#shoebox cars | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pellucid-constellations · 1 year

Text

My Everyday

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes was aggressive, annoying, and—worst of all—a hockey player. Not your type. At all. But, unfortunately, your roommate.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Minor injury, idiots in love <3, some angst, pining

a/n: My first fic in a century!! Thank you so much for reading if you’re still here. Depending on how this does I hope I’ll have motivation to write more! College athlete Bucky never fails to get me inspired :)

Masterlist

“What’s this punks name again?”

The breath you let out was long and excruciating. “I am not repeating myself.”

“C’mon, y/n,” Bucky whined, knocking his head back on the couch. He watched you bustle around the kitchen from his inverted vantage point. “How the hell am I supposed to swoop in and save the day if I don’t even know the kid’s name?”

“Okay, well, first of all—” the fridge door clicked shut with a swift motion of your hips “—he’s not a ‘kid’. I’m pretty sure he’s a few months older than you.”

“Semantics.”

“And second of all,” you stressed, pointing a butter knife in his direction. “There will be no ‘swooping in’. I’m going to have a nice date and you are going to go hang out with your puck rabbits or whatever they're called. There will be no thinking about me and no swooping in my vicinity.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, kicking up from the couch and rounding the kitchen counter to pick at your sandwich. You knocked his hand away several times, but you both knew it was futile. In the months you’d been living with the hockey player—who was far too big for the small, shoebox of an apartment you leased—you’d learned that food was non-negotiable for Bucky Barnes.

There were many other things you’d learned about him as well. He sang in the shower, but only when he thought you weren’t home. He had an annoying penchant for using your $30 lotion—again, when he thought you weren’t home. And he loved to throw his massive, smelly gear just about anywhere it would land right when he got home from every practice.

He didn’t really care if you were home for that last one.

Bucky was the last person you thought you would be rooming with when you posted that ad last summer. A small, quaint room previously occupied by your now engaged (and traitorous) best friend, you assumed someone like-minded to yourself would have taken you up on your offer. The price point wasn’t egregious and the building was relatively close to campus.

But weeks ticked by, and you started getting desperate. Your landlord wasn’t a nice lady, something you were positive she took pride in, and she decided that a rent increase was the perfect way to ring in the new school year. You were on the verge of destitution, and as it so happened, the only other person as desperate as you was the starting center for your college’s hockey team.

You hardly got along. It had taken weeks for your eye to stop twitching every time he tumbled through the front door at three in the morning, and even longer for you not to feel an infuriating aggravation at his random, nighttime smoothies. You supposed he probably felt the same about your cleanliness rules and your incessant reminders about trash days. Because Bucky was in charge of bringing the trash down those long, apartment steps. Not you.

But you’d be lying if you said things hadn’t gotten easier as of late. Conversation flowed more smoothly, things that made you seethe before were only mildly annoying, and Bucky was being… considerate? You weren’t quite sure what to call the random cups of coffee he brought home on occasion. Or his sudden urge to warm up your car when he had a morning class before yours.

There was also the case of that party last weekend. A frat party with far too many drunk men and not enough common sense, you had had the urge to leave the second you got there. But Wanda had dragged you along for the sole purpose of driving her home after she got hammered, so you were essentially stuck.

It was fine at first. Hot and crowded and loud, but fine. You kept a general eye on Wanda and scrolled aimlessly on your phone in the armchair you claimed. And then it wasn’t fine, because a man twice your size was encroaching on your space and unrelenting.

“What kinda girl comes to a party and doesn’t even wanna talk to anyone?”

“You want to come up to my room and watch a movie or something?”

“Hey, I’m talking to you, bitch.”

You weren’t even aware that Bucky had been at that party. It wasn’t surprising—the line between fraternities and sports was blurred at your college—but the space he took up as he intercepted the man in front of you was.

“There a problem here?” Bucky posed, crossing his arms over his chest, his presence looming above your seated position. His weight shifted to his toes.

The man didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, you. Move.”

“Wanna fucking tell me what to do again?”

“Fuck you, man.”

A harsh shove to Bucky’s chest was all it took for a right hook to echo in the living room of the frat house. There was chaos. Grunts and screams from the drunk people surrounding the unnecessary fight created a cacophony of unpleasant sounds that seemed to get the attention of someone in charge. The man—Brian, you had now learned based on screams—was pulled back from Bucky and getting chewed out by some president or manager of something.

And Bucky was seething, chest rising and falling laboriously as he wiped at the new bruise forming on his face.

Fights were not uncommon. But this one had been about you. For you.

“Bucky?” you asked when the crowd calmed and Brian was no longer in the room.

You watched his back release its tight coil. He turned. “Are you okay?”

The words were almost lost in the noise of the crowd, but he was close enough that they created a tactile vibration across your skin. His pupils were dilated and he looked so disheveled it would have been charming if there wasn’t also a cut forming on his brow.

“Y/n.”

It took you a moment to realize that you hadn’t answered him. Your response fell out of you as if you’d been shoved. “I’m—I’m fine.”

He grunted, but it was more of a puff of air. “The fuck was that guy?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, realizing by the way you swayed that you had stood up at some point. “He just—”

“We’re going home.”

“What? I can’t, I’m here with Wanda. I’m driving her, Bucky, I can’t just leave.”

He grabbed your wrist, the grip achingly soft compared to the blows he was landing minutes before. “She left with that British guy she’s been on and off with. Asked me to tell you.”

That explained his random appearance. Your brows pinched as you took in the information, eyes cast down to the angry red marks marring Bucky’s knuckles. He’d been in fights before. So many fights. On the ice.

This was different.

“I haven’t been drinking—I can drive myself home. You don’t have to leave,” you shouted over the music now bumping in the room.

He didn’t respond, not verbally. He pulled you to his front instead, leading you through the impossible crowd until cool night air began melting into your skin. His silence was strange. Bucky’s favorite activity was talking your ear off until you told him to shut up, but right now… nothing. Even his earlier words had been clipped.

You felt responsible for easing the tension in the air as Bucky continued to guide you to your car. You hadn’t told him where you parked, but he seemed to know the exact location anyways.

“You really don’t have to leave with me,” you mumbled. “It wasn’t a big deal or anything.”

“It was a big deal.”

The drive home had been silent. The walk to the door had been as well. Bucky spent a few minutes appraising you in the overhead light of the living room when you got inside, but after that there was nothing. He went to his room and you went to yours.

There was no discussion about it the morning after, either. Bucky apparently wanted to pretend nothing ever happened, so you respected that. Even now, you ignored the fading cuts on his hands as he shoveled food into his mouth.

Bucky’s next words were muffled by a mouthful of bread. “Well where’s this dude taking you at least?”

“Ice skating.”

The cough and sudden exasperation was very expected out of the man next to you, Bucky’s next words hardly containing syllables. “Huh?”

“We’re going ice skating,” you reiterated. You picked up your lunch and headed for the living room, ignoring the slightly heaviness in your chest. “It’s winter and ice skating is festive. The rink on campus has decorations.”

“Without me? Y/n, you’re gonna let some guy who probably doesn’t even know how to skate—”

“Bucky—” you attempted to interrupt.

“—drag you around the rink like a rag doll?” he continued, holding his hand up to mute your incoming speech. “I’ve asked you to come by the rink, like, a ton of times. You’ve never shown any interest.”

You rolled your eyes and shot him a cross look as he picked your feet up from where they rested on the couch and dropped them into his lap. He went on with his rant for a little while longer, knocking his head back against cushions and accusing you of being a bad roommate. You had a few rebuttals of your own, but there was a reason you had never accompanied him to the rink.

A good reason.

You didn’t date athletes.

It was true that simply going to visit Bucky at a practice, or letting him be the one to drag you around the ice like a rag doll, wouldn’t mean you were in a relationship by any means. But it would be an extra step. And if you were being honest with yourself, it would only take a few of those extra steps for the irritation you felt towards Bucky to melt into something else.

And you didn’t date athletes.

You did not.

You didn’t have the time, nor the patience, to put up with the cheating, the anger issues, or the crazy schedules. And there wasn’t a single athlete you’d met at your sport-centered university that was willing to compromise on any of those subjects. Especially the cheating. You’d learned that the hard way after dating a lacrosse player for approximately one month before receiving the dreaded DM from a girl you had never met.

The man hadn’t even given you the courtesy of pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. He just admitted to his wrong-doing and shrugged. Shrugged.

