#I don’t keep track of tennis

[sportsallover]

Oooh, Musetti in semi!! 💪

[kitteninabunker]

tennis!player reader is coach!toji’s favorite.

he lives for that tight little tennis skirt, catching the way it lifts whenever you run to hit the ball across the net to the other player, the soft cling of the sweat-damp fabric hugging your ass. and if we’re being honest? he doesn’t give a damn about the matches or what the other players are doing. he doesn’t care about who’s winning, the man won’t even keep track of his own team’s score. he’s only there to ogle at the sweet bounce of your tits while you play, shamelessly spreading his legs to palm his cock through his pants like some juvenile pervert as you dart across the court.

he’s been coaching for years, working with the regular surplus of mediocre athletes. but girls like you? fresh, soft, and stupidly sweet? they make his job fun again. he stares at you whenever skip over to him after practice, face flushed, hair damp, oversized tennis bag swinging on your shoulder like you didn’t just spend an hour being his personal wet dream. “did i do good today, coach?”

it’s always a bit refreshing to see a new, sexy girl like you on the team, anyways.

“you did real good out there, y/n.” he’d congratulate, and you—being clueless, oblivious and so damn cute—just gave him a polite smile and chirped out a “thank you!” not having the slightest idea about what you’re doing to him.

you would’ve never guessed it, how many times he’s stroked his fat cock with your sweaty panties wrapped around it, huffing and muttering your name in the dark of the locker room after he stole them from your bag. you don’t know how long he’s been imaging warm cunt milking him, your voice all breathy and wrecked as you bounce on his dick like you need it.

all of those dirty stares, all the times he fucked his fist thinking about your dumb little face—now it’s real. you’re finally in his lap, moaning and drooling as his thick length splits you open.

“make me cum, and no practice for a week, that sound good?” toji groans, his voice steady and dominant as ever while you struggle to even think straight, every slow, tingling stretch of his cock inside of you, every time his fat tip hits your cervix makes your brain short circuit. “mhm—yes—fuck, toji!” you whimper, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you keep bouncing. the sound of your plush ass smacking against his hips fills the room, wet and filthy.

"this tight pussy's gonna make 'er old man bust like a fuckin’ loser without shame, hm?" he teases, voice dripping with mockery as he slaps your ass, making you whine as it leaves a stinging red handprint. you sharply suck in a breath of air, clutching at his knees as you keep rolling your hips. every bounce forces his thick cock even deeper, his tip knocking at your cervix like it’s trying to break through. toji’s large, calloused and move to hold your hips, squeezing the fat as your plush skin spills between the gaps of his fingers. he drags you down harder, using you like a toy and your hips grind messily against him as his cock bullies your guts. “d-don’t cum inside!” you plead, even as your pussy clamps down around him, wet and twitching, clinging like it wants him to breed you. “don’t—“

toji just laughs, low, breathless, mean.

“yeah? sayin’ that while this greedy cunt’s suckin’ me in like it wants every drop?” he grits out, watching your body tremble as he grips his hips tighter. “dumb lil thing doesn’t even know what it wants, huh?”

you shake your head weakly, but you can’t answer, not with the way he’s fucking up into you now, the way his fat cock is bruising your insides, hitting that spot that makes you clench and cry out and fall apart all over again.

"shit, you’re really tryin’ to squeeze it outta me, aren’t you?” he growls, sweat beading along his brow. “gonna fill this pretty college pussy up, baby. gonna stuff you full.”

“toji—fuck—please, please don’t—” your words break off into a pathetic little sob, voice pitchy, desperate.

“aww, listen to you,” he coos mockingly, slapping your ass. “too dumb to think, too cockdrunk to stop me. you were beggin’ to get bred the second you climbed into my lap, weren’t you?”

your eyes roll back as he fucks up into you, rough and relentless, the slap of your soaked cunt against his thighs echoing filthy through the empty locker room.

“bet you’d look real pretty knocked up,” he pants, voice rough, right in your ear. “tummy all round with my kid, still wearin’ that tiny little skirt like a fuckin’ slut. showin’ off who you belong to.”

you’re twitching in his lap, body convulsing as another orgasm slams through you—and that’s all it takes.

“fuck, baby—here it comes—” he grits, slamming up hard, cock buried to the hilt as he cums inside you, thick and hot and endless. you can feel it paint your insides, leaking out around his cock in slow, lazy drips.

he stays there for a moment, buried deep, pulsing, and panting, before you slowly raise your hips, letting his limp cock slowly pull out with a wet, messy squelch. and then he grabs your ass, spreading you wide so he can watch. he reaches down, stroking his slick cock lazily as he watches his cum drip down your thighs “look at that,” he groans, thumbing your swollen folds open. “fuckin’ leaking all over me. i filled you so deep it’s spillin’ out.”

you whimper, twitching from overstimulation, and he just smirks.

“what a good little cumdump. ‘m gonna have to fuck it back in, yeah? make sure it sticks. can’t have my pretty toy wastin’ a single drop.”

“don’t worry, baby. coach’ll take real good care of you. just keep showin’ up in that cute lil’ skirt, lettin’ me breed this dumb pussy every time you ‘earn a break.’ fuck practice, you’re better off gettin’ knocked up for me.”

[artstennisracket]

request: thinking really hard about coach!dilf!patrick and how he'd spank bratty!tennisplayer!reader with his racket whenever she mouths off (and then fuck her with the handle. obviously)

tennis coach!Patrick x fem!reader, part 2

cw: nsfw (18+), spanking, object insertion, d/s undertones

You’ve gone through 15 tennis coaches in the past 5 years because you were “uncoachable”. But your parents knew the real reason why, your attitude.

You would question, fight back, and argue about every single little thing anyone tried to teach you. It’s exhausting for them but also for you. You never thought any of those coaches were good enough. They were too nice or too soft or too inexperienced or just too wrong.

No one really meshed with you or your playing style. You had non negotiables. One of those things being your serve. It was unique. You would bend down at an almost uncomfortable angle, bounce the ball twice, before you shoot up tossing the ball the air and hitting it.

It was weird and you didn’t know why you did it that way but you did and it worked. But every coach you ever had wanted you to fix it. Except for Patrick.

He coached you sure but never once mentioned your serve. Maybe it’s because his serve was weird too.

Your parents were surprised you kept this coach for so long, but Patrick just treated you like a real player. The part that really surprised your parents was that you never argued with him or mouthed off.

He was also just really hot. He would come over 5 days a week to your family home, and you guys would practice at your home tennis court.

He was older than you, by almost 12 years. He started coaching you when you were 18 and now you’re 20. You tried to make your passes and did your occasional flirting. Wore extra short skirts and made sure to bend over slowly when you had to pick up a tennis ball.

You were nothing if not persistent so this practice was no different.

You pulled out all the stops. You wore a short white tennis skirt that stopped just below curve of your ass and a tight pink polo top with the top buttons unbuttoned. You didn’t wear a bra so the outside breeze made your nipples perk up under your shirt. And whether or not you were wearing panties was questionable.

Patrick never acknowledged what you were wearing. He just kept his sunglasses on and a neutral face when he said, “Ready to get to work?”

Practice went on as usual until you decided to be difficult on purpose. Patrick had you doing drills serving to hit certain cones spread out on the court. So you just kept missing on purpose.

“Are you good? Feeling okay?” He asks from where he’s stood on the other side of net.

Okay time to turn up the brattiness. You scoff putting your hand on your hip, “What? I can’t miss a couple shots?”

He raises his eyebrows clearly taken aback, “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“I just don’t understand why you keep asking me questions, you don’t get paid to question me you get paid to coach me.”

“Well I don’t like your fucking attitude right now so i’m not coaching shit.” He says dropping his racket into the bin that holds all the tennis balls. He starts to walk off the court, taking his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Fuck. You need to get him to come back here and take out his anger on you, not cool off with a cigarette.

You yell in his direction, “Yeah? Well you’re so old you can’t even coach for shit anyway!”

He stops in his tracks. He puts his unlit cigarette back in the pack, putting the pack back in his pocket. He turns back in your direction and walks straight to you.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you into the sports shed where your family kept all their sports gear.

He stops dropping your wrist. He pushes his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head. He turns around to face you, standing so close to you, your noses are almost touching. He says just above a whisper, “You think you can fucking talk to me like that? What the fuck do you think this is?”

This is the closest, physically, you guys have ever been. So naturally, you’re a little nervous but happy that your plan is maybe working? You stutter, “I-I um I didn’t think anything.”

He does a once over, looking you up and down. Then he continues, “You think I don’t know what this is? Acting like a brat to get my attention? To get me to fuck you?”

Oh. He saw right through you and somehow that just adds to the butterflies in your stomach.

“That’s not— I never, I didn’t—“

He cuts you off, “Don’t lie to me.”

You shake your head continuing your lie, “no I never— I swear I didn’t—“

Before you can register what’s happening, he sits down in the bench and puts you over his lap. Oh.

He lifts up your skirt and curses under his breath. You weren’t wearing panties. You could feel the rush cool air against your now exposed skin. He rubs his hand over your ass for a second before he picks up a nearby racket.

“You expect me to believe you weren’t acting up to get my attention when your wearing the shortest skirt you own, no bra so everyone can see your hard nipples through your shirt, and your not even wearing panties?” He asks, slowly dragging the tennis racket over your ass.

You nod biting your lip.

Smack.

“Ah—“ You let out a half gasp half yelp when the first smack of the tennis racket lands on your ass.

“Well if you’re gonna keep behaving like a lying brat, then I’m going to have to punish you like one,” He says before landing another spank on your ass.

Smack.

You moan this time as the racket collides with your ass.

“Parading around the court like a desperate slut. surprised you didn’t just bend over for me right on the court. That’s what you really wanted right?”

Smack.

You nod your head letting out another moan.

Smack.

“I asked you a question that means your supposed to answer me.” He says sternly before raising the racket again.

Smack.

“Yes fuck, that’s what I wanted. Wanted you to fuck me on the court, please.”

You anticipate that another smack is going to land on your ass but instead you feel two fingers sliding up your folds and pressing into your entrance.

“Shit, Patrick,” You whine as he starts to pump his fingers in and out of your tight hole.

“You’re already so wet. you really are desperate for me, aren’t you? How long have you wanted me to fuck you?” He asks while he curls his fingers inside of you, pressing against the spongy area.

You groan. It feels really fucking good, it’s hard to focus, “Ah- two years, when you became my coach.”

Now Patrick groans. He adds one more finger inside you, alongside the two that were already in there. “Fuck. Dressing like a slut for two years trying to get me to fuck you. I fucking knew it. Jesus. Made me feel like such a creep watching you. Had to start wearing sunglasses to practice so you couldn’t tell I was staring at you.”

You smirk at that, you knew your plan had to have been working all these years. From your place laid across his lap, you can feel him start to grow hard.

“Well I’m still not gonna fuck you, brats don’t get rewarded.”

You whine at that, “That’s not fair you just said you wanted to fuck me so fuck me please, please just fuck me.”

He bites his lip before he gets an idea. He pulls his fingers out of your hole and you whine at the loss. He grabs the same racket from before.

“Wait what’re you doing—“

He uses one hand to spread your folds, exposing your hole, while using the other hand to line up the handle of the racket. He starts pushing in it slowly, watching closely how your hole grips around the racket.

He groans, “Fuck baby, taking it so well.” He pumps the racket slowly, pulling it so the handle is almost all the way out before pushing it back in as deep as it can go.

You never felt this full before but every time he presses the racket in deep it feels so good. Eventually he starts pumping the racket a little faster. You start moaning uncontrollably, rocking your hips back against the racket.

“Your tight hole is so fucking greedy baby, jesus. Fucking yourself back on it like you can’t get enough.” He moves one hand to squeeze your chest, circling your nipple with his finger.

You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you. The volume of your moans increasing until you reach your release, “‘m gonna cum, oh fuck Patrick.”

He lets you ride out your orgasm before he pulls the wet racket handle out of you. It’s covered in your juices.

You think it’s all over until you hear him say, “Get on your knees.”

So you do. Still a little wobbly from laying down for so long but you get on your knees between his legs. You can see the tent in his shorts now. You’re hoping you’ll finally get to see his see his cock, feel the weight of it on your tongue. You just know it’s huge.

So you open your mouth, sticking our tongue to show that you’re ready to suck him off.

He smirks before he presses the tennis racket handle down your throat, “Good girls clean up their mess.”

You choke a little but try to relax your throat, sucking the handle to clean it off. Once he’s satisfied he pulls the racket out of your mouth, placing it beside him on the bench.

He stands up and you watch as he tucks his boner into the waistband of his shorts. He bends down to whisper into your ear, “Maybe next time if you’re a good girl for the whole week, then I’ll fuck you.”

He stands up heading to the exit the sports shed. He moves his sunglasses back down to rest on his nose bridge. Before he leaves he calls out, “See you tomorrow for 8am practice.”

[p0orbaby]

Centre Court

summary: you’re starting to think that tennis is an aphrodisiac

warnings: suggestive, mentions of sexy times

a/n: yes, i know wimbledon is long gone…

word count: 1.2k

-

You’re on your annual trip to Wimbledon. A place where the scent of freshly cut grass and overpriced strawberries mingles with the murmur of the crowd. Leah’s next to you, a distracting presence as always, her elbow grazing yours every time she shifts. You wonder if anyone else can feel the static electricity she generates with every casual brush against your arm.

“You know…” she begins, pulling your attention from the back-and-forth of the second point.

“Hm?” you hum, eyes glued to the court despite the magnetic pull of her voice. It’s the kind of acknowledgement that means, ‘Please don’t say anything outrageous, we’re in public,’ but you both know that’s wishful thinking.

“You’d look good in one of those little skirts,” she murmurs, her tone low and familiarly conspiratorial. There’s a glint in her eye that suggests she’s not really talking about tennis anymore. You’re not sure why you’re so surprised.

You chuckle softly, your eyes drifting to the player’s attire. You had to admit they wouldn’t look out of place in your wardrobe. “Oh, would I now?” you reply, raising an eyebrow at her. “And what makes you think that?” It’s a rhetorical question, though Leah’s known for her uncanny ability to undress you with her eyes.

Leah leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Just a hunch. You’ve got the legs for it. And besides, I’d love to see you show them off.” Her words tickle your ear, and you suppress a shiver even under the rays of the sun.

You smirk, finally turning to meet her gaze. “You’re awfully bold, aren’t you, Miss Williamson?” You try to sound stern, but your lips betray you, curling into a smile.

She shrugs, her grin widening. “I know what I like. And I know I’d like you in one of those skirts.” Her tone is as casual as if she were discussing the weather, but her eyes tell a different story.

You shake your head, amused. “It’s nothing you haven’t already seen, baby”

Leah’s eyes darken, a playful glint there that promises trouble. “True, but these outfits have that certain… je ne sais quoi, don’t you think?”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” you tease, nudging her with your elbow. “A bit of French flair to spice things up?”

The match continues, punctuated by grunts and the rhythmic thwack of the ball. You’re only half paying attention now, Leah’s words and the heat in her stare pulling you in. Her hand rests lightly on your thigh, a touch that’s barely there but feels like a live wire.

“You think you could keep up with me?” you challenge, a playful edge in your tone.

Leah’s smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Oh, I know I could. I’ve got stamina for days, babe”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a laugh in the quiet of the court. “Big talk for someone who’s never seen me play”

Leah’s fingers tighten slightly on your thigh, her eyes locked onto yours, swimming with amusement and something else that makes your pulse quicken. “Maybe we should find out,” she says, her voice low and full of confident assurance.

You’re about to bite back when a particularly loud cheer from the crowd reminds you of where you are. You glance around, half-expecting to see a camera trained on the two of you, but the spectators are blissfully unaware of the electric current between you and your girlfriend.

“Behave,” you whisper, though the word lack the conviction needed to stop your mate in her tracks.

