#I will continue to sit on the sidelines and cheer you all on as you write and create amazing things

[moonpatroclus]

This is so so nice and kind and sweet I truly don’t deserve to be mentioned alongside such talented wonderful people. But even so thank you so much for thinking of me 😭🫶🏻 I’m so thankful for all the lovely people I’ve met through acotar, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt so invested in a fandom and met a group of such amazing friends because of it.

just because I couldn't decide on a favourite piece of work or you maybe don't write or create fanart, it does not mean I don't want to give you a special shout-out. so on this day a special shout-out to:

@octobers-veryown @moonpatroclus @damedechance @amandapearls

thank you for everything you do for this fandom, you are greatly appreciated🤍

[gayerthanevertbh]

competitor - training season pt. 1

natasha romanoff masterlist | series masterlist | navigation

summary: you were a fierce competitor who aspired to be the top female tennis player in the world, and there is no way you can compete with the famous natasha romanoff on the tennis court. every time she volunteered to coach you, there was a condition: to sleep with her. with this routine, both of you grew closer than ever. however, another woman had already taken her place in court before you could even see her. game, set, match. who will you choose? natasha weakens you, but louise jones revives you.

warnings: natasha being extremely seductive, mentions of sex, and manipulative natasha - minors dni

notes: this story is probably my favorite since i could say it's very well written but enjoy x

Whoosh!

That was the initial sound that sparked my passion for tennis. It is all about the way players approach the game and their level of enthusiasm when hitting the ball. It captivates me to the point where I could sit and watch tennis matches all day if I had to. I lean back with a Coke in one hand and inhale deeply, taking in the scent of the outdoors. Then, following a brief interval, an additional whoosh! was produced. With every missed shot, MJ's grip on the racket tightened as she stood on the tennis court. She stared at the net, frustration written all over her face as sweat glistened on her forehead. Usually she was so calm, but tonight she felt like she was being betrayed with every serve and return. I sympathized with the other players as I watched from the sidelines. Something was obviously wrong since her movements had become stiff and jerky, replacing her customary grace. Today, the game served as more than simply a pastime; it served as a battlefield for whatever was bothering her.

“Thirty, love.”

“Fuck!” I felt a chill run down my spine as I overheard MJ furiously hurling her racket across the court. When I think of MJ, I picture an optimistic, self-assured, and cheerful person who uses very few profanity words. I suppose she did not hit the ball properly because this is the first time I have heard it. 

MJ was defeated when her last serve went slightly outside the line. As the umpire's call resounded throughout the quiet court, Michael Jackson's shoulders lowered in surrender. With a fake smile, she approached the net and held out her hand to her opponent. Her expression of sportsmanship was masking the annoyance and despair I could see in her eyes from where I was standing on the sidelines. It was hard to see as her once-bubbly confidence crumbled and was replaced with a worn-out acceptance of her loss. I wanted to soothe her as she turned away from the net, but I didn't know how to say it. 

MJ didn’t win.

“30, 40.”

I got up and went over to MJ, who was slumped over on the bench after the game, because he looked beat. As she chugging away with all her might, she grabbed the water bottle from my hand and gave it to her. "Something is not right," I said.

“Damn right,” she said as she threw the bottle out of the way. “Fuckin’ Garcia did it all. I was close, so close!”

“I think there’s something wrong with your leg.”

She slowly shifted her gaze to me and emitted a fake laugh. “If there was something wrong with my leg, then I wouldn’t play in the first place.”

As we sat down next to her on the bench, I let out a sigh and watched as the court became increasingly silent as everyone left. After that, I told her the truth while turning to look her in the eyes. Denying it while continuing to wipe off her perspiration, she shakes her head. One thing that should be known about MJ is that she possesses an unwavering sense of pride, particularly when it comes to tennis. So it was; she was supposedly one of New York's top young female players. Perhaps she was feeling overwhelmed by her family's expectations that she excel as a player or that her argument with Jason had a negative impact on her mood today. She refuses to acknowledge that there is a problem with her. Like her, I aspired to be the best at what I do; she is confident in her abilities. 

“Are you coming later at my place?” I asked. 

“I don’t know; Jason wants to have dinner with me. He said that he got me a new coach.”

“Oh?” As I observed her rise to her feet, an arch formed in my eyebrow. “It must be nice to finally get a new one. Clint wasn’t so great, I assume?”

MJ shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know; yeah, maybe.”

“Is there something wrong? I hate to push your buttons—”

“It’s just embarrassing, Y/N,” she says with a loud groan. “My parents were watching me! Now they’re going to tell me that I need to do better, I have to be better.”

After a brief moment of silence, MJ spun around to give me a mischievous smile. “What about you, Ms. Rogers? Aren’t you going to train for today?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t have a coach. Besides, I’m too tired for today. I’ll probably do some drills tomorrow morning.”

"Well, if you need anything, just send me a message. You know I’m just one call away, Y/N. I can hire you a coach if that’s what you want.”

"You have been there for me through thick and thin; I am doing fine," I told her, burying my nose in her neck and embracing her tightly. “Let me know what happens with Jason.”

I parked the car by the curb and silenced the radio, squinting as I thought about the game from earlier in the day. If I have to be the best, I have to do more training, I thought to myself with a loud sigh coming out of my mouth. I was a huge tennis fanatic as a kid and used to binge-watch matches on TV. In particular, the tennis legend Natasha Romanoff, who was a friend of my father's. I climbed out of the vehicle, secured the door, and made my way inside my home. Just as I was about to make my way to the kitchen, I heard the patio door open. I peeked out of the picture and saw my dad and his friend Natasha enjoying some orange juice and sandwiches. Seeing her makes my heart race; it is almost a wake-up call. 

Whenever I saw her on TV, I felt an instant crush on her. I mean, who could resist Natasha Romanoff's allure?

Just as I was ready to leave, my father's voice reached my ears. “Y/N, you’re home! Why don’t you join me and Natasha for some snacks?”

I walked out of the house and waved to Natasha, who looked even more menacing despite her calm demeanor. I can feel her stare crawl against my skin, tightening my throat. “Hi, Nat.”

With a deep, rough voice, she says, "Hello, darling," and removes the cigarette from her full lips. “Did you train today?”

“No, I just watched MJ’s game today.”

"MJ, Mj," she muttered to herself, possibly trying to recall who MJ actually is. Her words trailed off after that. She grinned and turned her head back to face me. “Carter Jones’ daughter? I’m surprised that she plays.”

“She’s a huge fan of you,” I said with a giddy voice. And so am I. “Have you been visiting Carter?” She took a drag from her cigarette as I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took a seat next to my father. 

“No, I haven’t. We’re sort of in a thin line right now.”

“Is that so?” my father asked. 

She comments, "Susan and I were not going to work in the first place," bringing up Carter's spouse. She and Susan were a couple in the past, as my father told me. I must have been so young to have forgotten that she was with Susan. “How’s MJ? Still hotheaded?”

I nodded with a small smile on my face. “Still very hotheaded.”

She blew the smoke from her mouth and looked at me silently. The atmosphere grew more intense the longer she stared at me. “I see. How old are you now, hon?”

“I just turned 22.”

“In college, I assume?”

“Yes, I study at Standford.”

With a devilish smile, Natasha gives my father a wink. “She’s following your footsteps.”

He pats on my shoulder as he lets out a squeezed laugh. “I didn’t force her to go there, for your information. She even begged me to let her in!”

“Dad, stop—”

“Have you gotten yourself a coach, Y/N?” My throat was getting even drier, and Natasha asked, licking her teeth and pushing her used cigarette into the ashtray. Given that I have not been able to locate a suitable coach in London, this was one of the more difficult questions. In addition, I am not even sure if tennis is the sport I want to play. To be honest, I was only intelligent in terms of academics. Apart from that, though, who am I really meant to be? I was obsessed with tennis; it was my life. But if I am not good enough, how can I love tennis?

“Uh, no. I haven’t.”

Leaning back against the chair, she smacked her lips after finishing her glass of orange juice. “I would want to coach you, but I’ve been very busy these days.”

As she extended her hand to hold my hand, I felt my cheeks flushed—not literally. I laughed nervously and scratched my arm. 

“T-that’s fine, Natasha. I know how busy you are.”

“I’m only here for a couple of weeks. I’d stay here even more if I’m not being called back to New York.”

I got up, kissed my father's cheek, and said in a hushed voice that I was going to bed early. I smiled courteously at Natasha as I turned to face her again, and he nodded and squeezed my arm. “I’ll take a nap, see you guys later.”

Before I left the garden, she gave me one last smile. The more I hear my footsteps, the more my heart races, and I return to my room as if nothing had happened. Is she aware that she is forcing me? She has always drew me in, even as a young girl. She seemed like a sister to me at first, but as I kept seeing her on magazine covers, my admiration for her beauty grew. As the coach I used to have before said, love means zero. 

Love means nothing. 

When I woke up, it was already late at night. At the moment, I sighed and headed for the kitchen, grabbing my bottle of water. As I poured myself a cold glass of water, I opened the refrigerator and discovered a container of food that they had most likely eaten at dinner. I put it on the counter. I started to consider asking MJ to find me a coach before the next week began while I was eating there by myself. However, I was astounded to see Natasha emerge from her room and make her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were up.” After Natasha brought it up, she grabbed my glass and drank nearly half of it. 

“I must’ve been so tired that I forgot dinner,” I chuckled to myself. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You didn’t.”

She took a big breath and peered at me with her dark green eyes, observing that my red polka-dot shorts were paired with simply a tank top. Grinning, she moved on, opening the refrigerator and filling my glass with water. “Sorry, I was thirsty.”

“It’s okay.”

I caught her wearing a tight black shirt and gray leg-hugging jogging pants as we stood there silently. Even at night, her appearance was ethereal. For fifteen years, I was younger than her; in fact, I was practically two decades younger. Maybe she would give me a chance if I were older or if she were younger. 

But I can’t look at her that way; I just can’t.

"It is cold," she remarks once more in that deep voice, glancing out the large window in front of us. “Why are you wearing that?”

“I prefer the cold,” I replied. 

“Well, I think you should wear something more... Less revealing.”

Was she critiquing my choice of dress? Though I was confused, I refrained from showing her my feelings for fear that she would take offense. I definitely did not want to witness Natasha becoming enraged. When I was younger, I recall witnessing an argument between my father and her regarding tennis. She threatened him by stomping her foot on the ground and hurling her glass, causing her to grab his neck. They never talked about what had happened that day, so I have no idea.

“Do you not like the way I dress?”

She took a breath and shook her head. “I think if you wore something like that in public, I’d be angry.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, if you haven’t been aware, I’ve been protective when it comes to you. You are Steve’s daughter, after all. Of course, I have the right,” She leaned in closer to me, shrugging her shoulders. I could feel my head being tickled by her breath. “Have you gotten yourself a coach?”

“I-I was supposed to call MJ, but you distracted me.”

“Is that so, darling?”

I took another swallow and found myself drawn to her once more. This was wrong, I thought to myself. This is just so wrong.

“I actually have a proposal for you, Y/N. But you can turn it down if you’d like.”

My heart skipped a beat as I felt her hand slide the strand of hair behind my ear and smile. I tried to look away as quickly as possible, but I was unable to. I simply could not stop staring at her, absorbing every second of it into my being. 

Was she attracted to me too?

“I would coach you to be one of the best players out there if you return something.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, trying not to smile from the excitement. “W-what is it?”

Natasha licked her bottom lip and cocked her head slightly to the side, as though she was tempted to kiss me. But she leaned closer until I could feel her breath on my ear. 

“I will coach you if you agree to sleep with me.”

What?

“Huh—”

“That’s right,” she says again, but this time it becomes more devious. “You heard me.”

My whole body tensed up, and my cheeks flushed. It is unbelievable that someone of her caliber, Natasha Romanoff, would ask me to have a sexual relationship if I would just allow her to mentor me. Though I was aware of my desperation, was this really what I wanted? I stepped back, trying to get my bearings. If I were to sleep with her, on the off-hand basis, I would also get to train under one of the greatest female tennis players of all time. She was aware of the way in which she was treating me; she could discern that I harbored feelings for her.

“But my dad would know—”

“He will never know, sweetheart.” With a cooing voice, she interrupts me and puts both her hands on my waist. “We only get to know this. No one will know that you’re whoring yourself out for me, baby girl—I mean, no one will know that we’re sleeping together if ever.”

“Whoring? Myself?” I let out a tiny laugh as I shook my head in response, as if this were all a joke to me. “You’re kidding, Nat. Right?”

“Do you want to be the best?” Natasha asked in a demeaning way, and I quickly felt the need to stop talking. It was best if I had said nothing at all first. “Then if I were you, you should take this as an opportunity.”

“How is this an opportunity if I’m going to let you use me?”

“My, my, raising your voice at me, are you now?” With a quiet giggle, she made a threat, her gaze fixed on mine. She put her hand on my forearm and brought it up to her navel. “I’d shut that mouth if I was going to sleep with you tonight. But you know what, I’ll let you have time to think about it.”

Natasha took my arm and walked away, whispering, “Goodnight, darling. I need an immediate answer starting tomorrow.”

Something was leaking out of my core as soon as she left me in the kitchen by myself. I was so mad at myself and that she would turned me on that I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe I would be a normal girl if she were not enticing me with her tonight. However, the truth is that I would like to open up to her. I’d do anything for her. 

It was Natasha Romanoff; who could compete?

[meazalykov]

its more than a game

lena oberdorf x bayern!reader

part one here - part two here - part three (requested)

summary: you have to explain your relationship to the other team you're apart of

a/n: quickly wrote this last night so sorry for any mistakes!

the new year has come and gone, and with it, a sense of freedom and joy you haven’t felt in so long. 

you and lena are together now—a couple, something you still find yourself getting used to, but in the best possible way. ever since christmas, it feels like you’ve been given permission to love fully, without holding back, and lena, for her part, has become your biggest fan, cheering you on from the sidelines during training and matches as she continues to recover from her acl injury. 

life feels... right for once, and you’re leaning into that happiness more each day.

a week after the season resumes, lena’s back to posting her usual tiktok videos, little glimpses into her life as she rehabilitates her knee and follows bayern around. one day, she records clips at training—joking around with the girls, rookie playfully doing tricks in her backyard, and then the next clip shows you. 

in the video, you're doing dumbbell step ups on the benches, your focus intense as you lift effortlessly.

“and here’s my favorite person doing some easy dumbbell step ups,” lena’s voice says in the background, teasing and proud. 