So athletes were not exactly in your good graces when it came to dating.

“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky cut through your thoughts, patting your shin in impatience.

You blinked and reoriented yourself, focusing on the hairs that fanned across Bucky’s face. “Of course I am,” you lied. “But my answer is still the same. I’m going on my date and you are not going on my date.”

He groaned, apparently giving up as he cradled your legs closer to him to lean over and grab the remote from the coffee table. He flipped the channel to ESPN—typical—and you ate your sandwich, silently cursing him. He had a TV in his room.

“When is it?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had knitted itself into a comfortable blanket over the room.

“Tonight,” you answered plainly.

The arms atop your legs tensed.

The dichotomy of the man sitting beside you was impressive. On one hand, he was so full of himself that he had missed almost all of your conversation starters due to being so transfixed by his reflection in the rink’s glass. He had yet to ask you a single question about yourself and had insisted that the four other girls skating tonight were in love with him.

On the other hand, he was, quite possibly, the most uninteresting person you had ever met. You were usually very quick to laugh, but every word out of his mouth was almost painful. He wouldn’t stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, gave you one word answers about anything other than baseball, and was honestly really terribly at ice skating. You were no pro either, but you found yourself on your back every time he tried holding your hand.

The tumble five minutes ago had you seeking out the penalty box on the side of the rink. You needed a break, you had told him, hoping he would continue on making a fool of himself and give you a moment alone. But he followed you instead, and was now sitting beside you, talking about baseball.

You supposed that was better than making you fall while talking about baseball.

“I bet we could do that,” he remarked, pointing out onto the ice and catching your attention. A couple who clearly had more experience than you was twirling each other around. “We definitely could. I pick up good speed.” You cringed. “I really don’t think we should try, Sean. My tailbone is already pretty bruised.”

“Oh, c’mon! I won’t try the throwing part, just the twisty stuff.”

“We are literally on rental skates. You will kill me,” you deadpanned. You were tired at this point and seriously questioning why you thought ice skating was a good first date idea.

Well, there actually was an answer for that. But you were not going to think about the hockey player that popped into your head when Sean asked you on a date in the dining hall last week.

Definitely not.

“I’m not going to let my date think I’m boring,” Sean groaned, yanking you up from your seat.

You gave a few tugs and words of resistance but they were ultimately useless. You figured it would be just as useless to tell the guy you already thought he was boring. He probably wouldn’t even hear you.

On unsteady skates, Sean guided you to a mostly cleared corner of the rink and gripped your forearms. He squinted as he surveyed the area, the corner of his mouth turning up in a way that made your stomach roll. This entire date had been a bad idea.

“Maybe we should just watch them do it,” you tried, words wavering.

“No!” he grinned. “No, we got this. It’s gonna look so cool.”

And then you were spinning. You’d never been spun against your will before, but it sucked. Your skates kept getting stuck in the divots in the ice and the grip on your forearms was close to bruising. You were starting to get dizzy and Sean showed no signs of caring. God, he really was dragging you around the rink like a rag doll. Bucky was going to get a kick out of this.

“Okay, ready?” Sean called, an unwarranted jubilation in his tone.

“What?” you yelled.

He didn’t answer you. Instead, he let go, and you went flying in another direction without a clear path. It only lasted a moment, but the sound of your head smacking onto the ice signified the end of that movement. You landed on your arm next, and then your back. Again.

This time felt different though. Your head was spinning and there were muted pinpricks trailing up to your wrist. The ache there was dulled compared to the biting iciness in your back, but as soon as you tried leaning on it to get up, it became sharp.

“Oh shit!” came Sean’s laughter-filled gasp. “My bad. I really didn’t mean to let go.”

You blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from your vision but it proved unhelpful. “I think… I think my arm’s broken.”

“Wait, seriously?” he asked, wobbling down to a seat beside you.

“Yeah, it’s—”

“Everything okay over here?” a voice interrupted. You tried blinking again to take in the man that towered over the two of you, but the lights overhead washed him out.

You recognized him…maybe? You felt like you were going to throw up.

Sean answered for you. “Yeah, man, we’re fine. She just fell.”

“Y/n, are you okay?” the man asked, ignoring your date completely.

“Do I know you?” you slurred.

You thought you heard a curse. “What made you think throwing her around was a good idea?”

“Dude, it wasn’t even that fast. Or my fault. She just couldn’t keep her feet under her.”

“Well, dude, maybe you should go home.”

Sean scoffed. “Right, and who’s going to take this one home?”

Your head was starting to hurt with all of the back and forth. The man that just joined, the taller one, kneeled down beside you. His blonde hair cast a harsh glare that had you squinting again.

“You want me to call Bucky?” he asked.

Bucky? How would he know Bucky? Blonde hair began morphing into a man in your memory, and you reached for the material of his shirt, looping it between your fingers.

“Steve Rogers?” you mumbled.

The man, now identified as Steve, sighed. “I’m calling him. Go home, Sean. Her roommate is coming to get her.”

There was more discussion, something about Steve having the authority to kick him out and Sean not understanding what all of the fuss was about. Steve warned him about something and Sean scoffed as if the situation was beneath him. And then he left.

Steve was then in your line of sight again, brows pinched together and a bright orange vest covering his shoulders. His hands hovered in front of you as if you’d break if he touched you and you almost found it funny. Steve was a huge guy with a lot of authority on Bucky’s team, but right now he looked like a scared animal.

“Why are you dressed like a construction worker?” you asked.

A small smile graced his face. “I’m working at the rink today. Everyone on the team has to take shifts during the holidays.”

“Hmm,” you hummed. “I think my arm is broken.”

“I know. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too. Let’s get you off the ice, yeah?”

You tried to nod, but that hurt too much so you let Steve assist you in shakily standing up. He guided you to the seats by the rental skate counter with a soft but sure hand on your back, asking some guy named Antonio for an ice pack. Everything around you felt like a fever dream.

Gentle touches rolled the sleeve of your sweater back to reveal a swollen wrist that Steve immediately covered with an ice pack.

He cursed again. “Well he’s gonna be pissed.”

“Who?” Your head swayed with the question.

Steve looked up to meet your gaze, lips parting to answer, when he was replaced by a different face. Your brain was having trouble keeping up with everything, obviously, because Bucky was in front of you now. He was kneeling between your legs with his hands on your face and you had no idea where Steve went.

“What the fuck?” you blurted out.

“Hey, y/n.” Bucky spoke your name low and soothing, his fingers moving to your eyes where he pried them open one at a time and looked for something you couldn’t see. His next words were directed over his shoulder. “Maybe a concussion. Tell me what happened again?”

“Sean Marcus was being an ass. Flung her all over the place,” Steve replied.

“Why are you here?” you interjected, trying to focus on one thing at a time. “I told you not to come on my date.”

Bucky moved his assessment to your arm next, shifting the ice pack. “Never really agreed to those terms.”

He turned back to Steve after that, having another discussion that you barely understood. Bucky absentmindedly fiddled with the material of your jeans as he spoke, and you put all of your energy into not face planting on the ground. This past week had truly been a series of terrible events with terrible men.

After some amount of time elapsed, you were walking to the parking lot with a jacket thrown over your shoulders and Bucky continuously jutting a hand out each time you took a step. He was very well versed in concussions, apparently.

“Okay, in you go, killer,” Bucky prompted, opening the passenger door.

You eyed the front seat, scrunching your face up. “My arm hurts.”

The man in front of you seemed to soften, his shoulders dropping on a long exhale. “I know, sweetheart. But we gotta go to the hospital to fix that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I should just call Wanda. Or Nat. You don’t have to be the one to take me.”

“I can take you just fine.”

“Why do you want to you? Aren’t you busy?”

Another long sigh, this one accompanied by hands on your shoulders, fingers at the base of your neck. “Get in the car.”

His eyes were boring into yours, searching for something, or maybe already finding it there. You still had your arm cradled to your chest and you titled your head to the side as you observed him. There was something else to his gaze that you couldn’t quite describe. It reminded you of his expression after he came home from a rough game. Angry. Discontent.

“You’re being weird,” you commented, breaking the silence you had created.

“You broke your arm and smacked your head on the ice,” he simply replied, as if the statement was an explanation.

“Yeah, but—”

“And then that douchebag did nothing about it,” Bucky interrupted. “So please, y/n, get in the car so I can help you before I find him and kick his ass. Because you know I’m not above fighting people.”

