#Olympics fanfic

[ezisregrettinglifedecisions]

My favourite part of every four years has come around once again, the Olympics, so why not write a few fics about it.

Knowing me there will either be 2 finished or 30.

But the ones you do get to read, I hope you enjoy. ❤️

(Ignore awful graphic design skills, I did not have the energy to do this well and graphic design is not something I am good at)

My main Masterlist is here

Planned fics are here

F1 x Olympics Masterlist -

It will be added to and drivers/sports might change round occasionally and they will vary in length and style. One might be a long smau while other might be written and 500 words.

Also I know it says F1 but Ollie, Paul and Kimi have fics planned

Drivers Included

F1 -

Alex Albon

Pierre Gasly

Lewis Hamilton

Charles Leclerc

Lando Norris

Oscar Piastri

Daniel Ricciardo

George Russell

Carlos Sainz

Logan Sargeant

Max Verstappen

F2 -

Kimi Antonelli

Paul Aron

Ollie Bearman

Cupid - Oscar Piastri

Archery Fem!British Olympic Archer!Reader SMAU

Perfect Balance - Pierre Gasly

Artistic Gymnastics coming soon....

Staying Afloat - George Russell

Artistic Swimming coming soon....

In It For The Long Run - Lewis Hamilton

Athletics - Marathon coming soon....

Breaking Poles (And Nearly Bones) - Carlos Sainz

Athletics - Pole Vault coming soon....

[enterpris]

Trials and Games

Pairing: Reader x Gojo

Summary: After training your whole life and making it to the Olympic Games, you are finally able to compete with the most elite athletes from around the world

You finish your event and are looking to celebrate- with the help of a handsome, white haired athlete of course

Warnings: Bad flirting, bj, fingering, v*aginal sex

Length:

Ao3: PlaidSparrow

Gojo's leaning on the table behind you. 

“Hey, you didn’t mention that you’d finished your event yesterday! Congrats on the gold.” He give you a rakish smile.

“Yeah, everything’s been kind of a blur honestly. I’m glad to have it over with though. Is it difficult having your event at the end of the games?”

“Nah, it leaves plenty of time before the event to check out the competition and get some more training in. Plus, it also gives me time for some extracurriculars,” he looks you up and down again. 

Maybe it’s the high that’s leftover from the winning, but there’s something intoxicating about being desired so blatantly. If he doesn’t think some casual sex will throw him off his game for the event, you’d be more than happy to take advantage of his advances. 

“I happen to be looking for some extracurriculars myself. I think we could find something to do together.” You return a flirty smile of your own. 

“Oh perfect! You’re good at swimming, too, right? I've been wanting to get in the pool and do some laps, it's a great full body workout.”

If it weren't for the glimmer in his eye when he says it, you'd probably assume you had completely misread his interest. As it is, it seems Gojo is interested in verbal sparring as foreplay.

“There’s plenty of ways to workout the whole body. But I’m happy to show you the training pools.”

He seems to be pleased with your answer, that you’re willing to play. 

“Oh you're bold, huh? Maybe after the pool we can try out one of those other ways. What do you say we put some work on?” His smile is radiant. 

“Well they did hand me like 30 condoms, I wouldn’t mind using them,” you shoot back.

“I bet we could do some damage to one of our cardboard beds. Tomorrow then?” The accompanying finger guns are equally dorky and charming. 

“Yeah, sounds good.” You give him a quick wave and set off towards your building- gotta make sure the room will be empty tomorrow.  ~*~

You’d spent the morning in one of the training pools warming up, swimming some laps and showing Satoru the training building allocated to aquatic events, then returned to your respective buildings in the village to freshen up. You shower and thank your past self for deciding to live a little while you’re at the Games.  

Watching the way Satoru’s body moved in the pool, pulling muscles tight and his face flush to catch his breath, thinking of all you'd like to do with him, was an hours-long exercise in self control. You’d like to touch his skin, be the reason his cheeks are pink and breath is short. 

You wait for him outside your building, absorbing the sunlight that filters through the branches of the trees. A few moments later, you lead Satoru back to your (empty) room on the third floor. For all of his talk, Gojo is surprisingly non-initiatory when you walk into your room. 

He looks around at the slightly messy room- there’s luggage on your floor and the unpacked clothes hanging on the back of your door- before looking back at you. In your defense, there’s been a lot going on, and pretty much everything is more interesting than unpacking the different uniform options. 

You raise an eyebrow, and Satoru shrugs back at you.

“Just thought I should know a little more about you before we dive right in.” He smiles at you impishly, and it ignites your need for him even more. You take a single step towards him. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“I think there’s a lot I’d like to learn about.” 

You take another step towards him. 

“Let me show you then.”

Satoru waits for you to take the last step between you, bringing you nearly face to face. He’s taller than you are, and he looks at you heatedly for a moment. 

You stare into his dark eyes for a moment and your heart is already beating faster. Then the tension snaps. He pulls your body to his own, and you can feel the firm muscles of his chest through the thin uniform shirt. He’s exuding heat, and as he brings his lips to yours for an open-mouthed kiss. Satoru’s lips are soft but insistent, and he sensually runs his tongue along your own. He tastes just slightly of mint, fresh and a little sweet.

His strong arms are still pressing you into his chest, and you maneuver one of your hands under the fabric of his shirt. His skin is burning there, and his abs flex when you press your hands against him. The wet heat of his mouth on your own intensifies your own want, pulsing through every inch of your body. 

You break the kiss and peel the shirt off, revealing his superb body once again. The small room is filled with your pants, catching up on breaths lost to each other, and you admire his physique. He’s got incredible definition, and you can tell the muscles have been built up for strength and power, not just looks. Under the bright shirt he's pale everywhere, an expanse of clear skin and fine hair trailing down the v of his hips. 

“Like what ya see?” 

Satoru puts his hands on his hips and then jokingly poses, flexing his arms and then turning to give you another angle. He’s stockier than you had originally thought, but is lithe and light on his feet. It’s easy to see how he could out-maneuver an opponent, and you’re halfway hopeful he’ll be able to take you down in a similar way. 

“I do.”

Your eyes are hooded as you watch him preen. Satoru continues to peacock until you corral him toward the bed. His own hands find their way under your shirt, skirting around your bra. His fingers are thick and rough from his own training, they're pleasantly coarse on your own smooth skin. 

It's starting to feel uncomfortably warm in the small room, and you're ready to divest yourself off some of your clothing. You help him tug off your top, and he immediately palms your breasts, your nipples already peaked under the thin lace. 

He leans down to kiss you again and you run your hands over his torso. His warm hands continue circling your nipples and he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. When you reach the waistband of his shorts, he groans into your mouth and you can taste his neediness.

You're up against the low mattress now, and you push Gojo to a sitting position. The small cardboard bed frame doesn’t give you much to work with, but slowly, teasingly, you get onto your knees before him, placing open mouthed kisses down his chest and stomach before painstakingly pulling his trousers and underwear to the floor.

His cock is flushed and smacks against his stomach, already beaded with pre-come. 

“Just a sec” Gojo reaches down and pulls a condom out of a pocket in his shorts. “I know you said you had plenty, but it seemed more gentlemanly to bring my own.”

Then he bites the package open and easily slides the rubber down the what of his cock. He tilts his head and pumps himself a couple times.

You grasp him and replace his hands with your own, maintaining the steady rhythm he had begun. Achingly slowly, you lower your lips to his member. You take just the tip into your mouth, and his cock jumps. 

The taste of the latex isn't your favorite, but as you take more of Satoru into your mouth, his breath hitches and you can feel him grow even harder. You explore him with your tongue, running over the veins, and with your hands, one closed over the base of his shaft while the other cups his balls.

You continue bobbing your head, slowly increasing the speed and you can feel his cock pulse in your mouth. 

There are spots of pink on his cheeks as you look up at him. You maintain eye contact as you dip back down to the base of his cock and slowly pull back up. Gojo leans his head back and sighs as you push your tongue along the thick vein on the base of his shaft. “Jesus.”

His legs are tense now, and the movements of his hand are erratic as he cups the back of your head. HIs breaths are coming faster now and he’s watching every one of your movements carefully. You flick the tip of your tongue across the head and then descend again. You can’t quite take all of him into your mouth, so you manage what you can and then suck gently.  

Satoru sighs above you. 

Knowing that you've got him on the edge of coming leaves you breathless and wanton. You can already feel the slickness between your thighs. 

Before you can do any more, Satoru gently moves his hand to your jaw and lifts you off of himself. He pants a couple beats and then partially rises, allowing you to join him on the bed. Before you recline he slips your shorts off, leaving you in only your matching lace underwear. 

He takes your prior place on the floor and traces his hands up the defined muscles of your legs, lingering on the bulk of your quads and calves, and his eyes sinful in their appreciation of your physique. He spreads your legs farther. 

“God, do all divers have legs as delicious as yours?”

His blue eyes linger on the valley where your legs meet as his fingers find their way to the top of your lacey underwear. 

“Maybe all Olypian divers do.”

You’d meant to be a little flirty and teasing, but it comes out breathier than you meant when he runs the pad of his thumb over the fabric. It’s already soaked, you know, and his first touch slides deliciously against you. 

“I dunno, I think what you’ve got is special.”

He strokes you again, licks his lips, and then returns his hands to the top of the underwear, slowly sliding them down and exposing you. Once the garment is out of the way, He runs his finger across your bare sex, gliding easily through your folds. 

You inhale sharply and he locks eyes with you as he slides a finger into your dripping pussy. His eyes are aflame and his attention is glued to you as he slowly pumps into you, watching for any change in reaction. He adds another finger, stretching you just slightly. 

Besides your heavy breathing, the only other noise in the room is the lewd swash of his fingers pumping in and out of you. When he lightly rests his thumb on your clit you jerk, and when he begins to rub soft circles on it you moan. 

Your eyes flutter shut to absorb the sensation, but you realize that you miss the intensity of Satoru's eyes on you. You look back down at him, and trace his body as he continues to touch you, cataloging the way his abs clench when he pants out breaths and how his cock twitches.

Knowing he's so hard and ready for you pushes you closer to the edge, your legs tense with the prospect of release. Satoru analyzes your responses with the keen eye he would turn to an opponent, but he's not looking for an opportunity to pin you, but to bring your pleasure wide open. 

Satoru nips your bottom lip, moves his other hand to unclasp the bra behind your back. Now uninhibited, he palms the breast in his huge hand then rolls your nipple.

The pleasure in your body is fluid, rising and pooling between your legs. You pulse around Satoru’s fingers and a moan slips out. He keeps his fingers deep inside you and the thumb on your clit moving steadily, it's enough for the waves of pleasure to break over you. 

Your vision whites out for a moment and then your whole body is liquid, melting in the aftershock of one of the most intense orgasms you've had in a while. 

Gojo looks down at you, pleased, then climbs back into the bed next to you. He lets you continue to catch your breath laying down, but drapes your legs over his thighs as he rests back on his haunches. The position will give him plenty of access to your body. 

“Is this ok?” 

You nod, and then he lines up his cock to your entrance. 

The first couple thrusts are shallow, as he watches your breasts bounce every time he pumps into your slick cunt. The position affords you quite the view too- the exertion has left Satoru with a sheen of sweat on his skin and a pleasing pink  On his chest that wasn't there when you started. 

He grips your hips now and pulls himself deeper, increasing the rhythm between your bodies. This angle is reaching deep within you and building a mounting pressure that could build you back to another peak. 

Clearly the training you've each done for your sports is paying off in the bedroom too- your appetite for Gojo is voracious and he seems to have plenty of stamina.

Watching him pump his hips languidly, his cock disappearing into you, you reach down and hold his wrists where he's clinging to your hips, taut and aching.

Using the leverage from your handle on Satoru’s arms, you lift yourself to meet each thrust. The extra pressure of your weight on his arms doesn't seem to bother Gojo, if anything, his soft moans seem to get more frequent the more you touch him and use him to chase your pleasure. 

“I want you like this,” Satoru groans and then unfolds his legs, resting his forearms on each side of your head and bringing you nearly face to face. 

As you adjust he pushes the hair out of his face, which displays the long line of muscle down his bicep and torso. The modem disrupts the roll of his hips into your own for a moment, but he's quick to resume.

Now you're close enough to taste him- you lick a stripe up his corded neck, relishing the salt of the sweat you've put there, before whispering in his ear. 

“I’m close again.”

The words galvanize him, and Satoru crushes his lips to yours, messy and lustful and frantic.

“What do you need?” His voice is breathier now. 

“Keep this pace, God, you're so deep.”

He nods and glances down your body, then licks his thumb and returns it to your clit.

He circles the nub again, but his motions are disjointed and jerky now. You can tell he's close to his own high. 

“Come first one more time, you got a gold, chase this too.”

You shatter for the second time, pulsing around Gojo, who's buried deep. His steady pace starts to feast and he ruts into whole biting his lip before he comes apart with a sigh. 

The two of you share another kiss and gulp in air, then Satoru pulls himself out of you and nimbly climbs off the bed. Instead of feeling spent from your prior orgasms, you're left invigorated. You breathe deeply and can hear Gojo tie off the condom. 

Is it narcissistic if remembering the elation of winning sends you over the edge? Gojo's lips on your ear certainly helped, and either way you're grateful for the second high. 

You look back up at him when you feel the mattress shift under his weight. 

“So, you ready for round two?”

[astrangerworldandaloverofthings]

Nationals Disaster

Cp. 1 of the "Olympic Hopeful" Series

Warnings: sports injury, light cursing

Pairings: (Eventual) FigureSkater! Steve Harrington x Y/n x HockeyPlayer! Eddie Munson

Summary: An incident at Nationals costs Y/n more than the gold medal, but thankfully someone familiar is in her hometown.

Inspo Credits: Spinning Out (Netflix), being a figure skater myself, Stranger Things.

Word count: 2.7k

AN: This is the first chapter of the "Olympic Hopeful" series. It's a bit of a slow burn, so no romance yet. Find the rest of the chapters here:

Masterlist / Cp. 1 /

After they lost at sectionals, Crissy Cunningham, Steve’s pairs partner for the last 3 years left for what she called “better opportunities”. Which left Steve Harrington without a partner as he and his coach sit in the bleachers at Nationals, watching instead of competing. 

“You’re gonna find a new partner, honey. Chrissy wasn’t a good match anyway. She never did good twizzles.” His coach leans over to say, a handful of popcorn already in her mouth. Steve only sighs, not willing to talk about it right now. Thankfully, the zamboni just got off the ice and the next warm up group skates out, distracting them both. A bunch of names nobody seems to care about get announced, then the team favored to win gold skates out. 

With her beautiful hair in a perfect pressed bun, their outfits jeweled to high heavens, the blue color perfectly complementing her skin… It’s none other than Y/n Harker and her partner Maxim Rotschev. 

Steve can’t help but imagine he was her partner instead. Just as he’s imagining he was the one on the ice practicing lifts with her, his coach leans over, reminding him why they’re here. “You see Yelena McCarschik over there?”

Steve begrudgingly takes his eyes off of Y/n and Maxim to look at the blonde girl in the purple dress his coach is not-so-subtly pointing at. He doesn’t even need to give his coach a half-hearted response before she continues. 

“I heard from her coach that she’s not going to be skating with Michael again next year. You should talk to her, she has all her triples.” Right. And just like that he’s brought back to earth, remembering he has to find a new partner for next season. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her.” Steve sighs, turning his attention back to Y/n and Maxim. He watches them set up for a jump pass, watching as they do side-by-side triple flip double toe combos before skating over to their coach. 

Steve’s coach pats him on the back as she catches him watching the pair. “They’re going to the Olympics this year, honey. No use dreaming of partnering with her.” As she says that, Steve can’t help but feel a crushing sting in his chest when he realizes he’ll never get that.

He can’t think about anything else besides the burning disappointment in his chest, this unrelenting emotional pain that he holds down as to not cry in the middle of the stands. He fully dissociates thinking about the pain until his coach nudges his side when the warm-ups are over and the first team is skating out to their starting position, and it’s none other than Y/n and Maxim. 

