#Battle Athletes Victory

[therosecrest]

[saint-miroir]

Series: Battle Athletess Daiundoukai (TV)

Publication: Dengeki G's Magazine (10/1997)

[littleeyesofpallas]

I was thinking about how i'd joked before about blond anime dragkings in the 90s having been a death sentence. But honestly there's only so many of those, and seemingly fewer and fewer in modern series... Where as the archetype that came about at the same time that really did get me down bad for the next decade+ was the tan skin, red (often messy) hair, big girl/muscle girl/sword girl/athlete. (with optional tomboy or feral personality)

(I'll admit a few of these I remembered differently in my head --either I remembered their skin being darker or hair being redder-- than what turned up once I started googling, but a few are definitely a conflict of in-game sprites vs official art, or having a more noticeably darker skin tone compared to the other characters in their respective show/game, but more light skinned looking on their own)

[pinkinsect]

watching haikyuu after being in the blue lock pit for a while is so refreshing. like they're so normal

[whosyourfavevoicedby-polls]

[talk-time-live]

EPISODE 344: The WAY of the HOUSE HUSBAND S2 

This week, we have a lot of news and thoughts on many subjects from Jeremy Renner, the prank that made Angela Bassett's son wait to Exhale, and thoughts on new movies coming soon in the month of January and more. 

Then in our TALK TOPIC of the WEEK, I give my thoughts on two anime shows you will want to add to your watch list. 

All this and more in this episode of A.C.M.G. presents TALK TIME LIVE!

[eevees-hobbies]

His Lucky Charm - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Haruka Sakura)

Author’s Note: Down bad for Haruka Sakura. As always, I appreciate likes, comments and reblogs. Requests/thirsts are open.

Synopsis: Sakura considers you his lucky charm that contributes to his winning fight record. How does it work? Well, he has to fuck you, duh!

Content Warning: All smut. Cum eating, reader receives oral, premature ejaculation, fingering, submissive Sakura, then dominant Sakura, teasing, shit-talking. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 1.8K

Divider by Saradika. Story banner by me.

“I’m going to beat someone’s ass today.”

To anyone else, those seven words dripping in confidence and lethal aggression would sound like a declaration of war. But to you, someone who knows your boyfriend—Haruka Sakura—you know those words are intended for you. 

He’s giving you a message. A pattern has developed between you two. Sakura has a fixed, unyielding mindset that if he has a fight that day, he needs to have you split open on his cock prior to the battle to guarantee victory. Because, simply put, you are his good luck charm.

Is it backed by science? Absolutely not. Does he believe it to his core? Bet your fucking ass he does.

So it doesn’t come to you as a surprise that you’re now in a position where you’re poised on your king-sized bed, staring up at the ceiling, legs spread with Sakura’s mouth making out with your cum-filled pussy.

“Mmm, eat up baby.” You purposefully clench your walls, forcing Sakura’s cum to flow out of you and into his open mouth.

“You’re a fucking pervert,” he sneers. Without missing a beat, his tongue darts out to catch the residual leakage, savoring the saltiness of his cum and the sweetness of your pussy. You can only see the top of his head from your vantage, but you can hear the whine in his voice as he laps at you hungrily. 

“What’d ya say, my little cum eater?” You tease, earning a quick bite to your inner thigh from Sakura.

He sits up and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, “let me put it back in. I won’t cum too fast this time, swear,” he states, trying his best to hide the way his voice fractures, a clear indication of his desire to have you again. 

Truth be told, Sakura is really good at fucking. He’s athletic, flexible, nimble with his fingers, and is capable of bouncing you on his dick until you can’t form a coherent thought in your pretty little head.

The keyword here is capable.

Sakura’s one flaw is that he has no control over when he ejaculates. Some sessions feel like they’ve gone on for hours, while others are over as soon as he pushes the tip of his cock in. He can’t help that your cunt feels like it’s actively deepthroating him and how entering you often sends him reeling and coating the entrance of your messy pussy with his seed. Every time he fucks you, you’re playing some lewd version of Russian Roulette. Will he or won’t he?

A Few Moments Ago

Sakura had tapped the head of his fat dick against your swollen clit, watching as your wetness formed droplets on the smooth head of his cock. He couldn’t help but drool at the way your cute little clit twitched for him as if beckoning him to abuse it more. 

You, however, were squirming beneath him, his inadvertent teasing feeling like your own personal hell. “Sakura, hurry up!” 

Your attempt at sounding commanding landed on deaf ears–he’s too far gone with the only thought on his mind: coating his dick with your thick cream so he can win his fight today. As he slid into you, you barely had enough time to adjust and savor his girth before he let out a hitched gasp. 

You witnessed what was happening as it played out on his face before you felt “it.”

“It,” being his dick spasming pathetically, an untimely victim to your slick, tight walls.

Sakura knew it, too. His neck, face, and ears were a bright red, and his mouth was opening and closing as if he wanted to say something, but the premature orgasm that was being ripped from his body didn’t allow him the privilege to do so.

A slippery warmth suddenly slid down your thighs, and your eyes widened, “Sakura, don’t tell me that you just fucking came.”

“Um, I can get it back up. Give me a second.” He reached his hand down in between you both and pulled back so he was stroking his softening dick in his hands, gazing at your body with such intensity that it made your walls involuntarily clench.

But fuck this. Fuck that. It was cute the first twenty times. Now you’re feeling less than merciful after experiencing being cruelly edged into what feels like insanity.

“The least you can do is clean it up.”

Sakura’s hand stops pumping, and his eyes dash over to your exposed pussy, which is now leaking his cum onto the bedsheets. “Y-you want me to eat you out with my…’stuff’ running out of you?”

The audacity.

