyes on your bare legs, sweeping slowly upwards until they settle on your chest much longer than any other part of your body.

Something palpable lingers like smoke. Porco’s lip curls, trading your smirk for his as he gulps the last of his IPA, snatches up your hand and in a flash, he’s thrusting past the crowd like he’s on the football field.

Porco brings you both to the back of the bar, just outside of the restrooms. He turns the handle of the male restroom door, clicking his tongue to find it locked.

Porco bangs on the door, scowl deepening. “Hurry it up!”

Not a minute later, the door opens, and a perplexed man averts Porco’s eyes. You don’t notice him shuffling away, staggering on your feet as you’re dragged inside.

Porco’s quick to lock the door, not even looking at the knob, too focused on you. The hastiness, the dark lust burning through hazel in his eyes, your heart races, unable to wait any longer.

Reading your mind, Porco’s the first to erase the small gap, capturing your mouth, and lifting you by the thighs with authority.

For leverage, you clamp your legs around him, allowing him to deepen the kiss with his hand on the back of your neck.

You’re set down on the counter by the sink. You don’t pull away, despite the need for air. Instead, you scrape your nails through Porco’s hair.

He snarls like an animal, biting your lower lip and tugging it. “Keep doing that, I want to feel your nails there.” It comes out firm yet eager, his mouth ruthless against yours.

You do as he says, driving your nails inwards, scratching along his scalp, messing up the polished look.

There’s a whip of fabric, Porco’s jacket is tossed somewhere in the restroom. You don’t spare it any thought, letting your hands fall away from his hair to grasp onto his strong shoulders, clawing at his back to drag him closer.

Porco chases after your touch, like neither of you can have enough of the other. His weight presses into you, urging you backwards. Your back hits the mirror.

His lips pull away, tossing hungry kisses along your neck. He laps at your pulse, tongue dragging up to lick behind the shell of your ear.

You shiver a little baffled but scratch at his shoulders in appreciation.

He does it again, breath hot against your already feverish skin. “That the sweet spot?” Another long, sloppier lap at your skin. “You’re nasty,” he chuckles. “I can be nastier.”

True to his word, Porco’s tongue laps at your neck, a long, wet stripe coating beneath your jaw to your throat. You submit to the sensation, wrapping a hand around his nape to keep him close, a stuttered breath fanning his ear.

Porco releases your neck suddenly.

Your shirt’s tugged off, and before you can enfold your arms around Porco’s neck again, he swipes up your wrists, holding them out.

You blink, confused. Chest heaving in a way that your breasts pump outwards, goosebumps prickling the flesh, and Porco’s eyes soaking you in. Although you’re wearing a simple t-shirt bra, a shadow of lust hangs over Porco’s gaze.

“Oh my God…” pours out of Porco’s mouth before he licks his lips.

Your hands drop the same time as Porco’s face, crouching low enough to pull you in. His warm mouth finds your breast, pressing a soft kiss there.

He looks up, the tip of tongue slipping out to grace the flesh of your breast. “You’ve got pretty titties.”

He swallows, tugging your bra down to expose both breasts. His eyes shift between the two, grasping both in his hands and clenching them together. Moans muffle as he plants open-mouthed kisses between the two.

“So—fucking—pretty—” The words scatter between kisses in a rush, unable to stray too long from your chest. “I just want…”

He takes your nipple in his mouth, robbing him from the rest of that statement, sucking hard to verbalize the rest.

Not to leave the other breast neglected, Porco squeezes the flesh, twisting the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

A hiss slips between your clenched teeth, and you flinch forward from the sudden burst of pleasure.

He’s more than content to be this close, burying his face deeper, sucking, biting, squeezing, leaving beautiful marks, with a hooded gaze locked skywards.

The adrenaline flows through your blood, flaring your pulse at the sudden rattling of the door handle.

Porco pays it no mind, if anything he’s deaf to it, moans vibrating against your chest. He takes your nipple between his teeth and tugs at it.

The sting blooms beneath a tender bruise forming, sparking ever nerve in your body, reaching your center. On instinct, your legs yank him in, and he laughs, flicking your nipple with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck—you’re something else.” He comes up for air, divining his tongue into your mouth. Fingers crawl up your thighs, digging past the hem of your denim shorts, so close to brushing against your core. “These are cute…”

A sigh of bliss spills out of you.

“You like this, don’t you? That’s why you wore these shorts.” Porco teases—lips on your neck, fingers on your apex. “Somebody’s excited…”

This time a gasp springs forth, a shudder crawling down your spine. You scoot forward on the counter and Porco presses his finger against the damp spot of your panties.

Your hand trails down to Porco’s wrist, guiding him to keep going. His finger hooks into the gusset of your panties.

The rattling resurfaces, louder this time, along with a pounding against the door.

“Hello? Is someone in there?” A man calls out.

This time you’re sure Porco hears it. Despite keeping his attention on you, his brow twitches, the scowl he’s worn all day deepens the more the door rattles.

You do your best to retain his attention, not just for your sake but for Porco’s too.

However, the clench in his jaw and the tension running tight in his throat, both from the mounting irritation and sexual frustration, your body flushes with a new wave of heat, dripping onto Porco’s hand.

Rough fingers unbutton your shorts, and the sharp zip of your fly is drowned out by another round of heavy knocking.

“Open up!”

Porco growls, whipping around. “It’s fucking occupied!” His voice echoes in the restroom, loud enough to send the man outside the message.

The last you hear is an annoyed groan (“Get a fucking hotel”).

“Fucking loser,” Porco says, words strained in his throat.

You can’t help but watch him, mouth agape, stunned to be turned on by his short fuse. Maybe it’s the IPA tickling your nerves, or maybe it’s the heat of the moment, but you’re already so wet, you can’t take waiting anymore.

“Porco, please.”

It’s enough to restore Porco’s attention. He smirks, hoisting you by the hips to bring you back on your feet.

He slots his mouth over yours in a greedy kiss. You take the chance to undo his belt.

Porco does the same, sliding your shorts down to your thighs. Just as you’re about to slide his pants down, Porco grabs hold of your arms and spins you around.

“Face the mirror,” he says, punctuated with a sharp slap to your ass.

You yelp, watching him fish out a condom from his pocket. Shoving his pants down to his ankles, you eye his reflection, admiring the strong arms first, only for your attention to drift to his thick cock that springs free.

There’s a flicker of realization that moves through you. This is the first man you’re going to have sex with since your break-up. No one else has touched you in the three years you’ve been with Colt. You had expected it to feel wrong to be in this position. But you’ve never been more sure of anything else.

You bristle, nerves aflame with anticipation.

If there’s anything you’ve learned from Porco in the few hours that you’ve known him, is that he’s hasty, a facet you welcome eagerly.

The tip of his dick kisses your folds, sliding up and down, you breathe out, fogging up the mirror. You catch the smirk in Porco’s reflection despite that.

Strong hands take your hips with ironclad pressure, and he pushes into you.

Your mouth falls open, blowing out a sigh. You feel the tight strain, getting accustomed to his size. Everything about him is different, new. Nothing about him feels like Colt. Not the fullness of his cock, and definitely not the pace, because the second Porco reaches the end of you, he pulls back and slams forward.

Your hips bump into the edge of the counter, again and again, a wonderful kind of pain. Porco’s hands come around, groping your tits tightly as he leans forward to bite onto your shoulder.

It’s more than the roughness that you bask in, more than a man as attractive as Porco plowing into you. It’s the thrill of being spontaneous, the excitement of trying something new, to be daring, getting fucked in a public space with other strangers on the other side of the door.

You moan out, anchoring your hands on the counter and the mirror, fixated on the pair of eyes glued to your reflection.

“Porco—yes—just like that—”

“I got you, beautiful,” he pants into the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth there too. “Fuck—you feel too good—and these fucking tits.” He squeezes your breast, while his other trails downwards.

A sharp gasp floats in the air. Porco rubs your clit to match the same pace as his thrusts, continue to spoil your neck with attention.

“C’mon doll,” he breathes. “I want you to cum for me. Keep those pretty eyes on the mirror.” He snaps his hips, thrusting deeper into you.

Your lower back starts to ache as the throbbing in your pussy intensifies. “Shit. Porco don’t stop.”

He kisses your shoulder, hot breath burning into your skin. “Cum for me.”

You twitch from the sting of teeth on your shoulder and the swiping of his fingers grant you your release.

You shudder, arms trembling to keep you up as Porco plows into you.

He groans, bringing his hand up to your mouth, having you taste yourself. Sucking his fingers clean, Porco’s unable to hold off any longer, his pace is more hurried and sharper.

“I’m going to cum—” He groans again, head thrown back, exposing the column of his neck in the mirror.

You wince at the tight squeeze around your breast, but you’re too spent to shake him off.

A moment passes and Porco’s head falls into your shoulder, blond strands cling to his sweaty forehead.

You wiggle your ass, and he pulls out, catching his breath and peppering kisses on your shoulder and nape.

“Shit,” he says at last. “Oh my God…” He swallows. “You’re fucking awesome.”

Cutting a glance away from his reflection, you take stock in your appearance. Your hairline shines with a layer of sweat, hair at a disarray though not as bad as Porco’s. Puffy lips and teeth marks all over your breasts. He devoured you, ravished you in a way that you haven’t been in a long time.

Like a firefly brought to life from the touch, something new yet familiar has reawakened inside of you, and you smile at this newfound, but restored version of yourself. The version that craves to explore, experience, and experiment.

Colt flits across your mind, but you know it’s normal. He’ll be there for a while as you continue to sort through this new beginning.

You turn around, smile widening at Porco’s smug expression. The moment untouchable, not even the renewed pounding of the door can ruin it.

After getting redressed, Porco’s glare shoos off the men waiting for the restroom as you both step out.

Though the game ended a while ago, the bar is still stuffed with throngs of people; some wanting to celebrate their team’s victory and the others to wallow in their loss.

You’re not put out when Porco decides to stay. You both got what you wanted after all, and you give him a hug before taking off.

Maybe you’ll see each other again, maybe you won’t.

Either way, you’ve given Porco a parting gift to hold onto. As you slip out of the bar, you cross your arms to shield the hardened nipples poking through your shirt.

That bra wasn’t special, you have others at home.

☻ masterpost☻ taglist: @moonmalice

#porco galliard #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard x you #porco x you #porco x reader #aot #aot smut #porco smut #attack on titan fanfiction #snk #snk smut #attack on titan #dtf only series #mochi-writings #mochimooon

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eiightysixbaby · 1 year

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blue raspberry syrup

(part 2 to sunscreen and chlorine)

word count: 3.9k

pairing: lifeguard!eddie x fem!reader

summary: a second meeting with your favorite lifeguard after pool hours… what will you get into this time?

cw: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI - SMUT. oral (m receiving), eddie watches reader get herself off, unprotected p in v, creampie, sex in a public place (they’re alone tho), use of pet names, temperature play

author’s note: here she is, finally! hope i did part one justice with this sequel, let me know what y’all think!!

Milky twilight began to fall over the community pool, the sunset casting orange and lilac reflections on the surface of the water. Fireflies flickered on and off in the grass beyond the fence, communicating in their own way. Meanwhile, Eddie busied himself with any task he could think of as he waited for you to return. He took out the trash, cleaned the disgusting bathrooms, washed his hands ten times afterwards, closed all the umbrellas positioned between lounge chairs. Billy had been the last one to leave at 7:30, telling Eddie he ‘better not pull anymore bullshit tomorrow’, and now Eddie finds himself taking a well deserved quick swim in the pool, cooling himself off after a scorcher of a day. One half of the water, the deeper end, is concealed by the pool cover, Eddie having left the shallower end open for use. He submerges himself underwater, propelling himself forward and then coming up to the surface, shaking his hair wildly like a dog. He pulls himself out of the water, hands flat on the concrete as he pushes his body up and out. His swim trunks drip the chlorinated water all around his feet, hitting the pavement in loud droplets. Drying himself off with a towel, he sees headlights pull into the parking lot, hears faint music playing from the car radio. You step out of your car and catch his eye, giving him a wave - the same little delicate wave you directed at him when he first saw you lounging by the pool earlier that day. You have a towel tucked under your arm, and another popsicle in your left hand. Eddie’s head swirls with delight.

You’d been antsy all afternoon after your shower session with Eddie, pacing back and forth around your room at home just trying to distract yourself. The minutes seemed to drag, moving slow like thick honey as you waited for your next meeting time with the lifeguard that made your heart pound. You’d showered and slipped on a different bathing suit, the other one being damp and cold and reeking of chemical water. You forced yourself to gain some sense of composure as you stepped out of your car after arriving back at the pool, unwilling to let Eddie know just how much he’d occupied your brain the last several hours. He beams at you from behind the painted metal fence and you feel butterflies take flight in your stomach.

“You and those damn popsicles,” he laughs, opening the gate to the pool to let you in, still towel drying his hair.

You held the frozen snack at your side, still in the crinkly white wrapper. You try to bite back a smile but ultimately fail. The squeaky metal gate closes behind you, Eddie positioning the latch into place with a clink.

“Thought you liked it, don’t tell me you’re gonna complain if you have to watch me eat another,” you look up at him innocently with round eyes, batting your lashes for effect.

Eddie just rolls his eyes, giving you a dismissive wave as he walks with you towards the water. The heat has dissipated slightly with the gradual nightfall, the intense glare of the sun now faded into a subtle wink. Crickets chirp in the grass, filling the night with sound, a lullaby coaxing the town to sleep. He finds himself sick with adoration as he looks at you, looking so effortlessly perfect. An oversized t-shirt covering you down to your mid-thigh, concealing the swimsuit underneath - he can see where it ties at the back of your neck. You wear white flip flops on your feet, toenails painted a bright shade of purple. The backs of the shoes clap clap clap as you step towards the pool, Eddie’s bare feet padding silently next to them. You lay your striped beach towel down onto the concrete, next to the pool’s edge. Eddie watches your every movement, his heart pounding in his chest. He wants to touch you, to taste you, to feel you all over him.

You sit on your towel, leaning your head to the side to glance up at Eddie. “Well, Munson? What kind of lessons do you have for me?” you ask playfully, itching to get his hands on you.

There’s a pause as Eddie thinks. His eyes trail to the still wrapped popsicle, and then back to you. His face twists into a devious grin. He sits so he’s facing you, legs spread as he gently pulls you to sit between them. He pulls you in for a kiss, forcing back the moan that threatens to break free at the mere contact with your lips. He hears you sigh into him, hands coming up to cup his face. Soft lips move against even softer ones, tongues searching the inside of cheeks eagerly. Your hands tangle in his damp hair, cold droplets covering your skin. When he finally pulls away, he admires your kiss swollen lips, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the bottom one. He picks up the popsicle, slowly working the wrapper off of it, and you eye him curiously.

Eddie holds the stick of the popsicle with one hand, other hand gripping your jaw, pulling your mouth open gently.

“Stick your tongue out, baby,” he murmurs, watching you intently as you oblige.

He presses the popsicle to your tongue, prompting you to suck it past your lips. You take only a little bit into your mouth at first, and Eddie doesn’t seem pleased. He tsks at you, lips forming a slight frown.

“Surely you can take more than that, sweetheart,” he coos, his eyes steady as they observe you.

He pushes the popsicle further past your plush lips, enjoying the way you let it all happen without protest. Less and less of the blue tinted ice is visible the further he coaxes it into your mouth, and your eyes tear up a little as it reaches the back of your throat. The muscles tense, making you gag a little.

“That’s right, honey, choke on it for me. You were such a good girl gagging on my dick earlier, you can handle this too, right?” his voice is almost patronizing, yet it sends shockwaves right to your core, wetness beginning to pool in your bathing suit bottoms.

You pull away for a moment, suddenly the cotton shirt on your body is too much, too heavy on you. You pull it over your head hastily, setting it beside you before turning to face Eddie once more. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him, prompting him to keep going. Eddie groans as you eagerly suck the popsicle, taking all that he gives you without complaint. He pulls it from your mouth suddenly, a soft slurping sound forming as you gather the sticky sweet juice from dripping past your lips. Without warning, Eddie puts the treat in his mouth, blue raspberry syrup coating his tongue. You feel a persistent throbbing between your thighs, watching his sloppy tongue lick remnants of your saliva off of blue ice. It’s not what you expected him to do, but you’ll be damned if you don’t find it fucking hot. He looks at you with heavy lidded eyes, sucking slow on the popsicle, driving you crazy.

You can’t take the teasing anymore, needing more of him, and you grab the popsicle from his hand. You lean into his personal space, getting him to lean back on flat palms. He watches you silently, hears his heartbeat in his ears as you suck the popsicle into your mouth once more, proceeding to pull it back out and kiss his neck with cold lips. He shudders, gasping when you press your cold tongue flat to his warm flesh, licking and nipping at the thin skin. You travel down his body like that, taking a lick of your frozen treat, then putting cold lips and tongue on Eddie’s skin, sucking hickeys into his chest. For the first time, you notice he has a nipple piercing. Just one, two silver balls resting on either side of puckered skin. The metal seems to gleam for you, calling you in. You take it into your mouth, icy tongue teasing the skin and tasting metal. Eddie whimpers, laughing a little when you pull away.

“Just now noticing that, honey?” he asks, pretty teeth on display for you as he smiles.

“I like it,” you reply easily, licking flat across his nipple once more before continuing your journey down.

Eddie knows where this is going, and his body practically vibrates with anticipation. Goosebumps break out on his skin as your mouth finds its way beneath his belly button, mouth kitten licking and kissing over his happy trail. He thinks he may die when you hook your fingers in the waistband of his swim trunks, coolly sucking on your popsicle all the while, getting your mouth nice and cold for him. His dick throbs, begging for attention. You coax the damp fabric down his legs, his cock springing free, curving towards his tummy. Before Eddie can even register it, your mouth engulfs him, cold tongue licking his shaft. Eddie tenses, throwing his head back and letting out a puff of air at the new sensation. A thin ribbon of saliva connects your bottom lip to the head of his cock when you start to pull away, licking up and down the popsicle again, tongue turning more blue with each swipe of it. You suck on the head of Eddie’s weeping cock, hollowing your cheeks out as he moans your name, fingers tangling in your hair. His cock practically aches, every cold press of your mouth against it has his breath catching in his throat, strangled moans escaping his pretty lips. He lets you work your magic for a while bobbing your head up and down, rolling his balls between your fingers.

The popsicle starts to melt where it rests in your free hand, and Eddie takes it from you, sucking on it while you suck on him. You pull off of his cock with a quiet pop, and Eddie grabs your chin, urging you up towards him. He kisses you hungrily, two blue tongues swirling around one another. Eddie stifles a groan, you taste like artificial berries and him and it’s turning him on even more. He’s not gonna let you have him so easily though, oh no, he’s gonna give you a taste of the teasing you gave him earlier. Just as he has you whimpering for him, he pulls away. He walks over to the trash can, bare feet on gritty pavement, tossing the remnants of the popsicle away. Turning back to face you, a grin spreads across his face and he goes running straight for the pool, completely naked, landing in the water with a huge splash. He comes back up for air with a gasp, hair sticking to his forehead.

“Eddieeeeee,” you whine between giggles, toes dangling into the water, watching him as he paddles around. “Need you,” you pout at him. “Now you’re being a tease.”

Your pussy throbs beneath skimpy bikini bottoms, so desperate for him to fill you. You can still taste him in your mouth, briny pre cum lingering in the back of your throat, and you chew on your lip in anticipation.

Eddie looks at you for a moment as he bobs in the water, arms splayed over his rescue tube that he snatched from beside the pool, keeping him effortlessly afloat. He has to hold back a devious laugh when he gets an idea. He paddles closer to the ledge where you sit, pulling the safety equipment from under his arms, holding it out to you.

“Show me how bad you need me, baby. Why don’t you ride that, and pretend it’s me,” he smirks at you, only growing more satisfied when you fail to form words in response, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Go ahead, honey, don’t be all shy now. Grind on it,” Eddie commands, gesturing for you to get on with it.

You delicately wrap your fingers around the safety equipment, GUARD written in bulky white block letters on the side. You straddle the rubbery red tube, one end of the object brushing against your clothed clit as you position yourself. An involuntary moan escapes your lips even at the minimal contact, and Eddie huffs a laugh, face sickeningly smug. Your face heats up instantly, suddenly ten times more aware of his eyes on you, like a specimen under a microscope. Your eyebrows knit together in concentration as you find a comfortable rhythm, riding the slippery material in desperation, dying to soothe the heat between your thighs. Pitiful mewls escape your lips, and Eddie raises his eyebrows at you.

“Oh, feels good, huh?” Eddie says, his tone mocking.

You want to reply with something witty, don’t want to give in this easy, but your core aches and pleads for more. Instead you whimper, wiggling your hips lower to rub across the tube, material dragging underneath your clit. The friction is so good, your hands grabbing desperately at the flat pavement beneath you, seeking purchase on anything and failing to find it. Your hips have found a steady pace, grinding against the spongey edge of the object, hair falling in your face with your head hung low. You moan his name and Eddie instinctively reaches down to palm at his hard cock. He shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is, but all he can think about is how he’s going to be using that same equipment during his shift tomorrow, keeping this little secret all to himself. Your cheeks are flushed with arousal yet also a slight twinge of embarrassment as Eddie watches you come undone on a fucking rescue buoy, pretending it’s his muscular thigh you’re riding. You soak the material beneath you as your legs tremble, glancing up at Eddie with pouty lips, silently pleading for him to have his way with you.

“Fuck, honey,” Eddie murmurs, reaching up from the water to brush hair out of your face. “Get in here with me, take everything off,” his eyes are dark as they watch you, standing up on shaky legs.

You shuffle out of your swimsuit bottoms, untying the straps on your top and letting it drop to the ground. You ease yourself into the water, cold touching every inch of your sun soaked skin as you lower your body in. Your feet touch the smooth bottom of the pool, water rising up to your breasts, making you shiver. Eddie pulls you to his chest immediately, naked bodies radiating warmth onto each other in the cool chlorinated liquid surrounding you. Darkness seems to have crept further in now, like a blanket shielding your naked bodies from the rest of the world, keeping these secrets for you. Eddie brushes your hair to one side, kissing and licking at your neck as his hands find their way to the globes of your ass, squeezing.

“Need to fuck you, baby, right here,” he says, voice muffled slightly as he presses kisses to your shoulder.

“You’re sure no one will catch us, right?” you breathe out, voice wavering slightly as his lips tickle your skin.

“It’s just you and me, honey. No one will catch us. Promise,” he’s pulled away from you, looking you straight in the eye so you take him seriously.

And he’s telling the truth. The cops make their rounds nightly, stopping by the pool at 10:30pm on the nose every. single. night. Eddie knows this partly because of several almost-busted drug deals he’s attempted to host late at night in the pool parking lot, and partly from stories he’s heard from other people who’ve tried to have late night swims in private. Given the fact that their whole goal is to catch people doing illegal things, the cops have really become far too predictable, doing their routine runs and making the same stops in the same order over and over. Eddie chuckles to himself as he thinks of this, pulling you even closer to him, giddy with the promise of more time alone with you.

He lifts you slightly and you instantly wrap your legs around his waist. He dips his head down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth as his hands toy with the fat of your ass. His mouth sucks bruises into the skin around your breasts, teeth biting at the skin just for his tongue to soothe it afterwards. You can feel his cock pressing against you and you squirm in Eddie’s grip, aching to be full of him. His blunt fingernails dig into your skin where he grips you, mouth finding its way up your neck and to your ear, leaving kisses in its wake.

“Want me to fill you up, honey?” his voice rasps in your ear, cold wet hair tickling the side of your face.

“Y-yeah, fuck,” you inhale sharply as he sucks on your earlobe, pulling it gently between his teeth.

He pins you against the side of the pool, your legs still wrapped around him as he attempts to line himself up with your entrance. You finally feel him slip in, both of you letting out heavy sighs at the feeling. You swear you can feel him in your guts by the time he’s fully inside you, and your body feels like it’s going to short circuit from sheer pleasure. He bucks up into you, teeth biting hard on his bottom lip, brows furrowed as he concentrates on making you feel good. Water ripples around you with every movement, sloshing gently around your partially submerged bodies. Your fingernails claw at the soft skin of his back, sure to leave scratches on the otherwise empty canvas. Eddie’s barely keeping himself together as he fucks you, his pace less brutal than round one in the shower, but you feel too good around him and he finds it hard to will himself not to cum so soon. You’re so tight around him, so warm, and every time your muscles clench he’s cursing under his breath. You lean your head forward, resting it on his shoulder, incredibly grateful for Eddie’s tight grip on you - your body is far too overwhelmed with pleasure to focus on keeping yourself upright, limbs feeling like jello. Eddie’s hips snap into you with a particularly rough thrust, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot in just the right way, and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle a cry.

“Right there, baby? Y’like that?” Eddie’s voice is low and hovering just above your ear, sending a shiver right down your spine.

“Feels so good, love when you fuck me Eddie,” you moan, and god Eddie swears he could die from the sound of you saying his name alone.

He continues to plow into you at just the right angle, hands fighting to keep their grip on your ass, skin growing slippery from the water. You’re close, Eddie can tell by the way your breathing is staggered and your eyes are pinched shut, his name tumbling out of your mouth in barely coherent strings.

“E-Eddie, ‘m so close,” you whimper, confirming his suspicions.

“Me too, honey, fuck,” Eddie’s panting, hips faltering slightly in their movements as he pushes his body through water.

“Wanna ride you, Eddie, please,” you beg him, and he pulls out of you almost instantly, hoisting himself out of the pool.

“Come on then, baby, what’re you waiting for?” he smirks, laying back onto your towel, the thin layer of fabric easing the roughness of laying on pavement.