And as their program starts, he gets the same crushing feeling. But this time Steve shakes it off in order to enjoy watching the skating. When he recognizes their music is from the ballet of Romeo and Juliet, it stabs another burning pain into his heart. He doesn’t know immediately why that song makes it sting so much worse, he just knows it hurts. 

Their perfect level four twizzles don’t make the burning pain go away either. Even if he did manage to find a partner for next year, how is he ever going to beat their precision timing. Perfectly in-synch triples. He watches their set up, and he knows the throw triple twist is coming. He closes his eyes for just a second, imagining he’s the one getting to throw her in the air. Then the room fills with gasps, the music cuts off, and his eyes shoot open. 

He dropped her. Or rather, Maxim Rotschev had dropped Y/n Harker.

“Shit.” The word leaves his mouth as him and the rest of the crowd surge to their feet. “She’s not getting up. Why is she not getting up?!” The paramedics rush out onto the ice and he sees the tears streaming down her face. Steve doesn’t know why he’s moving, but suddenly he’s running down the stairs of the stands, making it all the way to the door to get off the ice with his competitor pass still on, before security stops him. 

Tears are streaming down her face as the paramedics carry her out on the stretcher. Again, Steve has no idea what gives him the confidence to yell to her over the noise, “Are you okay?”

She looks up, searching for the source of the sound and locking eyes with him. She looks angry as she snaps back “My arm’s broken, you think I’m fucking okay?!” 

He can’t help but laugh at the stupidity of his own question, taking a few more steps alongside the paramedics carrying her out. “Do you know this guy?” One of them whispers pointedly at her. She turns her head back to him. “No. Who the hell are you?” 

Steve smiles, his regular charm returning to him. “I’m Steve Harrington. Huge fan. I’m actually also a pairs skater…. We competed against each other at sectionals?” 

“Look, I clearly can’t sign an autograph right now. So do me a favor and get out of the way.” She groans, holding up her clearly broken arm. 

With that, the medics push past him taking her to the ambulance. It’s another minute later when Steve feels a hand on his shoulder. At first assuming it’s security, he cautiously turns around to find his coach, her glasses pulled off. “Well this just got interesting.”

…..

It’s a week later when Eddie was wiping down the tables at Benny’s. The small tv in the corner flashes sports news and Eddie glances up when he sees skating clips playing. The headline “Nationals Tragedy” flashes across the bottom of the screen as the clip of Y/n Harker being dropped by Maxim Rotschev plays. Benny audibly winces as he watches the clip. 

“Aren’t you glad they give you pads for Hockey, boy?” Benny asks. Eddie looks back at Benny through the window opening to the kitchen, having not realized he was also watching. 

“Yeah. And they don’t even throw me in the air.” Eddie concurs, turning back to wiping down the tables. 

….

Y/n sits on her living room couch, surrounded by packed bags. Her mother, pulling the phone cord with her into the living room, calls out to her “Poppi and Omi said they’ll be here in 20 minutes! They had to stop one more time for gas.” 

Y/n groans, waving her mom off. She instead turns back to the magazine in her hand, where she should have been on the cover winning gold, instead she’s on page 5 in an article titled “Nationals Tragedy.” 

Her mom finishes the phone call in the kitchen before coming back in a few minutes later. “I think a break will be good for you. You know, you’ve been so focused on skating for so long. You’ll finally get a chance to live a normal life.” 

Another groan leaves Y/n’s lips, rolling her eyes.  “I’ve been so focused on skating because I actually had a chance at the Olympics this year. And now I have a broken arm and no partner.” 

Her mother tuts disapprovingly, “And it was so rude of Maxim to abandon you in your time of need.” 

“It’s all part of the contract, mom. He has every right to leave if I can't compete.” Y/n grumbles, she would have crossed her arms, but the tight cast stops her from moving her right arm in that way. 

Her mother chooses to keep the peace by changing topics. “Do you have everything you’ll need to stay with Omi and Poppi for the next few months?” Her eyes skeptically scanning the packed bags surrounding her daughter. “They live six hours away, so it won’t exactly be easy for me to bring anything you forgot down to you.” Her mom adds.

“I’m fine, mom. Really. I’m sure I got it all.”  She sighs, laying back in to the couch. She hears the distinct tutting of her mom’s lips as her mother adds another bag to the pile. 

“If you’ve got everything, why was your skating bag still in the closet?” Her mother practically sings.

“Mom, I can’t skate for another 4 weeks. And even then what’s the point?” She holds up her arm that’s wrapped in a cast for emphasis.

“And in 4 weeks when you can, who knows? Maybe you’ll be over this attitude by then and want to skate for fun. And you’ll give your ol’ mom a call about how thankful you are I sent your skates down with you.” Her mom theorizes, adding her skating bag to the pile regardless. 

…

Six hours in the car with her grandparents later and they pull past the “Welcome to Hawkins Indiana” Sign. Y/n sighs, leaning on her good arm as she looks out the window. 

“It’s been a long time since you visited. I’m sure everything looks different.” Her Grandma, or as they call her, Omi, notes. 

“It’s only been like four years, Omi. It’s really not that different. Honestly It’s like this town never changes.” Her grandparents groan at her response. 

“I’m sure plenty has changed.” Her Poppi adds. “I mean you almost never bring your skates when you visit, so I’m sure you haven’t been to the rink here in over… well ten years…” Her grandfather ponders with uncertainty about the timeline.

“It’s not like that matters now.” She snaps gruffly at the cruel reminder of her injury.

They all sit in a stiff silence as her grandparents hear the bitter spite in her tone, the air growing thick with tension, so much so that Poppi rolls the windows down. 

When they pull in to the driveway, Y/n slings a single bag over her good shoulder, knowing she can’t lift much of anything with her other arm in a cast. As her grandparents realize that, like it or not, she won’t be much help with unloading the car, they decide to send her off. Her grandfather slips her a twenty dollar bill as he takes the bag off her shoulder.

“Looks like you need some cheering up, Kid. Why don’t you walk over to the mall and get yourself a milkshake.” Usually she would protest that she needs to stick to her diet for training. But with the olympics out the window and a return to training weeks, if not months, away…. A milkshake sounds really good.

“Are you sure?” She gives a small curious smile, looking between her grandparents and their rather full volkswagon. Her grandfather doesn’t miss the look on her face of wanting to help, patting her on the shoulder.

“Sorry honey, you’re not lifting even if you want to. Go get some ice cream. You still know how to get there?”

She chuckles and nods, a real smile crossing her face as she trots down the driveway. “Yeah. I’ll be back in an hour!”

…

When she walks into the Scoops Ahoy! At 7pm on a Tuesday, the customer base is a sorry sight. Only one set of preteens sitting in a corner booth sharing a boat shaped sunday. She sighs, walking up to the counter and rings the bell to get the worker’s attention.  

A boy with a familiar face walks out of the back room, but she can’t quite place where she knows him from. Her lack of recognition usually wouldn’t be a problem, but when the guy in his sailor uniform and paper hat walks out, he instantly breaks into a large smile and points two finger guns at her, like you would to a friend you haven’t seen in a long while.

“Oh my god, Y/n Harker! It’s good to see you. What brings you to Hawkins?” The guy starts, her eyes narrowing as she tries to place his face. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” She says as kindly as she can, a phase she’s had to get used to with her success in the skating community. Clearly though, that answer was not satisfactory for this ice cream shop associate as he stifles a frown and goes a bit red in the cheeks.

“I’m Steve Harrington? We competed against each other at Sectionals? Then I…”

Before he can finish a look of recognition crosses her face. “Oh my god! You’re the guy from nationals! That rushed the bleachers when I fell?” But this only makes him blush more.

“Yeah…. Yeah, that was me. How are you doing by the way?” He bashfully answers.

She nods, holding up her arm cast. “Broke my arm. But thankfully nothing more serious than that.” 

Steve winces at the thought, picking up the ice cream scooper and absent mindedly spinning it between his fingers. “How long is that going to keep you off the ice?” His question instantly making her smile fall. “At least 6 weeks.” Steve gestures to the ice cream, silently asking which flavor to start scooping while they keep talking. She points to the chocolate, and he starts pulling scoops into a cup as he speaks. 

“So no olympics then?” Which only elicits a sad nod from her. He tries to perk her back up, seeing the sadness in her eyes. “Well there’s always next season. You’ll have your 6 week break, then when you get back on the ice I’m sure you’ll be as good as ever.”

She drags her feet as they walk over to the register. “Doesn’t matter, I don’t have a partner to go back to anyway.” The cash register drawer slides open the same way Steve’s jaw does. A dry bitter “What?!” leaving his agape lips. 

She sighs, having already gotten similar reactions from her friends back home. “Yeah, he won’t be able to take someone else to the Olympics, but if he finds someone fast enough he can use our rank to still go to Worlds or the Grand Prix with a different partner.” She explains, giving a sad half smile at the reality of her situation. 

Steve scoffs, closing the cash register drawer as quickly as he had opened it, handing her the scooped ice cream without taking the cash from her hand. “This one’s on the house.” 

She blushes, timidly retracting her hand with a cash and licking the top of the ice cream cone. “Are you sure?” 

Steve breaks out in a wide smile, leaning over on his elbows on the counter. “Positive. It’s not every day we get a celebrity in Hawkins.” His answer eliciting a small chuckle from her.

“I’m not sure I quite count as a celebrity… but thanks.” She knows now would be the natural point in the conversation to turn and walk out, but her feet don’t move. Steve seems to notice the hesitation to leave too, gesturing towards one of the many unoccupied booths. 

“If you had the time…. I would love to pick your brain about Pairs skating stuff?” He offers up his company, taking an experimental step to come around the counter. She bites her lip, considering this for a minute, before nodding with a small “yeah.” 

“Are you sure they don’t need you behind the counter?” She asks as they slide into the booth. He looks at her skeptically, giving the whole store a once over. “To serve what customers?” 

He smiles as this gets a small laugh out of her. “Alright, fair enough. What burning questions did you want to pick my brain about?” 

Neither of them even notice when over an hour has passed, her ice cream cone fully devoured, and they’re the only one’s left in the mall, let alone the store. Finally, feeling comfortable enough with her now, Steve asks the question that’s really been on his mind this whole time. 

“What does the road forward look like for you? Are you gonna skate solo? Find a new partner?” She looks a bit downtrodden from the question but answers honestly.

“I don’t know. My mom thinks this might be the perfect time to retreat into an early retirement from professional skating….”

“No! You can’t do that. Not over one broken arm…” 

“I don’t know how to give up on skating, especially when I was so close to the dream. But I don’t know how to move on without being the face of ‘Nationals Tragedy’ either.” 

“Well…. If there’s ever a town for starting over…. Hawkins is next to none.” 

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

cw: modern au, chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice. 

Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later. 

The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache. 

The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”

You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm. 

“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says. 

You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.” 

Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it. 

In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light. 

“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks. 

He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.” 

By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head. 

“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.” 

Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.” 

He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates. 

And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.

Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn. 

“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself. 

Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics. 

And Remus has found many flaws. 

“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still under-rotating! Come on!” 

Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes. 

He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level. 

“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension. 

“Sirius…” 

“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.” 

“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?” 

“Okay—” 

“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”

“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—” 

“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.” 

You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’. 

Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light. 

“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for. 

“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.” 

Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly. 

It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”

[katescorner]

thinking about olympic athlete!oikawa tooru today who made it to the paris olympics, representing argentina (proudly, he might add), and his whole story leading up to the games is full of drama and expectations because of course fate would line things up perfectly for the two nations he held in his heart to rival each other on the world's court.

he hears the cheers of fans and friends along with the jeering boos from the locker room, and he thinks, has he really betrayed his birth country when "home" no longer feels like home? with rising pressure, competition tastes like a bitter word when the opposition is all familiar faces. but he didn't make it this far by being sentimental. he trained for this. he sacrificed for this. he—

"the world is watching, tooru."

your voice is soft, but it cuts through the static of his thoughts. it parts his negativity with gentle movement until all he sees is you, and suddenly, he can breathe again. so he does. he draws in a long, deep breath, and you wait for him to speak to you.

"i'm scared," he whispers. "i don't want to disappoint anyone."

his admission is proof alone of how far he's come already, willing to admit insecurity and allowing vulnerability in difficult moments. oikawa tooru is not the same man he was when he left the land he'd known all his life (leaving claw marks into the grass and ground of his hometown; they forget he was only eighteen when he uprooted himself in the name of his passion) and when he let his mother tongue fall flat so he might have a chance at becoming the best (people forget that learning languages isn't some indirect relationship, when one rises, the other does not always fall; he remembers the words he came from, the intonation and the vocabulary, the slang and the meaning of it all; he remembers, still).

oikawa tooru is not the same man he was when his childhood friends saw him last. he's grown in his time apart from them; they all have. he's miles tallers and his horizons have expanded. he's changed, but that doesn't mean he's a stranger to himself.

(i'm scared they won't recognize me.)

"you are still the person they all befriended and the man i fell in love with, and i am so so proud of you," you answer his underlying question with a kiss to his cheek, a reminder of your love. "you aren't disappointing anyone with your decisions."

"but the people of—"

"the people will cope. they'll have to." you shrug. "what else can they do? what you do isn't up to them. it isn't up to the public because the roster that made it all this way and achieved this much lists oikawa tooru, starting setter, not the guy in the eighth row calling you names, not the displeased broadcaster with a combover, and certainly not anyone else."

you take his hands into yours. you're careful because these are the instruments of his success. his fingernails are always cut short and his skin is soft except for the pads of his fingers which are rough but not calloused. he doesn't let anyone else handle him the way you do, drawing circles and hearts into his palms and pressing kisses into his joints.

"as long as you are happy with the decisions you've made to get here, no one can take that away from you." you look into your fiancé's eyes. "are you happy, tooru?"

and he thinks about the uneasiness he felt landing in argentina, the finality in not buying a return ticket, and the eagerness for volleyball that earned him an easy spot under the guidance of jose blanco. he thinks about the sleep that he lost from being hungry in an unfamiliar country, missing his mother's cooking and the smell of yakitori and takoyaki when he walked down crowded streets filled with vendors.

but he also thinks about the first word that he learned in argentina, hermanito, tossed around during practice when he didn't even know how to ask for a pass because he didn't lose a brotherhood when he left japan, he just gained one in argentina. he thinks about the grueling process of overturning his birth citizenship, the uproar he caused in a country across the globe and the apology he almost let slip for it because everyone thinks it was just for volleyball. oikawa tooru, the athlete who doesn't know loyalty, but what do they know of the open arms he received in argentina when japan turned him away?

he thinks of how stress melted from him that first night after receiving his new passport, walking to your shared apartment with his stomach grumbling at the smell of choripán and alfajor as he hummed along to lamento boliviano. he thinks of how joy spilled into him, realizing he was finally home.

so he nods at your question and he draws stuttered hearts into your palms and he presses a kiss to your temple.

(thank you for seeing who i am.)

"i'm happy."

[aurorawritestoescape]

HOT FOR YOU || Joel Miller x f!reader || 530 words

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, face fucking, f!masturbation

A/n: this drabble, inspired by the pic above, is written for @toxicanonymity ‘s Manspreading Olympics. Love you, friend💖 hugs to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

same couple - HEATWAVE collection || MASTERLIST

Joel and you are enjoying a light breeze in the backyard, trying to seek relief from a heatwave, and avoiding being inside your house that turned into an oven thanks to a broken AC.

“Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you doing it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Showing off your cock?”

“No. What?” He’s blinking at you, brows furrowed with confusion.

“Then close your legs,” you nod at his shorts, not covering much because of his wide manspreading. “I can see your cock peeking out. It’s staring right at me.”

Joel looks down, shifting his thighs a little, but not closing them.

“Ain’t a big deal, baby," he scoffs. “It’s just a dick.”

“Yeah but I can’t just look at it and… not feel… you know… stuff.”

“Ohh,” a smirk is tugging at his lips, “is my naughty girl getting all hot and bothered?”

“Unfortunately, yes. As if it’s not hot enough,” you complain, trying not to look at his dusty pink head.

Joel narrows his eyes, getting quiet, and you know it’s a bad sign. He’s scheming.