“Sakura,” you enunciate his name as though you’re giving him a warning. You’re thankful that he doesn’t call your bluff because he positions himself between your thighs and begins to get to work like the dutiful boy he is.

Now

“Sakura, get back to work,” you growl and shift so that he has a clear view of your waiting sex. He grumbles but dives back in.

You can’t help but bite your bottom lip. For all the things that Sakura is, he’s an excellent—and messy—eater. The way he spits a glob of spit on your pussy, swirling it around with his tongue and pushing it into you to add to your already oversaturated hole, makes your head float. 

“Mmm, fuck, you taste so fuckin’ good, baby.”

He slips his middle finger in you, and you take it with ease, having already been temporarily stretched out by his cock. As he curls his finger against your g-spot, an area that he’s proud to have found on his own, he presses an open-mouthed kiss against your clit, then another, and another.

The inside of your thighs contract almost painfully, the sensation of his mouth allowing you to get closer to that orgasm that escaped you moments before, fuck, you’re so fucking close, god, here it fucking comes-

Until Sakura abruptly pulls away, leaving the absence of his finger and mouth very apparent.

“I’m hard again. Let me fuck you,” he whines as he palms his dick which is now dripping globules of precum on your leg. If you weren’t so horny, you’d be flattered.

As you contemplate how many years a murder charge would get you and if orgasm denial is a reasonable enough defense, Sakura lets out a frustrated growl and flips you onto your stomach.

Yeah, murder is lookin’ pretty good right about now.

You feel Sakura press his body against yours, his cock dragging heavily against the top of your ass and down the expanse of it. You give him a little twerk, smacking the fat of it against the underside of his cock.

Sakura growls and slides his dick back into you slower and with far more care than you anticipated, either because he’s attempting to avoid a repeat of his little incident from earlier or because he’s savoring the feeling of entering you. 

It makes no difference to you as you feel your senses overload from just being in such close proximity to him. Everywhere his skin touches you, you feel the charge of electricity. Where his fingers brush against the fat of your thighs, goose bumps soon follow. Fuck, even the smell of the tangy sex of your two bodies mixing intoxicates you.

God, this man. 

His mouth is pressed so close to your neck that the heat of his breath tickles the shell of your ear. “Fuuuuck, why do you feel like you were meant for me?”

His words relax your body, softening muscles you hadn’t known were rigid, “that’s because I am meant for you, Haruka.”

Your words ring in his ears like a sermon he didn’t know he needed, a mantra delivered off the tip of your tongue that drives him wild. Your words give him the unspoken go-ahead to hold your wrists behind your back and piston his hips forward, ramming into you so hard that you’re being forced forward, causing the bedsheets to rub against your nipples in a way that makes you shudder.

“Shit, every time I fuck you, I win a fight. This pussy’s that fuckin’ good.” The Sakura who had accidently cum inside of you was long gone, replaced by this confident and sex-possessed man.

And god, does it feel so good to finally have your cervix abused by him.

“You gonna’ cum on this dick, baby? Help me win my fight?”

Words aren’t coming quickly to you–a consequence of him slamming into you so hard that your body is shifting upwards and making it difficult to catch your breath, but you give him your best hum of approval.

You can feel his fingers squeeze your wrists so harshly that you’re confident that they’re going to leave delicious indentations and maybe even bruises for you to wear like a badge of honor over the next few days.

“Haruka,” you whimper, “I’m not going to last much longer.”

He sputters out a half laugh-half moan, “Shit, ain’t that funny.” You can’t see it, but you can feel the cocky grin he has on his face as he delivers a hard smack to your ass. The way you clench around his dick makes Sakura’s leg shake. 

“You liked that?” He palms your ass roughly, jiggling it against his hand and making it bounce.

At this point, you don’t know what’s more shameful: the fact that your pre-ejaculation-prone boyfriend is giving you a run for your money or that he’s now giving you shit. Either way, the switch in his attitude from being so pathetically pussy-hungry that he was licking up his cum to now restraining you and pounding into your cervix is a pleasant and pleasurable mindfuck.

Oh shit.

At that moment, Sakura finds the spot in you that makes you rasp out his name. You can barely concentrate on all the sounds that he’s pulling out of you, but the distinct sound of splashing makes your cheeks hot, the mixture of his cum, saliva, and your fluids splashing out and coating Sakura’s pubic hair and thighs.

“F-fucking cum already,” he growls in your ear. You then realize that this is a competition for him. He’s holding back his orgasm not out of consideration but simply out of spite. And if you hadn’t already had so many orgasms stolen from you, you might have been able to play his game and give him a run for his money.

Wishful thinking as you bite the bedsheets, stealing the satisfaction he’d gain from hearing the earsplitting moan that erupts from your lungs as, finally, your cunt grips and squeezes at his cock.

Sakura lets out a chuckle—because he fucking won—that is quickly replaced by his loud whine as his inhumanly large load floods into you. Several minutes pass before either of you can move—heavy breathing and residual groans fill the room.

Finally, Sakura dismounts you, but not before delivering a smack to your ass triumphantly.

Asshole

“I gotta go, but thanks for the extra mojo, babe.”

You close your eyes, completely spent, and whisper, “have fun winning your fight,” before drifting off to sleep.

[wosos-stuff]

Fractured Reflections

Lucy Bronze x Bronze Reader

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

The first time you realized your relationship with Lucy was fractured beyond repair was during an otherwise ordinary family dinner. You were both home for the holidays, seated at opposite ends of the table, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

Your parents were oblivious, filling the silence with forced cheer and small talk about football. Your father praised Lucy’s latest performance with the national team, and you could see the pride in his eyes as he spoke about her accomplishments. Lucy, as always, deflected the praise with a modest smile, her eyes never once meeting yours.