“which i’m jealous of because i can’t do that for... obvious reasons.” the screen fills with a playful wink from lena, clearly referring to her acl injury. 

she watches you with adoration in her eyes, and it’s so casual, so natural, that you don’t think much of it—until later.

a few hours after she posts the video, your phone blows up with notifications. most of the bayern girls are commenting, teasing lena and cooing at how cute she is. especially with tuva saying that being a wingwoman worked. 

they all know now, and they’ve been nothing but supportive, joking that it was inevitable that you two would end up together. 

however, it’s your national teammates' group chat that catches your attention.

“hey, y/n,” one of your national teammates, sophia, texts.

“hi, yes!?” you respond.

“lena oberdorf’s tiktok came on my for you page, you are in it. what’s going on there?” sophia says.

“what tiktok?” naomi texts. 

sophia sends the link into the groupchat.

it takes about a minute before the next person texts.

“yeah, you two seem... close. since when?” emily questions.

you stare at the messages, your heart skipping a beat. you don’t want to explain everything over the phone, not like this. you quickly type back, keeping it vague. 

“we’ve just been getting along really well recently.” 

a couple of the girls reply with skeptical emojis, and you know they’re not buying it, but after a few playful jabs and questions, they let it go. for now.

when the end of the month arrives, you have to pack up and leave lena for a few weeks to join your national team for friendlies against australia. you hate leaving her, especially since you’ve gotten so used to spending every day together, but she’s supportive, grinning as she wraps you in a tight hug before you go.

“go kick some ass, okay?” she whispers in your ear, patting your lower back before you leave for the airport, her breath warm on your neck. 

“i’ll be here when you get back. and we’ll make up for lost time.”

“promise?” you murmur, hugging her even tighter.

“always,” lena says softly, and with one last kiss, you head out the door.

during the camp, you and lena text constantly, squeezing in messages and video calls whenever you can. 

you send her pictures from training, she sends you updates on her rehab and cute videos of rookie, and each time your phone lights up with a message from her, you find yourself smiling like an idiot. 

one day, you’re sitting in the locker room, scrolling through your phone with a huge grin on your face, when emily nudges you, peering over your shoulder. 

“okay, spill,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “who’s got you smiling like that?”

you hesitate, but there’s no point hiding it anymore. “it’s... lena,” you admit, still smiling. “she’s... my girlfriend.”

the room goes quiet, and you look around to see varying reactions—trinity, mallory, sam, and emily fox have their mouths open in surprise, emily sams, sophia and naomi are beaming happily, and tierna and crystal exchange knowing looks. 

you can see the questions forming behind their eyes, and it doesn’t take long for them to start asking.

“wait, like... lena lena? the same lena who you—”

“—yeah, the one who made you so mad at the world cup?”

you laugh nervously, holding your hands up to stop the barrage of questions. “yeah, yeah, that lena. and... i know it sounds crazy, but... she’s changed. and so have i. we worked through all of that, and i actually... i really like her. a lot. it wasn’t easy, but... we found our way to this, and it’s... it’s good. really good.”

ashley, who was there for the infamous world cup outburst, shakes her head in disbelief but with a grin on her face. “so... what happened? how did it go from... all that to... this?”

you shrug, still smiling as you think about the months leading up to this moment. “i mean... a lot happened. we started spending more time together at bayern, and... i saw a different side of her. she wasn’t the person i thought she was. i guess we both... let our guards down, y’know? i finally saw her as someone other than a rival, and... she saw me as more than just the person to beat.”

“and now she’s making videos of you doing dumbbell steps,” lindsey jokes, and the room erupts in laughter.

the friendlies against australia go well—your national team wins both matches, and you score a goal in each. throughout the games and celebrations, lena is always on your mind. you keep texting, sending voice messages late at night when you can’t sleep, laughing at each other’s dumb jokes. 

being apart is hard, but it only makes you more excited to see her again.

when you finally get back to germany, lena is waiting for you at the bayern training facility, leaning casually against the wall with that familiar smile on her face. 

she wraps you up in her arms the second you step through the door, and it feels like coming home. after weeks apart, being in her arms is everything you needed.

you’re back to training almost immediately, and the first thing lena suggests is some light running on the treadmill. 

“all the girls need to get a bit of cardio in,” she says with a shrug, a playful glint in her eyes.

you go along with it, not thinking much of it as you step onto the treadmill next to her. but then, as you start jogging, lena steps onto the treadmill beside you—and you nearly fall off yours in shock.

“what are you doing?” you say, panic rising in your voice. 

“lena, you know you can’t run yet—you’re going to mess up your knee!”

but lena just laughs, picking up the pace to a slow jog, looking completely unbothered. “that’s the thing,” she says, grinning widely as she matches your running speed. 

“i can run. i got cleared last week.”

your eyes widen as the realization hits, and you come to an abrupt stop, hopping off the treadmill and grabbing her arm to make her stop too. 

“are you serious?” you ask, your voice breaking into an excited laugh as you look at her, trying to figure out if she’s joking.

“dead serious,” lena says, her face lighting up with pure joy as she stops beside you. 

“i can run again, y/n. i’m getting back.”

you don’t think; you just act, pulling her into the tightest hug you can manage, burying your face in her neck as the happiness rushes through you. 

“oh my god, lena, that’s... that’s amazing,” you say, holding her close, feeling like your heart might burst from how proud you are of her.

“surprise,” she whispers, laughing softly against your ear as she wraps her arms around you. and you hold her even tighter, knowing that this is only the beginning.

masterlist

[mxnhoo]

to me. (l. hs)

"where's the trophy? he just comes runnin' over to me." ╰➤ athlete!heeseung x fem!reader ft jay, sunghoon, jake, riki (enha) genre. romance, fluff, basketball (majority of the plot LOL), semi-proofread w/c. 3.6k warnings. mentions of injuries/hospital, giving up on dreams, idk if this needs to be mentioned but a lot of praying cly's note. i tried my very best to recall all the basketball terms from when i still played in a team, and with the olympics taking over my tiktok, i just HAD to write something after seeing all those cute edits. hope ya'll enjoy this one! don't forget to like/reblog/comment if you did<3

now playing : the alchemy - taylor swift

Loud cheers reverberate from every corner of the room, each individual having their own team they were cheering for. The basketball court that centred the huge hall consisting of athletes that were running back and forth, bouncing the basketball and making moves that one could easily miss if you blinked. The athletes had serious expressions on their faces, anyone being able to immediately sense the tension as the game continues to progress. However, even with all the chaos that was happening, your gaze was fixated on one player, and one player only. Your boyfriend, Lee Heeseung.

Your eyes followed him as he sprinted from across the court, skillfully dribbling the ball with his hand as he successfully gets pass his opponents, finding himself open and having the opportunity to shoot a shot. He picked up the ball in his hands and took his shot for the hoop, the ball spinning around the hoop before finally falling in. You stood up in excitement and cheered loudly, the audience surrounding you quickly following and filling the area with loud cheers.

Heeseung, with his right hand dangling in the air after his shot, quickly curled his fingers into a fist and shook it in triumph, feeling proud after being able to help his team earn a point. The camera quickly panned to him, his face appearing in the big screen and he took the opportunity to nod his head and flash a pleased expression. He ran back to his court to defend, and while the opponents were still at the opposite end of the court dribbling towards them, Jay, who was Heeseung's teammate, took the opportunity to fistbump him.

As the opponents quickly approached, Heeseung stood in front of the dribbler, his feet never stepping beyond the 3-pointer line as he held his hands up, observing his opponent's every move and as his opponent quickly passed the ball, Heeseung made an attempt to intercept the pass and it succeeded, allowing him to take hold the ball and he wasted no time to dribble across the court again.

The opponents were quick to respond, and with them blocking Heeseung's way, he passed the ball to Jake who dribbled in, picking up the ball to do an lay-up which was quickly interrupted by his opponent's hand, the ball instantly being blocked and it flew behind Jake, the opponents having the ball again.

The match quickly went on and before you realised, it was already the break period before the last quarter. The scoreboard was currently a 1:2, and nervously glancing at the sidelines, you saw the athletes feeling clearly pressured, their realisations setting in that if they don't buckle up the next quarter, they were going to lose. Your eyes fell on Heeseung who was sitting on the bench, speaking to all of them with a serious expression on his face, probably coaching them. His teammates were all standing up, surrounding him and listening to him attentively as they listened his instructions on what to do next and right before they could finish their discussion, the referee blew his whistle to indicate the start of the next quarter. The different teams did their cheers accordingly before setting foot back into the court.

Heeseung prepared for the jump-ball, staring at the ball that the referee was holding between him and his opponent, and with the whistle blowing, the refereee threw the ball in the air and Heeseung jumped upwards, his hands reaching for the ball and flicking it towards him where Jake was. Jake took hold of the ball and dribbled in, managing to earn a point from a lay-up effortlessly despite the amount of tension he was feeling inside. Jake cried out in relief, his faith slowly crawling back to him as he managed to start off the quarter well for his team.

Points have been earned multiple sides from the two different teams, and currently, the opponents were ahead by 6 points. There were only 6 minutes left, and features of worry were taking over your featuresas many 'what-if''s filled your head. What if something goes wrong? What if Heeseung's hand starts to hurt again? What if he gets injured again? What if they don't win this quarter? Will they manage to do it? What if they don't win?

You bit your lip as you carefully watched the match, your fingers fidgeting as you aggressively rubbed the top of your thumbnail. The loud cheering that filled the entire hall slowly start to disappear as your head starts to get filled with the different thoughts. Your eyes that were fixated on Heeseung watched his every move, realising his serious expression as he observed the opponent, and you glanced at his right hand that was slightly shaking.

You recalled the moment when he had badly injured his right hand a few years back, how there were many sleepless nights in the hospital because the boy fractured his hand, leaving everyone worried that he possibly wouldn't be able to ball again for the rest of his life. You prayed every single night, shed so many tears, begged for a miracle to magically happen that he would just be okay again. That he can have the chance to achieve his dreams again.

The best day of your life, other than Heeseung asking you out a little before he got injured, was when the doctor announced that Heeseung would be just fine, but that he needed a year to fully recover, and that he wouldn't be able to play basketball the same way he used to. You remember the grief-striken expression on Heeseung's face when he found out, recalling those nights when he silently cried to himself which shattered your heart, but he never gave up, working hard constantly and earning himself an opportunity to play basketball again on his dream stage.

You recalled the days he had to practically re-learn basketball with his left hand, the journey becoming even more difficult since his left hand wasn't his dominant hand, but he was determined. He always woke up early to go to the gym, working out to achieve his ideal physique and then played basketball afterwards with his mates, using his right hand as minimally as possible.

You recalled one night when you and Heeseung were on a basketball date out, you in his jersey and him in his tank top, both of you just continuously doing bounce passes to each other as you both walked and looked into each other's eyes. The sun has set, the only source of light from the post lights in the court, and it was starting to get chilly. The cold breeze blew onto your faces and your hair lightly flowed in the air, and Heeseung gave you a smile that you'd never get tired of.

You both talked about random topics, whether it was about controversial questions such as "M&M or Skittles", or if it was about serious topics. One thing you'll never forget from that night was the sight of his exasperated look when he asked you, "Do you think I even have a chance?" while doing a hard bounce pass to you, the sound of the ball bouncing being the only thing that could be heard. He never specified what he meant, but you already knew.

He never admitted it, but you could tell that he was so close to giving up, and upon hearing his question, you immediately set the ball to the floor and walked to him, opening your arms and bringing him into a warm embrace.

It was an embrace he never knew he needed so much. An embrace of comfort, an embrace of reassurance. It's honestly pretty heartbreaking when it seems like you can't professionally play a sport you dedicated your entire life to. His whole world was crashing down.

You gently patted his back as you felt him cry out, nuzzling his face into your shoulders as you felt his tears on your skin. You hated to see him like this, you hated to see him so helpless and unfaithful.

"I know you'll make it," you speak up after a moment of silence, still continuing to pat his back slowly. "I'll always be here, Hee, I'm always supporting you."

That was the day you realised that it wasn't just his journey, it was a shared journey between the two of you. You pulled him up from his dark moments, and the bond between the two of you only depeened.

From that day on, Heeseung started to take trainings even more seriously, all while still taking care of his right hand, and you could see him drastically improve, whether it was his faith that he could achieve his dreams, his hand condition, or his skills in basketball in general.

You were so proud of him, and you never once gave up on him. And now you were watching your boy kill it on his dream stage, though you were worried something could happen to him again. Your teeth sunk hard onto your bottom lip until it formed a cut, but the pain didn't even register until you heaved a sigh of relief as your boyfriend scores another lay-up. 4 points gap.

All is good so far. They were closing the gap, and they had a chance to win. Everything is going well.

However, the sense of relief quickly crashed down as you looked at the clock and realised there was only about 4 minutes and 38 seconds left, panic starting to grow in you again. Everything was happening so quickly, you didn't even want to blink and your eyes were starting to dry out. You grabbed the waterbottle that was placed beside you and opened the cap, gulping down on it as you kept your eyes fixated on the ball, your eyes following it as it constantly gets passed from player to player.

Your breathing starts to pace up as you feel the anxiety inside you accumulate. Heeseung dribbles the ball, trying to strive in for a lay-up until the opponent brutally knocks into him onto the ground. You gasped loudly and stood up, your hand flying to your mouth as the crowd let out loud multiple "oooh" and "ahh"'s. The referee instantly blew his whistle and announced that there was a foul, giving Heeseung the opportunity to get 2 free-throws.

At this point, you didn't even care that Heeseung had the opportunity to score extra points to close the gap. You were only worried if he had gotten hurt in any way, watching as his teammates help him up from the ground and how his hand shakes more aggressively than earlier. You slowly sat back down on your seat, biting your lip and even tasting your own blood as you placed the palms of your hand together, almost as if you were praying to God that everything would be okay.

The camera panned to Heeseung who stood behind the free-throw line, bouncing the ball on the spot as he stares at the basketball net intensely, mentally taking his aim. His teammates and opponents all stared at him intensely, this nerve-wrecking moment possibly being a game-changer. The timer stopped, allowing Heeseung to take his own time to score, and as he picked up the ball, he shot his shot, his right hand dangling in the air.

One shot in. 3 points gap.

Everyone around you cheered and you felt the tension inside you ease down, realising that if he could still shoot just fine, he was probably okay and a small smile appeared on your face, praying for the best for his next shot. If he makes this shot, the gap between the two different teams would only be 2 points, and there was a high chance for them to be able to tie this quarter, and maybe even score more points than the other team if all goes well.

The room grew quiet, everyone staring at Heeseung as he bounces the ball once again, his eyes on the hoop as he takes aim once again, bringing the ball to his face just slightly below his eyes, and he takes his shot again, the ball going in and the number on the scoreboard for his team going up. Everyone cheered and you stood up again, bringing your hands to cover your face as you felt emotional. Your boyfriend was going to achieve his dreams of winning, you just know it, and you were going to be there to experience this achievement with him.