Leah leans in, her lips brushing your ear. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

You shake your head again, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible”

Leah’s fingers begin to trace small, infuriatingly light patterns on your thigh, the sensation sending shivers up your spine. “Impossible? I prefer determined,” she says, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

You try to refocus on the game, but it’s a losing battle. The players might as well be on another planet for all you care right now. Leah’s hand inches higher, and you give her a sideways glance.

“Leah, we’re supposed to be watching the match,” you murmur, though your tone lacks any real reprimand.

“Oh, I am,” she assures you, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’m just multitasking.” Her hand gives your thigh a gentle squeeze, her thumb brushing just a bit too close to where it shouldn’t be in public.

You let out a small, involuntary gasp, quickly covering it with a cough. Leah’s grin is all too pleased with herself. “You’re going to get us in trouble,” you warn, though you can’t deny the thrill coursing through you.

Leah’s other hand joins the fun, now resting at the base of your neck. Her thumb begins to make small, maddening circles just behind your ear. You try to keep your focus on the game, but the match is losing its grip on you, fast.

“Remember the first time we came here together?” Leah’s voice breaks into your thoughts, once more.

You do remember. It was less about the game and more about the impromptu christening of the private box. “Vaguely,” you respond, the memory making your cheeks warm. “I recall you getting us kicked out”

Leah laughs, the sound drawing a few more curious glances. “I’d say it was worth it, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s one way to put it,” you reply, grinning at the recollection. Leah had insisted on testing just how soundproof those VIP boxes were. Spoiler: not very.

Leah’s hand squeezes your thigh gently, her fingers drifting higher. “It’s funny, you know. How you always pretend to be so proper and composed”

You arch an eyebrow at her. “Pretend?”

“Yeah,” she continues, her voice a seductive whisper. “Like that time at the charity gala, when you were giving a speech and I—”

“You really want to bring that up here?” you interrupt, your heart pounding at the memory. Leah had been insufferable, sneaking suggestive touches under the table before you tried to maintain your composure on stage.

Leah smirks, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Just saying, you’ve got a wild side. And I love bringing it out”

You glance around again, paranoid about the camera but also thrilling at the risk. Leah’s hand ventures even higher, and you place your hand over hers to stop her. “Leah, we’re in public”

She pouts, but there’s a glimmer of triumph in her eyes. “Fine. For now.” Her fingers retreat, but she leaves a lingering touch that promises more mischief later.

As the match progresses, Leah continues her playful torment, her fingers wandering back to your thigh at every opportunity. You can’t help but recall all the other public places where she’s pushed the boundaries: the quiet corners of museums, the back rows of cinemas, even that one unforgettable time on a nearly deserted beach.

You lean in close to Leah, your lips brushing against her ear. “You keep this up and we’re going to have to find somewhere private,” you warn, your voice a low murmur.

Leah’s grin is positively wicked. “Now that sounds like a plan.” She glances around, then her eyes settle back on you, filled with that familiar, enticing mischief. “How about we slip out after this set?”

[favefandomimagines]

Storm’s Eye (t.o)

Request: @lonelyghosts-stuff “Helllllllo! I hope you are doing well! I was wondering if I could request a Tyler Owens x Reader enemies to lovers fic? I am such a sucker for that trope especially if it's like actually enemies who hate each other but then grow to care through shared experiences and learning about each other. Angsty and life and death stuff. Just super tropey lol”

AN: I’ve been trying a new writing style where I don’t write in the first person but rather the third person, but still using Y/N. Let me know what you guys think!

The sky was a bruised shade of purple.Tyler Owens was behind the wheel of his truck, eyes flicking between the horizon and the radar screen. He gripped the steering wheel, every fiber of his being tuned into the storm brewing in the distance. This was what he lived for—chasing the thrill, the danger.

Beside him, Boone and Javi were having a conversation about the best burgers in Oklahoma, but Tyler wasn’t paying attention. He was more concerned with staying ahead of the supercell that was beginning to form just over the ridge. His mind raced with calculations, predictions, and strategies, keeping track of the storm's trajectory in his head.

Then there was her.

Sitting in the backseat, quietly scrolling through the radar on her own tablet, was the new meteorologist Javi had brought onto the team. Y/N Y/L/N, the woman who had already gotten under Tyler’s skin.

“What do you think, Tyler?” Javi asked, peering over Tyler’s shoulder. “Y/N says we should head north and catch the storm as it loops back around.”

Tyler’s eyes snapped to the rearview mirror, catching Y/N’s gaze. Her eyes were sharp, confident—like she thought she knew everything there was to know about storms. It irked him.

“North?” Tyler scoffed, his voice laced with irritation. “We’re wasting time if we go north. The storm’s going to pivot east, not loop back. If you want to catch it, we need to stay on this road and head southeast.”

Y/N leaned forward, her expression calm but firm. “That storm’s got a hook echo forming. It’s going to swing north before it turns east. If we stay southeast, we’ll miss the rotation.”

“Miss the rotation?” Tyler barked a laugh. “I’ve been chasing storms for years, and I know this system. You’re just reading the radar. I can feel it.”

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t back down. “You think I’m just looking at a screen? I’ve been in the field, too. And I’m telling you, if we don’t adjust course, we’re going to be too far south to catch anything.”

Javi glanced between them, trying to keep the peace. “Hey, guys, how about we—”

“I’m the leader of this team,” Tyler interrupted, his tone hard. “We’re sticking with my call. We go southeast.”

Y/N crossed her arms, frustration simmering beneath her composed exterior. Tyler knew she was good at her job—Javi wouldn’t have brought her on if she wasn’t—but that didn’t mean he had to like her stepping on his turf.

“I’ll be here when you realize you’re wrong,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Tyler pretended not to hear, though her words festered in the back of his mind.

||

The next few days followed the same pattern. Y/N and Tyler clashed over nearly every decision—where to set up, what direction to head, even which equipment to use. The rest of the team, Boone, Javi, Kate, Lilly, Dani, and Dexter, watched their arguments like spectators at a tennis match, unsure of how to intervene.

“Maybe you should cut her some slack,” Boone suggested one evening after a particularly heated argument.

Tyler grumbled something incoherent and shook his head. Y/N was too smart, too stubborn, and way too sure of herself for his liking.

Later that night, while the others were fast asleep in the small roadside motel they were staying at, Tyler found himself unable to sleep. His mind was still buzzing from the day's chase, from the constant butting of heads with Y/N. He slipped out of his room and headed to the small, makeshift lounge area by the vending machines. To his surprise, Y/N was already there, sitting in one of the chairs with her nose buried in a weather report.

He hesitated, then finally walked over and sat down across from her. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the low hum of the soda machine.

Finally, Tyler broke the silence. “Where’d you go to school?”

Y/N glanced up from her report, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“I asked where you went to school,” he repeated, a little softer this time. “I’m just curious.”

She closed her report and leaned back in her chair. “University of Kansas.”

“Really? That’s a good program.” Tyler couldn’t help but be impressed, though he kept his tone neutral.

Y/N shrugged. “It’s close to home. My dad’s still there, and since my mom died a few years ago, I didn’t want to leave him alone for too long.”

The admission caught Tyler off guard. He hadn’t expected her to open up like that.

“He’s the one who made me want to be a meteorologist,” she continued, a small smile tugging at her lips. “When storm season would roll around, he’d stay calm. No matter how bad it got, he’d explain what was happening so I wouldn’t be scared.”

Tyler was quiet for a moment, processing her words. “That’s…that’s pretty cool.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes softer now. “Why did you start your YouTube channel? Seems like an unusual hobby.”

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to explain. “I started it because if it helps even one person know what signs to look for, where to take shelter, and it saves lives…that’s the goal. Storms are dangerous, but the more people understand them, the better their chances.”

Y/N nodded, and for the first time, Tyler saw something other than frustration in her eyes. They had more in common than he realized. “I was a bull rider before this.” He spoke. Not sure why that was the first thing that came to his mind.

“Really?” She questioned. “Yeah, I was pretty good for a while. But too many bulls to the head, I wanted to get out before I became a vegetable. When deciding what to do next, I remembered how I felt during my first tornado. I knew I was supposed to be scared, my aunt was freaking out in the driver’s seat. But I couldn’t help but feel excited by it. Remembering that feeling helped me decide to go back to school.” Tyler explained.

“I guess you’re not all bad, Owens.” Y/N teased. “You’re not so bad either, Y/N.” Tyler replied, a small smirk on his face.

||

Tyler thought that after their late-night conversation, things might start to smooth out between them. But when they were out in the field the next day, the old tension returned.

Y/N was insisting they head west, while Tyler was adamant that they stick to the eastern route.

“You’re not thinking clearly!” Y/N snapped, pulling out her map and pointing to the storm's trajectory. “The data shows the storm shifting westward. If we don’t move now, we’re going to miss the funnel!”

Tyler’s frustration boiled over. “I’m the leader of this team, Y/N. My decision stands. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and the effect was immediate. Y/N’s face fell, all the confidence and fire draining from her. Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t say anything. Just nodded and turned away.

As she walked back to the van, guilt gnawed at Tyler. He knew what he said had hurt her more than he intended. He knew the sting of being dismissed in a profession dominated by men, and he’d just done exactly that to her.

||

The storm that day was worse than any of them had expected. The winds picked up suddenly, driving rain slashing sideways across the open plains. They had barely made it into a small town when the tornado sirens began wailing.

“Get to the storm shelter!” Tyler shouted to the team over the howling wind.

Y/N was running beside him when something caught her eye. She stopped dead in her tracks, looking toward the edge of the street where a young golden retriever, still basically a puppy, was tied to a telephone pole barking frantically.

“Y/N, come on!” Tyler yelled, but she shook her head.

“I can’t leave him,” she shouted back, running toward the dog.

Tyler cursed under his breath and sprinted after her. “Y/N, you can’t—”

“I have to save him!” she interrupted, fumbling with the leash as the wind whipped around her, making it nearly impossible to untie the knots.

For a terrifying moment, Tyler thought they were both going to get swept away by the storm. Without thinking, he grabbed her hands and pulled them away from the leash, then used his pocket knife to cut it.

“Let’s go!” he urged, pulling her to her feet.

She scooped up the dog, and they ran together toward the storm shelter, barely making it inside before the worst of the storm hit.

Y/N collapsed against the wall, clutching the trembling dog in her arms. “Thanks,” she panted, a breathy laugh escaping her lips.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tyler said, though his heart was still racing from fear, not anger.

She just smiled weakly in response.

||

When the storm passed, Y/N was outside, kneeling beside the dog and handing out food and water to the town’s residents who had been affected. Tyler watched her from a distance, unable to shake the fear he’d felt when he thought she wasn’t going to make it.

He walked over to her, his voice softer than usual. “That dog’s not going to let you out of his sight now.”

Y/N smiled, ruffling the dog’s fur. “He’s our new team mascot.”

Tyler crouched down beside her, his tone serious. “I was scared. I thought you weren’t going to make it. And it made me realize…I’ve been awful to you because I liked you. I was scared of how I felt.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You liked me?”

“Yeah,” Tyler admitted. “And I think…I think I still do.”

Y/N smiled, her voice soft. “Well it’s a good thing that I have feelings for you too, Tyler.” Tyler let out a light laugh before leaning in ever so slightly

Just as they were about to kiss, Boone appeared out of nowhere, grinning like a fool. “So, what’s the plan, lovebirds? Heading back on the road or what?”

Tyler groaned, but Y/N just laughed, the tension between them finally gone, like the storm that had just passed.

[bcacstuff]

Hey BC,

Thanks for sharing your thoughts! Here are a few things I’ve been thinking about after reading your post.

First, regarding Sam’s location—he’s usually private about where he is, especially when he wants to keep things low-key. But if that’s the case, why would he follow that account and give a hint? What makes you think he’s still in Sayulita? He might have already left and gone somewhere else… you know where I mean.

Also, the fan who posted the picture is very careful when it comes to Sam. She would never post his location if he were still there. So while he might still be in Mexico, I highly doubt he’s in the exact place that was tagged.

Now, about the video with the voice—it’s not easy to confirm or deny if it’s Sam’s, especially with all the noise from the waterfall. But when Sam posted that video with Jush, the way he said “Yay” sounded really similar to the voice in the waterfall video. Just my take, though!

As for VF, I don’t think she’s there alone. I don’t follow her, so I’m not sure if she’s posted anything about who she’s with, but maybe those who can see her stories have more insight. It’s possible she and Sam were both in Sayulita and then moved to the spot she tagged.

On Sam’s appearance—he’s already worked long hours with her, so I don’t think he needs to make any extra effort to impress her. They’ve probably already seen each other at their best and worst by now!

About tracking Sam’s online activity—out of 24 hours, he could check his phone at any random time, even if just for a few minutes. Since there’s not much to catch up on about him right now, he could be online at any point—before bed, or just whenever. Do you remember when he took Alice to that tennis match? He was on his phone immediately when she wasn’t there even if for a few minutes.

Don’t take me wrong—I’m not saying for sure that he’s with her. But these are also possibilities.

Thanks!

Thanks for your thoughtful message!

Regarding the location: I don't really think he seriously cares that much about (mainly) us here looking at his following, which led to the location. The average fan wont care about it at all. I also think the fan that posted the pic is just the average fan who isn't really aware about the, dare I say somewhat idiocy of this fandom and how she was gonna be bothered by fans asking her questions. She just posted a, what to me looks like a dump of her days at the location, tagging the location. I really don't think she thought for a minute about how this would show where he is or that people care about that. Did you see how she removed the tag of him on the pic? She had him tagged first when I saw it, but later on removed it.

I don't know if he's still there, or left or is doing a roadtrip or whatever. Anything is possible. All I did was looking at the location, where surprisingly later on a fan pic appeared.

About the male voice on the video, well you see, like I said, could be or could be not. It's never 100% for anyone here. I'm not saying it's not him, I'm also not saying it is him. I accept that it could be or could be not and don't see it as factual evidence, if you get what I mean. I received more messages about this, where one is convinced it is him, the next one isn't 🤷‍♀️. So it doesn't bring us anywhere... that's all!

I think VF is perfectly able to travel alone, I had a few Anons going on about that. She's an adult and she traveled alone before to places. IIRC she was in Morocco when Sam was enjoying his Everest adventure. She only posted this one story (so far).

His appearance doesn't give me the vibe that he's on some sort of romantic getaway. I don't know about those 'long hours' Anon, they often have several crews working on several locations simultaneously. Last season she was on the AD team.

I just notice his activity times on IG as indication, it's not solid proof and I do not promote it like that. Hence my reservations in what I say or write in here. Most of the time I discuss with some about options, or when we have this suspicion it could be this or that.... but I rarely post that upfront as I do not want to jump to conclusions. It's only when there is confirmation, like the fanpic in Mexico, when I post and can say, ah my interpretation of things was correct. I rather want to give the correct (or as correct as possible) information, than to post juicy speculations.

And when there is additional information, then I post it. Just like now, or actually I know this since last night (but didn't feel like posting it right away). Being that we saw VF followed Pedro, the guy Sam started following in Sayulita as well. So to me that sort of confirms she was there as well and doesn't seem a coincidence anymore. Which adds more credibility that it was his voice, but still not 100% confirmation 🤷‍♀️

[musaslullaby]

18

Kimi Antonelli x fem reader

Summary: Kimi's girlfriend is planning a surprise for him.

Warning: only fluff, au instagram

Face: random people on Pinterest, Kimi Antonelli and his friends.

a/n: Here's my way of wishing Kimi a happy birthday, trying once again to use this style of writing.

Masterlist

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪

Kimi.antonelli

Description: Summer vacation is almost over, and we'll be back on track soon, but in the meantime, let's have some more fun.

liked by olliebearman, arthur_leclerc and other 132143334

Yn_official: I miss you.

Kimiantonelli: I miss you too❤️

KimiYnbaby_: Wait, didn’t Yn go with him?

f1lover: No, she had family commitments.

KimiYnbaby_: okok

Olliebearman: Don’t have too much fun without us.

Yn_official: I’m keeping an eye on you, Antonelli.

