#I don’t keep track of tennis

[sportsallover]

Oooh, Musetti in semi!! 💪

[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?”

[amorchai]

𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 ─ s.h

pairing(s): steve harrington x reader

summary: four times you were oblivious to steve’s signs, and the one time you weren’t.

word count: 3805

warnings/tags: steve being a big ol' softie in love, signs being shut down, some feelings of embarrassment [ on steve's side ], eddie being oblivious and robin trying to help steve. fluff fluff fluff

𝐈. the first time you were oblivious to steve’s signs… was when steve offered you the passenger seat.

it was the middle of summer, sweltering heat along hawkin’s beach and steve had thoroughly enjoyed the day of watching you interact with the kids. his eyes delicately scanning along your sunglass-covered face as you grin and laugh alongside lucas, playing paddled tennis against robin and max by the edge of the water.

the whole time everyone was there, steve was gawking, not listening to a word anyone had to say as he tries to convince himself to do something about the unbearable crush he had on you. “you gotta do something about this,” mike interrupts, cutting off dustin mid-sentence as steve’s heads currently as high as the clouds – watching an angel.

“what do you mean, wheeler?” asks steve, not turning in his position. eddie was unfocused, tongue sticking out his mouth as he tried to effortlessly roll his cigarette, eleven watching him curiously before replying for her boyfriend, “about your crush on y/n.”

he tried to shrug it off, an ‘i don’t know what you mean’ causing the whole group to grunt in reply. everyone knew he was lying, and steve knew they knew. but his love for you came crashing one day and everything made sense to steve all of a sudden, you were the one for him.

steve got into his head quite easily, but nothing compared to when he noticed you in that way. he couldn’t imagine anyone else in that light but you, this whole idea if he was your boyfriend that he had to mentally slap himself – he wasn’t your boyfriend. because he hadn’t gained the confidence to ask you out.

but steve thought that day was different, that he was ready. robin sat down next to him while you sat next to eddie, resting your head tiredly to his shoulder, “i have a plan,” steve had whispered to his best friend.

the group wave nancy and the young teens off, watching as jonathan holds her hand and the kids all chatter, collecting their bikes to ride home from a chilled day at the beach, high off the fun of it all. steve swings the keyring of his car keys around his finger, with purpose, while walking to his car.

you and robin were a few meters behind, giggling and making fun of the way eddie previously fell in the water – hair blocking his eyes while he looked like a kicked puppy. and steve chuckles along, opening the passenger door and turning towards you, here goes nothing.

“y/n-” steve starts but is immediately cut off with a ‘humph’ as eddie jumps onto his back, hands on either of steve’s shoulders with a heavy push and loud howl of laughter upon successfully scaring steve.

“got ya, harrington! god, you should’ve looked at your face! classic!” steve could smell the smoke off his breath, watching eddie who stands in front of him now, glaring while the brunette was far too close to the front passenger seat than steve would like.

you and robin had stopped talking, now watching the interaction unfold with contained grins. “can i sit here or not?” asks eddie, oblivious to the fact that steve was sweating to ask you. unlike everyone else had shared knowing glances the whole day, eddie munson was the complete opposite.

steve stares over at you, ignoring robin’s widely amused eyes and raised eyebrows waiting on her best friend to answer and cover his tracks. but he just sighs, turning back to eddie and nodding defeatedly, “yeah fine, move it.”

“well, thank you for opening the door for me princess, keep doing stuff like this i might get the wrong idea,” steve was unsure how eddie couldn’t see the steam across steve’s face, nearby missing eddie’s clunky foot while slamming the door shut.

once getting in the car, robin leans over to slap the back of eddie’s head, having ruined steve’s plan. while it wasn’t full proof or obvious, robin still felt for steve. the boy has his head against the steering wheel, contemplating his decisions while eddie curses at robin.

“are you okay?” you ask steve in the oh-so-sweet voice you have, the very one he fell in love with and steve sits up, staring at the beach from his parking space, “don’t you just hate it that there’s not an extra seat up here?” asks steve.

eddie pulls a face at steve while robin only shakes her head knowingly at the stream of tries, while you reply, “i mean yeah? they used to have an extra seat in some cars last decade but i’m not sure it was safe, steve.” and steve can only blush while starting his car.

before steve can ask if you’re okay to be dropped off last, in his final attempt, eddie – now the vein of steve’s life – perks up in the seat that was supposed to be yours, “harrington! could you drop me last? i need to stop off at the record place, the new mötley crüe record is finally out.”

steve refrains slamming his head against the steering wheel once more to save an upcoming concussion.

𝐈𝐈. the second time you were oblivious to steve’s signs… was when he asked you to the movies.

one of the hundreds of reasons steve loved you was the fact you worked in a bakery. an added bonus that it was across the street from family video where he worked. it meant you’d spend your lunch break bringing over spare pastries and heavenly good hot chocolate for him and robin.

it was the best part of steve’s shifts, spent behind counter while robin stocked. or vice versa. it was a boring job, but pays well for working with his best friend. so, robin sits on the dirty hard floor by the comedy section, marking off and updating the comedies of the month while steve doodles on the company notebook, not a customer in sight for the monday afternoon.

a large black inked line covers the page when steve looks up, his hand losing itself when he catches the sight of you – paper bag in one hand, a tray of hot drinks in the other, and a hop in your step. steve swoons utterly and entirely, the smile on your face while opening the shop door enough to make steve harrington’s knees weak and heart thumping in his chest.

“y/n,” he whispers, quietly and pathetically when the bell chimes, the door closing behind you. robin’s head peaks from the side of the aisle, waving at you from her spot, “hey y/n, how’s your day been?”

you wave back at her, before your eyes quickly find steve’s once more – shy grins as you walk to the counter he sits at – placing the paper bag filled with pastries upon it. you were so sweet, how did steve find someone so sweet? how could he not love someone so very sweet?

his inner thoughts cut off, “good! mr. barclay came in today, gave me a new movie recommendation.” you are referring to the sweet old man who comes into the bakery most days, a regular customer who used to shop and read the newspaper with his wife. until one day, it was just him there forward.