2 points to close the gap. 2 points until his dreams could possibly come true.

Heeseung roared out loud, looking at the camera once again, showing a rock hand gesture to the camera which you knew damn well was directed to you. You and him always enjoyed doing the rock hand gesture to tell each other "I love you" in sign language. You could see people in your peripheral vision mirroring Heeseung's hand gesture, and your heart warms up as you eventually do the same.

With the last 4 minutes and few seconds remaining, you can immediately feel the change in atmosphere. If the atmosphere was fierce earlier, you could say this one was suffocatingly intense. In the last few minutes, getting an opportunity to score was getting increasingly impossible and your worry returns once again, all the thoughts washing over you. You knew he could do it, you knew he had the skills to do it, but with the clock running, you'd hate to admit that your brain is starting to have second thoughts.

Since the quarter scoreboard was still a 1:2, if they win this quarter, the game would be tied and the game masters would then look at the total number of points scored. In the first quarter, Hee's team won with 34 points. Second quarter, the opponents won with 42 points, and 23 on the next. So this means the opponents currently have a total of 65 points, and if Hee's team is going to win, they'd need a total of 66 points, which also means 32 points alone in this quarter.

You looked at the current scoreboard, noticing how their current scores were a 30:32. 2 more points to catch up, and 3 more to take the lead and secure their win.

The fourth minute passes by, the ball being aggressively passed across the court and fought for.

The third minute passes by, and up till now none of the teams score. Your hands aggressively fidget against each other, and the audience grew silent, attentively watching as the match progresses.

The second minute, the opponents almost manage to score a lay-up, but Riki managed to block and get the rebound, managing to pass the ball to Sunghoon who dribbed swiftly across the court.

The last minute. The last minute for any magic to happen. Up till now, no teams have scored, and the supporters for the opponent team have basically relaxed in their seats, being sure that their team have secured their win already. You remained silent, along with the other supporters and you felt sweat trickle down your temple. Your breathing slowed down as your eyes flickered from player to player.

It was so evident that all the players were tired, and that they just wanted for everything to be over, and when you looked at Heeseung, the exhausted expression on his face broke your heart. He brushed his damp hair back with his hand, wiping his forehead with his jersey as he observed the opponent approaching him, preparing to make an attack.

30 seconds.

The opponent managed to dribble past him, catching Heeseung off-guard and causing him to fall on his butt. Your face turned sour as you watched the scene unfold in front of your very eyes, watching how the opponent picks up the ball to do a lay-up while Heeseung was still on the ground.

25 seconds.

Jake jumps in front of the opponent, successfully jumping the ball from going in and the ball flew to the air, all the athletes eyeing the ball and finding every opportunity to get the rebound. Sunghoon jumped into the air and took the ball, an opponent running up to him in an attempt to snatch the ball away.

20 seconds.

Sunghoon and the opponent continue to snatch, Sunghoon yelling out that he needed someone to be open, and Jake immediately responded to his call, stepping into an area where there were no defenders. Sunghoon successfully wins the ball, and passes the ball to Jake, and you could see Heeseung standing back up to his feet, his state so obviously weakened.

15 seconds.

Jake now has the ball, and he dribbles across the court. Heeseung was still at the opposite end of the court, at the brink of fainting as his teammates try their damn best to score at least another shot. Jake was frantically blocked by the opponents, not having any opportunities to strive in or shoot, so he tries to find anyone open to pass to.

"Heeseung! C'mon!" Jake calls out, immediately causing Heeseung to snap back and run towards the other court where all the other athletes were.

10 seconds.

Heeseung runs outside the 3-pointer line, holding his hands up for Jake to pass the ball to him, but one of the opponents constantly block the pathway between Jake and Heeseung, making it difficult for Heeseung to be able to receive the ball. However, there was a moment when the opponent let his guard down, allowing Jake to successfully pass the ball to Heeseung.

5 seconds.

Heeseung, standing outside the 3-pointer line, takes his last chance to shoot his shot, praying that this shot makes it.

Everyone remained silent, their eyes watching the ball.

The sounds of the ball perfectly falling in between the hoop echoed through the whole hall, and the ball bouncing on the ground after the shot was the only thing that could be heard.

They did it. They won.

33:32. Quarter scores were a 2:2, but with the points accumulated, they won.

The referee blew his whistle to indicate the end of the quarter, and he announced, "Winning team, ENHA!".

All his teammates cheered, and you couldn't believe it. Your jaw dropped, and you could feel tears forming in your eyes from how elated you felt. You watched Heeseung, observing as he scans the crowd, and as he spots you, his face immediately lighting up with a wide grin. He's now walking towards you.

Walking. Jogging. He's running. Running to you, sprinting, even.

You subconsciously walk towards him on the bleachers, watching him approach you behind the railings and once he was at close proximity, he opened his arms and embraced you. Embraced you so tightly you felt like you were going to explode. You hugged him back with the same amount of tightness, feeling the tears escape your eyes, having no words to explain how jubilant you felt. You both exchanged no words, but he knew how proud you were of him. Multiple reporters surround him, holding their cameras to him to take photos of him and capture the moment between the two of you. He pulled back from the hug to immediately cup your cheeks and pull his lips to yours.

You cried into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, and he kissed you so passionately. His mouth moved in such a slow rhythm, taking his time to enjoy how perfect your lips were on his, how you complemented him so well. You felt your heart pick up the pace, almost feeling like it was going to explode, and you immediately felt blood rush to your cheeks. Loud cheers could be heard from every corner of the room, but with his lips on yours, the sounds gradually started to fade, the only thing that mattered being you and Heeseung.

Heeseung didn't experience this win alone, he experienced it with you.

He pulled back from the kiss, resting his forehead on yours as he intensely looks into your eyes to form eye contact and he gives you his cheeky smile. "I did it. We did it, love."

"You did it," you look at him as tears continue to flow out of your eyes, caressing his cheek and he laughs at how emotional you were. He used both of his thumbs to wipe your tears, cupping your jaw as he gives you the smile that made you fall in love with him

"We.. did it. I couldn't have done this without you, love," he stares at you, his eyebrows arching upwards as he gives you his cute pout. The way he emphasised 'We' didn't go unnoticed, and you laugh, leaning in closer and your noses touch, closing your eyes as you give him the biggest smile.

"I'm so proud of you baby, hope you know that." "I know that very well." "Anyways, what're you doing with me? You should go celebrate with your teammates," you chuckled, and your chest felt fuzzy at how the first thing he did was run to you. "I don't need to," he retorts. "What about your trophy, baby?" you pouted. "The only trophy I need is already here with me."

You chuckled at how cheesy he sounded, opening your eyes only to be met with his serious gaze.

"I'm being serious, Y/N, you're the only thing I could care about at this moment," he confessed. You felt butterflies fill your stomach as your hands playfully smack his chest. "Thank you Heeseung, for winning." "I love you," he blurts out, which catches you off-guard but you laughed at how genuine he was. "I love you more."

And he pulled you into another kiss to celebrate his victory.

cly's tmi. before this song trended on tiktok and the olympics started, my friend and i had already talked about this song and i've been wanting to write about it for like.. 3 months now. i'm so happy i finally managed to do it, and can i just talk about how SWEET this song is? i don't really listen to taylor swift much but this song hits so hard.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Max only breaks the things he loves, but Y/n likes being broken if it means they can be whole together.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The night you met Max, he had just come off a win, drenched in adrenaline and glory. The world had been his that day, and when he noticed you across the room, something in his gaze sharpened. A fierce look, like he’d spotted his next victory. You should have known then, you suppose—that when he wanted something, he didn’t just take it; he consumed it, left marks on it. But that night, as you watched him approach with that half-smile, you were captivated.

You had spent the night laughing, letting him tell you stories about life in racing, about the whirlwind of pressure and grit. He had seemed lighter then, more open, willing to let you glimpse the parts of himself that no one else got to see. By the time you found yourself pressed against the hotel door, his lips brushing against yours, you were already falling for him.

“Come on,” he had murmured, that daring gleam in his eyes, fingers lacing with yours. “I know you’re as reckless as I am.”

And you were. Or at least you’d convinced yourself of that.

The next months were exhilarating. You followed him across the world, cheering him on from the sidelines, riding the highs and lows of his career. When things were good, they were perfect. He’d pull you into his arms after races, press his forehead against yours, and tell you, “Don’t let go of me.” You would laugh, tell him you wouldn’t even if you tried, because he had a way of making you feel like you were part of his victories, his journey. You saw it all: the determination, the stubbornness, the boyish grin that made him seem so much softer than he was.

But there were other sides to Max. Darker edges that you hadn’t seen at first, and they began to creep into your relationship like shadows 

After races where he didn’t win, or when things went wrong, he’d come back to you tense and closed-off. Those nights, he’d sit in silence, his jaw set, his eyes hard as he stared at nothing. You’d reach out to him, try to offer comfort, but he’d turn away, frustration and disappointment in every movement.

One night, after a particularly difficult race, he came back and barely looked at you. You tried to pull him into a hug, but he stiffened, pulling away.

“Max, talk to me,” you murmured, hurt by the distance. "I’m here.”

He let out a bitter laugh, looking anywhere but at you. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice low. “None of this. You don’t know what it’s like.”

The words stung, but you swallowed the pain. “I know it’s hard on you. I’m just trying to be here for you.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he snapped, and there was a rawness to his voice, something wild and uncontained. “Maybe I don’t want you to be here every second. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Your heart sank, but you forced yourself to stand tall. “I’m not your babysitter, Max. I’m here because I love you.”

He glanced at you, and for a second, his expression softened, but just as quickly, he turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to face the vulnerability in his own eyes. “I… I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, looking down. But he didn’t apologize, didn’t try to make it right. Instead, he just walked out of the room, leaving you standing there, wondering if this love you had was only breaking both of you.

The days that followed were strained, silent. You tried to talk to him, to tell him how much his words had hurt, but he shut you out, retreating into himself like a storm gathering strength. And then, as if nothing had happened, he came back, pulling you close, whispering sweet things in your ear, telling you he couldn’t bear to be without you. You told yourself it was enough. That he loved you, even if he didn’t always know how to show it.

But the cycles continued. One moment, you were his world, and the next, you were just someone in the way, someone he didn’t have time for. It was as if he was afraid to let you in completely, as if he thought you’d leave if you ever saw him fully. Yet, for all the moments he hurt you, there were just as many times he showed you a softness that made you stay.

On a quiet night, long after another race, he held you close, trailing his fingers along your arm, as if memorizing you by touch. “Sometimes… I think I’m too much,” he murmured, his voice vulnerable, almost boyish.

“Too much?” you echoed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face.

He nodded, his gaze turning distant. “Too intense, maybe. I want things too badly, and… I don’t know if I can stop. I just keep pushing, keep wanting more, even when it feels like it’s costing me everything else.”

You reached out, taking his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Max, you don’t have to be everything all the time. You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.”

For a moment, he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him anchored. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, and there was a sadness in his voice that broke your heart.

Maybe he knew even then that he was hurting you, that he was breaking you bit by bit. But he couldn’t stop, and you couldn’t let go.

One evening, after yet another rough race weekend, he came back to find you sitting in the bedroom, a packed suitcase beside you. You looked up at him, tears filling your eyes as you struggled to find the words.

He froze, his eyes darkening as he processed the sight of your things neatly packed. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Max… I can’t do this anymore,” you managed, your voice shaking. “I love you, but it feels like… like you’re always pushing me away. Every time I get close, you build these walls, and I’m left outside, trying to find my way back in.”

His fists clenched, his face contorting in pain. “So, what, you’re leaving? After everything?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I don’t want to. But… Max, it’s like you don’t even want me to be here. One day you tell me you love me, and the next, you shut me out.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I know I do this. I don’t mean to hurt you, but… I don’t know how to be any other way.”

You took a shaky breath, stepping closer to him, reaching out one last time. “Maybe that’s the problem. You keep breaking the things you love most.”

He looked up at you, and for the first time, you saw tears in his eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but then closed it, swallowing hard. He was silent, and the silence said more than words ever could.

You placed a hand on his cheek, your thumb tracing over his skin as you whispered, “I wish you could be whole. I wish… I wish you could love me without breaking us.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, his hand reaching up to cover yours. “I wish I could too,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I wish I could be better for you.”

For a moment, you stood there, holding each other in a painful, beautiful silence. And then you pulled away, picking up your suitcase. You didn’t look back as you walked to the door, the ache in your chest growing heavier with every step. But as you closed the door behind you, you knew it was the only way to find peace.

You leave that night, suitcase in hand and heart heavy. You think it’s the end, that the constant fractures in your relationship with Max have finally split you apart for good. You spend weeks trying to convince yourself you’re better off this way. You keep telling yourself that the pain is over, that the ache will ease.

But the ache doesn’t fade—it only sharpens with distance. And Max? He feels it too, that emptiness you left behind. He goes through the motions: the races, the parties, the applause. Yet, at the end of the day, he’s alone, haunted by memories of a love he couldn’t let himself hold without fear of shattering it.

It’s late one night when his name lights up your phone screen, a simple message that stops you in your tracks: “Are you awake?”

You stare at it, knowing you shouldn’t reply, that responding will only pull you back into his orbit. But your fingers move on their own, typing out, “Yeah.”

The next thing you know, he’s outside your door, looking like he’s barely slept. His voice is quiet as he speaks, almost tentative. “I thought I could do this,” he murmurs. “I thought you’d be better off.”

“You thought you’d be better off,” you correct gently, voice laced with pain and longing.

He nods, exhaling slowly. “I was wrong.”

You let him in, both of you filled with things left unsaid. That night, he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again. There’s a sadness between you, a knowing that you’re both drawn to something you can’t seem to keep but can’t bring yourselves to leave entirely. You tell yourself it’s the last time, but deep down, you know better.

Days stretch into weeks, and you both try to make things work. There’s laughter, the way he holds you close after each race, whispering promises of change. And for a while, you feel whole again.

But, eventually, the same cracks reappear. Arguments simmer, quiet disappointments surface, and you’re left feeling like two broken pieces that can’t quite fit together. You know his heart, his dreams, but his intensity is overwhelming, something fierce and untamed, and you’re left with pieces of a love that never quite held.

One evening, in the midst of another argument, you find yourself saying, “Maybe… maybe we’re better off alone.”

Max looks at you, his eyes flashing with hurt, but he doesn’t fight you this time. Instead, he nods slowly. “Maybe.”