“Ya ain’t innocent yourself, missy. This tank top of yours? I can perfectly see your pretty tits and perky nipples. Ya understand how hot it is to watch your boobs jiggle when you move? and what about these shorts, huh? Fuckin’ tiny. I can easily imagine you not wearin’ them at all. Actually I’m imaginin’ it right now.”

His lustful gaze makes you sweat even more. Your chest starts heaving and you gush, squirming in your seat, listening to him talk about your body like that. Your wet pussy already aches.

“Yeah? and I can see your cock twitch.”

“Oh, really?” Joel’s brows shoot up as he adds, “Can you see it get hard, baby?”

You tilt your head, noticing the motion.

“Yeah, I can.”

You cross your legs, chasing any pressure on your needy cunt, and dart your tongue out to wet your lower lip.

Joel’s eyes turn a shade darker and he palms himself.

“You’ve made me hard, dirty girl. Wanna help me out and suck my cock?”

You swallow loudly as his sexy low voice and the filthy words send a new wave of arousal through your body.

“It’s too hot, Joel,” you whine, hating how horny he’s made you in this goddamn heat.

“Right… Then let me fuck your face, baby. Just sit on your knees for me and I’ll do all the work.”

Joel’s puppy eyes make you pliant and even more needy. He rubs his cock over the shorts and a low groan escapes his lips. Now you’re overflowing with desire.

Not saying anything you get up, peeling your sweaty thighs off the chair, and kneel between his legs. His bulge is huge and you place your hand on it and stoke the warm lump gently over the fabric. Joel growls and soon impatience takes over him. He gets up, tugs the waistband of his shorts down and his hard cock springs free in all its glory.

Joel cups your cheek, holding you in place, and slowly inserts his hot tip into your open mouth.

A minute later you’re nothing but a moaning, drooling mess. Keeping you steady with his big hands on your temples, Joel’s plunging his length into the heat of your throat, sliding in and out easily, while your quick fingers are working your puffy clit and you get off, sucking Joel’s juicy cock.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!❤️

same couple - HEATWAVE collection || Masterlist

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @fruityreads

[777gojosgf]

HE JUST COMES RUNNING TO ME

777GOJOSGF IS TYPING…

777gojosgf: reader x olympic medalist!gojo satoru

IN WHICH:: gojo won gold at the olympics!

a/n: inspired by the alchemy - taylor swift

YOU STOOD ON THE STANDS, your eyes fixed on him, your heart thumping out of your chest from the intense anxiousness coursing through you. how he was feeling right now is beyond comprehension. it seemed like there was only him and the applause pressed themselves into your ears.

just like it always had been.

since the two of you were students, you have always supported his athletics by attending every game, no matter what the circumstances. there wouldn't be a competition where you wouldn't be there to support him, and what started as a frivolous game with shoko grew into having a crush on the top player and him falling head over heels for you.

so you couldn't believe it when you found yourself in Paris, wearing a league shirt with his name on it and blue bracelets around your wrists, chanting along with the crowd. though a small part of you was afraid of what we cannot say, you knew that he had enough confidence for the two of you. your thoughts were confused by an immense pride and confidence that could only have come from the devil himself.

"nah, i’d win," he murmured to you before the game after kissing your cheek, which elicited a light-hearted shake of your head. he was competing for the gold medal in basketball, and while you would support him unconditionally regardless of the outcome, something inside you knew.

so as the game started and they promptly scored in the opposing team's basket, the entire stadium celebrated, as did you next to shoko, who had joined you in the stands after ending her shift as a stand-by doctor in case of an emergency at the olympics.

"doesn’t this remind you of when we joined their games as high schoolers?" you asked, turning your gaze towards her with a sweet smile. the happiness of wonderful recollections encircling your facial expressions, and she nodded. "the start of you ogling gojo? yes, it does." she joked, and you nudged her side, before the sound of another point rang throughout the stadium, and everyone stood up to shout for him and his team once again.

as the game went on, almost coming to its end and satoru kept getting in points nonchalantly as if he wasn’t being watched by the entire world, as if he was not competing for championship.

but as the bell rang to signal the end of the game, the entire crowd got up and applauded for the champions, as did you in a haze. you hadn't believed it yet, and your cheers were so loud that you tuned it out while embracing shoko, but your sight never left him. in fact, he had been looking at you since the bell rang, having discovered you standing in the stands without your knowledge.

it also struck you how he hadn't even waited for the medals to be handed out; instead, you saw your white-haired partner rush over to you with a smug grin that couldn't scream satoru any more than it already did. fortunately, you and shoko had special VIP tickets that allowed the two of you to be as close to the court as possible. he had quickly taken you up and lifted you, causing you to squeal before kissing him so passionately that you felt electrifying sparks coursing through your veins.

satoru smiled even broader into the kiss, raising you higher and whirling the two of you around. you couldn't bring yourself to care about the sound of cameras shuttering and the flashes that were so bright that they pained your eyes when you closed them.

you could only care about him.

and this moment.

you had finally let go of the kiss but not without missing the warmth on your lips as you squealed, “you fucking won, i’m so proud of you ‘toru. so, so proud of you!” you told him with disbelief yet pride written all over you and his chuckles tuned out everyone around you, almost letting you forget that he was spinning around and kissing you on national television.

he hadn’t cared about having his own moment on camera.

nor receiving the gold medal immediately.

no, he needed you as there was nothing else that came as close to being a prize like you.

you were his prize forever and always.

"i told you i'd win, darling." he remarked before lowering you down to the ground, but not before bringing you in by your waist again, laying a kiss on your forehead and then back on your lips. the grin on your faces had never faded, and you could almost hear shoko rolling her eyes at the public display of affection, but that just added to your excitement.

“i am so proud of you—holy shit. gold! i—" you began, still stunned by his victory, and there were no words to convey how you felt; nothing could justify how much he deserved this, as did his entire squad.

“i know, baby. thank you," he laughed, and his eyes shone so brightly that you could swear it lifted the entire stadium's spirit, as it did yours. he was still holding you close, and the journalists were pressing up against the two of you, desperate to capture this moment and entice your boyfriend into an immediate interview for their articles, but he didn't pay them any attention.

the only thing he did think about was you.

"go! go claim your award they’re waiting—" you stated with widened eyes, feeling slightly sorry that he had chosen you over the moment of instantly claiming his medal, but he rolled his eyes amusingly. he relaxed his grasp on you and patted your head. "as you wish, ma'am," satoru drawled, before bending in to whisper into your ear, his breath heated and making you flush.

“but you’re the prize i’m claiming tonight.”

with that, he squeezed your waist before sprinting back to join his teammates, and the camera swiftly snapped another image of you flushed and slightly dizzy from the spinning the two of you had just gone through, but it quickly turned into a joyous giggle as you cheered on your partner.

you couldn’t believe any of it.

the greatest in the league…

and he just comes running over to you.

bonus::

“oh my god, ‘toru look at this one!” you held up your phone towards him with an edit of the two of you made and posted on tiktok, already gaining a million likes. his expression softened at the sight of you, and especially of the two of you being together and it being broadcasted worldwide.

now there were even strangers rooting for the relationship the two of you had.

he pointed to your phone, letting out a laugh before drawing you closer. "look at you being all flustered," he mocked, causing you to grumble in frustration and playfully smack his bicep, never escape the moment being shared across all media, and satoru had most definitely not lived it down.

before you could say anything, he placed your phone on the bed and drew you onto his lap. he reached over to the nightstand and placed his gold medal on you. "’toru?" you asked, perplexed as your hands stretched for the medal, fiddling with it as you met his gaze.

“ssh, sweetheart. just admiring my prize.”

©777gojosgf

[mysunshinetemptress]

Patience

Alexia putellas x equestrian!reader

Warnings:rushed shitty writing, not proofread

“Vamos!” You shout arms outstretched above your head in relief and excitement as you watch the Spanish girls dance around the pitch hugging one another and thanking their Japanese opponents, your mamí wraps her arms around you tightly pulling you into a hug “Oh, Potro, eso fue increíble” You let out a small laugh hugging her tighter “Conozco a Mamí y esto es solo el principio, VAMOS ESPAÑA”

You smile watching the team happily talk to each other about the match that has just taken place before deciding to call it a night, you had one final training session before you would have to take part in the first round of the eventing on the 27th.

Your least favourite event was dressage, you hated how meticulous it was how precise, everything had to be on point, one wrong stride and you would be falling down the table, the bid for a medal slipping further away. But dressage was like a dance, a dance where your dance partner is your horse Once fuertes, you lead and he follows in time to the music.

When it’s over and you see your name sitting in first place and you don’t seem to dislike it as much, you are happy with your dance partner, with the precision of his hooves through the sand his strides perfect, of course it is you who cause the fault only a slight one but still you have raked up 16.00 penalty points.

1.5 penalty points less than your closest opponent but it’s not enough.

“Lo siento, mamá, debería haber sido mejor” you fall into your mothers arms “Potro, it was perfect, parada being so hard on yourself, tienes razón donde necesitas ser un potro, llegarás allí, solo espera.” All you can do is let out a grunt as you push off her and turn to follow your grooming team.

You don’t get a day to relax, to process your recent accomplishments instead your sitting on Once fuertes in a forest in Versailles getting ready to take part in the cross country trail for both Spain and yourself just like yesterday.

Only today is not a dance, today is a race against a nine point two minute clock and twenty eight fences/obstacles in the way. Once fuertes is big at 17.5 hands these obstacles will be nothing for him the time trial a minuscule thought for such a long strided horse like him, but it’s up to you to get him there.

You do so perfectly, you trust in him to leap over every obstacle and land ready to race towards the next and he does it without hesitation yet you don’t stop talking to him pushing him forward edging him to go faster to jump higher and it pays off. You hold your lead. You’re still number one, still in position for gold. Your first gold.

Your happier this time around, your mother can tell just from the way your hunched over Once talking to him happily “ Oh, mi chico, eres increíble, eres perfecto, podríamos hacer esto, yo y tú, once, yo y podrías ganarlo todo, oh, ese es mi sueño para ti y para mí.” Your mother pats Once happily “Bien hecho once, gracias por cuidar de mi potro” you beam down at your mother before swinging your leg over and jumping down from the thoroughbred laughing happily as your mamí pulls you in for another bone crushing hug “Dios mío, mamá I think we might actually have a chance, we might actually place on the podium me and Spain, me and Once.” Tears spring to your mothers eyes, happy tears at your growing excitement, at your accomplishments so far “I don’t think you’ll just place Potro, you will win it all, you and España and Once, you will win the gold.” You shake your head not wanting to get your hopes up just yet “Paciencia, es todo lo que tengo en este deporte.” Your mother squeezed your arms before letting you stand back as you got ready to follow your groomers again “you sound just like your Papá.”

It’s not over, far from it, you still have the eventing show jumping tomorrow, the team final and the individual qualifiers but tonight you can relax, tonight you get to watch La Rojas face off against Nigeria, tonight you get to focus back on a different race for a podium and your happy to get to switch off even just for an hour.

You sit happily in the Olympic village with your team around a table as you watch the girls battle it out, fighting for a point that never seems to come. “Uhh, no van a anotar, quiero decir, vamos, quedan diez minutos.” Your teammate Carlos shakes his head, you simply smile and shake your head “Paciencia Carlos, they will strike when they are good and ready. She will strike when she is good and ready.” The team laugh at your faith in the Spanish girls, your faith in your favourite player La Reina herself, but it is you who is laughing five minutes later when Alexia scores the only goal of the match ���Mira, te lo dije, when she is good and ready.”

You look out at the castle the next morning getting ready to walk the course with your teammates insuring you know your route, your strides, when to push Once on more with your leg and when to let off, to losen the reins, this is it, you could win your first gold medal today with Spain, your first gold medal as an individual, you just have to be patient.

You must qualify in the top twenty five to reach the individual qualifiers, you must be in the top twenty five to win, you have to jump a clear round all while staying within the eighty second time period. Once has to stay calm, so you have to stay calm, Once must keep his strides precise, he can’t over stretch, he might knock a pole if he does, he might knock more than one and the penalties you have been working so hard to keep down could wrack up suddenly, but again your against the clock a time trial, you have to do this fast, he has to do this fast, you both have to do this fast and clean together, it’s the only way you will keep your spot.

And you do. You jump last for Spain, you jump clear for Spain, for your self, to qualify for the individual medal, not a single pole rocked within the cups and you stayed five seconds under the time limit, for Spain, for you and Once, you were perfect, he was perfect, now it’s a waiting game as the last five jumpers get ready to try and knock Spain off the gold position.

None of your other teammates scores are as perfect as yours but they aren’t the worst, not even middle, they are comfortably in the top twenty and so you stand in the stands to watch the final rider with bated breath.

Great Britain sit second, France sit third and with Tom McEwans for Great Britain four faults in his round he seals the deal on all three podium spots, you have done it, you’ve won a gold medal, Spain have won a gold medal, Once has won you both a gold medal and now you have to refocus to win your individual one.

Your jumping last out of the twenty five riders, you sit in first and you can’t do anything except watch how the riders ahead of you take this new course, their turns, their leg sheathed it’s on or off, how their horses react, you watch the screen as the names move up and down below the top four, the top four, four faults sit between you all, four faults is all it will take for you to drop off the podium altogether, for this to be all for nothing and as your time comes closer it seems to be the only thing swimming around your head.

But it clears, it clears as you swing your leg over Once and as your mamí squeezes your leg before turning to the thoroughbred “Enciérdala por mí, cuida a mi pequeño potro.”

Sixty seconds till your gold medal, sixty seconds till you hold a gold medal, till you and Once become Olympic champions sixty seconds and a clear round.

You don’t remember the course, you don’t remember starting the course, but the roar as Once touches the ground on the far side of the final fence, clear, two seconds under the time giving, clear, clear, he jumped clear, you jumped clear both of you together jumped clear, your an Olympic champion, Once is an Olympic champion, Spain are Olympic champions and all you can do is look towards the sky and shout.

You arrive back to the village beaming, two gold medals around your neck, a team and an individual, you won’t have time to celebrate it, not yet, the games aren’t over but for now you beam and let out quite thanks you’d as athletes pass you in the village congratulating you as they pass.

You freeze as a certain athlete stands in front of you “Guau, hace tres días y ya tienes dos medallas de oro, debes ser bueno.” Your frozen unable speak, unable to think, unable to breath. She’s gorgeous, she’s breathtaking and she’s standing right in front of you. “No, No not really.” She smiles holding out her hand to you “I’m Alexia.” You look at her hand before taking it gently, scared your hand might pass through hers “I-I am Y/n.” Alexia beams happily holding your hand for far longer than she expected but she thinks you’re gorgeous, that you’re breathtaking and so she doesn’t mind “I was going to get a go coffee, would you like to join me.” You nod before finding your words “Sí, me encantaría.”

You let out a laugh as Alexia tells you of her younger sister Alba stating that the only role she wanted in the Olympics was that of a WAG or singing in the opening ceremony.

You sit happily listening to her talk about her family, talks about them like you have known her and them forever, you want to ask about her father but decide that if she isn’t happy mentioning him to you, a complete stranger she met mere hours ago then you weren’t going to ask.

“I am here for Fútbol.” You nodded “Sí, I-I am a fan.” Alexia doesn’t react like you thought she would, her smile seems to grow “a fan, of Spain?, of Barcelona?, of me?.” You laugh “De todos ustedes, de España, de Barcelona de ustedes, la Reina- I have been in love with fútbol my entire life, I have been a culers my entire life, and I have been a fan of you since you started playing.” Alexia lets out a sigh, a content sigh. “That is good, because I don’t think I could give my phone number to a Real Madrid supporter.” You laugh again this time sliding your phone over to the older girl.