It wasn’t that you resented Lucy’s success—you were proud of her, truly. But that pride was buried under layers of hurt, anger, and a sense of abandonment that had festered for years. Lucy had always been the golden child, the one who seemed destined for greatness from the start. Meanwhile, you had fought tooth and nail to carve out a place for yourself, to step out of her shadow and be seen as something more than just “Lucy Bronze’s little sister.”

But no matter how hard you tried, how much you achieved on your own, it always seemed like you were chasing after her, doomed to play catch-up in a race you could never win.

That night at the dinner table, something inside you snapped. Your father had just finished talking about Lucy’s latest victory when he turned to you, asking about your upcoming match with Arsenal. It was a big game, one that could determine whether your team would advance in the league, and you had been preparing for it relentlessly.

But before you could respond, Lucy cut in with a comment about how “every game is important,” her tone dripping with condescension. It was a small remark, barely noticeable to anyone else at the table, but to you, it felt like a slap in the face—a reminder that no matter what you did, it would never measure up to her standards.

You pushed your chair back and stood up abruptly, the sound of the legs scraping against the floor cutting through the awkward silence. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you muttered, before turning on your heel and walking out of the dining room.

You could feel Lucy’s eyes on your back as you left, but you didn’t look back. You didn’t want to see the indifference you knew would be there, the same indifference that had been growing between you for years.

---

The rivalry between you and Lucy only intensified as the season progressed. It wasn’t just a matter of sibling rivalry anymore—there was genuine animosity between you, fueled by years of unresolved tension and unspoken words.

When your teams faced off on the pitch, it was like a battle of wills, each of you determined to prove something to the other. You could see the fire in Lucy’s eyes every time she squared off against you, and you knew she could see the same in yours.

The media loved to play up the ��sister rivalry” angle, painting it as a friendly competition between two elite athletes. But behind closed doors, it was anything but friendly. Every interaction was laced with sarcasm, every conversation a minefield of hidden barbs and thinly veiled insults.

You tried to talk to her once, after a particularly brutal match that ended in a draw. Both teams had fought tooth and nail for every inch of the pitch, and by the end, you were both battered and bruised, physically and emotionally.

As you walked off the field, you saw Lucy ahead of you, her head down as she made her way to the locker room. For a moment, you hesitated, considering whether or not to approach her. But something in you—perhaps a lingering hope that things could still be fixed—made you quicken your pace to catch up with her.

“Lucy,” you called out, your voice strained from the effort of keeping your emotions in check.

She stopped but didn’t turn around, her posture rigid. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice cold.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “We need to talk. About… everything.”

Lucy turned then, her eyes narrowing as she looked at you. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said flatly. “You made your choice a long time ago.”

You stared at her, stunned by the venom in her voice. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who shut me out! You’re the one who always made me feel like I wasn’t good enough!”

“Because you weren’t!” Lucy snapped, her eyes blazing. “You were always trying to compete with me, always trying to prove something. I didn’t have time for that. I was focused on my career, on being the best.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “You’re so caught up in yourself that you can’t see how much you’ve hurt me, how much you’ve pushed me away.”

Lucy crossed her arms, her expression unyielding. “Maybe you should stop blaming me for your own insecurities.”

That was the last straw. The fragile thread that had been holding you together snapped, and all the anger, hurt, and resentment you had been holding in came flooding out.

“Go to hell, Lucy,” you spat, turning away before she could see the tears that were starting to well up in your eyes. “I’m done with you.”

---

After that confrontation, you and Lucy barely spoke. On the rare occasions when you had to interact—at family gatherings or team events—the air between you was thick with hostility. The few words you exchanged were curt and laced with sarcasm, and it wasn’t long before even your parents began to notice the growing rift.

But they didn’t understand. No one did. To the outside world, you and Lucy were still sisters, still family, still bound by blood. But blood wasn’t enough to bridge the chasm that had opened up between you.

The media continued to hype up your rivalry, turning every match between your teams into a spectacle of sibling drama. But they didn’t see what was really happening, didn’t see the hatred that was growing in your heart, festering like a wound that would never heal.

You threw yourself into your training, into your matches, determined to outshine Lucy on the pitch. But no matter how well you played, no matter how many goals you scored or accolades you earned, it never felt like enough. The shadow of your sister loomed over you, a constant reminder of everything you could never be.

And Lucy, for her part, seemed to thrive on the rivalry. She played with a level of intensity that you had never seen before, as if she was determined to crush you beneath her feet. Every victory she claimed felt like a personal attack, a reminder that no matter how hard you tried, she would always be one step ahead.

---

The final straw came during the last match of the season, a game that would determine the league champion. Your team had fought its way to the top, and now, you were facing Lucy’s team in a winner-takes-all showdown.

The match was brutal, both teams pushing themselves to the limit in a desperate bid for victory. You and Lucy clashed on the field time and time again, each encounter more intense than the last. It was as if the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you, locked in a battle that neither of you could afford to lose.

In the final minutes of the game, with the score tied and everything on the line, you found yourself with the ball at your feet, racing toward the goal. You could feel Lucy closing in on you, her presence a cold shadow at your back.

You were so focused on the goal, so determined to score and prove once and for all that you were just as good—no, better—than your sister, that you didn’t see the tackle coming until it was too late.

Lucy’s foot connected with the ball, sending it flying out of your reach, and you went down hard, the impact jarring every bone in your body. The referee’s whistle blew, signaling a foul, but it was too late. The chance was gone, the game was over.

As you lay on the ground, pain radiating through your body, you looked up to see Lucy standing over you, her expression cold and unfeeling. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something in her eyes—regret, perhaps, or guilt—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

She walked away without a word, leaving you to pick yourself up off the ground, the bitter taste of defeat heavy in your mouth.