And so, you leave again, pulling the door shut and walking away. Yet, each time you close that door, each time you think it’s the last, it only takes a few weeks before one of you reaches out, before you find yourselves standing in front of each other, tired, bruised, but still unable to let go.

It becomes a cycle. A dance of love and hurt, where neither of you knows how to stop the breaking, but neither of you can bear the thought of living without each other. You try to convince yourselves, time and again, that maybe you’d both be better off if you left. But deep down, you both know it’s a lie. You’re his favorite kind of heartbreak, the one thing he keeps coming back to, even though he knows he’ll only hurt you again.

And you? You’re no different. Each time he calls, each time he tells you he needs you, you let yourself believe that maybe this time, things will be different. Because for all the breaking and all the pain, you know that neither of you are better off without the other. You’re both broken, both bruised, but maybe—just maybe—you’re each other’s only way to feel whole.

[moriwood]

Buzzer Beater Heartbeat — l.hs

lee heeseung x male reader fluff with a lil bit of angst 4k words

Heeseung shattered your belief that straight men could not be friends with gay men, even if he were a star basketball player and you were an editor in your university’s student publication. At one of his standout games, an old flame of his arrives, making you question if your feelings for him could truly remain platonic. In the aftermath, both of you grapple with the blurred lines between friendship and something more.

includes: college setting again woops, a homo and a homie dynamics, aespa’s karina is the drama (???) warning: n/a

Squeaking sneakers. Cheering crowds. Rhythmic thuds of a basketball against hardwood. Despite the cacophony, you carefully adjust the lens of your camera, capturing every highlight of an intense college basketball game. You focus on your best friend Heeseung, who just scored a three-pointer, already earning his team more than half of their points.

Heeseung blurs past the defenders, making shot after shot with little help from his teammates. You can’t help but feel pride swell within you as he pauses amid the game’s pressure to flash your camera a peace sign and a confident grin. His team is now ahead by over twenty points, and all signs point to another landslide victory for your college. As you lower your camera, you join the crowd’s chants, feeding into the infectious spirit of the moment.

The buzzer signals the end of the first half. You toss Heeseung his raggedy towel as he jogs over to you on the sidelines, hair sticking to his glistening sweat. He catches it with precision and gives you a cheeky wink.

“How’s the game so far?” Heeseung pants. 

“Killing it, man. I’ve got way more photos of you than anybody else,” you laugh. 

“Good! My baby’s eyes should only be on me and nobody else,” he huffs, taking a swig of his water jug before heading back to the coach. Your pulse quickens at the term of endearment Heeseung loves to use on you.

As Heeseung returns to the team, your attention is drawn to a group of girls entering the court. Their ID lanyards reveal them as students from the opposing college, and oh. There’s Karina. Karina, who Heeseung once fervently pursued but had been rejected by, came to the game. Seeing her stirs something bitter within you, knowing how broken she had left Heeseung months ago. You glance at your best friend, who seems to have noticed the new presence as well, offering her an awkward wave across the court. She politely waves back, flicking her hair back as she takes her seat.

The second half begins, and it’s as if a different Heeseung is dribbling the ball. His shots miss their mark, passes go astray, and he almost trips on his own feet. The opposing team has long recovered from the score gap Heeseung initially set, overtaking your college. Your heart sinks as you watch Heeseung’s confidence waver, attention divided, distracted.

You continue to take photos, albeit with less enthusiasm. Your photos now tell a different story from the first half. Heeseung was solely focused on the ball earlier, but now he keeps on glancing elsewhere. His eyes so easily drift towards Karina, and it is painfully clear that Heeseung is far from having moved on. 

The final buzzer reverberates amid the crowd’s silent disappointment and frustration. The game was over, and your best friend just had a monumental loss.

Karina celebrates with her friends, holding hands with a player from her team — you assume her boyfriend. Heeseung looks utterly defeated, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. The coach is livid, his teammates sympathetic, and you awkwardly sit and wait by the sidelines as people exit the gym. Stowing your camera away, you make your way towards Heeseung as the coach dismisses them.

“Hey,” you softly say, placing a comforting hand on his back. 

Heeseung could only nod. “I messed up big time.”

“It’s just one game,” you reassure him. “You’ve got a lot more coming. Besides, your first half was phenomenal.”

He sighs deeply, packing his bag. “It’s not just the game… You saw her too, didn’t you?”

“Karina? Yeah.” You nod in understanding, trailing behind Heeseung as the two of you leave the gym. “Didn’t get to talk to her though. I think she’s got a boyfriend, she was holding hands with him after they won.”

“Oh, cool,” Heeseung mutters.

“Come on, man,” you gently chide, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Plenty of women out there. Karina isn’t the end of the world.”

Heeseung looks at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not what I meant, but alright.”

You grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you know that there are about fifteen thousand students in our university?”

Heeseung furrows his brows with the sudden trivia. “No?”

“And only three thousand have voted in the student council elections as of three hours ago?”

Heeseung finally lets out a laugh. “What’s that got to do with anything? Suddenly remembered your unfinished drafts?”

“I’m telling you there are thousands of students walking around campus and I don’t think I even know a hundred people here. I’m saying you probably haven’t even met the right one yet.”

Heeseung knew far more people than you did, that was obvious. A fact that he has casually told you countless times is the number of women (and men) that he has rejected. You fear that soon enough, you’ll be one of them.

“You always know what to say,” he whispers as if you weren’t meant to hear it. The tension eases as he squeezes your hand. “I don’t even know what to do without you.”

“Maybe you should date me instead,” you blurt out, hoping your sincerity goes undetected.

“Oh yeah? Why should I?”

“I’m a great listener, I’ve got your back, I take awesome photos, and I’m definitely writing an article drooling about your gameplay.”

“I love you too much," Heeseung chuckles, a sparkle in his eye. “You’ve got me pretty convinced. No take-backsies if I take you up on that offer.”

You could not ignore the bittersweet ache in your chest, conflicted by how to interpret what Heeseung could say so nonchalantly. You wanted to prod further, to ask if any of those words meant anything else, but you kept your mouth shut. Your best friend needed comfort more than you needed clarity. Knowing he loves you as a friend had to be enough. As you drop off Heeseung at his dorm, you can only wish that someday, someone could care for you as deeply as he did for Karina. 

—

The crushing defeat brought Heeseung to longer workouts and practices, more determined than ever to redeem himself. Meanwhile, the school paper’s hustle never slowed, keyboards clacking over student politics and the recent elections. In the whirlwind of it all, the two of you find solace in your late-night rendezvous at the university’s 24-hour café, almost like a daily routine for both of you.

Tonight, the café is quieter than usual, with the only customers at the moment being you and Heeseung. Sunoo, the friendly barista you both have come to know, greets you with a warm smile as you settle into your usual corner booth.

“Remember the first time we came here?” Heeseung asks, taking a long sip of his iced coffee. 

“Yeah,” you hum, not looking at Heeseung, busy typing away on your laptop. “You were so nervous about your first big game, fidgeting after three slices of chocolate cake.”

Heeseung grins, teasingly poking your warm mug from across the table. “Then I almost spilled your mug ‘cause of the jitters.” He rests his head on his hand. “But it worked. You stayed up all night with me and I played my best the next day.” 

That was a fond memory. Your suave friend became skittish out of nowhere, and you distracted him with endless conversations about everything and nothing. “I’m your lucky charm, after all,” you wink.

Heeseung had finished training an hour ago, and here he was, accompanying you as you rush revisions for an article draft for next week’s publication. You told him that he should sleep early tonight for his game tomorrow, but he insisted, still believing in some superstition that you calm his nerves before matches.

“Because of you,” he murmurs, dazed from his drowsiness. “Because of you, I play well.”

You pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Because of you,” you echo, thinking about how much Heeseung meant to you. Over the few years you’ve had in college, your bond has only grown stronger, and it was becoming harder to ignore that this could all fade away once you both graduate — or that this could all be lost to a foolish confession. 

“You gave me a reason to keep taking photos and writing articles,” you fondly conclude. “I enjoy my job most when it’s about you and your games.”

“I badgered you into joining the school paper, you mean,” Heeseung points out. “It was the only way to make you go to my games!”

“It was,” you clarify, “but now I don’t have to. I can easily start sending out someone else to take the photos now.”

“But you still come, even when I’m not doing my best. So thank you for that.”

Heeseung meets your gaze with a derpy smile plastered on his face, and a comfortable silence sits between the two of you. 

You sip your coffee, savoring its warmth against the café’s muffled music. Despite your attempts to keep your feelings hidden, you know you haven’t been that discreet. The lingering glances, the way your face lights up whenever he is around — people have noticed. As a well-known basketball player, the speculation was inevitable. Whether it was one-sided or mutual, whispers around campus painted a picture of your relationship that was hard to ignore.

Even then, Heeseung seemed unfazed. If anything, the growing rumors had driven him to become more intimate with you. He reaches out to you more often, finding excuses to spend even more time with you like drinking coffee together at absurd hours. The idea of possibly meaning so much to Heeseung terrifies and excites you at the same time.

“You know, I realized something after the last game,” Heeseung breaks the silence. “You mean so much to me, yet I don’t think I’ve ever really shown you how much.”

“Is that why you’re here with me half-awake?” you jest, but Heeseung does not respond. He fiddles with his fingers, hesitating.

“Maybe I just don’t want you finding company in someone else,” he sighs. “What if you come here with Jay instead—”

“Or Jake. He’s asked me out here before,” you butt in, recalling when Jake desperately asked you to help him write an essay here a month ago. “He looked so cute begging—”

Heeseung slams a hand on the table, startling you. Sunoo glances over, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “See! I look away for a second and Jake starts pouncing,” he huffs. “I told him you’re off-limits and—”

“Off-limits? Why would you even say that?” you question, voice wavering in disbelief. “Imagine if I were his boyfriend, oh God, the whole campus would be talking! It’s an explosive headline waiting to be written.”

“Well, you deserve more than a guy like Jake,” Heeseung defends himself, and something tells you this was sincere and not another one of his misleading jokes. “He’s a red flag, trust me.”

“Who should be the standard then?”

“Of course, it’s me!” Heeseung exclaims and you can’t stop yourself from blushing a little bit. 

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. His touch was so warm, as warm as his body that is now so close to you. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers up your spine. “If we win tomorrow… I’ll show you what I mean,” he earnestly promises, voice low and full of conviction. Your heart beats to the echoes of hope and fear within you. 

“Wear my jersey later,” he requests. “It sounds silly but it would mean a lot to me.”

It’s always like this with Heeseung, always delicately dancing between friendly banter and something more. None of it makes sense.

“Okay, cut that off,” you warn Heeseung, withdrawing your hand. “Go to sleep, you’re saying weird shit.”

“Alright, alright.” Heeseung leans back, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “But I meant what I said,” he says, tone still serious. “I’m gonna take a nap here. Wake me up when you’re done.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “I meant you should go to sleep. Back at your dorms. I’m fine staying here alone.”

Heeseung stretches, yawning. “If I leave you here now, you’re gonna stay here again until the wee hours. If I need rest, then so do you. If you stay up late for me, then I stay up late for you. I’ll wait for you to finish here.”

You give him a half-smile, having nothing else to say to your best friend. “Thank you,” you mutter, hoping you mask the tumult of emotions swirling inside you.

—

Somewhat against your wishes, you are now wearing Heeseung’s old jersey over your shirt as you wait for the game to begin. It smells faintly of Heeseung’s usual fabric conditioner, a comforting scent that makes you feel all fuzzy and warm. It worries you though, how something as minor as this could be interpreted by the gossiping crowds.

The atmosphere is once again electric, seats rapidly filling with students. You’re already in your usual spot, your camera neatly placed on your lap, ready to capture every moment. As the team warms up, you notice a familiar face making her way toward you. Karina… again. You hope Heeseung won’t be affected by this again.

She cheerfully greets you, but her eyes are fixated on the jersey you are wearing. 

“Which side will you be supporting tonight?” you ask, curious where she’ll sit as her college isn’t playing. 

“Heeseung’s side, duh. We both know he’s ahead of everyone else here,” she replies, then pauses. “Nice jersey. Heeseung gave it to you?”

“Yeah… He asked me to wear it today,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral. 

Karina nods, a genuine grin spreading across her face. “Heeseung finally pulled his head out of his ass, huh? Congrats to the two of you.”

You nod back, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry, what do you mean by that?”

“Wait, I thought— Well—” Karina stutters, eyes shifting between you and the players on the court, most likely Heeseung. “Did he just tell you to wear his jersey and nothing else?” she asks, leaning towards you.

You blink, having no clue what Karina was talking about. After an awkward moment of silence, you slowly nod.

“Oh, never mind what I said. That dumbass,” Karina mutters, and nothing else. She excuses herself to find a seat elsewhere, leaving you to your brewing thoughts. You can’t shake the feeling that there is something that she and Heeseung know that you don’t, and it bothers you.

The game finally starts and Heeseung seems to be more determined than ever, so focused you doubt he has even noticed Karina’s presence yet. Both teams play aggressively, points accumulating on both sides as the ball bounces across the court like a match of ping pong. You raise your camera and right on time, Heeseung shoots the first three-pointer. His gameplay hasn’t changed much, but his focus is different. Every time he scores, he looks at you, as if he were seeking your validation. It’s as if you wearing his jersey is driving him to play even better.

The first half ends with a tight scoreline, proving tonight’s opponent is tougher than the last. “Sub?” you hear Heeseung ask the coach, calling to be substituted for the start of the third quarter. He then jogs to you, seemingly giddy. “Am I doing good?” he asks you, panting.

“Unbelievable,” you say, passing him his jug. “You’re doing so great, but the score is too close!”

“It’s tough when Jake’s being a dead weight right now,” he whines, sweat dripping into his eye. He sits beside you on the bench, catching his breath.

“They’re really pushing us,” you comment, glancing at the scoreboard. “You just gotta keep up the pressure and they’ll crumble.”

He rests a hand on your leg. “I will. We’ve got this. I got you, baby. I’ll win this for you.”

You beam, feeling a surge of pride for your best friend. “Lean back, I’ll take a photo of you with my phone,” you tell Heeseung, not entirely sure why you need it, other than to have another personal snapshot of him that belongs only to you.

Heeseung reclines slightly, flashing you a confident grin despite his evident exhaustion. The gym’s warm lights cast a golden hue on his sweat-slicked skin, making him look every bit the star athlete he is. You quickly snap a few pictures, capturing the intensity and resolve in his expression. 

“Perfect,” you say, looking at the photos. “You already look like a champion,” you add, showing him the shots. “Might make it my wallpaper.”