Yn_loveu: All Formula One and Two fans in America will chase Kimi on behalf of Yn.

Yn_official

Stories blocked for Kimi.antonelli

Kimi.antonelli

Description: Family reunited❤️

liked by olliebearman, arthur_leclerc,Yn_official and other 132143334

Yn_official: I love you and missed you so much, but this doesn’t make up for the sleep I lost picking you up at the airport.

arthur_leclerc: What a terrible boyfriend.

Yn_official: You can say that again.

Kimi.antonelli: Bullying even on my birthday.

Kimimylife: Guys, do you think he knows?

Yn_kimi: No, he doesn’t.

AntoKimi: I’m just waiting for someone to ruin everything😂

Kimi.antonelli: What are you all plotting?

Olliebearman: You’ll understand.

Yn_official: Shut that damn mouth, Ollie.

Olliebearman: At your command🫡

Kimi.antonelli: You guys scare me.

Kimi.antonelli

liked by olliebearman, arthur_leclerc,Paularon and other 132143334

Description: Sports and relax with the boys.

Kimi_Yn: Guys, the plan has begun.

Olliebearma: Dude, you suck at tennis.

Paularon: I beat him three times.

Kimi.antonelli: Those are just details.

Yn_official

Blocked for Kimi.antonelli

liked by olliebearman, arthur_leclerc and other 132143334

Description: Preparations have begun 🤫🤫

Yourfriend_: Stop taking photos and come help us.

Yn_official: Sorry.

Olliebearman: We’ll keep him here for a bit longer, but he’s starting to miss you.

YnandKimifan: How sweet, Kimi wants to spend his birthday with Yn.

Ynlover: Don’t make him wait too long, Yn.

User90: Guys, I’m waiting for the video of Kimi’s reaction.

Lovef1: Oh my God, I hope they do it.

Yn_official: Start bringing home the chicken.

Paularon: We’re on our way.

Olliebearman: As you wish, future Mrs. Antonelli.

Kimimylife: Oh my God, I can’t wait!

Loverkimyn: We’re more excited than they are.

Kimi.antonelli

liked by olliebearman, arthur_leclerc,Yn_official and other 132143334

Description: Best birthday ever, thank you for this surprise party. I really don’t know how to thank you.

I had so much fun, and now I feel officially ready to start the season again.

A special thanks to the love of my life (I know this was your idea) I love you so much.

Yn_official: Trust me, after this party, you’ll need at least a month to recover.

Yourfried_: Ollie drank so many shots that he passed out on the couch.

Olliebearman: Hey, you don’t have permission to post that photo, and when the hell did you take it?

LoverKimi: But Yn ignoring the last part of the post😂😂😂

Arthur_leclerc: Oh yes, that’s true love.

Olliebearman: Yn, please respond to Kimi’s “I love you” before he starts crying.

Yn_official: Of course, I love my favorite drama queen.

Kimi.antonelli: 1. I wasn't crying 2. I'm not a drama queen 3. I love u too.

Ynqueen: Yn looks amazing in the third photo.

Kimilover: Can we talk about Kimi and Yn in the fourth photo?

Ynkimi: I wish we had a video of Yn and Kimi’s amazing voices.

Arthur_leclerc: By the way, I’m mad because you put Charles on the cake and not me.

Kimi.antonelli: Please, that cake is beyond amazing.

user09: Whoever chose it deserves a prize

Yn_official: Here I am to claim my prize.

Charles_leclerc: Inferiority complex, Arthur?

Arthur_leclerc: You’re not important enough to give me an inferiority complex.

Yn_official: Arthur has officially roasted his brother.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 2 : Esmerelda Variation

Heaven's outfit at the match:

Note: Thank you for the insane amount of love you guys are showing this. This is still a ground work laying chapter so still a little short but with a bit of drama. I should warn that just like the characters from the movie, Heaven is going to be ambiguous. Sometimes she'll be great, sometimes she'll be toxic (you have to remember she's best friends with Tashi for a reason). Anyways, you will get to know her as the story goes on. Thank you for all of the likes, follows, reblogs and notes, I really love hearing from you all and will be responding to them today. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I wrote it in the middle of the night lol. (P.s. I have a bad track record with tag lists but I'm going to try, let me know if it works.)

Taglist: @spookystitchery @anehkael @fkaams

“You remember when you said you’d let me win this one?”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

Art whips his head to look at Patrick who’s staring out onto the currently empty court, leaning back on the bench with his elbows. “But what about my grandmother?”

“You better hope she has a stroke.” the brown haired man shrugs, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I mean Tashi Duncan is gonna be watching. Tennis princess. And her hot friend. Can’t fuck up, sorry man.”

Art just shakes his head and takes a swig of water. Two hours had passed since this morning’s run-in and he still hadn’t been able to force himself to tell Patrick about the fact that Heaven’s number was on the line too. It’d only be fair, he knows that. But…Art really didn’t want Patrick to have it.

He should’ve just asked her for it directly instead of hiding behind this performance in interest in getting it from her. But he’d been thrown off. He’d truthfully thought he wouldn’t be able to see her again after she announced she had a boyfriend to the group. When he saw her on the beach that morning he found himself jogging down to catch her, and struggling to keep pure thoughts as she talked to him in her skimpy workout gear, telling him she’s single now. 

She was just so pretty. The sweat and the morning sun made her skin glisten. Her smile on her face made her cheeks dimple cutely and drew his attention to her soft lips. And she had this look in her eye. She and Tashi are so different yet so alike. She was asking him if competing was how he wanted to get her number. He was asked to make the choice. But it was the challenge he found swimming in her gaze. Like, there was only one right answer, that she expected him to be able to make the decision himself. Like if he shied away now, the little fire he saw in her eyes would die. 

Heaven was just as into this as Tashi was. 

The thought of her giving that look to Patrick too, it was something he couldn’t handle.

“Shame about that boyfriend though…wonder if it’s serious…Art. Art?” 

Art jolts out of his inner thoughts and focuses on his friend opening his breakfast sandwich next to him. “D’you think Heaven’s relationship is serious? I feel like she was flirting a little. Poor bastard. Sending his girl on the road without him when she looks like that? Fuckin’ idiot. And she’s a dancer, do you know what that means?” Patrick asks, holding the sandwich out for Art to take a bite, smiling when he does and swiping his thumb across his mouth to rid him of some crumbs.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“She’s fuckin’ flexible, Arthur.” He growls, a smirk on his face. “She’s bendy and shit.”

Art’s lip curls in disgust as he shoves his friend, huffing out an irritated laugh when he’s shoved back. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that. Either of them, they’re people, jesus, Patrick.”

“Yes, exactly. Beautiful people. That I would like to fuck.”

“You’re a great guy, man, really.” he sighs sarcastically, tossing his arm around Patrick’s shoulder.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Heaven is quiet as she lets Tashi guide her to their seats in the center for the Donaldson v. Zweig match. Her friend had been excited all morning, ready to finally see some “real fuckin’ tennis’. Heaven was excited too. She’s always enjoyed watching people she knows do what they’re passionate about. 

That’s why she’s always loved watching Tashi play tennis. Tashi plays tennis like she’s making love and going to war all at the same time. She leaves everything on the court, like each match is the last thing she’ll ever do. She goes somewhere, and Heaven likes going with her. Passion is what moves her. She’s passionate about dance. A life without it is meaningless.

“You good?” Tashi asks, nudging her knee with her own, grabbing Heaven’s attention.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

The taller girl shrugs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder with pursed lips. “Just making sure you’re not letting that dickhead Trevor get to you. He’s a waste of time and space in your brain. Can’t play basketball for shit and doesn’t know when to stop.” Tashi nudges Heaven again when she rolls her eyes, facing the court. “I mean, you obviously don’t have to listen to me, babe, I just know you’re too good for that shit. Don’t want you to waste your energy.”

That shit. That’s the shit she doesn’t like about Tashi. When she can’t tell if she genuinely is being her best friend, or is jealous that she’s been sharing Heaven’s attention. The condescending demand that Heaven show no weakness regarding someone other than her. Heaven knows Tashi wants what’s best for her. But she doesn’t own her emotions. 

“Said I’m fine, T.” Heaven huffs, ignoring Tashi’s stare out of the corner of her eye and opting to watch the announcer climb the ladder and take position. “By the way, I saw Art this morning. I told him that we could double the stakes. Winner gets your number and mine.” When Tashi’s reaction doesn’t come, Heaven looks at her to see that she’s now facing forward, smiling almost evilly at the court.

“God, this is gonna be so good. Do you know how horny those guys are? They think the winner is gonna end up fucking us together, this is gonna be a real match.”

Heaven goes to respond but pauses as the men begin making their way onto the court, their names echoing in the microphone as they begin placing their bags down. Tashi finishes signing an autograph for a fan sitting behind them and settles back into her seat. 

Both men immediately seek them out in the crowd, two sets of eyes finding the girls sitting in the center. Patrick points his racket in their direction with a cocky smile before turning to take to the court. Art gages their reactions to his friend, watching both women offer smiles to him and offering them his own wave. A bright grin lights his face when they return it. 

“Boys are so easy.” Tashi laughs through her teeth. 

“Very.” Heaven agrees, crossing her legs as she watches the match begin. Both men are working their asses off out of the gate. The ball sails back and forth across the net. Their grunts ring out into the air. Their eyes tense, sweat dripping, breathing heavy. At first, they were being showmen. Both of them stopping, looking to the stands for the girls' approval only working harder when the most they are offered back is a small nod. 

But they got focused. They moved faster. Worked harder. They forgot them and just played some fucking tennis. And it was sexy as hell. For the first time ever, Heaven was experiencing the feeling she gets watching Tashi play. And she was experiencing it watching someone else.

Tashi was enjoying the game immensely. She loves this shit. This is the game she lives for, and she and her best friend had made it more interesting. She grins as she watches the ball go to Patrick, then Art, then back again. Her head swiveled with everyone else’s and she felt happy. Impressed. 

Until she saw Heaven out of the corner of her eye. 

Heaven sitting on the edge of her seat, looking at Patrick then Art then Patrick then Art. She hadn’t looked at Tashi since they started. It’s normal. They’ve watched matches together before, but this look on her face. That was supposed to be Tashi’s look. 

Biting her lip in focus, breathing slightly elevated in the excitement, one hand toying with her name chain on her otherwise bare collar bone as the other clutched the arm of the chair, arched forward, leaning towards them. 

Tashi shakes her head briefly and focuses back on the match, placing one hand on Heaven’s knee. 

Just in case she slipped from her seat. 

When Patrick took his bow, looking through his dark lashes to see Heaven and Tashi’s reactions. Both of them look pleased. Offering him applause as he stands before going to grab his things. 

Art watches in defeat. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches it in irritation. He walks off his adrenaline, pacing between clearing his things from the bench. He feels a heavy hand clap on his back. “Good game, man. I’ll meet you out front, yeah? I’ve got a number to collect.”

“Yeah. Good game.” he says quietly. 

Two. Two numbers. Both. He’s getting both. He deserves neither, and he’s getting Tashi Duncan and Heaven Whitlock. 

Art sits on the competitor’s chair, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over his head to shield himself from the sun as he puts his head back. He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there. But he can’t bring himself to get up. To meet Patrick. To watch Tashi know he’s better than him as she gives him her number. To watch Heaven decide that he hadn’t earned the right to want her.

He doesn’t remove the shirt until he hears shoes clacking on the court. He’s expecting to see an employee of the tournament but is shocked to see Heaven standing in front of him with an unenthused look. 

“Oh, good, I thought you were crying.”

“Um, nope.” Art huffs, a wry smile on his face. “That would be a little pathetic, even for me.”

Heaven’s head tilts, her dark, silky hair falling to the side as she does. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and Art hops out of the chair, offering it to her. “How is almost winning pathetic?”

“I didn’t almost win-”

“He didn’t sweep you. You could’ve won. He’s just better today. When Tashi wins, the other person usually doesn’t even get more than one point.” Heaven pushes up into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. Art can’t help but reminisce. Her legs are now covered by her light washed jeans, but her bare shoulders remind him of the expanse of glowing skin he’d seen earlier this morning. “The score was close.” 

Art smiles slightly at that. He’s still annoyed he was unable to beat his friend, but her words, while based solely in logic, still managed to be comforting. “So, uh, I bet Patrick was pretty fuckin’ happy to get you and Tashi’s numbers.”

“Oh, he was pretty damn excited.” Heaven laughs. “It was cute.”

Ouch. “Yeah, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it.”

Heaven nods, lips rolling inward as she uses her arms to push herself forward, kicking him lightly with her leg, smiling flirtily when he catches her foot, his large hand encasing her ankle. He rights her gold anklet, turning it so that the cross on it is facing upward before bringing her foot back to the ground. “What about you?”

“What about me? I lost. Fair and square.”

“You did.” she grins, resting her chin in her hand. “But the wager changed this morning didn’t it? I agreed that the winner would get my and Tashi’s numbers, but you had an added requirement, right?”

Art’s brows furrowed in confusion briefly before the realization hits him. “I had to earn it.”

“If you’d won, but didn’t earn the win, I wouldn’t give it to you. I have my opinion. What’s yours? Do you feel like you earned my number today?” 

“You want to give it to me anyway?” 

Heaven shakes her head and hops down from the seat, moving closer to Art and fully expecting him to back up, pleasantly surprised when he just tilts his head down to accommodate her height. “I want you to tell me if today was your best.”

Art breathes out heavily. There’s a part of him that wants to just say ‘fuck it, yes’. He wants to say that's the best he can do, and he did earn her number already. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look her in the face and say he couldn’t do better. He couldn’t have her look at him like he didn’t have potential. “No.”

That’s apparently the right answer, because Heaven offers him a quiet, “Good.” before brushing past him, her arm narrowly missing his, causing the hairs on his skin to stand. 

As he watches the girl prance away from him gracefully, Art bites back his own smirk, looking to the ground and nodding to himself. 

He has some work to do.

“Just tell me. I just wanna know.” Art chews his gum, trying to look nonchalant as possible as he and Patrick make their way onto the courts.

He’d been haunted by the way his friend is seemingly getting joy from being very secretive about what he’s been doing with Tashi and Heaven. He knows he’s been talking to them. He can tell. It’s in the smug looks. The fucking half stories without names. He’s fucking keeping them to himself. Won’t even share their names with him. And in response to Art’s irritation, Patrick smirks. The same stupid fucking crooked smirk that always hides his snide remarks and secrets. Usually, Art has a twin one to match, now, the joke is on him.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me to kiss and tell. You used to be a gentleman, Art.”  Patrick chuckles, grabbing a ball and preparing to serve.

“Just tell me if you slept with either of them.” Art pushes, moving to the opposite side of the net and getting into position. “C’mon, it doesn’t matter. If you’ve slept with Tashi, do a normal serve. Serve like me.” 

Patrick hesitates a bit, shaking his head as he looks at his friend’s determined face. He knows Art is not gonna stop asking. But he’s gonna be so butthurt about the answer. He rolls his choices around in his head, briefly considering if it would piss off the girls for him to talk about it and deciding they wouldn’t care about Art knowing. And, he couldn’t help himself from bragging. 

Setting up the serve and sending the ball sailing over the net, Patrick gives Art the confirmation he was seeking. Art offers him a smile in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and goes to hit the ball, only to see a second one flying past him on his other side.

“Wh-”

Patrick grins again, watching the two balls bounce and roll on the opposite sides of Art. He shrugs, strolling over to the net. “I figured you’d ask about Heaven too.” Holding his hand out in front of Art’s mouth he catches the gum he spits into it. “They…uh fancy themselves a package deal.”

“Really?” Art breathes through the smile he has painted on his face. 

“Yeah.” Patrick squirts water into his mouth. “S’fuckin’ awesome.”

Art just chuckles politely until Patrick turns around to get another ball, using his friend’s distraction to let his smile drop into an aggravated frown.

