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[bestcoachindia]

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[manasastuff-blog]

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[whowritessometimes]

Back and Forth - Art Donaldson x Reader

A Stanford!Art Donaldson and Stanford!Reader fic :) Kinda slow burn, very soft very sweet.

Word Count: 3.9k

---

The California summer sun beamed down on the court, making the colors of the advertisements and signs around you appear almost neon. Upbeat music flowed through speakers that you couldn't quite place, embodying the feeling of the tennis matches that surrounded you, the back-and-forth beat pulsating through your head. It was almost overstimulating, but this was your normal.

You were pre-med at Stanford, volunteering at some local tennis camp to fill your summer and add fodder to your resume. You didn't do much, occasionally helping some rich, pompous kid stretch out their wrist, or their knee, or their ankle, or whatever. The days blurred together, they all spoke to you in the same condescending way. For most people, it would be mind-numbing.

But it was exhilarating. You had this intrinsic love for tennis, you always had. Perhaps it was that love that led you to signing up for this gig, and not the resume experience. But you would never admit that to anyone. You had played tennis for fun your whole life, with your family growing up, with your friends in high school. It was only when you shattered your wrist sophomore year that you had to stop.

It sucked. It sucked at the time, and it sucked now. You weren't professional-level at tennis, not like these people, but it was nice to have a hobby unlike anything else people expected you to do. The pre-med thing, the reading, the studying, it came naturally to you. And it wasn't like you didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't like you weren't good at it, but you loved tennis. And every now and again, you missed it.

So here you were. Your head followed all the heads in the crowd in a practiced, synchronized, subconscious back-and-forth. There wasn't really ever a crowd, the games at the program were often informal, the audience often consisted of coaches and other players. But this was a unique match, Stanford's players engaged in a captivating display of athleticism. It was almost like a dance, the way they seemed to know the moves of the other before they made them. You could feel the intensity from your tent by the end of the bleachers.

Stanford's star player (well, one of them)—Art Donaldson. You'd half-watched him play from your tent whenever you weren't working. He was elusive, but undoubtably one of the best there. You had never spoken. He was enigmatic, focused on his training and on helping others. He had perfect technique, people said. Now, you had the chance to really see how he was. And he was. Top of his game.

Usually.

The air was thick with humidity. Your gaze flickered between the players, boredom warring with the gnawing anxiety that always hummed beneath the surface during matches. Then, a sound sliced through the rhythmic thwack of the tennis balls—a sharp cry of pain.

Your head snapped left like a whip, your heart leaping into your throat. There, sprawled on the opposite side of the net, lay Art. His face was contorted in agony, one hand clutching his ankle at an unnatural angle. His racket lay a few feet away, as forgotten as the polite pleasantries that had filled the air before the match.

The shitty plastic chair beneath you creaked in protest as you scrambled to your feet. Ignoring the surprised yelp from the equally shitty excuse for a supervisor you'd been assigned for the summer tennis program, you sprinted across the court. Dust billowed in your wake, blurring the vision that was already swimming with a mix of dread and the adrenaline rush that always came with seeing someone hurt.

You skidded to a halt beside him, kneeling. His eyes, usually bright with playful competitiveness, were screwed shut, teeth clenched as he fought back a string of obscenities you knew all too well.

"Hey," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the tremor running through your body. He flinched at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his normally confident expression.

"Hey," he managed to rasp out, opening one eye a sliver. He tried to push himself up, but his face crumpled again as a fresh wave of agony shot through him.

"Don't move," you ordered, the calmness in your voice surprising even you. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from his injured ankle.

"'S bad, huh?" he breathed, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice.

The concern in his eyes sent a jolt through you. It wasn't just the pain; it was the fear.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice softer now, "We'll get you checked out. Just...hold still."

Ignoring the sting of sweat in your eyes, you carefully slipped your arm around his waist, offering what little support your slight frame could provide. Heaving him halfway onto your leg, you began the slow, agonizing walk towards the medical tent. Each step sent a spike of pain through Art's leg, reflected in the way he gritted his teeth and winced with every movement.