Alexia watch’s you as she types in her number, adding emojis to her name. “So you never told me what sport you’re so great at that you won both of your medals for.” You blush as the conversation turns to you, you were quite content listening to Alexia talk and now she had switched to you. “Ecuestre, this one is from the team eventing so Yo y otros tres ciclistas ganamos este.” You hold out your team gold medal for Alexia to inspect “Y entonces this one is my individual medal, but really I couldn’t have done it without Once.” You hold out your individual medal as Alexia’s eyebrows raise “what is your horses name.” You smile “Once fuertes” Alexia nods approving “eleven is a strong number alright.” You let out a giggle taking back your medals “so what does Once get.” You go to take your phone out to show her pictures of the thoroughbred “he gets a rosette, and carrots, lots of carrots.” Alexia let’s out a small oh “well that’s not fair.” You pause as you go to hand over your phone “what do you mean.” Alexia shrugs “well your job is easy, the horse does all the work, so shouldn’t he get a better prize.” You feel your face heat up and turn bright red from embarrassment, as you smile sheepishly putting your phone back in your pocket, you push your chair to get up from the table and Alexia can tell she’s said the wrong thing “Y/n.” You ignore her as you stand “Good luck for the rest of the games.” You leave immediately as Alexia shakes her head “Joder.”

Alexia tried texting you but your not answering and so she decides to see if you have any social media, with a quick google of your name Alexia feels her guilt increase ten fold “Y/n Ferré Balagueró dedicates her Olympic wins to her father.” “MIERDA”

[onsomenewsht]

I just wanna feel something, tell me where to go

About when she wants to win gold and you talk too much but don’t answer her questions

《 read part 2, 'cause everybody knows something I don't wanna know

》 Alexia Putellas x fencer!Reader

》 words count: + 1.7k

》 the mountain’s call [way of saying]: the irresistible pull or urge to pursue a challenging goal or adventure

“You look like someone who needs to see the best place in the entire Village”

Alexia looks up from the pass’ lanyard she’s fidgeting with, finding your open smile even before spotting your outstretched hand. Her eyebrow rises on its own accord, always sceptical around strangers.

The Olympic Village is big enough to welcome the egos of some of the best athletes in the world, but not big enough to avoid their clashing. It’s actually encouraged.

Within a certain limit, obviously.

The footballer sees you in passing almost every day, given that the Spanish Team rooms are basically neighbours with the Italian Team ones. Your outgoing attitude and friendly nature make you pretty popular around the village. The fact you’re easy on the eyes and quite the talk among the players isn’t lost on Alexia either – she likes good gossip like anybody else.

“Come on, Reina, don’t let me stand here like an idiot”, your teasing words take her back from her overthinking one more time.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere celebrating that?”, she points to the medal hanging around your neck.

A genuine smile rises on both your faces as you mindlessly hold the piece of gold to look at it one more time, feeling like this is some kind of dream.

Your gaze falls on Alexia, still sitting in a corner of a communal break room when her teammates are cheering all around for one more victory in their Olympic journey.

“I’m gonna celebrate for the next four years, I can spare some time for you”

“Congratulations, by the way, I heard it’s not the first one”, she takes your hand as you burst out laughing, helping her on her feet.

You may have hosted the closest thing to a party you can do in the Village when, just earlier this week, you won your first gold medal.

It’s not your first Olympics, it’s not even your first Olympic medal. But finally being a gold medalist? An Olympic Champion? You sure could not let it pass over in silence.

The short walk is filled with small talks and giggles, you do most of the talking but Alexia’s grin stays firmly on her face the entire time. You notice her rosy cheeks and more relaxed stance, holding yourself high with pride to finally see the blonde so carefree around you.

“How did you even find this place?”

The night lights of Paris really turn the city into some sort of fantastic dream, the view is easily able to take the breath away from the little balcony you open for her. You’re on top of the biggest complex in the Village, the usual chaos that fills the French capital is somehow just background noise.

“Fencing is an ancient discipline”, you start, barely avoiding Alexia’s playful hit on your arm at your documentary-like approach.

“Jokes aside, the Italian school basically created fencing, but then the French school redefined the system to what it’s like today and they will not shut up about it. It’s a long lasting rivalry between two countries that, sportwise, hate each other”

“Everyone hates the French, sportwise”, the Spain captain agrees, mimicking your move as you sit on the floor of the balcony.

“Fencing into the Grand Palais in fucking Paris is like playing every single game as a World Cup final against the host country in a stadium filled with their fans and colours”

“Dramatic”

“Of course! You’re putting Italian and French people in the same place, asking them to fight with swords, literally. It’s gonna be dramatic”, you let your gaze wander around as the blonde’s one tries to find something inside you.

Alexia waits for you, understanding just now how your cheerful and playful behaviour hides something more complex.

She has turned on your Team Final on her way back from the stadium, curious about it – about you – after the little party you put on for the entire Village following your Individual Final victory.

She got nothing about what was happening, not understanding how some hits were good and others were given away or not counted. She prides herself on being able to recognise good athleticism and quick leg ability though. The way you move on the piste, quickly but precisely in every single gesture, is mesmerising. The way your mind acts even faster than your body is even more captivating.

What surprised her the most is the way you hold back.

While your opponents celebrate any conceded hits and your teammates celebrate loudly all the successful points, you stay stoic and firm the entire time.

It’s something she doesn’t expected from you, usually so excited about everything.

That’s probably one of the reasons that brings her here with you in the first place.

“You don’t look dramatic when you fence”

“Oh, you watched me?”

“It was the bare minimum after your detailed commentary after our last game”

“I’m Italian, I’m a football fan from birth”, you say, rolling your eyes humorously, not ready to reveal that the Spanish team is the only one you care about keeping up with during this Olympic tournament.

Alexia Putellas just admitted she turned on your Final to see you win a gold medal.

“Wait, let’s just go back to you watching me fence”

She smile at your weak attempt to avoid her question, genuinely amused about you but pretty sure you’re gonna tell her everything she asks – eventually.

A comfortable silence between the two of you fills the air for some minutes, somehow guiding your bodies closer.

“How did you find this place?”, the Catalan winks when you turn to look at her.

“I hate fencing with the French”, you start to explain after a bit with a serious note underneath your voice, “I lost my last Olympic Individual Final against a reckless fencer with the most annoying Parisian accent ever”

Another moment passes, Alexia doesn’t pressure you but can feel you relax when she places her hand on your knee.

“Last time I was in Paris, I injured myself. I was out for nine months and lost two major tournaments. This Olympics being hosted here as I was supposed to redeem myself and prove to be good enough at the same time? Really took a turn on me at first”, you avoid her gaze as you sum up one of your biggest fears to a stranger on a balcony viewing Paris’ landscape.

“I needed a place to escape without running away”

“And here we are, facing Paris from a hiding spot”

How the footballer manages to understand you so well in such a short amount of time, in such an unusual setting, is really something that surprises you. Your eyes meet and you can distinctly feel your heart skip a bit.

“I befriended a handyman, this floor is for staff only as some sort of control room”

“This explains the private balcony”

“I should have started with this and not the unasked story of my life”

You can still feel Alexia’s hand on you, mindlessly caressing your leg as you try not to implode and hide the redness of your face. She smirks.

“We’ll play France in the semifinal”, she says with a hint of disbelief and irony.

“Fuck the French”, you state solemnly, “It’s basically a wanna-be repeat of the Champions League’s final, you’re going to be fine”

“If you just jinxed it–”

“I did not, I know an Olympic Champion when I see one”

The burst of confidence and the firmness in your voice, despite the easy way you’re both talking about Spain’s next game, are enough to subside the noises inside Alexia’s head – your voice is a good distraction and your presence is a welcoming discovery.

“How is it?”

“What?”

The blonde’s finger points at the piece of gold still hanging on your neck, you’re just glad it’s her other hand as you look back and forth between her and the medal.

“You won enough to know how it is”

“It’s my first Olympics”

“In Italian there’s a word, I don’t know if you have the same difference in Spanish. It’s olimpionico and it’s not like olimpico – olympic”

“You never go for the straight answer, do you?”, she interrupts you with a teasing smile.

“No, never done anything the straight way my entire life, now let me go on with my wise and deep talk”, you graciously – and quite bravely on your part, if you must say so yourself – drop your arm around her shoulder, releasing a breath as she smoothly adjusts her body closer.

“Olimpionico is formed from the Greek ᾿Ολύμπια, which means ‘competitions of Olympia’ so our Olympic Games, and the root of νικάω, that I don’t know to explain how but can be translated with ‘victory’ or ‘winner’ and you have to trust me on this one”, you’ve never been happier with your strict education and the Italian questionable school system.

“I’m still waiting for the point”

“I mean to say we have a specific word for an Olympic athlete who doesn’t just compete in the Olympic Games but actually wins”

“You won enough Olympic medals to know how it is”

“The last time we won bronze as a team and I lost the gold against the obnoxious Frenchwoman, Alexia, keep up”, you’re perfectly aware of her hand on your thigh and her eyes burning on your face – she definitely noticed your red cheeks and the cracks on your walls.

“It’s my first Individual gold and this is my first Team gold, it’s– I don’t know how to explain, but it’s–”

“It’s olimpionico?”, she indulges you, her accent around the Italian word is way more charming than the French one.

“You get it”

“Olympic Champion sounds so uncool now”

As the night turns into a darker shade of black and the Paris lights really do the city’s name justice, you feel like there’s something profound linking you with the athlete curled on your side.

It’s a shared desire to prove yourself to everyone, while wanting to make just a few close people proud. It’s a shared hunger to be the best among some of the greatest, but to make sure the ones around you shine as much.

It’s a shared feeling, deep inside, telling you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

[pitchsidestories]

golden girl II Alexia Putellas x Jenni Hermoso x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1732

a/n: as always this is just fiction, your feedback is always welcome. We saw that other people recently wrote fics with a similar topic and just wanted to clarify that we had the idea while writing one night in ibiza, so all similarities are purely coincidental.❤️

You watched from behind the camera as Alexia carried a football and set herself up to take a free kick. The ball spun through the air and landed perfectly in the top right corner of the goal.

You beamed.

This would make a nice video for the Spanish national teams social media sites.

As Alexia proudly turned towards the camera, her eyes met yours for a brief moment. She smiled, suddenly all flustered.

You held back a laugh to not ruin the video. Only once the recording stopped, you said: “Well done, babe!“

Alexias smile grew wider and you could have sworn the she even blushed.

“Ew!“, Jenni commented from somewhere behind you.

You turned to see her grimace in mock disgust.

Alexia barely glanced at her: “Shut it, Jenni.“

“No.“, the dark-haired player replied quickly and determinedly, similar to a stubborn child.

“Ignore her.“, you laughed as Alexia walked towards you and pulled you in by the waist for a kiss. Her gaze was still directed towards Jenni.

“Stop making out.“, she said and wrinkled her nose, repulsed by the showcase of affection.

Alexia only smirked at her: “I’m sorry but this point goes to me.“

“Whatever.“, Jenni rolled her eyes.

You were well acquainted with their bickering. They were both so ambitious, even when it came to you they always tried to one-up each other. This could go on forever if you didn’t put an end to it.

“Sorry, girl. But I’m not a trophy to be won.“, you said calmly and walked away without looking at them again.

Still, you could feel their eyes lingering as you walked towards the other players.

“Oh, little Miss Independent is back.“, Jenni teased, slight annoyance vibrating in her voice.

Alexia raised her eyebrows: “Also that was a lie, she clearly loves it.“

“Of course she does.“

“Just look at her.“, the Barcelona captain said, nodding in the direction where you were talking with Laia and Ona.

Another smile played on Jennis lips: “I love it when she’s acting all innocent.“

“Walking around, giving hugs to everyone. Oh, that Ona hug was extra long.“, Alexia commented your actions.

“She knows this doesn’t work, right?“

Behind all of the jokes and teasing however, was the slight sting of jealousy.

You didn’t notice the two player approaching you, you were too focused on your conversation with Ona.

“Oh my god, really, Oni?“, you laughed.

The defender went quiet: “Yes, uhm…“

“We definitely need to go on a walk with our dogs after the Olympics.“, you continued happily.

“We do.“

“Sweet.“, Alexia said cooly.

“Huh?“ You turned towards her, one eyebrow raised in expectation of a good excuse for interrupting your talk.

Jenni just smirked: “Quit flirting with Ona, you already have our attention.“

“I wasn’t flirting with her, we’re just good friends.”, you corrected her annoyed.

 “Quit rolling your eyes.”, the raven-haired woman demanded grinning.

“You know exactly what you did.”, Alexia shook her head amused.

“No.”, you answered innocently.

“See? She’s playing blameless again.”, Jenni sighed.

With a devilish grin, the blonde midfielder hugged you from behind, whispering into your ear. “You’ll confess everything tonight.” Her words send a shiver down your spine.

“Tonight?”, you repeated quietly.

“Yes.”, she affirmed.

“But we’ve our first Olympic game tomorrow!”, you protested.

“Don’t worry about it.”, the older forward assured you, while driving her hand through her dark open hair nonchalantly. The urge to touch her like she did in that moment was almost overwhelming, but you hold yourself back.

“And the beds are really small.”, you thought out loud.

“We can make a big one out of the three.”, Alexia suggested rationally.

“Easy.”, Jenni nodded enthusiastically.

“I guess we could do that.”, you admitted.

“Leave that to us, y/n.”, the oldest winked at you.

“I’ll let you do it.” A staff member called your name, reminding you that you had to do an interview for national television. To your girlfriends you explained. “Shit, I got to go, media duties.”

“Have fun.”, Alexia responded before turning her head to face the dark-haired forward.

“Great, that gives us enough time for the project bed.”, Jenni clapped excitedly into her hands. The enthusiasm reminded her of a child when it was about to open it’s present.

“Let’s go.”, the blonde told the woman who played in Mexico now.

The small cardboard beds were quickly put next to each other to form a bigger one, ready to hold the three of you.

“I think we’re ready only y/n is missing.”, Jenni announced delighted. The level of anticipation has been rising to the next level, the warmth and the near Mediterranean Sea added to it and the sun was about to set painting the sky in the prettiest colours.

“I’ll go see where she’s.”, Alexia decided, the taller woman following her immediately, in the hallway their hands were almost touching.  

Meanwhile, you were too focused on answering the questions of the journalist to realize that your girlfriends turned up behind your back.

“Oh, I can’t wait for the tournament to start, it’s so special as it’s the first time for our team to play at the Olympics.”, you raved, beaming with pride.

“Why’s she smiling like that? Y/n’s genuinely excited, huh?”, Jenni asked the blonde surprised.

“She’s.”, Alexia agreed.

“I could watch her do interviews forever.”, she declared swooning over you. Her green eyes admiring your sight, the gestures you made while talking about something you clearly loved and were passionate about.

“With whom I’d like to do a jersey swap? Definitely Marta, she’s such a big inspiration and everything she did for the women’s game is incredible. The only problem here is that Ona and Alexia want hers too, so we’ll see who gets it in the end.”, you laughed light-heartedly.

“Of course she would say that.”, Alexia scoffed.

Jenni watched on as you answered more questions: “Those young girls are such media pros.“

“I think she’s finally done.“, Alexia said, seemingly relieved that you were unable to embarrass her anymore.

You politely said goodbye to the interviewer and got up up.

“Hey! Y/n!“, Jenni called.

You heaved a sigh and gave her a death stare: “Jennifer, you don’t need to shout when we’re in the same room!“

The dark-haired player shrugged: “Wasn’t sure you saw us.“

“I’d always see you two, even in a crowded room.“, you replied, shaking your head.

“Don’t flatter us.“, Alexia said with a half-smile.

Confusion flashed across your face: “No, I mean you two, Misa and Irene are usually the tallest in every room.“

Alexias face dropped: “Seriously? I thought you were trying to be cute!“

Before you could say anything about how ridiculous that assumption was, Jenni clapped her hands: “Anyways, it’s time to take this to bed.“

You cocked your head teasingly: “Oh, is it?“

“Yes, it is.“, Alexia agreed with her teammate.

“Let’s go then.“, you shrugged.

“About time.“

“We did our waiting!“, Jenni complained and scooped you up into her arms.

You shrieked as she carried you off towards her bedroom. “Jenni, put me down!“

Alexia followed behind, closing her eyes for a second like she was fighting a headache: “Children.“

“Ale, help!“, you begged but the Barcelona captain barely gave you any attention.

“No.“

Jenni threw you down on the bed they prepared earlier: “Finally!“

“Finally?“, you echoed. The bed wobbled as she laid down beside you.