The next time the whole group is all together is move in week. Heaven and Tashi had somehow convinced the men that even though Patrick was packing up for his tour and Art was also moving in, they needed to help them move into their dorms. They were starting with Stanford today and planned to make their way to UCLA tomorrow to get Heaven’s stuff together. While Art now naturally had Tashi's number because they were going to school together, he and Heaven had stuck to their deal. He hadn't decided what he was going to do to get it. Maybe win a match while she was here visiting in a couple weeks. Or maybe he had to beat Patrick specifically. He didn't know, but he as much as he wants her respect, he was getting sick of waiting.

Both men had removed their shirts in the California heat, carrying Tashi’s tennis equipment, replacement mattress, mini fridge and all ten tons of luggage she brought. 

The women were being helpful too. Heaven was apparently resting her legs in anticipation of her audition tomorrow, and rode comfortably on Patrick’s back up the steps during the first trip from the van. After that the girls had made Tashi’s bed before both climbing onto it and sharing a lollipop as they watched the boys work. 

“No, I want my printer over there.” Tashi calls, popping the candy out her mouth and passing it to Heaven, who is absently scrolling on her phone when she drags it into hers.

“Next time, I want green apple.”

Patrick drops the printer on the desk and turns to them. “You know, people hire movers for stuff like this. Where’s your dad?”

Tashi just ignores him, leaning her head over to look at whatever Heaven is staring at on her phone.

“Men used to build houses, you know.” Heaven says, tilting the device so Tashi can see better. The latter nodding at whatever she’s being shown.

“Mm, and go to war.” Tashi sighs boredly, “You guys can’t carry mini furniture?”

Patrick huffs irritably and looks to Art to back him up. “We’re almost done.” The blond shrugs, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“You just like kissing their asses.”

“And you don’t?” Tashi calls from the bed. 

Patrick huffs and lifts the printer again, moving it to where Tashi indicated it should go. Meanwhile, Art moves over to the bed finally done emptying the trolley they borrowed from the university. “What’re you two looking at?”

“I’m helping Heaven decide what piece she should do for her audition in a couple days.” Tashi rolls off of the bed and stretches her muscles, “she’s being stubborn.”

Art’s brows furrow as he looks down at Heaven, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, not reacting to Tashi’s criticism at all. She’d known about that audition since before they met them. He’s shocked to hear she still hasn’t decided on a piece. 

“It’s not being stubborn, Tashi-” the girl pauses her movements at the use of her real name, brow raising. “It’s my audition.”

“Okay. Yeah, I just don’t wanna hear you whine for the next two weeks about how you should’ve done Odile from Swan Lake but pussied out because it’s hard and you know you’d complain.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Exactly, babe, exactly. That’s why I don’t get why you don’t just go set the tone.” Tashi chirps. Her voice does that thing. That thing she does when she's pretending she's being casual about something. Going up an octave to show just how much she doesn't care.

Heaven sits up then, a stern look on her face that can rival the one Tashi gives, both hands planted in the bed as she stares the other girl down. “You don’t think I’ll get the lead with whatever I pick.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A dare. The look she gives dares Tashi to say the wrong thing. 

Patrick and Art don’t know what to do. They’d never seen the girls disagree before. They’re always tag-teaming everyone. Tagging in and out of conversations, finishing each other’s quick remarks, cutting people down with sharp looks together. They’d never seen them face off before.

“I know you’d better get the lead.” Tashi shrugs, flipping her hair over and tying it up with a hair tie.

“I’m gonna. Have I ever not?” Heaven sends back. 

Tashi gives her a noncommittal look before snatching up Patrick’s shirt, tossing it into his hands. “Come hit the ball with me.” 

She offers Art one glance. It’s an invitation, very clearly for everyone except Heaven, who was already turned away on the bed, scrolling on her phone again. 

Patrick and Art have their own wide-eyed, silent conversation, finally settling through gestures. ‘You go with that one, I’ll stay with this one, hopefully no one pitches a fit.’

The dorm room door slips shut and the room is quiet aside from the clock ticking on Tashi’s dresser. A few moments pass before Heaven lets out a loud sigh and rolls over, gasping when she sees Art sitting at the desk on his own phone. “What the fuck?”

His eyes widen as he looks at her. “What?”

“I thought you left with Tashi and Patrick.”

He softens as that, offering her a smile. “And leave you by yourself? Nah. Anyway, we’re gonna be playing tennis everyday for the rest of this semester. Let’s go tour my college campus.”

Heaven looks up at the blond man outstretching his hand to her. Part of it is because she’s pissed at Tashi and didn’t wanna be laying here when she got back, but another part of her thought it might be fun to use this as an opportunity to get to know Art more. 

Since she, Patrick and Tashi started hooking up, she’d decided she was satisfied with keeping the set up she had. She had some fun, they dated, and ultimately, there weren’t many requirements. Her focus was just dance now, she wasn’t looking to waste her time on another boyfriend who wouldn’t work out, and going down the exclusive route with Tashi would get…complicated.

But sometimes she thought about Art. She thought about his cute smile and blond hair. She thought about his voice and muscles. And since the match, she thinks about how he played tennis. She could’ve came from watching him play tennis.

A secret she’ll take to the grave, mind you.

But one that led her to walking around campus with him, despite the fact that she and Tashi had agreed she needed to rest her legs before her audition.

Art told her all about the stuff the guide book talked about, showing her the historic buildings, the dorm he now calls home and the dining hall. And somehow, they ended up in the small theater that’s located on the campus.

He smiles, glancing at her, rocking on his feet as they stand outside the building. 

Heaven rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. “Huh. I wonder how we ended up here.

“Couldn’t tell you. Definitely didn’t walk you to this…very small theater on purpose.” Art shrugs. “Probably should go in though.” He says breezily, pushing the door open for Heaven to walk through.

As she steps over the threshold, Heaven’s bad mood nearly dissolves. Her tense shoulders relax and her eyes slip closed. Art watches her all but melt into the environment, her pretty features smooth out as she breathes in deeply. “A theater is a theater. I missed this, traveling with Tashi.”

“I’d bet. I’m sure you don’t get much time to dance when you do that.” He says softly, watching her run her hands along the stage.

“Just drills so I don’t get rusty.” She hums. “I’m gonna end up doing Odile. She’s right, it’s a show stopper, guaranteed lead.”

Art sits in the front, center seat, watching as Heaven pushes her way up onto the stage, sitting on the edge. “I’m sure you’d get it no matter what you did. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Heaven sweeps her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve never seen me dance, Arthur.”

He looks at her with an earnest, almost pleading expression that makes her stomach flip. “Could I? Please?”

“Okay.”

Art hasn’t experienced that much of life yet. He’s young, he’s had the same best friend forever. He went to a boarding school for tennis. He hasn’t traveled the world yet or anything.

But he’s pretty sure he would like to watch Heaven Whitlock dance. 

She was in sweats. Unprepared, with no shoes. Though she denied it, she was clearly nervous that her friend would bust in, see her, and it would start round two of their squabble. But she stretches for a moment before crouching to set up her phone. “Do you know what you wanna see or…”

Art blushes at that, he doesn’t exactly know any ballets. He just wanted to see Heaven in her element. “How about you show me the dance you wanna do.”

There it is. The truth. They both know she’s gonna do the dance Tashi is recommending. But right now she’s not here. And Art wants to see what Heaven would enjoy doing.

“It’s the Esmeralda Variation.” She says, untying her shoelaces before pulling her shoes off altogether. “I need something to kick.”

Art immediately pulls his hat off, tossing it up to her and chuckling as she giggles catching it. One tap on her phone and the muffled music is echoing in the empty theater. 

And she’s moving.

And Art can’t breathe. 

He’s never seen anything like it, like her. The grace. The control she has over her body. He didn’t know people could look like that. He didn’t know balance could be so beautiful. It was like, he didn’t even want to blink. He didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

His eyes tracked her body’s movements with precision, but what they really focused on was her face. He’d never seen perfection like that. Peace like that. This was what Tashi was talking about. This is what she feels with tennis, Heaven has dance. She was in a relationship. With the song. With her body. The floor. The audience. Him. 

Watching Heaven dance felt like witnessing love.

She’s amazing.

The dance was fun, playful, and looked difficult as hell. And she did it with ease.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she stopped, sliding down into a final split with a bright smile on her face. “That’s…you’re beautiful. That’s amazing, what you just did.”

Heaven gives him a pleased look that has him feeling warm. She moves to sit on the edge of the stage, letting her legs dangle as she looks at him. Her hands rest on her knees. “Thanks, Art, that means a lot.”

He shifts in his own seat, leaning forward. He pushes up out of the red theater chair and makes his way over to stand in front of her. “I mean it. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You’re really good at that, you know.” Heaven says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looks at him. This is the first time they’ve been face to face before. He’s tall, and imposing despite his accommodating demeanor. She bites her lip and watches his eyes immediately drop before he forces them back to her eyes. “Making people feel good about themselves.”

Art’s startled by the compliment, and immediately starts to laugh it off. Betrayed by the redness of his ears. “You have a gift.” He shrugs. “You should be told you have a gift, all the time.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. The wave of boldness. It might’ve been that they were alone. Or he was still worked up from what he just witnessed. Or the way Heaven was looking at him, with intensity. Like she saw something. He rests one hand on her leg, feeling smooth skin. And pushes into her space, bringing their faces impossibly closer. Heaven’s big eyes flutter shut as he gets closer, and he smiles.

She wants him to kiss her.

Grabbing his hat from behind her and placing it on his head.

Her eyes open after a beat and she gasps out a laugh, their faces still just a breath apart. “Ha. You’re funny-”

He presses his lips to hers in a brief but deep kiss, pulling away just as she pressed her lips back. “I’m sorry.”

Heaven balls her fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him back to her and making their lips meet again. Their mouths move together in a new dance. Suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and hums of contentment. Heaven’s hands find their way into Art’s hair as he anchors her waist, pulling her to the very edge of the stage so he can stand between her thighs.

When they pull away their lips cause a loud smack in the dimly lit room. Art’s thumb sweeps over the soft skin of Heaven’s cheek as they both desperately try to catch their breath. Her own hand moves about his curls, smoothing them before sliding to his jaw. Art turns his head to press a kiss to her palm before he speaks.

“Heaven-”

His eyes widen as he sees the girl’s eyes watering, her rose petal lips trembling as she looks at him. Chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. She runs her hands through her hair with a stressed look that Art thinks he would do anything to remove.

“Please don’t tell Tashi.”

[ysrjune]

Hii

I’ve never sent an ask before but if you’d want to write it I think a Scott Fic/drabble/oneshot (whatever it’s called) maybe where him and reader are meeting for the first time, or just early on before they’re dating 🙏

I don’t know, thank you whether you decide to write this or not though!!💞

I like your funny words magic man. 🤑 this is so cute! feel free to send in any other requests!

“ARE YOU GONNA BE HERE WITH ME?” #🩵

#👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 “I KNOW YOU BETTER.”

𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 <3

At first, it was just innocent flirting and shy smiles when you'd pass by each other. But after 2 months of it, Scott was over it. Not in the sense that he wanted to end whatever this was. No. He wanted to take it to the next level. He wanted to actually get to know you. So after period 3: history, he caught up to you in the hallway. "Hey, im walking you to your next class." It was a question. It was a statement.. and you liked that.

Soon, he started hanging out with you at lunch and after school (when football season was over so that he wouldn't miss any practice). You'd sit on the bleachers with him, watching track, tennis, or baseball while they practiced or had games. Sometimes, he'd even participate in after-school activities you liked just to spend time with you.

"Don't let anyone hear you." Scott says as he kisses down your neck. "We dont want Silvia to find us and kick us out, do we?" Silvia is the strictest security guard at school. Also the biggest cock blocker anyone would ever meet. "Why'd we have to do this here, though?" You mutter. He took you to the boys' bathroom and into a stall. Scott stops for a second. "I dont know, actually.." He says and continues.

Scott really likes making out with you, but not in public places. He hates seeing couples eating each others faces in the hallways and in class. He thinks it's so.. ew, so he doesn't do it with you. Kissing? Yes, of course. But full-on tongue in your mouth, hell no. He wont admit it, but he sort of likes when you leave hickies on him. Visible to other people or not, he doesnt mind. When other girls who like him stare in disappointment, taking the hint hes probably taken, it makes him feel some sort of way.

He doesn't keep you a secret. Just private. That's why not a lot of people know its you that has him in a chokehold. Always in classrooms or in the theatre where no one was at during lunch. "Come on, one more." He mumbles into your neck. Today you wore that pretty lipstick he loved on you. He wanted you to leave more kiss marks on him. He had one on the side of his mouth and a few on the side of his neck.

"Where would I even leave them?" You ask. ".. Somewhere only I can see." He replied, surprising in a shy way. #WhatTheHell #Freaky. That was the first time you ever blowed him. It wasn't your best moment.. only because it was in the theatre. He was into it, though, so, you were too. Atleast you didn't get caught.

Scott is a very sweet boy. He brings you flowers before every date and kisses you all the time. Always giving you compliments. You're his girl. Well, sort of. He hasnt asked you out.. yet.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaas-xo @anakinca @dollfilmz @alexlovesysrjune @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw

[starkwlkr]

heyyy! i love your fanfics so so much and had an idea for one, charles x reader where the girl has to go to watch the rolex monte carlo masters on finals day because his sister dates one of the tennis players who would play there, her place ends up being next to charles and he notices the confusion of the girl next to him every pass, she knows nothing about tennis so charles gently explains what happens in the game and she recognizes him for being a fan of formula one... pierre appears and charles gets up to change places without first inviting her to accompany him

go sports | charles leclerc

again so sorry for the wait!! i’m slowly catching up on all the requests :) I’m assuming that y/n’s sister is dating on of the tennis players so I wrote that in

Y/n sat in her seat, unsure why she was even separated from her sister, but she just accepted it. Y/n watched as more seats were being filled by people. A few minutes before the match started, Y/n took her phone out and started texting her sister. She continued to do that until a guy sat beside her.

“Bonjour mademoiselle.” He greeted.

Y/n just smiled at him. “Hi.” She regretted not taking French in school.

She didn’t mean to stare at him, but he had such a familiar face. A second later, she realized that none other than Charles Leclerc was sitting right next to her. Soon, the match started and Y/n tried her best to keep up with it. She never quite understood the basics of tennis, but she watched the ball bounce from one opponent to the other.

From the corner of his eye, Charles watched as she made a confused face. Her eyes followed the ball, she sometimes gasped when one of the players almost hit the ground from running.

“Who’s your pick?” Charles leaned towards her.

“Is it dumb if I say whoever wins?” Y/n said to him.

“I don’t think it’s dumb. That’s what I said when I saw my first tennis match.” Charles replied. “Did you know that in tennis, ‘love’ means zero.” He said, almost whispering it in her ear.

As the match went on, Charles kept telling her what was going on. She nodded, keeping track of every rule Charles was telling her. Halfway through the match, Y/n sort knew what was happening.

From a distance, Pierre Gasly watched his friend talk with the woman beside him. “This guy.” He chuckled as Charles pointed to the tennis court. He then realized Charles was explaining the game to her.

Is this his way of flirting? Pierre thought. He then watched Charles pull his phone out and hand it to her. Pierre’s girlfriend, Kika, sat beside him watching as well.

“Are they exchanging phone numbers?” Kika whispered to Pierre.

“Holy shit, Charles actually knows how to talk to women.”

[gsspgrl777]

it’s been a while - stanford!art donaldson x reader

author’s note: hey guys I’m back asf 😝 my challengers obsession is on another level I don’t wanna talk about it I can’t put it into words. this fic is lowkey inspired by a few diff scenes from the movie but also by this (NSFW!!!!!) tweet that i found -> https://x.com/sexarchiv/status/1818683083681677640?s=46

I hope y'all enjoy! I wrote this rlly fast lmao (ps: the jack schlossberg scandal fic is coming soon i promise <3)

WARNINGS! pnv, oral (f receiving), cheating, humping i guess, reader is dating patrick, they hook up in the readers dorm at stanford, basically reader is tashi but like not actually

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

It had been a month since you've started school and you had barely seen Art. You’d seen your boyfriend Patrick more times than him, and Patrick didn’t even go to Stanford. One day when you're on the courts practicing, Art walks in and begins to watch you play.