You follow him out of the pool, water dripping everywhere as you straddle his lap on shaky knees. You sink down onto his cock, hips falling into the same rhythm they’d had on Eddie’s rescue gear earlier, this time feeling so enticingly full. Eddie groans as your gooey walls envelope him, gripping onto your waist to ground himself. Heat pools in the pit of your stomach once again as you rock yourself on top of him, the new angle stretching you in different ways. You bring a tentative hand down to rub circles on your clit, the sensitive bud begging for more attention. Eddie can’t help himself, he starts rutting up into you, trying to match your pace. He’s right on the edge of bliss but determined to get you there first, pushing himself as deep inside of you as he’ll go. He’s sick with lust as he watches you ride him, delirious with the way your tits bounce with every jolt of your body.

“Gonna cum, Eddie, don’t stop,” you warn, fingers moving quicker on your clit, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Not planning on it, sweetheart,” Eddie grunts, driving into you again and again as you squirm on top of him.

A few more thrusts from him and you feel the rope finally snap, hunched over Eddie’s body as you come undone around him. Your chest heaves as you work through your high, walls fluttering harshly around Eddie’s throbbing length. You feel like your bones turned to mush as Eddie keeps bucking his hips into you, your limbs tingling with the overstimulation of it all. You press chaste kisses to his neck as his moans grow louder, biting and licking at his skin before he finally reaches release. He paints your insides for what feels like forever, loosening his grip on your sides when he’s finally done.

“Shit, honey. Milked me fuckin’ dry,” Eddie laughs, breathing heavy with exertion.

You giggle as you slowly pull off of him, a mix of your release and his leaking out of you, sliding slowly down your thighs. Eddie sits up beside you and you pull him in for a lazy kiss, sloppy lips on lips and tongues peeking out to greet each other. Pulling away, Eddie glances over at the clock hanging on the wall near the locker rooms. It reads just about 10 o’clock. He huffs a sad sigh as he turns back to you.

“We should probably get going, baby. Cops usually show up pretty soon,” Eddie stands, holding a hand out to help you up as well.

You stick out your bottom lip in a pitiful pout as you rise from your sitting position, earning a laugh from Eddie.

“Wish we could just stay here all night,” your pout persists as your press your palms to his chest, scrunching your nose when he kisses it.

“Trust me, honey, you’ll be seeing more of me. No way you’re getting rid of me now,” Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek, attempting to suppress his smirk.

You wait for him by the gate as he covers the rest of the pool and puts his equipment in his locker, admiring every stride his long legs take, thin frame lit up only by the light of the moon and the subtle glow of the flickering lamps in the parking lot. He jogs over to you, kissing you sweetly as his hands unlatch the gate behind you, metal scraping on metal as it opens. He walks you to your car, shaggy wet curls falling over his shoulders as he leans through the window to give you one more kiss goodnight. You pull a pen from your glovebox, writing your phone number in blue ink on his wrist, then kissing the back of his hand before letting him go. He keeps looking over his shoulder at you as he walks to his beat up van, giving you a little wave as you pull out of your parking spot.

Almost as soon as you get home, your phone rings - and you have a feeling it might be one particular lifeguard you know.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #lifeguard!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

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sillylittlestoryblog · 2 months

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(Not) Hard to Love

( Part 1 of 2 )

Trafalgar Law x Reader

Warning: ⚠️ reader has self love issues, angst, some suggestive thoughts, not a native English speaker here :)

Authors notes: I have read your comments about writing a part 3 to Keeping me warm, i hadn’t really planed it as a series, so if you have a suggestion how the story should end, I would love to hear your thoughts.

I know this story isn’t that much different. But I am just living for that angsty pining shit. 😗✌🏻this will have a part two and it will follow soon. Anyways have fun. Feel free to comment your thoughts. And remember nice words are good for everybody’s mental health. ;)

"You're staring again"

Robin's words snapped you out of your thoughts. The dark-haired girl was sitting next to you on a sun lounger. There was an open book on her lap. She giggled.

" what?! No. I'm not!"

"Are you sure? You seem to be quite fascinated by him"

She held her sunglasses up for a moment so that you could see her eyes. She winked before putting the sunglasses back on her nose. She grinned and looked happily towards the sun.

It was a hot midday on the Thousand Sunny. Chopper and Luffy were playing a mixture of catch and hide-and-seek, with Luffy usually winning.

Zoro was snoring on deck, his swords always beside his sleeping body.

Usopp and Franky repaired small things on the Sunny and Sanji prepared a few refreshing drinks. While Brook was singing to himself somewhere.

Nami, Robin and you were sunbathing on the main deck. At least that was Nami's plan. Robin had gone along to do some reading. And you had mainly agreed to it for a very specific reason.

Normally your friends would have been reason enough, but the drastic heat was anything but pleasant.

If it hadn't been for this one reason, you would have gone somewhere in the shade long ago, preferably to Sanji in the kitchen or to the girls' room. Somewhere where you could best escape the sun.

But your reason for staying out on deck hadn't really moved for two hours. He was sitting at a small table with a parasol, a few sheets of paper and books spread out in front of him. Immersed in his work.

He was sitting far enough away not to be disturbed by Chopper and Luffy's games.

Trafalgar Law had been on board the Sunny for a few weeks now. Being part of the Strawhat crew again, even if only for a short time, was really getting to him. Groaning, he stretched his body, which was already a little sore from the uncomfortable posture. He really should take breaks from studying more often.

He walked briskly towards the kitchen. As a good doctor, he knew how important it was to drink water regularly, especially in these temperatures.

" and do you like what you see?"

" huh?!"

Once again, your mind wandered. For a brief moment, you wish you could take photos with your eyes. Just save certain moments in your mind forever. And return again and again to study them in detail.

That's all it was. You wanted to know what his deal was. Although you had already had several conversations with him, and in your opinion always with friendly intentions, he had managed to make you feel terrible every time.

Almost every conversation had degenerated too quickly. You could hardly believe how stubborn someone could be. And your captain was Luffy.

So you definitely knew your way around stubborn men. But Law was different. He was cold and grim and always wanted to be right.

You were annoyed by him from day one. Annoyed because this handsome, strong pirate was making you feel things. And that completely destroyed your former inner harmony.

There were either constant arguments or harsh silence between you. Sometimes he ignored you for days. At first you didn’t understand why he stayed with your crew, if he hated it so much.

But every now and then you could see a different side to him. How he talked caringly to Chopper about medication, how he complimented Sanji's cooking, how he gave Robin a brief smile after she had shown him her newest book collection in the library.

But these little moments were never with you. Every interaction between you and him was a disaster. He was grumpy, stressed and strict. So most times he just gave you a weird glance or turned the other way when he saw you walking towards him.

At least you had tried. But ever since Law decided to treat you differently from the other crew members and set out to make your life a living hell, you didn't want to be the friendly one either. You were sure, he didn’t have a problem with the rest of the crew. His problem was you.

But the heat was getting to everyone, and with such temperatures you can shortly forget the real problems.

Especially after Law had gotten rid of his long coat and overly thick sweater. Even his hat, which he usually wears, had been laying on the table next to his medicine and history books for almost half an hour.

And law without all that, was definitely interesting enough to briefly forget what the real problem was.

Tattoos on his upper and lower arms, his dark hair crushed and disheveled from wearing his hat. And his warm eyes that were now really visible for the first time.

"Robin! ... Why is he like that?"

" like what, y/n?"

" like so... so... so arghhhhh..., annoying ?! Angry? Attractive?!" You sighed and put your hands before your face. Not wanting even more people to see your blushing face.

Robin grinned again and took the book off her lap.

" so you do fancy him. Nami and I were right. ... hey Usopp! You owe me 50 berry!"

"Oh no. You did a bet on me ?!"

You loved Robin. She was the most beautiful, intelligent and loving woman you knew. But sometimes you were a tiny bit mad at her for knowing you so well. You couldn’t keep any secret from her. This woman had all the wisdom of the world (+ the gossip on the sunny ) in her head.

" I just don't get why someone who has that gorgeous hair and pretty smile, is such an asshole."

" Law isn't that terrible, Y/N. I told you he's just shy around new people. He'll make friends with you sooner than you know, I'm sure of it. And I don't think he hates you. He just doesn't know how to talk to you yet."

"Yeah, but he can't really get to know me and be my „ friend“, if he always leaves the room when I walk in.... I just want to know why he won't at least try to be friendly to me.

I mean, we have a lot in common. And I was really nice to him on his first day here. I showed him around the ship and even made him fresh juice from Nami’s trees and prepared his room. And all I got was a grumpy face and not a single comment.

And I just don’t know what is wrong with me?! He likes you guys, and he is so kind to Chopper." A sad frown making its way onto your face.

„sounds like you are jealous.“

Nami hadn’t really participated in the conversation yet. But she just enjoyed teasing you too much.

„ ahhh… just shut up, Nami.“

Now hiding your entire body under the beach towel you had brought with you.

You sigh after rolling your eyes for a moment. This wasn’t helping. You would have to find out what exactly his problem with you was.

Later that day, you helped Sanji in the kitchen. You were preparing some muffins for after dinner.

" Hey, can I ask you something?"

" Sure thing, honey. What's on your mind?"

Nervously, you bite your lip. Should you really ask Sanji for help? He certainly wasn't your first choice, but you felt you had to talk to a man. And the other men on board wouldn't be much help either.

„ but of course you are! You are incredibly beautiful and as pretty as a glowing nightsky or a bouquet of expensive flowers.“

Sanji was dancing around you with hearts in his eyes. Making weird noises while twirling like a ballerina.

That’s exactly why you were nervous. Surly Sanji wasn’t the right one to talk about this. But you at least had to try and find out what was wrong with you.

„ but like… do you like my personality too?“

„ yes of course sweetheart, you are the kindest, sweetest and most loving creature to ever bless my eyes.“

„and do you think that the others think so too? That I m helpful ? And kind ? And have a purpose on this ship?“

Sanji stopped dancing and looked at you seriously. „ why are you doubting yourself so much Y/N ? Of course the others think so too. You are part of our Nakama. What makes you think that way? „

Sanji stepped behind you and wrapping his arm around you. „Did the stupid Marimo say something again? I told you not to listen to the shit he says.“

You sat down on one of the chairs next to the kitchen table.

You immediately felt your chest tighten. You didn't want to cry. You really didn't. But the whole thing bothered you more than you initially thought.

"I just don't understand what I did wrong. I was only ever friendly and did everything I could to make him like me. But he hates me and I don't know why."

You sat uncomfortably on the chair with your legs drawn up. Sanji had never seen you so irritated.

" hey hey. It's all good, y/n. Who are you talking about?"

" The fucking Doctor, of course..."

Sanji smirked. He had almost suspected that. He had seen how you kept looking after the dark-haired man after he had ignored you and quickly left the room.

" I just don't get it! Why does he hate me? I've really tried everything, but he won't even look at me when I talk to him.

I've been asking myself for days... am I so ugly that he can't even bear to look at me? Is there really nothing to like about me?“

Hot tears started falling. Your flushed cheeks covered with them.

You didn't deserve all this attention you were hoping for. There was a reason nobody loved you. Something must be wrong with you. Something everybody probably knew, but was too afraid to tell you.

Were you this hard to love ? Why did you have to be so interested in this dude anyway?! Oh yeah, he was gorgeous to look at, intelligent like no other and had seen more of the world than you could ever dream of. Of course you had a stupid crush on him. But for him, you were only air. Or maybe something worse.

Sanji didn’t know if he should laugh or cry with you. He couldn’t believe how stupid you were. Almost as stupid as his captain and the dumb green haired swordsman.

„ y/n hey. Calm down. It’s okay. Nobody hates you. Shhh.“

His arms wrapped around you and held you in a tight embrace.

He almost chuckled thinking about what happend just a few hours before.

Law couldn’t take it anymore. The weather was already killing him. But seeing you in just your short bikini, laying just a few feet from him in the glistening sun. That was clearly to much.

He frowned under his breath. What a cruel joke. Almost as if his crew was behind an evil prank. Watching him, suffering all by himself.

He knew he was fucked the moment he saw you for the first time. He was just saying goodbye to his crew, when he spotted the newest crew member on deck. You were holding Chopper up like a toddler. Making sure he wasn’t gonna fall overboard, while still being able to see the other pirate ship.

Law had looked at you far to long for his liking. Your hair floating around you in the sea wind. And your bright smile lighting up his entire mood. You were mesmerizing.

How did Strawhat-ya always find these people? Law was almost jealous. Even tho he knew he wouldn’t be able to have a woman like you on his crew. It would never work out.

Looking up from his textbook he noticed you watching him again. In some wild fantasy in his head, he would wink at you now.

But Law was a serious man. He had things to do. And he couldn’t get distracted. Even tho the sight before him was definitely something he couldn’t forget in a while, he knew it wouldn’t be good if he was gonna stay sitting at this place. His mind was already wandering to very different places.

This wasn’t good.

Law exhaled and got up. He picked up the textbook before him and went inside. The kitchen wasn’t nearly as hot as the outside and definitely not as distracting.

The blonde cook was standing next to the stove preparing something that looked like dinner.

„ Hey. Is it okay if I sit here for a while?“

The cook turned around and gave him a kind smile.

„ sure. I don’t mind. Was it to hot for you outside?“

„ something like that.“ Law muttered, wishing he wouldn’t have noticed how the sentence had a double meaning. Ignoring Sanjis knowing grin he pretended to already be occupied with his book again.

During the afternoon, some crew members came by the kitchen. Law remained quietly seated at the table, absorbed in his studies.

Even when Nami and Robin entered the kitchen together, still dressed only in their bathing suits, Law did not look up from his work. There was no reaction to be seen on his face.

The others had been observing this behavior for a while. And Sanji was pretty sure by now.

His expression was mostly relaxed or thoughtful. Busy with his work. But that could change abruptly. Because Law showed some other forms of reaction as soon as you entered the room.

You had fallen asleep in the afternoon sun and after finding the deck empty, the first thing you did was head for the kitchen. A glass of water was now your only salvation.

Sanji saw you climb the stairs to the kitchen. And even though he would have liked to continue looking out of the window, enchanted by your face, he had more important things to do. His gaze darted back to the Surgeon of Death as inconspicuously as possible.

When you entered the room, he had already given himself away. Law's face was strangely tense. His eyes stared as unnaturally as Sanji had ever seen them, at the sheet of paper in front of him.

Bingo.

Sanji knew exactly what was going on.

Only when y/n turned to Sanji did Law look up from his book.

Law had to swallow. The view in front of him made him freeze for a moment. His mind going absolutely blank.

The next time Sanji turned his gaze to Law, he held his hand in front of his nose. He rushed out of the kitchen with a bright red head.

Sanji couldn't help but grin. So he had been right all along.

Nami, Robin and Sanji whispered through the night. Their captain laying and snoring between them. Luffy had initially been very excited about this secret meeting. But after he had found out that it was only about you and Law, he had fallen asleep from boredom.

"Haha, I knew it." Nami was beaming from ear to ear.

"Usopp doesn't stand a chance. I'll be rich tomorrow!!!"

"Oh Nami love, it can't just be all about money for you, can it? After all, it's about love, devotion and passion. Law is so attracted to Y/N that he can't even stand to be in the same room with her."

Sanji got heart eyes. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever witnessed. Oh to be in lovee..."

Robin giggled. "So what exactly are we going to do now?“

„ We have to get them to confess to each other !!“ Nami hushed to her friends „and not just for the money“ she added while holding her hands up in the air. Signaling a promise.

„ Maybe we could set up a romantic date for the two of them. I could cook their favorite meals and“ Sanjis lovestruck face suddenly changed into a dark frown.

„ Watch over them, because if Traffy tries to hurt my dear Y/Ns feelings I will kill him.“

„ Oh we shouldn’t do that Sanji, it would be more than stupid to do that. If he hurts her I will simply give him to the marines. At least we could make a profit like that.“ Nami was grinning proudly at her plan.

„ My dear friends, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Let’s see, Franky said that he didn’t have time yet to repair the door to our storage room yet… let’s say for some unknown reason he doesn’t repair it until in a few days? I m sure there is enough other work around the sunny!“

„ What are you suggesting Robin, Dear?“

The dark haired woman placed her chin on her hand, grinning into the blonde cooks face with a mischievous look in her eyes.

„ You’ll see Sanji. You’ll see.“

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #nami #trafalgar law #nico robin #trafalgar d water law #traffy #trafalgar law imagine #trafalgar law one piece #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #tony tony chopper #usopp #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji

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y3nze1 · 2 months

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𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | c.2

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: I / II / III / IV / V / VI

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Mentions of Blood and Knife, Happy Readings!

"And a song you shall have, Miss Daisy." He spoke sweetly, his voice warm and inviting. He chose a song for her, a love song that was sure to melt her heart. The melody was soft and sweet, and the lyrics were nothing short of poetry. As he played the song, he imagined her listening to it, her eyes closed as she floated away on a sea of emotion. He watched from his window as the moon shimmered in the sky, and he knew that it was going to be a night to remember.

As Alastor began playing the song on the radio, he felt as if his heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn't help but wonder what Miss Daisy looked like, what her life was like. He found himself thinking about her constantly, her voice and her kindness stuck in his mind.

Every time she called in with a request, his heart fluttered at the sound of her voice. And each time she asked for a love song, his feelings for her only grew stronger.

Weeks of regular requests from Miss Daisy. It only sparked his curiosity with how devoted she is to listening to his radio show, over and over again.

One night, as he was winding down the show, Alastor received a special request from Miss Daisy, a popular love song at that time. He couldn't believe it. Miss Daisy always had the best taste in music, and this song was no exception.

"This is perfect," Alastor said over the airwaves. "I can't wait to play it for you, Miss Daisy."

As he played the song, his heart raced with excitement. He was sure that Miss Daisy would love it, and he couldn't wait to hear her reaction.

When the song ended, he waited anxiously for Miss Daisy to call back.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Miss Daisy called back. Her voice was soft and nice, and Alastor could feel the gratitude and appreciation in her words.

"That song was incredible, Alastor," Miss Daisy said. "Thank you so much for playing it."

Alastor felt a rush of gratification. He was so glad that he could bring Miss Daisy this much joy and happiness through his music.

As for you, your fingers fiddled through the radio, turning it off, you stared out onto the night's sky. walking to the open balcony, watching the bustling city and it's different shaded light. some dim. some absolutely shining. you huffed to yourself.

With all of a sudden, The phone rang. ultimately, you picked it up. with Loralie on the other line, you were filled with glee as she gladly muttered out your name.

"Y/n, Darlin.. We're gonna be home tomorrow by 9, could you prepare the breakfast for me n' lewis, sugarplum?" she exclaimed. the sounds of bags and object clangs emitted in the background. you hummed in response, taking responsibility for making the breakfast by the time they came home. "Thank you darlin, take care okay? you yap all about your week when we come home, alright, okay.. tata moonpie~" with that, she dropped the call. you sighed, contented of finally not being alone.

You were content as the sounds of Loralie's voice faded away. You had been feeling a little bit alone lately, and her call had brought you a sense of comfort and connection. Finally, you laid in bed, drifting off to sleep.

The next day went by, the sunlight slowly creeping the room, You began to prepare breakfast for her and her boyfriend, You wanted to make them something special, something that would make them feel welcomed and appreciated.

You spent the next few minutes preparing everything, getting the ingredients for the breakfast that you knew they loved the most. You cooked up some scrambled eggs, fried some bacon, and toasted some bread. You even whipped up a batch of pancakes from scratch.

When everything is ready, you put the food on a plate and set it on the table. You sat down on the couch and waited nervously for them to arrive.

Finally, the sound of keys jangling in the door echoed through the apartment. Lorilie and her boyfriend walked in, both looking weary from a long day of traveling. "Y/n, Darling, i missed ya! utterly missed ya.." she pulled you into a tight hug, setting down her headdress onto the sofa. along with the bags. she glanced over the breakfast filled table, pulling Lewis, Her boyfriend over.

"Make sure you both eat a lot.." you muttered seating on the opposite side of the two. taking a munch of the pancakes, sighing in delight as you did. You felt a sense of accomplishment and happiness at having done something nice for someone else. For a few seconds of chewing, Lewis glanced over his wrist watch, eyes widening of the time.

"Loralie.. Y/n.. i-i'm afraid i need to get going" he frantically muttered, standing up from his seat, grabbing his coat while Loralie followed behind. "Lewis! you haven't finished breakfa-" she was cut off with a kiss he planted on her cheek before leaving. she sighed. watching him leave the place, Loralie hurriedly ran over to the balcony, calling out to him. "Lewis! make sure to call me when you get home!" she exclaimed, waving her hands as he left.

"Well, he seems busy.." you spoke up, calmly taking a bite of the food on your plate. Loralie then headed over to you, placing her chair beside you. as for the next few hours. she told all the wonderful things that went on during their vacation. "Well then we went for a joy ride, and good golly, that's all of it." she then turned to you, smiling. "What about you, Dear?, What did you do all week?"

You felt a sense of warmth and comfort as Loralie began to talk about her vacation. You listened intently, enjoying the sound of her voice as she described all of the beautiful places they had visited. You could tell that she was truly excited about the trip, and you were happy that she had a good time.

You thought for a moment before replying, "To be honest, I'm not sure what went by or happened.. This week was kind of a blur." You let out a small laugh, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I think I spent most of my time listening to the radio and reading books."

She paused for a moment. grinning. "Let me guess, you kept on requesting songs from Alastor.. did you? y/n? or should i say.. 'Miss Daisy'." she let out a chuckle. patting your back softly. "Well, i did, but it was for a good cause! I am a loyal listener. okay?" you happily spoke up. fiddling with the fork on your empty

You couldn't help but smile at Loralie's teasing comment. You knew that you were a loyal listener, but you didn't think that anyone else noticed. It was a little embarrassing, but also flattering that someone else had picked up on it.

"I just...I love his voice, and the way he plays his music. It makes me feel...calm, I guess." You shrugged, feeling a little silly for having such strong feelings about a radio host. Loralie laughed. "Well, there's nothing wrong with that, moonpie, well, I think it's rather sweet of you. I'm sure the guy appreciates having such a loyal listener like you." She gave you a comforting pat on the back before getting up to clear the table.

"Well, he has dozens of listeners too, and you know.. err" Loralie placed a finger on your lips. hushing you for a moment. "There's no room to be so humble, darlin" she laughed. grabbing the empty plates, placing it on the sink. patting her hands dry after.

The night went by as always, like a blur. Alastor sat there, With his blood stained hands, dripping down arms, onto his gleaming white fabric. His button up also stained with the red liquid. He hummed along the tune he played on the radio. Taking in the pleasure of his loneliness in the studio. The telephone rang, echoing across the room.

He placed the coated knife onto the table beside him. His hand reached the device, picking it up. bringing it up to his ear. he cooed, answering the call. "You have reached Alastor Altruist! From New Orleans, Louisiana, Welcome to my Broadcast.. and who might be on the other end of this pleasant call?"

The voice at the other end of the line was soft, almost hauntingly sweet. "Alastor, it's me again… Daisy." The caller's voice was familiar to Alastor, and he felt a twinge of excitement course through his veins. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

"Daisy, it's always a pleasure to hear from you," Alastor said, keeping his voice calm and steady. "What can I do for you tonight?"

"Oh, just a request for a song," Daisy said, her voice like music to Alastor's ears. "I hope it's not too much trouble?"

"Of course not, darling. I'd be delighted to play any song you'd like," Alastor replied, his mind already racing with possibilities. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. "What song would you like to hear tonight?"

"I'd like the 'April Showers by Al Jolson'" she softly giggled. "April Showers," Alastor repeated, his voice smooth and clear. "That's a wonderful choice, Daisy. I'm sure our listeners will enjoy it just as much as I will." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I'll make sure to play it just for you, darling," he said, his voice filled with a hint of amusement.

With that, he finally played the song. grabbing a clean cloth to wipe the blood off of his arm. along with the once plastered on his face. After he dropped the call. he muttered.

"Keep calling me, Beautiful Stranger.."

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin #hazbin hotel #alastor altruist #human!alastor x reader #human!alastor #radio demon #1920s #Human!Alastor x You

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applebutter-and-cinnamon · 11 months

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The Night Before

Summary: The time shared before Jake leaves for deployment.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Warning: mentions of deployment, time spent apart, slight angst, some fluff

Read More: Coming Home (Can be read as Part 2)

You knew what you were getting into when you'd agreed to your first date together. It didn't mean that you were prepared for it. Dating a Naval Aviator, one of the best who was in a squadron with other, equally talented aviators, it was only a matter of time before the Navy called on them again.

You'd met Jake after the dagger squad had returned from their first mission together, before they had been grouped together permanently. Your first date together had gone so much better than you had thought it would, but Jake had amazed you with. You learned that he was more than his dazzling green eyes. He was smart, witty, and compassionate.

Now, 3 months later you found yourself in his living room, cuddling up next to him on the couch. He'd turned on a movie at some point after the two of you had spent hours memorizing the lines of each others bodies. His hand was resting on your knee and your head was laying against his arm. You were trying to soak up as much of him as you could before he left tomorrow, breathing in the smell of his cologne and basking in the warmth of his skin against yours.

"Where's your pretty little mind, Sweetheart?" Jake asked, his voice soft and low as he whispered in your ear.

You shrugged, turning your head so that your voice was muffled into his chest.

He rubbed your knee gently, "Babe, you know I can't understand you when you do that. Come on, what are you thinking about?"

"Just tomorrow," you told him, picking your head up a little so he could hear you. "I'm going to miss you."

Jake's chest vibrated with the little hum that he let out in understanding. He brought his hand up from where it was, maneuvering you as he wrapped it around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. "I'm going to miss you, too."

You felt him press a light kiss to the top of your head. Tilting your head up, your eyes locked onto his and you tried to memorize the exact shade of green they were and the number of eyelashes that framed their perfect shape.

He was looking at you like he was trying to drink in every detail. His eyes roaming every inch of your face as he gazed down at you.

"I'm going to write to you everyday," you promised him.

He smiled, teeth glinting from the light of the television. "It might get tedious."

"Not if it's you that I'm writing to," you told him.