---

That was the last time you saw Lucy. After the match, she disappeared, throwing herself into her training for the national team. You heard rumors that she was considering a move abroad, but you didn’t care enough to ask if they were true.

The rift between you had grown too wide, the hurt too deep. There was no going back, no way to fix what had been broken.

Your parents tried to mediate, to bring you back together, but their efforts were in vain. You were too far gone, too consumed by your own anger and resentment to even consider reconciliation.

In the end, you and Lucy went your separate ways, the bond between you shattered beyond repair. You were no longer sisters, no longer family—just two strangers who happened to share the same blood.

And as the years passed, the memories of what you had once been—of the closeness you had shared, the laughter, the love—faded into the background, overshadowed by the bitter reality of what you had become.

You continued to play, to chase after your dreams, but there was always a shadow lingering just out of reach. The rivalry with Lucy was over, but the emptiness remained, a constant reminder of the sister you had lost, and the fractured reflections of a relationship that would never be whole again.

[maxarchive]

Max Verstappen is named as one of the TIME 100 Most Influential People of 2024

Over the past 12 months, Max Verstappen has won in Miami and Monaco and Abu Dhabi. He’s won in Japan and Qatar and Austria and Hungary, and other places across the continents. No athlete has enjoyed more victory laps, in more disparate places around the world, than Verstappen, the Formula One driver who has won three straight F1 championships. Verstappen, who races under the Dutch flag, is so confident behind the wheel that during at least one race he’s been able to keep an eye on the screens around the track in order to watch the battle going on behind him. Orange-clad fans flock to his races to cheer him on, while others, dressed in the outfits of rival teams like Ferrari and Mercedes, boo him on the podium. The $3.2 billion Formula One business, which grew 25% in 2023, now centers on a singular question. Can anyone stop Verstappen and the Red Bull Racing machine? He’s entrenched—quite comfortably—in the driver’s seat.

[pitchsidestories]

WHEN IS THE DAMN SEASON STARTING??? - Documentaries to watch when the summer break is feeling too long

Recommendations for a long, rainy summer day with no plan other than to relax

Queens of the Pitch

It offers an early glimpse at a film about the team that in the 2020/21 season won their first ever Champions League title, the league and the Copa de la Reina.

where to watch: BARÇATV+ (you can sign up for free)

Copa 71

Told by the pioneering women who participated, this is the extraordinary story of the 1971 Women's Soccer World Cup, a tournament witnessed by record crowds that has been written out of sporting history - until now.

STEP BY STEP. VIV & BETH'S ACL JOURNEY

Step By Step is a five-part series charting the duo's absences and rehab as they battle back from their serious setbacks to star once again for the Arsenal's women's team.

where to watch: youtube

Under Pressure. The US Women's World Cup Team

Follow the US Women's National Team to get a behind-the-scenes look. The strain, the elation, the excitement, and the struggles that these athletes go through as they pursue their third consecutive World Cup victory.

where to watch: netflix

Short Snacks for in between or when you don't have too much time because summer is finally here but you still miss womens football

The movie. FC Barcelona vs. Olympique Lyon

A third European title and a historic quadruple are conquered with a superb display capped by goals from Aitana and Alexia.

where to watch: youtube FC Barcelona

The Conti Cup Final. In Our Own Words

it features exclusive interviews with the squad and never-before-seen footage from the match against Chelsea, allowing you to relive our victory through a brand new lens.

where to watch: youtube

Leah Williamson's Return

After being sidelined for 10 months with an ACL injury, Leah Williamson finally returned to the pitch for a Conti Cup clash against Reading. The feature includes exclusive dressing room footage alongside interviews with Leah and her teammates.

where to watch: youtube

Alessia Russo's first season

Relive her first few months at the Arsenal.

where to watch: arsenal.com

You need more recs ? Part 1 can be found here. <3

[therosecrest]

[avissapiens]

How to be a Jock Ch8: Elements

(Model ID: David Laid // https://www.instagram.com/davidlaid/)

Sharp, hardened, honed. Forged in the fires of ruthless ambition  until that jock edge is so fine you can cut through the competition like butter. Mined out of the rough ground up masses and refined into something finally valuable. Pounded and molded into the shape you know will suit you best. Melted down and recast at the smallest sign of failure or impurity. Always polished and glinting in the sunlight like a medal on a star athletes chest.

The Metallic Jock core might seem cold and unapproachable at first. But when jocks meet the clashing and crashing of those ores can glow red hot. Sparks flying as they compete to be the best. Yearning for more. Never stopping the constant battle for self-perfection. Squeezing, bending, deforming, but never breaking. Never stopping. Too powerful to ever be broken. Both a link in a chain and the chain itself capable of holding the whole world up. Rewarded with glittering treasure beyond belief. The steely gaze of your eyes claiming conquest over every resource you covet. Flaunting that ownership and superiority with your weaponized body. Those cut, abs like titanium plating. The sheen from your sweat and exertion over bronze sunkissed skin; the perfect mirror for lessers to gaze in with envy. That vice grip over what you have won and what you desire to win. Abundance and endless victory totally magnetized towards you.

Let your potential and greatness surge through you like a copper wire. Let them lust after your success like gold and silver while you remain as stainless and strong as reinforced steel. You are sharper and harder than damascened iron.  Clear the path ahead of you and become something pure and great. Authors note: I was very annoyed that tumblr doesn't have Yellow as a font colour which is my go-to for jock. So just imagine all the Blue highlights are Golden.

For Resources to help embody your Jock Journey you can check out the Jock Archetype guide for free on Patreon. Support me on Patreon, where you can find a number of high-quality Jock file exclusives. And go and follow me on Youtube for just a taste of my catalogue. Also be sure to Join me and my community on Discord where you can get instant updates for everything important in the abyss.