The supervisor, finally spurred into action, scurried behind you, muttering something about ice packs and paramedics. But your focus remained solely on Art, on getting him to help as quickly as possible.

You knew what it was like. Maybe that's what spurred your immediate action, your need to help him recover, to keep playing. You knew what it was like.

The antiseptic sting of the medical tent assaulted your nose as you hovered beside the injured player. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clenched his jaw with each prod from the trainer.

"Think they all saw that?" he finally rasped, a hint of amusement battling the pain in his voice. You blinked, surprised by his oddly timed humor.

"Doubt it," you played along, a small smile tugging at your lips. "'S not like you're Art Donaldson or anything."

A sheepish grin replaced his grimace. "Thank god."

The trainer finished his work, leaving you and the injured player alone in a tense silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he began, trailing off as he stared into the ceiling of the tent. There was something in his expression, the physical pain, the fear that comes with injury, the odd quiet of an unfinished game.

"So," you mimicked, sitting next to him in another shitty chair.

Something hung in the air, something all too familiar to you. He turned his head to look at you, to make eye contact, keeping his body flat on the cot. You realized then how close you were. Close enough to see his eyes, the sharp point of his jawline, the strawberry blond of his curls.

You averted your gaze, looking out into the brightness of the tent entrance. The typical ambiance of the outside seemed to be drowned by the odd intimacy you'd created together, the silence between you and Art seemed to be the only noise you could hear. His shoddy breathing, despite his attempts to pretend he was okay, only brought you back to when you felt the same way he did, all those years ago.

A blush crept up your neck. You fumbled for something, anything, to break the charged silence in the tent. "I, uh, broke my wrist sophomore year," you blurted, surprised by the words leaving your lips. "Tennis, ironically. One minute I'm playing—probably terribly—and then I'm in the ER holding a bag of frozen peas. And, I don't know, I guess I'm just saying... I get it. Sort of."

"You trying to distract me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," you admitted, a hesitant smile mirroring his. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, actually," he conceded, leaning back on the cot. "Tell me more."

You felt a genuine laugh bubble up from your chest, the first since the moment you saw him crumpled on the court.

---

And that was really the last time you saw Art. Suffice to say you hadn't forgotten about the encounter. It was actually stupid, how often you thought of it. He didn't even know your name, but you remembered the timbre of his voice, the softness of his gaze.

In your defense, he was hard to avoid. Now that the spring semester had started, tennis season was in full swing. His picture was plastered around the most of the facilities you frequented, future NCAA champion Art Donaldson.

The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine hung heavy in the crisp California air as you hurried across the bustling Stanford campus. The semester had sprung with a vengeance, bringing with it the usual flurry of activity—overloaded backpacks, animated discussions about last night's party, and the ever-present anxiety of looming deadlines.

Today, however, an extra weight sat on your shoulders. Your pre-med advisor dropped a last-minute surprise: mandatory tutoring for a struggling athlete. Juggling med school coursework with a part-time job at the campus health center was already a tightrope walk, and adding this felt like a precarious extra step. But you managed it, as you did most things. How you had some semblance of a social life was a mystery. And maybe your very obvious lack of a love life was why you thought about Art so often. You didn't have time to psychoanalyze yourself, though. You barely had time for whatever this tutoring session was about to be.

Reaching the designated classroom, a small, windowless space usually reserved for last-minute group study sessions, you took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door. The sterile light inside momentarily blinded you, but as your eyes adjusted, a sight unfolded that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. Sprawled across a cluttered table, papers piled haphazardly around him, was a man who you'd spent the better part of the last few months thinking about.

There, unmistakably, was Art. His signature strawberry blond hair, slightly longer than you remembered, covered with a backwards baseball cap, curled at the edges, framing his face. A deep furrow creased his brow, a testament to the frustration radiating from his hunched form as he focused on a massive biology textbook. An unsettling warmth bloomed in your chest, a reaction entirely too potent for a tutoring session.