His eyes softened, "You'll keep me updated about the squirel that's digging into your flower bed?"

"I'll write you a play-by-play of every movement he makes and I'll write to you about everything that happens at work -"

"You'd better. I need to keep up with the tea at your job so that I know if that bitch, Martha pulls any shit again." Jake was smirking mischievously but you knew how to read him now and he couldn't hide the very real sadness that was taking over him.

"I wouldn't want to tell anyone else," you assure him.

Jake nods and looks away from you down the hall where his office is. You haven't been in there a lot, but from the times that you've stayed the night, you knew the layout of his house. "If anything goes wrong," he begins, "Everything that you'd need to know is in the office. I know you're planning on popping in here every so often to check on things, but I've left all of my documents in case something happens in the upper left drawer."

You're glad he's not looking at you when he speaks, his words causing your stomach to twist unpleasantly, but you nod anyway. It's important to him that you know this, even if neither of you enjoy the topic.

"You'll come back to me," your words come out more hesitant than you had intended.

Jake's eyes snap back to yours, earnest determination shining brightly in them. "I will always, always do everything I can to try to make it back to you."

It should've scared both of you, the amount of commitment you were showing to each other so early in the relationship but neither of you could deny how right it felt to be with the other. His words, you knew, would echo around your head while he was gone, soothing you on the long nights without him.

You reached up to cup his face with your hand, bringing him closer for a deep kiss. The taste of him was an elixir that you could get drunk off of. The feeling of his hands around you, pulling you closer to him until a slip of paper wouldn't fit between you was a drug that you were addicted to.

You broke apart, breathing heavily with your forehead pressed against his. Wrapping his arms securely around your waist, he stood and carried you back into his bedroom, laying you down on the mattress with heartbreaking gentleness. Jake crawled in behind you and you fit your legs between his, curling into his body. The sheets were cool now, but still tussled from your time spent in them earlier.

He was tracing shapes along the small of your back as you played with the blonde hair on his chest. "Can I have your Longhorns sweater while you're gone?"

Jake hummed, "Of course."

"And can you spray it with your cologne?" You were both whispering now, some part of you knowing that to speak any louder was to break the bubble you were both living in. You'd do anything to keep him here in this bed with you and keep time from moving forward, pulling him away from you.

"Mmhmm," his eyes were falling shut, despite his obvious attempts at keeping them open.

"Sleep," you whispered. "You're going to need it."

Jake forced his heavy eyelids open, "I wanted to spend more time with you."

You pulled the covers higher up his chest, "I'll still be here."

"Talk to me," he asked, voice groggy. "Want your voice... Sleep better."

You pressed a small kiss to his skin, watching as his chest rose and fell with each breath. You licked your lips and began talking about everything mundane you could think of. Small, unimportant topics that you'd miss talking to him about while he was gone.

It didn't take long for his breathing to even out and for his hands to stop tracing against your skin. You stayed awake, gazing at him and taking mental pictures for you to remember. Your heart was beating painfully in your chest, a small crack forming as it prepared for the anguish that always filled you when the thought of being separated from the man you loved came up.

You knew that Jake would do his best to talk to you as often as he could. He'd already promised to call and write letters as often as he was allowed, but it was your first deployment as a couple. There was a part of you that was afraid that he'd come back and decide that you weren't the person he wanted anymore. You had no idea if this deployment would change him as much as his squad said the last one had.

His soft snore shook you from your thoughts. You ran your fingers through his hair so softly as to not wake him. "I love you," you whispered the secret into his chest. The way you always did when you had your buried your head in there, speaking the words directly to his heart and hoping that each time you spoke them that he'd feel the weight of them there long after you'd said it.

You settled next to him, curling around him. You cleared your mind of all thoughts of the morning and let his breathing soothe you to sleep.

When Jake was sure that you were sleeping soundly next to him he allowed himself a small smile and whispered, "I love you too."

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun x reader #top gun maverick #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #applebutter and cinnamon masterlist

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redslug · 7 months

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NEUROSLUG NEUROSLUG NEUROSLUG

Ahem. So, I spent the last day force-feeding Stable Diffusion my art to teach it the concept of an anthropomorphic insect. As a result, I have a working LoRA that imitates my coloring style fairly decently and it can kinda do bug anthros. Emphasis on "kinda", it still needs a lot of iterations to be able to maintain proportions on it's own. However, it does quite great when provided with a simple line drawing as a quideline. Here are some examples I whipped up in like 2 hours. Input image:

AI's pure output:

After touchup:

There was quite a bit of touchup on this first attempt with the generation serving mostly as a rough under drawing, but then again I didn't stress the network with details too much. Then I tried squeezing more definition out of it. Attempt 2:

It can be quite competent when I supplement it with styles it knows well. I only used 30 of my own images to teach it, so it might be a little starved for examples at the moment. Adding "Bob Eggleton" seems to knock some sense into it for now. Okay, still images are working, now let's bash Neuroslug against some animation.

For something named Stable Diffusion it's not the most stable, huh. I'm still pleased with the result though, it's pretty cute. And while trying to make it cute I learned a little thing. AI art isn't art. It's a mixture of alchemy, gambling, detective work and demon summoning it seems. And a bit of just art. What I mean by that is that it can attach very unexpected meanings to words. Since I trained the AI on just anthro insects, it follows their defined anatomy quite closely. Specifically, they do not have breasts. As a result, adding "with big boobs" to the prompt changed the shading style and colors but not the actual anatomy. And so, most of my prompts have this lovely phrase just to improve the colors. 'Kay, time for the freak show. At some point during testing the machine decided that my moth isn't decent enough and put panties on her suddenly.

Now that's a booty

Look at those eyes

They have seen things As you can probably tell these have no sketch to guide the result.

It's still bad but it's got the right spirit.

THICC

Surprisingly cute even if janky.

Looks better than it has any right to Now I'll crawl back into my hole to play with settings for an indeterminate amount of time. I'll publish my mini-me for you all to mess with once I deem it stable enough.

#slug's experiments #anthro #insect #moth #wooo i'm giddy #all the things I can do now #It's like i was gifted double length days to make stuff #with this i can make comics in painterly style that would be too time consuming otherwise

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staar5384 · 7 months

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champange problems

neuvillette x gn!reader

hurt/no comfort, they/them pronouns, light cursing

this is slightly based off of the song champagne problems by taylor swift🫶🏼

might consider a pt. 2 if people are interested:)

The Opera Epiclese was beautifully decorated from top to bottom. Assortments of Rainbow Roses adorned the hallways, Lumidose Bells hung like vines from the pillars. Stunning satin and silk tapestries dressed the walls in different shades of blue and purple.

Everyone there could tell something was going to happen, though no one knew what.

When the people of Fontaine received their invitations to the event, it did not state the reasoning for it. It was presented as a formal ball. People were expected to dress and act appropriately, and it was not a place for children.

As the guests arrived, they could see Chief Justice Neuvillette and the Hydro Archon Furina were sitting in the front row of the courthouse. They were chatting, glancing out at the crowd periodically, as if looking for someone.

Then you walked in.

Neuvillette arose from his seat and walked down to greet you. You smiled at your boyfriend, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” He said, grasping your hand as he brought you toward the seats he and Furina were sat in.

“I’m glad I could make it too! Everything here looks absolutely gorgeous,” You replied, following him.

Furina greeted you with a smile and a wave before moving from her seat to somewhere backstage.

“So what is this grand party for, hmm?”.

“Oh you’ll see soon enough my love,” He kissed your hand. “Just enjoy the atmosphere and the music. The Melusines should come around soon with refreshments, and the band is about to play.”

You nodded, leaning back into your chair and taking a deep breath. It was nice to have a moment to relax and enjoy yourself. You very rarely got that anymore thanks to your constant traveling, but the work was so fulfilling.

Just as Neuvillette said, the Melusines came out carrying trays of various drinks. One of them stopped in front of you two, two glasses of sparkling champagne was presented. “Just as you requested, Monsieur!” She said excitedly.

Neuvillette grabbed both the glasses, handing one over to you, “Thank you very much,” He smiled as she skipped away.

“This is different from the other drinks,” You gave him a smirk. “Was this requested specifically for me?” You had always been a fan of champagne, more than wine which tended to be the people’s preferred drink of choice.

“How could we throw a party without having everything my beautiful partner desires?” He kissed your temple with a gentle smile on his face.

You returned his smile and sipped the drink, “You also opted for champagne I see.”

“Ahh, I figured I could try to enjoy your favorite drink for a change.”

Neuvillette had never cared for champagne, he made that abundantly clear when you two began dating, but when he saw your face light up at the thought of him sharing your drink of choice, he knew it would all be worth it.

The two of you chatted for a while, catching up on how things have been on both your ends. You had recently returned from a trip to Inazuma, a country you had longed to visit for a while. You were given a commission there, and left about a month ago. You had only returned the day prior.

Neuvillette recounted many trials to you, one in particular standing out. He talked about Fatui Harbinger, Childe, a man you had met once before in Liyue when you were there for the Rite of Descension.

“Ahh I know Childe,” You commented. “We crossed paths briefly a few months ago. He almost sank the entirety of Liyue Harbor.”

“Oh?” Neuvillette raised his brow. “And how have I not heard about this?”

You giggled, “I forgot to be honest. It was so insignificant for me at the time. I left the Harbor only a few hours before to visit some of the ruins. Who would have thought that someone would try to wipe out the nation’s biggest city?”

Neuvillette chuckled, his eyes sparkling, “You tell me the most fascinating stories. I hope someday I can give you a memory as fun and beautiful as the ones you make.”

You felt your face heat up, “You’re such a flirt, Neuvillette.”

“Only for you darling.”

The band on stage began their show, the audience around them silencing. You glanced over and realized Furina had not returned to her seat.

Neuvillette placed his glass aside and rose from his seat. He planted a kiss on the top of your head, “Excuse me a moment.”

“But the music just started. You’ll miss it.”

“No worries dear, I’ll be back,” He took his leave, walking out the back doors.

You sighed, focusing your attention on the orchestral display in front of you. Just as you expected, the music was beautiful, as was everything else in the Opera Epliclese. If only you knew what the true reasoning behind this was.

Moments passed and both Neuvillette and Furina had yet to return. You contemplated searching for them both, but stopped when Furina walked up on stage.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen! It is quite the honor to be here tonight as we have such a lovely occasion to be celebrating!”

Whispers and murmurs flooded over the crowd. What could they possibly be trying to celebrate?

“Now, I know you all must be very confused. ‘Oh great Hydro Archon Focalors.’” You rolled your eyes. “What could we possibly be celebrating!’ I can hear your gears turning, and I can promise you this is an occasion none shall forget!”

From stage left, Neuvillette walked on. He almost looked nervous as he approached the front of the stage. Furina handed him the microphone and winked before hopping off to the side.

“Umm,” He spoke softly. “This isn’t really quite my thing, speaking about emotions and feelings and such, especially in front of a crowded room like this, but I believe this is something that should be shared,” His throat bobbed, his eyes flicking across the audience. “Emotions are not, and never have been, my strong suit. They are complicated, hard to understand, and feeling them is confusing,” He said. “But there is one person who has made these emotions less confusing. When I am around them, I don’t need to try to understand what I’m feeling.”

You knew instantly he was talking about you. The two of you had discussed his inability to comprehend human emotions a few times. You had helped him understand his initial feelings towards you, helped him learn to accept his love and care for you. All of these things he has accomplished was through your help, so he says.

His eyes locked with yours, and he gestured for you to join him on the stage. Hesitantly, you stood and made your way to him. The spotlight was bright and hot, making you sweat almost instantly.

Neuvillette took your hand in his, “I can’t think of anyone I would rather spend my life with.”

Your eyes widened. He was going to propose

He got down onto one knee, pulling out a velvet blue box. He opened it, and the ring inside was stunning. A sparkling blue crystal with a silver band. “My love, will you marry me?”

All eyes were on you at that moment as the audience eagerly awaited your response. You were at a loss for words. You loved Neuvillette, you truly did, but marriage? The thought had never crossed your mind, nor were you even truly ready to get married. You had so many more adventures to go on, so much more to see and do. Marriage would only tie you down and prevent you from experiencing those things.

Your heart throbbed, an ache filling you that you had never felt before. You stepped away from him, shaking your head with tears in your eyes, “I’m sorry, Neuvillette,” You watched his face drop. “But I can’t accept,” As you finished the sentence you rushed off of the stage and out of the room.

Neuvillette watched you leave, the ring box slipping from his hand, and landing onto the stage with a thud. The crowd began to whisper, a mix of emotion swirling throughout the room.

Furina, despite her love for the drama, immediately jumped in at seeing the distress on Neuvillette’s face, “Alright everyone, I believe that is all for this evening. Feel free to get some refreshments outside! Guards, if you could escort our guests out.”

One by one, each person began to leave until the only people inside were Furina and Neuvillette.

She glanced down at him, he hadn’t moved a single inch. His eyes were glued to the floor as he replayed the event in his head, over and over again. You said no.

“Neuvillette?” Furina approached him, gently tapping his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He snapped out of his trance, picking his head up, “I- I do not know.”

“Well, why don’t we get you back home, yeah?”

The two left in silence, Furina remaining close beside him. People watched the two leave the Opera Epiclese and they wouldn’t stop talking. This news would spread like wildfire, Neuvillette would become the talk of Fontaine.

Outside it was downpouring. The rain was the worst it had been in a very long time. Furina knew why.

“Even the weather is matching the mood,” Someone said from afar, noticing the Archon and Chief Justice.

“What a shame,” Another person spoke. “Losing out on a good lover such as the Monsieur.”

“They even rejected him in front of a crowd. The embarrassment he must feel… How cruel.”

“I do hope he finds someone better. He deserves someone less… fucked in the head.”

Each voice he heard was a nasty reminder, each word spoken made his heart twist and ache in an uncomfortable way. He tried to drown it out, but it was almost impossible.

“Thank you, Lady Furina,” He pulled away from her. “But I think I’ll go alone.”

“A-Are you sure?” She was hesitant to leave him alone in such a state.

“Quite sure. I’ll see you soon,” He left without another word.

Neuvillette decided to spend the rest of his evening alone, sulking in his hurt, wondering if maybe he could have done something to make you stay.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact fanfiction #fanfiction #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette angst #neuvillette genshin #hurt/no comfort #angst #genshin impact angst #genshin angst

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1-49 · 2 months

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송은석 : Tell the cameraman there’s no good side, they’re both attractive.

❝ your ace, your king, your double diamond. your jack of all trades, your 100 and one shades.

ᴘᴀʀɪɴɢ: actor! song eunseok × actress f!reader.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: romance. on set / gambling undertones as far as the film storyline goes. w.c 5k

two actors fatally ‘meet’ at a ‘casino.’ with the narrative centering round the ‘value of the moment,’ as the story advances, the ‘love on set’ becomes more evident thru the cameras. as the director realizes this early on, all of his retakes serve as both the actors’ main obstacle and unifying force in achieving their individual & character’s goals.

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: slight mutual pinning (?) both are kinda confused; mixed signals, ofc flirting. makeout :) i had MMA Eunseok on mind while writing this... the gloves and all.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: why i feel like everyones on sum Eunseok current rn? as if we re collectively riding that wave? am i not right? am i not!? it’s like homeboy was only getting comfortable up until now. or elsee y are his contents as of lately sooo attacking? idk why, but i feel like this type of situation goes so well w him?

this goes back and forth between the film’s plot and the real* on set setting. hope it’s not confusing

It feels like you’re wearing your seductive velvet dress just to let him down one more time. The never-ending takes of filming this movie and wearing the same clothes don’t help Eunseok at all; in fact, your attire has made him even more confused and hell crazed.

Drama, slash thriller, slash…

“Romance is for the weak,”

reads one of the script’s lines. Of course, there is nothing romantic about the way he has to portray the charismatic rival who must rob the same kingpin as you. You both need to be like loaded guns to figure out who will outsmart who. Without a doubt, this isn’t a game for the weak of heart.

Side from the fact that long shoots and endless days blur together, his constant presence both on and off set also distorts your perception and wounds your judgment. Though you know for a fact that it’s a waste of your time to catch vibes.

As you’re getting started & Eunseok is an A-list hitter, it is also completely out of the question. Moreover, even now, you find it surprising how you were cast for this role, but that was exactly what spurred you on to continue & demonstrate your abilities.

Though the weeks of filming went smoothly, as you 2 approach ‘a’ scene, tension is mounting.

But, now that you’re here, you’re reshooting and pacing around the same set of scenes, over and over. There is a clear build-up in tension and skin ship as the film goes. The way his hands would sometimes tighten around your waist, it seems like an old game. Practically, it’s the same same daily.

It’s as if you have been thrown into a loop for a week. Monday through Saturday, which seems excessively intense because you have to look into his big eyes and act unaffected, just like your character. To pretend that you’re razor-sharp when you two touch and to act as though nothing is happening.

The latest take you took was three hours ago, before your lunch. Venue: the casino.

The casino set is unique in that it has distinct widths and depths, & it’s a character unto itself.

You’re shooting at a real place—a candid gambling place with walls painted in every hue imaginable, which is the main ‘bait’ factor. Nevertheless, the place’s real undercurrent is that it has the power to literally tear apart a person. Here, time and space are merely ideas, and much like love, everyone in the plot keeps playing in the hopes of hitting a jackpot.

On the periphery are the people who have come here to escape reality, vibrant lights, music, drinks, and all things magnetic.

However, the more people indulge in these casino games, the more they immerse themselves in sin. The games have a concentric hierarchy, and the degree of wickedness increases gradually until it reaches the heart of the casino, where the money is kept in bondage and bound with a bloody ribbon.

In essence, the characters you and Eunseok play dance and mingle in the depths of hell.

As you both keep colliding in the games you play, what begins as an individual hunt becomes more focused. It’s the way that your objective in this round is to win jointly by lying. Still, at some point in the round, Eunseok’s character betrays you, but that is currently irrelevant, as you’re currently sitting on his lap.

And doing so, you scan the players in front of you. There are eight of them in total, some of whom have girls sitting on their laps as well. Some kiss, some clink their glasses, and some flirt with the person across. A ton of chips, cards, and cash are spread out across the poker table.

Your character remains silent, just like Eunseok’s does. Distraction is something that neither of you wants. However, the fact that you’re sitting on his lap makes this already a deranged situation.

Players sling remarks about your character around the table in an attempt to break Eunseok’s character’s nerve.

“When will it be our turn to have our round with her, at last, exactly when?” Gesturing you both, one of the group members says, perched on the edge of the poker table. “Hm? We may need to take some action because you don’t really share your food here. We may need to bring bad luck to attract her.” The actor laughs narratively, but there is seriousness in the corners of his bright eyes that makes it seem like he is really after you, and there is nothing Eunseok can do about that. It is an amazing acting delivery from him.

And while his remarks are only meant to irritate Eunseok’s character, why does it feel like they also irritate the real Eunseok? Because his leg begins to twitch uncontrollably under you.

In order to stop letting his emotions show and to keep his mind to the job in hand, he needs to snap back into character quickly. He remains to cage you in a respectful manner, though, as his arms aren’t in contact with you because they’re both on the table.

So you have no choice but to put up with the sensation of his breath tickling the back of your neck, and the heat that seeps from his thighs and settles into you.

You feel imprisoned in his cage... On this set.

And, you start to appreciate the little things, like the thicker material covering your flesh, since it seems like your skin is getting uncomfortably slippery under your dress.

Your back is glued to his chest, and his calm demeanor calms you down from the words and deeds of everyone around you—including the real extras from the close-up tables that swarm the set, adding realism to the scene and heightening the atmosphere.

You feel him place his hand on your thigh, something he has never done in previous takes of the scene, but he immediately lifts it. And as he moves his hand, the smooth surface of your dress wrinkles at the drag, making your heart want to leap out of your rib cage.

You lean forward until your elbows rest on the table in an attempt to escape the heat transfer that is becoming too strong between your bodies. More than that, there seems to be an off-energy between you two today that you can’t quite put your finger on. In either case, you’re unable to escape as his hand wraps around your waist and draws you back toward him. Simultaneously, it feels like his cold breath is making love to your throat as it swoops around your neck.

And so, you stay like this… in his arm... until he decides it’s enough, but Eunseok isn’t one to give up easily, so things continue this way. You simply can’t protest because that would ruin the scene.

However, even after going over the same scene several times, it didn’t stick, so the director agreed to let you unwind for the next few hours so that you could focus on the following scene.

And as absurd as it sounds, you might need to expend all of your energy on the next scene. You’ve become tired not just from your long work hours and endlessly repeated dialog lines, but also from being in too much close contact with him. And not to mention that the scene that follows is—

A loud “Action!” comes from somewhere across the room, past the cameras. You’re even deprived of the opportunity to summon all your bravery and take a deep breath. There is nothing you can do about the scene that is already in motion except follow your sync with Eunseok wherever it leads.

This time, the location is a 2nd floor room inside the casino with a glassed view of the floor below where all the ‘magic’ happens. In technical terms, the space you’re in right now is referred to as a ‘control room.’

Control…..

With just the two yellow-toned lamps—one in the corner and one on the metal desk—the room is completely soundproof and somewhat dim. Additionally, the window glass also only sees out but not in, which promises that all intimacy will be trapped inside and not let out.

…. If only you were allowed the right amount of privacy,

but this is a film set, so naturally there are people inside who practically monitor every move you and Eunseok make in great detail.

They… Control…..

His suit jacket, which he had on earlier in the casino, is now draped across the brown leather couch, giving you more intimate time together and expanding his range of motion. And it’s all done purposefully. Everything is a part of the plan, as he’s deliciously in tune with your dress, too.

His glistening velvet suit with diamond motifs fits the ‘rival notion,’ making him an ideal opponent—a fierce equal match for you. This is also reflected in the movie’s concept, which is to give the impression that this is a ‘pair game’ in which both of you are lying in order to get to the big ‘price.’

And all it takes to get there is for you to hurt each other in the process. There are jokes exchanged, teasing remarks, some lighter, some harsher, some even more vulgar, and swear words are thrown around, but neither of your characters ever lets up their confident façade. For they would be falling behind and losing the game if that were to occur.

As you gaze out the window, Eunseok is leisurely leaning against the desk, moving a silver-foil Ace of Hearts card between his black leather-gloved fingers and watching you.

The games themselves give an adrenaline rush, and the lavish, spacious hall downstairs draws in gamblers, but the whole point of the script for him is that you’re a thrill sight and his object of desire. For someone made of steel, your whole sense of appeal lies in the fact that you steal his breath.

The sleek black strapless velvet dress you’re wearing seems to be romanticized by the fake diamonds around the base of your neck. Your smoked eyes and glossed lips are your core points. You don’t long to impress. Your power lies in your strength and independence, but it’s also in elegance, solace, and trance. Another line says, ‘Simplicity is a killer,’ and you certainly are.

However, beneath it all, only you’re aware of how much of a mess you are because he is currently examining you.

... Still, it’s only acting. Eunseok is merely performing in his role as an actor. And, when acting, one can’t really let one’s true self show. As a result, cameras won’t be able to capture how hot you really feel inside or how confused; all you can hope for is that you don’t mess up your next set of lines.

And it’s that scene in the script where everything has built to a climax, and nothing is held back!

When neither of you can decide what brought you together—your shared dislike or your shared goal—and neither of you can explain the bad cues and inexplicable tension.

Where your personal schemes about who will get the ‘shiny stones’ first are screwed by your shared greed and cynicism.

When you two almost simultaneously blow up each other’s plans.

And wherein, in order to make this work for at least one of you, you have selected a room to talk about the remaining options. In this case, the smarter one will really only be the meaner one.

This finally concludes the exchange of hurtful comments; there will be no more!

The door is the most attractive option, and the room is perfectly silent. However, it simply indicates that the first person out has raised the white flag and signed their lost. It’s impossible for either of you to succumb so easily.

Simultaneously, your character is the first to break the dense silence.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

With a rephrased and pointed question, “Where are you going with this?,” you look up at him then, looking a little disappointed and angry at the same time.

Coolly, Eunseok teases, “I’m trying to figure out if I should call it quits.”

As an actor would, his hair is styled to perfection, and the two hair strands that fall into his eyes and give him a luscious appearance are actually just the result of the tireless efforts of the hair and makeup artists who never stop running after him.

You find yourself ‘out of set’ for a split second, wondering what he’s like by himself. How he appears when he wakes up in the morning, how his hair looks after taking a shower, and how his body is dressed in a baggy, worn-out shirt rather than rich pajamas. However, that’s rather a ‘faraway’ Eunseok.

But the present, Eunseok, does he read you?

“You’re only saying that. But I won’t take the bait from you.” Your character is merely attempting to remind his of how he deceived you during the previous poker round. “In fact, I wish you saw you from my view. You ain’t all that, you know?”

Eunseok’s cool and calm demeanor remains unshaken. In fact, he just keeps on getting cocky. Given that you’re affecting him in ways he doesn’t understand, it’s in his character's self-defense mechanism as a means of continuing to taunt your character.

“Really,” he responds, crossing his gloved hands. His vest lifts at his tiny waist, and he tilts his head to one side in a seductive manner. The tone of his voice has been pre-calculated; every syllable has been worked on in detail. His precision in looking at you, moving, and facial expressions is unparalleled.

“See, I’m good for the ego,” his words come across as too sultry, even though he’s the most soft-spoken he has ever been, “but I’m bad for the soul.”

If you two weren’t in front of the cameras, you’d have closed your eyes and allowed his words to give you goosebumps all over your body, but now isn’t the time to do that.

Not that they aren’t doing it already, either...

They’re actually doing that in real time. His voice, his eyes, and his tongue that digs and crawls at the inside of his cheek.

Just a cold-blooded actor. With every take, this terrifyingly skilled individual sends chills down your spine. You almost get the impression that he’s seriously flirting with you because of how excellently he is delivering his role. Nevertheless, the line is exceedingly thin, and the narrative is already in the script. Is it not?