“oh yeah? something we’ll have here?” steve asks you, from his spot, eyes simply gleaming. you start unpacking the bakery food while replying, “no, it’s just came into the cinema! so i’ll need to go see it sometime, it sounds really good!”

steve immediately notices his pastry you pick out for him each time, you know him too well. a chocolate croissant and blueberry muffins to pair with. “robin, i brought you both food!” you pipe up, trying to look back to the light brunette who’s lost in the length of movies.

“i’ll be right there!” robin speaks from her spot, hoping steve catches on to her absence.

perfect! steve thinks, now’s my chance!

“say… do you need some company? i’d be happy to go see the movie with you, we could go tonight?” steve tries to sound cool, like most of his player high-school years aren’t completely out the window and he’s embarrassed at how little he’s dated in years after nancy freaking wheeler.

your eyes shine at his, sliding the cup of chocolate towards him as well as the warm pastries you heated up especially for them and steve’s nervous for you to reply.

“i’d love that, stevie!” he huffs a sigh of relief upon your confirmation, it was a date! he was going to take you on a date to the movies tonight, steve’s mind swings with possibility during a beat of silence. what he’d wear, what he’d bring you, snacks he’d buy you both, holding your hand, walking you to your front door.

it doesn’t last too long, as robin stands from her spot, dusting off her brown plaid trousers from the dark dust and you turn to her, “are you free tonight, robs? i should ask eddie and nancy too! i would ask the kids, but it sounded too cheesy for the kids taste? i could phone dustin and see if they would.”

steve’s heart plummets, and robin notices too quickly as she paces towards them, before she could claim she’s not free in order to score steve time with you alone, you’re leaning over steve to grip their work phone and dial the kid’s number.

picking up the chocolate croissant, steve doesn’t even care if there’s a few dotted marks of chocolate around his top lip – sadly eating his food while watching you enthuse of steve’s plan. robin pats his shoulder, sipping her own chocolate drink with sympathy written across her face.

at least steve would still get to spend time with you, even if it wasn’t alone, on what he could’ve made a date.

another time, steve thinks.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. the third time you were oblivious to steve’s signs… was when he offered you his jacket.

a night with everyone had been spent outside eddie’s trailer, or as steve was now calling him – eddie ‘the ruiner’ munson ever since he wedged himself in the seat between you and steve on the cinema night. claiming that he wanted to sit next to you, because you both liked salted popcorn unlike steve’s ‘horrific’ comment on his preference of sweet popcorn.

as the night went on and the sky went a pitch black, despite the summer season the air was cold and breezy throughout hawkin’s. everyone sat in chairs around the fire, steve lucky enough to actually be sat next to you and not listening to munson’s loud chewing.

poor eddie, robin would say again, if she knew what steve was thinking. the guy never did anything wrong, just got in the way of steve’s advances towards you. and sure, maybe they weren’t that obvious, maybe they were stupid ways to show his interest rather than outwardly admitting his feelings and ensuring that when he’s asking you out that it’s a date for just you and him.

not the entirety of his friend group.

you had shivered beneath your sweatshirt, not enough to keep the cold at bay. steve turns away from watching lucas and dustin dummy fight, loud howling laughter overcutting the rock music playing from eddie’s record player in his bedroom – open window allowing the music to travel.

you were beyond beautiful to him. the whole night he had listened to each of the stories you told holding such interest, and even when someone else was telling a story – steve would watch you. your expressions and reactions much more swooning than any story about mike accidentally stealing a bag of candy last week without knowing.

to everyone but you, it was beyond obvious. steve was head over heels for you, and eddie had even played the song ‘head over heels’ by tears for fears to poke fun but the joke backfired on the fact that he owned a tears for fears record.

you were listening to robin and nancy converse, sinking into your seat comfortably while trying to undercut how cold you were that you didn’t notice steve staring once more. watching as you rub your sweatshirt-covered arms for some heat or close your eyes tiredly every so often.

“do you want my jacket?” he leaned over to whisper to you, your dull and achy eyes opening to turn to your best friend – who’s breath is fanning your face, sending an ounce of warmth across you.

“what?” you ask him, a bit out of it and confused at how intense steve stares at you, shivers running across your body you’re not sure if it’s the effects of the temperature or of steve. he chuckles, warmly and kindly, “you’re freezing, i can tell. do you want to wear my jacket?”

you furrow your eyebrows, “but what about you?” you asked, everyone tuning into the conversation with knowing glances and expectant smirks. mike kicking steve’s foot teasingly from his other side, steve kicking him right back.

“i’m fine don’t worry about me, stevie. want to make sure you’re warm too,” you reply and steve wants to crawl into a hole and scream at how unaware you are, or at how stupid he’s being in sending shitty signs.

steve starts to shuffle his jacket off his shoulders, assuring you, “i have a sweater on, trust me, i’ll be fine. here, you can borrow it.” he extends his offer, bomber jacket in his hand and lifted towards you and you stare longingly at the jacket before back up at steve, worried, “no, steve. it’s okay, i swear.”

he’s defeated once again, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable by continuously asking but steve’s unsure how to make his love known when they’re not small loving gestures like this – trying to keep you warm on a cold hawkin’s night.

“i’m freezing over here, stevie,” max cuts in, teasing him while the other kids snicker beside her. steve tears his glance from you and to the redhead, wearing a large smirk and gleaming eyes that steve would complain about later.

“shut it, mayfield.”

but steve chucks the jacket towards max, ignoring the hushed giggles and sympathetic stares as he tries to think about how he could escape this situation, and how he’d go about it next time – maybe when he isn’t in the same space as all his friends but a moment he catches you alone.

he’s willing to try again.

𝐈𝐕. the fourth time you were oblivious to steve’s signs… was when he was blatantly obvious.

“you think it would be weird if you became more than friends with your best friend?” steve had asked into the quiet room, allowing you to easily hear from under his arm. a movie night was in order when robin was out of town, steve had spent lunch with you alone and mustered up the courage to a ‘totally casual not at all terrifying’ movie night where he could try to show you he loved you again.

he immediately regrets his words, way to be subtle harrington, steve thought. he fears he came across too forward and might scare you off from the idea of dating steve harrington, your best friend.