“That makes me your champion, you know,” Heeseung mindlessly murmurs, voice soft.

“I don’t think your fans would appreciate me claiming you,” you laugh, aware of the inquisitive crowd behind the two of you.

“Tell them to stay jealous,” he whines. “You’re the one wearing my jersey, not them. That should be enough for them to back off.”

Unable to respond further, the second half begins, and Heeseung is called back to court in no time. The crowds gasp with each shot he makes, your heart pounding along the back and forth of the crowds chanting. Still, Heeseung’s energy is limitless; everything is a blur around him with each shot you take. He is at the center of it all, his relentless aggression dictating the pace of the game.

With a few minutes left on the clock, the tension is unbearable. Heeseung is everywhere — blocking shots, making steals, and driving the ball forward wherever he can. While the scoreboard shows a slim lead for your side, the game is far from over. The opposing team pushes back harder, desperate to close the gap by constantly attempting to shoot three-pointers.

The minutes turn to the last few seconds and the teams are back to being tied. The noise of the crowd has gone downright deafening, but Heeseung has the ball, and he has ten seconds left to stop overtime from happening. In the chaos of it all, on the small screen of your camera, his eyes meet yours.

Heeseung makes his move, dribbling to the three-point line like lightning then he jumps, releasing the ball. The crowd falls silent, the ball sailing through the air as the players watch in anticipation. Finally, the ball swishes through the net just as the buzzer calls for the end of the game.

The crowd explodes, students leaping to their feet in celebration. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, a barrage of expletives praising him for cleanly closing the match. You navigate through the throng of ecstatic fans flooding the court, capturing shots of Heeseung engulfed by his teammates. As you finally reach them, the coach beckons you over.

“Take a photo for the team, would you?” he requests, voice barely audible over the commotion. You nod, waiting as the players line up in front of you. You then snap a series of shots, capturing the raw joy on their faces. After you take the last shot, you feel a finger tap on your shoulder. You turn around and catch an ecstatic Karina.

“Take one with Heeseung too, just the two of you,” she suggests, snatching your camera out of your hands without waiting. Heeseung catches the scenes and steps forward, eyes twinkling with excitement. He excuses himself from his team and immediately puts an arm around your waist.

“Good evening, Karina. Doesn’t he look cute in my jersey?” Heeseung says with a playful smile. You knit your brows together as you glance between the two, feeling something off.

“Shut up,” she deadpans, positioning herself to take the photo. “Before you pull some shit like this, make sure you’ve already confessed—”

“Okay, Karina, you can take the pic any time now!” Heeseung cuts her off, tone urgent as he pulls you even closer.

Heeseung leans, his breath warm against your ear. “May I kiss you?” he whispers. You turn your head towards him, your surprised eyes meeting his earnest ones. 

Karina’s voice counting down turns muffled, and the crowd around you seems to disappear. For a moment, it’s just you and Heeseung, suspended in time. “Yes,” you breathlessly reply, and his lips meet yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. You hear your camera click, capturing the intimate moment, and preserving it forever. 

You pull away and the cacophony in the gym floods back in. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him again, and you’re left standing with Karina, who approaches you with a knowing smile.

“I think that’s enough for you to put two and two together,” she says, handing your camera back to you. “I think you’ve got more than just a winning shot there. Congrats again, I’m rooting for the two of you.”

Heeseung is being hounded by his teammates for the stunt that he just pulled, but his eyes keep drifting back to you, a silent promise that the night has yet to end for the both of you. As the celebration continues, he finally breaks away from the team with his bag and runs to you.

“Let’s get out of here,” he huffs, taking your hand. “I need to talk to you.”

You let him pull you out of the gym, stepping out into the cool night air. You find a bench under the glow of a street light. You both sit, and you wait for Heeseung to catch his breath.

“I need to tell you something,” he begins, tone apprehensive but determined.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it. Being more than friends. About me dating you instead.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I’ve heard people talking, and I can’t find myself disagreeing with them. In the times we have spent together, I’ve felt something I’ve never felt before.”

Heeseung grabs your hand and holds it tightly. You find yourself speechless, struggling to parse the scene that is unraveling right now.

“It’s new and it’s confusing. You’re the first guy I’ve ever felt this way about,” Heeseung confesses. “I want to be more than just your best friend. I want to be your boyfriend.”

He looks down, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “Karina… she was the first one to tell me outright that I might be feeling something for you — that I treated you more than just a close friend. At first, it bothered me, because I value our friendship so much. Thinking about it more, she wasn’t wrong.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Heeseung, we can take it one step at a time,” you begin, voice soft but firm. “But people will talk. More than ever. Are you ready to face that with me?”

Heeseung nods, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t care. If it means being with you, I think it’s worth it.”

“I— I feel the same,” you reply. “For a while, I’ve tried not to fall for it. I’ve tried so hard not to misinterpret your actions, but it has become so difficult when I keep hearing about it from others. I had already given up before even trying because it felt like such a pipe dream for someone like you to see me as more than just a close friend.”

Heeseung smiles, relief washing over his face. “I want to be your boyfriend,” he repeats as if savoring the word. “Just to clarify, I, Heeseung Lee, see you as more than my best friend. There’s a reason why I always call you my baby.”

“Always been your baby, but this time it’s official,” you chuckle. Heeseung then leans in and steals a kiss, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I want you to call me that too. You never call me that way,” he teases. 

You respond with a kiss on the crown of his head. “Good game, babe. I’m so proud of you,” you whisper.

You feel Heeseung grin wider on your shoulder and he pulls you even closer in a tight embrace. “I love the sound of that. I’m looking forward to a lot more of that.”

author’s note: belated happy pride month with my longest fic ever! i said i’d stop with the college setting but i had to write this one down first… because………………………………….. uhh... real life experiences 😭

— moriwood.

[jxwl4k]

Sparks Ignite

Plot: Katsuki Bakugo and Y/N L/N are known for their intense rivalry, their constant bickering and competitive spirit are a source of both amusement and frustration for their classmates and teachers until, their rivalry evolves into a simple relationship.

pt.2

In the prestigious halls of UA High, where aspiring heroes honed their skills, there existed an electrifying rivalry between Katsuki Bakugo and Y/N L/N. Their dynamic was a constant clash of wills and ideologies, reminiscent of two raging storms converging. Y/N, possessing a demeanor akin to Todoroki's calm exterior but paired with a sharp tongue, never hesitated to voice their thoughts, especially when Bakugo's explosive temperament was concerned.

One crisp autumn morning found them in the bustling cafeteria, surrounded by their classmates enjoying breakfast. Bakugo, as always, was sitting at a table in a corner, glaring at the world as if daring anyone to challenge him. Y/N, not one to back down, sauntered over with a tray in hand and dropped into the seat across from him.

"You're glaring again, Bakugo," Y/N remarked casually, stirring their coffee. "Did you forget to blow something up this morning?"

Bakugo snorted, his expression darkening. "You're one to talk, Ice Cube. Don't you have some glacier to melt?"

Their classmates exchanged knowing looks, accustomed to the duo's banter that could rival any action-packed showdown. As Y/N and Bakugo continued their verbal sparring, the atmosphere around them seemed to hum with anticipation, half expecting an explosion that would rock the cafeteria.

Later that day, during a break between classes, Y/N found themselves in the same empty classroom as Bakugo, both reviewing notes from the morning's lecture. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, waiting for the slightest spark to ignite.

"You know," Y/N began, breaking the silence, "you might actually be tolerable if you weren't so obsessed with proving you're the best."

Bakugo scoffed, his hands clenched into fists. "And you might be less annoying if you weren't always criticizing every move I make."

Y/N leaned back in their chair, a small smirk playing on their lips. "But where's the fun in that? Someone has to keep you in check, Bakugo."

He glared at them, his crimson eyes narrowing. "I don't need anyone to keep me in check. Least of all you."

Their argument was interrupted by the arrival of their classmates, who entered the classroom and immediately sensed the charged atmosphere. Mina Ashido, ever the cheerful soul, chirped, "Whoa, guys, are we interrupting something?"

"Nope," Y/N replied smoothly, shooting Bakugo a pointed look. "Just discussing the finer points of hero strategy."

Bakugo muttered something unintelligible under his breath, his usual bravado momentarily subdued. The class exchanged amused glances, accustomed to the volatile but strangely magnetic relationship between Y/N and Bakugo.

As weeks turned into months, their bickering continued, becoming a familiar soundtrack to life at UA. Yet, beneath the constant clash of egos, a grudging respect began to emerge. They found themselves gravitating towards each other during training sessions, their strategies complementing rather than conflicting.

One rainy afternoon, while sparring in the training grounds, Bakugo threw a punch that Y/N deftly dodged. "Too slow, Bakugo," they taunted, a playful grin on their face.

He gritted his teeth, his palms sparking with frustration. "Shut up and fight, Ice Cube."

Their classmates watched from the sidelines, half expecting the training grounds to erupt into chaos. Instead, they witnessed a synchronized dance of skill and determination, a silent acknowledgment passing between Y/N and Bakugo as they fought side by side.

Afterward, as they walked back to the dormitories together, Y/N glanced at Bakugo out of the corner of their eye. "You know, for someone who claims to hate my guts, you don't mind teaming up with me."

Bakugo grunted, his expression unreadable. "Don't get used to it. I just tolerate your presence because you're marginally less useless than the rest of these extras."

Y/N chuckled, bumping shoulders with him lightly. "High praise, coming from you."

Their classmates, trailing behind them, exchanged bewildered glances. Kirishima, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, ventured, "Hey, Y/N, Bakugo, are you two... friends now?"

Bakugo and Y/N exchanged a look, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them before Bakugo gruffly replied, "We're not friends, shitty hair. Just... rivals who tolerate each other."

Y/N smirked, shaking their head. "Sure, Bakugo. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

And so, amidst the chaos and camaraderie of UA High, Katsuki Bakugo and Y/N found themselves navigating a path from bitter rivals to reluctant allies—perhaps even something more, though neither would admit it aloud.

[inuyashaluver]

bad influence - katie mccabe

katie mccabe x reader

description: in which katie gets dangerously tackled during a match, when she gets up to defend herself, her sweetheart girlfriend is doing it already, earning herself her first ever red card

warnings: swearing

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

as the arsenal women’s team began to line up in the tunnel, you could hear the crowd outside cheering and waiting for your team's arrival. you began to shift your weight on your legs. left foot, right foot, a sense of unease present on your face. your cleats softly padding on the floor as the rest of the girls engage in conversation or keeping their heads down in preparation for the match.

your eyes look down in front of you until you feel two hands applying slight pressure onto your shoulders. you turn around to face the eyes of the slightly taller girl and she smiles down at you.

“you alright, baby?”

her hands slowly moving from your shoulders, trailing down your arms until they reach your hands, taking yours into hers.

everything in this moment is completely silent as her gentle voice sounded in your ears. katie, notoriously known for her expert defending skills, was assumed that her harsh exterior would match her insides, unaware that you, nicknamed “sweetheart”, completely turned her soft. (only for you of course)

“I’ve got a bad feeling about today, mccabe”

“woah! who do you think you’re talking to like that, missy, it’s baby to you!” her thick accent putting a smile on your face.

“baby,” you mocked, “please, just, don’t be reckless” you cringed as the words came out, scared she would be offended.

“sweetheart, come on! I’m always a good girl aren’t I?”

the older girl smiled and winked at you. you giggle at her antics. then, as you turn around to face the front, her strong arms snaked around your waist, head hiding in the crook of your neck and placing a quick kiss there, a pre-game tradition that katie swore was necessary before every match. before she pulls herself from your body, she quickly taps your butt, smirking as you turn towards her with a really convincing glare, knowing that you were only joking. then, you follow the other girls, you both walk towards the pitch, ready for the game ahead.

arsenal was in the lead and you, a star striker along with russo had a powerful dynamic duo, scoring goals left, right and centre. arsenal was up 4-0 and it was only 12 minutes into the second half. due to the frustration of the other team, everything became sloppy and restless, the tackles, the energy and even their passes. another play had started and arsenal has possession, alessia passes the ball to you and you expertly pass the ball to katie, not even needing to look up, your connection was spot on, both of you knowing where the other was the whole time.

you begin to run up while katie has the ball, as she was about to pass it back to you, her entire body gets slammed off the pitch by her marker and she collides with the floor, whistle sounding immediately.

katie couldn’t even comprehend what was going on, her arm covering her face and she lay on the pitch. you on the other hand had the marker’s jersey balled up in your hands.

“are you fucking serious? who the fuck do you think you are?!”

everyone on the pitch was silent listening to your argument, faces all around shocked. sweetheart cracked.

“you touch her like that again and you’ll be so fucking sorry i’ll make you swallow the ball whole, you got that?”

katie, now was sitting in an upright position, watching your little outburst play. her face was evident with worry, her injury was cleared by the medics for her to continue to play and you were walking off the pitch. she quickly got up and ran over to you as you got to the sidelines, she grabbed the base of your neck, fingers grazing over your jaw, forcing your eyes to her.

“don’t let this bring you down, my girl, I'll come and find you after the match, okay?”

you entered the change room, showered and immediately dressed into katie’s training hoodie, her perfume enveloping you sat in your cubby, directly next to katie’s. while waiting for katie, you began to pull out green and white string, resembling the ireland colours, you began to make a friendship bracelet just as your national team mate esme had taught you. by the time you had finished the bracelet, the girls had slowly infiltrated the room, the first one being your girlfriend.

she had worry and frustration plastered on her face but quickly smiled as she saw her hoodie on you, scrolling mindlessly on your phone, the number 15 shining on your heart. she quickened her steps and made her way in front of you, separating your knees and stepping in between them looking down at you.

“there’s my cheeky girl, I think I’m a bad influence on you, baby, I mean red’s your colour but not like that, darlin’”

she once again held your face, eyes full with adoration.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you got hurt, katie. I would have lost it”

“my sweet girl looking out for me, getting a red card, best girlfriend ever”

she winked at you again and you wrapped your arms around her upper thighs, resting your chin on her stomach looking up at her with a slight pout.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you fell down, I just saw red and I couldn’t stop, I mean the nerve to fucking tackle you like that-”

katie leans down to place a short but passionate kiss, “baby, watching you get a red card for me has effects you won’t even imagine” you looked down, slightly embarrassed but flattered she found this attractive.

you looked down at the bench beside you and let go of katie’s legs excitedly, “look, baby! for you!” katie’s breath hitched, shocked at the handmade bracelet you had made for her in a time of your distress. even in your true sweetheart nature, you still do everything for her even when you needed to be there for yourself.

“my baby girl, I love you.” grinning as you grabbed her arm and delicately tied the bracelet, kissing the top of it when it was finally done.