“You gonna say something stranger? Or are you just gonna keep staring like a creep?” You say sarcastically. 

He laughs and tilts his head, leaning against the fence behind him. 

"Hey now, I'm just admiring the view. You're looking pretty good out there.” 

His eyes scan over your body, a playful smirk on his face.

“Thank you, I’ve been practicing like nonstop. How have you been? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.” 

You pick up your things and begin to walk towards the food court.

"Pretty good, pretty good. Just been keeping up with tennis practice and trying to keep my grades up. You know, the usual student life." He chuckles and glances over at you. "I've missed seeing your face. It's been too long."

“How come you haven't said hi? Not to guilt you or anything, but l've been pretty lonely since school started. I could use someone to talk to and I'm sure you could too. college is hard”

He stops in his tracks and turns to face you, a genuinely concerned expression on his face. 

"I'm sorry. Honestly, I thought you had been avoiding me. I didn't want to overstep any boundaries, you know?" 

“Why would I be avoiding you, Art?”

You take a bite out of the churro you snagged on the way in before offering it to Art to have a bite. He takes a bite and continues talking with his mouth full.

"Well, honestly, I thought maybe it was because of how I used to flirt with you. I didn't want you to get the wrong idea or anything, especially with you and Patrick…” His voice trails off for a moment while he swallows his food. “But if I'm being completely honest, l've missed our friendship and I’ve missed hanging out with you." 

“Wait, you were serious with that? I thought you were kidding with the flirty stuff.”

He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. 

"Uh, well, I mean, I do enjoy messing around and getting a rise out of people. But with you..it was different.

“Oh god, Art, I’m sorry. if I would've known I-“

He shakes his head and stops you there with a smile. "No, no need to apologize. Honestly, it was probably more on me than it was on you. I have a hard time being serious sometimes, you know that.”

You pause for a moment to think.

“Hey, let’s go back to my dorm. My roommate is gone for the weekend.”

He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. "Oh? Yeah... yeah let's go."

…

You head back to the dorm, barely making it through the door before his lips meet yours.

*He eagerly reciprocates, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. He deepens the kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue.

The kiss begins to deepen and he goes towards your bed. 

“Wait... Art... I need to... shower... we can’t.”

His lips trail down your neck as he gently pushes you onto the bed, his hand sliding down your side. 

"I don't care... I want you now." He whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

“Wait, c'mere.” You continue to kiss him and lead him towards the bathroom. You fumble with the shower behind you turning it on and he begins to tug at your clothes.

He moans against your lips, his hands expertly removing your clothes. 

"Fuck... I need you." He steps back to admire you, his eyes roaming over your body. He quickly sheds his own clothes before joining you under the hot water. He presses you against the cool tile and continues to devour your mouth.

He kisses down your body, lowering himself on his knees. He reaches your thigh, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. He parts your folds with his fingers, his tongue following suit. 

"You're so fucking beautiful..." He murmurs, the sound almost lost in the pounding water. Licking and sucking on your clit, he moans into you. He's starving, a hunger only the taste of your release can satisfy. You feel his hard-on hit your leg. You were too busy kissing to pay attention when he had undressed, but he was bigger than you thought. 

He feels your leg quiver and his cock twitches at the thought of being inside you. He pushes two fingers into you, curling them to find that spot that makes you squirm. He sucks and licks at your clit with more force, his other hand gripping your ass tighter. Your head falls back as you reach your climax, your leg shaking beneath you. 

Art licks you clean and stands back up meeting your face. His tongue enters your mouth, your own release sweet on his lips. He grinds against your leg needy for his own relief. 

“You wanna cum baby?” 

He can barely form words to answer your question. He continues to grind against you, his cock painfully hard at this point.

"Ple-please. I wanna be inside you... fuck-" He whimpers into your neck while you rub him teasingly. He's so needy for you.

“Fine, let's dry off first.” You turn off the shower and get out leaving him.

You dry yourself off, bending over to dry your legs. Everything is on display for him, he tries to touch himself but you stop him. 

“No touching, you can wait a minute.”

He groans in frustration, his cock throbbing with need. He watches you intently, admiring your body with open lust. 

"I-I can wait..." He stammers, trying to keep his hands off himself.

You throw a towel at him and head over to your bed. He can see you from the bathroom, you sit on the edge of the bed and stare at him patiently. Rushing to dry off, he runs over to you and drops the towel. He hovers over you as you lean back, letting your legs spread. He gasps at the sight of you, his cock jerking instinctively. 

"Fuck..." He mutters helplessly.

“You want me to make you feel better?” He nods, staring at you with doe eyes. “Okay. Sit down.”

He quickly sits on your bed, back against the pillows. You straddle him, slightly hovering over his leaking cock. You lower yourself and grind against him, slipping and sliding on his length but not yet letting him enter you.

“Does this feel good baby?”

He moans loudly, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Yes..!" He moans, trying to control his breathing as he feels your wetness slick against him.

"Please..."

“Ready?” He nods. 

You lift yourself up before lowering back down onto him, this time taking his full length inside of you. He whimpers and quickly bottoms out. Nearly cumming just from being inside of you, he stares up at you, no sound leaving his mouth beside moans. 

His blue eyes intensely follow your face as you ride him. His grip on your ass tightens as you grind on him. He reaches up, his fingers tracing your jaw as he moans helplessly. He's not going to last long, the feel of you tight around him is sending his mind into overdrive. His hips buck up against yours, thrusting desperately into your warm depths. His cock twitches inside of you, he's close. You ride him slower, thinking it will edge him. Instead, it puts him over the top. 

He cums inside you, the feeling of his release making you clench around his cock, having a second orgasm. Feeling you tightening around him sends jolts of pleasure through his system as he spills his release inside you. He groans loudly, his fingers digging into your hips as he watches you through heavy lidded eyes, a lazy smile on his lips. 

"Fuck, baby..." Collapsing on top of him, he kisses your neck. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do that."

His hands slowly, gently trace up and down your back as he holds you to his chest. His lips brush against your neck softly, eliciting a pleased sigh from you. 

“We should do that again sometime.” You smirk.

You broke up with Patrick later that day.

[voidsuites]

VOIDSUITES 10K CELEBRATION !!! ⌢ ✨ .ᐟ

so… 10k! 10,000!!! ten thousand little people in the world are following me on c.ai right now and that’s a little crazy to comprehend… they do say to do something you’re passionate about and people will follow, but this is just beyond anything i could ever imagine… so what better way to celebrate than with giving back to you guys!

for my mutuals… my lovely, lovely mutuals, here is your time to shine! if you want to send in a request, you can either:

send me a song along with your chosen character + the kind of scenario you’re picturing for it

OR

choose a prompt below and send it to me with the character you want! (if they’re shit my bad guys. lo siento 😭)

please send these requests to me via an ask— that way i can keep track of them in one place. just make sure you send them off of anon so i know who’s sending what :)

these requests can be based on canon or in an alternate universe (ex. think my fantasy bot release)

any character/media i’ve done is fair game! if i haven’t done a specific character yet but it’s in one of my fandoms then still send it my way!

like anything else, yap to your heart’s content! yap yap yap away… i love details <3333 the more the merrier

i’m going to take 15 requests in total, and i’ll reblog this post once they’ve all been filled. anything sent in afterwards won’t be done for this specific release (but i may hold onto them for later... hehe)

all in all, i just really want to say for the millionth bajillionth time thank you so, so much for making this a welcome space for me to be creative and interact with you all! you’ve all been so sweet to me and i really can’t convey just how much that means to me. hoping to get some long-form content out soon (longer than 2048 characters at the very least LOL) so keep an eye out for that! thank you for sticking around and following because you love messy tennis players, chefs that crash out at any minor inconvenience, kids who ride bikes and fight demonic entities in the 80s, big loser men who have issues, pretty women who can do no wrong, or whatever else that’s drawn you to my account here and/or on c.ai. couldn’t be more grateful than i am right now... going to go hide in my cave for the time being but each and every one of you is so loved by me i’m kissing all of u on the forehead okay bye

PROMPTS !!! ⌢ ✨ .ᐟ

1) “five minutes. all i need is five minutes.” 2) “i don’t know how long i can keep doing this.” 3) “you can’t be serious.” 4) “they don’t know you— not like i do.” 5) “stay the night. please.” 6) “do you wanna get out of here?” 7) “keep it. it suits you.” 8) “why’re you looking at me like that?” 9) “let me help you with that.” 10) “i just need more time.” 11) “you’ve got quite the reputation.” 12) “stay out of my business.” 13) “i believe you.” 14) “i wish i could hate you.” 15) “can i come in?” 16) “i have so much i want to say to you.” 17) “come on, it can’t be that bad.” 18) “like what you see?” 19) “you said this time would be different.” 20) “it’s very rude to stare.”

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 8: Obvious

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 4.7k

Chapter 8/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Another week of y'all reading my mediocre song lyrics. Let's wrap this up by the new year.

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Saturdays were for tennis. Every weekend, if your dad were in town, he’d send a message inviting you and Isabella for your weekly tennis match, followed by tea on the patio with your mom. It had been this way ever since Isabella was a tiny girl, a tradition that had endured through the years.

You’d grown up watching your father maintain his high-profile career—managing bands, launching artists, orchestrating deals—but when he was home, he always made time for this simple ritual. Tennis and tea. Just the four of you. You smiled as you stepped onto the courts, the early morning sun casting a soft golden glow over everything. He was already on the court, wearing his usual pair of black sunglasses and his signature calm, calculating demeanor. His presence alone was enough to put most people on edge. But not you. You knew your father better than anyone. He had always been a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes.

The sound of the tennis ball bouncing off the court snapped you back to the present. Isabella was sitting off to the side with your mother and a cup of tea, chatting away like a little grown-up. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of them together. Isabella was growing into her own person, and you felt lucky to have witnessed all of it. Especially now, when she would listen to your conversations, paying half attention but always absorbing every detail. Then she'd offer her advice as if you weren't the parent.

“So,” Nick said, casually hitting the ball back over the net. “How’s this Natasha girl?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. You had expected it, sure. Your father had been strangely quiet about your dating life up until now. He’d asked about Sam before, mostly because he liked the guy, and you were married to him, but Natasha? That was a different story.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your tone light. “She’s good, Dad. Really good. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”

Nick nodded, but you could see the gears turning in his head. The intensity in his eyes never wavered, and he returned the ball with more force than usual, almost like he was using tennis as an excuse to let out his frustration.

“You’re serious about her?” he asked, his voice more guarded than you were used to.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “She’s someone special.”

Nick didn’t say anything at first. He just watched you for a moment as if waiting for more. His next words came slowly, weighed down with skepticism. “I still don’t know about this whole rockstar thing. Are you sure about her? Where did you meet her?"

You knew this would come up. The idea of you dating someone in that world—especially Natasha—wasn’t exactly sitting well with him.

"Harley's birthday party," You glanced at Isabella, who was pretending to sip her tea but clearly eavesdropping. You softened your tone, mindful of her presence. “Dad, Natasha’s not just a rockstar. She’s more than that. We connect in ways that I haven’t felt before. She’s not like the others.”

Nick’s gaze didn’t soften. “I know the type. They can be... unpredictable.”

You let out a small sigh, feeling the weight of his words. “She’s different. I promise. She makes me happy.”

His expression remained neutral, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced. He jogged to the other side of the court, sending the ball flying back toward you. “I’m sure she’s got her charms. But you're my daughter. I need to know you're with someone who will treat you right. Someone who can handle all this,” he gestured to the life he'd essentially built for you.

You caught the ball and paused momentarily, considering your father’s words. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but this is my decision. And I really think Natasha’s someone worth taking a chance on.”

Nick set his racket down, his arms crossing in a familiar stance. “Alright, I’ll meet her.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. You hadn’t expected that so soon.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “If she’s serious about you, I want to see it myself. I’ve got to meet this Natasha.”

You felt a sense of relief, but that underlying tension was still over you. It wasn’t just about Natasha proving herself to your father; it was about you figuring out where your relationship was headed. You hadn’t even begun to put all the pieces together in your mind, but now, with your dad’s approval, it felt like things were moving faster than you could keep up with.

“Well, looks like you’re going to have to start warming up to the idea,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Nick just grunted, grabbing his racket again. “We’ll see how this plays out.”

"She's really nice, Papa Nick," Isabella joined in. "We went to the movies last week, and she bought me the biggest-sized popcorn."

"Is that so?" Nick raised a brow. "Have you met her, Jen?" He looked to your mom for her answer.

"I have not,"

"Hmm," Nick hummed. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. When is she free?"

"Tomorrow," You replied.

"Perfect. Tomorrow then," He decided.

Good luck to both of you.

***

To say that this brunch was awkward was an understatement. Your father, ever the master of subtle intimidation, had given Natasha the cold shoulder despite your repeated pleas for him to ease up. He wasn’t outright rude or cruel—Nick Fury didn’t operate that way—but his protective instincts were dialed up to eleven. A quiet comment here, a lingering stare there—it was enough to make even you, a mid-twenties divorcee with a sharp tongue, squirm.

Natasha, for her part, seemed unfazed. She sat next to you at the long dining table, her posture relaxed, her green eyes scanning the room with genuine interest. She’d earlier complimented the house’s mid-century charm, admiring the collection of vinyl records your dad kept in pristine condition. Now, she was nursing her coffee, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of the cup, looking every bit the calm rockstar you’d come to admire.

“So, Natasha,” your dad’s voice broke the silence, his tone casual but carrying an edge, you knew all too well. He leaned back in his chair, studying her like she was one of his clients sitting across the negotiation table. “Did you go to college?”

Natasha glanced at you briefly, a small, reassuring smile tugging at her lips before she turned to your dad. “I didn’t,” she admitted, her voice steady. “I was already touring in small venues with the band by the time I finished high school. It was a different path, but one I’m proud of.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “No regrets about that?”

Natasha shook her head, her eyes meeting your dad's. She didn't shy away from the challenge.

"I'm not a person who regrets. Not if it means I'm doing what I love."

Your dad hummed, seeming to consider her words. You held your breath, watching the exchange closely. For a moment, it was silent, save for the clinging of your mom's fork against her plate.

"Do you value education?" He questioned.

"I do,"

"Good. Then you'll understand when I say I want the best for my daughter and granddaughter. They deserve nothing less than that."

Natasha nodded, her gaze unwavering. "With all due respect, sir, I believe the same."

"Hmm." Your dad hummed. "You're very direct." Your father nodded slowly, clearly weighing her words. “The music industry’s not exactly a walk in the park. A lot of people get chewed up and spit out.”

Natasha met his gaze without flinching. “That’s true. But I’ve got good people around me and learned how to stay grounded. I’ve also learned how to be better as an artist and person.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Natasha had a way of handling the pressure that you envied, and seeing her hold her own with your father was impressive.

Your dad didn't look away, but you could tell he was contemplating her words.

"What are your intentions with my daughter?" He asked bluntly.

Natasha didn't even flinch. "I care deeply about your daughter, sir. She's one of the most genuine people I've met, and I value her input. Her opinion matters to me. I enjoy spending time with her."

Nick's face softened, but only slightly. "I'm glad to hear that. So you understand my hesitation."

Natasha nodded. "Of course. And I'd never disrespect or disregard your family."

"Daddy, do you have to ask her so many questions?" You sighed.

"I'm just trying to get to know the person who's going to spend a lot of time with my grandbaby," He shrugged. "You understand."

"Yes," Natasha responded.

"What are your parents like?" Your father inquired, changing the topic.

"My mother is a science teacher," Natasha said. "She lives in Jersey. I call her twice a week."

"And your father?"

Natasha's jaw tightened. "I haven't spoken to my father since I was sixteen,"

"Why is that?" Your father asked.