“Yes.“

“Are we sure this is stable enough to hold us three?“, you worried as Alexia climbed on your other side.

You suddenly remembered why the beds at the Olympic village were made out of cardboard. It was supposedly to prevent athletes from having sex and this might have worked for some. But apparently whoever came up with this had never met Jenni and Alexia.

“Don’t worry about it, darling.“, Jenni said while brushing a strand of hair out of your face. As she leaned over, the cardboard made the typical noise of being crushed.

You yelled in surprise: “Jenni!“

“Careful!“, Alexia laughed, trying to grab Jennis arm. Her movement made the whole bed collapse in a pile of mattresses and flat cardboard.

“Oh my god.“, you breathed out once the initial shock wore off.

“We broke the bed.“, Alexia commented unhelpfully.

“Just great, you two geniuses.“ You tried to sound mad but the ridiculousness of the situation made you grin.

Jenni instead was extremely amused by this: “I’m sure this will bring us luck.“

“Since when do broken beads do that?“, Alexia frowned at her.

“You can trust me.“, she kept smiling.

“I sure hope you’re right.”, you remarked.

“Me too.”, the Blonde stared at the forward.

“Just believe me girl.”, Jenni answered with a smug smile on her lips.

“And where are we supposed to sleep now.”, Alexia questioned while nodding to the destroyed beds.

“We still have our mattresses. Can’t be more uncomfortable than the beds.”, the older woman proposed.

“Good point.”, you said while the three of you lay down on those, you in the middle.

“I guess that’s my life as a professional athlete now.”, the midfielder hid her face behind her hands.

“You two are such pillow princesses.”, Jenni commented.

“Coming from the real pillow princess here.”, you countered, elbowing her softly.

“Lies.”, the dark-haired woman clicked her tongue.

“Truth.”, you disagreed smiling.

“Shut up.”, Jenni requested.

“Make me.”, you responded, sticking your tongue out for a second.

“Don’t worry, amor. I will.”, she hummed, pinning your arms downs, so you were unable to move, while her eyes wandered from your face to your breasts, under her gaze your cheeks turned hot.

“Go on.”, you muttered, you didn’t want to wait any longer.

With that intention Jenni got down on you to give you a feverish kiss. Taking her time to devour this one.

“Ah silence.”, Alexia sighed happily beneath you.

“Way better, right?”, Jenni looked up.

“Definitely.”, the midfielder noted, kissing both of you before her eyes were closing, sleep was calling her name.

“Is she asleep already?”, you questioned.

“Yes, good night my golden girls.”, the oldest woman chirmed.

“Golden girls?!”, you repeated.

“Quiet.” The demand coming from Alexia.

You apologized with a kiss to your cheek.

It was time to sleep, tomorrow was a big day, you were about to play your country’s first Olympic women’s football game, you three and your team were about to write history. Or should you rather say herstory.

[theangelshare]

I’m sorry but this is so fic coded.

From Reuters: Steve Tomasin of the U.S. and Rodrigo Isgro of Argentina swap shorts after their Rugby Sevens match at the #Paris2024 Olympics in Saint-Denis, France, July 27, 2024.

[artdcnaldson]

need Olympics!au reader to be a little insane. a little bonkers. bouncing on arts cock and asking him to say things like he loves you and how you're the best hes ever had and that hes going to leave tashi, always when hes about to cum so he doesn't have time to think about it - just says whatever if it means you'll let him cum inside. not knowing you're taking it all to heart in your delusional little head. smiling when you nuzzle into his chest and play with his cum, pushing it back in your pussy, thinking about how art is loyal - he just needs a little push - and then he'll be yours, surely.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Toxic!Reader, infidelity, SMUT, Tashi catches strays but that’s only bc reader is respectfully insane <3

A/N: okay this was supposed to be a lot shorter but it ended up getting long so if anyone wants more of this AU lmk and I’ll keep going. Okayyyy thank you bye <3

If he was really devoted to his marriage, he wouldn’t be fucking you. A loyal husband wouldn’t have been seeking out a younger woman, wouldn’t have been seeking out you.

You figured that Rio had been your shot— you’d fucked him, planted the seed of infidelity there. You had freed him— you gave him a back door to escape out of.

If nothing else, you gave yourself a fantasy to touch yourself to for the rest of your fucking life. That was something.

Two weeks after Rio, you saw a message from Art in your Instagram DMs. Somewhere safe, hidden from his wife’s prying eyes, you supposed. Even if she saw it, you didn’t really care. Maybe it’d start a fight, send him careening heartbroken into your bed, into your arms.

Can I see you again?

You opened it, left it on read for a couple of hours to make him sweat. When you responded, you played at regret. We shouldn’t see each other… you’re married.

Art was quick to respond. Please?

You smiled. It was just so easy that he had to have wanted out of the marriage. You were just the first one to throw him a rope.

Your home was modest compared to what he shared with his wife, but you figured being in your early twenties and being able to buy a home with cash was impressive on its own. He parked in your garage, had you pinned against the wall the second he crossed the threshold into your home.

Each kiss was hungry, desperate. Tongue licking into your mouth, moaning as he ground his already hard cock against your clothed cunt. I mean, Jesus, you were wearing tiny little shorts, a big Team USA tee shirt. When his hands slipped beneath it, you gasped and arched into his touch. No bra beneath it— nothing between his large hands and your tits.

Every nerve in your body was thrumming, begging for you to reach out and take. His lips never parted from yours as you led him deeper inside your house, kissing you hungrily, like he wouldn’t mind if you just stopped and let him fuck you on the floor.

Someday. You’d like to see him that desperate, that animalistic. But that wasn’t what you needed them, so you just pushed him down onto your couch. The hardwood dug against your knees as you settled between his thighs. He was so hard that you could see the imprint of him against his jeans— long and thick and mouthwatering.

You licked your lips, rubbed him through the thick fabric. He hissed at that first contact and looked down at you with half-lidded eyes.

He could hardly let himself look at you as you pulled his pants down, peeled them off and tossed them to the side. Wet, soft kisses peppered up his thighs as you brought yourself closer and closer to what you really wanted. You nudged his thighs apart, pulse thrumming at the sight of him laid out before you like a feast.

Your hand looked so small wrapped around him, pumping him slowly. His cock twitched in your grip as you spit onto it so each pass of your hand was slick and smooth. He swallowed hard, already panting.

His balls rested between his thighs— full and heavy, carrying loads you needed him to spill inside of your cunt. Your lips met the soft pink flesh and he fucking whined, a broken, needy sort of sound that made heat bloom in your stomach.

You peered up at him as you placed open mouthed kisses to his sack, continuing to pump his length in your hand. You took one of his balls into your mouth and laved it with your tongue, moaning around him. His fingers scratched against the leather of your couch, seeking some sort of grip to tether him, so you took one of his hands and moved it to your hair.

And, really, you could have spent all day between his legs with his balls in your mouth, feeling them pulse on your tongue as you sucked each between your lips. His balls felt so full, so heavy against your tongue. It made you wonder how often Tashi drained them for him— if she took care of him the way you would.

You kissed up his shaft, kitten-licked the head of his cock, sighing contentedly at the salty taste of precum. He moaned, bucking into your grip, towards the wet heat of your mouth.

The fingers he had tangled in your hair tightened as you took him into your mouth. You fought your gag reflex as you relaxed your throat, took him deeper until your nose pressed against the soft skin just above the base of his cock.

It was cute that he was hairless everywhere, all soft and smooth, but you wondered what he’d look like hairier. Maybe you could convince him to ease up on the grooming, just so you could see if you liked it. You moaned just thinking about that tiny bit of control over him as you ground down against your heel for friction.

His hand guided your movements as you began bobbing your head, almost reverent. Almost loving. You gave a contented hum as you looked up at him, meeting his gaze as you swallowed him down to the base again and again and again.

When you finally came up for air after god knows how long, your lips were slick with spit. His cock was shiny from how you drooled on it, messy with spit bubbles around the base. He rubbed his thumb along your jaw, holding your face in his hand.

“God, you’re something else,” He sighed, a pleased smile playing at his lips.

You tilted your head to the side, leaning into the warmth and comfort of his touch. Your eyes fluttered shut, a seraphic smile played at your lips. “Does your wife suck your cock as good as I do?” You asked, almost sweetly.

He took a shaky breath, and you could see the hesitation, the loyalty, the devotion in him fighting against what he really wanted. He wanted you— your perfect mouth, your tight pussy, your willingness to give him anything he wanted, anything Tashi wouldn’t let him have.

“Bend over the sofa,” he said suddenly. You didn’t argue— you accepted the redirection easily, because you knew what he was avoiding. He didn’t want to admit the truth. He tugged your shorts and panties around your ankles, exposing your wet, sticky cunt.

He manhandled you, rough and punishing, like he wanted to work out his guilt inside of your cunt. You were dripping down your thighs, onto the leather beneath your hips. Fuck it, you’d buy a new couch.

“Fuck me,” you gasped, reaching back to claw at his arm, to leave pretty nail marks, to stake your claim. He pushed your head down into the cushions, bullied his fat cock into you again and again and again.

His thumb circled your asshole like he wanted to test the waters. A soft moan escaped you, you pushed back against him as an invitation to keep going. He spat down onto your hole before he pressed his thumb inside, just past the tight ring of muscle. Your toes curled, your eyes rolled back— you were fucking game.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. His pace was punishing, brutal. From the angle you could’ve sworn you felt him punching at your fucking diaphragm, knocking out your breaths in weak, whiny pants. “You were fucking made to take this dick, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. You were. You were you were you were. “Tell me—“ you cried out at a particularly deep thrust, eyes fluttering, rolling back. He continued to tease your ass with his thumb, pushing in, letting you feel full just to pull it out and leave you empty again. “Tell me I— oh, god— that I feel better than her.”

The couch scraped against the floor as he fucked into you, rough and relentless. His thumb pressed even deeper and you fucking keened. “Will that make you happy?” He repositioned your hips, made room to slide a hand beneath you and rub fast on your clit. “Even if I can’t mean it?”

Can’t, not don’t. You fucking sobbed at the sensation and nodded desperately as he played with your body like a toy. “So happy,” you practically babbled, panting onto the leather. Because he did mean it. You knew it, that he was there, bullying his cock into your right pussy instead of at home, for a reason. “Just tell me.”

A beat. Then another. He bent over you, so his chest pressed against your back, so he was crushing you beneath his weight. “You feel so much fucking better,” he said, practically panting in your ear as he fucked you. He was so deep that you felt whole, wished he would just stay there forever. “You’re tighter, and wetter— god— your pussy’s so, so, sweet, it’s fucking soaking me right now.”

You came when he said it, eyes rolling back, practically drooling onto the couch. Your cunt squeezed him, gushing as he bullied his cock inside your spasming walls. He made a weak noise in the back of his throat, like he knew you got off on him praising you and he fucking liked it.

“Are you gonna let me cum inside?” His voice sounded strained with thinly held restraint.

You nodded, whimpered weakly with the intense need for it. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” The words fell pathetically from your lips, over an over as he drilled into your sensitive cunt.

He came buried deep inside of you, so you felt the pulse of him, the flood of warmth. You whined as he pulled out and grabbed his clothes off the floor.

“You’re just leaving?” You asked with a frown, with big fat crocodile tears in your eyes as you stood up and pulled your clothes back up.

“Tashi thinks I’m visiting a friend from Stanford,” he said, looking at you with guilt plain on his face. For what he had done to you, or what he had done to her? You couldn’t even tell. It made annoyance sit hot in your stomach. “I can’t stay.”

“I thought…” you swallowed, played up your disappointment. “I thought you’d stay, maybe we could watch a movie, or order takeout. Did you… did you only come here to fuck me?”

He swallowed, looked at the floor. “I didn’t… it’s not that.” His gaze softened and he stepped closer, putting his hands on your shoulders. Touching you almost clinically until you blinked pretty, pathetic tears from your eyes. He pulled you into his arms, and you felt a thrill of victory.

His lips pressed against the crown of your head and you pulled back, peering up at him with glossy eyes. He sighed, let a soft smile spread across his lips. “Takeout sounds great.”

You smiled wide, stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his cheek. “Yeah? Okay, just get comfy and I’ll order something for us.”

Art looked right at home in your living room, flipping through your TV for something to watch. You rejoined him on the couch, curled up sweetly against his side. It felt so right; the two of you happy and content and freshly fucked.

You tangled your fingers with his, gave his hand a small squeeze. He smiled over at you, kissed your forehead sweetly.

“Will you kiss me?” You asked softly, meeting his gaze. “Please?”

He leaned in, pressed his lips to yours softly, tenderly. You smiled into the kiss, keeping it sweet and chaste before you pulled back and squeezed his hand.

Yeah, you got your takeout and a movie. It was the least he could do.

@poppy-metal your mind is so amazing <3 I’m going to write the rest of this request also I prommy it’s just too good.

[b14augrana]

Scrubber

The aftermath of a Champions League final masterclass

Barça Femení x teen!reader

pt. 4 masterlist

Warnings: cuteness 💝💝💝 you guys know the status on that proofreading.

A/N: i was going to use catalan translation for majority of the spanish dialogue but the translator was not cooperating which sucks 🫤 sighhhh

i hope y’all missed her because the mighty brick wall of barcelona is back and better 💪🏼

our estrella, buenaza, spain minister of defense, pequeñita, nenita, bebita, chiquita, whatever you wanna call her, shes the team’s pride and joy 😚

Everyone was talking about the final for weeks. When you got back to Barcelona, it was like the entirety of Cataluña had watched it.

Even while you were walking with Irene to Mapi’s apartment, you got stopped on the street multiple times by Barcelona natives, praising your defensive performance. You thanked them of course, but you were still not used to the attention. If you weren’t used to this, you couldn’t imagine how Aitana felt.

“Will it always be like this?” you asked Irene, and she put an arm around your shoulder as you two walked. “Sí, but you’ll get used to it,” she replied.

The club had given the players a day to recover from the plane ride and relax before you started to celebrate the win. You and Irene slept over at Mapi’s apartment and then you all went back to the club facilities together to board the bus.

While you were in Bilbao doing the lap and talking to fans, you got handed a huge Boixos Nois flag, which you took without hesitation. It was surprisingly easy to get it onto the plane and when you landed in Barcelona, you stashed it (along with a few other things) in the locker room. That’s what you so urgently needed to grab when you ran into the facility, almost missing the bus as you ran back to it with the flag beneath your arm and your waistband loaded with other festive accessories... plus the scarf tied around your head.

"Buenaza, you have enough stuff?" Mapi asked, laughing at the flag and bulkiness beneath your shirt.

"Yeah, I think. Is it not enough?" you replied, and Mapi shook her head. "Don't worry, it's enough."

The bus jolted forward as it started to move, almost making you fall over. "(Y/N)!" Aitana said, beckoning you over to her.

You loved Aitana. At first, you were a little bit intimidated by her because of how incredible she is as a player. Normally when someone is that good, there is some sort of unspoken skill hierarchy that you feel separates you two, but Aitana was different. She wasn't like a mum to you — that role belonged to Fridolina — but instead she was like a big sister. Everyone on the team was like your big sister though. Aitana just happened to be one of your favourites.

"Sit down," she urged you, basically pulling you onto the spot beside her. She too had a scarf tied around her head, which you pointed out and said, "We're matching!"

"What's under your shirt?" Aitana asked, pointing at the lumps. "Oh, just some stuff. You can have a few if you want," you replied, lifting your shirt slightly to reveal the rather large blaugrana-coloured party poppers and streamers shoved into the waistband of your pants.

Aitana laughed and took a couple party poppers and a roll of streamers, "Gracías!"

You felt the bus turn, and that's when a question came to mind. "What do we do after the parade?"

"We're going to the Plaça Sant Jaume," Aitana replied, "But let's worry about that later. Look!" She stood up and looked over the railing, and you did the same.

Below you were what looked like thousands of people dressed in blue and red, waving flags and scarves and whatever else. You could hear music being performed live, and you saw confetti and red and blue smoke.

"Mierda..." you whispered, taking it all in. You saw a sign in the crowd; '(Y/N) (Y/L/N), EL MINISTRO DE DEFENSA ESPAÑA'. You took a minute to translate it in your head and when it clicked to you, a wide grin appeared on your face.