[delusionalfanficwriter]

head injury

Y/N had been an integral part of Arsenal Women's Football Club for three years. Her journey with the team had seen them through victories, challenges, and unforgettable moments on and off the field. During this time, Y/N had cultivated deep connections with her teammates, and they had become more than just friends and fellow athletes; they were her soccer family. As this season progressed, Arsenal found themselves facing a crucial match against their fierce rivals, Chelsea. Y/N, being her tenacious self, was right in the thick of the action. Her partnership with Leah on the field had always been one of Arsenal's strengths, and they synchronized like clockwork. Arsenal was known for its fluid passing and attacking style of play, and Y/N played a pivotal role in their success.

The first half of the match saw both teams battling fiercely for dominance on the field. The intensity was high, and both Arsenal and Chelsea were pushing their limits.

During a set piece, as Y/N went up to contest a header, an accidental collision with an opposing player pushed her back into the goal post, her head ricocheting off the metal post.

As the ball was kicked to upfield, everyone cleared around the goal, but the stadium fell into a hushed panic as Y/N lay motionless on the ground. Leah, her girlfriend, was the first to reach her. 

Kneeling by Y/N's side, her voice trembling as she cried out, "We need medics!" Leah shouted, her heart racing seeing Y/N's eyes closed. Leah reached out, placing her trembling hand on Y/N's cheek, hoping to rouse her. "Y/N, I need you to open your eyes for me. Hey, Y/N, come on. Open your eyes."

More teammates gathered around as panic swelled, their faces etched with worry. Jessie Fleming, Y/N's sister, dropped to the ground beside Leah. She reached out to shake her sister's shoulders, but Leah stopped her.

"You can't move her, Jessie," Leah cautioned, her voice strained with fear. "Her neck or back might be injured." Jessie nodded in understanding and opted to stroke little strands of her hair that have fallen from her ponytail, out of her face. 

Leah and Jessie tried their best to awaken y/n but nothing seemed to work.  

Finally, the team's medical staff arrived as well as medics, their expertise evident as they swiftly assessed the situation. They took every precaution to stabilize Y/N's neck and spine, carefully fitting a cervical collar around her and turning her over.

“We need some space guys.” The older medic informed Jessie and Leah but they remained in their spots. Jordan, McCabe, Kerr and a few other of their own teammates had to physically pull them back. They now stood a few feet away watching one of the medics speak to Y/N, trying to coax her into consciousness while another examined her vitals.

As the medics worked for a few minutes, Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, revealing her dazed and confused expression. She tried to sit up, but the medical staff gently held her down, reminding her not to move. Y/N mumbled incoherently, and Leah leaned closer, straining to catch her words before going right next to y/n side, hating the sight of seeing her so lost and scared. "It's okay, Y/N," Leah whispered, her voice trembling. "You had a tough collision, but the medics are here to help you."

“Y/n, you need to lay back down. Everything is going to be okay, but try not to move so much.” Jessie crouched down and spoke as she noticed her wanting to get up once again.

Y/N's consciousness wavered like a flickering flame. She struggled to comprehend her surroundings, her eyes darting aimlessly as confusion clouded her thoughts. Jessie's plea to stay still seemed to fall on deaf ears, and Y/N's movements grew more erratic.

Leah held her girlfriend's trembling hand, her voice quaking with concern. "Y/N, please, lay back down. You need to stay still. Everything is going to be okay." She desperately hoped her words would reach Y/N through the haze of her dazed state.

The medical staff worked with a sense of urgency, attempting to keep Y/N from further harm as she teetered on the edge of consciousness. They continued their assessments, monitoring her vitals, and told Leah and Jessie to try to keep y/n engaged in conversation to keep her awake.

Y/N's attempts to engage back in the conversation were sporadic and disjointed, and it became increasingly apparent that the injury was more severe than anyone had initially thought. Her responses were fragmented, and she struggled to maintain her focus.

Leah squeezed her hand, her voice trembling with worry. "Y/N, do you remember our first date? We went to that little café near your place, and it was pouring rain. You laughed when I slipped on a puddle."

Y/N's eyelids fluttered, but her gaze was unfocused. She mumbled, "Rain... yeah," but her voice was barely audible, and her response lacked the warmth and clarity it once held.

Jessie, trying to hold back tears, added, "And what about that time we played football in the park with Dad? You always said you'd be better than all of us."

Y/N's lips twitched in an attempt at a smile, but it was fleeting. "am... better," she mumbled, her words disjointed and distant. The memories, which should have elicited laughter and connection, now seemed to be slipping away from her grasp.

As Y/N's condition worsened, she suddenly gagged, her face contorted in pain, it was a distressing sight, and the medics reacted swiftly,  turning her onto her side to clear her airway and prevent any choking from the vomit that arose.

Leah's voice quivered as she tried to maintain Y/N's focus. "Y/N, stay with us. We're right here with you. Keep those beautiful eyes of yours open."

But Y/N's response was a mere groan, and her eyes slowly rolled back, her body growing limp. The medics exchanged concerned glances, realizing that her condition was rapidly deteriorating.

Without a moment to lose, they immediately placed an oxygen mask over her face, ensuring she received a steady flow of oxygen. Simultaneously, they carefully slid a backboard beneath her, immobilizing her spine and neck to prevent any further damage during transportation. Moments later, an ambulance sped onto the field. Y/N, still unconscious, was swiftly and gently transferred onto a stretcher, her body secured and placed into the ambulance. Leah and Jessie immediately followed behind inserting themselves into the ambulance not caring if they were in the middle of a match. 

As the ambulance raced towards the hospital, the sound of the siren echoed in the confined space causing Y/N to begin to stir. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself disoriented, with the oxygen mask covering her face. In her groggy state, she attempted to remove the mask, her hands reaching up to pull it away.