The memory of him sprawled on the opposite side of the tennis court last summer, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, flickered across your mind. The panic that had gripped you then seemed almost comical now. The sterile environment and the way his eyes had held a curious blend of pain and something else—gratitude, maybe?—all formed a vivid memory you hadn't realized had imprinted itself so deeply.

His presence filled the small room, unexpectedly stealing your breath and injecting a jolt of something entirely different into the monotonous routine of your day. A shyness spread across your face, tinged with an unfamiliar nervousness as you cleared your throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the sudden silence.

A slow smile took over his features as he looked at you, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you were caught in that smile, a memory resurfacing from the hazy days of summer.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm. He reached a toned arm, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi," you blinked, momentarily flustered by the gesture and the echo of familiarity in his voice. There was a moment of tension in the air, of uncertainty, of a strange sense of reconnection. Finally, you managed to force out the words, "How are you?"

"My ankle's a lot better now, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, making you hyperaware of the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

"You remember me?" you blurted out, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

"Course I remember you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your body, and back up. Blatantly checking you out. And you could hear his smile in the way he spoke, warm and genuine, sending a familiar flutter through your stomach. The memory of his teasing laughter in the sterile medical tent resurfaced.

"Right," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You shifted in your chair, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you.

The next hour or so unfolded in a way that surprised you both. Art's initial confusion melted away as you hovered next to him, animatedly explaining each concept. Social life, love life, Art Donaldson, you couldn't explain. Biology, medical stuff, sports, you understood.

And he was beginning to as well. Time became a forgotten entity, measured only by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated groan from Art. He wasn't the cocky athlete you'd half-imagined, but someone with a genuine curiosity about the world around him and some kind of depth hidden beneath his confident facade on the court.

Finally, Art leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "We should probably call it," he declared, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He thanked you, looking into your eyes as he said your name, the syllables dancing off his tongue in a way that made you feel like it was more than a word you had offhandedly mentioned to him.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

The study sessions became a regular occurrence. The two of you exchanged numbers, only to arrange meetings, you reminded yourself.

But whenever he called, you found yourself talking about so much more than biology. It started with him asking how you were, a simple courtesy that somehow felt more genuine coming from him. Yet, as you replied, a comfortable ease would settle in. You'd find yourself laughing at inside jokes, dumb stories, the kind that wouldn't be particularly funny to anyone else, would mindlessly tumble out, fueled by the comfort you felt in his presence. It was a kind of nonsense, a space where you could just be yourself, and somehow, it felt like everything and nothing all at once.

---

Now, it was late, and it was finals week.

Papers and textbooks were scattered across your desk, a battlefield of scribbled notes and highlighted passages. You were in the trenches, neck-deep in the intricacies of biochemistry, desperately trying to cram information into your sleep-deprived brain.

Suddenly, the familiar buzz of your phone cut through the silence of your cramped dorm. You fished it out of your pocket, a flicker of annoyance battling with the ever-present hope that it might be a break, a distraction from the relentless onslaught of scientific jargon. Gratefulness shot through you when you saw Art Donaldson's name on the screen.

You answered the call. His voice crackled through the phone, laced with desperation. "I need your help," he blurted out, completely unlike his usual easygoing self. "What the fuck is molecular cell biology?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "In general?" you replied, already picturing the hours that it would take to explain the subject. Finals be damned, apparently.

"Can you just come over?" he groaned. "If you aren't doing anything."

You glanced back at the flashcards on your desk. "I'm not doing anything."

So here you were, knocking on the door of Art Donaldson's dorm. You heard rustling from the other side, making you wait just a beat longer in the dimly lit hallway. You rocked back and forth on your heels, chewing the inside of your cheek and rethinking your current appearance. The oversized Stanford hoodie, mess of your hair, and lack of makeup now seemed ill-fitting for a meeting with the boy who had somehow winded his way into becoming your crush. You felt like a kid again, back in high school.