Aitana shook you and held up her party poppers, signalling you to do the same. When you got them out, you two held them off the side of the bus and after Aitana counted down from 3, you both pulled them, sending a stream of red and blue confetti down to the people on the street below.

“Aitana, (Y/N)!” Alexia yelled from the other side of the bus, waving you two over. You walked over to her, making sure to grab your flag.

“What’s going on?” you asked, and she pointed to the camera. “Team photo! You’re in the front, since you’re la estrella de la temporada,” Alexia said, thrusting you downwards to sit in front of everyone else. You looked at her stunned, about to object and say you’d rather stand, but then the cameraman told you to look towards the camera and smile. You grumbled under your breath but obliged, and you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. You looked up to see that they belonged to Alexia, who was smiling at you proudly.

“Nuestra estrella es la millor!” Aitana yelled, jumping at the back and blowing the last of her party poppers just as the cameraman took the photo.

You flushed red. You felt so appreciated, not only by your teammates but by the fans too. When you joined the team, you were also concerned about being taken in by the fans. The girls always said that without their support they’d be nothing, so they were extremely important to you. Seeing them wear your jersey, hearing their cheers for you, feeling their love whenever you walked into the stadium, it all meant the world to you.

“Okay, photo’s done. Let’s celebrate!” Patri yelled, and everyone agreed. You shot to your feet, grabbing your flag and running to the back of the bus. You held it by the end of the pole, waving the large flag over the railing. Aitana and Patri joined you, flinging the rest of the streamers off the back of the buss and collecting confetti from the ground to sprinkle on the crowd and in each other’s hair.

Mapi ran up to you three and starting jumping up and down, waving her flag. “Una bandera ens agermanaaaa!” she sung, grinning as she waved her bandera proudly.

The bus eventually stopped outside the city hall and you all filed off. The city hall’s architecture was classical, and you liked it very much. You didn’t immediately go inside though; you spent a good 10 minutes personally talking to fans down below, and you also took some photos and other media for the club Instagram page. You enjoyed interacting with the fans, and you were slowly warming up to the idea of it.

You admired the building as you walked inside, and you were led up the stairs and to the balcony which overlooked many more fans. A microphone was passed around between each player, giving them the chance to speak to the fans.

The girls took turns greeting the fans. Alexia croaked out a “Visca el Barça” and Frido could barely say “Hola” with her voice being so gone. Lucy spoke Catalan for the first time in forever, per Ona’s request, and then the microphone ended up with you.

“Hola,” you started off, not really sure what to say. Mapi leaned towards the mic and said, “Si no te das cuenta, está muy nerviosa,” laughing mischievously as you yanked the mic away from her.

“¡No la escuches! Todo lo que tengo que decir es que Barcelona es el mejor club del mundo!” you said into the mic, your voice cracking. You hadn’t even realised you lost your voice up until then, but you laughed it off nervously, just wanting to give the mic away. “Visca Barça y visca Cataluña!”

You hurriedly passed the mic to Mapi, breathing a sigh of relief once it was out of your grasp. You weren’t the best at speaking to such a huge crowd yet, but you could’ve done worse.

Just then, you remembered that the Euros and Olympics were only a few months away. You knew how much talking and interviews that entailed, which wasn’t really up your lane. Like you told yourself before, this lifestyle would take some getting used to.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your pocket, making you raise an eyebrow. You fished around for it and when you eventually pulled it out, your eyes widened in alarm. ‘Hurry! Your 813 day streak is about to end! Log in to Hay Day claim your rewards’ flashed across your screen, and you had never slapped in your password faster. On top of everything, how could you forget?

“Finally logging in?” Ale asked, and you nodded. “I thought something was seriously wrong with you when I didn’t see you checking up on Bagheera Land,” she continued. That wasn’t meant to be the name of your town, but Mapi had gotten into your phone one day, changed the name of it, and you had never changed it back.

“Come on, we’re going back to headquarters and then you have to start packing so we can leave,” she said, and you put your phone back in your pocket as you walked down the stairs of the city hall.

You had received your call up to the Spain national team not very long ago. At first you were hesitant to accept because of the movement against the Spanish football federation, and you confided in Mapi about it, telling her you wanted to protest against the federation with her, but she had convinced you to take the opportunity. She said it would help you grow closer to your Barcelona teammates and also meet the other Spain internationals, plus develop as a player. You were still hesitant, but you listened.

Then you learnt that the upcoming matches were Euro qualifiers and the matches after that would be Olympic games. That terrified you. To Aitana you were always ‘Pequeñita’, to Irene you were ‘Nenita’ and to Mapi you were ‘Bebita’ — you were basically a baby, you couldn’t play in such big tournaments!

You poured all of these feelings out to Alexia on the bus ride back to headquarters. At the end of your rant, she put her hand on your shoulder and looked at you intently. “Chiquita, you played in the final of the biggest European club competition and ended up being the player of the match. Without you, we wouldn’t have won that! You can play in the Olympics and the Euros, I believe in you.”

She wrapped her arms around you in a reassuring hug which you gratefully accepted, hugging her back tightly. “Thank you. I feel a little bit better about it now,” you giggled.

“Now, when we get back to headquarters, grab your stuff from your cubby and make sure you pack tonight. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow from Irene’s and if you’re not fully packed…”

“I will be, I promise,” you answered. “Can I take my Vidić jersey?”

“Chiquita, we’re only playing two matches. You’ll be reunited with your beloved jersey in no time,” Ale said. That wasn’t enough reassurance for you, and you looked at her with pleading eyes. The woman grumbled and shook her head, fighting back a smile. “Fine, I guess you can bring it.”

“You’re the best, Ale!”

[meazalykov]

the olympics

salma paralluelo x swimmer!reader

summary: after winning gold, you wish to see your girlfriend win the same

warnings: angst, comfort

you take one last deep breath, adjusting your pink goggles as you step onto the platform. 

everything around you falls into a distant hum, the lights, the roaring crowd, the announcer's voice ringing out, calling each name to the world. this is it—the olympic final in paris, the 200-meter freestyle, the race that’s demanded everything from you for as long as you can remember. 

you glance up, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine salma, her face, her smile, the way she’d laugh and shake her head, telling you to go for it.

she’s somewhere across this sprawling city, absorbed in her own battle on the football field. there hasn’t been much time to talk with all the training, press, the heavy weight of national colors. 

you still know she’s cheering for you, just as you are for her.

the gun sounds, and you’re off, diving into the water, the world suddenly cold and quiet. you drive forward with every ounce of strength in your body, and in that silence, all you hear is the steady rhythm of your breath and heartbeat as you slice through the water. 

each stroke propels you further, your muscles aching, lungs burning, but you keep moving—pushing harder, reaching for that perfect balance between power and finesse. 

lap after lap, you fight through the pain, letting it fuel you, drive you. the turn, the flip, the push from the wall—it’s all muscle memory now, a thousand repetitions alive in every fiber of your being.

coming into the final stretch, you know you’re in the lead due to the lack of legs you’re seeing in the water. everything narrows down to this, the last few strokes, your arms and legs on fire, but you see the finish approaching. 

in a final surge, you press forward, fingers reaching out as you touch the wall with force, gasping for air. when you rise from the water, you quickly pull off your goggles, eyes darting to the scoreboard. there it is: 

your name, lit up with your speed and time in the water and shining in first place. “gold”. 

for a moment, time stops. the whole world slips away as you stare at the board, heart swelling with a deep, quiet joy. all the years, the sacrifices, the early mornings and lonely nights spent training, dreaming—all of it is worth this one moment. 

you smile to yourself, imagining salma’s face, the pride in her eyes, the way she’d tease you, joking about how she always knew you had it in you. you look around, noticing that some of the other swimmers are still finishing, and your heart swells with pride—this win is yours, every bit of it.

as you towel off and make your way back to the locker room, still catching your breath, an odd silence fills the air. a tv in your room catches your attention, and you listen, heart pounding. 

spain has lost the bronze medal match. they fought hard, but germany took it with a penalty save in the last few minutes. 

your chest tightens, a heaviness settling over the joy you felt just moments ago. 

your mind flashes to salma, her face after a tough game, the way her eyes would go blank with that fierce mix of exhaustion and heartbreak. 

she has the world cup from last year, but this—the olympics—was supposed to be her chance to bring home more glory, another piece of history. you know how much she dreamed of this, how she poured herself into each match after the scandals that the spanish federation had faced. 

you imagine her walking off the field, shoulders slumped, questioning every pass, every shot, every moment. 

the imagination didn’t have to last long. you frowned when a tv clip showed salma looking around at the crowd, moisture in her eyes as her hands rested on her hips.

you sit in the locker room, fingers gripping your phone, wanting nothing more than to reach out, to tell her you’re here, that you’d drop everything to be by her side, to hold her and remind her that she’s still everything to you. 

however, you know she needs time, space to let the hurt settle before it can pass. 

you wonder if she knows about your win, if anyone mentioned it to her, or if her mind is too clouded with the weight of her loss to even think of you right now.

that's okay, you didn’t want to feel like you’re bragging in the moment of her devastation.

back at her hotel, salma is with cata, who’s equally devastated. it’s then, almost accidentally, that salma clicks on the tv to see a recap of today’s events in the olympics. 

on the screen is you—just moments ago, gliding through the water, powerful, unstoppable. she sees the moment you touched the wall, the look on your face as you saw your name in first place. 

a soft smile finds its way to her lips, breaking through the sorrow, a spark of light. she picks up her phone and texts you, typing slowly, her words laced with both pride and sadness: 

“hola mi amor i’m so, so proud of you. i might need space right now, since i am still processing my mistakes from today– but i can’t wait to see you back in barcelona.” 

your heart leaps when you see her message. you reply instantly, reassuring her, telling her that you’ll be there to comfort her, to hold her through this loss. 

your win, as sweet as it is, feels incomplete without her here, without her by your side. you promise that you’ll wait for her, that when she’s ready, you’ll celebrate together. 

a few days later, back in barcelona, you finally make it home. as soon as you step through the door of your shared apartment, you see her sitting on the couch, gazing out the window, lost in thought. she looks up, and her face softens when she sees you. 

without a word, you cross the room, wrapping her in your arms, feeling her body sink against yours. she holds onto you, her head resting on your shoulder, quiet breaths filling the room. 

“we should be celebrating you,” she murmurs, voice tinged with a faint smile, though her eyes still hold the remnants of heartbreak.

“that can wait,” you whisper, brushing a hand through her braids, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“we’ll celebrate when you’re ready. i’ll wait for you sal."

masterlist

[moonstruckme]

for thawing out, i see how you've already characterized the reader as kind of the calm, even keeled one of the group and i would LOVE to just see her stand up for herself and absolutely blow up after getting pushed too far by the boys (a little mean of me to want her to go through that but-) but yes i love me a good out of character moment that kind of make the characters be like "oh shit maybe we shouldn't be acting this way-" love you babe 🫶

Hi lovely, idk if this is exactly what you had in mind but thanks sm for requesting! Love you <3

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

cw: modern au, chronic pain, implied past abuse, hurt no comfort (for some)

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.9k words

When Remus arrives at your apartment the next morning, Sirius is already standing at the front door. His arms are crossed over his chest as he glowers in Remus’ direction, but it’s difficult to find him very intimidating when his nose is pink from the cold. 

“Oh,” he says, feeling awkward. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” Sirius replies drily. “What are you doing here?” 

Remus shrugs. Fine. If Sirius wants to be a prick (and what else is new), he can do that too. “I didn’t think you’d come. Have you knocked already?” 

“Of course I knocked,” he all but sneers. “Why would you assume I wasn’t going to be here? I said I would be.” 

“I honestly didn’t expect you’d be able to drag yourself out of bed.” 

Sirius looks ready to make a retort, but your door opens. You look surprised to see both boys on your doorstep, your smile tentative. Remus still doesn’t understand how you can do that at such an early hour. 

“Hi,” you say. Then you turn to Sirius, grin widening as you pinch the frozen tip of his nose fondly. “You made it.” 

“Obviously I made it!” The other boy’s voice takes on a wounded tone, and Remus has to tuck a smile into his scarf. Sirius must suspect, because his gaze narrows.

“How did you get this address?” he asks Remus. 

Remus feels his brow crinkle. It’s not as if he’s the one you’re in danger of. 

“He texted me last night, and I gave it to him,” you answer for him. “I sort of assumed you’d oversleep.” 

Sirius makes an indignant scoffing noise, but he appears to have nothing more to say. He seems in especially brutish form today. You’re as unphased by his moods as usual, hooking your arm through his. 

“I’m sorry to get you both up so early, but I suppose two guard dogs are even better than one.” You squeeze Sirius’ bicep affectionately, and the look you send Remus is pure sweetness. “It’s really nice of you both to come.” 

Something warm and fond blooms in Remus’ chest. Sirius mutters some disgruntled sort of assent. 

You grin. “And now, we can all buy our own drinks!” 

“Oh, fuck this then,” Sirius’ irritating pugnacious tone is back, though now it’s at least partly for show. “I didn’t realize that was part of the deal. I want out.” 

You only make an amused pffting sound, pulling him playfully against your side. 

Remus falls back to let the two of you walk alongside each other on the sidewalk. It’s odd and occasionally entertaining to watch you, so entirely familiar and at ease with each other. It’s the sort of relationship Remus hasn’t had in years, and he’s beginning to question whether he ever had a bond quite as close as yours. It’s obvious even from the outside that the pair of you know each other inside and out, and that you love each other just as deeply. But Sirius’ love is another thing entirely; the way he looks at you is almost too painful to witness. 

Remus doesn’t understand why Sirius hasn’t pursued you. He certainly prefers it this way; it makes his job considerably easier with things platonic and professional between the pair of you, but it just doesn’t add up. Sirius strikes him as the sort of cocksure prat who goes for what he wants, every time. He’s certainly arrogant enough to be sure he’ll get it, and admittedly, with his looks and devil-may-care attitude, there aren’t many people Remus can see turning him down. (They definitely should, but they likely wouldn’t.) Perhaps, after knowing him so long and working with him so closely, you’re simply too smart to get entangled with the likes of Sirius Black. 

You do eventually look back to call Remus up to join the two of you. Sirius looks irked at this, and Remus wishes he could say he was more mature, but he goes in large part because of it. You loop your other arm through his and make sure to include him in your conversation the rest of the way to the rink. 

The morning’s practice goes by with much of the same forced camaraderie. You’re friendly and receptive, Sirius is loud and irksome, but overall Remus is pleased with how things are going. You’re improving every day, to a degree Remus can’t help but admire. He can easily see you perfecting this routine by the Olympics in less than a month, which certainly defies his expectations from when he first started coaching you. Sirius is the same as always; he’s not as consistent or as controlled as Remus would like, but he doesn’t seem inclined to change and his form is (though Remus wouldn’t admit it aloud even at knifepoint) truly beautiful to watch. 

By the end, he has only one thing to say. 

“I think we need to up the ante.” 

You look up from where you’re putting on your skate guards, intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“You’re going to perfect this routine.” Remus can say that with confidence now. A nice little bonus is the way your face lights with bashful pride when he does. “You’ll get plenty of execution points from that, but if you want to really compete it wouldn’t hurt to add a higher difficulty move.” 

Sirius looks up, his gaze watchful. 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

“A death spiral,” says Remus. “We could fit it in during the lower-level sequence towards the end. You should be ending with more of a crescendo anyway.” 

You’re nodding. “An outside death spiral?” 

“And backwards, if you’re up for it.” 

“No way.” Sirius’ skates are already in his bag. You look over at him, bemused, but he’s looking at Remus. “You can’t fuck with the program this late. It’s only a couple of weeks before we leave.” 

Reluctantly, Remus turns to face him. His eyes are like a brewing storm. “And would you like to medal whilst you’re there?” 

“We don’t need this to medal.” 

“You don’t know what the competition will be like. You need to bring everything you can to the routine.” 

Sirius kisses his teeth. He stands, looking at Remus with barely repressed malice. “A backwards outside death spiral isn’t something you can just toss in at the last minute. We’re only just starting to manage what we have in the routine already! It’s too risky.” 