You blinked, and then slid into the front seat.

The drive was quiet. You’d never been in Bucky’s car before, but the spinning in your head didn’t give you much space to inspect it too closely. You caught hockey gear in the back, a keycard to the rink dangling off the rearview mirror, and a small collection of hair ties in one of the cupholders. One caught your attention.

“Hey, this one’s mine.” You picked up the purple band and rolled it between your fingers. “Thief.”

Bucky snatched it back. “Mine now.”

He made a sharp turn that had you sucking air between your teeth and repositioning your arm. Bucky sent you a quick, achingly apologetic look.

“Sorry, almost there.” A long beat of silence and then a mumbled, “I should keep your hair tie. You won’t be able to do your hair alone with a broken arm anyway.”

Your wrist was fractured, not broken. You also only had a minor concussion. This was all great news to you, especially since they told you after administering a hefty amount pain reliever. To Bucky, this was apparently terrible, life-altering news.

After practically body slamming into the front door of your apartment, he chucked his wallet and keys down on the kitchen counter and began grumbling to himself as he opened and closed kitchen cabinets. You watched from a distance, half amused, half concerned for the rusting hinges. He finally found what he was looking for—a cup—and continued to mutter to himself as he filled it with gatorade.

“Are you… okay?” you asked tentatively.

Bucky ripped the freezer open and manhandled three to four ice cubes. “I’m fine. You are not.”

“I’m okay now,” you assured. Bucky stalked over to you anyways, pressing the sports drink into your hand that was not wrapped in a cast.

You looked down at the glass and sent him a baffled look. He nodded at it and raised his brows, a silent demand for you to drink.

“Okay. And why do I need to drink gatorade?” Your words were slow.

“You were just on the ice and haven’t had any water for at least three hours.”

“Bucky,” you began. “I was ice skating recreationally for about thirty minutes. I don’t need to replenish my electrolytes.”

“Will you just… will you just drink the damn drink?” he groaned, gesturing to it with a firm hand. “Jesus, I can’t take care of you when you go and get yourself hurt by idiots. So just let me do what I know I can do, alright?”

“You don’t have to take care of me.” You were beginning to raise your voice, matching some of the frustration in the room.

Bucky threw his hands in the air, tugging at his roots on the way down. He moved further into the kitchen and leaned against the counter with stiff, rod-like arms propping him up. And then he sighed, long and profound as if this was the hardest conversation he’d had all year. His head hung heavy between stiff shoulders and you felt the environment shift.

You almost wanted to intervene on his thoughts again, to make some comment about the dishes in the dishwasher or pretend you were going to go take a nap. But he had something to say, something you needed to hear, and so you stayed. You blinked and clenched your fist in the uncomfortable silence, but you stayed.

“Y/n, I want to take care of you,” Bucky breathed out, words still directed toward the floor, almost too low to make out. “I’ve been tryna get you to see that for weeks now, but you’ve either got no clue or you want absolutely nothing to do with me.”

You stopped blinking, stopped fidgeting, stopped breathing altogether. You watched as Bucky drummed his fingers against the counter and still refused to look up. You swallowed hard because you weren’t clueless, but also because you wanted everything to do with Bucky Barnes.

And nothing at the same time.

“Bucky…” you began, with a tone of surprise you weren’t sure was believable.

“Don’t do it yet,” he stopped you. “Don’t…don’t tell me no yet. I’m still pissed as hell that you got hurt and you shouldn’t be alone with a concussion. I don’t need you avoiding me when you can’t even drive a car.”

“You’re being presumptuous.”

He snapped his head up, his eyes rushing back and forth between your own. The drumming on the counter ceased, instead replaced by balled up fists turning white under days old cuts and fading bruises. He didn’t say anything. You searched the empty air for a reply.

“I wouldn’t avoid you. I don’t know if I could avoid you—not anymore. You’re sort of a big part of my life now.” A good start, you thought. Not a real answer, but not a rejection.

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and eyed the drink still perspiring in your hand. You set it down at his observance, moving closer to his slumped posture in the kitchen.

But Bucky stood up straight at your movement, becoming guarded, stiff. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Bad timing, just forget it. You should try and get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to forget it,” you softly spoke, shaking your head.

He clenched his jaw. “And I don’t want to hear that you don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you. Not right now. I feel like I’m going insane, watching you go out on dates and having my best friend tell me that my girl—that’s not really my girl—is all banged up on the ice because of some asshole.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Bucky kept going, now pacing in the kitchen. “I mean, y/n, you’re my everyday. I wake up and you’re making coffee. You text me in class to ask what I need at the grocery store and then I call you after practice to make sure you got back to the apartment. I think about you so god damn much and I can’t believe there was a time in my life that I didn’t get to end my day in a home that has you. And you’re just my roommate. You want nothing to do with athletes, I get it—” he added, catching your eye in the middle of his rant, “—but, shit, I haven’t even looked at another girl since… well it doesn’t even matter.”

“Tell me,” you whispered. There were a million other things you could’ve said, a million explanations that would have made sense. But the two soft words stopped Bucky from tracking holes in the ground. They shoved him from his shallow breaths and made him look at you.

And, god, did he look at you. You must have been worse for wear. A hospital visit mixed with one too many tumbles onto solid ice probably had your hair in disarray and your face pressed with exhaustion, but his gaze was revering. Candy-coated red with soft blues melting below brows that fluxed with the movement of his lips; Bucky was beautiful, and he was looking at you as if you matched.

His tone confirmed as much, light and saccharin as he said, “That dumb movie a few weeks ago, the one about the superheroes. Your friends wouldn’t watch it with you so you made me. You were so excited even though it was awful and you were out like a light within the first hour. You rolled over onto me and I wasn’t gonna wake you up so I sorta just held you.”

He paused, trailing his eyes up to the light fixtures. “At the risk of sounding pathetic, it felt like I had you, you know? Like we were going through all our usual motions, but after I annoyed the hell out of you and you told me off, you were mine. I can’t… I can’t really picture that with another girl.”

There were very few times you had considered yourself speechless. But with Bucky Barnes standing in front of you, red-faced and vulnerable and still wearing the stupid hospital nametag they made him put on in the waiting room, you had no words. There was none of the arrogance you usually associated with him, no short-temper or pestering taunts. It was just Bucky, and he was pouring his heart onto the kitchen floor. For you.

“You get why you can’t tell me no just yet?” he asked, trying to get something out of you. Anything. “You can break my heart, but let me just make sure you’re okay first. And I can’t beat the shit out of Sean if we aren’t on speaking terms.”

The laugh that left you was one of disbelief, but the breathiness and accompanying tears fit the heaviness of the room. Your glossy eyes met Bucky’s and something flashed on his face, but it was soon out of your line of sight because you were kissing him. You were kissing him hard and your bodies were too close for the cast between you but it didn’t matter.

He didn’t respond at first, hand hovering at your back. But then he did and the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor was gone from your bare feet. He sat you on the counter, so gently, as if you were glass, and you let your hand brush against the cracks and divots of your home. The one that Bucky came back to every night to see you.

The one that had housed so many nights of confusion and longing and denial.

The one that had Bucky kissing the life out of you on the kitchen counter.

He pulled away first, forehead pressed to yours. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to do that.”

“You can do it again.”

“Oh, I will, baby.”

Laughter met in the air between you—sweet, short, intertwined. There was so much you wanted to tell him, so many instances like the one he shared before where you were left questioning boundaries and feelings and lines. But, you figured, there would be so many opportunities to tell him. So much time together.

“I texted Wanda that night,” you shared, interrupting the kisses he was pressing to your cheek. “After I woke up and you had taken me back to my room.”

He smiled against your skin. “What’d you say?”

“I told her I was an idiot—that I was falling for the enemy.”

Bucky ran a soft hand along the back of your head, a smirk lighting up his face. He was slotted between your legs and kept his other hand firmly pressed onto the kitchen counter, caging you in, making sure your arm didn’t hit the cabinets.

“And is that true?”

“I don’t know,” you hummed, connecting your foreheads once again, wanting to stay impossibly close. “Try to cure my broken bone with gatorade again and we’ll see.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes angst #marvel fanfiction #college!bucky

7K notes · View notes

matchingbatbites · 2 days

Text

Eddie is weird.