‘some kind of wonderful’ plays on his living-room television, a new friends to lovers movie that steve purposely picked out the romcom section in tune for tonight. he was a little worried, incase you felt overwhelmed by it all and it might affect your friendship that steve was desperate to make something more.

you take another handful of the bowl of salted popcorn sitting atop steve’s lap, and steve looks down to you when you begin to reply, your eyebrows are furrowed but you look far from offended or scared by his comment, “you’re my best friend, steve?”

both of you knew he was, and had been for the past few years of previously fighting inter-dimensional monsters in order to save hawkin’s and their own lives. it was hard not to be when steve was one to protect you from danger, or when you cleaned him up every time he was knocked around pretty bad.

you were both there for each other, not knowing whether it was friendly or something more.

“i wouldn’t find it weird,” steve’s blatant in his reply, you could probably hear his thumping heart, his head feels light-headed from his comment as he swoons and debates over what you might respond. god, he hoped you understood what he was getting at.

your eyebrows relax, eyes still scanning the artificial screen before humming, leaning back into steve’s side. your arms tighten him in a squeeze around his waist and follow the plot of the movie, head against his chest.

you hummed. that’s it. not a thought into what he just said as you focus on the movie ahead, he knew it wasn’t intentional of you and gets defeated once more – if he’s blatantly obvious what more could he do?

steve’s head lobs against the back of his couch, out of your eyeline while he holds in a groan. shot down once again. steve wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. the white ceiling posing as much more interesting than the tv screen as the pair of friends finally get together, steve was far too jealous of the characters to look.

he was willing to try one more time in an attempt to make a move.

𝐕. the one time you were not oblivious to steve’s signs… was when he wasn’t trying.

steve had nearly given up on trying. his next option was to tell you he loved you and that’s that. if you reciprocated then that was amazing, but steve feared for his found friendship with you – he wasn’t sure he was willing to risk that.

you were aware of steve’s closing ‘move’. his all-time move had been discussions around girls at school, you overheard during gym – watching as steve excels at track performance – as girls whisper to one another ‘steve did his move last night, can you believe it?’

you’d also heard steve tell his friends, he’d told robin of it before while you were around – steve thinking you were listening to nancy’s discussion. or when he had advised eddie of his move when eddie scored a date, that it ‘never failed’ as his closing date routine.

so when steve walked you to your door after dropping you off from a night at his, the last stop after eleven’s, you were unaware that steve was contemplating whether to tell you he loved you or not.

it was running around steve’s head, this could be the moment that made or broke your relationship with him. depending on how you felt. steve was too in his head, debating with his inner thoughts.

you unlocked the door before turning to steve, either of you facing one another and you could tell steve’s head was elsewhere. “steve,” you assure, breaking him from his reverie – his eyes go wide and glance at you when you continue, “thank you for tonight.”

all thoughts leave his head, “oh, yeah-yeah, of course. thank you for coming, y/n.” before you knew it, steve’s arm was stretched beside you, his hand landed on the wall behind you. almost closing you in, an attempt to continue the conversation.

however, before steve can start, you’re gasping loudly. the sight of steve’s arm beside you and his eyes staring down at yours making your head feel woozy and overwhelmed, “steve!” you gasp again.

your best friend’s eyebrows are furrowed, utterly confused by your reaction when he hadn’t even said anything. “what’s wrong?” he asks, lips parted in an attempt to form more words, however, all more sentences fade him when he watches how shocked you are.

“your move!”

steve’s head lobs forward, ushering you to continue as a feeling quite similar to mortified seeps through his veins. “that’s what you do on the girls you date! the move! why are you doing that?” you ask him, he could tell you were embarrassed yourself – feet shuffling as you awaited his answer.

steve’s whole face feels warm and he’s sure despite the dark night – you could see the entirety of his red face as embarrassment settles into the pit of his stomach.

“that’s what you noticed? you noticed this lame move?” steve’s loud and amused by the fact before admitting his love for you – you notice the uncool move he used to pull on dates. not the offer of his passenger seat all the way to him blatantly stating he wouldn’t mind being more than friends.

he never expected to pull that move, you meant more to him than the lame end-of-date attempt he used to try on girls he liked. because it was you, and you were much more to him.

steve was unequivocally in love with you, and he hadn’t been so in love before. so why would he try his odd hand pose in order to scoop you up and swoon you when he could offer a jacket or blatantly ask you out instead.

“what do you mean?” you ask steve, unsure of what he’s getting at. as if there was more to it than his old school move. he chuckles, shuffling so his arm is back by his side, but now steve has moved a step closer to you that the brown hazel in his eyes are more apparent, shining down at you.

“honey, i’ve been try to tell you for months now how much i’m in love with you.” your mouth gapes, the corners threatening to pull upwards in a smile as you choke, “w-what?” your hand settles on his chest, stepping closer to him.

and by your reaction steve is less scared, you’re not running down the street or slamming the door on his face – only moving closer and smiling up at him. and steve only falls in love more in that moment, “you love me?”

steve eyes scan your face after your question, and you watch as they do, so delicate and sweet like the steve you have always known but now here he is, confessing that he loves you and it’s all tying together and the possibilities seem endless all of a sudden.

“aw, c’mere already,” steve states, breaking the small gap between you both as a kiss settles to your lips. his hand is at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him as he bids not to let you go. your hands reach up to his face, in disbelief you’re kissing steve harrington, your best friend, your touch to his cheeks brings you back to earth.

you weren’t so oblivious anymore, steve thought, glad the whole ordeal’s over as he smiles against your lips, never wanting to pull away.

amorchai masterlist . taglist

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[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.

[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.”

[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.”

[annafoxxx7]

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.

[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)

[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

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 4

Art Donaldson x reader slow burn friends to lovers

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list 💕 thank you so much for the love on this series so far I’m really grateful !

Part 3

——————————————————————

‘You should see him after a few games, it’s a lot.’

With a mouth full of burrito, you still managed to laugh at the image Liam and Art were conjuring of Patrick’s sunburn turning him beetroot. The three of you were sat at a cute little place you’d somehow never seen before, probably because you didn’t know the area that well. Art’s choice.

‘So how’s living with this one?’ Liam asked, spitting hummus everywhere as he spoke. Neither you or Art had known who his question was for so you both yelped

‘Good!’

A little too enthusiastically for Liam.

Art’s hair had dried perfectly in the piercing sun rays and the smell of his mint shampoo kept wafting in your direction whenever the breeze turned. Shit. You were supposed to be listening to Liam. What was he saying?’