You protest, looking frustrated, saying, “Your games are endless,” yet still simultaneously approaching him more closely to show that you aren’t afraid of him.

Actually, you and him are on the same level. And to add spice to the situation, you say, “However, this time, we both know that you’re going to lose.”

Waving the metallic Ace of Hearts card in your face, his quick silver tongue catches your attention as it runs along his lips. In an attempt to look impressive and put an end to the questions, Eunseok nonchalantly admits, “I like the games I play.”

Although you must maintain your image and stay in character, all you really want is for all of this to end. You can’t take this and him anymore, like the weeks of filming together have reached a breaking point. You want to scream, ‘Cut!’ to put an end to this suffering, but you can’t fail your dream or let your character down either.

It’s as though you’re developing feelings for someone who isn’t even real. As though you are losing all feeling of reality as you observe him from up close. And because you know what is coming up next, you’re damn sure that Eunseok will take a piece of you with him when the lights go out and the cameras stop rolling, and everything is said and done.

Trouble…

It’s in his perfectly lethal-hued dark eyes. In the way the lamp light hits his eyes that makes him look so enticing, like a glass of whiskey on a thirsty day of never being enough. Intoxicating. Mysterious. Dangerous. A glass of trouble, really, and you’re fastly becoming a growing alcoholic.

The narrative he tells you hurts as his words continuously fall from his gorgeous lips and seep into your thoughts and emotions like melted wax.

“The truth is, you can’t get enough of me.” Eunseok’s same eye-level with you decreases as he straightens up from the desk and now gazes a little down at you, imposing a slight dominance. He lifts his gloves, causing some veins in his arms to bulge between where the gloves end and his white rolled dress shirt begins.

Without consent, his gloved fingers begin to crawl upward the inside part of your naked arm, waking goosebumps on their way. The trace is slow and faint, but that is exactly what he wants—for you to disintegrate bit by bit.

“Admit it,” he prompts.

He’s being pretty sadistic and adamant by insisting that you know that he knows how you feel about him; which is precisely the situation, and it leaves you feeling so exposed.

And it’s as if his proximity, presence, and dominance have completely eroded you, your character ‘breaks character’ as it succumbs to his dark charms.

You two are so close that you can understand each other perfectly, even in whispers right now. So you fire back in a private voice, “If I cared more about the truth,” miserable and defeated, “I’d be too aware of who was using who.”

In response, all he does is smirk,

and after making his way to your shoulders, he subtly brushes his thumb along your collarbone. Heat is generated by the tiny friction, and much like a fire match is struck, it ignites sparks in the air.

His hand then moves to brush some hairs away from your face and tuck them behind your ear. The black leather of his glove begins to skim first, then caress your delicate skin and the left side of your face.

His eyes pierce your soul like a knife, so you look from them to his lips, breaking eye-contact. They lust for touch and have a unique, attractive shape.

“Stop!” You voice out in shock at what he’s doing, but do nothing. His gloved fingertips continue to graze your face.

“Wonderfull,” he comments silently.

Your brain is fried...

And while in a daze, you notice that his tie is a little loose around his collar.

For some reason, this makes you feel compelled to tighten it, sealing the last bit of separation between the two of you. Eunseok’s brows furrow in concern as he realizes that this isn’t at all included in the script. Although this is blatant improvisation, the performance must continue as long as the director doesn’t yell cut.

You can understand why his free hand, which lends on your waist, is gripping you so tightly and nervously. He kind of breaks his neck shyly smiling away from you before turning back to face you...

Again, something the scene steps don’t cover.

“It was out of pl—”

‘ace,’ it’s what you attempt to offer as an explanation while the camera is rolling, but you don’t finish saying it... Your mouth stays agape in contrast.

You opened it with an intention, got distracted, and now you hold it open with a fresh thought.

...Him.

Your lip gloss is a mirror of his tiny diamond-studded vest’s sparkle, as are his eyes, which reflect your phoney diamond necklace.

‘How’d you get so pretty?’ Your mind stutters and your body shudders, yet the line is plain to see as it’s painted on your lips—ready to perform, ready to be spoken. How do you allow yourself to say it, though?

But for real, when did his lips become this pretty?

It’s challenging to discern which aspect of yourself feels and which acts. There is a messed-up intersection where your character throbs with the need to kiss his character, and you throb with the need to kiss him.

Can he feel it? Are you obvious? Does anyone in the room have the ability to see right through you, as though you’re a transparent bottle filled with all these bottled wicked wants and needs?

Under the necklace, the skin on your neck contracts, relaxes, and contracts once more.

Your lips begin to quiver as the cold leather finally slides beneath your chin. Lifting it, your eyes are drawn back to meet his. You’re painfully aware that it’ll only take a single kiss to weaken a million truths.

“Fuck,” he utters as he begins to brush your lips, causing the leather to become sticky from the shiny gloss.

Taking back his hand, he starts to rub and then separate his thumb and index finger, examining the degree of stickiness between them. He sighs, “You’re making me want to suggest that we steal those stones together.”

“I’m not stealing any stones with y—”

“I know, I know,” he says, interrupting. “But almost…”

Eunseok looks directly at you and presses his tacky gloved thumb to his lips.....

The flawless pair of strands that get in the way of his eyes symbolize his seriousness while his tongue begins to pick up and taste any bits of whatever is still on his lips…

The intimacy is revolting, but you aren’t even given a chance to die from all the obscenities he’s doing as he continues.

“You are,” his voice becomes quieter as he speaks, “almost making me want to do it.”

His lips draw nearer. His breath is what you inhale.

“Almo—”

As soon as his lips touch yours, the rest of the sentence disappears. Just as your glittery, dark eyeshadow is captured in perfect detail on camera, his splattered letters perfectly entangle in your mouth.

Unsurprisingly, he gives you a desperate kiss with hands that dig into your waist.

The greatest corruption imaginable is a kiss that says, “If you aren’t mine, then I’m making you mine!” A kiss that puts your life and breath in danger. A kiss that tears through the façade and the acting mask, growing ever more dangerously real.

What’s worse is that having spent so much time with him, it’s so evident when he’s unable to pretend. And currently, he surely cannot!

He cannot act as though his lips aren’t needy or that his skin isn’t becoming hotter. Or that when he pulls your body more into his and presses his tongue deeper inside your mouth, his body isn’t trembling just a little bit.

Your hands slip off his shoulders and latch onto this vest, tugging on it just a little bit, even hanging on to it desperately for the life he’s stealing from you.

His heart is pounding beneath your hand, which is hard to comprehend considering that an actor with his level of training shouldn’t even flinch when filming a kissing scene. More so than anyone else, Eunseok exudes an air of magnetism despite being largely composed of steel. The fact that you’re seeing him partially fall apart for the first time is mind-boggling.

It’s truly insane what only a kiss can reveal. And of anything, it isn’t fast. For this is something that you should feel, just as the audience should when it’s their turn.

You whine his character’s name in between kisses, only slightly conscious that you’re still in the heat of filming this scene. However, he just hushes you, nuzzles your nose gently against his, and continues. His low, pretty pants and foul moans layer at your throat, just as yours in his.

Given how far out of script you two are at this point, you’re certain the director has had enough by now and will call it quits at any moment, but that never happens.

It’s gross how much of Eunseok’s tongue encircles yours while his cute nose wrinkles and brushes against yours. It all makes you want him even more. For the worst part, he smiles through it. It’s quite vile since he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You can feel his lips burn from the constant, wild collisions. And his scent seeps into your nostrils. That much is certain: it’ll be difficult to forget this—to forget him.

“Do you—Do you?” he stammers, pressing his lips to yours as he breathes heavily and squeezes your waist so forcefully that you fear his hands will split you in two.

Since it’s an entirely improvised line, he eventually comes up with the right combination of words. “Have you indulged in this fantasy before? Have you—Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

Even though Eunseok’s words are already weighing heavily on your heart and lips, he adds even more bitterness by saying, “You definitely have.” He answers his own question by not even giving you an opportunity to respond.

But then, is it untrue?

Of course not, as you feel the weakness in your knees. You find it somewhat unfair that he has granted himself a space where he’s fusing reality and fiction.

You fight, “It’s—” while making an effort to escape and resist his lips, “It’s just this time,” but it’s mediocre at best.

As you step back away from him, his hands hopelessly slip off your waist and slide back to his side. They appear empty-looking, as though they don’t own anything of value, like something was snatched from their possession.

Now, empty handed, Eunseok is back gripping the metal of the desk. It isn’t like it’s just you who is feeling the effects of those frenzied kisses; he has definitely lost his breath too. His lips are pretty roused and ‘used-looking’, much like after an intense makeout, while the tips of his ears throb as they peek out from under his dark hair.

He somewhat manages to come up with another line even though his fairly strong defensive system is down.

“Then perhaps it’s just been my imagination all those times I thought I felt you thinking about me.”

Your mouth drops open at the same time as the director cries out,

“CUT! Beautiful! Beautiful!” He waves his hands in all directions proudly. “That take was spot-on perfect; we’re done here. I got everything I want here”, he says, tapping the big camera that some other guy is holding, and also exclaiming, “One take. It only took one take!” with excitement. “Excellent improvisation! Reshooting would only sour the spark.” He then successfully clasps his hands and says, “That’s a wrap, everyone!”

You’re left standing in front of Eunseok, glassy-eyed, quite sensitive, and shocked, but optimistic that what the two of you just did is still partially justified by your acting profession.

It looks like he’s blinking more than normal; and blinking is undoubtedly one of the patterns Eunseok exhibits when he’s nervous, which you’ve noticed throughout the months that you’ve been working with him. He also seems to be in denial, with confused lines painted on his temple.

Both him and you stay motionless while looking at each other as the director talks about the scene with a different staff member, his voice only sounding faint and far away in your ear.

“I like a good chase in a scene. To me, that’s everything. The actors must have a compelling chemistry and be aware of their roles. They must have trust in each other and their actions, because making a film is similar to a construction site, it must be built. It’s more than a camera, lights, and action.” Taking off his baseball cap, he gives himself a head stretch. “Trust me… what these two have is lethal.”

The longer the director keeps making observations, the more of the ‘real’ Eunseok is in your presence. Adorable, nervous smiles, head turns, and motions; knitted brows that enlarge his eyes even more. It’s as if he has softened his human side, opened his heart, and ‘thrown his metallic armour away.’

Finally, after hearing the comments, he sort of hisses with a ‘Really?’ while tilting his head to the side and putting on a cute, sarcastic look of suspicion.

“Are you okay?” You ask him in a gentle tone, concerned because it appears he’s thinking through and repeating every step of the scene.

He nods, but his face still wears that expression of shock mixed with denial, and a slight, but still noticeable, shy spark in the far back of his ever so silver persona. It seems like he’s coming to terms with everything that just happened, and he’s still quite riding out the wave.

Now that he has had a taste of how you kiss, it’s quite impeccable how you can bite down like an enemy and later be tender to all of those marks like a friend.

You’re high-key giving him so much more to think about—so many more thoughts to deal with than what the sight of you in your dress had already done for him up to this point.

‘Romance’ slash ‘No Control’ slash ‘Trouble!’

So many twists and turns until the conclusion, but the scene is now over.

The drama is done. The ‘acting’?

Done!

You’ll be taking off your makeup and dressing down, but the characters you just played will still exist within the both of you. That despite the fact that it seems like you two will be avoiding dealing with this for the time being, you’re both actors, and currently, the cost of your acting is your sanity.

Starting today, heartthrob actor Eunseok won’t only continue to cause headaches to the millions of girlies who have his posters hung above their beds, but to you as well.

‘.....Nice.’

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peaches2217 · 2 months

Note

Given it’s like 2 degrees where I live: 🥶!

🥶 - Cold

First Snow

Inspired by this piece by the exceptional @akiiame-blog!

~~~

Gonnnng! Gonnnng! Gonnnng!

Mario’s stomach dropped into his feet hard enough to make him stumble. The clock in Toad Town’s central square rang the hour out, ten resounding, musical gongs that rattled his very bones. They pushed him to sprint faster once he recovered his footing, and though the frigid air burned his throat and lungs like fire, he forged ahead with unprecedented determination.

Of all days to get distracted by snowfall! Now he would have no choice but to take the pipes at the base of Castle Hill. They would shave valuable minutes off of his commute, but the shortcut wasn’t particularly fun, being sized to accommodate creatures who reached three feet tall at the tallest.

Though the closer to the castle he drew, the more he saw that he was hardly the only one who’d fallen victim to the snow’s charm. Toads spilled from their homes and places of business and even from the schools, filling the streets (and forcing Mario to dodge and leap over them at every turn) to make snowtoads and pelt one another with snowballs and share warm drinks with their friends. That was his out, he decided quickly, and he practiced his wording as he flew through the pipes. You know I’m never late, Princess, please forgive me! I’ve never seen the town so crowded this early. It wasn’t a lie, after all.

Surprisingly, the castle grounds looked much the same as the town itself did. Straight out of the final warp pipe, Mario was met with a flurry of merriment, everyone from visiting families to familiar staff and groundskeepers mingling about, frolicking and playing or otherwise watching their children frolic and play.

And straight ahead, on the bridge gapping the frozen moat, a form in all shades of gold and pink towered over those Toads. She caught Mario’s eyes as soon as he looked her way, and suddenly he felt far warmer than an extensive run could ever make him feel.

“Mario!” Peach’s cheery voice carried with ease as they began in one another’s directions. A luxurious pale pink cape fluttered behind her as she approached, tied in the front with a white bow to which her favorite brooch was fastened. Beneath it, a dress that looked nigh identical to her favorite day-to-day dress, but with long sleeves hidden beneath wool-trimmed gloves.

Mario gulped. Somehow, she was always more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her.

But the warm glow of her presence chilled as they reached one another, and he was forced to acknowledge that he had let her down. He knew his tardiness bothered him far more than it would bother her; admittedly, he was a bit miffed (but undoubtedly grateful) at how easily she overlooked his every fault. Still, he would be remiss to not hold himself accountable. Pulling his cap from his head, he drew in a deep breath—

“Please forgive me.” The words came not from his lips, but from Peach’s.

“...Princess?”

“I had hoped my letter would reach you before you left home,” she continued, casting her eyes aside, her smile turning regretful. “The Public Council will be postponed to next week, in accordance with the First Snow. I’m truly sorry to drag you out here on such a dreary day…”

Mario’s first response was relief. He hadn’t let his beloved Princess down after all! And as much pride as he took in being Peach’s personal guard, attending the monthly Public Council with her was perhaps his least favorite obligation. Standing still and not offering his own opinions as Counciltoads and townsfolk alike shouted over each other about every relevant social and political talking point — for three hours — was a challenge that tired even him. Letting out an exaggerated Phew! and wiping not-so-imaginary sweat from his brow, he slapped his cap back over his hair, and this elicited a small chuckle from Peach.

His second response: confusion.

“First Snow?” Glancing briefly away, he took in the clusters of Toads enjoying the winter scenery once more, and this time he recognized Councilmembers and Chairholders and, well, everyone who usually spent their work days inside the castle walls. And here they were, outside, having themselves a jolly old time. “So today’s like a holiday?”

A matching confusion flickered across Peach’s features. “Yes, of course. You’re aware of…” And just as suddenly, her eyes went wide, and she pressed a palm to her reddening cheek. “No, you’re not aware, are you? I don’t think you were here the last time it snowed!”

Mario couldn’t help but beam at her embarrassed gesture. Even he hadn’t realized it at first, looking out his frosty window that morning. This was only his second winter in the Mushroom Kingdom, and last winter brought nothing but barren trees and the occasional patch of ice, nothing resembling the powdery luster that blanketed everything in sight today.

That Toad Town hadn’t always been his home became easier to forget with each passing day. He wondered, with a bristle of excitement he couldn’t quite put a name to, if Peach had momentarily forgotten as well.

“Hey,” he said, rocking on his heels, “since I’m already here, maybe you could… explain it all to me? I’m always up for learning new things about the MK! And clearly I’ve still got a lot to learn, yeah?”

Bold of him, perhaps, trying to petition royalty to give him their free time. Surely there were thousands of other tasks Peach would have been better off seeing to. But some nagging feeling in his stomach told Mario that she would much rather spend the morning with him than tending to dreary administrative duties, and he would sooner fulfill that desire and his own desire to be at her side for as long as possible than turn around and head back home.

Peach blinked, and in that fraction of a second he swore her face lit up. But if it did, she got it under control quickly, leaving him with nothing more than a gentle smile and the fluttery feeling that he had made the right call.

With a gesture of her head, she turned gracefully and began towards the castle gardens, and he dutifully fell into step beside her.

Oh yeah. This was way better than having to stand through Public Council.

~~~

“Our kingdom boasts an idyllic, seasonable climate all year long, as you’ve no doubt noticed. Our summers are never too hot, and our winters are never too cold. That’s why the Mushroom Kingdom is the world’s foremost leader in power-up exports: this is among the few places where they can flourish in the wild year-round.”

Mario would never cease to marvel at Peach’s talent for making the mundane sound magical. She clasped her hands in front of her as she spoke, her brilliant bluebird eyes sparkling as she prattled off what should have been mildly interesting but otherwise unremarkable facts. Yet he was unable to tear his gaze from her face, and her every word stirred a powerful curiosity within him, her love for her kingdom radiating so strongly outward that he felt it just as deeply.

Tour Guide Mode, he had affectionately dubbed it. Peach had agreed that, should the whole “leader of a nation” position ever fall through, she would make a pretty good tour guide.

“That is to say,” she continued, looking back over to him, “freezes such as this only happen once every few years. For that reason, the first snow after a long stretch of more traditional weather is always declared a holiday.”

Mario chuckled dryly. “That would’ve been nice growing up. Me and Luigi, our mamma would have to drag us to school by the ear when it snowed. And even then, we’d spend all day staring out the window and daydreaming about being out there instead of cooped up inside.”

Peach reached out absently as they passed another snow-capped shrub, its frozen leaves rustling beneath her fingers. “Did it snow often in Brooklyn?”

“Pretty often, yeah. At least around this time of year.”

“Oh, how wonderful! I would love to see it for myself.” The fondness in Peach’s eyes grew more resplendent still, and Mario could feel himself blossoming beneath it, like a flower opening its blooms to the sunlight. A laugh bubbled in his chest.

“I promise you didn’t miss out on much, Princess. Brooklyn snow was always sludgy and gray. Kinda depressing, come to think of it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” At the next shrubbery, he blindly mirrored her actions, sweeping a pile of loosely-packed snow to the ground. “That’s why I had to book it this morning! We saw all this fluffy clean snow and ended up chasing each other around in our pajamas. We were neck-deep in the most intense snowball fight the Mushroom Kingdom’s ever seen when I realized what time it was.”

Peach giggled at this information, a gentle teeheehee that released tiny clouds of vapor into the air before her. “What fun! I’ve always wanted to be part of a snowball fight.”

Mario was more than prepared to continue, to draw more giggles from her with descriptions of two grown men all rosy-cheeked and dusted in snowflakes with icicles freezing from their nostrils — but he stumbled at her words.

“...You’ve never been in a snowball fight?”

Peach was only two steps ahead of him when she registered his absence, and she turned to face him where he’d frozen, her delighted grin growing a touch dour.

“Growing up, I was… encouraged to pour my energy into more productive pursuits,” she confessed. As Mario caught up, she steepled her fingers together and cast her gaze to the dense gray sky above them. “Toadsworth thought it unbecoming to dirty my dresses in the name of any game without clear rules. Better something more clear-cut like tennis or golf, he’d say. Keep the senses sharp.”

Her smile warmed once more in nostalgia, yet as she directed it towards him, he saw the slightest gloom beneath that glow. “There weren’t any children my age to rope into a good snowball fight, anyway. I’m happy to live vicariously through others! Oh, but enough of this gloomy tangent. Won’t you tell me more about the snow in Brooklyn? Come, come.”

Though as she resumed their walk, Mario remained where he was. The melancholy in her gaze… no. It was foolish, he tried to reason, thinking that someone so refined as Peach might be genuinely saddened by such a silly topic. But the heaviness that lingered in his heart implored him to give the thought consideration — and, above all, to do something about it.

Peach was his Princess, his charge in many respects, beautiful and composed and perfect… but she was still human. She was just as likely to long for life’s little pleasures as he was. And above all…

“You needn’t be so formal with me, you know,” she had told him only a few months earlier. “You are my friend.”

At the time, Mario had agreed, but was far too hesitant to accept her invitation. Now? For a few blissful and dangerous moments, he was finally able to internalize those words.

He was her friend, and she was his in return, his closest and most cherished friend. He watched her back as she strode forward, his knees bending and his hands scooping and shaping on their own. Just as he was charged to protect her, he felt compelled to humor and address and banish whatever childish sadness lingered within her. And honestly, what sort of friend would he be if let her miss out on such a commonplace tradition?

The notion that launching a projectile directly at a ruling monarch’s head was probably a bad idea didn’t hit him until said projectile left his hand, and by then, it was too late.

Peach squeaked on impact, nearly entangling herself in her own cape as she whipped around to face her attacker. And what could Mario do? He certainly couldn’t look away, not when she stared at him with such unbridled shock, a halo of snow still clinging to her hair. Color rose into her cheeks, but he couldn’t interpret the whirlwind of emotions that flickered across her face, and something told him he didn’t want to.

Oh, he’d done it. He’d really messed up.

“I’m— I’m so sorry!” What was he supposed to do now? Bow? Bowing sounded right. “That was improper,” he uttered sheepishly, bracing a fist over his sternum and bending at the waist and squeezing his eyes shut as if he could undo what he’d done if only he couldn’t see it. “I should— that’s not… I-I should be acting like—”

“Mario.”

Mario looked up immediately at the utterance of his name — and was promptly blinded by a flash of white.

He sputtered and swiped at his face, shocked into newfound alertness by the icy cold against his skin, and the most wonderful sound rang in his ears all the while: laughter. Peach’s laughter, tinkling and light. Shaking his head to clear the snow that still clung to his bangs and eyebrows and mustache (his cap falling to the ground in the process), he found, when his vision cleared, that she was giggling into her left hand, brushing the right against her skirt.

She had— she actually—

“Yeah,” Mario found himself saying before his brain caught up with him, “yeah, I deserved that.”

The color that flooded Peach’s face settled into a dusty pink, and as she closed the gap between them, Mario felt his own skin undergo a similar transformation. Some mix of relief and giddiness and the usual Peach-induced fluster kept him stuck where he stood, unable to do anything but blush and smile nervously.

“Don’t dish out anything you can’t handle being served in return.” Peach stooped elegantly, brushing the snow from Mario’s fallen cap before setting it back on his head. “Or, put simply: it’s on.”

“W-what—?”

Before the ringing in his ears cleared (and, indeed, before he even realized his ears were ringing), Peach fled from him, hiking her skirts and rushing ahead a good few meters before stooping once more to gather snow between her palms, and only then did Mario’s brain catch up with the rest of his body.

He threw himself to his knees in the knick of time, Peach’s second snowball zipping overhead. Taking advantage of his stupor, huh? Once more pulling his cap into place, a wicked grin spread across Mario’s face.

“Ah! Not so fast, Princess!” he called, fumbling hands forming a rushed retaliation. “You should know I’m a battle-hardened snowball fight warrior!”

The snowball he launched barely missed its target; Peach squeaked again, jumping clear of the attack, and then she was preparing her counterattack the moment her feet returned to the ground.

“Well, I’m far scarier than any warrior!” she called back. “I’m a politician!”