It's something that Steve knew long before he actually knew Eddie, the older boy's oddities and eccentricities on display for anyone to see. Past Steve used to roll his eyes whenever Eddie would push against the flow of normal, but present Steve enjoys it, Eddie's brand of different.

That's really the reason why he pretends not to notice when Eddie takes things.

Nothing crazy, nothing valuable, and that's honestly the real reason he hasn't said anything about it. He watches Eddie pocket bottle caps from the kids' sodas and paper clips from the Family Video counter, even the little tables from the pizza boxes when they have a movie night.

Steve doesn't understand why Eddie collects these little odds and ends, just sees it as another one of his quirks. Until he finally sees where everything is going.

They're walking to the corner store that's fairly close to the trailer park, the sun on its way to setting but not quite there yet. The conversation that flows between them is easy, easier than Steve ever thought it could be, and it makes something in him want to curl up and purr like a contented cat.

He's telling Eddie about something that happened at the grocery store today, when the older boy makes a soft noise of delight before crouching and grabbing something from the pavement. Steve barely gets a look at the penny, but he can tell from just a glimpse that it's seen better days and has more than likely been run over by a few cars, if the scratches on it are anything to go by.

Eddie makes another happy noise as he stands once more and tucks the coin into his jacket pocket, and Steve picks his story back up like nothing happened. It doesn't get mentioned at all, but Steve can see the extra pep in Eddie's step, like he's so excited over something so simple, yet trying to contain it.

His silent joy is contagious, and by the time they get back to the trailer, they're practically plastered together at their sides and giggling like children. Steve nearly forgets about the penny, until Eddie drops his bag of snacks onto the little kitchen table and beelines to his room. So, so curious, Steve leaves his own bag next to Eddie's before following.

The older boy is crouched on the floor by the bed, and Steve watches as he pulls out what appears to be a shoebox, possibly for a pair of work boots, and sets it on the bed. Steve gets a brief look at the lid and the chicken-scratch Crow Box written on the top before Eddie opens it, and a few things quickly make sense.

The box is full of little things, even more than what Steve has seen Eddie take and pocket, a clear sign that that has been ongoing for years. Little plastic dinosaurs and incredibly smooth or shiny rocks, a chain of colored paper clips and a plastic cup full of acorn hats. There's even an old pencil box that appears to house a small hoard of bottle caps, all different colors, tucked in neatly next to a handful of the pizza tables.

The whole collection is actually well organized, and Steve watches as Eddie takes the new penny from his pocket and drops it into a tin can full of other scratched and beaten coins.

"That's quite a collection," Steve says without even thinking, and Eddie looks up with wide eyes, like he wasn't expecting Steve to follow. Steve just crouches down next to him, resisting the urge to reach out and pick up one of the acorn hats, or one of the dinosaurs. "Any reason behind it?"

Eddie just shrugs and looks down at the box. He takes one of the shiny rocks and offers it to Steve, who gladly takes it and rolls it in his fingers. "They're weird, or actually, they're things that are so normal, they're invisible. Things people usually don't think about, or throw out, or walk right by. They're… different. But I like them."

God, Steve has never related to a feeling more. Seeing something that other people just brush off or ignore and wanting to be the one to cherish it.

"I can get that," he says as he drops the rock back into the cup with its siblings. "I mean, you're different, and I like you, so." His heart in his throat, Steve leans in and presses a kiss to Eddie's cheek before standing, and he again finds himself caught in Eddie's wide-eyed surprise.

"Steve-"

"C'mon, crow boy. We've got a movie to watch."

#i wrote this all the way back in october and apparently it got lost in my drafts #oops #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #joey writes

493 notes · View notes

vivwritesfics · 1 month

Note

I am unsure if you write for Lewis but if you do, could you write about y/n Lewis’ sugar baby?Age gap and all? If you don’t write that stuff that’s okay! I am sorry!!!

Hi love! I don't write for Lewis, but I do write for Nando (aka, another sexy old man) so I've written this for him

imagine being in your early twenties

imagine being a broke college student in your early twenties

imagine being a broke college student in your early twenties who catches the eye of an f1 driver

she had joined the sugar baby site on a whim

but mostly because she was desperate for money

her job was refusing to pay her

shady bastards

so, she joined the sugar baby site

fernando wasn't searching it as fernando alonso, the f1 driver

he was searching the site her nando, a guy with a lot of money who wanted some company

and then he came across her profile

well, she was cute

sweet

pretty

Nando knew she was the one he wanted to give money to

he messaged her

it took a while for her to agree to meet in person

nando still sent her money

her allowance to get her through college

but then college was over and he upped the money

he upped the money to the point where she didn't have to work

she agreed to meet him after that

she had her friends track her location while she went to meet him for dinner

fernando paid for everything

he was charming and polite and she couldn't stop herself from wanting to know more

drinks became a regular thing

fernando also gave her more than just her allowance

he sent expensive clothes and jewellery, an array of hand bags she never should have been able to afford

fernando started having her over to his place

although, she was the one in his car, asking to go back to his instead of her shoebox apartment

the money fernando sent her had been put to one side to save for something nice

she kissed him first

and it changed everything

well, he kept sending the money

even more of it

kept sending the jewellery and clothes and pretty bags

but he also kissed her

and only her

(she knew this and it made her insanely prideful)

and then he sent her the first set of lingerie

it was a message

one she was happy to respond to

and her response? to lay out on his bed wearing nothing but the lingerie and her prettiest necklace

#fernando alonso #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso fluff #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso smut #fernando alonso x reader smut #fa14 #fa14 x reader #fa14 imagine #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

435 notes · View notes

keeryscharm · 4 months

Text

steve harrington is the polaroid boyfriend.

a few are posed photos. there’s one of steve leaning against his car after it’s been freshly washed, his hands in his pockets, squinting slightly from the sun. in another he wears his family video vest and stands in front of the store before opening.

there’s the many candid photos you snapped. a shirtless steve in the kitchen, captured mid-yawn, coffee pot handle in hand. an exasperated steve telling dustin something none of you remember, but, judging by his stern expression, must have been important at the time.

eventually steve decided to “get you back” and began using the polaroid to take his own sneaky photos. his favorite is you sleeping in his bed while wearing one of his old basketball shirts. in another you were casually watching television before steve suddenly reached for the camera. your blurred hands are raised to stop him even as your mouth falls opens in laughter.

then there’s the photos others captured. sitting on the couch at a party, steve’s arm around you, smiling brightly as robin took over your polaroid. there’s one of your favorite photos, which you credit to max’s quick thinking. you were cooking dinner for the group in you and steve’s first apartment when, despite a watchful eye, a pot boiled over. steve had just cleaned it up and now you both stood in the kitchen, steve behind you with his arms around your waist, laughing at how your perfect dinner was off to an imperfect start.

you use the same shoebox you stored the earliest photos in, though now it’s nearly bursting. it’s still adorned with faded and peeling stickers and neon scrawls of you and steve’s initials.

inside the box is a love story on film.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #joe keery #my fics #my headcanons

583 notes · View notes

bigboppa01 · 2 years

Text

482 notes · View notes

footygirl114 · 5 months

Text

Escolta (Alexia Putellas X Reader)

Surprise! I bring you the first part of a new series as a birthday present! So happy birthday, and I hope y'all enjoy! 🧡💜

The shrill ringing of your phone awoke you from the light sleep you were in, opening your eyes the bright sun on the beach in Bali you were currently laid out on almost blinded you. Reaching over to the table beside you, you snatched the ringing phone sparing it a quick glance as you answer the call with a “Hi boss.”

“Y/N! How’s the time off?” she asks down the phone.

You look around the secluded beach you have been relaxing on as you answer with “Peaceful.”

Michelle, your boss, chuckles down the line as she says “I didn’t know that you could relax Y/N.”

“I never said I was relaxed, but it is peaceful” You answer her back.

“Secluded?” she asks you.

You chuckle and tell her “I haven’t seen a soul since my grocery delivery 3 days ago.”

Michelle laughs down the line and says “Well I hate to burst your bubble but your vacation is over, I have a job for you.”

For the last 11 days you had been on a secluded beach in Bali, trying to relax but also just enjoying the peace and quiet. It had been a long month working security for a group of British Diplomats who were traveling around the middle east working on peace deals. The few days of peace were needed after being consistently working for a month.