You were starting to worry you had the wrong room until the door swung open, bathing the hallway in a golden, hazy light. There stood Art, moving his large frame out of the way to gesture you into his room with a short greeting and a "thank god." You didn't know what you expected, really, but there you were, slinking a little too closely past him as he stood in his doorframe. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he stood behind you, guiding you to his tiny desk in the corner of the room. His hands ghosted over the small of your back, and you felt his warmth, despite him not actually touching you.

The room itself was small. It wasn't unlike yours, or any of the others on campus. But it somehow felt smaller with Art next to you, burying his face in his hands every time you patiently explained a concept you'd gone over already. His face. He was so close to you now, the quiet of the night and the room only making you feel closer.

The energy of this study session felt so different from all your others in the past. You weren't in a classroom, or meeting him after practice in the library. You were seeing another side of Art, the part of himself he didn't publicize. Every freckle, the stretch of his faded t-shirt over his body, the curls he brushed out of his eyes every now and again, the way he flexed his callused hands as he cracked his knuckles, a nervous fidget.

It felt like time slowed down. You labored over the biology textbook, finding practice questions and asking him some of your own. You were gentle, cautious. Maybe it was the weird intimacy of the moment, maybe it was the lack of air in the cramped dorm. Your voice was soft, and you couldn't help but notice how the tension Art held over the phone and when you entered the room melted away. Did you do that? You felt this reciprocation, possibly imagined. But whenever you cracked a dumb joke, he'd laugh and put a hand on your arm. The contact always made you freeze. The touch was a reminder he was real, he was tangible. Every fleeting gaze, every smile in your direction.

You had almost reached the end of the chapter, and Art was getting almost every practice question right. You fidgeted with a sheet of his messy notes, reading it over to continue some rant you were on about RNA.

"...made up of nucleotides, which are ribose sugars attached to nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups..." You trailed off, looking up from the papers only to find his gaze already on you. How long had he been looking at you? And the way he looked at you...

"Do you want to take a break?" He tilted his head.

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to fight your smile. "Sure."

He got up with an over-exaggerated sigh and stretched his arms over his head, exposing the bottom of his toned abdomen. For a moment. He reached under his desk, pulling out a box of some cheap canned beer. He popped the tab of a can, taking a long draw and passing it to you.

You looked away from his watchful eyes as you took a sip. Your face heated as you took into account the fact you were drinking from the same can he had.

You winced. "God, that tastes like ass."

"Sorry." He laughed, taking the can from you. Warm, callused fingertips brushing against yours.

"I didn't take you for a Steel Reserve kinda guy."

"What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Gatorade?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "No more for you."

"Wait, wait, okay, I take it back."

He held out the can for you again.

"Mhm."

"Still taste like ass?"

"It tastes like what I imagine WD-40 tastes like."

You felt your heart swell as he laughed at that. You hadn't noticed how the two of you now sat impossibly closer, thighs brushing, shoulders sending sparks whenever they met. The half-empty can of beer felt like a nervous talisman being passed back and forth between you. Dumb jokes tumbled easily from your lips, punctuated by laughter that echoed weirdly loud in the quiet room. Finals week stress had completely evaporated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the shitty beer.

It was so easy, talking to Art. Easier than it should have been, considering you were explaining the intricacies of cellular respiration to a man who once thought mitochondria were a type of pasta. But he listened, truly listened, his eyes locked on yours. You caught yourself getting lost in their depths, a dizzying kaleidoscope that mirrored the nervousness in your stomach.

He leaned in, as if to hear you better, and you mimicked the movement unconsciously. The space between your faces shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. His gaze did its familiar dance—right eye, lips, left eye—and this time, it lingered on your lips a beat too long.

A sudden self-consciousness washed over you. Should you pull back? This wasn't your intention. But before you could overthink it, Art's lips were hovering over yours, a question in the way they hovered, hesitant but hopeful.