Natasha shifted slightly in her chair, her gaze lowering for the first time. "He and my mom got divorced when I was younger. After the divorce, he didn't want anything to do with me."

"Oh," Nick's brow furrowed.

"He wasn't the best man," Natasha's tone was firm, her gaze returning to meet your dad's. "But my mom did a great job raising my sister and me. She always made sure I had a roof over our heads and food in the fridge, and she instilled good morals in us. She taught me how to be a strong woman, and I'm thankful for her every day."

Natasha’s words seemed to strike a chord with Nick. He leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly as he considered her answer. You could tell he wasn’t expecting that level of candor or the quiet pride with which Natasha spoke about her mom.

“Sounds like your mom did right by you,” he finally said, a hint of approval in his tone.

“She did,” Natasha replied with a small, genuine smile. “She’s one of the strongest people I know.”

The room seemed to settle momentarily, the tension loosening just enough for your mom to jump in. She had been quietly observing up to this point, sipping her tea with a soft smile. Now, her curiosity sparked.

“You mentioned you have a sister?” Jen asked, her tone warm and inviting.

Natasha turned her attention to her, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yelena. She’s studying at the University of Cambridge right now. International Relations major. She’s brilliant, honestly. Way smarter than I ever was at her age.”

“Cambridge,” Jen echoed, clearly impressed. “That’s no small accomplishment. You must be proud.”

“I am,” Natasha said with a nod. “She worked really hard to get there. We’re close, so I always cheer her on from here.”

Jen smiled, clearly charmed, and even Nick seemed to appreciate the answer. He tapped his fingers on the edge of his coffee cup before leveling his gaze at Natasha again.

“So, you’ve got a smart sister, a strong mom,” he said. “What about you? You know good music?”

You groaned inwardly, recognizing the shift in his tone. Nick Fury’s “test” voice was unmistakable, and you braced yourself for the next question.

Natasha, however, didn’t miss a beat. She tilted her head slightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I’d like to think so. Music’s kind of my whole life.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Alright then. Who’s your favorite artist?”

It was a direct, deceptively simple Nick Fury question designed to put someone on the spot.

Natasha didn’t flinch. She smiled, considering her answer momentarily before replying, “It depends on the day. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours is one of my all-time favorites, but I also love modern stuff. Brandi Carlile, Hozier... sometimes even Billie Eilish when I’m in the right mood.”

Nick nodded slowly, clearly evaluating her response. "What about people that look like me?"

"Dad," you warned, feeling your temper flare.

Natasha's smile didn't fade; she took his question in stride.

"Muddy Waters," Natasha replied, her voice filled with confidence. "Aretha Franklin. Nina Simone."

"Ahh," Nick nodded approvingly, a hint of surprise registering on his face. "I like that. When's your next album coming out?"

"Well, we have a few tracks in the worse. Should be done in the next few months," Natasha wiped her mouth. Discussing music put her at ease. This was her territory. "We have a couple of songs we're still debating about. Actually, we're looking at y/n for the vocals. I was going to mention it to you when we had a moment alone."

"Wanda already did," You nodded.

"You talked to Wanda?" She looked at you.

"Yes, we exchanged numbers at the party," You shrugged. "We talk all the time."

"Of course you do," She muttered.

"Well, how do you feel about the song y/n? "Jen asked.

"I'm a little nervous," You admitted.

"She's got a great voice," Natasha praised. "She's a natural. The song's a perfect fit."

"That's not the issue," You sighed.

"Oh?" Nick perked up.

You sighed, glancing at your parents, who were waiting expectantly. Natasha’s praise was sweet but didn’t erase the knot of hesitation tightening in your chest.

“It’s not that I don’t like the song,” you started, fiddling with your napkin. “Or that I don’t think it’s a great opportunity.”

“Then what is it?” Natasha asked, her voice soft but curious.

“It’s...” You hesitated, glancing at your dad, who was watching you closely now. “I’ve put singing behind me for a reason. I worked hard to separate myself from that world, to build something on my own. And I don’t want anyone thinking—”

“Thinking what?” Natasha leaned in, her tone patient but firm.

“That we’re together because I want to boost my career,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I’ve seen those kinds of PR stunts a million times. They’re transparent and cheap, and I don’t want to look like... that.”

"That's completely understandable," Natasha said. She was content to leave it there. She knew firsthand how to handle this topic for you.

"Well, let's hear the song." Your dad suggested.

"Dad..." You began.

"Before you say no to it, at least hear it," He shrugged. "I have a studio in the guest house. Surely Natasha has her music loaded and ready." You knew what this was. He was testing the both of you. He was mostly trying to push you but also gauge Natasha's knowledge of music. This would be interesting.

****

An hour later, Natasha sat at the mixing board, her fingers flipping switches and turning knobs. A laptop propped up nearby displayed Wanda’s face over FaceTime, her expression focused as she listened intently. Nick sat off to the side, arms crossed but intrigued as Natasha played the first track. He didn’t say much, but the way his brows furrowed in thought spoke volumes.

You sat on a low couch a few feet away, curled up with a notebook. Mostly, you’d stayed quiet, content to watch the interplay between your dad and Natasha. It was rare to see him this interested in someone else’s craft—rarer still for him to keep his opinions to himself for more than five minutes.

As the song wound down, Natasha leaned back in her chair and glanced at Wanda on the screen. “What do you think? Too much reverb on the bridge?”

Wanda shook her head. “No, I like it. It gives the vocals more weight. What about layering the guitar riff in the second verse, though? Feels like it could use a little more punch there.”

“Good call,” Natasha nodded, making a note on a pad beside her.

Nick leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “You’re not a producer, are you?”

Natasha chuckled. “Not officially, no. But I’ve spent enough time in studios to pick up a thing or two.”

Nick didn't look impressed.

"I'm the creative force," She smirked. "If we want it, I can do it."

He grunted.

You glanced at your dad, wondering if he would bring up the song you were supposed to record. The question was evident on his face, but he hesitated to voice it.

Wanda, however, didn't have the same reservations. She was always the one to ask the hard questions, especially if the answers mattered.

"Are you going to record the song, or what?"

You let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through your hair.

"I might have written down a few lyrics that fit me better," You acknowledged. You stood to be given the camera. "I'm not saying no, but I want the song to represent me as well. That's all."

"That's fair," Wanda nodded.

"We can try it out right now if you want?" Nick suggested. "Let's see how good your pen actually is."

"It's certainly improved since you last heard it, old man." You jested. Natasha began to play the music and offered you the floor to give constructive criticism. "Well, if you're going to lean into the whole crossover thing, it should feel more R&B. Subtle."

Natasha immediately adjusted the track, tweaking the tempo and softening the guitar riff. The harder punk elements faded into a smoother, almost sensual melody aligned more with an R&B vibe. She glanced at you as she worked, her expression open and eager for feedback.

“Like this?” she asked, her fingers moving expertly across the board.

“Closer,” you said, stepping further into the room. “The drumline should be heavier but not overpowering. Something you feel in your chest, you know?”

Nick raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You’ve got an ear for this.”

“She does,” Natasha agreed, her voice carrying a note of pride. “She hears music differently. It’s why I wanted her on this track.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, but you focused on the task. “And the bridge—it needs to soar. It's like a release before the last chorus. Build up, then let it break down smooth.”

Natasha adjusted the track again, layering in a subtle drumbeat and tweaking the synths to give the bridge the lift you described. She played it back, and the room filled with the revised sound.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you said, nodding. “That feels more like it.”

“Damn,” Wanda said through the camera, a grin spreading across her face. “She’s good.”

You opened your notebook to the page you'd scribbled on. You sat next to Natasha, showing her the lyrics. "I think we should be more of a duet. Obviously, Wanda will be there, but..."

Natasha looked at the lyrics, then at you.

"We're already a duo,"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not for me," She winked.

"Perfect," Wanda chimed in.

"This is the new bridge," You hummed along with the music, letting Natasha play the music.

"I don't want to make it obvious,

Caught in the midst and can't lie.

Every touch, you make it harder for me, baby,

Go ahead and look me in my eyes."

Your voice laced each line with a hint of vulnerability, and Natasha watched intently, her fingers lightly tapping against her chair to the beat as she mouthed the lyrics along with you.

The pre-chorus was next, soft but building:

"I can admit when I'm hiding from you,

But you see right through my disguise."

The music swelled, and your voice dropped to a raspy, sultry whisper.

"Baby, when I'm with you, I can't hide."

You glanced up at Natasha, meeting her gaze. Her green eyes were intense, and there was a familiar intensity in the way her jaw flexed. She seemed lost, but her lips parted ever so slightly.

"I think that's great," Wanda's voice boomed through your reverie as the music faded.

"It's certainly something," Your dad smirked from his spot in the corner.

"Natasha, what do you think?" You asked. "Does it seem too r&b for you guys?"

"Are you kidding me? You nailed it. It's perfect." Natasha gave you a thumbs-up. "We need to record this, babe. That was really great."

Natasha leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, still tapping a rhythm on her thigh. "So, are you in?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes betraying her anticipation.

You hesitated for a beat, not because you doubted the song but because of what it represented—a step into the spotlight you'd carefully avoided for years. Of course, this could all go the opposite way. You could fade back into oblivion, and the song wouldn't even chart. Somehow, you knew you had a hit on your hands. Your gaze flickered to your dad, sitting back in his chair with a knowing smirk.

"You knew this would happen, didn’t you?" you asked him, crossing your arms playfully.

Nick shrugged, his grin widening. "I knew the moment you heard the track, you couldn’t walk away. You’ve got the itch, kid. It’s in your blood."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. Turning back to Natasha, you said, "Yeah, I’m in. Let’s do it."

Natasha’s face lit up with a grin, and she stood. "You won’t regret it," she said, her voice brimming with excitement.

"I better not," you teased, though your excitement started to bubble beneath the surface.

From the corner of the room, Wanda’s voice came through the speaker. "Finally! This is going to be amazing."

Natasha chuckled, sliding an arm around your waist. "She’s right. This is just the beginning."

Nick clapped his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. "Well, now that we’re all on the same page, let’s record this before you second-guess yourself."

You rolled your eyes again but nodded. "Fine. But if this blows up and I’m on the cover of People next month, I’m blaming all of you."

"Deal," Natasha said, her arm still around you as she leaned in close. Her voice dropped to a murmur, just for you. "But something tells me you’ll love every second of it." 

*****

Later that evening, after the studio session and brunch with your parents, you invited Natasha back to your place. You weren't ready to let her go, reveling in her presence and warmth. You and Natasha found yourselves alone in the dimly lit living room. The air was still charged with the session's energy, and you couldn't shake your feelings.

Natasha handed you a cup of tea, her fingers brushing yours briefly. "For the nerves," she said with a small smile.

You laughed softly, taking the mug and curling up on the plush couch. "I’m not nervous. Just... processing."

She sat beside you, close but not too close, her arm draped casually along the back of the couch. "Processing what?"

"Everything. I don’t know," you said, sighing. "I thought I was done with all this, you know? But, here I am."

Natasha nodded, sipping her tea and letting the silence hang.

You continued, "I mean, I have a good life. I have a good job, friends, my own place."

"And now a kick-ass duet," Natasha added.

"Yeah, it is really great," You nodded. "Without me. You and Wanda are great songwriters."

"You're not so bad yourself." She grinned. "You have to meet our new manager. Mitch Lester."

"Mitch Lester," You tried it on your tongue. You narrowed your eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing," You shook your head. "She manages a couple of my clients."

"Is that good or bad for us?" Natasha tilted her head.

"It's great. She's great," You nodded.

You smiled softly, leaning back into the couch, letting the warmth of Natasha’s presence settle around you. The way she talked to you and never hesitated to share or ask questions were things you didn’t take for granted. In the past, you had been with people who avoided the deeper conversations and let things fester instead of speaking up. But Natasha was different. She didn’t shy away from the difficult topics. In fact, it seemed like she embraced them.

"I’m glad you came to meet my parents," you said, quiet but sincere. "I know it wasn’t easy, but you didn’t flinch."

Natasha’s gaze softened, and she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her fingers intertwined as she considered your words. "You mean a lot to me, Y/N. Your family means something to me because you mean something to me."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in her voice. The fact that Natasha didn’t just show up out of obligation but because she wanted to connect with you on a deeper level was something you hadn’t expected but needed. You never thought that kind of honesty would feel so right.

"I think that’s why I like us," you said, your voice a little more confident now. "You always let me in. You communicate with me. You never make me guess or wonder what you're thinking."

Her lips twitched into a smile, a small chuckle escaping her. "I try to keep it simple," she said with a wink. "No games."

You laughed, feeling your nerves ease even more. How she looked at you and made you feel seen was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

"You really don’t hold back, do you?" you teased, feeling lighter and more at ease than you had in weeks.

"No reason to," Natasha replied. She moved a little closer, her knee brushing against yours. "I’ve always been more straightforward. With you... it’s easy."

It was easy. That was the truth of it. You didn’t have to question Natasha’s intentions, and that made everything feel smoother and more natural than you could’ve anticipated.

"You know, I’m happy," you said, your voice softening. "Like, genuinely happy. I don’t think I’ve felt this way in a while."

Natasha’s expression softened, her hand subtly brushing against yours. "I’m happy too, Y/N. It’s just... easy, isn’t it?"

You nodded, eyes meeting hers. "Yeah. It is."

A comfortable silence stretched between you both, but it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that came from mutual understanding, from a connection that didn’t need words. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself just feel—letting the moment unfold, enjoying the simplicity of being with someone who saw you, truly saw you, and accepted you as you were.

"I love you," Natasha said smoothly. Your eyes widened as you tried to process what she'd said. She leaned closer to you, her lips ghosting over yours, the tension palpable.

"I...I love you too." You said with such sincerity Natasha almost swooned. This felt right. You didn't want to think about how long you'd been dating or whether or not things would go bad. Here, in this moment, you were comfortable with each other. You loved her.

Natasha captured your lips with her arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. The kiss was passionate and fierce, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. Her hands were everywhere, tracing the lines of your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She was fire, and you were drawn to her like a moth.

"You said it back," Natasha said her voice husky. She pushed you to lie gently on the couch.

"I said it back," You giggled. "I do love you."

Natasha groaned softly, her lips trailing a path down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You arched into her touch, feeling your body responding to her. You were two magnets drawn to each other and couldn't resist the pull.

Natasha's hand slid beneath your shirt, her fingertips tracing patterns on your skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

"This is real for me," She whispered. "You and me. It's real."

"I know," You murmured, your eyes locked on hers. You could feel her emotions in how her hands roamed your body, how her lips sought yours, and how her breath hitched when your fingertips brushed her skin.

She kissed you again, this time with an intensity that left you breathless.

"It's real for me too." 

This is the part where we gear up for some real rockstar Hollywood shit to go on in the next chapters. ---> next part

[pedriache]

Hello! Could i request a story about Pedri dating a tennis player, someone like Emma răducanu? If you do not like tennis, it's no problem if you don't want to write it. I like all your other Pedri stories 🤗

Breakfast of champions 𖦹 Pedri González !

summary. after you won a match and pedri had won a game on the same day, you both decided the next day you’d celebrate with the most elaborate of breakfasts. the only problem was—pedri was terrible at making waffles.

wc. 685+

disclaimers. fluff, established relationship, reader is a tennis player, ect !

notes. i know literally nothing abt tennis so i hope i did this justice.. its so barely there but i gen had no ideas what to write

The kitchen was filthy with flour and the sweet smell of Belgian waffles. Pedri was currently staring at the burnt—once fluffy and delicious, looking waffle. A line formed between his brows as he tried to figure out exactly where he went wrong.

You, standing a few feet away with a flour-splotched apron, stifled a laugh. “Baby.. How..” You start, but clamp your mouth shut when Pedri’s eyes snap to you with a warning look.