“I love you more, mccabe”

“I’ll let that pass ‘cause you’re cute woman, let me shower and get your beautiful self in bed for katie cuddles.”

you nodded and smiled at her

“cuddles may be later though, I think I need to show you my appreciation for standing up for me like that.” she winked once again, something she knew made you weak at the knees

you laugh loudly and threw her towel, hitting her square in the face.

“we’ll see, katie, we’ll see” you wink, knowing you would do whatever she wants.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by stephcatley and 43,223 others

katie_mccabe11: my sweet girl, red is definitely your colour, but not on that silly little card 😉

view all comments

yourname: so when we get married, do I change my name to mccabe or mccard?

↳ katie_mccabe11: woman, I swear to god.

[obriengf]

Long Live for the Dylan characters!!!

send me a taylor swift song and i'll give you a random dylan blurb ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

Long Live (Thomas' Version)

I said remember this moment In the back of my mind The time we stood with our shaking hands The crowds in stands went wild

Thomas could feel the heat from the bonfire - the flames wild and vivacious, licking at the skin of his cheeks as he sat among new and familiar faces. The Safe Haven was a lot of things, but it stood mostly as a reminder to Thomas about all he had gained and lost since he first stepped foot in the Glade. He glanced around as he took in the smiles and laughter of his friends, watching as they recalled tall tales before they settled into their somewhat contentment. It was a far cry from days ago when he awoke to crashing waves and a bullet wound in his torso, bittersweet cheers and thanks were delivered his way for taking down all that was WICKED.

I said remember this feeling I passed the pictures around Of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines Wishing for right now

He could feel your hands weave around his arm before you settled comfortably into his side, breaking the boy from his continuous run of thoughts. You both had talked about this moment only a few months ago in the Scorch when finding the Safe Haven was an unbelievable construct - an impossible reach, a story told purely for reassurance rather than reality. But sitting here now proved it all wrong, in the most settling way possible. Thomas always promised that he would take down the evil in this world, and he did, with the help of his newfound family. It was endless torture from the moment his feet were swallowed in the sand of the Scorch - the constant running for your lives, fighting for survival, grieving for lost friends one by one. It was as if the ambivalence weaved through his mind and soul as he began searching for the faces that were no longer with you, among those of your friends. You always asked if he was okay, and he would always answer yes - after wishing for this safety for so long, Thomas had no other reason not to be.

Hold on to spinning around Confetti falls to the ground May these memories break our fall

It was simple in the Glade. Everybody and everything had their place, routine dictated each day, the sun would rise and it would set within clear expectations. It was a safety net for the time being and a place that, to an extent, advertised calmness. And yet, Thomas found the open wilderness of the Scorch to be unpredictable and somewhat exciting. It was where you all were tested exponentially and brought closer together. Danger creeping around every bend to counteract the hope for freedom. The search for Minho followed, and the other taken survivors - a turbulent spanner thrown into Thomas' plans. They were all filled with bad memories. And Thomas nearly gave up. Nearly. The camaraderie between lost teenagers gave him the good memories, however. Banding together to rule the world, a saving grace to soften the harshness that they each endured. It's what brought him closer to you than just cuddling into his arm - the lightness of pure love cracking through the cage that WICKED built to keep you all down. It was the friends that he made along the way - how each encounter resulted in a lifelong friendship and sense of family. It was the unforgotten memories of the people who were left behind - their deaths never in vain, but carved in stone as a reminder of who you all continued to live for.

Will you take a moment? Promise me this That you'll stand by me forever

Thomas found himself staring at the names often; inscribed on a large stone that stood proud and tall in the centre of camp. The flickers of the flames danced along his back now as his dark henley shirt absorbed the heat. He could still hear the laughter and chatter but it fell to softened white noise the more he stared at the carvings before him, and even more so as memories flooded back in with each name his finger dragged lazily across. His eyes burned from ash and a clenching chest - blinked away as you made your way to his side again. It was instant as his fingers entangled with yours before he brought joined hands to his lips, chapped skin pressing gently to your knuckles. And soon, his other side was occupied by Minho as his large hand clasped Thomas' shoulder, squeezing with reassurance. The light of the fire was blocked by Gally's tall frame next, followed by Brenda's arm over your shoulder and Aris' frame to the side. You all stood in silence, but eyes were focused in the same direction. Remembering the faces of the names; the memories.

And bring on all the pretenders, I'm not afraid Long live all the mountains we moved I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you

Thomas had lost a lot, including a part of himself along the journey to rightful freedom. And it would continue to eat at him for days, months, years after it was all over. But he also gained a lot, too. His surroundings were composed of a new community - a new society that had the bones to flourish, with new members joining as they were saved from a burning world. It was composed of a new lifestyle - building something to be proud of, an opportunity to continue using heart and strength for good. It was also composed of people that had embedded themselves to utterly deep in his life that there was no possible way he could be without them ever again. And long live them all.

One day, we will be remembered.

[wlntrsldler]

Hi, I loved “apple pie” so much!! Would you consider doing a part 2 with Jamie’s injury during the game and the reader taking care of him when they get home to Richmond? I feel like it would be so soft 🥹💗

sweet nothing | jamie tartt

based on the song sweet nothing by taylor swift

description: part two to apple pie, but can be read alone!

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (she/her)

warnings: language-- it's ted lasso, what did ya expect?; tooth-rotting fluff! jamie being pookie asf. mention of sex but nothing crazy. mention of his dad.

wc: 1.7K+

Nobody in the owner's box spoke. Jamie was lying on the pitch, arms crossed over his eyes in pain. You could hear Man City fans hollering insults at him in the distance, but all of their noise was drowned out by the thumping of your heart. You forgot how to breathe.

You felt Keeley squeeze your hand, bringing you back to the present. You watched the physios help him off the field. The game continued but you were no longer interested. Instead, you found yourself staring at the boy sitting on the sidelines as he talked to Ted.

"Come on, Jamie," you whispered, biting your thumb anxiously. "You got this, baby."

With a pat on the back, Jamie re-entered the game. You cheered along with Keeley and Rebecca, tears pooling your eyes. You were so proud of him.

The taunts from Man City fans got louder as he walked toward his teammates. Jamie, looked around, rolled his eyes, and stuck his tongue out as he banged on his chest where the AFC Richmond logo was stitched on his kit. You laughed, wiping your eyes, enjoying how confident and full of life your boyfriend seemed to be even after getting injured.

You watched as he masterfully dribbled the ball, dodging three Man City players, before he got in position to kick the ball. The loud whoosh of the football rang throughout the entire arena and before you knew it, all AFC Richmond fans were on their feet cheering for the native Mancunian.

Jamie looked up at the owner's box where he knew you'd be and blew a kiss in your direction. Although you knew he couldn't see you, you blew him a kiss right back. As he was exiting the pitch, he was met with thunderous applause from supporters of his old team.

"That's how good he is," you heard Higgins say from behind you. "Jamie Tartt is a legend."

Your smile widened as you nodded in agreement. The camera crew focused on Jamie's expression as he allowed himself to marvel at the crowd's praise. He no longer had the cocky smile on his face, but rather, his face was relaxed and full of gratitude. This was a homecoming that he deserved.

When the full time was called, the team celebrated on the pitch. Jamie stayed for a bit, but excused himself to come find you. You were waiting for him in front of the locker room entrance, unable to contain your excitement when you saw him.

Briefly forgetting his injury, you ran to him, engulfing him in a hug that made him lose his balance. You peppered kisses all over his face, "I am so proud of you, Jamie Tartt. God, I love you so much."

He tried to laugh to mask the hiss of pain he let out when he put too much pressure on his ankle. You pulled away quickly, suddenly feeling horrible for nearly attacking him. You stepped away from him, "I completely forgot. I'm so sorry, love."

"No," he whined, immediately reaching out for you again. You reluctantly obliged and approached him, much calmer this time around. Jamie sighed in content, leaving light kisses on your neck, "Much better. Don't go too far."

"Jamie, you're hurt," you tutted, threading your fingers through his hair. He hummed in approval, still refusing to let go of you. You placed a kiss on his cheek, forcing him to separate from you to capture your lips in a kiss. You pulled away, "Let's get you to the physios, yeah? Make sure you're all good to go?"

Jamie knew you were right. He did need to get a thorough check-up. He nodded, intertwining his fingers with yours, "Let's go?"

You squeezed his hand gently, letting him lead you away.

Thankfully, Jamie was okay for the most part. The physio told him that he needed to take it easy at least until the next match, but he should be able to participate in light training after two days. Roy grunted in disapproval after hearing the news, but you could tell that he was relieved that Jamie wasn't hurt any more than he was.

The bus ride back to Richmond was rowdy. The boys were absolutely wild over their win-- as they should be, but it also meant that Jamie refused to rest the entire time. You were glad, however, that he remained seated the entire time and didn't put too much pressure on his hurt ankle.

It was nice to be around the boys again. You didn't realize how much of a community, a family, you created in Richmond. Jamie played a big part in that. Before him, you had friends in the industry who were shooting projects in England, but never anybody who's grounded and secured here. You craved stability, at least as much stability as you could get being an actress. You never thought you'd find it here, in Jamie.

"Hi, love," Jamie whispered from beside you. He had a hand on your thigh, "Whatcha thinkin' bout?"

"Just how much I missed all this," you motioned toward the loud, ruckus of the team around the both of you. You turned your head to look at him, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, "How much I missed you."

"Don't get all sappy on me now, love," Jamie teased, though he wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer, "I'm the one that's hurt here. I'm the only one allowed to be sappy."

You faked a groan, rolling your eyes, "I suppose you're gonna be a big baby for the next few days."

"Oh yeah," he answered too quickly. He chuckled, placing a kiss on the crown of your head, "Gonna get so sick of me. We're gonna lay in bed for two days straight. Doc said I had to take it easy, remember?"

"You know that also means no sex, right?"

He turned to you in horror. He shook his head in disapproval, "Well Doc doesn't know what he's talkin' about anyway. He obviously doesn't know that my proper fit girlfriend hasn't been home in so long and that rest wasn't an option for me when you're only back for a week."

"Knock it off," Roy grumbled from in front of you. "You guys are fucking disgusting."

"Don't worry, grandad. I'll save some lovin' for ya." Jamie made kissy noises as he spoke to Roy, making you laugh uncontrollably in your seat.

By the time you made it back to the facility, the boys were buzzing to celebrate the night out partying-- all of them but Jamie. You were waiting in the car park by his car, thinking that you'd drive it to his place while he celebrated with the team, but you were caught by surprise when he walked out with his bag, looking as cozy as ever.

Dani and Colin waved to him, both excited to spend the night getting wasted with the team. Jamie walked towards you, careful not to put too much pressure on his ankle, and handed you his keys.

"You don't mind driving tonight, do you love?" He asked. "Need to get my ankle sorted before the next game and I don't want to do too much."

"I don't mind at all. I figured I would be drivin'," you replied, unlocking the car. You and Jamie both got in, adjusting the seat a bit so you could drive properly. Before you pulled out of the facility's premises, you turned to Jamie, "Are you not going to celebrate with the boys?"

"Nah," Jamie said, so casually. He buckled his seatbelt, twisting his body to grin at you, "See them lads every fuckin' day. Love 'em, but I love ya more. You're only here for a week so I'm makin' the most out of it."

"Such a romantic," you teased, but his words made your heart flutter. Jamie didn't know the effect he had on you and honestly, even if you tried to explain it to him, he probably wouldn't believe you.

It was already hard for him to believe that you said yes to dating him. Sure, if you had asked him a year ago if he saw himself with the hottest up-and-coming actress, his prick self would've said, "Of course, I'm Jamie fucking Tartt." But now that he's finally allowed himself to be vulnerable and care about people, that facade he once had no longer seemed necessary. With that side of him slowly fading, he'd be lying if he said small parts of his confidence didn't.

That's why he's so fucking lucky that you decided to take a chance on him. You never did anything that made him doubt how much he meant to you. He spent so much of his life trying to figure out who actually loved him and who didn't-- massive thanks to his dad for that one-- that it's so nice to not have to worry about something like that.

You made him feel so fucking loved that sometimes the idea of it overwhelmed him, in a good way of course. All the times he wondered if he was worthy of love seemed so trivial now.

The both of you fell into your comfortable routine as if you hadn't been gone for weeks when you got to Jamie's place. It was like you never left. In between the mundanity of getting ready for bed, you gave each other kisses on the cheek, and hugs from behind, always somehow touching each other or so close to each other.

At the end of the night, you and Jamie were lying in bed, Jamie's head on your chest. You were absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, letting out a soft chuckle when he sighed happily. A few times throughout the night, he would get a video from one of the boys, pissed drunk, doing something so stupid, that you both could only hope that the paparazzi weren't there to see.

You talked to each other about everything that's happened over the last few weeks-- what restaurants you guys need to try together when Jamie visits you in New York, what new training regimen Roy prescribed Jamie, what Colin and Isaac were bickering about this week. You ended up falling asleep before Jamie because jetlag was finally catching up to you.

Jamie, who became the big spoon after you fell asleep, laid awake, unable to stop himself from smiling. This, he finally allowed himself to admit it, was something he could see himself doing for the rest of his life. With you sleeping soundly next to him, clinging to him like you never want to let go, Jamie lets himself deserve this good, loving life with you.

[lifeofpriya]

“getting extremely worried when they get physically hurt” after this match for my boy Jack. Bring it on babe!!!

you got it, babes! 🤭🫶🏼 i originally intended for this to be a drabble, but i got carried away 😅

i'm always here for you

wc: 2.3k; tw: mentions of vomit

You swore you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears as you watched Jack retch on the pristine hard surface of the tennis court. The sharp contrast between the bright lights and his pale skin made the scene more disturbing. His body, usually a picture of vitality and strength, now contorted in pain and exhaustion.

Jack looked up, his eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. They found yours, and he offered a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You felt your stomach drop, knowing that smile was for you, to reassure you that everything was okay. But you'd known Jack since you were kids, and that smile was as much a cry for help as it was a promise that he'd be okay.

The match went on, and with each point, your anxiety grew. You watched as Jack's serves lost their usual bite, his forehands falling just short of the line. Jannik was relentless, capitalizing on every opportunity, but there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel guilty for watching Jack push himself like this. You knew how much this tournament meant to him, but you also knew that something wasn't right.

In between games, you saw the medical staff hover around him, whispering into his ear, checking his pulse, and passing him water bottles. His coach's face was a mask of concern, his eyes darting between Jack and the scoreboard. You bit your lip, willing Jack to recover, to find that spark that had made him a star. But as the match progressed, it was clear that Jack was fading.