‘Fridays good.’ Art nodded at his friend, not looking at you for conformation. Clearly someone had been listening. You waited until Liam was texting his girlfriend to hiss at Art what he’d just agreed to - the answer ? - a party at Liam’s.

‘Are you sure it’s okay … if I come?’ Neither boy missed the slight sadness in your question. Your search for validation and fear of the wrong outcome. As Liam beamed at you, reassuring your brain that you were indeed very much wanted at his party and that ‘it won’t be the same without you’ Art’s eyes were locked on your face. You failed to notice.

‘So don’t worry about it okay? It’s not a tennis people thing, just a Liam friends thing.’ He smiled, very genuinely, and you smiled back. When Liam went to the bathroom he noticed Art was picking aggressively at the table, something he’d never seen him do before.

Without looking up from his task of picking through wood one mm at a time, Art asked coldly. ‘When did Patrick say he’d be back?’ Oh fuck it was Sunday! Better check your phone.

2 missed messages.

12:03pm - Text from Patrick

It’s not going well at all. She keeps starting shit with me for no reason she’s a lot to deal with if I’m being honest. Hope your day is better than mine so far

1:26pm - Text from Patrick

You’ve gotta pick me up Y/N I can’t stay here with these people until 9 I’ll catch arsehole disease

Just as you thought of a reply that was both supportive and concerned your phone lit up. Patrick was calling.

‘Pat hey! I didn’t expect to hear fro-‘

‘Pick me up.’

‘Jesus okay-‘

‘Pretty please Y/N I’ll send you my location right now just get here.’

He had a tendency to overreact to uncomfortable situations but you could hear the genuine panic and defeat in his voice. You had to help him.

‘Okay okay but … what’s wrong with Uber?’

‘I can’t afford it.’

You took a deep breath, gesturing to Art to stop mouthing ‘what’s happening?’ so you could concentrate.

‘Okay let me just tell Art-‘

‘Art’s there? Get him to come, he knows the way.’

‘Okay.’

Whilst you explained to Liam the rough situation, Art ran to your flat to fetch his car. With how little time it took him to return you wondered why he hadn’t become a runner instead? He must have done track, at-least.

——————————————————————

It was an hour drive to Patrick’s girls place. 45 minutes on Sundays. You waited until Art had gotten to the motorway before you asked the million dollar question.

‘So… Patrick said you knew the way. How? This is nowhere near anyone’s house that we know.’

Art chuckled, his delicate hand barely touching the wheel when he casually changed lanes at 70mph. His car smelt like him, you tried not to breathe heavier to encase yourself in his scent more intensely. It was growing difficult.

‘Well, I actually … dated Hannah before he did.’

He adjusted his mirror to watch the arsehole behind drive up his ass, for a moment you noticed him looking at the window. If Art ‘his mother could have knitted him’ Donaldson was about to roll the window down to flip someone off you were in for a treat.

‘How long for? Did Patrick even ask bef-‘

‘Does Patrick ever ask you for permission to do something?’

No. Not once.

‘It doesn’t bother me. We weren’t serious and it was a few years before he asked her out.’

You both envied and pitied this Hannah girl who Art seemed to care so little for.

‘Is it not a bit weird though? I wouldn’t want my exes fucking my friends.’

Art glanced over to you, he was driving at 60 again so you weren’t as inclined to grasp the door handle. He looked a little puzzled at your remarks or maybe it was amusement. ‘You thought we’d have different types?’

‘Yes, one hundred percent.’

‘We usually do. Hannah is probably more Patrick’s type.’

Your pity for Hannah grew once again.

‘But clearly, not more compatible.’

When you looked at Art he was frowning. He might have been looking at the road but you knew he was remembering something, something bitter.

You reread Patrick’s text: ‘She’s a lot to deal with.’ but that could mean anything from she takes too long getting ready to she needs to be kept away from others. Once Art said you were close you felt a little uneasy, like you needed to mentally prepare to deal with this girl. If she’d frightened Patrick she had to have something very wrong with her.

‘Art?’

He looked out of it.

‘Is there anything I should know, anything I should maybe avoid saying or doing with this… Hannah? Patrick sounded - I don’t wanna say scared bu-‘

‘Oh he’ll be scared,’ you felt genuine dread for a moment until you saw Art looked solemn not worried. He hid it behind a forced chuckle, as if what he was about to say was a funny anecdote he whipped out at parties to break the ice. ‘She can be a lot.’ There goes that word again. ‘She’s probably the only person I’ve ever met who puts tennis above - well - breathing and she thinks if you’re not playing tennis twelve hours a day everyday you’re letting yourself and her down.’

‘Sounds obsessive.’

‘I did warn him.’

As you pulled up to Hannah’s house you felt a twinge, or an aggressive increase, of guilt for your comment the night before. You should have saved your judgement for Hannah, clearly tennis was her entire life and Art had disagreed with her. Patrick certainly would.

He was sat on her doorstep, like a lost puppy waiting for its owner, but he still gave a quick wave before walking over.

‘Thank you!’ Patrick exclaimed once he was in the car. ‘You two just saved me, I was about to let her coach me just so she’d stop fucking yelling.’ He was sweating and slightly out of breath, poor thing.

‘Art, don’t you wanna go say hi?’

‘Funny…’

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Taglist: @gatorgirl007 @imblushingrn

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | extras | Mick and Yn create a playlist together

― Summary: Yn and Mick are still threading through their feelings, none of them yet aware of how deep it is. Some say that actions speak louder than words, but guess songs do too sometimes. ― Word count: 1.3k ― A/n: This can be read as a stand-alone, but it’s better when you’ve read the series. ― Warnings: mention of food; tooth aching fluff.

✷ see my main masterlist | patreon masterlist | KOMH Masterlist ✷ wanna be tagged on my works? check my taglist ✷ you can support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

“I created the playlist,” Yn shares once she finds Mick in the garage. It’s close to lunchtime, and some of the crew are already leaving to eat at the paddock cafeteria. George is pointing something to Mick on the computer to which he simply nods before turning to Yn. “I just sent you the Spotify link,” she adds.