Remus fights the urge to roll his eyes. Sirius isn’t subtle; it’s clear what this is really about. “She’s going to be fine,” he says firmly, refusing to back down when the other boy's eyes narrow. “She’s perfectly capable of deciding for herself whether she wants to do this, and your feelings cannot be the deciding factor here. The death spiral is a staple of pair routines. You have to take some risks if you want to compete at this level.” 

“Oh, do you?” Sirius’ laugh is cold and dead. “Is that what you did? If it’s so fucking easy, why don’t we get out there so you can show us how it’s done?” He juts his chin towards the ice, jaw set and eyes blazing. “You can let us see how great it works out to take risks.” 

Remus doesn’t even feel the ache in his hip as he takes two quick steps towards Sirius, towering over the other boy with his blood pounding in his ears. Sirius is forced to look up, but he turns his chin up defiantly. His face hardens as he takes in a short, quick breath. 

You cram yourself between them. 

It’s like snapping back into his body. Remus stumbles back, his hip screaming at the hurried motion. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste iron, collapsing backwards onto the bench while you put yourself in front of Sirius like a human shield. Your expression is wrathful. 

“Do not do that,” you growl. You reach behind you, taking Sirius’ forearm in your grasp as though to keep him from moving. “God, why do you both have to be such dickheads to each other? We’re done here.” 

You march straight past Remus, dragging Sirius along on your other side like a dog on a leash. He looks about as shell-shocked as Remus feels. Your outburst knocked him flat on his ass, literally. It’s not that Remus didn’t think you were capable of yelling; he suspected you had fangs, but the venom came as a surprise. 

He winces when the door bangs shut behind you. They probably deserve that. He doesn’t envy Sirius, who’s likely to get a lengthy lecture from you on the walk home, but Remus does realize this could mean him losing his job. Trading petty remarks with Sirius had almost begun to feel like part of his role, but he’d never expected to make you so furious. He doesn’t know what it will mean for him that he has. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

During the entirety of Remus’ long, steamy shower, he cannot stop thinking of the look on Sirius’ face. The way his eyes had almost changed color, going from a murky gray to blue like the hottest part of a flame. He’d looked almost pleading, for half a second after Remus first brought up the death spiral, before his face hardened back into harsh stoniness. He keeps fixating on that look, that second where the dynamic between them seemed on the brink of shifting before it didn’t. But maybe it never could have. Maybe Remus imagined the whole thing; it was only half a second, anyway. 

Regardless, he feels stupid for stooping to Sirius’ level. He’s better than that, he hopes, but in the last few weeks he’s let the other boy bring out the worst in him. He decides that if you don’t fire him, he’s going to try harder to be above it. If Sirius wants to trade insults like a child, Remus can treat him like a child; with patience and a repertoire of aloof platitudes, but he won’t engage with him anymore. 

He’s put on a pair of pajama pants and is moving the waistband to hold a pack of frozen peas to his hip when there’s a knock on his door. He leans back to peer through the window, and there you are, blowing into your hands and shivering on his doorstep. 

Remus groans as he gets up. He was really hoping to have at least one night of relaxation before having to have this conversation. 

You must stop rubbing your hands together when you hear him opening the door. “Hi,” you say. 

“Hi,” Remus replies, amused despite himself. They’re having one of those odd nights where snow falls but doesn’t stick, except to you apparently. Little white flakes are tangled in your hair and dusted across your shoulders. Remus can see some between your eyelashes when you blink. You’re stiff as a board, but there’s no hiding the tiny waves of trembles that shake your frame. 

“I hope it’s okay that I didn’t call first.” Your voice is teetering on the brink of a chitter.

“Yeah, it’s alright.” Remus really shouldn’t feel so warm towards you when you’re likely here to fire (or at the very least, berate) him, but you do look terribly cold. “Would you like to come in?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You step inside so fast he hardly has time to make room for you, and the sleeve of your coat brushes against his bare chest, making him shiver. Remus realizes then that he’s not wearing a shirt, but he decides not to care; it is his house (or his rental, at least), and you’re the one who showed up unannounced. He’s entitled to be as underdressed as he likes. 

This small bit of indignance, though founded entirely from a battle within himself, reminds Remus to be miffed with you. 

“If you’re going to ask me to apologize to Sirius,” he says, going to the kitchen to put the kettle on (he may be miffed, but he is still Welsh), “you can save it. I have no intention of getting into a row like that with him again, but I was not the one who was being unreasonable.” 

You rub your lips together, nodding. “Yeah, I agree. You shouldn’t apologize to him.” 

Remus feels his eyebrows draw together. “Okay…good. Because I’m not planning on it,” he says, just to be sure you understand. “He was completely out of line.” 

You nod again. “He was.” 

Remus finds his eyes straying to the door while he mulls over whether he’s feeling impolite enough to ask the next logical question. Then what are you doing here?

You take in a breath, letting it whoosh out of you. “I came because I want to apologize.” 

It’s impossible to keep the surprise off his face. “You?” 

“Yeah.” You rock a bit on your feet, and Remus realizes you’re still wearing your coat. Either you don’t plan to stay long, or you’re too anxious to take it off without an invitation. “I’m sorry I shouted at you earlier. It was really harsh—I mean, I was right, but I didn’t need to be cruel about it.” You glance to the side, a bit of bashfulness softening your voice. “I also shouldn’t have called you a dickhead.” 

A little chuckle escapes him. “We were being dickheads.” 

“You were,” you agree, “but I still shouldn’t have said it. I don’t want to be like that. I’m sorry, and I hope you still want to stay with us.” 

You look back at him, your expression intentionally firm but your eyes beseeching, and some part of Remus melts. He and Sirius get into fights all the time—loud ones, with shouting and name calling and absolutely no holds barred—but you snap at them once, and here you are. Having walked here by yourself in the cold because you feel bad about it. 

“Let me get your coat,” he offers.

You take your tea to the couch, where you curl up automatically on the side opposite Remus’, pulling your legs in so he can pass between you and the coffee table. Remus picks his peas back up as he sits carefully, stifling a groan. It’s a bit embarrassing to ice his hip in front of you, but the pain has become too much to ignore. 

You wince as you watch him settle them underneath his waistband. “Is that because of me?” 

He can’t very well tell you the truth when you sound so guilty. “No,” he says. “I have to do this a lot.” That part’s not a lie. 

You nod, still looking sorry. Remus is grateful when you move on quickly. 

“Just so you know,” you say, “Sirius probably won’t apologize to you either.” 

Remus almost snorts. “Yeah, I wasn’t anticipating he would.” 

You smile ruefully. “I know he probably feels bad about saying what he did—he knows he had no right—but he just gets so caught up in anger sometimes. If it helps at all, today was just an especially hard day for him. He’s always…extra on edge around this time of year. You learn not to take the things he says personally.” 

Remus studies you through narrowed eyes. He blows steam off his tea. “Does he do that to you often?” 

You shake your head. “I don’t typically goad him,” you say with no small amount of humor. Or pointedness. 

He lifts a brow. He’s already told you he won’t be apologizing for giving as good as he gets. 

You sigh, your expression going somber. “Listen, I know Sirius can get really—” you shake your head again, blowing out a breath “—really quite hot headed, but you can’t get in his face like that. His life has—well, it’s not my place to tell you about what his life has been, but even when he says things like that, you can’t act all threatening just because you’re having a spat, okay?” 

Remus feels his brow wrinkle. “Threatening?” 

Your face softens. “You looked like you were about to hit him,” you say gently. 

Something inside Remus gutters. “I did?” 

You nod, looking almost apologetic. He feels nauseous. 

“I didn’t…” 

“I don’t think you would have,” you clarify. “I’m not saying I thought you were going to hit him, I just know how Sirius works. And from his perspective, I know how it looked. You can’t do that to him.” 

“I don’t want to do that to anyone.” Remus sounds injured even to his own ears, and so he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to shut out the pained pinch of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after a few moments. “I really had no idea that’s how it looked. I think I got too caught up in being angry about what he said, but it won’t happen again.” 

“I know.” Your voice is gentle. You set a hand on his knee, tentative but there. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. It’s okay, just…now you know. For next time.” Remus opens his eyes again, and you smile wryly. “You can shout at him all you want. Don’t let him dish it out without making him take it, but just stay away from physical stuff like that, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Remus agrees hoarsely. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” You give his knee a friendly pat, leaning back against the couch cushions and sipping your tea. 

Again, Remus marvels at you. Sirius fights for you every day, whether you ask him to or not, loud and bold and relentless in his devotion to you. He wonders if Sirius knows that even when he doesn’t ask, in your own way, you go to bat for him too.

[thedivineden]

Thin Ice

Summer Olympics Collab w/ @tetzoro

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: smut

words: 5k+

notes: dubcon, enemies, breeding, jujitsu kaisen au!figure skaters, slight mentions of sexual harassment from Gojo, obsession, controlling behaviors, jealousy, drugging, peer pressure, slight manipulation,

AN: I had so much fun writing this, you should see the notes I scribbled at work because we’re not allowed to have our phones! Thank you so much @tetzoro for allowing me to be apart of this lovely event. ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა˖⁺‧₊

You and Gojo Satoru have been competing against each other since the day you were placed in the same class at nine years old. He was favored due to his family standing within the figure skating community but you had raw, unfiltered talent which shook him and his family to their core. Despite all your talent, he’s managed to win almost every single competition. You’d bet big money that it had to do with his family status but you don’t upset the balance until you’re both picked for the Olympics.

And boy were you fuming. “I ALONE have went through hell and back to be where I am whereas he gets placed just because of his family name! It’s preposterous Shoko!” you’ve been ranting to your coach for an hour about the competition; how you didn’t believe that he deserved to be here and wish you didn’t have to compete along side him. “That spoiled brat doesn’t have a INCH of talent in his bones even if it was injected with a needle!”

“Aw do you really hate me that much? I thought we were friends?” You turn to the door to see the lanky white haired man standing against its frame smiling down at you. “Friends? Satoru please, you know I never enjoyed your company now leave. I’m having a discussion with MY coach or are you wanting to take her away from me too?” Shoko stifled a small laugh and stood up. “Gojo, don’t stress my prodigy out. What do you want?”

Gojo never took his eyes off of you; he saw your annoyance as just another game. You roll your eyes and say, "Well, I was just coming to check on my favorite figure skater but I don't think she was to see me." Despite your request to go, Gojo slips into your room and envelops you in his arms. "I'll break all ten of your toes in five seconds if you don't get off of me."

Gojo chuckles at what you've said because he adores your fierce personality and is confident that you will follow through. You lost a tournament at 15 after he "jokingly" slapped your behind for taking first place and your only recourse was to throw your ice skate at him. His parents complained to the judges and got you disqualified.

You were more concerned about scuffing your brand-new Eden Piano ice skates than you were about the blade nearly striking him. You could feel his breath on your ear as he said, "Aw, must you struggle so much, you know you love it, and I know you love me, why don't we meet up later? My room?” You're furious now and shove him away from you. You're about to charge at him when Shoko, sporting her signature side grin, stands in between the two of you.

“Shall we maintain the calm? Alright, sweetie?” The man behind her laughs audibly, saying, "Yeah, sweetie! Let's maintain harmony.” Even though you were angry, you wouldn't allow him or anybody else to sour your mood. "Shoko, you're right; I won't have to deal with him for very long. After the Olympics, I'm heading to Brazil, and I have no intention of returning to Tokyo.” That touched a nerve; your coach's gasp indicates to Gojo that she was equally clueless. You had no idea that your remark had the man fuming.

You? Leaving? The young man finds just such idea absurd. Ever since he first saw you in class, you have been everything to him. You were not impressed with Gojo's antics, even if he is accustomed to getting his way. No matter how many pranks and tricks he performed or how many gifts he put in your locker, his efforts were consistently disregarded.

The man continued to essentially harass you every day despite your denial. He would make harsh remarks about your body, clearly taking care to point out that you are curvier than all the other figure skaters in the class or that your ass is "so massive that you might tip over," which would ultimately be the undoing of you. You could not care less, and all he wanted was the thrill of having your undivided attention.

Gojo needed and desired you more than anything else, and this only made his fixation worse. Without saying anything more, the young man left the room, leaving Shoko to ask all the relevant questions and provide the information later. He's going to make sure that you remember him forever.

It took hours for the two of you to be back together again. You were seated close to each other for the opening ceremony. The opening ceremony typically features the entrances of the head of state or other official of the host nation as well as the president of the International Olympic Committee. The national anthem and flag are then raised and played. Then the tournament started.

You have a strong passion for figure skating, and when you're on the ice, it feels remote. Nothing could distract you from your quest for excellence in each trick, flip, and turn. Everyone in the stadium is quiet, appreciating your stunning appearance and captivating performance. Your candid feelings convey a tale of bereavement.

You jump off the backward outside edge on one foot, using your toe pick to help you get airborne, then use your other leg to reach across your body and back to pick into the ice. Gojo is an enormous admirer of your performances and would do anything to spend time on the ice with you.

You were actually quite flexible, as required by the biellmann spin. You spin on one foot, stretching the other leg behind you and above your head to make the shape of a teardrop, and Gojo is staring at you in astonishment. You release your leg and step off the ice again. You can turn the odds in your favor with just your pure resolve.

You release everything forward, shift your entire weight on your takeoff left leg, raise your arms, and release your right leg back at the same moment of takeoff. At first, it looks like a typical axel leap, but in order to complete the trick, you have to make four and a half rotations in the air. When you land perfect, everyone in the stadium goes crazy. Gojo was aware of the announcers' adoration for your flawless quadruple axel.

Interviewers are waiting in line to chat with Japan's figure skating prodigy as soon as you step off the ice. Gojo heard all of the inquiries: "Wow, it was incredible! "How long have you been practicing your quadruple axel?" "How long have you been training?" and "Do you ever see yourself performing routines in pairs with?" You were brisk even off the rink, graciously and enthusiastically responding to every inquiry.

Gojo is the next to go, but not before he interacts with you. "Looks like you're going for the gold, but we all know who's really taking it home." Your smile quickly disappears and is replaced by a frown. "If you already know you're the winner why are you trying so hard to convince yourself that I'm not?" You grin again and walk past the gaunt man before he can respond, heading toward Shoko.

God, you made him so hard.

Despite what you previously stated, Gojo is without a doubt the greatest for Japan, and his mesmerizing methods are hard to ignore. Every now and then, Gojo stretches out his palm and takes a tiny step forward, sliding across the icy rink with effortless ease. Not long after he picks up speed, he throws his right leg over his head and balances on his left foot. He spread his arms, almost making a T or possibly a K. Gojo never fails to demonstrate to his own nation and the rest of the world that he was a showman in addition to a prodigy.

He swung his body in fluid motions, bending his knees. He was able to move down the rink more quickly and farther as soon as both of his skates were facing in the same direction and parallel to one another. Watch as the man launches himself and lands on the back outside edge of the opposing foot. You see him use his free leg to assist with the takeoff. Gojo starts off across the rink once more; he has the appearance of a swan on a quest. Despite his solemn expression, he manages to pique the audience's interest by molding his face to suit his intended message.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a tap from another skater. "Hi!"You're — correct? The most beautiful man you have ever seen is revealed when you turn around. "Yes I am and you are?" Your smile was enough to break any man's heart, and it certainly broke Gojo's. His eyes caught you talking to the low-level figure skater during his back bend. To get your attention, Gojo slowly lifts his body upward while making sure to circle close to you.

You paid no attention to anything, not even when the crowd chanted his name. He saw you gazing passionately at the man, touching him, and grinning during his performance. He'll make sure that everyone is aware of your connection. Interviewers swarm Gojo as he emerges from the ice, asking him questions about the tournament, his emotions, whether he predicted Japan would win, and what he loves best about the Olympics.

He took great pleasure in watching you, even though you were hostile toward you. He enjoys watching you on the ice and knows that all of these eyes will be able to see and appreciate your beauty and brilliance, even if that's not a suitable answer to the question. “I had fun watching my girlfriend accomplish a quadruple axel on the ice, going above and beyond the norm!” The interviewers are going crazy over the exclusive insider information that Japan's Olympic candidates are a couple! “I'm very proud of her!”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Could you two come on my show to give more information about your relationship and experience in the competitive skating world?”