“Where am I off to this time?” you asked Michelle, as you finally sat up on the lounger you had been laying in. Your mind immediately working overtime thinking about what you needed to do in order to get back to reality.

“Actually, it’s a different assignment than you are used to but you are the only one I can trust with this one.” Michelle starts and when you do not interrupt she continues “I need you in Barcelona.”

“Barcelona? for what?” you immediately ask, your mind buzzing wondering if you missed some major news story.

Michelle chuckles as she says “It’s still a protection detail, but a more sensitive and less invasive one.”

She has you confused and you stand and start to gather your bag to walk back to your cabin as you tell her “Michelle, just tell me, you know I hate it when you are evasive.”

Michelle lets out a laugh as she says “Alexia Putellas.”

“Who?” you ask, continuing the walk to your cabin to start packing.

“She’s the most recent Ballon D’Or winner, the best woman’s player in the world, and she’s been gaining popularity and there is a some concerns for her safety when she’s attending events.” Michelle explains.

“What do they need me for? I know they’d have security at these events?” you ask, finally reaching your cabin and immediately starting up your computer.

“There has been some weird comments online, some fan mail sent in, and they want to make sure there is extra security without all the fuss of a full team.” she tells you.

You groan as you realise you will basically be a baby sitter for this one “You need a babysitter.”

“Y/N, this could be massive for us, if we can do well here this can expand our clientele and we can finally start to get into the sports world. So yes, I need my best employee to provide the best low-key protection possible to the best football player in the world.” she says.

“Flattery will get you everywhere Michelle. Send me the details and I will handle it” You tell her with a chuckle.

“thank you” she chuckles and you finish off the conversation with pleasantries, as you turn on your computer to get your self back to reality.

A week later you are parking the rental car outside of a nice looking apartment building right on the water in Barcelona, ready to head in and meet your new client. You had spent the last week visiting your shoebox of an apartment in London, that was pretty much used to store your stuff and be a landing pad between jobs.

Having read up on the client and the job, you knew you would be staying in an apartment the client’s manager organised for you in the building. You also spent much longer than you cared to admit googling Alexia Putellas. Something about her captivated you and now that you are about to meet her you feel a bit creepy that you know so many things about her.

Deciding to leave your bags in the trunk you walk into the apartment lobby, you were told that you were meeting Jose, the players manager, and that there was a seperate elevator to the penthouse apartment which was owned by Alexia. You walked in and looked around and noticed there was no doorman or security in the lobby, mentally noting that in your head you walked to the reception desk.

“Hola, how can I help you?” the gentleman behind the desk asked you with a smile.

Smiling back you notice his name tag and respond “Hola Miguel, I am here to see Jose.”

Miguel nods and says “Perfect, it’s the elevator on the far right, I will swipe you up.”

You stare at him for a second and respond with a “Gracias” and move toward the elevator, you hear his steps follow you and you watch as he pulls a card from his pocket and swipes it above the call button.

When the elevator arrives, he allows you to board and leans in and swipes his card again on the inside as he presses the button for the penthouse. He smiles and steps back saying “It’ll go right to the penthouse, and I will let Jose know you are on the way up.”

The doors close before you can respond, you spend the ride up and thinking over that whole interaction and how this job is going to be a lot harder than you expected if this is your first interaction. When you get up to the top and the doors open, you almost expect to have no one there but you are pleasantly surprised when you are met at the top by Jose.

“Y/N? Nice to meet you I am Jose” he immediately starts with when the doors open and he holds out his hand to you.

Shaking his hand you reply “It’s nice to finally meet you too.”

Before you finish speaking he turns and starts walking and says “Come with me, I do not have much time before my next meeting but I will get you set up.”

You move to follow and look around as you walk and notice a very formal living room and dining room you pass by, and then you pass through a doorway into a large open concept kitchen and family room. On the far side there is a hallway and you assume that there is at least one bedroom down it.

When Jose moves to the kitchen island he grabs and turns to hand to you a set of keys and a key card like the one use to get into the elevator. “The keys are for your apartment, 2 floors down, and the card is for you to get into the elevator here and up to the penthouse, it's a private elevator directly to Alexia’s unit.”

You continue to watch as he hands you a packet and continues with “you will find passes to the field, it will get you everywhere but into the change room. You will also find the schedule for the next few weeks of games and events we have already to committed too. This will change and things will be added but thats a rough outline. When Alexia is in her apartment we won’t be needing you, but anytime she leaves we expect you to follow.”

At this point you have taken everything he has handed to you and you follow along looking at everything, when he stops talking you look up and see him looking at something over your shoulder. You turn sightly and lock eyes with Alexia Putellas, immediately the first thought in your head is holy shit the pictures do not do her justice.

“Jose, is this my new babysitter?” she asks with a chuckle as she walks closer to you, you also notice she came from down the hallway you think was bedrooms.

Chuckling Jose responds with “Y/N meet Alexia, Alexia met Y/N the new security agent I have hired for you.”

You reach out your hand to her and say “Nice to meet you ma’am”

She reaches out and grabs your hand with a smile and says “please do not call me ma’am. Alexia is fine.”

“Noted ma’am” when she gives you the eye you correct “I mean Miss. Putellas.”

Jose chuckles and interrupts the staring contest by saying “I need to run, but I think you should be good from here.”

“I’ll walk you out” Alexia chimes in and follows him to the front door.

You stand there watching wondering if you should be doing something, and you decide to look at the schedule you were given. A few moments later you know she has walked back in, you were a highly trained operative after all, but you refused to look up.

You listen as she walks over to the other side of the kitchen island you are standing at and she says “So I think we need to set some things straight.”

You look up giving her your full attention and ask “what do you mean?.” It was a mistake meeting her eyes cause now you are lost looking into them, and you have to dig your nails into your palm to keep your self focused. It was a trick you had learned in your many years in the military to keep your mind present and not wonder on patrols.

“I didn’t want you. I don’t need extra security. This was all Jose’s idea and I really don’t think I need someone following me around.” she says as she crosses her arms over her chest watching for your reaction.

What she says doesn’t take you by surprise, its not the first time a client has said this to you and you know it won’t be the last. “You may not think you need it, but I have seen the videos and clips, and seen the messages you have gotten. You may not think you need it right now, but the whole point of hiring me is that I am going to work my ass off to make sure nothing happens and you continue to remain safe.”

She stands there for a moment staring at you and you feel like your being judged hard. When she finally shrugs and says “Fine, but I do not like this, and I need to make sure you understand that football is my life and I will not let anything get in the way of it.”

You feel like she is talking about more than just a protection detail but you can’t even entertain that right now. “Listen Miss Putellas, I got in to your apartment no questions asked by saying I was here to see Jose. Anyone could have done that, and that is not okay when you have no warning of someone coming into your apartment.”

“What?” she asks and moves around the island to your side.

“No one even asked who I was or why I was here, they just scanned me into your elevator. People are crazy and anyone could have found out where you live and come into your apartment. I will not let that happen, and the first thing I am going to do is make sure you are safe and comfortable in your own apartment.” When you finish you realise you may have gone on a bit of rant and immediately feel the blush rush to your cheeks.

She moves closer to you and says “You really are here to just keep me safe?” you nod and she continues “and you won’t get in my way?” She asks looking right into your eyes.

Nodding you answer “I understand passion, and I know what it feels like to have the drive you do, I will not get in your way. If anything I want to take this off your plate and make you feel confident in anything you are doing.”

The ringing of her phone causes her to jump back, and you notice how close you were to closing the space between the two of you. While she distracts her self by the phone, you move to gather yourself and your paperwork and you move toward the door.

“You will need to go to the lobby and get on the other elevator, but your apartment is 1212. I won’t be going anywhere tonight but I leave at 8am to go to training.” She says as she covers the mouth piece on the phone.