His eyes take her in and he nods again. He wants to say a lot of things, how beautiful she looks, how he missed her the whole morning, how boring it felt without her laugh, how happy he is that she created the playlist, that way he’ll have yet another excuse to text her, but he just nods. A lot of the things that are going through Mick’s mind are making him choose to keep his lips sealed. He knows each little thing can and will be pointed to by his friends as catching feelings.

The worst thing is that he believes that maybe it is true.

Maybe he is falling for Yn.

His friend’s sister. 

His co-worker's sister. 

“What playlist?” George asks, poking his head in their direction and Yn rolls her eyes playfully.

“It’s nothing, you’re a driver, not a reporter, you don’t need to know everything,” her retort makes Mick throw his head back in laughter and even Russell himself can’t contain the snicker.

“You’ve been walking too much with Lando, you’re getting sassier,” the British points while taking off the headphones from around his neck.

“As it happens, I’ve actually been walking a lot with you, George.” 

Mick snickers watching the whole interaction the way you watch a tennis match, head going from one side to the other to catch the faces the duo is making. 

“Anyways, I gotta go have lunch, you two have fun,” Russell patted Yn’s and Mick’s back before leaving them alone in front of the computer.

“Are you having lunch in the cafeteria with everyone?” he asks but what he really wants to say is: would you like to have lunch with me? 

Yn shakes her head, “I ordered lunch.”

“Oh-”

She adds before Mick can say something else, “I ordered two…you said you wanted to try that salad last time, and I thought-”

“Awesome! So we go through the songs while we eat lunch,” Mick has a small smile on his pink lips, whereas he’s jumping up and down inside. 

Yn nodded, starting the track to one of the meeting rooms she used to work while in the garage. Mick is right behind her, and the silence until they reach the door is peaceful. Yn left the package by the table along with two bottles of water, but they settled on the couch sitting in front of each other. Shoes discarded on the ground, legs crossed.

“I already added one song, I’m sorry,” Yn starts and Mick nods, silently asking her to continue. “Die Hard, by Kendrick Lamar.”

“This song is amazing!”

“Do you like it?” Yn asks, smile wider this time, and Mick nods.

“Can I add Lost by Frank Ocean?” the blonde asks and Yn jumps up and down while still sitting. 

“Yes!! Absolutely!!” 

She digs her fork into the food before taking a bite. Mick sips his water, and then asks, “So, you add one I add one? And we only add the ones we agree on or? How’s this gonna work?” 

“I think we can make a mix, no need to agree, we will listen to everything afterwards and then we can talk about the ones we never heard before… that is if you agree.” 

“Well, I’ve never made a shared playlist like this before, so yeah, I agree.” 

Yn smiles, “I do them all the time with Lewis, he hasn’t surrendered to Taylor Swift quite yet, but I always try,” Mick chuckles. “Anyways, I think we should add some classics like It Wasn’t Me, we were listening to it that day in the car, you remember?” 

“Yeah, you sang that Mick song too.” 

“Oh, Mick, you’re so fine, so fine you blow my mind,” she sang teasing him and the German rolled his eyes playfully, a flush creeping from his neck to his ears.

“Does she actually sing Mick?” he’s truly curious.

Yn shakes her head, “But I do,” the way she winks at him makes his stomach roll and feel cold in a strange yet good way. “She sings Mickey, but I think Mick fits better, don’t you think?” 

Mick is at a loss for words, so he chooses to stuff his mouth with lettuce and shrug instead of answering. How could he answer? Were they flirting? What the hell was this feeling in his stomach? 

“I propose we add the songs and go through it in real-time. Open the app there,” she points to his cell phone and Mick does as she says. 

“You just added Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls,” he states and taps his fingers on the screen adding Tennessee Whiskey, watching Yn as she furrows her brows.

“I’ve never heard this one.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know much about Country music,” she confesses.

“I’ll add my favorite ones for you.” 

Yn smiles at him.

They go about eating and adding songs to the playlist. There’s a smile and a giggle here and there, sometimes laughter, and frowns with the unknown songs. 

Yn is sipping her water and looking at the phone, when she sees a new song pop on the list, “What does ‘schön’ mean?” 

“I’m adding some German songs for you,” Mick explains, but Yn is not satisfied with the simple answer.

“‘Mkey, how do you say this?” 

“Sch-ön,” he slowly mouths and she giggles.

“With kissy lips?” Mick nods. “Man, you Germans are kinda cute. You make kissy faces every time there’s a word with this thingy?” 

“Umlaut,” he explains, holding back a chuckle. “And yeah, kinda.” 

“So…what is this song about?” Yn asks, hitting play.

Mick watches as Yn bops her head to the rhythm, a grin on her plush lips and her eyes closed.

Du bist schön und es macht Spaß, dich anzuseh'n

(So schön)

Du bist schön und meine Augen sind verwöhnt

(Verwöhnt)

Du bist schön, uh, du bist schön

“What is he saying, Mouse?” 

“You are beautiful, and fun to look at. You are beautiful and my eyes are… spoiled,” he tries to focus on the lyrics, but the second her eyes open and they find each other the song becomes mere background noise. “You’re beautiful,” this time his voice is a bit softer.

“Did he sing that again?” 

Mick shakes his head, notices what he just did, and then nods. 

“Yeah, it’s… it’s a simple song, it’s a good choice if you want to start learning some words in German.” 

They go about adding songs in silence again, until Yn jumps from the couch hitting play on yet another song, “Oooh, this one’s good, you’ll like it!” 

“Taylor Swift?”

“You were able to identify, that’s a good start. Yes. This one’s called Karma, it totally has your energy, Mouse.” 

Mick furrows his brows in confusion and Yn starts walking around the room while explaining to him the story behind the music which took them over twenty minutes, but the Schumacher wasn’t bored, quite the opposite, he listened to everything, asking one question here and there, and chuckling at her enthusiasm. 

It’s only when Lewis texts Mick telling him lunchtime is over that they wrap up their conversation, agreeing on adding songs to the playlist whenever they find something the other might like or should see. 

“Thanks for lunch. Guess I owe you dinner now, huh?” 

Yn sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, and Mick’s eyes drop slightly following the motion. 

“Yup,” she nods. “See you in a few, Mouse.” 