Thud! The attack hit Mario square in the left shoulder, and he cried in mock-pain, launching himself to his feet to make a show of stumbling around before jumping back into the action. And that was how the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom and her guard spent the next twenty minutes: circling one another, flinging fistfuls of snow to and fro, and filling the chilled air with harmonious laughter.

~~~

The fireplace in Peach’s drawing room was… excessive, put one way, at least ten feet wide and six feet tall. Mario couldn’t help but keep a wary eye on it as he sipped his coffee. One gust of air and that fire would flash over and burn the whole castle down, he was certain of it.

“I suppose I’ll be getting an earful from Toadsworth tonight,” Peach sighed beside him. Mario chuckled regretfully; the old steward had immediately coaxed them inside upon crashing their game in progress, tutting in disapproval at their unkempt appearances and rambling on about the colds they would catch unless they settled in and warmed their bones immediately, “and I shouldn’t have to tell you that falling ill is the last thing we need for you, Princess.”

Even so, taking his leave after delivering their hot cocoa and black coffee some ten minutes later, Mario knew for a fact that he’d seen Toadsworth smile. An old and tired smile, with some odd nuance behind it that he couldn’t name, but a smile nonetheless.

“Just tell him I challenged your pride and it was all my fault,” he offered in the present moment. Then, with a wink, he joked: “He knows I’m a bad influence.”

“Yes, that’s just what I want: two of my favorite people butting heads for my sake.” Peach smiled over her cocoa in good humor, and Mario did his best to smile back just as evenly, but hearing her affections spoken so plainly (if indirectly) sent his heart into a stutter that made his hands feel suddenly weak. He tightened his grip on the mug in his grasp and swallowed thickly.

But if he intended to respond, the words died quickly on his tongue. The oversized fire illuminated Peach’s disheveled silhouette, frazzled strands sticking out all over her head, her bangs still slicked down with sweat, a downy blanket draped over her shoulders and obscuring her wrinkled and ever-so-slightly stained dress. But seated on the chase just inches away from him, she looked… happy. She hummed as she drank her cocoa, and the flames before them danced in her eyes, orange and red against cool blue, staggering in their brilliance yet serene all the same.

To see her so content wasn’t a surprise, not really. But something about the sight still left Mario short of breath.

Only when her gaze shifted towards him did he realize he was staring, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away. There was… there was love in her eyes, he realized not for the first time, a love she expressed towards him and him alone.

Though his heart could certainly hope, Mario knew deep down, or at least convinced himself he knew, that the love she felt for him wasn’t the same love he felt for her. But that made it no less sacred to him, and he knew he’d cherish her love in whatever form it took until the day he departed the earth.

Even so, an all too familiar ache seeped into his chest at the thought, more biting than any chill could ever be. Suddenly, the affection she graced him with felt unbearable. He looked back at the fireplace with an uneasy sigh.

“Mario?” He could hear her concern, soft but prodding, and Mario took the opportunity to finish his coffee and recompose himself. The bitterness of his drink dulled the unwelcome bitterness within him well enough for now.

“Honestly,” he said at last, staring down into his empty mug, “days like today… I wish they’d never end.”

Peach didn’t respond, not right away, and Mario worried at first that his melancholy smile might look a touch too melancholy. But finally she spoke, gentle and quiet and maybe just a bit sad: “I wish so too.”

#super mario bros #smb #mario #princess peach #mario x peach #mareach #peaches' fancy fics #peaches’ prodigious prompts #the comic that inspired this is like. THE representation of their mutual pining phase for me #there's an attempt at formality but at the end of the day they just cherish each other and want to make fun memories together #they mean everything to me your honor #sneaky link to a past fic in here too~

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

Text

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 7

Warnings: oh boy okay so Angst! profanity! Violence! Mentions of blood! Injury! Abusive-ish behavior!!! MARTIN!!!!!! Ferran! Blackmail!! Just shitty behavior!!!! pls don't read if you're not comfortable!

Word Count: 14.1k (fun fact! If you've read all 7 parts, you've read 87 pages single space!)

A/N: Guys this is one of the chapters I had planned out from the beginning. I really have poured a lot of my own soul into this, so I hope y'all enjoy! I'm actually so ready to read the reactions to this one lol. GIF by @rubendiasatl

You thought you had met the love of your life in college. He appeared to be perfect. He was the captain of the swim team, rumored to get a national championship that year in the 100m freestyle. He was the secretary of Phi Pi Delta, the largest business fraternity in the region, set to work on Wall Street making $200k right after graduation. You two were the perfect couple: Ryan, with his perfect hair and perfect smile, the sexy, sporty Spanish girl on his arm. You were conquering medicine as he ruled the world of finance. Sometimes on your walk to class, you would daydream about what your wedding would look like.

You did everything that was required of you as "Ryan's girl". You were an academic badass, but in a completely different field, so he could have a smart girl that would never be his competition. You worked as a sports manager, showing that "Ryan's girl" was a powerhouse on her own that commanded respect, but turned into a shy little lamb around her man. You worked hard and played harder, going to every PPD event and mixer. You always drank to show people that you weren't a prude, but you were never the girl hunched over the toilet losing her innards. You were good at beer pong, but only when Ryan was your partner. You played 7 minutes in heaven, but were so cold and intimidating that everyone left with blue balls and a muttering of "what a bitch". For 8 months of your senior year, you were "Ryan's girl", and you were the absolute best at playing the part.

It was a tiring job, but one you balanced with all your other actions. You learned how to get him and his friends basketball tickets mere hours before tipoff. You were an expert at covering hickies, but also enhancing them when he wanted to prove to the guys at a rival frat that he wasn’t soft. You killed your complaints and your gag reflex, knees growing used to the rough carpet of the frat house. You never asked for his location, and never made a face when other girls talked about how much they wanted your man. You never bored him with talks of your futures after graduation. You were perfect.

You looked perfect the day you walked into the frat house, hair pulled back in a slick ponytail to show off the piercings in your ear and the tightness of your polo shirt. Your khakis hugged your thighs, Jordan’s pristine as you slipped them off before heading upstairs. The basketball team had offered you a full time position; you could stay for the next several years if you so chose. Everything was perfect. The sky was the perfect shade of blue. The air was the perfect temperature with a perfect breeze. And as you opened the door to your boyfriend’s room, you saw a bare figure on top of him, connected at their cores, with her mouth shaped in a perfect “O”. And one perfect tear ran down your cheek as you silently walked back down the stairs, ignoring the yells about it not being what it looked like, and left Ryan behind forever.

You hadn’t thought about Ryan in years. But his memory came back to you as you pulled up to Martin’s house and found his car parked out in front of his door instead of it’s usual place in the garage. The Benz stared back at you, looking so different from that first date. It had been bright and welcoming and joyous that very first time it rolled up in front of your building. Now it was different, the blue taking on a more hue, feeling ominous and serious. It was the color of midnight - the color of fear. Why was the precious Benz parked out front? Martin wouldn't even let some valets park his car for fear of it getting scratched. His tires were still turned. The Benz was crooked in the driveway.

You walked up to the door, and you thought about Ryan again. You thought about the countless texts he sent you afterwards, telling you how much he loved you and how he would never do it again. And you read every single one, waiting with baited breath for him to say what you needed to hear: that he regretted it. That he had made a terrible mistake when he was out of his mind and he hated every second. But it never came. He wanted you, but he never regretted that moment with her. He never felt remorse about the moment he decided she was more important than you were. It didn't make you sad or angry - just empty. It was like a hold had been carved out, and it was another reminder that it would never be filled. You would never be the first choice. You would never be that girl that was above it all. You would always be a pretty good girl that needed to be supplemented by someone else.

The hole within you had not been filled, but it started to be covered by some good people in your lives. Your friends at your physiology program made you always feel competent and capable in what you were doing in school. Angelika and your other university friends gave you comfort, covering the emptiness with warm feelings. And now, you had the boys at Barca had worked to cover that hole with positive affirmations, reminding you that you were just as much a part of the team and how much you were valued. And there was a bit of the hole that started to close, one centimeter at a time, every time you looked at your phone and saw that Gavi was checking up on you.

You felt that hole fill with butterflies as you wrote out your Christmas card to him. You hadn't wanted it to come across as cheesy or desperate, despite you reassuring yourself that you couldn't be desperate if you were in a relationship. You had begged the media team for any photo of you and Gavi, knowing how much the sentiment would mean to him. One thing you had noticed during your two brief appearances in Pablo's home was his appreciation for the few pictures he had. They were taped to the wall beside the door: photos from his youth at his La Masia matches, his family on vacation, and a polaroid with a few of the Barca boys. A part of you hoped you would make it onto the wall.

But with each knock on Martin's door that went unanswered, the butterflies disintegrated, filling you with smoke and ash and bile, the hole in your very soul aching. As you turned the doorknob, you felt it give way easily - the door was unlocked. He had come home, car parked haphazardly, with the door remaining unlocked. You braced yourself, not exactly sure for what, and entered the house.

You should have seen it coming. You should have known from his demeanor and the way he spoke to you when you were with him versus when you were away. You should have listened to the whispers on the internet and in the locker room. But you ignored it all, believing that people were inherently good and caring. And now your naivety had all culminated and led to this moment: you standing in Martin's entryway, staring at his hideous brown couch, a trail of clothes leading from your feet to the naked girl perched on the dark fabric. The two of you locked eyes, and her mouth dropped agape. She grabbed the closest piece of fabric to cover her bare form, her pale cheeks turning scarlet from embarrassment.

"Bonita, hurry up so I can call my girl-"

Martin's eyes locked with yours, stopping dead in his tracks and freezing as his girl on the couch did. You waited for either of them to speak. With baited breath you waited for the feminine screams of "you have a girlfriend?" and the begs to provide an explanation. But the air was heavy with nothing but guilt and the disappointment of being caught. As your breath grew heavier, the nausea settled into your stomach. You tried to muster a tear, deciding it would be less embarrassing to cry than to throw up on the tile.

"Bonita, it's not what it looks like. If we could just talk-"

"How are you going to use the same pet name for the both of us?" You asked, patience finally snapping. The emotions from the last four months came flooding through, boiling the blood in your veins. You had cut yourself up and torn your very being apart to please this man. The things you wore and said and did and ate and enjoyed were all altered to fit his impossible standard. You were playing a part again. You had sacrificed so much of yourself for one crumb of affection and security, and once again you weren't enough.

"Just calm down an let me explain."

You tried with every fiber of your being to keep the tears at bay - you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt you.

"All I ever did was try and be a good girlfriend. Do you realize that? Through the stupid dinner dates and your rants about football, I tried to be patient and fun and understanding. I never complained, not once, about your lack of support or how everything you did made it clear you didn't like me. I dealt with all of your cold fronts, your unfounded jealous, your below mediocre sex - all of it, because that's what you do when you're in a fucking relationship until someone finally cuts the cord and frees you both. But you didn't have the decency to pretend." You spat the words out at him, no longer caring about if you cried.

"The least you could do was not fuck anyone else in the house that you asked me to move in to."

Everyone on the room had gone silent, from Martin to his mistress. How could he retaliate? Where could he start? The flood gates had been opened, and the realization of how much this man made you hate your life was flowing freely.

"Goodbye Martin." You turned and walked out the door, your keys in hand, ready to go home and lose consciousness. Tomorrow you would wake up and be as you were - single and free of the burden this relationship placed on you.

"Come back here." You heard Martin's voice shout behind you, before a hand reached out and grabbed you by the wrist, ripping your keys from your hands, cutting your palm in the process. As the red fluid pooled in your palm, you looked up at Martin in shock and fear. He looked back at you, then at your outstretched hand still pooling with blood.

"Shit, I'm- I didn't mean to do that. But you can't just drive away until you let me speak. I won't let you."

"As if you're allowed to decide what I can and can't do. Give me back my keys before I call the police."

"You're not calling anyone or doing anything until I speak to you." Martin said, lunging at you and grabbing the sleeve of your shirt. You cried out and struggled against him as he tried to pull you towards the house, hoping to prevent a scene in front of the neighbors. Martin's side piece stood at the door, now fully clothed, watching silently as the two of you struggled by the entryway.

"Get off of me you cheating sack of shit! I don't want to hear anything you have to say, let me go!" His grip loosened as you pulled away, unable to restrain you with both hands for fear you would take your car keys back.

"Bonita, I'm not trying to hurt you, I love you and I-"

"Bullshit! And stop calling me fucking bonita." You tried to reach for your keys again, but Martin's hand came and wrapped tightly around the collar of your shirt.

"No. You don't get to abandon me without hearing what I have to say. All I have ever done is try and look past how difficult you are to love and be around," his grip tightened on your collar, the fabric now bunching to restrict your airway slightly. "And now that I've made one mistake you think you get to just run? You're not going anywhere until I say you can. If you know what's good for you, you'll just listen."

The bile started to rise in your throat as your heart beat faster. For the first time in your life, you really felt like you were in danger. The sting of your palm was hard to ignore now, the blood nestling into the lines on your palm, dots littered across your pant leg. Once you felt Martin's grip loosen lightly, you put all your weight behind you and shoved him as hard as you could, causing him to fall backwards. You bolted for the door, keys forgotten as you ran at a speed you didn't know you were capable of.

The fall did not deter him for long, as you heard your name in Martin's deep, agitated voice carry to your ears on the night air, accompanied by heavy, fast footsteps. You were being chased. Heart racing, your feet slammed against the pavement, trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. Your throat started to tighten with anxiety, fight or flight now in full control. You didn't even know where you were going. You took whatever turn felt natural, willing yourself not to turn around.

Martin realized with every step he took that it was too late to turn back. There was now street camera of him chasing you shirtless through the streets of a Barcelona neighborhood. He wasn't even sure why he had done it. By it he meant the chasing - not the sleeping with other women. That part was quite simple. He was 24 now, and it was time he was photographed with the same girl more than once. His club going days had become the topic of every family dinner and every call with his mother.

"Martin, when are you going to stop going to the club every night and actually bring us a nice girl? You're ruining your reputation by taking all these different girls home."

He was nothing if not a boy that wanted to make his mother happy. When he say Angelika in the club that day, he sensed he had been getting close. She was funny and outgoing and actually had a job that didn't involve her sponsoring Bang energy on the internet. But she was still at the club on a Tuesday night, and had flirted her way into the VIP section. Too high maintenance. But then as he left the club, pretty young drunk thing slung over his arm, he got to see you.

Initially, you didn't make a huge impression. Boring looking and kind of loud - not the girl he would usually go for. He was still a little hazy from the club air, sweat and tequila still lingering in his lungs. He had just handed Angelika off to you, before he took a look at the back of your car. A few stickers were there, displaying the name of your universities, and a bright blue one that read 'ask me about ACL tears!'. It sparked his interest - not only that you could afford the car, but that you were obviously decently intelligent to be touting all these universities. It prompted Martin to ask for your number, just as a backup in case finding a "good girl" was harder than he thought.

It was, in fact, much harder than he thought to find a girl to bring home to his mother. All the smart girls tended not to give him the time of day, either taken or too busy. Pretty girl were too expensive and high strung - not what he needed. And those sweet girls that he found at the supermarket and the park? Most of them were ready to live the football WAG life, wanting to go public with him immediately. If there's one thing Martin was sure of, it was that he wasn't ready too commit to just one screw for any period of time. He had a rotation of girls in and out of his bed, shower, car - he couldn't just cut all of them off.

That's exactly what was on his mind when he saw Angelika in line for the club again. She was cute enough to take home that night, but girls usually didn't open up without some conversation. He can't remember how the topic turned to you, but Angelika gushed about how much she adored you.

"But she's just so busy. She's always so focused on work that she doesn't have much time to even process what's going on around her."

Getting you was quite easy after that. He had listened to girls long enough to understand how to keep them happy. It was the lack of instant sex that really hurt his pride. This was not the 1940s - he was not going to wait 3 months, taking a girl out and showering her with love, just to get some pussy. He would just supplement with other women. Ferran was often the person that would help him get girls, as they usually recognized the young Barca bench boy before they realized who Martin was. So they worked as a team: Martin supplying money and alcohol, and Ferran supplying girls.

It was when Gavi started to enter the picture that he, for the first time in his life, felt the angry weeds of jealousy take root in his throat. No matter what he did behind closed doors, you were his, not Gavi's, and it would be a cold day in hell before he let a love-sick teenager take his girl. Now he was chasing you down the street, 10 days before he planned to introduce you to his mother at Christmas, willing all the neighbors to stay away from the windows and ignore the eventual screams they heard from the street.

Your eyes focused, the adrenaline fog leaving your brain as you wildly scanned the street: this was Gavi's neighborhood. Identifying the houses, you made a sharp right turn and ran towards his house at end of the street. You prayed that he was still awake as you got to the door, banging as hard as you could, and yelling out his name.

"Pablo! Let me in! Get the fuck away from me!"

You watched as Martin slowed down, walking towards you cautiously with his hands in the air. He moved his lips to say something, but your heartbeat was in your ears, tears streaming down your face as you kept banging on the door. The slit across your palm seared with pain, and every pang circulated more fear through you. Martin was capable and willing to hurt you.

The door opened, and you caught a glimpse of Gavi's face. That was enough reassurance for your legs to give out from the effort, sobs still shaking your entire being as you fell into his chest. Your palms grabbed at his shirt, needing anything to ground you in reality. Gavi was not a large boy; Martin had 5 inches and 6 years on Gavi, which would make any betting man wary of the outcome if a fight were to break out. But none of that mattered to you. Gavi's arms were around you, holding you up and against him, and you felt safe.

Gavi tore his eyes away from Martin, who was shirtless and frozen in his walkway, to look at you. As he pulled you away from his chest slowly, he felt a warm wet spot spread across his shirt. It was too large to be tears. He wished he hadn't looked down to see the red spot darkening his t-shirt. Grabbing your wrists, he looked at the jagged cut on the skin there, still bleeding freely. Gavi hugged you closer into his chest, one hand around your waist and one by your head, hiding you in his shoulder as you continued to cry.

"What did he do?" He asked, voice tight and strained. You shook your head, crying harder, trying to gulp down any air to stop the light-headedness. You could not see or think straight, the questions too overwhelming.

"Pablito, just let me talk to my girl, and go back inside." Martin instructed, walking towards the two of you slowly, as a hunter would approach a deer. You clung onto Gavi tighter, a shrill 'No!' yelped against his skin, sobs coming back in full force. Gavi couldn't stand it. The blood in his veins grew hotter the longer he held your fragile form. He was quick to anger, but this was different. You had run to his house crying and bleeding because of the vile man you had been dating. On an average day, he was ready to go to blows because of a stray leg in a football match. This was more serious - more sinister. He had hurt you in ways Gavi couldn't fathom a man hurting any woman, let alone you. He turned over the idea of manslaughter in his head as he tried again.

"Please, y/n. Please tell me what he did. Because at this rate, I'm going to kill him. Y/n, please."

Gulping down breath after desperate breath, you muttered out what had happened to Gavi in the best way you could. You knew there was nothing you could say to get Gavi to just walk away, but you couldn't stand the idea of Pablo doing irreparable damage to his future on your behalf.

"Found him... cheating... took my... k-keys.. that's why m-my hand. But I'm-"

"Don't you dare tell me you're okay." Gavi put you down on the ground, resting your back against the wall before he stood. The edges of his vision were dark and red, and in that moment he swore he could have killed Martin with his bare hands. When would this man have taken enough? Martin had snatched you off the market, keeping you hostage in a crumbling, decaying relationship while Gavi fawned over you. Martin chipped away at you soul, dimming the once radiant light that enamored those you encountered. Martin made you insecure and self-hating, all while keeping a line of girls wrapped around his bedroom to fool around with as you chased your dreams. Martin had taken everything Gavi had loved about you and poisoned it, leaving the ashes of a bright young woman in his path. Now he would pay for it.

"Martin, give me her keys and get the fuck away from my property before I make your mother regret the day she lost her virginity." Gavi was seething, You looked up at his squared shoulders and tight face, and couldn't tell if the wisps of smoke emanating from him were real or not. You wanted to stand, block the warpath Pablo was on, and prevent the violence you knew was about to ensue, but your head and eyes felt heavy, keeping you firmly planted to the ground.

"Ay, Pablito, no need to be vulgar. Don't you think it's silly for you to be involving yourself in a little lover's quarrel at this time? Go inside and let me take care of my girlfriend." Martin took a step with every word he said, now less than a meter from Gavi, whose fists were curled and strained.

"Lover's quarrel? She's bleeding and had to run from you screaming. You've stolen her keys and now you want me to let you harass her further? Give me her keys and fuck off, before my patience runs out. Because I've been eager to bash your skull for weeks now."

Martin took another step forward, now on the same plane as you and Gavi. He locked Pablo's vision as he pulled your keys from his pocket, tossing them at your feet. You flinched at the noise scared to look up at Martin. Just the sound of his voice sent ripples through you.

"There, bonita. You have your keys back. Now enough of this nonsense and come with me." A fist curled into your hair and pulled you upwards, causing a scream to release from your throat. Gavi watched all of this happen in slow motion. He took two steps towards Martin, vision now fully red, and connected his closed fist with Martin's lower jaw. The accompanying CRACK could probably have been heard all the way in Madrid. The grip had disappeared from your head, and you used your last bit of strength to push yourself from the floor and run into Gavi's house, keys firmly in your grasp for protection. You peered through the window, catching Martin spit out a large glob of blood, more crimson dripping from his mouth like a dog drooling.

Martin wasn't provided much more time to recover as Gavi grabbed his collar, pulling him in once again, and again cracking him hard right beneath his eye socket. The delicate skin there split, and more blood oozed from Martin. It didn't bring Gavi disgust or joy. There was no space in his entire being to feel anything other than the need to protect you. Moving his grasp from Martin's collar to his hair, he hit him one final time, a bone split and a scream polluting the otherwise silent air of the Barcelona night. You thought to yourself, rather ironically, if the naked girl in his living room knew how to set a broken nose. Pablo pushed Martin to the ground, the older landing on his face sprawled across the concrete of the pavement.

"If you get up and you're not running, I'll break another bone."

Martin struggled to breath, the blood running away from his body in rivers, dripping onto the street.

"You little piece of shit! Just wait till I call the police! You'll be in jail until you're 70. You little cunt." Martin wailed, on his knees gripping his throbbing fractured nose. Gavi approached Martin, picking him up by the collar once again. It was quite a sight to behold: the younger and smaller boy lifting Martin off the ground, blood dripping from a broken nose on to Gavi's tensed forearm, as his hazel eyes conveyed murderous intent.

"In case the blood has already left your brain, allow me to remind you: the cameras saw you chasing a woman through the street. There is a decent amount of her blood on you and at your house. Everything from that moment on is self defense. And I can absolutely afford a better lawyer than you can, little boy. So best run and put some ice on that nose before you become more permanently deformed than you were originally." Martin was thrown to the pavement once again, cries of pain bouncing between the stone of the buildings. He picked himself off the ground, not daring to glance over his shoulder, as he hobbled back home.

Gavi took a deep breath, looking down at his hands in the light of the street lamp. It had been a long time since his anger was allowed to run wild. Usually there was a player (or 6) holding him back from blows. But that was football. Nothing was ever that serious in football. This was different. It was you. And as he entered his home, locking eyes with your huddled form by his couch, the thought appeared in his mind clear as crystal: you were someone he would kill for, and someone he would die for.

But now wasn't the time for such a confession. It was the time for Gavi to step up as your friend and provide you with comfort and support. He walked into the house and started to head for the bathroom before you called out to him.

"Pablo? Where are you going?" Your voice was small and fragile, like that of a scared child when the thunder got too loud. Keys still gripped tightly in shaky hands, you pushed yourself off the floor, and Gavi rushed to meet your stride, helping stabilize you as you stood. You were not close to fainting anymore, but the fear still pumped through you, making it harder to walk at more than a snail's pace. Eyes locking with Gavi's, you brought a hand up to rest on his bicep, squeezing it lightly to provide him with some reassurance that you were okay. Hand trailing down, you wrapped your fingers gently around his wrists, turning his hands over to look at his knuckles. The skin had cracked and burst from the impact against Martin's skull. Bruises bloomed on the high points, droplets of blood - owner unknown - littered his fingers and hand, the scarlet a contrast against his warm tan. As you ran a thumb over one of the open cuts, Gavi hissed, trying to pull away from your touch. You looked back up at him with tears welling in your eyes anew.

"You're hurt." You croaked out, not wanting to continue crying in front of him. He grabbed your hand, holding it against his as he rubbed over the drying cut through your palm.

"So are you. But we'll be okay." He smiled at you, and you could have sworn that there was an actual fist squeezing your heart in your chest. He pulled you towards the staircase with him.

"Come on, we need to wash our hands. You've taught me enough about infections to know we shouldn't wait much longer."

"I obviously haven't taught you enough, because for open cuts like this we need rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, not water."

Gavi stopped on the stairs, still gripping your wrist as his smile broke out, returning warmth to his face. Even when he had hit Martin, you hadn't feared Pablo. You knew the anger was residual, and he would never turn this harbored rage your direction. It had brought a few baby butterflies to your stomach, knowing that Gavi had thrown his tranquility and caution to the wind just to defend you. But this was the Pablo you liked the most: the one that smiled for you in a way that seemed to appear only when you were around.

"There you go, doctora. Putting that degree to use. I think I have a first aid kit in my room. The medics gave me one to keep after I got my second black eye." The statement, not meant as a joke, allowed a laugh to run through you, cutting through some of the lingering heaviness. You wondered if this experience would forever trauma-bond you to Gavi forever. But you knew subconsciously that Pablo was already bonded to you. You would never be able to look at the Barca crest or the dew on the grass or the chocolate milk in the store without thinking of Pablo. You would never be able to choose anyone else's contact at 2am to send a random text to, because you need Pablo to be the one to send the response. You knew in that moment that Pablo was going to be in your life forever.

Walking into his bedroom, Pablo peeled his blood-stained shirt off, tossing it onto the bed.

"You should..." Your sentence trailed off as Pablo faced you, shirtless with sweats hanging low on his hips, waistband of his boxers tight against the V of his torso. You had seen attractive men shirtless before, but something about it being Pablo, and the two of you being alone in his bedroom, made everything seem more charged and, for lack of a better term, sinful. He tiled his head in questioning, prompting you to finish your sentence. Clearing your throat, you looked at the shirt instead of Pablo and continued.

"You should put peroxide on that shirt now to get the blood out so it doesn't stain."

"I think getting some peroxide on your open wound is more important right now." He said, returning to his dresses to rummage around for his first aid kit. You stood awkwardly against the wall, unsure how to proceed. You didn't feel comfortable enough to sit on his bed, and though it would be weird to seat yourself on Gavi's floor. He turned back around, watching you scan the room and calculate if you should sit or stand.

"You're covered in blood." He said. You looked down at your shirt. You definitely had some splotches, but you wouldn't use the word covered.

"It's fine, I'll change when i get home..." You trailed off again. Your car was outside Martin's house, and there was no way you could possibly bring yourself to go back there tonight. Maybe Gavi would be kind enough to walk over with you in the dark.

"You're spending the night here. There's no way I'm going to let you be by yourself tonight. Let me get you something to change into." He said, moving past you towards the closet.

"Oh no, Pablo, it's fine. I should really go back to my place-"

"Why?" He asked, abruptly turning to face you. He walked towards you, and your heart rate picked up as he stood within your air space.

"Why do you need to go home? We are on international break for the season. I don't start training until next week. You just finished your finals, so you don't need to do anything tomorrow. And, more importantly, the only way to get to your house is to either go get your car from your psycho abusive ex and drive home at this time of night, which is not happening. Or for you to take a taxi home, which is also not happening. I'm not letting you out of my sight." He turned back to the closet, rummaging through his clothes before pulling out a pair of sweat pants and a La Masia t-shirt. Placing them in your hands, he turned back to his mission to find the first aid kit.

"The bathroom is through there. You can go and get changed and wash up. What's mine is yours."

Nodding, you shuffled towards the bathroom. The door was quickly shut and locked behind you, and you stared at yourself in the mirror. You definitely looked worse for wear, mascara smudged under your eyes, which were red and puffy from sobbing. You washed your face with your non-injured hand, thanking Pablo silently for owning a decent face wash. As you stripped off your dirty clothes, you couldn't help the images that flashed in your mind, and the thoughts that seeped through your subconscious. You remembered the daydreams you had for several weeks, bursts of his eyes and lips and hands, and thoughts of all the ways they could touch you. Your cheeks burned as you grabbed a washcloth, running cool water onto your skin to remove the sweat and grime lingering. You thought of that day on the couch, when you had finally entertained the idea of seeing Pablo in a sexually attractive light. Bumps raised onto your skin as you fully wrapped your head around the situation. You were in your underwear in Gavi's bedroom, only a bathroom door separating the two of you.

A part of you wanted to open the door - to present yourself to Pablo, physically and emotionally bare, and tell him your feelings. But what were your feelings? You felt safe with Pablo, supported, and able to be your authentic self. Was this a friendship that you had over committed to? Was Pablo treating you any differently to how he would treat Pedri or one of the boys? You pushed those feelings aside, slipping on his clothes, breathing the scent of his detergent in deeply. You took one last glance in the mirror, reminding yourself that you had a tendency to spontaneously combust when it came to relationships, and you wouldn't allow yourself to do that with Pablo. He was going to be in your life for a long time - you wouldn't accept anything otherwise - but maybe the role he was meant to fill was that of a close friend and never more.

You walked out and saw Pablo rubbing his bare chest with an alcohol pad, cleaning the excess blood from his chest. He had changed into some clean shorts, and turned to face you when he heard the door. His eyes scanned you from top to bottom, taking in the sight. His shirt hung off your shoulders slightly, draped over your frame and covering your form in worn cotton fabric. His sweats hugged your hips, sliding precariously low on your torso and lose in the thighs, just small enough for them to not pool at your ankles. Gavi's mouth went dry as he stared at you. You crossed your arms over your chest, covering yourself with your folded dirty clothes. Gavi caught a glimpse of your bra in the pile. He had no moisture in his mouth whatsoever.

"What are you staring at, Gavi? Close your mouth you'll catch a fly." You said, trying to come across cool and unbothered despite the situation. He swallowed hard, trying to form a single sentence.

"They fit. I'm surprised." That was all he could muster.

"Me too. I thought everything would be too short on me." You teased, and he rolled his eyes.

"Low blow, doctora. come help me with these bandages."

He sat on the floor with the first aid kit, and you joined him on the soft rug, protecting from the chill of the tile in December. You grabbed the different solutions and began cleaning his hands. His hands were rough and calloused to the touch, and you made a mental note to get him some lotion as a late Christmas gift. You moved slowly over each knuckle, cleaning the blood and bruises, gently moving your fingers across Pablo's skin. You heard gentle hisses at the burning sensation from the alcohol, but he kept his protests to a minimum as you worked.

It was easy for Gavi to distract himself from the pain when you were the one sitting in front of him. The burn of his hands was basically forgotten as he traced the curves of your face with his eyes. That familiar look of concentration settled into your features, warming Gavi's heart. You were coming back, in short bursts and fleeting moments, but everything he loved about you was still there. Try as he did, he could not prevent his eyes from moving lower, settling on his shirt draped over you. It was one of his most well-loved shirts - the one that he had gotten when he began playing for La Masia's senior team. This is when he started to bulk up, biceps and pecs stretching out the shirt, creating the baggy look he currently saw on you. The colors had faded from dozens of washes, and it was now pilling and threadbare - really something that should never see the light of day.

But here you were wearing it, and suddenly there was no article of clothing that had ever made a woman look sexier. The baggy fabric moved with you, and when you turned behind you to gram more gauze, it tightened against your bare chest, and Gavi willed himself not to focus on it. He couldn't - not right now. No matter how much he tried to rationalize it, he couldn't describe what about it made the shirt look so good on you. It was just the fact that it was his shirt. You were in his house, in his bedroom, wearing his shirt. You were merging with his space, and in a way, becoming a part of his home. It was the closest you had ever been to being his.