Leah noticed Y/N's movement and gently placed her hand over Y/N's to stop her. "It's okay, love," she reassured, her voice soft and soothing. "You need to keep that on for now. It's helping you breathe."

"Y/N, it's okay," Jessie whispered, her hand resting on Y/N's arm. "You're in the ambulance, and we're on our way to the hospital.”

Y/N's eyes shifted from Leah to Jessie, her gaze still hazy. She attempted to speak but found it difficult. The words came out slurred and unfocused. "Why...hospital?"

Leah's fingers gently brushed Y/N's hair back from her forehead. "You had an accident on the field, love. The medics are taking you to the hospital to make sure you're okay. We're here with you, and everything will be fine."

Jessie leaned closer, her voice soothing. "Just relax, Y/N. The hospital will take good care of you, and we'll be right there beside you."

Y/N, though still disoriented and in pain, found some comfort in their presence. She nodded weakly and allowed them to reposition the oxygen mask, focusing on their voices to keep herself calm.

[willowsnook]

gin and whiskey with lemonade in a cooper mug 😋

carlos sainz x wnba!reader

watch your fucking mouth

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

People would think your proudest moment this past season was winning Rookie of the Year or leading the league in assists. But for you, it was something much more trivial. Your team had unanimously agreed that you were the most likely to go pro in any other sport you tried.

Some people are just born with it, and you had it. Golf, pickleball, distance running, and even bowling—you had a natural athletic gift. That’s why you loved participating in celebrity charity events, especially getting to hang out with other athletes.

Unfortunately, this passion led to a memorable incident last year at a charity golf tournament. You’d been paired with F1 driver Carlos Sainz, and the two of you were truly a match made in hell. It all started when Carlos questioned if you really wanted to hit off the men's tee instead of the women’s. That pissed you off. The satisfaction of watching your ball sail past his was one of the best feelings in the world—and the tight frown on his face made it even better.

Snide remarks were traded for the rest of the day, leading to a grand finale that went viral. It was the final hole, and you were tied with Carlos, who had already finished at 2 under par. Cameras and fans were everywhere, watching your last shot.

"Take all the time you need, cariño," he called out, smug.

"Watch your fucking mouth," you snapped, locking in and sinking the final putt, one stroke under to win. That moment blew up on TikTok, quickly becoming known as one of your "coldest" moments.

The next time you saw him was at a celebrity softball game. You actually ended up being on the same team which meant that your feud would be fine right? No.

Much to your team's dismay, you and Carlos spent more time trying to one-up each other than actually playing the game. The final straw was him hitting a walk-off home run. You left immediately after, too annoyed to celebrate with the team. There was just something about that man that drove you crazy.

Unfortunately, the feud with Carlos brought in a lot of PR exposure, which led to today. You stood with your arms crossed, glaring at Carlos, who was giving you the same look.

Because F1 had a race in Austin this weekend, your team’s marketing department thought it would be a great content opportunity to partner with Ferrari while they were in town. They’d set up a series of mini-games for you and your teammate Maddy to play against Carlos and Charles Leclerc.

The first game was knockout. After a quick round, it was just you and Carlos left, both sinking shot after shot. You finally missed and panicked, but Carlos missed his next shot too. As you went for a layup, you suddenly felt arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground.

"No way, mi amor," Carlos whispered in your ear, swatting your ball away before sinking his shot. You couldn't help but laugh, actually enjoying yourself.

The next game was chess, where Charles easily wiped the floor with everyone. Finally, the day ended with pickleball, and this was where things got competitive. Carlos was used to playing padel, but he was still dangerous with a pickleball paddle.

The match started intense, neither of you willing to back down. Eventually, Maddy and Charles gave up, leaving the two of you to battle it out. After what felt like forever, you hit a quick shot that left Carlos twisted on the ground. Your victory cheer faltered when you noticed he wasn’t getting up.

Jogging over, you felt a mix of concern and annoyance that the marketing team was more focused on capturing the moment than helping.

"You good?" you asked, stopping next to him.

Carlos groaned. "I think I pulled something in my groin."

Groin injuries were no joke, and you immediately knelt beside him. "Show me where," you demanded, and he smirked.

"Give me your hand, and I’ll show you," he flirted.

"You’re unbelievable," you replied, trying to sound annoyed but failing as a smile tugged at your lips.

"It actually does hurt, though," he added seriously. You called out for an athletic trainer, and when you helped Carlos up, he draped an arm around your shoulder, leaning on you for support.

"I told you that you’d get hurt fighting her," Charles said with a grin, watching you lead Carlos away. Carlos shot him a glare as you smirked.

Later, Carlos lay back on a training table with ice packs on his thighs. You sat on a nearby table, legs swinging as you chatted with the trainer. When she left, Carlos looked over at you.

"You didn’t have to stay this long," he said.

You shrugged. "I can’t have my biggest competition out for the celebrity charity season, can I?"

He chuckled softly, the tension from earlier easing. "Guess not."

You offered a small smile, leaning back on your hands. "Besides, who else would I argue with during these charity events? No one else is as fun to beat."

"Fun?" he said, raising an eyebrow, his tone teasing but with a hint of challenge. "You call this fun?"

You laughed. "As fun as watching you squirm every time I win."

Carlos propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes locking with yours. "You do realize you’ve been driving me insane since the first tournament, right?"

You opened your mouth to reply with a sarcastic retort, but something about the intensity in his gaze stopped you. Your breath caught for a moment, and instead, you said, “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”

A silence hung between you, but it wasn’t awkward. Something was simmering there—unspoken words and tension that had been hidden beneath all the banter and competitive fire.

Carlos broke the silence, his voice softer this time. "Maybe we should stop fighting, then."