The crowd grew tense, their murmurs of worry rising like a tide. You sat frozen, unable to look away, your eyes glued to the scene unfolding before you. The sound of the ball against the racket echoed through the stadium, punctuated by the occasional groan from Jack. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his body, and you could see his muscles quiver with the effort of each movement. The scent of sweat was faintly present, even from the stands, a stark reminder of the physical toll this match was taking on him.

When Jack finally stumbled to the sidelines, you could see the desperation in his eyes as he took deep, ragged breaths, trying to keep his stomach in check. His fingers trembled as he fumbled with his towel, and you wished you could be there to help, to offer some comfort. But all you could do was sit and watch, your own stomach in knots, as the match continued. The silence was deafening, broken only by the squeak of sneakers on the court and the occasional thwack of the ball.

You watched as Jack take a seat and was handed a can of Coke he requested earlier in the third set. He took a tentative sip, hoping the sugary drink would help settle his stomach. The fizz danced in the light as the liquid passed his lips, but instead of sipping it, he threw the entire can's contents down his throat, his eyes squeezed shut in a silent prayer for relief.

The match resumed, and you held your breath with each serve, willing Jack to find his rhythm again. But it was like watching a ship slowly take on water. The points went to Jannik, one by one, and Jack's hope seemed to sink with them. You felt a tightness in your chest, a mirror of the pain etched on Jack's face. His movements grew more erratic, his breaths more labored. You'd seen Jack play through injuries before, but this was different.

Eventually, Jannik won the match and took all 3 sets. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers for the victory and concern for Jack. As the players met at the net to shake hands, you could see the defeat in Jack's posture, his shoulders slumped, his grip on the racket loose. Jannik offered words of encouragement, but Jack's eyes remained fixed on the ground, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Jack stumbled off the court, surrounded by his team and medical staff. You made your way down to the player's exit, your heart racing. The cool evening air hit you as you stepped outside, and you felt the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders. You had to talk to him to make sure he was okay. The corridor was a blur of faces and flashing cameras as you approached the locker room.

You waited outside, leaning against the wall, trying to gather your thoughts. You could hear the muffled sounds of showers running and the distant hum of the stadium. The door swung open, and out came Jack, his eyes bloodshot, his skin pale and clammy. He saw you and managed a slight nod. "You okay?" you asked, your voice wavering slightly.

Jack took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling visibly. "Yeah, just… need some rest," he replied, his voice hoarse. You knew he was lying, but you didn't push it. You offered your arm for support, and together you made your way to the quiet solace of his hotel room. The silence between you was filled with the echoes of the match, the unspoken worry hanging heavy in the air.

Once inside, Jack collapsed onto the bed, his body a tangled mess of fatigue and pain. He closed his eyes, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. You knew Jack was a fighter, but seeing him like this was a stark reminder of his vulnerability. You sat beside him, your hand hovering over his shoulder, unsure of what to say or do.

"You have no idea how much you worried me out there, Jack," you murmur, your voice was tinged with worry as you sat beside him. His eyes remained closed, but you knew he heard you. His breathing was still heavy, a testament to the ordeal he had just endured. "I was so scared."

Jack let out a small, defeated chuckle. "I know," he whispered, his voice barely above a croak. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "You scared the living hell out of me," you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. "What happened?"

Jack sighed, his eyes still shut. "Don't know," he said weakly. "Stomach bug, I think. Been feeling off for a couple of days, but I didn't want to… to let anyone down." His voice trailed off, and you felt a pang of guilt. You should have noticed, should have said something.

"You shouldn't have played," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "Not like this."

Jack nodded slightly, his eyes still closed. "I know," he murmured. "But it's the US Open… Can't just… not play."

You felt the weight of his words, understanding the pressure he'd put on himself. You reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Rest," you said firmly. "That's all you need to do right now."

Jack nodded again, his grip on your hand tightening briefly before he let go. You helped him get into a more comfortable position, his body still trembling slightly from the exertion. You noticed the dampness of his forehead and the cold sweat that had soaked through his hair. With a heavy heart, you went to the bathroom to get a wet cloth, the quietness of the room only emphasized by the distant sounds of the hotel's hustle and bustle.

When you returned, Jack's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He looked at you as you approached, a sad smile playing on his lips. "Thanks," he murmured, as you gently placed the cool cloth on his forehead. He closed his eyes again, and you watched the tension in his face ease slightly.

"You have no idea how much I love you," Jack murmured drowsily as the coolness of the cloth began to soothe him. You felt your throat tighten, but you didn't say anything. Instead, you sat there, watching over him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing as it grew more even.

He continued to confess his love for you in his sleep, words that you'd never expected to hear, not in this way, not after watching him push himself to the brink. You sat there, the wet cloth in your hand, your mind racing with thoughts. You knew Jack had always been competitive, had always been driven to win, but at what cost? You brushed a lock of hair from his face, his skin burning hot under your touch.

The room was suffused with the sterile scent of the wet cloth and the faint smell of his deodorant, a stark contrast to the sour stench of his vomit that lingered in the air. The TV played on mute, replaying the match highlights. You glanced at it, seeing the replay of the second set, feeling the same knot in your stomach that had been there since the first time you'd seen it live. You muted the TV, not wanting the visual reminder of his suffering.

Jack's eyes fluttered open again, and he looked at you, his gaze clear for the first time since the match. "You're still here," he said, his voice a mere whisper.

"Where else would I be?" you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. You gently dabbed the cloth against his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.

Jack's eyes searched yours, looking for reassurance. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For everything."

You squeezed his hand, trying to ignore the way your heart felt like it was being wrung out. "You don't have to apologize," you said softly.

Jack swallowed, his throat dry. "I do," he insisted. "For not telling you, for pushing myself too hard… I'm sorry."

You didn't know what to say. You'd watched him grow from a promising young player to a force to be reckoned with on the international stage, and now here he was, defeated and broken. "It's okay," you murmured, "but…did you know what you said in your sleep?"

Jack's eyes widened slightly, and you could see the panic in them. "What?"

You took a deep breath, feeling your cheeks flush. "You said you love me."

Jack's expression grew serious, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. He didn't say anything for a long moment, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between you. "I do," he said finally, his voice a little stronger. "I've always loved you."

Your heart skipped a beat as the words hung in the air. You also had feelings for Jack, but you'd never dared to voice them, not when his career had taken him so far away from the quiet life you both once shared. But here he was, confessing his love in the most unguarded of moments.

"Jack," you began, but the words caught in your throat. How could you tell him that you felt the same way, that you'd been in love with him since the days when you used to hit balls together in the park, before the cameras and the fans and the pressure?

Jack looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. "I'm not just saying it because I'm sick," he said quickly, as if reading your mind. "I've felt this way for a long time."

You felt the weight of his confession settle on your chest. You'd been Jack's rock, his confidant, his best friend, for so long. But now, in the quiet solitude of his hotel room, the lines had blurred. You didn't know how to respond, so you just sat there, the wet cloth still in your hand, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

"I know it's not the right time," Jack continued, his voice a mix of apology and hope. "But I had to tell you. I can't keep it in anymore."

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions churning inside you. Love, fear, confusion—they all collided together, leaving you speechless. You'd always been there for Jack, but you never imagined that you'd be the one he'd confess his love to, not like this.

Jack reached out and took the cloth from your hand, placing it on the bedside table. His eyes searched yours, looking for a glimmer of hope. "I know this isn't the way I wanted to tell you," he said, his voice thick with regret. "But I couldn't hold it in anymore. I had to let you know how much you mean to me."

You felt your eyes well up with tears, the gravity of the situation crashing down on you. "Jack," you began, your voice barely a whisper. "I… I love you too." The words felt strange and yet utterly right as they left your lips.

Jack's expression softened, a hint of relief washing over him. He reached out and took your hand, his thumb gently stroking the back of your palm. "Really?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through you. "Really," you confirmed, a small smile ghosting across your face.

Jack's hand tightened around yours, and you felt the energy between you shift. The air grew thick with unspoken words and the weight of the moment. He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "Can you stay with me?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the match and the emotion.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak. You knew Jack needed you now more than ever. You slid closer to him on the bed, his body still trembling slightly. You wrapped your arm around his waist, feeling the heat from his feverish skin, and rested your head on his chest. The steady beat of his heart was a comforting rhythm that seemed to resonate throughout the entire room.

Jack's hand found yours, and he laced your fingers together, holding onto you like a lifeline. His breathing grew shallower, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly release. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the occasional cough from Jack and the muffled noises of the hotel outside. You didn't know what to say, so you just held him, letting the silence speak for you both.

[karasuno-planet]

Me again :3 How about Sugawara introducing his crush to the team cause they just showed up out of nowhere and getting teased by how obvious he is? :>

You Had Us At Hello | Sugawara Koshi

suga x fem!reader

wc: 0.8k

warnings: themes of comparing yourself/feeling insignificant, but happy ending

a/n: big apologies for taking sooo long to write this, I've been so busy with my summer job! but i am active I swear, and when I see y'alls likes and reblogs ngl I kick my feet a little. here's some suga!!!!! (requests open!)

(gif not mine)

Another day, another practice match. By now, Sugawara had grown accustomed to standing on the sidelines and cheering instead of expecting any play time. And that was okay. He would support the team by putting on a smile even when that was the opposite of how he really felt. And when he watched Kageyama make such beautiful sets, all he felt was a hunger to grow even better himself. He never let jealousy overtake him, because that's just the way he is.

But when he saw your face entering the gym, walking straight towards him, his heart dropped. You knew he wasn't a regular on the team anymore, but knowing that didn't stop him from feeling a tinge of embarrassment on top of his already building nerves. He had been harboring a crush on you for God knows how long.

Before he even knew it his eyes were locked on you. Daichi and Asahi quickly took notice, as they were the only ones who knew of his hopelessness when it came to you. By the time you got to them Asahi had practically turned to face away from you entirely, his face completely pink with blush. So much so that it almost looked like he was the one with a crush, but everyone who knew him knew he gets nervous with secrets, and puts so much effort into making a good impression on people that his friends care about. Suga almost felt bad for him.

"Suga!" You smiled, giving him a little hug as you greeted him, then turning and hugging Daichi as well. You gave a little wave to Asahi, still turned away in embarrassment.

The way Suga smiled as he talked to you, and the slight blush on his cheeks was all the team needed to know to understand exactly who you were.

Hinata beamed from a few feet away, nudging Tsukishima with his arm in his attempt to whisper to him. Tsukki just rolled his eyes, but as he watched Suga, there was an unmistakable little side smile on his lips.

Nishinoya was quick to his curiosity, inserting himself into your conversation and nudging Daichi out of the way to talk to you. Out of the corner of his eye, Suga saw Daichi begin speaking awfully secretively to Kageyama, who just exchanged a little nod with him in return.

Soon enough, he saw just what they were talking about. Kageyama started very obviously rubbing his shoulder blade with a grimace on his face. He and Daichi walked over towards Suga to talk to coach Ukai.

Daichi initiated the conversation, "Coach, Kageyama's shoulder has really been hurting him..."

To everyone's surprise, Kageyama played along. Convincingly. "hmph, yeah... hurts pretty badly."

Daichi continued, "maybe he should sit this one out."

"I guess it's for the best," Kageyama sighed.

Coach Ukai seemed a little confused, but accepted, "Um, okay..." he directed his attention towards Suga, "Sugawara, it's all you today."

His stomach nearly turned all the way over, but he just nodded his head and started stretching. Unsurprisingly, the thing that calmed his nerves the most was when you spoke up, "Wow, I get to see you play today?"

"Uh- yeah! I guess so!"

"That's great—but hey— no pressure, okay?" You rested your hand on his shoulder and he just about melted into the floor of the gym.

"Got it."

Suddenly Tanaka reached out and pulled Suga away from you by his collar from behind, and merged him into the team huddle he just about missed as he lost track of time with you. Out of your earshot, they all shared a little laugh at Suga.

"Got a little something on your face there..." Noya laughed, pointing at his rosy cheeks.

"Shhh- Nishinoya!"

Tanaka ruffled up his hair, "I think you're okay, your little girlfriend is walking off to the student section..."

Suga sighed with relief.

"You didn't tell us about your crush, Suga-senpai!!" Hinata eagerly prodded at him.

"Guess it never came up.." Suga rubbed the back of his neck, feeling pressure from being the center of attention. He felt Asahi put a comforting hand on his back, silently reassuring him.

"Sugawara." Kageyama's voice rang out with the intensity of a raging fire, "Do well today."

Whether that was meant to be a threat or his way of giving words of encouragement, Suga just swallowed the lump in his threat and nodded his head. They put their hands together and cheered, and right as Suga began to take his first step onto the court, he heard Yamaguchi's familiar voice in his ear,

"Do well for her, and for us too."

Suga turned around to see a box full of the most supportive teammates he could've asked for, and your smiling face in the crowd right past them. Maybe it took seeing you there to realize just how important his role on the team was, regular or not.

[masterlist]

[ruruumin]

roller skating with him.

₊˚ ᗢ kazuha x gn!reader, modern au.

⤷ what is it like roller skating with him?

When Childe came up to the two of you after classes, saying that he rented out an entire rink for a party, you didn’t think that the blond-haired man would so eagerly agree. He’s never roller skated before but was more than willing to try it out. Besides, when he grabbed your waist, pulling you close to him, he said that it might be fun to hang out with your friends. You couldn’t say no to him at that point.

Showing up at a local skating rink, you weren’t entirely surprised to see that the rink was empty aside from a large number of your friends. Lumine and Aether were the first to arrive and had already skated around, the two of them sitting at a nearby table chatting with others. Kazuha led you to get your skates and the two of you put yours on together. He even crouched down to help you tie your laces. How sweet. 

You had almost fallen forward if it wasn’t for Kazuha standing in front of you, holding you still. He pressed a light kiss to your forehead, telling you not to be nervous. He takes your hand and leads you to the skating rink. He was gracefully weaving through the crowd while you struggled not bumping into someone. Graceful as the wind, you thought to yourself. 

Holding hands with someone while skating is possibly the worst idea. When Venti bumps into Kazuha he ends up falling over, taking you down with him as the musician laughed and stuck his tongue out, saying “ehe.” Nevertheless, Kazuha would help you stand up and continue pulling you along for the ride. 

You had to admit though that while he has never skated before, he seemed a natural at it. It made you wonder if he was just as good with ice skating as he is rollerblading. He would sway side to side to the music, looking over his shoulder to see if you were alright at the pace he was going at. He wasn’t the type of person to skate slowly, nor was he extremely fast like Xiao. He just liked to stay by your side. 