And when the door closes behind the blond Yn sighs. Her brother would have to forgive her. Not liking Mick was getting harder and harder. 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! A huge shout out to my ☕️anon for proofreading this piece so quick ❤️ Don’t forget to reblog and comment, and follow me if you liked it!

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[marlynnofmany]

Talking Sports

“And then I found out we weren’t the only species to invent football!” I said to Wio as she opened food packets. Normally I would have enjoyed watching the way someone with tentacles unwraps things, but I was focused on my story. “I mean, I know it’s a very simple concept, but that was incredibly strange to turn the corner and see a bunch of beefy dinosaur-looking people tackling the quarterback.”

“I’m sure,” Wio said, popping the lid off a jar. “Is this one of the ‘gimme the ball’ games, or ‘get rid of the ball’ games?”

“Um.” I paused to think. “I guess you can categorize them like that, can’t you? Never thought about it. It’s a ‘gimme the ball.’”

“Are those the more common type?” Wio pushed my own lunch tray towards me, which I’d forgotten about.

“Thanks. Maybe?” I poked through the stack of individually-wrapped human foods as I thought. These were from another mystery box of Earth stuff from our last supply run. I started with the turkey jerky. “There’s a lot of sports to keep track of. Fighting to keep the ball is football — and rugby, which is similar — soccer, where you just use your feet; basketball, where you have to keep bouncing the ball; hockey, where you smack it across the ground with a stick… Oh, and lacrosse, where you throw it with a stick that has a net on it. And I’m probably forgetting a ton.”

“Mm,” Wio said conversationally. She scooped up a mouthful of stinky fish paste with the Strongarm version of a spoon, which had a handle shaped like a jumbo tongue depressor. She didn’t bother grabbing it, just sticking her suction cups to the underside. “That’s six. What about games where the goal is to chuck the ball into the sun?”

I talked over a bite of jerky. “There’s probably not as many, at least if you’re strict about the definition. In baseball you’d definitely be a star if you hit the ball into orbit, but the others tend to have a specific place where you want the ball to go. That can be the other side of the court, like tennis, volleyball, or badminton — or even ping-pong — but then there’s golf, where it looks like you’re trying to whack the ball as far as possible, but really you’re aiming for a tiny hole at the end of the field.”

“Six again,” Wio commented. “Or just one, depending on definitions.”

“I know I’m forgetting some,” I said. “What else is there where you throw the ball as far as possible? I mean, there’s competitive javelin throwing, but that’s not the same kind of game. One person at a time going for the highest score, instead of two teams playing against each other at the same time. With javelins, that would just be actual warfare, and then you’d be aiming at people anyway, not going for distance.”

Wio finished the fish paste. “You do seem to have a lot of team games,” she said. “I’m used to more of that ‘highest score’ kind.”

“Yeah?” I asked, intrigued. “What kind of sports do Strongarms have?”

“Well, we do have some that are cooperative,” she admitted. “At least where I’m from. A lot of races, some with an object to carry and a goal. Sometimes the object is a teammate. And there are a few varieties of wrestling, some with limitations or challenging locations.”

“That sounds fun. Challenging how?” I reached for more jerky, and realized the package was empty. I moved on to a squeeze-tube of applesauce.

“Oh, there’s a bunch of options,” Wio said, waving a tentacle. “People are always coming up with more. My favorite is probably the balancing on top of a pole one.”

“Cool.” The applesauce was nice and cinnamon-y. “Do you have a least favorite?”

“In a box,” she said immediately. “That one is stupid and hard.”

“I bet!” I said.

Wio began peeling what looked like a blue-and-green onion. “But anyway, most of the competitions are solo challenges. Lots of puzzles. And many of the ones with multiple people acting at once are just a way of saving time so we don’t have to wait to see who’s best at the puzzle.”

“Do you do any climbing?” I asked. “Obstacle courses?”

“Oh sure,” she said. “Some of the races are vertical. And there’s a whole category of seeing who can wriggle through odd-shaped openings the fastest.”

I watched her peel the thing, which had far more layers than I’d expected. “Sounds like the only games with a ball to move around are the races. Some of them.”

Wio paused and stared at the wall with a thoughtful expression on her octopuslike face. “I’m probably forgetting some too, but nothing’s coming to mind. There are things with floating objects, but those are more swimming challenges, not focusing on the objects themselves.”

“Pity,” I said as she finally ate the core of the onion, which was the size of a grape. “Ball games can be a lot of fun.”

“I believe you,” she said in the tone of someone not particularly motivated to do anything about it. Then she started eating the blue onion skins like potato chips.

“Have you ever tried one?” I pressed. “Even a simple thing like catch or keep-away?”

“I don’t know what either of those are, but I can guess.” She said, crunching away.

“What about…” I searched through my food options for an orange or a walnut or something. I found a tuna can. “Table hockey! Here, set the trays on the bench; I just want to show you real quick.”

I didn’t really expect her to agree, but she shoved the last of the crunchy things in her mouth and moved the remainder of her lunch. This table wasn’t very wide, hardly a proper playing field, but that would make it easier for a rookie. I set my tray on the bench seat next to me and explained the rules. “We just whack it towards each other and try not to let it fall off our side of the table. If you get it off my side, you get a point. Got it?”

“And the other sides are no one’s point, right?”

“Right. If we want to make it harder, we can say you lose a point for hitting it off there, but no need.”

“All right.” She splayed an unfair number of tentacles across her side of the table. “Let’s do it.”

I shoved the can at a reasonable speed, only to have her thwap it back at me hard enough to hurt when I caught it. I laughed. “Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?”

Wio smiled with her weird little alien mouth. “Was that meant to be difficult?”

“Oh, it is on.”

Thus began a riotous game of table tuna, which ended up making such a ruckus of laughter and whacks against the cabinets that Eggskin came in from the kitchen to see what was going on.

Wio waved three tentacles at them. “We’re playing an Earth sport!”

“I see,” they said, turning their scaly head in a clear inspection for damage to the cabinets. “I trust you’ll be eating the contents of that can, now that you’ve thoroughly dented it.”

“Sure, sure,” I said, turning the can over. “Oh, this is starting to leak, isn’t it?”

“And I trust you’ll be cleaning up your own mess?”

“Yep. Sorry.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Eggskin swept away with all the dignity of an elder who’d caught the kids getting into trouble. I had no idea how old they were, but they definitely had grandparent vibes sometimes.