You finished bandaging his hands, looking at your work, and making sure that everything was secure so he wouldn't lose the dressings in his sleep. Engrossed in the moment, you leaned down and kissed the top of Gavi's knuckles, pulling back before realizing what you did. You both stared at each other, mutually deciding it was best not to comment on what just occurred. You quickly cleaned and dressed your own cut, with Gavi's assistance, and once the bandage was secured, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. All the boxes were finally ticked - you and Gavi were safe and clean and dressed, and now your body felt relaxed enough to crash from the exhaustion of the day. Pablo noticed your eyes drooping, and moved off the floor, helping you stand as well.

"Let me go get an extra blanket." He said, moving towards the door. You followed him out of the room, and he turned to you, confused.

"Where are you going?" He asked, arm against the wall and blocking your path.

"The other room?" You said, phrasing it as a question.

"The guest room doesn't have a bed in it yet. My sister is helping me pick one out since she visits the most often."

"To the couch, then." You said, and Pablo's eyebrows scrunched together in frustration.

"You're not sleeping on the couch. You've had a stressful day to say the least. You're going to sleep on the ridiculously expensive mattress and get a good night's rest."

"Then where are you going to sleep?" You asked, heart skipping a beat at some of the possible answers.

"The couch. I want to give you your space. Let me go get that extra blanket - the top floor gets cold in the winter."

You grabbed his arm stopping him from continuing down the staircase.

"You're not going to destroy your back by sleeping on the couch again. You're about to get called up for the national team, and their physios suck. They will replace you with a 3rd tier player before they help you fix a dorsal muscle strain. You have to sleep on the bed Pablo."

"I don't actually have to do anything. This is my house."

You both stared at each other, the two of you unmoving on your position, and both ignoring the obviously solution to your argument. After a minute, it was Pablo who was brave enough to make the suggestion.

"We could always just... both sleep on the bed. If you're comfortable with that. We can made a divider in the middle and everything."

Blushing, you looked at the floor before responding.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Gavi got into bed, shirtless in a pair of shorts, and beckoned you to join. You walked slowly to the other side of the bed, crawling in and pulling up the covers, body stiff and muscles tense.

"I forgot to get the lights." You whispered quietly, making a move to get up. Suddenly the lights switched off, leaving the two of you in complete darkness, a weak ray of light filtering in from the half-moon.

"Expensive houses have a lot of pointless features, but this one is actually useful." Pablo said quietly, mentally kicking himself for making small talk about a light switch. He curled on his side away from you, uncomfortable but wanting to give you your own space, and let out a deep breath. You peered at Gavi, and then curled the other way, also in discomfort, but too scared to face him while conscious. It was too much. He was so close: enough to hold in your arms, to exchange body heat, to listen to his heartbeat and be lulled to sleep. But it was too much of a leap to take. It was too far out of your comfort zone, and you couldn't risk the delicate relationship with a desperate and ill-timed proclamation of... whatever it was you were feeling.

Pablo's heart hammered in his chest. Though it had been his idea, he had never actually thought it through. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder before, and he had survived, so he figured this experience wouldn't be that much harder. He was so sorely mistaken. The fact that you were laying an arm's length away from him kept his nerves on fire, and he couldn't even keep his eyes closed for more than a minute as the time. Despite the winter chill, his body was on fire, and the lack of clothing didn't help. You had just been attacked by your ex boyfriend, and Gavi wanted to hold you in his arms and protect you from the entire world. Patience wasn't his best trait, but he knew that it wasn't the time to ask you to be his. He needed to wait. He needed to be there for you right now

"Pablo?"

An hour after the two of you had settled, lights off and room quiet, you called out for him. Sleep escaped the two of you, and he turned over almost instantly when he heard you whisper his name. Turning to face each other, your eyes adjusted so that you could look at his features in the dark. He was beautiful. There was no denying how conventionally attractive Pablo was. But there were so many little things that enhanced his beauty, only visible from this close. You wished the moon would shine a little brighter so that you could look at the flecks in his eyes, and count the lashes fluttering above them. His features were relaxed, lids drooping and lips slightly puffed out. The scars and moles on his face were the only markings on the smooth skin, and you longer to run your fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes.

"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."

You sat up in bed, moving quickly before your confidence evaporated completely. You moved in to the center of the bed, prompting Gavi to do the same. He moved slowly and warily, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you in the middle of the King-sized island.

"Lay down," You said, voice shaking slightly. You were terrified, but you knew that was the only way you would ever find rest before the sun came up. Pablo laid down, stiff as a board, half expecting you to make a desperate dash for the couch. You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes before you laid down beside him. You turned on your side, resting a hand on Gavi's chest. Pablo's eyes widened as he finally processed what your request was. He raised his arm, draping it over your shoulders, allowing you to cuddle even closer into his side. Your head now laid on his bare chest, his hammering heart loud in your ear. He brought his other arm around you as well, resting his hand over yours on his chest. The two of you held each other close, seemingly for dear life, and finally sighed out in belief.

There was no way to describe this feeling. The feeling of you resting against Pablo, arms and legs tangled together, with his head rested above yours. Your hands together, occupying each others' air. There was no way to describe it except for right. There was no awkwardness or strained breathing anymore. There was relaxation and comfortable silence enveloping the two of you. The rest of the world faded away, and in that moment, Pablo could have sworn that he had ascended to heaven.

"You saved me Pablo." You whispered out against him, needing to tell him someway, somehow, how much you appreciated him.

"Anyone would have interfered, doctora." He whispered back, being bold and caressing the skin of your arm that he encased with his.

"Not just today. In general. Since I met you, Pablo, you've made my life better. I just wanted to let you know. Good night."

Gavi tensed so hard it set off a headache. He couldn't cry, not while you were in his arms. He had always been seen as an asset because of his skill, always being told how valuable he was in that respect. But you saw him as a person, and not only did you tolerate it, but you cherished it. You made him proud to be himself.

"You too, in ways you can't even imagine. Good night, y/n."

Despite the way it started, the international and Christmas break was rather uneventful. Your little "sleepover" with Gavi saw the two of you sleeping in until 1pm, a rare occurrence for the both of you. Usually you both had too much going on, both on the schedule and in your minds, to sleep for such prolonged times. Wiser minds might have stopped and questioned why being in each others' arms brought a wash of such immense peace, but alas. There was no such reflection. Only waking up in the middle of the day, exchanging awkward smiled before getting up to change. Gavi had awoken with your leg draped across him and half an erection, causing him to bolt for the bathroom when you turned to check your phone. He wanted to say something - anything - about the night before. But he had promised to "forget", sealing his lips until further notice.

He turned the shower to the coldest setting, trying to stay silent as he killed his hard-on in the least loving way possible. You took the opportunity to slip into your sweats from the night before, and putting Gavi's t-shirt back on. Yours still had bubbled blood from the events and peroxide of the previous night. As you sorted out your hair, Gavi emerged from the bathroom, towel slung around his hips, showing off his toned chest and deep V once again. You lifted yourself and turned to face the wall, looking up at the Lord through the ceiling and asking why you were being faced with such temptation.

"Don't look." Pablo instructed, and you heard the towel thud to the floor. It make your cheeks burn and you crossed your legs tightly. You tried to think of anything else to stop yourself from taking your medical history with Gavi and constructing a complete mental image.

"Pedri is going to ... do you want a clean shirt?" Gavi asked, now in a clean sweatshirt and jeans. There was something about seeing you in his clothes that made him borderline insane. He couldn't tell if he needed you to stop, or needed you to do it every day.

"Oh, no, this one is fine. Thanks again - I'll wash it and return it as soon as I can."

"You can keep it." Gavi replied, turning back to his closet. The last thing he needed was to become aroused whenever he saw the folded shirt in his house. He grabbed a sweatshirt and tossed it to you as well.

"Are you donating clothes to me now? My salary isn't that bad, Pablo." You laughed out as you caught it.

"It's December, doctora. You should know that it's not great to go out in the cold. Your hoodie is still in your car, so wear this for now. Speaking of - Pedri is on his way over. He's gonna drive your car back to your place, and we'll take his. That way you never need to go near that dick's house again."

You slipped the green sweatshirt over your head, and were instantly attacked with the smell of body wash and cologne. Gavi had worn this recently. You brought the sleeves up and took a deep breath again before rushing downstairs to follow Gavi. It was a one time occurrence - you wouldn't allow yourself to get close to Pablo like this again. You were coworkers, first and foremost.

The two of you climbed into Pedri's car, you in the driver's seat and Gavi in the passenger, fingers trembling as you took the familiar turns. You stopped about a block away, dropping Pedri off, and driving off to the café the three of you had agreed to meet at to avoid any chance of being followed. You made idle conversation with Gavi, the two of you feeling the obvious tension. Pedri brought you your car, and you left the boys, giving them both a quick hug goodbye before going home to process the insane 24 hours you just had.

The boys were headed back to Gavi's to pack before heading to Madrid for national team training. On the way home, Pablo bounced his leg, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows more than usual.

"Hermano," Pedri started, "whatever you need to say, please just say it."

"But I'm not supposed to."

"Then stop with the fucking anxious ticks! Either speak or stay silent, but don't drive me crazy. It's a long day." Pedri ended his scolding with a light laugh. He knew Pablo better than anyone, and could tell it was only a matter of time before the younger boy started to spill his guts. Gavi wanted to stay strong, holding the promise he made to you extra close to his heart and his honor, and picked up his phone to pass the time. He opened up his twitter, refreshing the feed.

"Oh fuck. I'm in trouble."

Yes, the break was rather uneventful. You filled your time with studying, revising medical plans, and watching the international matches on TV. You tried your best to stay inside to avoid seeing anybody. You were still mourning the end of your relationship with Martin. Despite the confirmation that Martin was borderline clinically insane, it still weighed heavily on you, day by day, that you had once again been cheated on. That you had once again molded yourself into the absolutely closest thing to perfection, and had again fallen short. The winter weather also made you more lethargic, less keen to go outside and interact with others. And finally, you were terrified of anyone on the street recognizing you.

In hindsight, you should have made Pedri just walk and get your car. Or you should have waited until you knew Martin wasn't home and done it yourself. Because the thing about Pedri's lush green mini Cooper was that is was one of the most recognized cars in Spain, and so girls would flock to every single one they saw. His car had been posted enough for the most dedicated to have the license plate committed to memory. So driving around in such a recognizable car with the most sought-after footballer in Spain might not have been the best idea - especially during the day when the window tints weren't as effective. It took less than an hour for you and Gavi's pictures to be circulated around fan accounts, with people commenting on everything. The fact that you were driving, the hoodie you were wearing, the way that Gavi looked at you- the list was endless.

It took another 4 hours for people to figure out who you were. @gaviraconcubine on twitter had thankfully recognized you as one of the physios from game clips, and informed the rest of the rabid mob. Some had been satisfied with the answer, while others believed this an even more damning piece of information.

@gaviraconcubine: ok so the girl Gavi was with in the car is one of the barca physios - all the squad follows her + some shots of her on the field ! Gavi nation we're safe ;P

4,788 Likes 2,003 Retweets 834 Replies

@barcabarcabarca : guys shes literally a staff member???? gavi cant talk to female staff now wtf

@mrspgavira : if he ignored all of us to fall in love with the first ugly ass girl he bumped into at work ill take a swim with a toaster

@88rizzing : so she just started w barca this szn and got gavi? alexa play mastermind

@loonastansbrazil : more drivers for gavi!! she too old to be his girl

Barca staff were on public record, and so by the end of the day, your social media, school, and entire life history had been published on social media for people to scrutinize. It had sent you spiraling, suddenly being at the center of extreme amounts of attention from teen girls and 45-year old Barca stans alike.

[Pablo]: hey

[Pablo]: im rlly sorry about all the stuff online

[Pablo]: it should all die down soon. will be done at 9pm and I can call you

So that's what you did. Cook, clean, study, watch football, and get in disguise if you ever needed to go out. You spent your evenings chatting with Gavi. First it was about the media circus that you two were going through.

"It'll die down eventually. I'll stand too close to another girl and then everybody will leave you alone."

"Or accuse you of being a cheater."

"Has enough time passed for us to make cheating jokes?"

But as your fears started to ease an your mentions dried up, the conversations went back to the casual, playful tone that always filled the air whenever you and Gavi conversed. It was easier to talk to Gavi than it was with anyone else. You still spoke to your other friends, checking in on Angelika periodically over text, but no one could fill an hour FaceTime call like Gavi could, making it feel like mere minutes. Often, the two of you were both lounging, you on your couch and him in whatever hotel bed the national team had provided. As the days went on, you grew more comfortable answering the phone sans makeup, showing the most natural parts of yourself to who was shaping up quickly to be your closest friend.

Returning to work after the break may have been harder than the break itself. The office was abuzz with the rumors about you and Gavi. For the first few days, you ignored all the chatter. You had seen enough online to know that not knowing was always better. You didn't care what anyone said about you, as long as you proved you were an asset to the team. That is until Antonio came into your office one day with a sealed envelope. He was finishing up with some loose ends in Barcelona, before making his way to the UK to start in Manchester after the January transfer window had closed. He walked into your office, a large manila envelope in hand, and placed it on your desk.

"What's this?" You asked, peering at it from behind your glasses. Antonio was not one to make jokes or pull pranks, so it confused you to see him now, giggling in your office like a school girl.

"Oh this? Nothing important. Just a backup plan. Now it's my turn to ask the questions." He said, coming around and sitting atop your desk.

"Is it true that you're sleeping with Gavi?"

It had been a long time since you had seethed with this much rage. First, shock and embarrassment flooded your veins, freezing you in place, leaving you like a deer in headlights before the question. Antonio's ringing laugh is what pulled you out of your trance. You quickly denied the rumor, stating that you and Gavi were friends, but everything remained strictly professional.

"We heard you went to his house after the last home game before the break, and didn't leave until the following day, and wearing his clothes as well! You don't have to lie to me, I won't tell Dr. G or Xavi. So how was he?"

You promptly instructed Antonio to get the hell out of your office, and you made a move to head to the practice field. How dare Gavi: tell people you slept together when you did nothing of the sort. Well, you did something of the sort, but not in that way! Your job was already in jeopardy as it was, and it didn't help your case to be allegedly sleeping with one of the players. Talk about acts that increase favoritism. As you turned to corner to head to the field, you were met with a hard chest instead. Looking up, you saw the one face you had been trying to avoid all week: Ferran.

"My favorite little nurse. I haven't seen you since before the break. How have you been?" His arms were crossed over his chest, smirk and arrogance across his face. He blocked your path, and you sighed before responding.

"I don't have time to chat, Ferran. I was headed to the practice field to speak to-"

"Gavi? Yeah, I don't think so. My hamstrings need work. You're coming with me."

You followed closely behind, annoyance bubbling in your throat as you followed Ferran to your office. He laid on the examination bed as you closed the door, using the small sink to wash your hands, and donning a pair of clean gloves as he rolled up his shorts and laid on his stomach.

"So sad to hear about you and Martin, y/n. You two really did make a cute couple. I saw him at the end of the break - he's really looking quite worse for wear."

Uncapping your athletic salve, you started working the mixture between your fingers before moving to Ferran's thigh.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you're a cheater. Usually quite a deal-breaker in a relationship."

You had resolved no to speak to the striker on your table, knowing that everything he said would only egg you on further, creating more opportunities for you to slip up and be unemployed. But there was something in you that Martin had broken, no, stolen, that made staying silent astronomically more difficult than it had been. So your tongue release from your cheek quicker than you could process, and you steeled yourself once again to work on his legs. What were his legs even tired from? It's not like he was playing regularly.

"You know that there's more than one way to cheat on a person, right?" Ferran questioned, folding his arms to get more comfortable on the table. You shifted your eyes to look at him, one brow raised in confusion. Your lip curled up in disgust, and again your found yourself speaking without intention.

"I don't want to hear about all the different ways he cheated on me. I know you two are friends or whatever, but I'm not interested in the rest of his dirty laundry."

"I'm not talking about Martin. The other cheater in question is you."

Movements slowing, you locked eyes with Ferran, who held your gaze with confidence - like he was holding all the cards, and you were none the wiser.

"I didn't go around sleeping with other people while I was in a committed relationship." You deadpanned, not enjoying how the morning was progressing.

"Right, that was Martin - how unoriginal if you both did the same thing. He went around and slept with a couple other girls to satisfy his base desires. It's bad, but what you did is much worse, little nurse."

You tore your gaze away from Ferran, working his legs with new vigor, restraining yourself from just grabbing onto the flesh and squeezing until he screamed out in pain.

"This is not a professional topic of conversation and you shouldn't bring it into the workplace." You replied, but your voice had started to waiver.

"Oh yes it is, because it revolves around one of your coworkers. While Martin was out working and training an doing other things - or other people - you were also being unfaithful. Sure you didn't sleep with someone, but you were in a 'committed relationship', as you put it, when you started to fall for Pablito."

You pulled your hands away from Ferran like he had spontaneously combust, running from the flames. The look of bewilderment was not one you could suppress in that moment. Your throat had gone completely dry, but you knew the longer you remained silent, the more Ferran would interpret it as a confirmation of his theory.

"That's - it's not true. Gavi and I are coworkers, friends if you really want to push it. It's highly inappropriate for you to assume otherwise. Look I know you want me to lose-"

"Lose your job?" Ferran laughed callously. "Oh no, hermosa. I love seeing you run around here in those tight scrubs, hair pulled back - you're like my own personal masseuse. I just hate when some people get special treatment. And you and Pablito haven't exactly been subtle."

"There's nothing going on between-"

"Bullshit. What kind of employee is willing to come in early and work unpaid hours for just another member of the squad? He's the only one with your personal number. You drive him home after practice. Everyone knows that those hours he spends locked away after national team training, he's talking to you. For fuck's sake, you hadn't even been broken up with Martin for a day before you spent the night at his place!"

Eyes locked with the floor, your breathing quickened as Ferran's words too root in you. Did everyone think this way? Was it a common assumption that you harbored "special feelings" for Gavi? He continued without allowing you to recover.

"So you can get on your high horse and spew your woes about how your boyfriend slept with someone else. But you let little Pablito get access to the deepest, most intimate parts of your soul, and despite having a boyfriend, you let yourself love him. You let yourself love Gavi the night you watched him throw up outside the club, young and stupid and delirious, and yet you let Martin think he had a chance to be your man, your one, your soulmate. That's what most people would call emotional cheating. And it still makes you a shit person."

Your temples pounded, headache coming on from the lack of air in your system. You couldn't do anything, couldn't move, couldn't process the information being thrown at your brain. Had Ferran been present that first night at the club half a year ago? Had someone else remembered you, recounting the details to everyone involved? Did Gavi know that you were there, and had seen him in that state? Antonio's question from earlier flashed in your mind, and though you had assumed Gavi's lips had gotten loose, the real culprit was sitting in front of you buttered like a turkey. Everything else would have to wait - because you might lose your job if you didn't get this question answered.

"Have you been telling people I slept with Gavi?" You asked, the pain in your voice clinging to every word.

"I haven't been telling people anything that isn't true. I may have mentioned to a couple of the second-team players that you and Martin had broken up. I may have also mentioned that when I went to console my physically and emotionally battered friend, I watched you and Gavi leave his house, together, and you were in his clothes. Well, I didn't really need to provide that one, did I? The pictures are everywhere. And maybe there was a thing or two about how Martin has always been wary of Pablito, who seemed to always go out of his way to be at your beck and call. People connected their own dots."

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You asked, voice desperate as you ripped of your gloves, coming around the table to face the slippery eel that was Ferran Torres directly.

"Why can you not stand the sight of me so much that you need me to lose everything I've worked for my whole life?"

The smirk was glued to his face, and the mal intent in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

"Just because I like watching you squirm. And if they fire you, it's no worry to me at all. The team managers are already embracing this 'diversity' thing, so another bubbly, bouncy little thing in scrubs will be in swiftly to take your place."

Ferran got up, readjusting his training uniform and making his way to the door. You couldn't speak. All you wanted to do was curl into a ball behind your desk. The entire staff thought you were sleeping with Gavi, and the thoughts spiraled onward. Did they think that's why you hadn't gotten fired after Ferran's complaint? Did anyone think you were qualified beyond just a toy for one of the players?

"I would steer clear of Gavi, hermosa. No more late drives, no more sleepovers. Rumor has it, word's gotten all the way up to Xavi. Would hate to have to give him confirmation that you two are more than friends. Because then you'd be looking for physio jobs in the village football teams."

"But we're not." You replied, voice strained and broken.

"Then keep it that way."

Since Pedri's nonexistent project with Adidas had ended, he was back to giving Gavi rides. It's not that he minded - the younger boy was always talkative and good company. But It was the waiting around that made Pedri want to scream. For the entire time they had been on international leave, you were the only thing Pablo thought about and spoke of, filling any silent moments sending messages to as a precursor for your nightly calls. Pedri was mistaken in thinking this teenage lovesick behavior would cease once they returned to Cam Nou.

Every day after practice, Gavi would move at the most glacial, snail-like pace just to time his exit with yours, accompanying you on the walk to your car. Today was no different. As Gavi took his time in the locker room doing Lord knows what, Pedri caught a glimpse of you speeding down the corridor. He wanted to greet you, to ask if you were okay, but he couldn't get the words out before you rushed past him. He turned into the locker room and yelled at his passanger.

"Hurry up hermano! She already left!"

[6 Missed Calls]: Gavi

You ignored the buzz of your phone on your table as you curled into yourself, tears streaming down your face. It was beyond what you could bear. You had sacrificed so much throughout your life to get the "dream" you were supposed to be living now: perfect life in a perfect city, with your perfect job and perfect friends. But all of it had been set ablaze. Your apartment had never felt lonelier or colder, as you looked at the chairs that had never been used, the floor that only you walked on. Since leaving America you found yourself with few to no friends. You never went out or saw anyone, dedicating yourself to excelling in your program. The only friend you ever had over was Angelika, and even she had not graced your home for weeks upon weeks. You had isolated yourself from everyone to make sure you were perfect at work - never tired or hungover, never a thread or hair out of place. Now you were friendless and single, curled up on your couch, cursing every decision you had ever made.

The last person you wanted to see or speak to was Pablo. Pablo, who had entered your life so suddenly, and taken up residence in your brain and heart, was the sole common thread between everything crumbling around you. You willed yourself to be angry with him. You tried your hardest to blame him for every misfortune that had come your way. Your lack of friends, many of whom distanced themselves when you started working for Barca under a perception that you were "too good for them". Your waning relationship with Angelika, which began when Pablo started to tunnel his way into your life, consuming more and more of your time. Your failed relationship with Martin, which was perfectly stale and stable before Gavi showed you what it was really like to be made a priority. The current precarious state of your job, it was his fault, because of his consistent fighting with Ferran, which provoked him to file his empty complaint.

You wanted to curse Gavi and the day you had met him, but you couldn't do it. You couldn't bring yourself to even have an ill thought about Pablo. All you could do was curse yourself. You had known deep down for so long how you really felt. From that night you spoke to him in the club, identity yet unknown, but all his vulnerability on display, you had known that there was something pulling you into his orbit. You had known that the hoops you jumped through for him were special, and not inconveniences you would shoulder for anyone else. You had known when you searched for him on the field, in your contacts, in your subconscious that no one would ever bring you this much peace. His eyes, his words, the energy that radiated from him were rarities, seen once in a lifetime, and often squandered by those to late to grab them. And so you sat on your couch, tears pouring down your face as the realization enveloped you, too great to hide any longer: Pablo Paez Gavira was your best friend, and you were heart-achingly, soul-crushingly in love with him, but you would never be able to do anything about it.

Gavi had given up after 6 missed calls and 18 unanswered text messages. He knew that you would call him when you were ready to do so, but the anxiety gnawed at him nonetheless. He couldn't stand the thought of you upset, and would move heaven and earth just to make sure you were doing fine. He was currently checking his phone for notifications ever 30-45 seconds, leg once again bouncing - much to Pedri's dismay. The two of them, accompanied by Alejandro and Eric, were at a restaurant catching up with some friends. Gavi paid no mind to anyone. He was too preoccupied to engage in idle conversation. Rather, he just wanted to hear the sound of your voice -no , your breathing even, to calm his worries.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, tearing his gaze away from the screen. A short blond stood before him - one of Eric's friends - and she spoke directly to him, asking questions about his age and if he also played for the club. Unhappy with the interruption, Gavi gave quick and curt responses, trying to avoid a prolonged conversation. This did not deter the girl, who introduced herself as Jacinta, from getting Gavi's undivided attention, as she sat beside him, legs pressed against each other, and rested a hand on his thigh. Before he could react, he heard the gasp of his name, swiveling around to find several teenage girls huddled by the front of the restaurant, phones out and whispering to each other. Gavi had lost his appetite, excusing himself and taking a taxi back to his, checking his phone frequently as he prayed for you to give him any indication that you were alive.

Your phone rang once again, and the tone echoing through your apartment was one you welcomed eagerly: Angelika's. You had not heard from her in the last month, trying to give her enough space to do her work, while still reminding her you were there for support.

"Angelika! It's so good to hear from you."

"I'm moving to Paris."

Your face fell as you turned the words over in your mind.

"You're...what?"

You sat up on the phone, listening to Angelika explain how she had impressed her colleagues, being promoted to their Paris office to work on more couture and avant-garde looks. She gushed about what an amazing opportunity it was as you tried to stop yourself from throwing up. How was it that you were losing everything in your life all at once.

"That's so amazing, Ange."

That was all you could muster, deciding to be a good friend and leave your worries and fears to the side, letting her bask in the triumph of her accomplishment. You responded with how proud you were, how much she deserved this, and how you knew she would do amazing things.

"Does Gavi have a girlfriend?"

The sudden mention of Gavi's name alone was enough to knock the wind out of you, but the context of the question really threatened to have you spill your guts on the rug.

"Not that I know of." You said, the feeling of dread dripping into your gut like tar.

"One of the Barca fan pages just posted a pic of him with some girl at dinner. Look I just sent it. I didn't know he was old enough to be getting girls like that. You two are friends, right?"

Your eyes were instantly drawn to the blonde girl's hand on Gavi's thigh. She wasn't his girlfriend. If anyone were to know that Gavi were in a committed relationship, it would be you. But this knowledge didn't help the wounded feeling that settled into you. You were home, pining after this little footballer, as he effortlessly flirted with other women. You were once again in pieces over a man that did not think of you the way you thought of him.

"Yeah, we're friends, I guess."

You would never be more than Gavi's physiotherapist and someone he occasionally sent Tiktoks to. Gavi was a deity in his field, a name that struck fear and respect in the hearts of the opposition. He was a symbol of the next generation of football royalty, and a man that could have any woman at his feet with a lick of his lips and a wave of his hand. This is what he was destined for: days in the spotlight, photographs with mysterious beauties, and a loyal fanbase that worshipped his every move. None of that involved you: an employee. Why would he want you? There was nothing you could give him that didn't come in a prettier package. He would never look at you as more than a friend, because you walked with the common crowd, and he was among the elite. Gavi could have any girl that he wants, and it was obvious he didn't want you.

You moved from the couch and walked to your table, waking up the computer that sat upon it. You glanced at the envelope Antonio had slid to you earlier, and thought about his offer. What did you have left? You typed a quick email to Xavi requesting a brief meeting the following morning, before heading to bed, trying to sleep away the suffocating feeling that clung to you.

Gavi was at your office door when you walked in the following morning, despite you arriving 20 minutes earlier than usual. His arms were crossed, face scrunched in worry, but his features relaxed when you walked to the door. He tried to help you with your belongings, but you refused. You exchanged a dry good morning before entering your office, avoiding his gaze. He asked how you were feeling, and if anything had happened the previous day. Eyes glued to your computer, you responded shortly, informing him that everything was fine and that you had a meeting with Xavi you needed to prepare for.

"Doctora, did I do something?"

You finally looked at Gavi, taking in his pained expression. It hurt in ways medicine understand for you to be freezing him out like this, and yet, all you could do was think about the image of Gavi coupled with Ferran's words. Was it worth it to risk everything for someone who would never be yours? You shook you head, informing him again that everything was fine. Everything was far from fine: you felt like you had been thrown off a cliff, your sense of purpose and direction and meaning in life shattered. But you didn't want to burden Gavi with this knowledge. So you stood and collected your folders, lips pursed tightly. You would just have to pretend that you weren't desperate to confess to Pablo that he was the reason that you breathed air, and that you were focused on your meeting and nothing else.

He was not satisfied with your answer. Gavi searched for your eyes, trying to understand what he could have possibly done wrong to get you to change on him so quickly - to become so cold. But you refused to meet his gaze, and he was left to his own theories. Had the rumors of you two together repulsed you from him? Were you unable to look him in the eye now that someone had put the thought in your head that you two could be more than friends? Had you finally decided you were too mature and good for him? He had chewed his lips and inner cheek all night pondering these possibilities.

"Please, y/n, if I did something, let me make it right."

"Gavi." Bad sign. You never called him Gavi when you were happy with him. Gavi was his official name in the team, the professional term you addressed him by. His stomach sank, and everything in him screamed to take you into his arms, not letting you go until he once again heard the sweet sound of "Pablo" drip from your lips like honey.

You wanted to grab him and shake him, scream at him, and cry into his shoulder. You wanted to tell him that there was no way for him to make it right, unless he was ready to have you, wholly and completely, never letting you go no matter the consequences. You wanted to tell him the only thing that could fix it was the one thing you could never ask for: his love.

"I need you... to stay away from me for a while."

Gavi could swear e felt his heart crack in two. What could he have possibly done? What heinous crime had he committed that made you need such a high degree of separation. He had been right there: he had you in his arms, laid on his chest, and heartbeat synching with his own. Now, everything was slipping through his fingers like fine sand, and he was watching you disappear before his very eyes.

"Not because I'm angry with you, but I just... need space."

Gavi could do nothing but stare, mouth agape, begging every power that be for this to be a cruel joke. But you continued to shuffle your papers, and the punchline never came. Before he could form a response, a knock resounded from the door, and Xavi walked into the office.

"Gavi, you're here early." He said, eyebrow raised at you in suspicion. The young footballer swallowed this hurt and his pride, clearing his throat to speak.

"Yeah, just came to get some more medical tape. Doctora y/l/n told me we have some in the locker room. I'll be going now."

Gave left your office, shutting the door behind him, but he could not move. He leaned against the wall, trying to fill his lungs with air, but the breaths he took didn't feel like enough. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he was reminded of his childhood, when the other boys would bully him and push him around the field. That was the last time he properly cried of pain. It was happening now, for the first time in 11 years, but this was a different kind of pain. There were needles pricking every inch of his skin, and he could do nothing except let the pain overtake him. What could he have possibly done to push you away?

He was taken out of his thoughts by the sound of Xavi's voice through the door. He knew he shouldn't have been listening, but he needed to hear you. He needed to listen to you speak, hear the normalcy in your voice, if he ever wanted to move from that God forsaken spot in front of your door.

"-a little late notice. You should try and schedule further in advance for coming meetings." Xavi said. It was unusual for Gavi to hear you be scolded. When had you asked to meet him?

"I apologize, mister, but it was all some very late occurrences, and I didn't want to delay."

"Alright then, go ahead."

"As you know, we are about 10 days into the January transfer window, and while players are getting offers from all over, this is also the time when clubs try and change staff."

Pablo put a hand over his mouth to cover any sounds he made and prevent himself from vomiting. He didn't like where this was going.

"Yes, I'm aware." Xavi responded. "Antonio is leaving us during this window."

"Exactly. That's actually what I wanted to speak to you about. Antonio, as we all know, is a very talented physiotherapist and sports medic, meaning he got offers from a number of clubs. He received a position as head of physiotherapy at Chelsea, which he had to reject obviously to join Man City. Yesterday, he graciously got the offer forwarded to me."

"Miss y/n, please clarify your intentions. I am not very good at understanding subtext." Xavi laughed out.

"Yes sir. I'll be direct then: I am considering leaving F.C. Barcelona at the end of the transfer window."