“Do you plan on marrying her?”

Gojo has a broad smile, but it widens when he notices you approaching from the corner of his eye. He ensured that there would be enough disturbance to draw in people from a 50-mile radius. He quickly puts his arm around your waist to hold you close once you are arms length apart.

He undoubtedly knows that you are extremely conscious of your appearance and would never intentionally make a fool of yourself in front of thousands of people. "Hello my darling, don't you want to tell them about how our love blossomed?" Even though you're terrified, you swiftly avert the interviewers' attention to the man by saying that he always tells story better than you. He makes fun of you and tells a made-up tale of jealousy, hate, and love. Gojo lets the interviewer know that you two are deeply in love, plan to be married, and want to start a family.

He knows when you get uncomfortable in his arms and knows it's time to finish the interview and express gratitude for the interviewers' time. Curses fly from your mouths towards Gojo the moment you two are out of earshot. You attempt to escape his hold, but it's firm and powerful, and he won't let go until he proves that you are his.

Because he would be pressed for time, he had everything set up before the competition day. After his performance, he asked to have a car ready for him so he could take you to the Olympic village, to his room, and finally to his bed. You sound even more enraged now that you're practically yelling at him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why in the hell would you tell them that?”

"I just want you to realize how much I adore you, now hush and enjoy." Gojo hurries you into the back of the tinted Range Rover, entering on the left side. He signals the driver to shorten the route and closes the partition — his hand finds contact too high on your thigh and his look is exceedingly strained. "I'm not your enemy but you treat me like one, why?"

You chuckle and roll your eyes at his assertion, "You've been tormenting me since we were seven, and you think I have no reason to want you away from me?" When you look at him, his expression is one of perplexity. Torment? I used to put gifts in your locker, and from what I remember, you threw them out." Your face flushed from the accusation. "Well, I'd have kept them if you hadn't said anything about my physique. "Everyday, you said something demeaning which encouraged other people to say hurtful things. Now you all are in my shadow, I’m winning the gold ."

You turned to face Gojo and said this with the biggest smile on your face, but as soon as you saw the tear streaming down his hot cheeks, your smile fades. "What's wrong, you?" Even with a hint of worry in your voice, your countenance suggests dissatisfaction. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize, but I'd like another chance." In all honesty, Gojo doesn't give a damn about earning your favor. All he wants is what any man would want.

To win.

Gojo makes sure to be the ultimate gentleman as he ushers you out promptly as the car arrives at the village. When he offers his hand to help you out of the car and opens the compound door for you, he can see you're nervous and cautious because you pause. To be honest, you felt anxious at every turn, and when Gojo came up behind you, his arm clasped tightly around your waist. You didn't know why you two were at the compound without your coaches, or what he wanted, but you weren't enjoying it.

When he arrives at his room, he stops at the entrance and looks at you intently. "I set everything up for you because I want you to know how special you've been to me," he says as he opens the door. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla greets you, along with the sight of candles and petals scattered on the corridor floor. Gojo releases his hold on you as his hand travels to your lower back and softly presses you inside his room.

Although your instincts are going haywire, the environment appears in the opposite way. When you step fully into his room the corridor floor is only the tip of the iceberg. Gojo, rather, the person he hired to arrange the space, created a lavish pallet on the floor and surrounded it with a heart made of flowers. accompanied by a bouquet of flowers and a selection of finger appetizers. There are images of you from previous competitions, including ones where you lost, hanging on the walls with the term winner printed on them.

"Do you Iike it?" The pleasure on his face is palpable. In a normal situation, you would do anything to erase Gojo Satoru’s smile, but right now, it would be bittersweet. The amount of work he put in is both sweet and a little alarming, given that several of the images on display were taken when he was alone himself in the booth. You feel the silence begin to take on an unsettling note, so you turn to nod your head at the man, a small grin on your lips.

“Sit down, try the foods. I’ll be back with drinks!” Gojo disappears down the corridor and out the room door leaving you and your rapid heart alone. Thoughts were swirling in your head.

You could just leave.

What does all of this mean? I mean he did give you gifts when you were kids but you just chalked it up to him trying to buy you and throw you off your game.

Does he actually like you? Could it have been your announcement about you leaving?

You sit down on the pallet allowing your weak legs to rest and distract yourself with the white chocolate covered strawberries. Halfway through the patch and uncontrollable anxiety, Gojo comes in with a drink tray with two bottles of martell cognac l'or de jean and two glasses. “I see you enjoyed the strawberries, I made the beef yakitori but you have to try it with the miso ranch” he places the tray on the pallet and sits extremely close to you.

You take a seat on the pallet, allowing your ailing legs to relax, and use the strawberries coated in white chocolate as a distraction. Gojo enters with a drink tray with two glasses and two bottles of Martell Cognac L'Or de Jean halfway through the patch and uncontrollably anxiousness. He lays the tray on the pallet and sits quite close to you, saying, "I see you enjoyed the strawberries. I made the beef yakitori but you have to try it with the miso ranch." He picks up a piece of beef and dips half of it in the homemade ranch.

“Open” you look at the man as if he grew three head and laugh. You try to take the meat, saying, "I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself," but Gojo pulls his hand back and gives you a stern look. Without a second thought you open your mouth to allow the man to feed you. Not only did you let him feed you once but the whole plate of beef along with the miso ranch.

Surprisingly, the beef is really soft, and when mixed with the miso ranch, it is exquisite. Gojo fed you the trend of white meal options, asking you what you thought of whatever he served you next and ensuring you finished at least half. You attribute it to his big ego, and he is still making whatever this is about himself, albeit in a minor way.

You begin to feel lighter, and your discussion with him has become comfortable, flirtatious even. Only when he places his hand on your thigh does your body react.

Your face is now hot, your mind is muddled, and his hand rubbing your thighs makes you want him to move his hand up higher under your skirt. You clear your throat and remind yourself who you’re with. "So, why did you actually do this? I didn't expect Gojo Satoru to be romantic” he hasn't taken his gaze away from you, but appears to be getting closer.

“Because you’re leaving and I know I won’t be able to stop you but I want to give you something to think about while you’re 17 thousands miles away.” It's the first time you've truly appreciated his appearance; he has subtle muscular physique. His lips appear smooth and plump, while his jawline is sharp. And his eyes? Women who testified about losing themselves in his gaze weren’t lying.

As your stare deepens, Gojo notices and seizes the opportunity to slide his hand up your leg and under your skirt. You pretend not to notice the precarious situation you've placed yourself in. Truthfully, all you want is for him to be beneath your skirt, to slide your panties to the side, and finger fuck you. Despite your increased heart rate and anxiety you don't stop him.

"Strip for me, princess," and your body becomes frigid instantly, making you appear almost ashamed. His eyes narrow as he leans in to whisper to you how much he wants you, how amazing you are, how he put this whole thing up for you, and how he begs you not to waste this lovely night. “You’re the one who let me put your hand up your skirt, don’t you want it?” You started to stammer and your pussy's heartbeat is becoming unbearable, but are you going to let this man defile you after he has attempted to humiliate you and make you feel inferior?

Gojo rolls his eyes and scoffs at your apprehension He starts to stand up, but your hand catches his arm and stops him instantly. "No, I think I want—" Before you can even finish speaking, Gojo covers you with his lips and hands. His thin fingers are hurrying through your clothing, admiring every inch of your body and snapping a mental image of your exposed breasts and pussy. His touch is light but frenzied and every kiss feels like it’s scorching your skin leaving an imprint on you.

Your body reacts beautifully to him which makes him hungry for you. Gojo is above you, staring down at you as you lie flat beneath him. Your gaze is locked on him, as though you're trying to assert your power and take charge of the circumstance in an effort to look less desperate and eager. He smiles and ask how much do you want it— with a cunning look on your face, you glare at him and repeat his question. The young man chuckles at you and pushes your legs apart by swiping his palm behind them.

Once your legs are spread, Gojo places his face close to your pussy, basking in its magnificence. "Is all of this for me?" He says before swiping his tongue through your slit. Your legs snap without warning, but his grip keeps you immobile. He revels in your flavor, the way your body heats up, and the way you try to hide your pleasure in your . This time, he didn't want to come up for air; he wanted to be buried in your wetness and hypnotized by your moans.

Your skin feels as like it is being scorched by every kiss and lick to your clit and hole. Gojo commands you to hold your legs up so he can stick two fingers into your dripping hole and curls them to give you the most ecstasy possible. He may be selfish, but he's definitely not when it comes to pleasure. You abandon your position to position your legs on his shoulders and tangle your fingers in his snow-white hair.

"Gojo~ I need- my head..I can't," you say as your legs start to tremble and your eyesight becomes white from the pleasure that has been building up. “You can take it princess, just hold on a little longer for me” he knows that he won’t stop until you've created a mess; you begin to urge the young man to stop so you can regain your breath, but he doesn't hear you at all. He looks up at you with his bright blue eyes and hums at the sight.

You have a face of pure bliss, your eyes are closed and your hair is starting to stick to your sweat covered body. Gojo has an unrelenting pace — you could do nothing but focus on releasing yourself on his blessed fingers. All he can hear after coming up is your ragged breathing which forms a smile on his face. “I would ask you how everything was but I can see you thoroughly enjoyed yourself”

“You fuck like a virgin who just got some for the first time.” Gojo smile is immediately wiped off his face. You sit up on your elbows but he pushes you back down and pulls out his angry throbbing member. “A virgin huh? Let me lose my virginity with you then” without warning he slides himself through your gummy walls. Now hovering over you, Gojo uses his hands to push one leg up and bend the other to your side. His face is beet red and you can tell he’s enjoying himself more than you are right now.

You want to fuck him, you can’t deny how he has you begging for him to move, yet everything feels forced in your mind. As your face starts to well up with tears, he notices and bends in to get near to your ear. "Aw, don't cry, I'll make it all better, okay?" you nod your head, and he replies "good girl.”

As much as he loves to tease you, he can no longer control himself. Although he intentionally uses deep, languid strokes, the louder your moans the quicker he thrusts into you. He's been saying in your ear all along how gorgeous, wet, and tight you are. How ever since he met you, he's been dreaming of this and wants to be the one man who can win your approval.

You become this lustful shell of yourself that just wants him to consume you, and everything begins to feel like an out-of-body experience. You cry out in desperation for him to go deeper and use you till he is unable to. When he lets go of your legs, you encircle them around his torso while wrapping your arms around his neck forcing his face into your neck.

Your mind is foggy and all you can think about is using your legs to drive him inside of you and lock him in place as Gojo takes advantage of this opportunity to leave as many markings on your neck as possible, intensifying the pleasure you're experiencing.

The young man is breathless at your actions and he makes a mocking tone saying you’re a desperate slut aren’t you? how about I give you something to remember me by”. He lifts his body up untangling your legs from his torso placing both of his palms behind your knees to extend them to the sides of your head, you whine at the lack of contact but he calms your hunger by pounding into you. Even if the action took you by surprise you start to moan and praise the man for fucking you so well.

The young man is breathless at your actions and remarks in a mocking manner, "You're a desperate slut, aren't you?" What if I gave you something to carry me with you forever? You whine at the absence of contact as he lifts his body up and separates your legs from his torso, extending both of his palms behind your knees and push them to the sides of your head. Gojo slams into you stifling your hunger. Even if the action took you by surprise, you start to moan and praise him for fucking you so well.

His climax happens quickly when you mutter, "I-I may just stay for you," in a breathless manner. He closes his eyes in an effort to continue for as long as possible considering he feels his balls getting tight. He desires to relish each instant spent within you, the way your walls enclose him, the firmness with which your hands clasp his arms, and the volume with which you utter his name. Gojo leans back toward you abruptly, giving you a passionate kiss and cums inside of you. Though you're mentally panicking out about the lack of protection, you quickly forget about it as he releases your hold on your limbs and turns you onto your tummy, telling you to lift your ass.

"That fat ass has to get love too, princess, don't be shy." Your embarrassment is the only reason for the heat that is starting to appear on your face. He scoops you up by your hips and slams into you, rolling his eyes at your hesitancy. He is aware of your sensitivity, but you wouldn't be aware of Gojo's struggle to endure the pain in order to prolong this time. Your ass jiggling with each thrust has him spellbound, and as he slides out of you to slam into you again, his dick is drenched.

At this moment, your pussy is hurting and you're crying, but the heatbeat is becoming worse. Then it dawns on you that he is the only one who can stop the excruciating feeling underneath. Your mind is immediately repulsed by the idea. Gojo Saturo, of all people, fucking you senselessly is shameful, but the young man wipes that notion away as soon as it occurs by grabbing your hair with one hand and playing with your clit with the other around your waist.

You were too high and fucked out to realize that Gojo had taken the remote and turned on the television before seizing you. You were so overstimulated that your legs were trembling, and your tears were blurring your vision. "Gojo, please, I just can't handle it any longer." The teleprompters are now announcing the male single winners, “Just let them announce the winners pretty, if you win I’ll give you a present okay?”

Your body became heavy and you can feel your thighs become wet from your climax and hear his win being announced. All he could hear from you now is sobs begging him to give you a second, this is what he wants, for you to break down on his dick. It goes without saying that Gojo takes home the gold, he saw the camera move to his coach; who was very upset over his absence and had a stone-cold expression on his face.

He didn’t want his movements to be soured by the display and leans his head back in bliss. He’s beyond sensitive and doesn’t want you to see the tears coming out of his eyes to. Not only did he win literally but he’s achieving his life long goal of ruining you. His next words are winded, “make sure you come back in nine months for your next present princess.”

Leaning his head back in delight, he didn't want the event to ruin his moves. His sensitivity is immense, and he would prefer that you not see the tears welling up in his eyes. Not only has he literally won, his lifelong ambition to ruin you has been achieved. He continues, "Make sure you come back in nine months for your next present, princess," in a taunting manner.

You continue to sob as Gojo bullies your overworked cunt, cumming again coating your tantalizing walls in white. He lets you go and once you hit the pallet your world goes black. Waking up you notice the space around you is pitch black, you attempt to get up and survey the surroundings but your body is incredibly sore.

You sob on and on as Gojo abuses your overworked cunt and once more covers your alluring walls in white. After he lets you go, you strike the pallet, and everything goes dark. When you wake up, you discover that the space is pitch black. You want to stand up and take in your surroundings, but your body hurts so much. From your head to in between your legs, you look and feel around for a light or at least your phone.

You jump back and scream as soon as you feel warmth and skin when you reach to your left. Your head is throbbing and you try to recollect the last few hours, but when you discover you can't, it just makes you feel more anxious. You stand up despite the fact that your legs are weak and sprint to the closest corner to make yourself appear smaller. Your final recollection is leaving the ice and talking with the interviewers. Besides that, you don’t know where you are, why you’re naked and who that is laying next to you.

“Why are you yelling princess, it’s late.”

Princess? When you hear the voice, your blood starts to boil, and you start to remember what transpired. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! GOJO SATORU YOU WAKE THE FUCK UP AND TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED," the man gets out of the duvet and moves across the room to turn on the light. He can't stop laughing when he sees you in the corner. "Princess, get up. I got you something."

The man walks to the nearest dresser, throws you in the shorts and shirt, and walks to the bathroom, seemingly unaffected by your outcry. It's amazing how calm someone can be when he's clearly done you some harm. But you get dressed immediately, grab your stuff from his room, and run out of there. "You sick bastard, I hope you know that I'm going to the authorities." A flurry of flashes from microphones and cameras jammed against your face greets you as soon as you open the door.

Questions about why you were in Gojo's room, whether you were actually unwell or if you skipped the rest of the competition to spend time with him, and why you were leaving in his clothing suddenly burst out of the seemingly small gathering. The sensation of his arms enveloping you, his naked chest resting on your back, and his murmur in your ear, "Gold winning Olympian misses her win to share intimate time with her new boyfriend," further intensifies your feelings of overwhelm. “I believe that is a catchy headline.”

Gojo got what he wanted, attaching you to him forever, hopefully in more ways than one.