"This okay?" His voice was impossibly low, breathy, quiet. His eyes raked over your features, eye contact shifting from left to right, back and forth. His hand, warm and calloused came up to cup your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

"Yeah." You breathed.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and unexpected. More of a tentative exploration than a passionate assault. It tasted of desperation and relief, of unspoken feelings finally finding a voice.

Your hands moved from your sides to toy with the curls on the back of his head, earning a barely audible groan from Art. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his other hand moving down to pull you impossibly closer by the small of your waist. His touch was shy, tender.

After what felt like forever (and you wouldn't have minded had it been), you pulled away slowly, breathless, a blush painting your face. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of your breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, mirroring the one blooming on yours. "God, you're so pretty."

Leaving Art's dorm room felt like navigating a dream. Your head spun, a mix of the cheap beer and the potent aftertaste of the kiss. Your lips still tingled where his had been, a brand new sensation that sent shivers dancing down your spine. Relief, sweet and unexpected, washed over you. Months of stolen glances, late-night calls disguised as study sessions, and a simmering tension that had threatened to consume you—all of it had culminated in that single, electrifying kiss.

As you walked down the quiet hallway, a giddy smile stretched across your face. It wasn't just the kiss itself, though that replayed in your mind in a loop—hesitant, searching, then deepening with a shared sense of discovery. It was the way he'd looked at you afterwards, his eyes soft with unspoken emotions, mirroring the whirlwind in your own chest. A nervous flutter remained in your stomach, a delicious mix of excitement and uncertainty.

But beneath it all, a quiet confidence bloomed. He felt it too. This wasn't just some fleeting moment, a stolen kiss in the dead of night. It was a turning point, a bridge crossed, and the future, once shrouded in the haze of exams and unspoken feelings, now shimmered with possibility.

[bottomoftheriverbed]

I had my first synchro competition in nearly 10 years which is slightly surreal. Anyway they only had like 3 working showers at the pool so i had to go home with the gelatine still in my hair. It was gross and i bumped into my flatmate as i was coming in and it made him confused. I am very tired

[hoshifighting]

seungkwan sporty college fling?? plss 🤭🫦

a/n: first of all— IUSHDIASUHIUNFIABDIASUDIUBFIUHE the fach that he's exactly my type makes me weak on the kneeeeees!! second: WITH THE PICS ALREADY? LOVE YOU! WARNINGS: smut, fluff, med student!reader who's interning in the university's infirmary, handjob, oral (m. receiving)

sporty college fling!seungkwan who's, like, everywhere on campus. if there’s a sport to play, you bet your ass he’s signed up. volleyball, tennis, soccer, basketball, swimming, god, even frisbee if it means he gets to be out there showing off. and, look, it’s not even about the attention—though he loves that, too. he just loves the energy, the cheers from the sidelines, the way he can walk off the field dripping sweat, grinning like he just won the damn lottery.

so when he catches wind that you’re interning in the college infirmary? oh, he’s already scheming. you had no idea he knew you were there, but seungkwan’s been keeping tabs on you ever since that one history class last semester, where he’d sit behind you just to crack dumb jokes and steal your notes when you weren’t looking. he’s been hovering on the edge of your radar ever since, some mix of a friend and a tease that’s always around, always a little too close, always making you laugh even when you’re trying to focus.

so of course, it’s not a coincidence that today he’s on the field, pulling a stunt in the middle of a perfectly normal soccer game. there’s a loud yelp, and before you know it, seungkwan’s got his ass on the ground, clutching his ankle like he’s been hit by a truck. dramatic doesn’t even cover it. a friend tries to help him up, but he waves them off like he’s gotta handle this himself.

“nah, nah, i need a professional,” he says, wincing like he’s in some world-class pain, all while side-eyeing the infirmary building. eventually, the whole team’s staring at him, and the coach—who’s definitely onto him, by the way—just sighs and gestures toward the infirmary.

“alright, go get checked out,” he grumbles, “and don’t make it a habit, boo.”

so in he limps, or, well, mostly fakes limping. you’re organizing the medicine cabinet when you hear him stumble in, and the second you turn around and see him putting on that pitiful, injured expression, you know something’s up.