~~~~~~~

A/N: guys pls don't kill me I'm sorry for the end (not rlly lol). I hope you all enjoyed what is officially the longest part of the series to date!! Got close to my 15k goal, but not there yet - maybe in the next part. My hands are actually cramping from all the writing this is borderline self-inflicted torture lol. Did y'all catch the subtle title/ lyric references? As usual, please leave thoughts, feedback, predictions, etc. in the replies - I love reading all of them so much!!! Esp watching the way people think the story is going to progress because sometimes y'all are spot on and sometimes y'all are wayyyy off and I'm like "wait that would actually be a great plot for another series". Anyways love you all and hope you enjoy!! Part 8??? She's gonna be intense y'all.

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

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sentientcave · 24 days

Text

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Sometimes a Bearimy is many moons, and sometimes it's just a couple days! Do not expect this sort of pace to continue though this chapter was most of the way finished when I posted the first one.

Chapter 2 - Familiar and Forgotten

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Noncon kissing, Alcohol mentions, Smoking mention, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through.

~5.2k words

You don’t say much for the rest of the journey.

It’s not far, really, only an hour or two from the bridge in the woods, and your anxiety seizes you so completely that you can do little more than smile wanly at Kyle’s jokes and Johnny’s attempts to flirt with you. Ghost stays as quiet as you do, a comforting spectre of familiarity walking by your side.

The city is much like you remember it, but there’s life now, where a grim shadow hung over the people before. Windows are thrown open, laundry hangs on lines spanning between houses, brightly coloured clothes flapping in the breeze like flags. Children play in one of the alley’s you pass by, kicking a ball between them, although they stop to watch you pass, eyes growing big, collecting at the edge of the street so they can stare for longer. People begin to gather at the peripheries everywhere, the gentle roar of many hushed voices drowning out all else. It seems that the people here still recognize you, although you’re not sure if it’s by your face or the company that escorts you along.

The castle looms over the city, tall, imposing walls made a little friendlier with blue and silver banners hung from the parapets, the oppressive air lessened, but not entirely erased. You think that nothing could make the castle look truly welcoming— It never has been to you, not even when you did call it home.

Ghost looks at you as you approach the dark stone walls, and puts a big hand on your thigh. “Olright?” he asks quietly.

You nod, swallowing thickly as Nox’s claws scrape over the wooden drawbridge. It feels like the palace means to devour you whole, the shade of the main courtyard matching your somber mood. It’s greener than you remember, a raised garden bed full of flowers and a few small trees sits in the center of things now, directing traffic coming in around in a circle rather than every which way. There are gardens on the flat roofs of some of the outbuildings too, where they can catch more light despite the looming walls.

Nox stops in front of the stairs up to the main door, and Ghost lifts you down easily. When you look up, you notice there are people gathering around the main courtyard too, a gentle susurrus rising up around you like the wind. A stable hand approaches to take Kyle's horse, stumbling over his feet, too busy staring at you to watch where he's going.

"Standin' around with their gobs open," Johnny grumbles. "S'like they've ne'er seen a princess before."

Kyle thanks the stable hand when he passes the reigns to him, and offers his arm to you. "Are you ready, sweetpea?" His smile strains at the corners when you look at him. Your own face must be grim indeed.

"I'll have to be," you say, curling your hand around his arm, gathering your skirts with your other hand. You feel small and plain as you ascend on Kyle's arm, dressed simply in clothes you sewed yourself, glad you were wearing your second best skirt at least. Why that bothers you now you couldn't say-- Its not as though you're concerned with making a good impression.

Kyle leads you into the hall of judgment, where your father used to take petitions and settle disputes. It's different here too-- There are benches for supplicants to sit while they wait, and a few desks set to one side of the ante chamber, where clerks speak to citizens in hushed voices, helping speed along the process. There aren't very many people there really, it's not the tired crush of hollow eyed people clamoring for attention from a disinterested king now. Its organized, efficient, fair-minded. You can't help but approve.

John Price sits on the dais, listening to the man in front of him, but his stone-faced attention breaks when he looks up and sees you. He stands and hops down the steps, touching the man's arm. "I will send a hunting party to deal with your manticore problem," he promises. "But if you'll excuse me…" his blue eyes lock onto you, sweeping down and back up to your face.

You feel pinned in place by the intensity of those eyes, Kyle's presence by your side not enough to melt the cracking ice that settles around you.

"Princess!" John greets you enthusiastically, arms wide as he strides across the hall, meeting you in the middle. "Welcome home. I trust your journey was a pleasant one? It's a nice day for a ride through the countryside." He looks good, although there's silver in his beard and glittering by his temples that was never there before, and a plain silver circlet on his brow. He dresses the same as you remember, for comfort and practicality rather than for fashion, and he still fills out his clothes in much the same way, his broad, powerful body unchanged despite his new vocation.

"A better day for tending to the garden," you say. "But Sir Garrick rather insisted on the ride."

John smiles at you warmly, and Kyle wordlessly pulls away from you, leaving you standing before John alone. You're pulled into an embrace before you know what's happening, oak-solid arms crushing you to his chest. He pulls back enough to look at you, but he doesn't let you go. The pleasant tobacco and warm spice scent of him engulfs you, caged in his arms while he studies your upturned face. "You're more beautiful than I remember," he says. "It's good to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but he seizes the opportunity to kiss you. Not a chaste press of lips to your cheeks, which would have been an appropriate greeting between two people of your status, but a kiss, a real one, his mouth slotting over yours like you were reuniting lovers rather than near-perfect strangers.

He kisses you for a long moment, lips moving against yours possessively, long enough for the room to grow unbearably silent around you, shame twisting with a childish flame rekindled the instant he put his hands on you. You push against his chest, and he finally comes to his senses, not releasing you or giving you more space, but at least ending the kiss, letting you breathe and sort out your conflicted feelings.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, voice low and breathless, even if you would prefer to shout it, or perhaps punctuate the question with a slap.

“Because I wanted to,” he says pleasantly, smiling in that infuriating, cheeky way he used to when he caught you watching the knights practising from the palace windows. “I think it was long overdue, don’t you?”

“No!” You don’t want to admit, considering your age, that he’s stolen your first kiss, like it was something owed to him instead of yours to give when you chose to, and you certainly don’t want to admit that you liked it. You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the people still watching either, which is undoubtedly why he chose this as the place for your first meeting, where you would be cuffed by propriety, giving him advantage over you. Kings didn’t have to worry about propriety— Who was there to scold them for bad behaviour?

Had John ever worried about that sort of thing? Perhaps that was why your father had so militantly kept him away from you, not because of the threat to the crown, but the threat to your virtue. A man that would so casually waltz past all social convention would find no resistance from a sheltered, shy princess. Perhaps if you had been more bold— Perhaps if you were more bold now you would be able to tell him off.

“I don’t appreciate being plucked from my home and manhandled by you and your knights,” you hiss, plucking courage from thin air. You push against his chest again, and this time he lets you go, but it only makes you angrier, because you both know he only did so because he chose to. “What do you want, John? Let’s attend to business so I can leave as soon as possible.”

He glances behind you, at his knights, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you certainly aren’t going anywhere tonight, are you? We can chat properly over the evening meal.” He sweeps you along, a hand between your shoulders, where his thumb touches bare skin, toying with the edge of your shirt. “I’ll show you to your room, hm? You can wash up and change, if you’d like. Although I must say, this country mouse attire looks rather sweet on you.”

“I don’t think any of my old clothes will fit anymore,” you say tartly. You’re certainly not the weak, spindly thing you used to be, the sapling struggling to grow in your father’s shadow. Your time with Kate has done you good, made you stronger and filled out soft curves. Joy is expansive, and it takes up space that you never would have dared to occupy before.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’ve had new things made for you. Gaz’s sister reached out to Kate for your measurements.”

“Why would she— You had no right to ask for such a thing!” you say hotly. Now that you’re alone in the hallways, you feel more at ease speaking your mind.

He’s unperturbed by your anger, still smiling. “Perhaps not. But I thought it important to stand ready, should you ever decide to come home.”

“This is not my home any longer.”

John hums, his hand sliding down to your hip, tugging you closer to his side. “This will always be your home, princess,” he says matter-of-factly, like there’s no room for argument, the way he sees it.

He tries to follow you into your room, but you quickly shut the door in his face, nearly hitting him. He manages to jump clear, and you can hear his laughter on the other side. You’re getting a bit tired of these men thinking that it’s funny when you hold your ground against them, but you’re not yet sure how to get them to listen when they (and especially John) are so used to getting exactly what they want. It strikes you that you’ll probably have plenty of time to figure it out, since you don’t think you’ll be going home as soon as you'd like.

Kyle and Johnny seem like your most likely allies. And perhaps Ghost, since he told you more than he was supposed to already. Anyone else would be too worried about drawing the king’s ire and getting in trouble or losing their jobs, but those three aren’t just his knights. They’re his friends too.

And as far as you’re concerned, friends don’t let friends keep women imprisoned for indeterminate amounts of time.

You wash up, and parse through the closet for something to wear, frowning slightly at your options. There’s nothing wrong with any of the dresses you find— Everything is beautiful, elegant, well-made, in colours that suit your complexion, made of gorgeous, rustling silk. But they also all have closures at the back, long rows of delicate buttons that will be a nightmare to do up yourself. After so many years living independently, you resent the idea of someone having to help dress you. Perhaps that was why John tried to follow you, so he could be there to offer a hand.

How altruistic of him.

You fantasize about kicking him hard in the shins with the work boots that you sadly left at home, and choose a dress in a deep plum colour, getting as dressed as you can. You consider waiting to ask whoever comes to collect you for dinner, but you suspect that that might be John. You’re just about to wander out into the hallway to see if you can find a member of the castle staff to aid you, when you hear a shout outside, and laughter.

You press one hand to you chest to keep the dress from falling away from your skin inappropriately, and peer over the edge of the balcony. Johnny, Kyle and Ghost are in the courtyard below, Ghost and Kyle sitting on the fountain edge, and Johnny doing a dance that seems to be entirely hopping and kicking, while balancing a knife’s point on the tip of his finger.

“Excuse me,” you call down, smiling as prettily as you can muster. Johnny stops dancing and drops his knife entirely, but blessedly doesn’t try to catch it. “Could one of you give me a quick hand? This dress has so many buttons.”

They look at each other for a moment, and volunteer as one, Kyle and Ghost immediately falling into bickering over who should help you. Johnny looks at the ground and up to you a few times rather than fight with the others, and takes a running leap, fingers catching on the balcony floor. He swings a few times before popping up, catching the railing and clambering over with surprising grace. “I would be happy to help ye, sweetpea. An’ Ah’m sorry abou’, er, lickin’ yer wrist earlier. Was a wolf awl mornin’, cannae always shake the compulsion straight after a shift.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, reaching up with both hands and scratching the stubble under his chin gently. He leans into your palms with a groan, letting you guide him down to your level so you can kiss the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a good boy, Johnny. You were just excited.”

“I was,” he admits, cheeks turning a little pink. “They awl met ye before, and they talk about ye sometimes, ye ken? An’ yer even nicer an’ bonnier up close. Ah’m glad I didna try to lick yer face. Ye didnae look very happy with Price doin’ it.”

“He was very forward. It’s not the sort of thing I appreciate. I don’t intend to let him walk all over me just because he’s the king now.” You release Johnny’s jaw and turn so he can get to work on the buttons, pulling your braids out of the way over your shoulder. “It seems like he’s a little too used to getting his way.”

“Ah, weel, he’s stubborn as awl hell, sweetpea. No’ really his fault, he’s just righ’ more of’en than no’, ye ken? An’ when yer never wrong, ye never learn ta compromise.”

“Surely he’s not always right,” you say. “No one’s infallible.”

He laughs, fingers stalling against your back. “Yer righ’ of course. But Ah’m never the one to catch the old man bein’ wrong. So I dinnae ken if he admits it. I would be surprised.”

“Do you know what he wants from me?” you ask. “It seems odd that he let me live in peace all these years, only to drag me back now.”

“I dinnae ken awl the details, princess. Figure it’s sommat ta do with yer cousin raisin’ an army over across the western border, aye? Probably wants ye to scold the wee rascal for him.” He continues buttoning, and then stalls again. “Aw shite. Missed one.” You feel him begin to undo the buttons he was just working on.

You press your fingers to your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”

“Aw no, I dinnae mind none. S’nice ta talk ta ye. Always thought princesses’d be all stuck up and snooty. But yer no’ at awl. Ahve been ta yer story hour at the market once or twice too. Think it’s nice ye take pity on us buggers that cannae read well. An ye choose good stories.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you say.

“Usually go in on four legs. No one minds another mangy dog, so long as I don’t get too close or growl at the bairns. Can hear better tha’ way too, aye? Blacksmith always let me lay down beside his shop.” He marches two fingers across your shoulder playfully. “Awl done.”

“Thank you, Johnny.” You turn to look at him again, regarding him thoughtfully. It doesn’t take much to turn him from a large, dangerous man to an eager to please puppy. Something to tuck into your pocket for later.

“Ye can call me Soap, if ye like. The lads do, most of the time. An’ the boss man. But Johnny is good too. Like hearin’ it from ye.” He looks a bit bashful, twisting his fingers together absently now that he has nothing else to fuss with, bright blue eyes cast down and half hidden by his long, dark lashes. “Ah ken it’s no’ what yer hopin’ for, but I hope ye stay a while. S’nice. Feels like there’s an empty space around here, and ye’d fill it an’ then some.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say. “I’m sure it mostly depends on how angry your, um, boss man makes me.”

“He’s no’ a bad sort.” Johnny instantly leaps to John’s defense, a touch of anxiety colouring his voice. He wears every emotion on his sleeve, another useful something to know. “Been good ta me, when lot’s of folk think I’m no’ much more’n a monster.”

“I’ve never heard of a werewolf that can shift at will like you do,” you muse. “You must have remarkable self control.”

Something dark flits across his face, but he does his best to hide it behind his crooked grin. “Naw, no’ really. S’a story, but no’ one I want ta tell righ’ now.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him gently, placing your hand on top of his. His knuckles are rough, scarred from a lifetime of hitting things hard. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’ll listen, if you do want to talk.”

“Yer goan ta turn me intae a big softie at this rate,” he says, waving off your words with a laugh. “Come oan, Sweetpea. I’ll walk ye ta dinner. Figure ye know the way, but Ah’m told it’s polite to escort a lady.”

“Very polite,” you assure him, placing your hand on his offered arm. “Thank you, Johnny.”

His grin is infectious, and he puffs up his chest slightly, pleased as punch to receive your approval. You descend the stairs, picking up your skirts with your other hand so they don’t drag, and John appears at the bottom of the steps, his expression turning carefully, diplomatically blank when he sees you on Johnny’s arm.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “I was just about to come get you. Thank you, Soap, I can take her from here.”

“How very kind!” you return, gripping a little tighter to Johnny’s arm so he doesn’t run off just yet. “Johnny was nice enough to help me with my dress. All these buttons— I had no idea that button closures were the style these days.”

John’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit, like he’s not sure if you’re being earnest or not. “Nor did I,” he says evenly. Liar.

“It can be so hard to keep track of these things.” You send Johnny another bright smile. “Will you be joining us?” you ask sweetly.

Johnny looks at John uneasily. “Oh, n-no, I dinnae think—”

You curl into him slightly, placing your hand on his chest, drawing his attention back to you and away from the disapproving frown that’s beginning to form on John’s face. “Oh, nonsense. In fact, would you mind fetching Kyle and Ghost as well? We all had such a pleasant afternoon, and I feel like we’ve only just begun catching up.”

Johnny’s fingers catch on the lace hemming your trailing sleeve, his cheeks pink and eyes focused on your face. “Oh, aye, anything ye like, princess.”

“Thank you so much Johnny. You have been so helpful today. I really appreciate it.” You release him, and he dashes off without a second thought or glance to John for approval. “What a sweet boy he is,” you say to John as you flit to his side, all innocence, well aware that Johnny can still hear you. “Shall we?”

John gives you a searching look, still not certain if you’ve disrupted his plans on purpose or just by being far too sweet. “I had intended for dinner to be just the two of us.”

“Now John, that would hardly be appropriate,” you lightly scold. “The two of us, alone without a chaperone? What would people say? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to put me in a compromising position.”