If you were to tell him that you wanted to see him skate a little faster, he wouldn’t mind it. He also wouldn’t mind it if he ended up joining a race with the other boys to see who was faster. When Venti, Heizou, Xiao, and Aether lined up at the end of the rink, with you on the sidelines cheering for Kazuha, there was no way he could lose to the likes of them. For someone depicted as soft and calm, he could be competitive at times. It’s a bit dorky, but you’ve always liked that side of him. 

He finished right after Xiao despite never having roller skated in his life. The shorter boy scoffed and rolled his eyes as they both shook hands. Venti showed up right after Aether and crashed into all of them. They let out a small grown at the childish antics, yet despite the bruises forming on his tailbone, Kazuha got up and skated to you, giving you a soft kiss. 

“Did you see that, dove?” He whispered, “I was very close to beating Xiao but I was a little distracted by the sight of you. Your cheers did me a great favor.”

[iinsertblognamee]

star player

summary ― flowers, star players and soccer

pairing ― teenager!sam kerr x teenager!reader

warning/s ― minor character injury, fluff

You met Sam on the soccer field. Shocking. Barely thirteen years of age but ready to take on the world. She was on the other team and had already scored within the first five minutes of the game. She was good, really good. 

Your team had ended up being better, winning 4 - 3 when that final whistle went off. Handshakes were given, and when you went to thank her for a good game you couldn’t help but congratulate her on her goal. A small smile appeared on her lips, as she congratulated you on your win. 

You both walk off to your represented teams and with that seemed to be the end of your meeting. The team song was chanted by your team and parents, as the water was thrown around. You made a glance back at the opposing team one last time and smiled when you met eyes with Sam once again. 

It wasn’t until a year later that you saw Sam again, another game - although this time her team took the winning goal. Once more handshakes were given and when it came to the two of you, you noted the smirk appearing on her face as you raised your eyebrows. 

“That’s for the last time” she gloated, shaking your hand. You shook your head as you smiled back, “I guess the next game determines the best” you remarked back, her hand still in yours. It wasn’t until one of your teammates nudged you to move on to the next player that you two broke away. Taking one last look at Sam, you couldn’t help but get excited at the thought of seeing and playing against her again. 

The next time your team played against Sam’s you were watching from the sideline cheering your team on. A few weeks before you had been involved in a rushed tackle that resulted in a torn ACL. As much as you wished to be on the field with your team you couldn’t complain at the fact that you were given ninety minutes to recklessly stare at Sam move around the field. 

Her team ended up winning once again, you watched as both teams shook hands as you made your way slowly towards where the team huddle was forming. Speeches were given, getting the girls pumped for the next game and ready to have a better outcome than the game just played. 

It wasn’t until the group started that break that you notice that Sam had stayed back, waiting for something. Her eyes glanced down to your injured leg before making their way back to your face. A small frown appears. 

“It looks worse than it really is” you started, limping your way over to her - she matched the distance in half the time - reaching her arm out to stable you. “Congratulations on the win - again” you added, gripping her arm as her second hand landed on your waist. 

She lets out a small laugh, sending her head back as she shakes her head. 

“Yeah, although your team seemed to be missing their star player”. 

If her hand holding your waist wasn’t enough to make you blush, the nickname definitely did the job. She seemed to smile even more when she noticed the deeper tint of red rising up on your cheeks. 

“I think you might be the star player out of the two of us to be fair” you rebutted, before adding “You did score all three goals for your team today”. Her grip tightened for a second before a slow release, although her hand not moving off your body. 

“You were keeping a close eye on me where you?” 

“Someone has to” 

It takes a second or two for your words to sit heavy between the two of you. Feeling like you said too much, you try to take a step back but that only makes her hold you tighter. Sam titles a head a little, almost like she was trying to figure you out before a smile returning back to her face. 

“I like the idea of you keeping an eye out for me”. 

It turns out Sam was definitely the superstar between the two of you, by the next year she had been signed on by Perth Glory. She only got better and better. 

The two of you had stayed in contact throughout the years, cheering her on as she continued to move from club to club, from game to game. You were lucky enough to have been able to make it to some games either alone or with friends and family. The look on Sam’s face every time she would find you in the crowd made your heart beat just that little bit faster. 

You couldn’t deny you had feelings for the soccer player. Not when you had your first sleepover and you accidentally walked in on her getting changed. Or when two months later the two of you kissed in a game of spin the bottle. 

She made your days just that little bit brighter and although after countless people telling you to take your shot with her, you kept your lips tight around her. Not wanting to lose such an important friendship. 

Sam surprised you on your 18th birthday with your favourite flowers and a nervous smile. The two of you spent the day kicking the ball around in your backyard, Sam telling you everything that had been happening with her and soccer as you told her about finishing high school and getting into university. 

The nervous smiles continued throughout the day until your mum called you both in for cake, Sam holding your arm to stop you from walking inside for a few more moments. Turning to face her, she takes a deep breath as she gave you one last smile. 

She became your girlfriend that night, and for the first time since you met Sam, your birthday wish had been answered. That night the two of you shared quiet kisses and silent giggles, your bodies tangled up with one another. 

Your mum had taken a photo of the two of you when she had come in the next morning to wake you up (and that exact photo was now framed and sitting on Sam’s bedside table twelve years later). And although you didn’t know it then, every year after that one, Sam would make sure that you woke up to your favourite flowers and a card with superstar written inside.

[rosegasly]

wish on elevens. | pg10

⇢ summary: "Sure mon amour. Podium's a good look on you anyway," you quip, scrunching your nose and smiling in an attempt to ignore the way your heart stops and beats again, racing twice as quick and strong. ⇢ genre: fluff ⇢ pairing: pierre gasly x reader ⇢ a/n: celebratory post dutch gp podium fic coz how can i call myself a g10 girlie if i dont write today. stoked.

He's dripping, sweat and champagne coalescing into sticky sweet droplets that bloom on your tongue when you kiss him, hands against scruffy cheeks. "You did it amour! P3!!" 

The dark of his alpine hat sits low over brilliant blue eyes that gaze back at you, glistening with joy so infectious you wonder how everyone around you isn't utterly in love with Pierre Gasly too. 

"Chérie, we did it." He says and you shake your head fondly, eyes still locked with his as affection bubbles and spills over somewhere behind your ribs, heart jutting out with the love you have for this man and you are crying. Vision blurring as you throw your arms around him again, uncaring of how the champagne and sweat stain your front as you sob into his neck. 

"I am so so proud baby. you deserve this! you were so good, so brilliant-" it's hard to speak around the growing knot in your throat but you push through, "I love you so much! You drove incredibly. I was screaming by the end," you laugh as you squeeze him tighter, pull him closer, "My voice is shot. What a fucking day."

Strong arms wrap around your waist, broad shoulders hunching to nestle you against the hollow of his clavicle and you scratch your skin, cheeks pressing softly against his fireproofs as you laugh again, unadulterated delight spilling out of your pores and you don't even want to think how cheesy you both look. Swaying, giggling and wet in his side of the Alpine garage as you celebrate his podium. 

"I am so glad you made it today chérie," Pierre pulls back, catching your eyes again as he continues in a voice so soft one would be hard-pressed to say it was him screaming in the team radio less than thirty minutes ago, voice shrill and so far from his usual gravelly baritone. "You are my lucky charm. Je t'aime babygirl. Let's repeat today again, a hundred more times." He says, words sincere and accent thick as ringed fingers caress your cheek, idly wiping the stray tear and you tug him closer by the collar of his fireproof.

"Sure mon amour. Podium's a good look on you anyway," you quip, scrunching your nose and smiling in an attempt to ignore the way your heart stops and beats again, racing twice as quick and strong. 

The admission, subtle as it may be, isn't lost on you. You've known Pierre long enough now to realise how carefully he words his responses, never unwittingly promising more than he is willing to give and while with someone else you would chop the words to post podium adrenaline, with Pierre they ring true. 

Time suspends for a beat, you don't make any proclamations, don't directly promise anything back but the way you carefully caress his cheeks, the way Pierre lets his inhibitions go, surrendering and nuzzling your palm, the blue swimming in his gaze still holding yours, for once uncaring of the flashing cameras not ten feet away as he melts into your arms, boneless when you pull him in an embrace again–it's enough. 

Neither of you says more, but then you don't have to. Not when you already know you'll come back, time and again, fly to any corner of the world without a second's hesitation to have his back. Cheer him on from the sidelines as many times as he needs, and all the times he doesn't, but you would still be there anyway.

The words form on your tongue, but they don't come out, bitten back and cluttering behind your teeth as you try to shield your heart–to no avail. 

They don't have to escape to be heard, not when they ring so loud and evident between your breaths. 

Pierre Gasly owns your heart and for however long he wants you back, you'll let him keep it. 

[specialinterestshows]

Watch your metamour’s title match in this latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

(Yes, I am aware I already have a fic by this title. No, I do not care.)

Warnings for this section: Social anxiety, manipulation/gaslighting, parasocial relationships, dubcon ass-slapping, cannabis (weed) mention

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Absolute Smokeshow (Part 74 of ?): Locker Room Talk

After watching Dominik do stretches and warmups, talking about anything that came to mind to make him (and yourself) feel more at ease, and listening to the Judgment Day and JD give him pep talks, you were wishing Dom good luck and sitting in full view of the locker room television. There were a few other wrestlers milling around, but they were either otherwise occupied or avoiding you. Because of whatever people say about your girlfriend? Because of what the media is saying about you? Because you aren’t part of the show, despite being in the locker room?

You tried to put the thought out of your mind as the match began on the screen in front of you.

There was just enough time for you to see Rhea on the sidelines, before Trick Williams rapidly gained the upper hand with a few blows. The two men grappled before Dom got a kick in and you quickly found yourself invested in a way you hadn’t been before. There was something about the match that began beautifully, like a dance, almost. The rhythm and movement enthralled you in the moments between pauses, to the point where you were gasping in awe and chuckling in wonder instead of cheering. Maybe you hadn’t experienced the sport like this before because the only matches you had been interested in watching had been Rhea’s. Your mind went directly into the gutter when you saw her fighting, especially with the way she pinned her opponents.

And now? Strangely enough, you were beginning to understand why someone might risk fame for the chance at doing something like this.

You were watching the screen so intently, the sudden appearance of Jacy Jayne in your vision made you jump.

“My girl and I just won,” she sneered, leaning in to grab her bag from the locker next to you before whispering, “How about you and yours?”

Glancing at the screen again, trying to ignore her at first, you smiled at what was happening.

“See for yourself,” you told her, gesturing to the television just in time to make her turn to watch the Judgment Day celebrating and running up to Dom before the replay reel. Your heart swelled with happiness watching your girlfriend cheer and throw an arm around her boyfriend.

“Hey, what’re we watching?” Jacy’s excitable tag team partner from earlier bounced into the locker room, holding a freshly-filled water bottle. Noticing you, she didn’t even wait for an answer before saying, “Hi! I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Thea” - she reached out and shook your hand vigorously - “Are you new to NXT?”

Jacy scoffed.

“That’s just Rhea Ripley’s newest little toy,” she told Thea, who now seemed uncertain how to act toward you and settled for imitating her tag team partner’s current pose - arms crossed, leaning away slightly.

“Doesn’t even realize she’s being played,” Jacy continued, “It’s pathetic. You want to know what everyone says about Rhea?” - she was addressing you now - “She’s only nice to the people she uses. Minion, distraction, press stunt - you’re at least one of those. You’ll be old news soon enough.”

The screen - now showing Dom holding the title and all four members of the Judgment Day with their arms around each other - came back into full view as the two women walked away, passing a slightly breathless JD McDonagh in the doorway. Something about Jacy’s comment seemed very specific. It was difficult to know exactly why, until you watched her and Thea depart.

“Come on, sexy,” Jacy said as she held the door open, giving Thea’s ass a hungry look before smacking it, “I’m going to show you how grown-ass women celebrate a win together.”

The last you saw of Thea, she was glancing back at you, looking conflicted as Jacy’s arm snaked around her waist.

“Hello?” it wasn’t until JD waved his hand in front of you that you realized he had been trying to talk to you this entire time, “Are you okay?”

“Jacy is awful,” you groaned, trying to ignore the fact that you were second-guessing yourself thanks to her comments, “Doesn’t anyone realize what she’s doing?”

“Shit, did she try to rough you up?” JD asked, giving you a quick once-over for signs of blood or swelling.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you tell him, despite the uneasiness at your core, “I mean, she wasn’t nice… but someone needs to get her away from Thea.”

“HR won’t intervene unless she says she wants to get away from her partner,” JD said, “Besides, that’s not our job; we’re focused on making sure the Judgment Day remains the most dominant faction in the WWE.”

“We’re also focused on keeping Rhea’s girl safe,” Damian huffed, glaring at JD as Rhea, Dom, and Finn walked in behind him, “Y no hables como eres parte de nuestro grupo.”

“Go easy on him, babe,” Finn said softly, putting a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, “He’s helped a lot today” - Finn lowered his voice, lust dripping in every word - “Think of how good it’s going to be when we celebrate later, just the two of us.”

JD looked slightly uncomfortable at this particular method of persuading Damian to go easy on him, but wasn’t about to complain when Damian’s attention shifted to Finn instead.

“Principe mío,” he muttered, caressing Finn’s face and leaning in to whisper something none of you could hear. JD sat down by the door, awkwardly waiting for the group’s next move as your girlfriend and metamour approached you.

“So, did you see Dom’s big win?” Rhea asked, sitting down next to you and putting an arm around your shoulders.

“I did! Congrats on getting your title back,” you said, addressing Dom as he strutted toward the two of you with his title belt over one shoulder.

“How did you want to celebrate, babe?” Rhea asked him as he sat down on the other side of her.

He considered the question for a moment as you let the weight on your shoulders relax you a bit. Unfortunately, the situation with Jacy and Thea seemed to have left an uncalmable anxiety in your stomach, slightly different from what you had been feeling for the majority of today. You needed a joint.

“Can we get some munchies and go smoke?” Dom seemed to be asking you as much as Rhea, knowing you were the only one with a supply.

“You actually read my mind,” you laugh.

“Let’s do it,” your girlfriend agreed, giving both of you a kiss on the cheek before standing, turning, and putting out both of her hands to pull the both of you up at once.

“Next thing you know, she’ll be bench-pressing them,” Damian jokes, “Go ahead, I’ll spot you.”

“How about you bring the car around instead?” Rhea responded, rolling her eyes despite having initially smiled at the comment, “We’re going on a snack run.”

[end part seventy-four of ?]

Part 75: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/753746500888166400/absolute-smokeshow-part-75-of-fast-feud

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Tag list (thank you!)

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