Luckily the can had only dripped a little, and was easy to wipe up. Wio and I were soon back with lunches in front of us. I was looking for crackers to put the tuna on when Wio spoke up.

“You should try a Strongarm game now.”

I looked up. “I suppose that’s fair. Do you have one in mind?”

She held up a white jar with multiple seams and no obvious lid. “A classic puzzle is opening something without looking. Like this youth-proof seal.”

“Okay,” I said, holding out a hand for it. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Instead of handing it to me, she grinned wider. “You can’t just sit there, of course. You should lie down on your back. And open it under the bench behind you.”

“Whaaat,” I said. “You are making that up.”

She was outright giggling now. “This is literally a child’s game to see if they’re old enough to open containers on their own.”

“Fine.” I got as comfortable as I could on the hard bench, and she handed me the jar. I held it under the bench, and immediately regretted my choices. “Ow. This game was designed for someone who has tentacles instead of shoulder joints.”

Wio’s voice oozed amusement. “Surely you can handle a child’s puzzle? Come on, I’ll open this one at the same time. See if you can beat me.”

I grunted, twisting at yet another part that didn’t twist. Today’s lunchtime had turned out so educational. “I guarantee you I cannot.”

~~~

Inspired by this post, and also partly by the octopus skill at opening jars.

Ongoing backstory for the main character of this book. More to come!

[gilverrwrites]

Do you have some headcanons about Thomas and Martha Wayne ? And what is your favorite portrayal of them, as in which movie or comic do you like them most ?

I don’t have many headcanons to be honest;

Thomas is the academic type. He’s studious, focused, hardworking.

Martha is the firecracker. She’s sporty, loves track and tennis, and has a playful flare for the dramatics.

(This might be canon? Cant remember but) Martha is Jewish.

She’s the more adventurous of the two. She wanted Bruce to see the world, to take him to all the shows, try all the foods, and wear the new styles.

Whereas Thomas was more reserved, more cautious.

Sometimes Bruce sees his kids wearing something a bit out there, and he won’t say anything but he’s has that stony faces side eye and Alfred has to stop himself from saying ‘You look just like your father’.

Or when Bruce can’t help but read news articles aloud to him when he gets excited about some new tech that’s being rolled out in Japan or something. ‘Can you believe it Alfred? I have got to speak to Barbara about this.’ ‘Quite sir. I think your mother would have loved that too.’

She used to do the same thing at breakfast every morning. ‘Tom have you heard this?’ ‘Alfred what do you think?’ ‘Goodness, the worlds gone mad, and were here to see it!’

Bruce physically takes after his father the most but those pretty blue eyes that look into your soul are 100% Martha.

The pearls we so often see splayed across the alleyway are a family heirloom on the Wayne side. Forensics picked up every piece they could find. After years of getting dusty in an evidence locker, hoping nobody would notice Jim dug them out, had them restrung and gave them to Bruce on the 10th anniversary of their death.

Bruce was displeased at the time, he doesn’t want jewels he wants justice. But eventually he came around. He keeps them in her jewellery box which is in their untouched bedroom. When he really misses her sometimes he goes in there and just holds them.

The room is off limits to everyone but himself and Alfred. Despite this, all the kids have broke in out of curiosity at least once.

Except Jason who respected Bruce’s wishes. He was just grateful to have a home.

And Tim, who got caught and chewed out something fierce.

As for portrayals:

Obviously not true to their origin, but I really liked them in flashpoint.

The Ultimate Evil Castle of the Bat is spooky, and fun. I love the Frankenstein story but, like flash point it doesn’t do much for their origin as it’s an AU. Their actors in

The Batman 2022 are spot on for what I imagine their appearance to be, sans Martha needing darker, curlier hair.

There’s a fair few comics detailing Martha’s life pre Thomas but none that stand out. Honestly, I can stand when they make her out to be a villain or just put her on the arm of a criminal and call it depth. It’s been done, sometimes well, sometimes not, can we have something different now please?

I haven’t seen Pennyworth, but I believe they’re it quite a bit. Is it worth the watch?

[zaimta]

彡 STRAW HAT PIRATES SPORTS AU

parings: straw hats x gn!reader, chopper x platonic!reader

zai says: my best idea ever brain funk lasted me a good 2 days and im FREE (im probably lying) i wanna split this into parts for the one shots but for now hcs!! no brook bc i literally couldn’t think of a sport for him maybe i’ll fit him in later idk 🧍🏾‍♀️

ˏˋ«────── « 𓆩♡𓆪 » ──────»

˗ˏˋMONKEY D. LUFFY- football (soccer) player

the type of person to just randomly meet his s/o somewhere, he’s either completely drunk or just extremely sober but he’s just crazy asf as is

when he meets you n you have no idea who he is he doesn’t remind you but he sees no reason to, he just introduces himself like normal and rolls with it

and if you don’t keep up with sports whatsoever you would have no idea you’re dating a football player and his friends would think it’s absolutely hilarious

he would teach you all about football and he even plays it with you from time to time, lots of pitty goals coming your way

i don’t think he’ll make a big deal out of telling you who he is he just randomly says it when he has a game/match and he asks you to come if you’re free

you kissing him after his games would be his favorite thing ever, he hoists you up by your thighs n smiles into the kiss

he gives you the biggest smile when you say that you’re proud of him when he wins, and even if he lost you would still be proud of him

˗ˏˋRORONOA ZORO- fencing

i don't see him falling in love with a rival i fear he would be too focused on climbing the ranks

au where kuina is alive bc i said so, but zoro still aspires to chase after her she is the best there is period and when he beats her he knows that he made it so far he has yet to beat her but he swears he’ll get there

he probably meets you at a fencing match or at a bar, either way where he meets you he doesn’t really flirt at first he just acknowledges you n it becomes something from there

peak situationship, you have no idea what you are when he actually does start flirting with you and takes you out on dates, and don’t let him talk about fencing either he can talk about it for hours and it manages to put a smile on his face

he always asks when you’re free whenever he has a match, he wants you to be there whether he wins or loses

there would be one crushing loss that gets to him and he holds you close to him and you stay like that for a while and you can tell he’s clearly upset, he pulls away from you mumbling something about getting his stuff

kuina passes by him and simply ruffles his hair saying how you’re a keeper and he brushes her off

kuina actually adores you she likes how you keep him grounded and encourages him to keep going, she sees him as a little brother and she’s glad he found someone like you

˗ˏˋNAMI- tennis player