His lips twitch under his moustache, the ghost of a smile appearing in his eyes. “Perish the thought. Didn’t think of the implication, is all.” He opens the door to what had once been your father’s private dining room, but hesitates in the doorway. “Perhaps we should wait for the lads,” he says thoughtfully. “Since you’re concerned with the optics of being alone with me.”

You raise your eyebrows. “They’ll be along in a moment, no? I’m not sure what you think could happen in a few minutes, but I’m sure you’re capable of behaving yourself for that long.” You sweep past him, unconcerned, and he follows, letting the door fall shut behind him, the latch clicking shut loudly in the otherwise silent room. You cast about for a conversation that you can fling up between the two of you like a flimsy shield, your tongue suddenly heavy again. John has a way of sucking up all the air in a room, and he feels nearly as large and imposing as Ghost in a confined space like this. You don’t feel safe like you would with Ghost. You feel like a wobbly-legged fawn caged in with a blue-eyed wolf.

And you would feel less like that if you were in here with the man who really is a blue-eyed wolf. You don’t think the man standing before you will melt with a few kind words or a soft touch. He’ll only take it as permission to push you further.

“Your inexperience is showing,” John says conversationally, taking a step toward you.

You take a hasty step back. “How so?”

He takes another step forward. You take another back. The pattern repeats until he has you backed up against the mantle. “A lot can happen in just a few minutes, sweetpea.” His thick fingers curl around your jaw, forcing you to face him when all you want to do is sink into the floor or vanish entirely. “Could do anything I liked to you, alone like this. You’re right to be cautious.” His hand slides lower, callouses brushing your skin, raising goosebumps along the back of your neck and prickling all the way down your spine. His palm rests on your throat, so he can measure the nervous flutter of your pulse. You swallow nervously, and you know he can feel it.

Still, he doesn’t squeeze, and there’s no threat in his eyes. Worse, there’s a promise, and heat that could spark into a blaze with the slightest provocation.

“It’s a good thing you’re a man of honour, then.” You mean it as a challenge, a reminder of the rules of engagement. You came prepared for a game of chess, and he’s knocked all the pieces onto the floor and lunged at you across the board. Your words come out whisper soft, plaintive instead of confident.

“A good thing indeed.” He takes a step back, and then another, his hand falling away, leaving you standing by the mantle, clinging to it for support.

It was a good thing the fireplace is cold, this time of year, or you might be tempted to throw yourself in just to save yourself the embarrassment of being so completely set off balance.

“Here.” John returns to your side, this time leaving enough space for you to breathe, and offers you a glass of wine. White wine, like he remembers your preferences somehow. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, and you try not to shake from the force of whatever it is that he stirs up in you.

It’s too vast to identify, and threatens to engulf you, swallow you whole. It’s an ocean, as deep and blue as his eyes, and you’re already struggling to stay afloat. You feel like the only things keeping you from drowning are your righteous anger and sense of self-preservation. But recognizing the danger he poses to you, to your freedom, if not your life, doesn’t pluck you from the water or save you from the circling shark. You don’t know how to do that. You’re not sure if you want to.

“I should apologize,” he says gently. “For greeting you the way I did earlier. I’d dreamt of our reunion so many times that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, kissing you like that. I should have better kept myself in check.”

You sip your wine. It’s sharp and not too sweet, just the sort of thing you used to like, and many times better than what you’ve had for years now. But the taste only reminds you of things best left forgotten, sour remnants of a life you wished to leave behind. Even this room, redecorated to another man’s preferences, feels as oppressive as your father’s presence in life.

Maybe it’s the weight of the crown, that bends and twists even the most upright men, because you already see the makings of a tyrant in John. So used to getting his way already, he expects you to fall into line, do as your told, take your rightful place at his side, on his arm.

In his bed.

“Are you going to?” you ask.

He’s confused by that, a frown settling between his brows. “Going to what, sweetpea?”

“Apologize. Saying you should apologize is not the same as actually being sorry.”

He’s entirely taken aback by that, rendered speechless. It’s probably been years since anyone checked him like that, and it sends a bit of a thrill through you to be the one to do so. He has the advantage in this battle you’ve waged against him— He’s larger and stronger, he claims authority that you’ve rejected, he has allies where you have none— but you’ve still managed to strike a blow, with honesty as your only weapon.

The other three men finally join you, snapping the tension in the room, clearing it away like cobwebs.

Well, most of the tension, anyway. You sit between John and Ghost, rather than take the chair opposite John. You have no desire to be forced to bear that heavy stare for the entire meal. Kyle and Johnny sit opposite you, and you maintain light conversation with the two of them. Ghost sits to your right, his mask tipped up enough for him to eat, his scarred mouth and jaw visible to you for the first time. His gloves are off too, revealing broad, powerful hands littered with fine scars, and a few deep ones too. Most of them are obviously blade wounds, but there’s a particularly deep one, a chunk of missing flesh between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand that keeps drawing your eyes back.

“Me’n Nox ‘ad a misunderstandin’ when we first met,” he says, unprompted, noticing your glances. “She took a chunk outta me. Was a good thing she was still small, or I’d’ve lost my whole ‘and.”

“Small!” Johnny says with a snort. “The wee beastie was bigger than me!”

“You were a runt,” Ghost chuckles, “but I s’pose she was still plenty big. Got ‘er talons sunk pretty deep in my thigh too. Got ‘er to listen to reason in the end though. She din’t know I was tryin’ to ‘elp.”

You see that same darkness in Johnny’s eyes as earlier, so you change the subject, asking about a burn on Ghost’s wrist. He starts in on a tale of hunting an outlaw mage, with plenty of interjections from Kyle, and then Johnny as well, until he gives up trying to tell it, and lets the younger men take over.

You feel his attention on you for a while after that, like he knew what you did and why.

John is pensive, still ruminating on what you said, quiet over the meal. It must not be that great a change from usual, because it doesn’t seem to bother the other three in the least. He insists on walking you to your room once the hour grows later, however, and leans against your door frame.

“You’re right,” he says, catching your hand so you can’t go inside and shut the door in his face for a second time that day. “I didn’t apologize. And I’m not sorry. I know I should be, and I won’t do it again, but I can’t say I feel all that badly about it.”

It’s something, at least. A concession, if not an apology. “Thank you, John.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, and his thumb is rubbing distracting circles over your knuckles. “Is there something else?”

“We never talked business.”

“No. But I know what you want, John, and the answer is no. I want to go home, I have a life to return to, and I don’t belong here any longer.” The disappointment is clear on his face, but he only nods. You continue, encouraged by his silence. “I will, however, make a public statement of support, in whatever way you need. I imagine my cousin will wish to send a witness, to ensure I’m not being coerced. I will stay until then, and then you will allow me to go home. Is that sufficient?”

He thinks about it for a moment, his thumb tapping against your hand now. “I suppose it will have to be.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight, John.” You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip just enough to keep you anchored to him.

“Wait.” He tugs you a step closer. “May I kiss you?”

You roll his request around in your mind for a moment. He’s willing to accept that you won’t marry him, without so much as a fight. You can’t deny that you want to say yes either, and you have just enough wine in you to make you bold, but not reckless. “One kiss,” you reply. “No more than that. And then I am going to bed.”

He cups your face and stoops to meet you, pressing his lips to yours tenderly, without any of the brash possessiveness of earlier. Just sweet and slow, coaxing you to open up for him. You relax into his touch, parting your lips, a soft little whine escaping your throat, pulling an answering groan from him as he licks into your mouth. You have to grip his wrists just to stay upright, the sound turns your knees and resolve to jelly, the taste of good whiskey and smoke from his after dinner cigar lingering on your tongue as he pulls away.

His eyes are fever-bright, and his breathing ragged as you release each other. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slip into your room and lean against the door, knees still weak, desire simmering inside you. The kiss had been a bad idea, because all you can think of now is asking for another, and another, and another.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem reader #141 x reader #heavy weighs the crown #Uh oh sweetpea

87 notes · View notes

berryhobii · 6 months

Text

Hurry Home (pjm x reader)

Pairing: fiancé!Park Jimin x black!female!plus size!reader

Word Count: 3K+

Warnings: established relationship, fluff, Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), reader sends Jimin naughty photos/videos, oral(f receiving), unprotected sex(don’t do this unless you’re absolutely sure), fingering, squirting, breastplay, doggystyle, begging, creampie, slight praise kink, Jimin and reader are super in love and it’s adorable

A/N: I’m back with this smutty, fluffy piece about Jimin being the best fiancé who’s obsessed with reader. I feel like that’s kind of a trend with me but black women are so beautiful. Who wouldn’t be obsessed? 🩵🩵As for reader, I described them as a darker shade of brown with coily hair, stretch marks, and of course plus sized. I hope everyone enjoys this and please feel free to check out my other works! Much love💜💜

Lover❤️

Attachment

Jimin smiled at the sight of your name on his phone. He hasn’t heard much from you since he left to hang out with his friends earlier in the evening. He knew you didn’t care about him spending time with his friends—you got plenty of his attention and you also had a social life of your own. You two were in perfect sync in your relationship, you prided yourself a lot on being the best partner and so did Jimin.

That didn’t mean you two didn’t like spending time with each other. When you weren’t at work or with friends, you two loved lazing around with one another; playing video games or cooking or your most recent hobbies of trying to complete a 10,000 piece puzzle. Jimin had impulsively purchased it online and roped you into doing it with him. So far, you’ve only managed to complete a corner of it but you were getting there. You had even gotten a table big enough to hold it.

Date nights were every Saturday and you took turns planning each one. Last time was your turn—you ended up getting tickets to one of Jimin’s favorite artists. He had tried to get tickets himself, spending hours on every device in the house to try and snag a single ticket. Unfortunately, they sold out and even the resale tickets were much too expensive. However, thanks to a few of your connections, you managed to get 2 tickets in a pretty good section. Jimin could have cried when he told him to get ready one night and drove both of you to the venue. Needless to say, he had a wonderful time and surprised you the next week with the biggest bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen and a shopping spree at your favorite store.

You two were perfectly in sync.

He opened the message as he sipped on his beer, promptly spitting it back out when he saw what popped on his screen. A cough racked his body, leaning over to put his beer on the coffee table.

Taehyung who was sitting next to him, clapped the distressed man on the back. “Whoa Jimin, are you okay?”

After his bout of coughing was done, his eyes watering and throat burning, he sat himself back up. He was handed a bottle of water by Taehyung, gratefully taking it and chugging down the majority of the drink.

“Thanks.” He breathed out. “Must have went down the wrong pipe.” He gave a pretty convincing smile to his friend. Taehyung just shrugged and turned back to the soccer game they were watching.

After making sure no one was paying attention to him, Jimin turned his phone over, holding it super close to his face. He did not want anyone seeing what was on his screen.

It was you, positioned in front of the large full length mirror in your shared bedroom—you were on your knees, sitting back on your heels which made your plush thighs look even thicker. With one hand holding your phone up, your other was holding up the end of the shirt you were wearing. That revealed your light pink thong that practically disappeared into the plush of your hips and thighs.

You had recently washed your hair, the coils now up in a puff that you often wore. He always thought it made you look sexy and adorable.

Right now, you looked like straight seduction personified.

Just as he was about to type a response, a video popped up and he swore his cock screamed at him. He turned down his volume before hitting the play button. He’s been burned one too many times in public when you’ve sent him naughty videos. You were thoroughly punished when he got home from the grocery store.

The video started. It started with you adjusting the camera, propping it against something. Probably the mirror since you were still in the same spot on the floor. You turned away from the camera, giving him a full view of your juicy ass. He gripped his so phone hard that he could have broken it, crossing his legs to try and contain the boner that was growing in his pants.

What really sent him over was when you started shaking your ass, the fat rippling and moving like god damn water. That insulting piece of fabric you called a thong was working hard to cover your pussy. He cursed the stupid underwear. Why did you even bother?

Then you leaned forward on your shoulders, reaching back to slap at your own ass before spreading your cheeks. You did that a few times before lifting and retrieving your phone to stop recording.

Another message popped up just seconds later.

Lover❤️

Hurry Home💋

He watched it a couple of times, each time getting him more and more horny. He needed to go home.

“Uh I have to go guys.” He said to his friends, awkwardly standing up to try and hide his raging boner.

“What? Why? You’ve only been here for 2 hours.” Taehyung asked, eyebrows furrowing. Guys night normally lasted well into the night and to tomorrow. They’d get so wasted sometimes that they’d all just crash in Namjoon’s living room. That and Namjoon would probably skin them alive if they even thought about drunk driving. He knew Yoongi, Jimin, and Jungkook would be good since they could hold their liquor but the remainder of their group weren’t as lucky. Also, he didn’t get his law degree for nothing. The lawyer in him would never allow them to break the law.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair. “It’s y/n…..” He silently hoped they’d just take that excuse without any teasing.

“Is she sick?” Yoongi tilted his head.

Yeah sure. Let’s go with that.

“Yeah! She’s been taking a new medicine and it gives her headaches.”

Yoongi squinted his eyes. It was a special talent of his to be able to point out when someone was lying. Easy enough when he was a conniving ass liar as well. Yoongi could lie his way out of a lie detector test.

After a few painfully long seconds, Yoongo shrugged. “Oh okay. Wish her well for us and call us if you need anything.”

Jimin let out a sigh of relief, grabbing his jacket and his car keys before bidding the others goodnight.

“I hope y/n’s okay.” Hoseok said after Jimin left. Hoseok was actually the one who introduced you to Jimin. He’s known you for a long time so he worried about you like a big brother.

“She’s fine. Jimin was lying anyway.” Yoongi hummed, sipping on his beer.

Seokjin groaned as he landed yet again on one of Jungkook’s properties, unhappily handing over his $200. “Stupid railroads. Huh, how do you know he’s lying?”

“Did none of you see how he was standing? He obviously had a boner. She’ll have a headache alright but not from some medicine.”

Jimin almost tore the door off its hinges. You had sent yet another photo on his drive home—a tasteful flick of your breasts, your t shirt held between your teeth.

His spotless driving record didn’t mean a damn thing to him tonight. As long as he didn’t get arrested.

He rushed to pull off his boots, stripping himself of his jacket and shirt on the way back to your bedroom. He almost tripped over the rug and slammed his forehead on the closed door, grabbing the handle to open it.

And there you were.

Laid on your belly, your feet swinging in the air, playing a game on your Nintendo Switch. The lights were dimmed, the warm glow of a lamp illuminating the room enough so he could see.

You turned your head at the sound of him opening the door.

“Ducky, you’re home.” Sitting up and moving your game console to the side, you held your arms open, ready to welcome him in your loving embrace.

If his cock wasn’t so hard right now, he’d think the sight of you grinning and waiting for a hug would be totally adorable.

3 wide steps was all it took to get him from the doorway to the bed, his body falling into your arms and knocking you back on the bed. Your giggles were pleasant, sugary sweet and like music to his ears.

Desperate pecks were scattered all over your neck and jaw, his hands already digging bruises into the plush of your hips and thighs.

Your short manicured nails ran through his hair and down his bare back, his warmth seeping into you.

“Did you have fun with the guys?”

He scoffed out a laugh against your throat, hand coming down to sharply slap at the side of your thigh.

He leaned back a bit to make eye contact with you, dark hair hanging in front of his siren like eyes. “You little tease. Did you think that was cute?”

Your eyes danced with mirth without a hint of feeling scolded, shoulders shrugging.

“Cute? No. Worthy of unbelievable sex? Yes.”

He could feel the cool band of your engagement ring as you stroked the back of his neck. For the thousandth, maybe millionth moment since he met you, he had one thought.

I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

“Mission accomplished.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer until you could feel his erection pressing into your barely clothed count. “Getting ahead of yourself, eh?”

His lips graced over yours, the smell of gum on his breath. “Never.”

His mouth left hot trails down your throat, hands lifting the large shirt you were wearing to reveal your breasts. No photo could compare to seeing them in real life.

He hissed as he took both of them in his palms, running over your dark nipples with his thumbs. You sighed at the feeling, finally getting a little relief from being pent up all day. You didn’t mean to pull your fiancé away from boys night but you started watching some of the naughty videos you saved in the Hidden section on your phone and you couldn’t contain it. It wasn’t until you reached a video on your engagement night that a sneaky little idea popped in your head. Sending pictures and videos were commonplace in your relationship. It derived from Jimin and you starting off as friends with benefits all those years ago. Despite being together for such a long time now, you just never stopped.

And you wouldn’t. Not when it made your fiancé fly home this quickly.

His tongue ran over your breasts, pushing the mounds together to be able to suck at both nipples.

“A-ah….Jimin….” You moaned.

He hummed against your heaving breasts, sucking purpling hickies into your chestnut skin. You were so soft, your skin fragrant with your body butter and the lightest traces of your perfume. The scent of your skin changed often since you loved experimenting with new lotions and perfumes but you always felt the same no matter what. Your hands still caressed him the same way, your eyes still held the same light, and his heart still pounded in his chest regardless.

After deeming your breasts marked enough, he whispered, “scoot up.” You did so that you were fully on the bed. He kissed his way down your soft belly and to your cunt, his hands never leaving you. Pushing your legs up so that he had full view of your fat pussy lips, he swore he saw heaven. It had practically swallowed your thin underwear, the fabric disappearing between your folds. He breathed out a curse at the sight of your already glistening heat. Just how horny have you been?

“Pussy’s so pretty, baby. You’re so pretty.” He hissed, massaging at the insides of your thighs, fingertips tracing your stretch marks.

You squirmed at the feeling of his hot breath against your aching cunt. You needed him so badly.

“Please….honey….” You felt breathless despite him not really doing anything yet. He just got you like that—desperate and needy.

He smirked. He should tease you but doing so would tease himself and his cock was way too hard for that right now.

He shushed you, pressing light kisses to your outer lips before finally, finally running his tongue up your slit. He moaned at the taste of you, never ever getting tired of eating you out.

His fingers hooked in the front of your thong, prying it from your soaked folds and off your legs. Tossing it somewhere he didn’t care about, he adjusted himself to be more comfortable between your legs. He wrapped both of his arms around your thighs, pulling your cunt closer to his mouth before diving in.

Your back arched, hands finding his soft hair.

His plump lips latched around your sensitive clit, sucking the little nub before flicking the tip of his tongue all over it.

Your head rocked back and forth against the pillows, the pleasure overwhelming but not enough at the same time. You needed more.

“Jimin……fingers, please.”

His hooded eyes glanced up at your from between your legs, taking in your heaving breasts and face that was twisted in pleasure. Just the sight made him want to give you even more, to see you when you completely fall apart.

Two fingers ran up your slit, his mouth still slurping and nipping at your throbbing clit before pushing them both inside. The slight stretch made you moan, your toes curling.

Jimin’s been made fun of for the size of his fingers for years but you never complained. Those things could still bring you to orgasm, sometimes faster than his cock could.

Pressing the pads of his fingers upwards, he expertly located that special spot against the top of your pussy. He knew he located it when your hips jumped.

Adjusting himself so that he was leaning on his arm that wasn’t knuckles deep, he began fingering you. His pace was slow but calculated, making sure he was rubbing against that spot every time.

Stars danced across your vision as sparking hot pleasure radiated down your body. With each press of Jimin’s fingers, you could feel that familiar and immense sensation prickling at you.

Your high pitched moan alerted Jimin as well. He knew your body like the back of his hand of course.

He popped off your clit, sitting up slightly to lean over you. His plump lips kissed at your collarbone before trailing up to your lips.

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?” His voice was saccharine sweet with a hint of teasing in it.

You unashamedly nodded your head, blurry eyes blinking at him. Your hands cupped your own breasts, tweaking the nipples.

Adjusting himself, he pressed his hand into the area just above your pussy, the fingers inside pressing even harder into your sweet spot.

“Hold your legs.” He demanded and you obeyed, gripping both of your calves to hold your legs open.

Inhaling a deep breath, Jimin began thrusting his fingers in and out of you in a blurring pace. A loud moan rang from your throat, your nails digging into your skin but you couldn’t even feel the pinch. His arms bulged with each stroke, a slight strain in them that he ignored.

That feeling grew from the base of your spine around to your belly, swelling and swelling until you were ready to burst.

The tell tale clench of your walls and the way your eyes crossed let Jimin know that you were close. The sounds of your cunt were loud and wet, arousal dripping down between your ass cheeks and staining the blankets.

When he pressed particularly harshly, one of your hands flew down to hold his arm that was pistoning in and out of your squishy walls.

“Ooohhhh my godddd-uhhhh! Jimin!” You cried.

“Cum baby.”

You were way ahead of him.

That dam burst, the clenching of your walls forcing Jimin’s fingers out of you, a clear spray of liquid following. His fingers went to your clit, rubbing it back and forth to help you through your orgasm.

His grin was wide. “Yessss, good girl. Good job.” He patted your clit and few times, splashing the remaining droplets around as you came down.

You deflated against the bed, ears still ringing and pussy clenching at the aftershocks. You were so out of it that you didn’t even hear Jimin unbuckling his belt nor did you feel him turning you over until he landed a slap on your ass.

He was almost at his limit. He’s been hard since he left Namjoon’s place and he needed to be in your cunt right now or else he’d combust.

“Up on your knees.”

You huffed but rose up on your knees, keeping your chest and head down on the bed. You brought a pillow under your chest to hug and bite down on because you both knew how loud you got from doggy. And your neighbors were definitely tired of you by now.

Jimin took a brief moment to admire the plushness of your ass and love handles, running his hands down your sides before gripping your hips. Hands free, he slowly slid into your awaiting cunt.

You moaned into the pillow as his girthy cock penetrated your walls. Jimin was just the perfect length and girth for you—not too long were it hurt and just thick enough to really make you feel it.

Once he was all the way in, pausing to take a breath, he slowly slid back out to give you an experimental thrust. You hummed before adjusting your knees slightly so that he could press into that spot on the next slide.

He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “You okay, baby?” Your heart pounded at his sweet consideration. He knows you’ve had uncomfortable sexual experiences in the past so he always made it a point to ask if you’re okay. While you’ve insisted you’d tell him if you were ever in pain, it still made you feel all fuzzy to know he’d still ask.

“Yeah.” You croaked out. “You can move.”

Sitting back up, he dug his fingers into your hips before starting to move his hips.

Deep and long thrusts that took your breath away, his balls slapping against your clit and sending tiny shocks through you. He perfectly jammed into your sweet spots, your belly tingling as pleasure overtook you once again.

“Fuck…” he cursed, head hanging low and eyes never leaving where you two were connected. “You feel so good. So tight.”

You moaned in response. “Faster baby.”

His hips clapped against your ass, the fat rippling as it bounced off him. He could watch this sight all day long and never grow tired.

You buried your face into the pillow, letting out pornographic like moans as your fiancé stroked you just right. He knew just how to move to melt you into a puddle.

Arching your back and spreading your knees a little more, you began throwing your ass back on him in a way you knew would drive him crazy.

He groaned, halting his hips to let you take over. “There you go. Throw it back baby. That’s it.” His right hand slapped both of your ass cheeks, loving how they jiggled under his force.

You lifted your head slightly from the pillow to moan out, “Your cock feels so good. I love it so much.” And you did.

His right hand gripped your left hip, starting his hips back up to meet each of your bounces. He couldn’t stop staring at the way your cunt began to cream around him, a thin ring forming around the base of his already arousal shined cock.

“I love you. Love this creamy fucking cunt.” He tossed his head back as your walls clenched around him. He was close.

Little “ah ah ah’s” came from you as Jimin practically carved his cock into you. His fingers hurt from how hard he was holding onto you, as if you could disappear if he let go.

He leaned his body down onto you, your legs spreading even more until you were almost pressed completely into the mattress. His fists moved to rest beside your head, lips sucking and nipping at the skin of your shoulder and neck.

Your sweat slicked bodies moved against one another, his chest pressed against your back as his thrusts became more erratic and fast. You moaned loudly, forgetting all about your neighbors. Jimin was hitting your spot just right, every fiber of your being on fire.

Everything just felt so hot and heady—the room low on oxygen and your bodies desperately chasing orgasm.

“Jimin….Jimin….Jimin….” You chanted, one of your arms unwrapping from the pillow to grab at his wrist that was by your head. Your other arm snaked under your body to rub quick little circles into your clit. “Right there baby. I’m so close.”

He grunted against your shoulder. “Me too. Cum baby.”

A few more rubs of your clit and your body was locking up as your orgasm washed over you. Jimin wasn’t far behind, a few more strokes and he was releasing inside of you.

Your legs completely gave out, body flopping against the bed. Jimin let out an airy groan before rolling over to lie next to you.

Both of you sat in silence for a moment trying to regain your breathes.

You stretched your body before rolling on your side to face your fiancé. His eyes were closed, chest moving up and down to calm himself. You moved to straddle waist, your cheek resting on his shoulder. His fingertips traced up and down your back, goosebumps popping up on your skin.

It was your turn to ask, “You okay?”

He hummed. “I’m fine. And you?”

“Good. Sorry I made you leave boys night.”

His laugh made his chest jump, a smile spreading across your face at the melodious sound.

“No you aren’t but it’s okay. Jungkook was beating Seokjin’s ass at monopoly so it was bound to be ruined anyway.”

You believed him. Seokjin was kind of a sore loser. Pair that with some alcohol and he had probably already flipped the table.

You chuckled, snuggling closer to his throat to place some light kisses there. “Guess I did good then.”

“Very good. I probably broke multiple traffic laws though.”

“You? My goody two shoes? Impossible.” Your sarcasm was thick and playful. He rolled his eyes, slapping your ass, your giggles joyful.

“I love you.”

You lifted your head to gaze into his tired eyes. “I love you too.” You pressed your lips to his in a slow and intimate kiss. “Round 2 in the shower?”

He smiled against your lips. “You read my mind.”

#bts #bts smut #bts x black reader #bts fic #jimin smut #bts imagines #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #seokjin smut #yoongi smut #taehyung smut #hoseok smut

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