“I will see you in the morning.” you tell her and keep your self from looking at her by pressing the button on the elevator. When it arrives you move to get on it and you can’t help your self but look up and meet her eyes. She smiles and winks at you just as the door closes and you know you need to keep this professional, but you are going to be in big trouble while you try.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso imagines #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #espwnt x reader #barca femeni

770 notes · View notes

helen-with-an-a · 14 days

Text

Something About Finals pt 1

Hiya, so this was originally supposed to be all 1 story, but then I wrote almost 10K words so I've decided to split it up so the next part/s will be out tomorrow etc. This is inspired by the Pokal final when Lena fell and shouted 'mein Knie'. I hope you enjoy

Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2

Description: There's something about playing in a Final that R really hates

Word Count: 3.7k

Moving to Wolfsburg might have been the best thing to ever happen to you. Was it a huge risk? Maybe. 18 years old – almost 19, as you kept reminding your parents – and wide-eyed, moving to country where you didn’t speak the language and you had no one to call a friend to help settle you in. It could have been the worst mistake of your young life. Except, it wasn’t. Yes, moving had been terrifying … packing up your belongings into suitcases and buying a one-way ticket was something you hadn’t anticipated doing at such a young age. But the offer from Wolfsburg was too enticing. You made your debut for your childhood club at just 16 years old and the national team came calling a year later. Offers came flying in when you expressed to your agent that you might consider leaving the club. You had expected it to still be in the WSL; one of the Manchesters perhaps, or Chelsea, or Arsenal. You hadn’t considered even the slightest possibility that an international league was looking at you. But you couldn’t not go; this was a chance to play with the greats, to play in another league, to gain even more experience.

Your flat was small, a shoebox with a too small kitchen and an even smaller living room and bedroom, but it was yours. All yours. It also helped that you weren’t the only newbie … and by some coincidence, you lived right across from each other. You officially first met at your media and signing days.

“Hallo,” she said merrily. “Ich bin Lena, aber alle nennen mich Obi.” She stuck out her tanned hand, a wide smile on her round face. You understood the first part, but the rest confused your somewhat.

“Ha-hallo. Ich bin Y/N.” Your German was very stilted, but you were trying. You had a Club appointed tutor every Tuesday and Thursday to help you get to grips with the language. You had a Duolingo streak going, you tried to watch as much TV in German as possible, but you still weren’t the best.

“Do you want me to speak in English?” She asked, smiling wider at your relieved sigh.

“I promise I am trying, I’m just not very good.” You explained, you didn’t want to come across like a stereotypical Brit, you really were putting in the effort to learn the new language.

“It’s not a problem, I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time.”

And you did … although it helped that you spend basically every day with Lena who insisted on being your personal teacher. At first, it was on your way to training, since you lived opposite each other, you car shared. She would drive as you fiddled with the radio, slowly incorporating more and more German into your conversation. Then the car rides became after-training coffees where you would spend far too long chatting the afternoon away. Then the coffees became dinners and breakfasts, and before you knew it, Lena had cemented herself firmly in your life. She was your everything. Your best friend. Your person. And you wanted more. You wanted your post-match snuggles to be more than just two tactile best friends recharging after a hard game. You wanted your shared dinners to mean more than just two friends hanging out. You wanted your daily cuddles, your shared wardrobe, your stuff in her shower, your pictures on the wall to be more than just friendly interactions. You wanted to hold her hand, and place kisses on anywhere you could reach. You wanted to have to hold you and tell you how well you played and how proud she was of you. You wanted to look after her and for her to do the same. Looking back, it was easy to see how innocent you were.

It took the team’s Christmas party and an intervention for you to finally admit your feelings for each other. Too many of the girls had become too fed up with the strange push-and-pull dance you and Lena were doing to let you get away with it. Ingrid had marched straight towards you as you stared longingly at your best friend, oblivious to the looks you would receive back when your eyes darted away. Ingrid took you firmly by the wrist and dragged you into the bathroom, instructing you to stay put as she disappeared again. You were too shocked to do anything else until an equally confused Lena was shoved into the bathroom as well.

“Talk to each other, for crying out loud.” Frido had shouted through the door.

“You both are head over heels in love with each other.” Ewa clarified. The silence that followed was so, so awkward. You stared firmly at your feet as Lena leant against the sink.

“Is it true?” Lena asked first, breaking the quiet. You took a deep breath, this was it. You gulped, eyes never leaving the patch you had decided to stare at. “Look at me,” she demanded softly. You shook your head. You couldn’t watch your best friend, the person you considered the most important person in your life, reject you. “Bitte sieh mich an, liebling.” How could you refuse when she spoke so softly, so sweetly? You let your eyes drift up, taking in her outfit appreciatively before settling on her chocolate eyes. As your gazes met, your racing heart slowed slightly, your ragged breathing evened out, your nervousness melted away. She always could calm you down. “Is it true?” she asked again. “What Ewa said … that you … love … me? Is it true?” Your eyes danced nervously away, unable to hold her intense stare. “Please,” Lena surged forward, one hand coming to your waist as the other cupped your cheek, guiding you back to looking at her. “Is it true?” Her eyes scanned your face, taking in the festive makeup, the blush that she was fairly sure was due to her proximity rather than any product you put on or alcohol you had consumed. You bit your lip, nodding slightly.

“Yes,” you whispered so quietly it was barely audience. She sighed, relief flooding her system (although you didn’t know that) as she closed her eyes. You also squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to look at Lena as she voiced her flattery, but she really didn’t feel the same way and that you would always be her best friend and nothing more.

“I feel the same.” Your eyes flew open. The shock must have been apparent on your face as she huffed out an amused snort, her thumb rubbing at your cheek. “I want … this … us, for however long you want me.”

“You … you do?”

“Ja, of course I do.” You let out a surprised laugh. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that Lena liked you back.

“Do you wanna go out for brunch tomorrow?” You asked hopefully, a crooked smirk appearing on your face. She chuckled lightly, a loving expression filling her face.

“Like on a date?” She asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. You nodded. “Yes, liebling. I do want to go out for a brunch date with you tomorrow.” An infectious grin graced your features, hers following similarly.

It took three dates for Lena to officially ask you to be her girlfriend. It took another one for you to take initiative and kiss her. It took 4 months for you to properly confess you loved each other. After a year, you officially moved in with her. She was your everything and you were her all.

It wasn’t until the Euros that you realised just how much she meant to you.

You had always known this was a possibility. You were drawn in different groups, and then different quarterfinals, and then semifinals. And then you were facing each other in the European championship finals. Your home Euros. A packed Wembley and the nation backing you from their homes. All you had to do was beat Germany … beat Lena. Your victory would mean her defeat. Despite reassurances from her that regardless of the result she would still love you, you couldn’t help the nerves from bubbling up. Yes, you knew that logically she would never hold your success over you in that way – just like her winning wouldn’t change your feelings for her – but you were a worrier. After your Sweden game, you had spent over an hour on the phone, giving and receiving reassurances of your love, your pride and your well wishes.

It was barely 10 minutes into the game when it all went wrong. Funnily enough, you were marking Lena, stepping towards her to crowd her out of possession. You had succeeded as well, tipping the ball away just enough for Keira to collect it and start the English attack. It was as you turned around, extricating yourself from Lena … no, not Lena, it was just a German player, just a part of the opposition and not your girlfriend at this point in time … that you felt it. You had planted your foot and twisted, pushing off the grass to run into the open space. It was a move you had done thousands, if not millions of times in your life, both on and off the pitch. Something pinged, and then popped and your knee felt strange. You gasped at the pain, a shocked intake of air that had Millie and Leah looking at you in concern. The shout you let out as you went to the floor had Sara and Marina slowing their defensive block. Eventually, the ref’s whistle went when it was clear that you were not about to get up and continue play.

“Kid, talk to us, what’s wrong?” Lucy asked, her hand coming to smooth over your back. All you could do was let out a whimper in response, still clutching tightly onto your left knee, trying to push back the agony that was radiating through your leg.

“Medics are on their way, honey. Just hang in there.” Millie scratched at your head tenderly. All Lena could do was look on in deep, deep concern. She was frozen in place, near enough to the huddle of England players to hear the worry in their voices but not close enough to see your face. It was Lauren Hemp who nudged her, nodding at you, and telling Lena that you needed her.

“Obi,” you called out weakly for your girlfriend. All you wanted was her to wrap you up in her warm, strong, soft arms and tell you everything would be fine. Lena jumped into action, lightly pushing through the England girls to crouch at your side.

“Hey, liebling,” she cooed as she grasped onto your hand. You clutched it so tightly that she thought you might have broken her bones. “Is it your knee?” She asked, praying that it wasn’t as severe as it looked. You moaned, nodding slightly. The girls in the huddle around you all made eye contact with each other. You had gone down off the ball … in a twisting motion … and now your knee was causing you enough pain that you couldn’t speak properly. “Ok, liebe. The medics are here.” The circle split away, most of the English players leaving to regroup slightly further away. Lena had gone to move to the side as well. She could see the German team looking on with worry etched on their faces. You were good friends with most, if not all of the players – knowing them either through Wolfsburg or having being introduced through Lena in the 18 months you had been together.