totally played in college on a full-ride scholarship, the girl had to get her money's worth!!

richest tennis player simply because of her skill

au where belle-mère is alive because i said so, but nami often talks about her and nojiko in her interviews, belle-mère is so proud of her she’s always bragging about nami to anyone who will listen (literally anyone who stops by her tangerine farm bc she forces them to)

i see her falling in love with an opponent on the court, the bickering the two of you would have would go from a rivalry to slight flirtatious interactions to just straight flirting and everyone can see it

the tension would be at its peak during a championship game, the two of y’all would be in the finals, winner takes all type shit

nami says “i’ll take you out when i win, you know to help you get over your loss”

if she wins you let her take you out, if you win you let her take you out regardless which just intensifies her crush on you when you actually agree to go in the date

tennis power couple, the moment y’all debut in a doubles match it’s over for the world

˗ˏˋUSOPP- track and field

oh he’s totally a track star ik y’all see the way he be running

i see him running the 100, 200, and dabbling in long jump

he probably meet you while out on the town or at a meet, if you’re competing for another team and he ends up running against you or your teammate he shows off to impress you, if he meets you while he’s out and a bout he just tells you about himself casually

he would love going on little artistic dates, or he’ll buy the paint stuff and y’all can paint at his house while binging y’all’s favorite show

meet days are long asf for him once he gets back he’s immediately asleep, he tries (emphasis on tries) to text you when he gets home but once he brushes his teeth and puts his bonnet on, and his head hits that pillow oh he’s out like a light

he will never shut up about the 4 x 4 and how much he despises it, and if you don’t get it he takes you to a track and has you run a full 400m y’all now hate it together it’s a couples thing <3

if you’re there to cheer him in at his meets he actually falls in love with you like he wants to marry you and would propose to you on the spot if he could

the days after his meets he loves having lazy days with you and doing absolutely nothing, just holding you in his arms and relaxing is all he needs

˗ˏˋSANJI VINSMOKE- baseball player

he’s totally a baseball player i mean look at that waist ( we gon ignore the fact that he refuses to use his hands for anything besides cooking)

he’s totally a flirtatious player half of the time it’s unintentional bc that’s just how he is a natural gentleman

i see him asking a sports reporter for their number while they’re interviewing him, i see him enjoying the chase so if they brush him off he would be persistent flirting with you

him making sure you see his games, and he would flirt with you constantly if you’re there to recap the games

when he somehow gets you to agree to go out with him he’s actually over the moon, he treats you so well i’m talkin pressin a kiss to the back of your hand, opening doors for you all that jazz

when y’all start dating he’s still the same person, he flirts with you like he hasn’t won the chase a terrible romantic trulay

˗ˏˋTONY TONY CHOPPER [platonic]- athletic trainer student aide

student aide to an athletic trainer, he would probably be a prodigy too so they sitting here thinking he in college and he is but he’s like fucking 15

the team sees him as a little brother they all adore him and if they get scolded by him bc they wasn’t doing what they was supposed to do to let their injuries heal they so sad they disappointed him

you’re probably on the sports team he’s an aide too n he just naturally floated to you, he hangs out with you outside of the sports team and he sees you as an older sibling

if you need any help training he’d love to help you but if you make him work out with you he’s tapping and switching to moral support

if you get an injury he’s even harsher with you when you don’t listen he’s like “im not above putting my hands on people” whole time he not but he on the verge of slapping you so hard you gon have to be back in his office bc of the slap

makes you buy him lunch all thee time, for an athletic trainer aide he’s in love with sweets and you find it strange

˗ˏˋNICO ROBIN- volleyball player

#team mom

her volleyball team actually adores her

she’s been player of the year for her team, her conference, and in her league

i see her being the ace of her team, bringing them points home and someone her team can depend on to carry em home

but her practicing late one night and you walkin into the gym to do whatever maybe set up for media day or clean up, anyways you would catch her mid jump serve and it’s totally love at first sight for you i mean it’s robin like

she would smile at you and ask if you play volleyball

if you do she’ll hit some serves to you and if you’re down for it she’ll have a 1v1 practice match against you

if not she’ll be happy to teach you, hits you with the engulfing you and guiding your body with her hands

y’all would play together around the same time for the next few days and she asks you on a date and you ofc agree

˗ˏˋCYBORG FRANKY - athletic trainer for a hockey team

his team actually adores him like “big bro” franky in effect

i see him as an athletic trainer for a college team but he could also work for pros too!

if he works for a college team he totally cries when the seniors graduate, and if they go pro he makes sure to at least go to one of their games if he can

they’re always in his office even if they aren’t injured, when they don’t have class ( or anything to do ) some of his athletes just go to his office and talk to him about whatever

i see franky as a blind date guy nami probably sets one up for him and he meets you, he talks to you for a little while and he knows he’s into you

he could be in his office talking to you on the phone when his athletes catch him smiling at his phone too hard, or they notice how he’s in a better mood they totally tease him for it (he got that good team chemistry)

he’s so blindly in love with you too, if you don’t know anything about hockey he teaches you and if he has to teach you how to skate as well he literally never leaves your side he got his body around you as he shows you how to hit the puck with the stick

he also gives the best massages like any sore spots you had will be immediately gone

˗ˏˋJINBE - karate fighter

he screams olympian he truly do don’t he

anyways he’s well respected in his craft, it’s clear he loves what he does and he puts his all into karate

he’s such a smooth gentleman too, his flirt attempts would be subtle but they would be able to knock you off your feet like damn

him flirting with you while you wrap his wounds and it’s like this man?? and he’s so sweet with it

he’s the old timer with the lovey partner who was supporting him from the beginning, you was there when he had nothing to when he was winning championship titles

even though he’s gotten older he’s still got it, people love meeting him bc he’s such a sweetheart and he gives the best hugs ever, runs his own dojo maybe and he teaches people karate

when you stop by because he “forgot his lunch” he always thanks you with a kiss, you know he leaves it on purpose and he knows that you know but he keeps doing it anyways for a kiss