“Right. Okay, well, just.. put it in the trash. You can just start over. No big deal.” You smile lightly, striding over to his side and standing up on your tip toes, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Pedri sighed at the light touch before gripping the plate and moving toward the trash can.

Yesterday had been a whirlwind. You’d won your match at Wimbledon, which was a major accomplishment for you and many other tennis players alike. Pedri and his team had won the El Clásico.

So, today, you were celebrating with a breakfast fit for royalty—or they were supposed to at least. You forget that Pedri's kitchen skills were subpar at best.

You’d been put on bacon duty, which you gladly accepted. Easy to do, and made sure that you could keep your eye on the waffle maker since your boyfriend’s attention couldn’t seem to stay on it.

Instead, he’d attempt to drift toward you, hands sliding around your waist for about five seconds before you swatted at them and scolded him—

“Pedro. Get your ass back to the waffles.”

And now, he was facing the consequences of his actions.

Both of the waffles in it had burnt.

“I swear, I was watching this time!” Pedri groaned, running a hand through his dark hair. “Cariño..” He whines, setting the now-empty plate on the table. “Can you just.—“

Rubbing your temples, you rolled out your sore wrist. Your opponent had most definitely given you a run for your money yesterday. “Just go set the table.”

Pedri’s lips pulled into a small grin. “‘M sorry.” He mumbled against your hair, placing a quick kiss to the too of your head.

Tilting your head up, you rolled your eyes. A hint of amusement passes across your face as he tips his head, capturing your lips in a slow, warm kiss.

“It’s okayyy.” You murmur against his mouth, “just go set the table and start cleaning the dishes.” Nodding, he let go of you and walked to the cupboard.

While Pedri did the dishes and you made the waffles, conversation flowed between you, and by conversation.. well, it was mostly you complaining.

“In the beginning, I thought I was going to twist my ankle I was running back and forth so much. She had a strong ass wrist, babe. I literally have never had to put in so much effort.” You dramatized your words, which had your boyfriend chuckling.

“You ran track in high school, I’m sure you were fine.” He shakes his head in short laughter, setting a spatula into the dish washer.

Your head turns to face him, eyes narrowing. “Alright, that was like—nearly four years ago.”

“Well, couldn’t be me.” Pedri shrugs.

Okay, ego.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.”

“When our bodies aren’t dying, we’re so racing.”

Ping!

Waffles were done, everything set out… you and Pedri feasted.

When you both finished and exhaled long, dragged out breaths, leaning back into your seats, you met each other’s eyes. “Holy shit, I don’t think I can eat ever again.” Pedri grumbles, head tipping back as his hand rubbed his stomach as if to soothe the ache.

“Me neither.” You almost laugh, but couldn’t bring yourself to make the sound in fear of upsetting your stomach.“Let’s go back to bed and never leave.”

And with that, Pedri walked around the table, reaching out his hands for you to take before pulling you to your feet. Both of you glanced at your dirty plates and cups then to each other.

“We can put them away later.”

You nod and let him drag you to the bedroom.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @joaoflms @sakashq @spidybaby @be11ingham @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @cececarmona17 @piastri-fvx @st4rgirl-ellie

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 1

Summary: Your first year at Alexandria High is going smoothly, until you accidentally offer to plan the staff Christmas party. To make matters worse? You're stuck planning it with the one person you made a terrible first impression on; Negan.

Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: ok this is partially based on how common Negan's surname is... I mean, Smith?! Really??? Also I have written this very fast and there are many more chapters to come. My plan is to have it complete by Christmas Eve so hopefully you stay tuned until then!!

You tend to avoid Negan Smith. From what you’ve heard, there isn’t a good reason to go near the man. Womanizer. Loudmouth. Curses like a sailor and a professional at ghosting.

But, the job of a teacher sometimes means dealing with people you don’t like. Whether that be talking to a parent who’s convinced their child is a saint or, like in this case, him . 

You haven’t even made it to the Christmas break yet and you’re about to knock heads with another teacher. Great. You suppose this is a good thing considering you’ve managed to make it past Halloween unscathed. 

Still, it’s not a good look to be confronting another teacher in your first year at a new job, especially when he has taught here for years. You sigh, hand automatically raising to block the surprisingly warm rays of the Winter sun as you scan the track and field. 

Ew. Sports. Or more specifically, track. You've never understood appeal to any sports, whether to participate, watch or worse; teach.

With it being midday already, the field is quite busy, with more students mulling around than you anticipated. Some kids sit on the grass surrounding the running track, lacing up sneakers and complaining about upcoming tests.  

On the far side of the track, a smaller group of students mess with the plastic javelins that are stuck in the ground, bouncing them back and forth to see how far they’ll bend. You know you should probably tell them to stop and that it’s some kind of safety hazard to be messing with them but this isn’t your class. 

If it was in the classroom then of course you’d tell them to stop to save your own skin, but out here, you can pretend to have not noticed the incessant messing they’re doing. 

On the actual track is where the bulk of students are, running at a good pace while getting yelled at by some middle aged man with a whistle. The joys of high school.

It takes a certain kind of person to be a teacher, you should know. But to teach gym ? Yeah, that’s some sociopathic shit.

You watch as who you assume is Coach Smith yells at one of the quieter kids to keep up. Well, he’s definitely living up to the loudmouth tag he’s been labelled with.

But that’s not all he has a reputation for. Negan happened to be some of the first gossip you got when you moved here. Well, you’d call it gossip. Others might say it was a cautionary tale or a straight out warning.

Word on the corridor is that he's basically tasked himself to sleep with every female teacher, adding more notches to his bedpost and undoubtedly collecting diseases as if they’re baseball cards.

“You…” the sudden voice catches you off guard, snapping you out of your thoughts as another teacher approaches “do not look like you belong here”.

Another one of the gym teachers, oh goodie. 

Considering the size of the school, there were three in total; Coach Smith aka the town bike, the other coach who teaches basketball and another new teaching addition who deals with the tennis and badminton teams. Despite not knowing the new coach, you’d like to think there’s an unspoken alliance between you two since you’re both newbies this year. 

Unfortunately, luck isn’t on your side today and it’s the one that teaches basketball that approaches you

You put your best generic smile on and shrug. “Yeah, I’m more at home in the classroom,” you agree “I’m the new teacher for Literacy studies”.

He shook his head in response “No fuckin’ kidding, English teacher, eh? They’ll slap a fancy title on anything nowadays”.

You give a small laugh in response, subtly glancing around to make sure none of the kids are in earshot. And you thought you had a potty mouth. 

“And why’re you out here? Checking out what the coaches have to offer?” he comments with a hint of amusement, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he casually leans back against nothing but air, tilting his tall frame.

“Oh I just need a quick word with Coach Smith,” you gesture in the direction of the running teacher, ignoring the latter half of his question. 

“About?”.

You try not to let his crass or nosiness annoy you.  Pushing down your slight irritation, you keep your smile in place “Just a mix up with a student we both have… he stayed late at one of my classes because we had a test, then he was late for gym, got detention, you know the drill”. 

‘Now please fuck off ,’ you so desperately want to add to the end of that sentence, but bit your tongue.

“And what?” the hint of a smirk begin to grace his face “You’re here to get the kid off the hook?”.

“Well, it was my class that kept him behind,” you reply, keeping your gaze on Coach Smith. 

That’s all you were going to say but even with your eyes focused on the other coach, you could sense the man beside you practically sizing you up. A flutter of panic pangs at your heart and for a brief moment, you wonder if this other coach thinks you’re being incompetent, or that you’re somehow in the wrong. 

“I mean, I did give Henry a note explaining why he was late but obviously that wasn’t enough for Coach Smith” you’re starting to ramble and the worst part is, you know it. 

He hums in response, nodding as if he knows all too well “So he’s being a real jackass, huh?”.

“Uh-huh, jackass” you agree, before quietly mumbling “along with a few other things”. 

You know it’s time to stop talking now. The last thing you want is to ramble on about things that are none of your business.

“Oh?” that piques his interest.

“Well, y’know… word travels fast and all that,” that rational part of your brain begs you to stay vague “small town gossip spreads like wildfire”.

“And I am just dying to know what that small town gossip is” he turns his face to you fully, giving you his undivided attention.  

Being truthful, it’s intense. His gaze is welcoming and yet it’s as if he’s waiting for you to slip up, to say the wrong thing so he can swoop in to defend his colleague.

“Oh it’s nothing really,” you quickly backtrack, every fibre in your body screaming how it’s a bad idea to gossip about another teacher “just stupid hearsay”.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” the man coaxes “let me indulge a little”.

Shrugging, you look back at Coach Smith who’s still in the middle of a class and with no intention of stopping anytime soon. 

Don’t do it. It’s not worth it… but can it really be considered gossip when it’s true? 

“I’ve just been told it’s best to stay away” you answer honestly.

“ Me-ow !” he punctuates the word, a large grin on his face and undeniably revelling in the small nugget of information “is there a cat fight on the horizon? One of the other teacher’s already got her claws in him?”.

You laughs at that, mostly out of shock. “Not that I would know,” you reply “but by the sounds of it, he’s got enough claws in him as it is”.

A surprised look spreads across the coach’s face, eyebrows raised and mouth slacking open as he uses his thumb to point to Smith, mouthing “Him? Really?”.

You nod. This is going better than expected. A part of you presumed all gym teachers would be macho men with zero personality but this one’s actually charismatic.  “Guess they really call him coach for a reason,” you jibe, watching as the man’s face shifts into confusion.

“And why’s that?”.

“Well from what I’ve heard, he’s definitely surpassed the status of player… though he’s probably riddled with… y’know” you raise your eyebrows, hoping the insinuation alone would be enough to get your point across.

He chuckles, glancing back at his colleague with a sigh “His poor wife”.

By now, it looks like Coach Smith is slowing to a halt, his students quickly following suit. About time. Though he’s not completely done yet, giving his class a rundown of the lesson and squirting water into his mouth from a water bottle he’s holding a little too high above his head. 

“Yeah,” you sigh solemnly “I heard about that”. 

This piece of information was also included in your warning. Apparently Coach Smith’s wife died a few years back. Cancer. And that’s what subsequently led to his quest to fuck anything that a) has a pulse and b) has a vag. 

Damn, maybe you really are a gossip. 

"It's pretty awful, though," you mutter without thinking, continuing to ramble "I mean, from what I've heard, her side of the bed wasn't even cold and he was already crawling into the beds of other women”.

The man watches you intently, his expression growing flat and unreadable. That’s the shift you feared—the ‘you’ve said too much’ look settling into place.

“But I-“ you’re about to continue, hoping to seem more genuine in your regards when the newest coach appears. 

“Sir! Sir! Have you moved the javelins? I was supposed to use them for my ’Aerodynamics in Training’ lesson but they’re not in the storage room” he blurts out as if this is a national disaster.

The man puts up a hand to stop him “Fa–, Joey , can you not see I’m in the middle of something? And the fuck did I tell you about calling me sir all the damn time?”.

Joey, or well, Coach Joey, stumbles over his words before replying, his eyes darting between the two of them “Oh! Oh, I am so sorry sir– uh, Coach Smith,”.

You’re not too sure what Joey said after that, your brain pausing for a moment to process his words. That can’t be right.  Not when Mr Jones, the economics teacher specifically pointed at the Ken doll that’s still giving the exhausted teenages a pep talk and said that that’s Coach Smith. 

“Coach what?” you blurt, unsure whether you’ve just interrupted Joey or not. You’re surprised the words actually came out coherent, your throat growing tighter by the second. 

“Smith” Joey replies without missing a beat. The other man stays quiet and frankly, you refuse to look his way, not wanting to see the look on his face.

“What?” your generic smile graces your face yet again, a defence mechanism to hopefully stop any genuine facial expressions from leaking out “But I thought… over there… that’s Coach Smith”.

Joey gives you a reassuring smile “It’s ok, it confused me too when I got here”. 

That still doesn’t answer your question.

“He’s Coach Mark Smith,” Joey points passed the two of them and to the Ken doll “and then this is Coach Negan Smith”. He tries to put his hand on Negan’s upper arm but he quickly shrugs him off, gaze trying to catch yours.  

You refuse to meet that gaze, the reality of your fuck up sinking in. While numerous responses whizz around your head, you fail to vocalise any, instead opting to stand there utterly dumbfounded.  

Joey doesn’t notice and laughs to himself “It’s confusing, I know but it gets easier when you just associate Coach Smith with Mark and Coach Negan with… haha, well with Negan”.

Your mouth opens but you have no idea what to say or where to ever start. Not that it matters because you’re cut off by the alleged Coach (Negan) Smith. 

“Or if that doesn’t suit, you can always tell us apart with him being the clean one and me being… What did you say again? Riddled?”.

Oh dear God no.

That makes your look at him, your eyes wide with sheer embarrassment. “What?” Joey speaks up.

The look in Negan’s eye isn’t one of offence or even annoyance. He’s more pleased that he’s caught you in such an elaborate snare, a glimmer of playfulness in his intense stare that tests you endlessly. Before you can even process what to do, your instincts kick in and you use your best teacher voice to say “Henry won’t be going to detention today. He was late and that’s on me, not him so leave him be”. 

Turning on your heels, you quickly walk off and disappear back inside the school building. You don’t look back as you walk away, unwilling to look at the man you were just badmouthing to his face again.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Mondays are usually good days but considering your earlier mishap, you‘re beginning to doubt that. Thankfully, you have a few classes off so you can spend your time overthinking your recent mistake. 

Propping your head up with your hands, you look around the classroom you can now call your own. It’s one of the older rooms in the school, a bit drafty but yours nonetheless. 

With a quick knock at the door, the skeptical face of Ms. Peletier enters your peripheral vision. “Hi! Is it just you in here?,” she asks in a cheery voice, waltzing into the room. 

You give a silent nod and she drops the act.

“I don’t know why I do this to myself. I mean, the kids… it’s like they’re getting more annoying” she huffs, pulling up a chair.

Ms. Peletier, the home ec teacher usually stops by on Mondays. She has a free period at the same time as you and likes to use it venting about how much she hates kids, but also enjoys teaching them and then realizes that maybe she actually likes her job. 

It’s a love hate relationship. 

But today you’re not as eager to listen. “Have I entered the Twilight Zone?” she does another quick glance, double checking there’s no lingering teacher or student outside “Where’s the bubbly ‘Hi Carol!’ that makes me want to rip my hair out?”.

Bringing her attention back to the statue that is you, an eyebrow quirks up “Are you… moping right now?”.

“It’s been a rough morning” you admit. 

“How so?”.

“I bad mouthed another teacher,” you grimace as you explain “to the teacher”.

That doesn’t make sense to Carol, her head tilting to the side like a confused puppy “Huh?”.

You explain the situation briefly: a kid in your class stayed late because of a test but he had gym class afterwards. Despite you giving him a note explaining the delay, Negan gave him detention anyway.

Carol nods along, listening intently. 

“And he told me his gym teacher was Coach Smith, so in my head I was like ‘fuck, ok, this is the infamous womanizer guy’ ”.

“No, you’re getting them mixed up that’s-” Carol stops when she sees the look you give her, vaguely beginning to understand where this story is going.

“Well I didn’t realise that and while I was waiting for Coach Smith as in Mark Smith, I was talking to Coach Smith the second, aka Coach Negan” you want to end the story there and save yourself from reliving the trauma. 

“Ahhhh,” Carol leans back in her seat, drumming her fingers on the desk that separated them. She gives you a laid back smile “Did he ask you out? Is that where this is heading?”. 

You suppress a sigh “No, I started talking about what I thought I knew about Coach Smith but it was actually information I had on Coach Negan Smith and I basically called him a man-whore to his face”.

Carol's face turns blank as she tries to yet again process this. “There’s no way I’m hearing this right” she concludes, though the small shine of amusement in her eyes lets you know that she is in fact computing what she’s hearing. 

Deciding you may as well throw this grenade out there too, you add “Oh and I said he’s awful for screwing around right after his wife died”. Now that bomb almost makes the eyes bulge out of Carol’ head.

“You what?” she splutters, losing all composure.