“Don’t go.” You whined as the medics rolled you onto your back, looking up at her with tears in your eyes.

“I’m not, liebling. I’m right here.” She squeezed your hand three times. Ultimately, though, you were separated. You were loaded onto the revolting orange stretcher and carried off the pitch to a loud round of applause as Lena went back to the German huddle.

At half-time, Lena had tried to look for you on the England benches or in the tunnel but had no luck in spotting you.

“She’s still getting tests and stuff.” Jill took pity on the younger player, walking down the tunnel side by side. Lena nodded, clearing her throat slightly.

“She’ll be ok,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, trying to keep the nerves and bad thoughts from creeping in.

“She’s a tough little cookie,” Jill agreed. “We’ll make sure someone tells one of you if there’s any updates.” Jill had always taken an embarrassing aunt type roll in your life, keeping a solid eye on you during national camps and was one of the first to be introduced to Lena, alongside Lucy and Millie.

“Tell Poppi, uh … Alex Popp, if there’s anything to know.” Lena said quickly. Alex was injured and definitely wouldn’t be playing this game; she would be able to get the information and make a judgement on whether to tell the squad. Jill smiled and nodded before turning to the English back rooms.

Mixed emotions flooded you when the final whistle went. You had just won the countries first piece of silverware since 1966. You were European Champions. But it was at the expense of your girlfriend. You watched from the sidelines, crutches keeping you upright and stable, as Lena sank to the ground, head in her hands. You slowly hopped onto the pitch. You were slowed even further by the other England girls, they swarmed you, pressing kisses to your foreheads and gently squeezing you as you told them the news. Eventually, you made your way to Lena. She was in Poppi’s arms, Alex whispering reassuring and comforting words in her ears as they both cried. You didn’t clear your throat or make any indication you were there and waiting for her. Instead, you busied yourself with looking around the stadium, taking in the crowd singing along to Sweet Caroline.

“Hey, mausi.” Alex smiled at you.

“Hi, Poppi.” She pointedly looked at your crutches and then raised an eyebrow, silently asking you to confirm what she already knew. You nodded, a sad smile forming. She closed her eyes for a second, nodding and letting go of Lena and moving away, giving you to privacy.

“Hey, bubba.” You stood awkwardly, grimacing as you met her watery eyes.

“Hi.” She said dejectedly. You crutched forward once before Lena snapped out of her daze, rushing to you, and pulling you into a hug. “I’m so, so proud of you.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out.

“No, no, liebling, don’t be sorry. You deserve this, more than anyone else. I’ve seen you put in the work for this-” she stepped back, hands on your shoulders and she looked in your eyes.

“But so have you. And-”

“No, I won’t hear any of that. You are not apologising.” You sighed but nodded, nonetheless. “My girlfriend is a European Champion.” She smiled at you as she shook you very gently, quietly cheering for you. You couldn’t help the wide grin that appeared. It wasn’t until Lena scanned your body that she seemed to fully clock the crutches.

“Your knee,” she gasped. You hated telling anyone any form of bad news, but this … this was a thousand times worse than anything you’ve done before.

“I’ve done it. It’s torn. I’m having surgery back in Germany in like a week or so.” You blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling. You couldn’t even say the words … you had torn your ACL in a European Championship final … it made it too real.

“Oh, liebe …” Lena pulled you very gently back into a hug. “It’s ok. You’ve got this, ja. I’m not going anywhere, you will not be doing this alone,” she reassured you emphatically. You nodded, breathing in her slightly sweaty scent. “Now,” she said as you pulled apart after a long minute, but not long enough in your opinion. “You are going to go and celebrate, but not too hard,” she teasingly warned. “I’ll text you, ok?” You nodded, closing your eyes as her hand cupped your cheek. “Ich liebe dich.”

“Ich liebe dich auch,” you responded, letting her press a long and gentle kiss to your forehead.

Lena was true to her word in very sense of it. She had managed to finagle her way onto the same flight as you back to Germany – pulling both suitcases through the terminals and holding your hand for the whole duration of the flight. She walked next to you, never complaining at the snail’s pace that you crutched along the busy streets of Wolfsburg. She was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes after the surgery, the familiar grip of her warm hand helping you reorientate yourself in the land of the living. When you went from two crutches down to one, she was there, intertwining your fingers with hers as you tottered the length of the gym. When you finally got rid of both crutches, she was the first thing you walked to. It had been a surprise for her as she entered the gym, coming to collect you from your rehab as she finished her regular training session. You were alone in the gym – something that was very unusual considering the session had just finished and medics and trainers should be writing up notes all around you – but she watched with nervous anticipation as you gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher before you dropped your crutch and hobbled, very slowly, into her embrace. She had quietly cried into your shoulder as you pressed hundreds of kisses into her freshly washed hair. She was your personal cheerleader as she watched you run for the first time, laughing at Jule’s teasing comments from behind the camera as your progress was documented. When you finally ran on the grass, she had been like an excitable puppy – the unbridled delight she exhibited at your movements was infectious, lifting everyone’s spirits as the team watched on from further away.

Very tear you had shed; she had wiped away. Every harsh word and angry comment you threw her way; she had taken it in her stride. She had been your rock throughout the whole ordeal, and you don’t think you could ever repay her. You had surprised her with a fancy homecooked meal the day you told her about your return to full fitness. You had been given the all clear to rejoin team training that afternoon and you had been buzzing to tell her. It took everything in you not to spill as you arrived in the changing rooms. But instead, you had persuaded her, Jule and Sveindís to go spend the afternoon doing some light shopping, something that Lena had been missing out on recently due to your injury. You had rushed around the kitchen, cooking up a storm as you prepared all her favourite foods. You had just placed the finishing touches to the meal when she returned. You both had matching tears in your eyes when you told her the news. You were lucky, you where healing nicely and quicker than the average player. She had stood far too close to be considered work appropriate at training the next day, her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your back into her chest as you listened to the pre-training huddle. She had snapped you up as her partner for every drill, ignoring Alex’s, Svenja’s, and Jill’s comments about sharing you with the rest of the team. You couldn’t hide your excitement from her when you were cleared to return to the match day squad. You had bounded out of the medical offices and straight into the gym, squealing in pure joy as you approached her. She set the weights down quickly as you barrelled into her. She had kissed you with as much passion as possible when the words tumbled from your lips, sticking a middle finger up at the jeers from the rest of the team.

It was a cold evening in early March when you stepped back on the field. It was poetic justice really that you offered Lena the most perfect cross into the box for her volley into the back of the net. Barely 4 minutes on the pitch and you were back. It was like you had never been away. Each time you were made as a substitution you had an almost instant impact, creating chances as soon as you stepped onto the pitch. Your first start back had been one of the best experiences you’d had at Wolfsburg. The players were humming with enthusiasm for you, Lena’s arm wrapped around your shoulder until you had to walk out. Despite being subbed off at 70 minutes, you were still hot and sweaty at the end of the match, but you didn’t care as you jumped onto Lena, laughing as she staggered under your unexpected weight.

“Sie ist zurück,” Lynn cheered as Lena span around in circles, you clinging to her as your joint laughter filled the pitch.

“Ich bin so zurück!” You stuck your tongue out at Lynn jokingly.

Lena had been with you when you received the email from Sarina. If she wasn’t, she would have thought you were dying with the loudness of your scream when the England team email popped up in your inbox. She had wrapped you up in her strong embrace as your tears spilled over. You spent the day on the couch, watching Disney movies and definitely breaking your diet, your weight fully on her as you snuggled, both of you drifting in and out of sleep. It had been a rough 7 and a half months for you, filled with many, many dark days. But Lena had been there to hold you through it all, to guide you out of the tough times with gentle words and soft kisses filled with love and hope. You didn’t know if you could ever, ever repay her for everything she had done for you.

And then you were off to the World Cup.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3<3

238 notes · View notes

tasteleeknow · 1 year

Text

[ 11:05 ] “You know he loves you, don’t you?” Chan questions as he hands you his car keys. You fiddle with the soft toy that hangs between the keys, tugging at the small wolf’s ears.

Chan sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Just go.”