You raised an eyebrow. "And do what instead?"

"Try something new," he suggested, his lips curving into a slow, confident smile. "Something a little less competitive."

Your heart skipped a beat as his meaning became clear. The challenge you saw in his eyes wasn’t about sports anymore—it was something deeper, something that made your pulse race.

"Are you saying you want to stop losing to me?" you quipped, trying to keep things light, though you could feel the shift between you.

Carlos laughed, shaking his head. "I’m saying I want to stop pretending that this... thing between us is just rivalry."

For once, you didn’t have a snappy comeback. You just looked at him, your competitive nature melting into something warmer. Maybe all those charity games, the teasing, the constant push and pull—it was never just about proving who was better. It had always been an excuse to be close to him, to feel that thrill.

You stood up from your seat, stepping closer to Carlos as he sat on the edge of the training table. His eyes followed your every move, the air between you thick with anticipation. You didn’t know where this would go, but you knew one thing for sure—you were done pretending.

"So what’s the plan, then?" you asked, your voice just above a whisper.

Carlos leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing as always, but with a hint of sincerity. "I’d say it’s about time we call a truce."

You smiled, biting your bottom lip. "A truce, huh?"

He nodded, his gaze softening. "Unless, of course, you’d rather keep fighting."

Without missing a beat, you closed the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was brief but enough to send sparks through you. When you pulled away, Carlos grinned, that same cocky smirk he always had when he thought he’d won.

"Don’t think this means I’m going easy on you next time," you said, your voice playful, your heart still racing.

Carlos chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Wouldn’t dream of it, cariño."

[lessi-lover]

ILYSM- maybe when reader is feeling a bit down and viv makes sure she feels supported and loved? love you!!

you understand me II v.miedema x reader

summary: you have a panic attack but your girlfriend is there for you. ★ you understand me II v.miedema x reader

the grass glistened under the floodlights, raindrops blending with beads of sweat, as they traced the curves of exhaustion etched into every player's face.

but there was one face amongst both teams that shone with a fierce focus, a resilience that the torrents of the weather couldn't dampen, - vivianne miedema arsenal's star striker, or better known to you, your girlfriend.

the final whistle blew, signalling another hard-earned victory, another night where your team would travel home scraping out yet another difficult win, another night in which you and your girlfriend would fall into bed with sore muscles, tired eyes, but hearts full. you barely noticed the weight of the rain soaking your kit; the thrill of the tough win lingering heavily on your mind.

you pushed through the stadium's corridors, the sound of your boots against the concrete creating a steady rhythm in your ears, as your head began to space out.

reaching your locker room, you immediately stripped yourself of your rain soaked clothes, immersing yourself in the warmth of the shower. you scrubbed your body clean, a few nasty tackles had resulted in a lot of grass stains, and a few small cuts that you knew your girlfriend would fret over, much to your displeasure.

drying yourself, you dressed yourself in your girlfriends, your plain cream shorts, and an arsenal hoodie you had been gifted by Steph, for secret santa. you brushed your wet hair, neatly braiding it into a plait, before packing away your belongings and heading out of the stadium.

walking out, you were met with a dizzying amount of photographers shouting your name, and yelling out questions. your mind raced, the pounding in your ears unwavering. you pushed your way past begrudgingly, your usually patient persona completely left behind.

as you neared the bus, you pulled your hood over your head, there was only one person you wanted to see right now.

you knew Viv would be waiting for you at the end of the bus, her arms open widely, with a comforting smile adorned on her face, and with the exact words you needed to hear.

walking past the girls seated on the bus, you could feel a swell of emotions cloud your head. the chatter and laughter of your teammates became a distant hum, as you felt tears brim in the corners of your eyes. each step towards the back felt heavier, laden with the weight of the 90 minutes you challenged your body to play for.

despite your best efforts to stay composed, the strong walls you had built up began to crumble, dragging you down in the destruction. you felt your last veneer of strength begin to fade, mirroring the harsh toll of your day. the barrage of flashing cameras, loud speakers, invasive fans and the sheer physical exertion of the game, left you utterly drained and with nothing to do but try and gather the pieces by yourself.

you longed for solitude, for a single moment in which you could just be you. The persona of the calm, enthusiastic, indefatigable athlete was a heavy mask to wear, and in this moment you felt it start to slip.

nearing the end of the bus, your steps became slow, your laboured breaths echoing in your ears. you yearned for viv. her presence was a light in the haze of your crowded head, a promise of comfort and love. she knew the unspoken battles, the silent sacrifices, the relentless push against one's limits that came with the demanding lives you both chose.

finally reaching viv, you saw her sitting down, arms open, a sanctuary in the storm. her smile, so raw and familiar, able to soothe your nerves. she didn't need to speak any words; her presence was comforting enough. in her arms, you found a haven, a safe place, one where you could let the facade you had built fall away, and just be yourself, vulnerable and real.

collapsing into her embrace, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally fell down your cold cheeks. viv held you, her arms wrapped tightly around your body, her heartbeat beating steadily against your own. "you're okay, darling," she whispered into your damp hair, the three words alone enough to mend your heart all over again. "everything is going to be alright, love." she reminded you, her arm rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

"you're safe." you sniffled, air getting caught in your throat. "you're beautiful." your tears began to subside. "you're talented." your breaths returned to their normal pace. "you're loved." she kissed your forehead, her thumb wiping away your dry tears.

"i love you, vivvy."

you nestled your head into the crook of her neck, her comforting arm never leaving you. gazing out the window, you watched as the rain drops traced effortlessly down the glass, the journey seeming aimless yet purposeful, much like the swirl of emotions you felt yourself. the rhythmic pattern of the rain against the roof provided a calming background noise, to the turmoil of thoughts swimming through your head.

you felt yourself become grounded, safe in her arms.

there was nowhere else you had to be, nobody else you needed to be with.

you found your solitude, right there in the arms of your favourite person. right there in the arms of the girl who would be able to mend your broken heart over and over again. right there in the arms of the only girl who truly understood you, and you understood her.

