Demi Imagines

Volley Ball

Requested by lovatoandswift xx

You're a volley ball player. You've always thought your coach was attractive...

"Look out!" Before you can comprehend what's happening, the ball collides with your face. These are the times that you wish you had better eyesight.
"Fuck," you hiss, stumbling back and falling to the floor as you hold your nose in pain.
"Are you okay?" Several girls come to your side, but your coach, Miss Lovato, pushes past all of them.
"Come here, sweetie," she says, helping you to your feet. "Let's get you cleaned up." She looks back to the other girls. "Keep practicing. Linda is in charge," she says.
"I'm really sorry!" the girl who hit you calls.
"It's fine," you respond, but you wince. You can feel your nose bleeding rapidly.
"You okay?" Miss Lovato asks, helping you into the locker room.
"Fine," you reply.
"Sit down. I'm going to get some tissues," she says, and you sit down on one of the benches. She leaves, and you breathe slowly through your mouth. It's only a dull ache now, but it's still annoying.
She returns after a moment with a box of tissues and some ice.
"I have no clue if anything is bruised or not. You're too bloody," she admits with a sheepish laugh.
"I think it's just my nose," you reply, smiling slightly.
"That's a relief," she chuckles. "Here." She hands you a tissue, and you wipe your bloody hands. "Let me take care of you," she says, gently wiping the blood from your face.
"Thank you," you say, and she smiles.
"No problem."
Every time she touches you, it feels like a spark shoots through you. Your heart skips a beat. It's like magic. You want her to touch you more. You want to hold her hand. God, she's gorgeous.
"You staring at me for a reason?" she asks as she carefully continues to clean up your bloodied nose.
"No," you lie, and she chuckles.
"Mhmm."
"You're just really beautiful," you admit, and she meets your eyes.
"Thank you." Her cheeks are flushed slightly from your compliment, and you find yourself smiling. "I would tell you you're beautiful as well, but I don't really know how you'd feel about that. I mean, you look like you just committed a murder with your face," she laughs, and you roll your eyes.
"Thank you?"
"How about we wash off your face?" she suggests, and you nod. She helps you to your feet, and you feel your heart beat faster. You go over to the showers, and you look down at your shirt. It's covered in blood, too.
"Would you mind if I took off my shirt?" you ask, and she glances to you as she starts up the shower.
"If you don't mind. It's fine with me," she replies, touching the water with her hand to see how warm it is. She reduces the water pressure slightly.
You pull off your shirt, careful of your nose. You go over to her side and start washing your face. You can feel her watching you.
"Here, let me," she says, taking some soap and gently washing your face. You feel your cheeks flush. Good thing she can't know whether it's from her touch or from the warm water—or your nose, for that matter.
She rinses off the suds before grabbing a clean towel. She hands it to you. "Don't worry about getting it bloody," she tells you, and you smile gratefully.
You dry off your face, and she hands you a few tissues. You hold your nose, and she helps you sit down again.
"Wait here. I'll go see if I can find some laundry detergent," she says, and you nod.
You wait for a while, and eventually, your nose stops bleeding. You look at the pile of tissues, and you sigh softly. This was a slightly embarrassing way to spend some time alone with your attractive coach.
She returns after a moment with a sheepish smile on her face.
"I don't have any detergent here," she says, and you shrug.
"It's not a big deal. I'll take home this towel and my shirt and wash them. I'll return the towel tomorrow," you say, and she smiles.
"Actually, I have some detergent at my house. I mean, we should really take care of that nose, too."
Is she inviting you to her house?
"Unless you have plans later," she adds.
Fuck, she is.
"No. I'll go to your house."

———

After practice, the two of you drive to her house together. You love how dating her would actually be perfectly okay. You're in college, she's only two years older than you, and she doesn't even officially work for the school. She comes in from the outside as a sort of part-time coach.
You arrive at her house, and you go inside. It's a gorgeous place.
"Make yourself at home. I'll go wash these," she says, taking the bag with your shirt and the towel in it.
"Thank you," you say, and she smiles before going toward the back, where you assume the washing machine is.
You go into the living room and sit down at the couch. Touching your nose gently, you smile as you feel it intact and not-broken.
After a moment, Demi returns, and she sits down beside you on the couch.
"You know, I've always had a bit of a crush on you," she admits, making your cheeks flush.
You smile and look down, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.
"I feel the same way about you," you admit, and she grins.
"You look so beautiful right now. Not like a murderer anymore," she jokes, and you roll your eyes.
"Thank you."
"Can I kiss you?" she asks, and you nod, your heart beating a mile a minute.
She leans in and presses her lips to yours. She tastes of vanilla, and you feel giddy. Touching her hip, you pull her closer. She leans into you, her hands moving to your shoulders.
You would have never thought you'd be happy to have a volley ball hit you in the face, but right now, you're pretty fucking happy.
I mean, it's sexy time bITCHES.

A/N
I'm crying
I loved writing this tho