“It wasn’t like anything bad, I didn't do it mockingly-”.

“ Mockingly ? Oh, you just don’t think, do you?” Whatever sense of amusement that was in Carol’s eyes is overtaken with panic.

“No! No, not mockingly, just like— casually, but obviously I wouldn’t have said it if I knew I was in front of a widower” you hurriedly clarifies “it’s not my fault it’s so confusing with all the Smith’s here!!”.

Carol sinks her head into her hands “Oh god”.  

After a moment of silence, she collects herself “So you’re never going near the gym hall or track and field again, right?”.

“Never,” you swiftly confirm “not talking to either Smith after this too… actually I think this is a good excuse to avoid gyms in general”.

Carol smiles at that, leaving the wave of panic subside. “Oh! Actually,” she takes out her phone “I keep meaning to add you to the teacher group chat. It’s awful and mainly it’s Gregory complaining about one thing or another but I’ll add you anyways!”.

A few seconds later and your phone buzzes: “You have been added to: Alexandria High’s Teacher Midlife Crisis Support Line”.

“Oh… well, that’s a cheery name,” you tilt your head “that’s… good?”.

Carol gives a small laugh as she stands, slipping her phone back into her pocket “Well, we can’t all be as creative as you Ms Literacy Studies”. You laugh, rolling your eyes as she leaves and the bell rings. Maybe today won’t be that bad. You hope that the bad start to the day just means the day will end on a high. 

But you’re wrong.

By the time your last class rolls around, everything is calm. You’ve told Henry he’s off the hook for detention, no one is acting up in your classes and there’s been no gym teachers around. Everything was calm.

“Alright guys,” you announce to the class, glancing at the clock “how’s about you start that grammar worksheet for the last ten minutes of class? If you get it done now then no homework for the night but if not, make sure it’s done by tomorrow”. 

The class immediately starts, mumbling chatter and the sounds of rummaging pencil cases filling the room. 

You look to the clock again, as if it’ll magically have moved at least five minutes. It hasn’t. But that’s ok, ten more minutes until freedom. You can do that.

“Knock knock” an unfamiliar voice enters, catching both you and your students off guard. A few heads look up to the door but none match the ‘oh fuck’ expression that is plastered across your face.

What makes it worse is that he knows it too, basking in your reaction. You try to hide your expression, quickly masking it but the smug look you’re met with tells you it’s too late for that. 

“Coach Negan,” you greet, getting it right this time “what can I do for you?”.

“I’m sure there’s plenty you could do for me” he moves deeper into the room, taking no notice of the students and shooting you a promiscuous grin you ignore. 

Making his way over to your desk, he takes his time peering around at the various trinkets that litter the surface: a mug that says “I’d rather be reading” filled with different pens, a colourful stapler, an empty bowl that was filled with sweets about a week ago, and a stress ball. 

“No sweet treats going?” he asks teasingly “well besides the obvious”. Negan winks at you, making your face scrunch up with a mixture of confusion and repugnance. 

“Is there a reason why you’re here, Coach?” this time you raise your voice a little more, hoping to remind him of the other ears in the room that are undoubtedly listening in.

Concluding that you won’t take the bait that easily, Negan gives you a firm nod “Just hear to let you know detention starts at four o’ five”.

Your eyes go to the students, most of which are focusing on their work. Of course there are some nosy ones that are hanging onto their every word, loving the idea of hearing some juicy teacher gossip. Oh god. The very reminder of gossip makes you want to shiver. 

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you lean across the desk “I already told you, Henry won’t be attending detention today”. 

You debate saying more but with Negan, simplicity seems to be key. The less you say then the less he has to pick apart or use against you in some taunting way.

“I know, I know,” he concedes “you got some big ol’ lady balls for practically demanding I let him off the hook… and for some of the other shit you said”.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Your eyes go wide but you manage to give him a glare as you scan the class, hoping no one heard him. Unfortunately, going off the number of smirks the kids are trying to hide by looking down at their worksheet, they heard. 

You want to argue back, tell him off for using such language in front of the kids you’re in charge of for the next seven minutes but instead, you take a breath. 

After all, you catch more flies with honey.

“And I would like to apologise for what I said,” you keep her voice low, just because Negan has no problem with the kids hearing his side of the conversation doesn’t mean they get to hear your response “what I said was completely inappropriate and insensitive, I’m really sorry and-“.

Looking at his watch, Negan acts as if you aren’t  even speaking let alone issuing him an apology.  “Oh shit, would you look at that, I’ve got to shoot but remember,” he loudly slaps his hands against the desk, poorly creating rhythm as he heads back to the door “you got detention at four o’ five”.

He goes to leave but you speak up again “Wait, what? Me?”.

“Yeah, you're on detention duty” he casually replies. 

No, you’re not. That kind of thing gets rostered usually at the monthly staff meetings and considering this is your first year here, they’re yet to bestow such a vital job upon you. 

“No I haven’t been scheduled for that-“ you’re seriously getting pissed with how much this guy interrupts you.

“Yes, you are, honey,” he says as if this is well known information “so don’t be late”. 

And with that, Negan disappears, leaving you more confused than before. At least he didn’t seem that pissed at you for your previous comments. Still, you don't understand how you didn’t know beforehand that you’re on detention duty or why Negan of all people would willingly seek you out to remind you. 

Before you can contemplate it too much, the bell goes and you reboot yourself back into teacher mode. 

Once everyone has packed up and left, you let out a long huff, packing up your own belongings before heading to the designated classroom for detention. With the rush of bustling kids wanting to leave, you’re able to get there fast, weaving through the current and into the barren classroom.  

Going over to the old cabinet that’s tucked away in the corner, you find the clipboard full of the names of the attendees. You skim it haphazardly, seeing if you recognise any of the names before plonking down at the desk at the top of the room. Although one of your student’s older sisters is supposed to show up, no one that you directly teach is listed, which gives you a strange sense of pride.

Pulling out your phone, your attention span forgets about the clipboard in no time. Just as you do, the phone buzzes in your hand, lighting up with a notification from Alexandria High’s Teacher Midlife Crisis Support Line.

Gregory: Friendly reminder, do not park your vehicles in other people’s spots.

Some students filter into the hall, avoiding eye contact despite the small smile you give each of them. Unsurprisingly, none of them are in a talking mood and take their seats, pulling out homework or some study material to occupy their hour with.

Paul J Monroe : good idea, stop parking in my spot

You move your hand up to cover the smirk tugging at your lips.  Gregory, the vice principal, isn't known for his popularity. His entire personality is marked by his distinct sense of entitlement and self-perseveration. It’s baffling that he somehow ended up as vice principal when his leadership style is rooted in only helping himself.

Scrolling through the list of members on the group chat, you recognize a fair amount of names. Of course Carol and Mr Monroe, the counsellor, are in there. The likes of Ms Espinosa the geography and Spanish teacher is there too, as is Mr Abrams the music teacher, both Coach Smiths and surprisingly the Chaplin, Father Stokes, is there too. Unfortunately, most of the names you don’t know, having not done much socialising since getting here.

Sasha: there was a Christmas lights installation van parked across my spot and Rosita’s, will they be there again tomorrow?

Rosita: if it’s there tomorrow I’m slashing its tires

Rosita: that’s a joke

Gregory: I hired them, they’ll be here all week to make things more festive 

While waiting to see how the others react to that, you look back at the clipboard, your gaze hardening as you look to the very top of the page. There, in black ink, is the date, followed by which school week this is and finally, the name of the teacher on duty. 

And guess what, it sure as shit isn’t your name up there.

If it isn’t for the room full of kids, you would be swearing out loud, having to bite your tongue to stop the words from actually coming out. 

That motherfucker. That sly, riddled and sleazy motherfucker. The name Coach N. Smith is at the top of the page with a horizontal line next to it for him to sign, proving that he did actually show up and do his damn job.  Yanking your phone back up, you stew silently and watch the messages flow.

Rosita: ur shitting me

Sasha: why weren’t we told about this?!

Gregory: this can be discussed tomorrow

Sasha: discussed tomorrow while they’re parked in our spots AGAIN?

Aaron: Does anyone know where we’re going for the Christmas party? Is it still on for next Friday? Need to hire a babysitter haha :)

Rosita: Gregory?? Reply??

Scrolling to the top of the group chat, you tap to see its members, noticing how it says Gregory is now offline. Typical. Thankfully, Aaron’s message moves the conversation in a new direction and teachers begin to lightly debate whether they should go to the Kingdom for the staff Christmas Party or if they should venture further afield. 

Amber: can we not go back to the Kingdom? Pretty sure I got food poisoning last year :S

Gregory: budget for Christmas party is very low this year, if anyone can plan it for next Friday then it can still go ahead. 

Rosita: what about our parking spaces? Hello???????

Rosita is once again ignored by Gregory and the topic of the Christmas party stays. You know you shouldn’t be getting such entertainment from this but watching as the teachers try to assert their points, shooting down what the others have to stay while simultaneously trying to stay as polite as possible provides some great amusement.

And, it’s extremely passive aggressive. Oh, what joy.

One of your favourite moments is the science teacher Mr Porter’s response when Gregory struck down his idea of making the Christmas Party a weekend getaway to the closest city. 

Eugene: For clarification, are you suggesting the staff members in this here group chat don’t have the sufficient financial funds to rent a hotel room for a night or two?

You want to let out a low ‘ooooo’ noise as if you’re watching a sports game. In all honesty, if you weren’t supervising detention, you probably would be making gleeful noises as you read each text. Gregory ignores Mr Porter’s accusation and instead proposes his own idea. 

Gregory: Having it at the school is the best opton, everyone can get there and it’s big enough 

You presume that’s a spelling mistake on his part. The next text comes from one of the Coach Smith’s, the one you haven’t badmouthed. 

Mark: The gym hall can definitely fit everyone

When you see Mark’s name pop up along with the thumbs up emoji he adds to his text, you go into your options for him, deciding to set yourself a little reminder of who’s who.

Mark (Coach Smith): but I’ll be taking next week off for vacay

Sherry: who’s the new number that’s been added ?

“Miss?” You look up as a student approaches with a bored face “can I borrow a pen? Or even a pencil?”.

“Oh sure!” You perk up, dropping your phone on to your lap so the student can’t see. The last thing you need is to be the teacher who leaked the mere idea of a teacher group chat being real. 

Hurriedly typing out your awkward introductory message of yourself to the group, you send it and focus on helping the student. Taking out your little pencil case, you begin rummaging around for a pen you wouldn’t mind a student ruining. 

Mark (Coach Smith): so someone else will have to help Negan set up the gym if we decide to have the party there

Sherry: oh are you the new English teacher?? I haven’t had a chance to meet you yet! hi!

After selecting a black pen, you pause, eyeing the kid with suspicion. “Wait… you spent the whole day at school without a pen or pencil?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

You look down at your messages as the student stalls to answer, rocking back and forth on his heels. There’s a strange socially awkward panic that bubbles in you when you see the new message, knowing you can’t be rude and start texting again when dealing with a student.

But at the same time, the longer you stall in answering, the more you’re convinced you’re coming across as being rude to the group chat.

The kid just shrugs “Yeah.”

“How is that even possible?” you start to ask, but the words fade as your phone buzzes again.

With a silent sigh, you hand the pen over, offering it a quiet farewell. Picking up your phone a little too eagerly, you type out a fast response to Sherry’s question.

You: Yes!! :)

Ok, maybe you went a little overkill with the exclamation points and the smiley face but that’s where panic gets ya. Now that the rush is over, you swipe your finger up a little to look at the message you missed.

Gregory: anyone willing to help plan the Christmas party?

Oh fuck. Your stomach drops as you read the order of messages again. Mark saying he’ll be gone, offering up the gym for the staff Christmas party while knowing full well he’s gone the week leading up to it and won't even be attending.

Sherry asking if you’re the new English teacher. 

Gregory, who would rather ask others to help rather than offer any help himself, wondering if someone else can help set up the party. 

And then you, enthusiastically texting in a yes. Fuck. Please no. No, no, no. That message was in response to Sherry's message!

You put your phone on the table, screen facing down as you lean back in your chair. This can’t be happening. The last person you want to be around is Negan, never mind plan a goddamn Christmas party with him!  

You take some deep breaths, hoping that your message won’t be misread. Surely, it won’t be, not to anyone who was actually paying attention to the different conversations happening.

It buzzes again, louder this time as it vibrates off the table. You don’t want to pick it up. You don’t want to see what it is and yet you still reach for it. Slowly flipping your phone to see the screen, there’s only one new message from the group chat.

It’s Gregory, calling you by your teacher name as he replies…

Gregory: great! I’ll leave it to you and Negan to sort out the finer details

———

Read Chapter 2 here!

gif made from scenepack provided by harleys.scenes on insta <3

[theres-no-escaping-us-pal]

NEWSIES AND WHAT AFTER SCHOOL CLUBS THEY’RE IN + WHAT SPORTS THEY DO

JACK KELLY

he definitely does sets for the school productions

he also does lights

he did track in elementary-middle school school but quit freshman year to focus more on art

but he runs every morning

also he def started an art history club with davey and kathrine

DAVEY/DAVID JACOBS

he plays piano is jazz band

and he’s in debate

he plays tennis

he wins state championships for tennis

and he totally joined theatre tech cause all his friends were doing theatre in some capacity

helps kathrine with editing the school paper when she gets stressed

he’s in honors math and science

maybe english too

CRUTCHIE MORRIS

band

he’s a band kid

idk what instrument

don’t ask me

i’m not a band kid

but he is

and tenor in choir

he plays in the pit band for the school productions

helps jack with sets sometimes

honors english

b average

KATHRINE PLUMBER/PULITZER

she’s a total academic weapon

class president 5th grade-senior year

she’s in debate

chief editor of the school paper

runs the year book

stage manager

on the varsity volleyball team

was on jv her freshman year

when people ask her how she gets straight a’s she’s like “idk i’m just smart”

a+ average

RACETRACK HIGGINS

he’s on the competitive dance team

also ensamble or a minor role in every school production

he’s been the lead once

he didn’t like it

in honors math

he also does track (hehe race track)

he gets a’s in math and b’s and a-‘s in everything else

most flexible on the comp team

best turner on the comp team

was in debate for two years but quit because he started having stress related panic attacks and stress vomiting before debates

b+ average

ALBERT DASILVA

competitive dance too

he used to play soccer in middle school and part of freshman year

he’s in theatre normally ensemble but likes to be speaking roles

c+ average

pours his time into dance

like it’s his favorite thing

terrible at chaine and pique turns

he’s great at pirrouettes and a la seconds though

SPECS IDK HIS LAST NAME

competitive dance guy #3

he’s on debate too

2nd most flexible on the comp team

worst turner

amazing leaps

b average student

forgets his contacts for dance frequently so he just dances with no glasses on

in jack’s art history club

FINCH CORTEZ

also on competitive dance

least flexible

average turns

terrible leaps

good at tricks

he’s trick man

really likes doing theatre

school photographer

b- average

SPOT CONLON

def on the gymnastics team

don’t ask me why and don’t argue with my flawless logic

he keeps his grades just high enough to still be on the team

also on the wrestling team

people are always asking why he does those two cause there like polar opposites

he’s just like 🤷‍♀️

b average

definitely runs some kind of social justice or lgbtq+ club

(also applies to uksies spot)

MORRIS DELANCEY (specifically the mike faist version)

soccer and dance

specifically tap

he likes tap

and he’s been doing soccer since he was in middle school

he’s on debate team

he’s not very good but he makes it through

a- average

OSCAR DELANCEY

football

don’t ask me why i don’t plan to explain

c+ average

i have nothing else to say

SARAH JACOBS

varsity soccer

and debate team

and honors english, history, and science

and choir

she’s a mezzo

don’t tell me i’m wrong

i’m not

she’s a student tutor

like when a student needs tutoring she’s the persian they go to

for english, science, or history

a average

kinda academic rivals-lovers with kath

(sorry if these are shitty)