[miguelswifey04]

boxer! miguel o’hara x doctor! reader (part 1)

summary: where you’re the new doctor at the boxing gym and you meet miguel o’hara, the famous and most strongest boxer. will you and him both explore the depths of your desires or keep it professional?

🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱

you were hired to be the new doctor of the UFC gym where the famous boxer, miguel o’hara, was part of. being a well known olympic-level doctor for the USA women’s gymnastics team the UFC immediately hired you on the spot since you wanted a chance of scenery. it would be a lie to say you didn’t miss the bonds and friendships you created with the women on the gymnastics team but you needed to do this. you needed to expand your horizons.

now after the first fight of the new season, miguel o’hara had become victorious but was definitely battered up. he was sent to you after his win to be fixed up but lo and behold he wasn’t expecting to see a pretty doctor like yourself to be the new doctor around here. his eyes widen for a moment as he sees you. “oh, you must be the new doctor..." he says with a weak smile. he was beaten up pretty bad and was furrowing his brows due to his exhaustion. you glanced at him and smiled sweetly, “yes! i am.” you fixed your doctor’s coat and went to put on gloves. miguel’s eyes wandered to your figure taking in your slim and muscular build. he was a little curious to see that you were athletic and in shape but he quickly looked away when you turned around to face him with that pretty smile of yours.

standing tall, his muscular form showcased his battle-worn physique. his brown skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, testament to the demanding match he had just endured.

tightly bandaged hands, speckled with patches of dried blood, were evidence of the brutal punches miguel had delivered. despite his injuries, the aura of authority clung to him, radiating an air of confidence and power.

he approached the doctor, his steps slightly unsteady from exhaustion. taking in the your slightly shorter stature, curvy yet athletic figure, his eyes roamed over every delicate curve with a mix of appreciation and desire. miguel’s gaze lingered on the doctor's mocha skin, drawn to its inviting warmth, contrasting with his own deep brown eyes.

“mmm, a new doctor, huh?" miguel’s voice was hoarse, a result of the intensive match. it carried a hint of a rugged charm, overshadowed by a layer of weariness. "you’ve got your work cut out for you, doc. gonna need some tender loving care after that fight."

the ache in his muscles made a massage seem tantalizingly appealing to him, but miguel wondered if the doctor's touch had the potential to ignite a different kind of fire within him. nevertheless, he needed to maintain his professional demeanor, at least for now.

“name’s miguel o'hara, but you can call me migs," he introduced himself, granting the doctor permission to address him as such. "so, doc, what do you think? can you patch me up and get me back in fighting shape?

you nodded your head as you patted down the bed where’d you needed him to sit on, “yes of course! nice to meet you, migs. my name is dr. y/n but you can just call me y/n.” you smiled sweetly as miguel followed your instructions and watch him situate himself on the bed. “likewise, doc.”

“this isn’t something i can’t do after all i have experience as i used to work with olympic gymnasts.” you carefully touched him.

he extended his bruised hand towards the doctor, seeking their touch. the injuries inflicted upon his hand during the fight throbbed gently, acting as a reminder of the intensity with which he fought. miguel’s eyes never left the doctor, his gaze filled with an intensity that could rival the fire burning within him.

“but let's put those skills to the test, doc," Miguel continued, a subtle grin playing at the corners of his lips. "my hands might be a little roughed up, but i’m sure you can work some magic and bring them back to life."

he leaned forward, his toned body shifting slightly as he closed the distance between them. the scent of sweat and adrenaline clung to his skin, mingling with the subtle allure of his natural musk. the enticing combination teased the air between them, heightening the small space that separated their bodies.

“as an olympic-level doctor, you're not afraid of a little challenge, are you?" miguel’s voice dropped to a low and seductive tone, his eyes glinting with a mixture of playful challenge and raw desire. "because I could use a little TLC, doc, especially from someone as skilled as you. think you can handle it?"

miguel obediently took a seat on the bed, his body relaxing under the doctor's gentle guidance. the softness in your voice soothed him, creating an atmosphere of trust and comfort. though he was used to handling situations with authority and dominance, in this moment, he allowed himself to surrender control and place his well-being in the doctor's capable hands.

his dark brown eyes followed the doctor's every move, studying your grace and precision as you prepared to tend to his battered hands. miguel’s hands were strong and calloused from years of training and fighting, a visual representation of the skill and power he possessed in the ring.

as your nimble fingers began to unwrap the bandages, miguel’s senses were immediately heightened. the gentle touch against his skin sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through his body. he fought the urge to lean even closer, wanting to immerse himself in the doctor's touch, in their essence.

“you’ve got quite the touch, doc," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "feels like you know just how much pressure to apply, how to bring out the healing without sacrificing sensuality."

his gaze never wavered, their eyes locked in an unspoken understanding. miguel’s fingers twitched involuntarily, as if craving the doctor's touch, wishing to trace the contours of your body, to imprint the sensations on his fingertips.

he leaned back slightly, exposing more of his hands to your tender ministrations. as individual strands of bandage fell away, his injuries were laid bare for inspection. bruises and cuts painted a vivid picture of the relentless battle he had endured.

miguel indulged in the anticipation, wondering how the you would heal him, wondering if your touch would ignite a new fire within him, a different kind of intensity. he relished the moment, knowing that in the your hands, his body would be both vulnerable and safe.

———

a/n: i need to stop with these AU’s 💆🏽‍♀️

this is definitely going to be in parts <3

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner @dracuilina