You take a step towards the door before hesitating, lifting your eyes to meet his. You’d have to trust he’d keep this conversation to himself. You could feel it already, the anxiety that would bubble up to your throat the second you left the apartment with this conversation unresolved.

Minho was leaving. He was moving out—across the country—and he hadn’t said a word to you about it. Sure, you didn’t live here. But you may as well have. You spent so much time and the apartment he shared with Chan they’d often joke about when you were going to start splitting the bills.

“What if he changes his mind?” you ask, managing to keep your voice steady. “If I do something… change how it is now… what if he changes his mind?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’ll know me. He’ll get closer and maybe he won’t like what he finds.”

Chan takes the keys from your hands, halting your fiddling. “Sit down,” he instructs gently, gesturing to the small lounge you’d taken to falling asleep on some nights. You do as he says, folding your hands in your lap as you wait for him to join you.

He doesn’t.

You watch as he disappears down the short hallway and into Minho’s bedroom, returning only moments later with a small shoebox in his hand. He doesn’t drag it out. He sits on the small table in front of you and opens the lid.

It reminded you a lot of the small box you kept under your bed in your childhood bedroom, a collection of miscellaneous things you’d attached memories to as you’d grown. A bracelet from your 11th birthday, a playing card you’d scooped out of the water on your trip to Vietnam, the paper mache rabbit you’d made when you were 8, the key to the padlock you’d used for your locker in high school.

This box was much like that. You don’t recognise anything at first, not until Chan digs out a small clay cat, one of your earliest attempts at moulding clay figures. It was an ugly thing, wonky and misshapen. Minho had snatched it from your hands when you’d announced it was going in the rubbish. “He can’t help being ugly,” he’d said. “He’s mine now.”

Chan passes the clay cat to you. He’s cuter than you’d remembered.

“They’re all from you," he says.

You look up. “Hm?”

“The box,” he clarifies. “They’re all things you’ve given him.”

You peak into the box, attempting to spot anything else you recognise. There are scattered pieces of paper, some are sticky notes you vaguely remember attaching to his bedroom door on days you’d visited when he wasn’t home. You pick one up and read it silently, ‘You missed me. Unlucky for you. I’ll be around Friday.’ You’d drawn a small rabbit in the corner.

Chan takes the note from you along with the clay cat. You watch as he places them back inside the shoebox and replaces the lid. “I shouldn’t let you go through it—not without his permission. I just need you to understand.” He places the box on the table beside him carefully, like it’s full of priceless porcelain. “You know him,” he continues. “He doesn’t make decisions lightly. He knows what he wants and when he wants something… that’s it. You’re it.” He sighs. “You know him.”

You look to his discarded car keys. “You still need milk.”

“I’ll get it. You’ll stay?”

You nod. “I’ll stay.”

—

He leaves shortly after that. Leaves you to pace as you wait for Minho to arrive. He was leaving. Leaving Chan. Leaving you. He hadn’t offered an explanation.

You jump as he knocks on the door. He expected Chan to be home. He wasn't expecting you. You press your hand to your chest and take one last deep breath before marching over and letting him in.

His eyes widen a little as he takes you in. You hadn’t seen him in two weeks now. It was the longest you’d gone without seeing each other since you’d met three years prior. You step aside to let him in, pressing your fingers into your clavicle in an attempt to ground yourself.

“I didn’t know you were coming around,” he says as he takes his shoes off. “Chan didn’t—”

“He left,” you interrupt. “Chan. He went out because he wanted—I wanted to talk to you.”

He stands and shucks his winter jacket from his shoulders. “Talk to me?” he questions.

You nod. “Would you… sit? Please?”

He looks a little nervous now. You wonder if he can see the same emotion in you. He sits exactly where you’d been sitting when Chan had shown you the box. He leaves his beanie on and you take in the way his brown hair peeks out around his neck. He waits.

You can’t find it within yourself to sit, choosing to stand across from him instead—leaving the small table between you. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “Mm,” he says. “Anything.”

“It’s a big ‘something’.”

“Okay,” he says simply.

“Would you stay?” you ask, tugging on your fingers. Your heart thumps in your chest. “If I asked you to stay, would you?”

His brow furrows slightly. “I—”

“Because I need you to stay. Please. I need you not to leave me. I know it’s a lot and I don’t know why you’re leaving and I’m sure it’s very important and I don’t even know if you want to stay here. Maybe you don’t but—”

“Wait,” he says, interrupting your rambling. You take a steadying breath as he stands. He tugs his beanie from his head and drops it onto the table. His hair stands on all ends. You desperately want to run your hands through it. But you can’t. Your knuckle pops as you tug a little hard on one of your fingers. “Leaving?” he questions, clearly confused. Alarm bells ring in your head. “Why would I leave?”

“Chan said—” you cut yourself off. Oh you were going to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze so hard he– “You’re not leaving?”

“No. But you thought I was…you said you need me to stay...” Minho says with a smirk, making his way around the table slowly.

“Forget everything I just said.”

“Can’t,” he says, his smirk transforming into a small grin. “Sorry.”

You could tell him you’d seen the box, a small voice in your head offers. Then you’d both be embarrassed. You snuff it out before it can fully form. If it was anyone else… But it was him. You’d take much worse than one-sided embarrassment for him.

“Alright. Well, Chan had his fun. I’m going home.”

Minho steps in front of you, cutting off your exit. “Stay,” he says simply.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Why?”

He huffs out a breathy laugh. “Because I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Why is that, by the way? Chan said—”

“Chan says a lot of things, apparently."

Minho collapses into the couch cushions beside you and throws his arm over the back of the lounge. You join him. “He said you were busy,” Minho says. “That you didn’t have time for us.”

“I was… sulking.”

He presses his lips together, failing to suppress a smile. “Sulking?”

“I thought you were moving out. Chan wouldn’t tell me why he said you’d talk to me when you wanted to. But you didn’t. I thought you were leaving without even talking to me about it.”

The hand over the back of the couch moves a little, then he begins playing with your hair—gentle fingers fiddling with the strands that fall over your shoulder. “I think it’s my fault,” he says as you struggle to regulate your breathing. “I said something to him a few weeks ago. Something that may have… caused this. I’ll fix it.”

His fiddling with your hair breaks a barrier, one that allows you to lean a little towards him and fix the strands of hair that stick on all ends. He’s quiet at first, letting you brush his hair out with your fingers. Then, just as you begin working on a particularly stubborn tuft right at his parting, he speaks, “I would never leave you,” he says. It’s almost a whisper. Gentle and quiet, almost like he hadn’t meant to speak it at all.

“You wouldn’t?”

He takes your arm, stubborn tuft forgotten. “I thought you knew that. I thought you knew that I…” he trails off as his eyes drop to where his fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Minho?” you whisper. He looks up. “I do. I know.”

He blinks, a brief moment of panic crossing his features as his fingers tighten on your wrist.

“I love you, too,” you add quickly, keen to end his anxiety. “So much.”

He blinks. Once, twice. Then he drops his head, letting his hair fall over his eyes. He takes a deep breath and you watch as he lifts your wrist to his lips. You can’t see the way he presses a kiss to your skin, his long hair obscuring your view. But you feel it. You feel his warm breath as he holds you there for a moment afterwards.

Then he lifts his head.

You catch a blur of his smile as he lunges at you, pushing you onto your back as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He keeps the majority of his weight off you and you bask in the warmth of him for the minute of two he stays like this. Then he’s sitting up again, tugging you up with him and practically lifting you into his lap. You wrap your arms around him, settling yourself comfortably against him as he releases a contented sigh.

“Did Chan tell you?” he mumbles as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“I knew before that.”

He groans, dropping his head back. You can see the tiny mole at his jawline: a target. You press a gentle kiss there. “I knew you loved me,” you whisper. “You’re so good at it.. so full of love. But I—I think I was afraid you’d stop, like when you see a stray cat and you’re afraid if you move it’ll startle…that it’ll leave and you’ll never get to try again. Having you as a friend is better than not having you at all.”

He lifts his head to look at you. You can see the way he’s fighting it, all the emotion. He doesn’t express it with words, but he doesn’t need to. It leaks from his eyes and from his gentle touches. “I don’t startle,” he grumbles after a moment.

You grin. “‘M’kay, whatever you say,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his for the first time.

#lee know fluff #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #stray kids fluff #kpop imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #minho drabbles

2K notes · View notes