“oh, my god,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “what happened this time, seungkwan?”

he sighs, laying it on thick. “soccer injury,” he says, wincing as he hobbles over to sit on the infirmary bed. “took a hard hit. they said only the best in here can take care of me.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing the ice pack and tossing it to him. “you know i can see through this bullshit, right?”

he smirks, barely able to keep up the act as he catches the ice pack and shrugs. “hey, i thought i’d at least get a little sympathy. i could be bleeding out, you know?”

“from your ankle? really?” you quip back, unable to stop the grin forming on your face. he shrugs and presses the ice pack to his ankle, looking around like he’s already scouting out what else he can mess with in here. it’s like he doesn’t even have to try—just exists, and it’s annoying but also kind of cute how he always manages to get away with it.

sporty college fling!seungkwan in those thin-ass shorts that they cling in all the right places, showing off his thick thighs, flexing calves, and the outline that has you looking anywhere but his lap whenever he walks into the infirmary. he’s got that sporty glow, a little sweat-slick, hair sticking to his forehead, flushed cheeks from running around, and that cocky smirk that’s always somewhere between friendly and downright dangerous.

so when you’re shrugging off your white coat, your tank top sticking a bit because the damn AC is broken, you catch him watching. his eyes go half-lidded, looking you up and down like you’re not a damn intern who’s just here to patch him up. he can’t even help it, a tiny little gulp as you reach back, trying to hold his knee steady while you clean up the latest scrape. and you lean over him—just a little closer to get a good angle—but the look on his face is downright sinful. he’s flushed deeper than ever, lips parted, eyes blown out like he’s somewhere far away from just a check-up.

and then you see it. oh, he’s really trying to keep it together, but that bulge is so obvious, so tight against the fabric of his shorts, it’s almost painful just looking at it. he’s shifting in place, his thighs pressing together, his hands gripping the edge of the bed, trying so damn hard to play it cool. trying being the keyword. you glance up, arching an eyebrow, giving him a once-over that has his face going from flushed to wrecked.

“you, uh… need help with anything else?” you murmur, voice dropping a bit, glancing between his lap and his face like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

he damn near chokes on his own breath, a helpless moan slipping out before he can stop it, his hips shifting forward as if he’s waiting for permission. and he spreads his legs wider, scooting to the edge of the bed, that smug smile barely peeking through as he bites his lip, knowing exactly what he’s about to ask for without saying a single word.

when you step forward and slip your hand between his legs, fingers skimming over the fabric, he lets out a broken sigh, tipping his head back with this blissed-out look that makes your heart pound.

sporty college fling!seungkwan whos losing his cool right in front of you, his little fantasy about to come true as you start to pull down those shorts, that look of relief as your hand wraps around him.

he’s biting his lip so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t draw blood, trying to muffle the whimpers spilling out as you give him a few slow strokes, teasing just enough to make him squirm.

“fuck,” he hisses, pressing his palm tighter against his mouth, eyes wide as he glances toward the door like he’s expecting someone to walk in. you can’t help but chuckle softly; the thought of getting caught makes this whole thing even hotter. the university walls are so thin you can practically hear the whispers in the hallway, and seungkwan's face is a so desperate.

“c’mon, be quiet,” you tease, your voice low as you lean in a bit closer, brushing your thumb over the slick tip of his cock. it’s dripping now, and you can feel the pre-cum pooling in your hand, making it so easy to slide your fingers along his length. he whimpers again, muffling the sound with his hand, and it’s the kind of sweet, desperate noise that makes you want to do this forever.

“i can’t help it,” he whispers, trying to keep his voice down but failing miserably, and you can’t tell if he’s more embarrassed by how loud he is or by the way he’s getting even harder under your touch. you pick up the pace a bit, letting your fingers work him as his breath hitches, eyes rolling back just a little.

he clenches his eyes shut, the way he arches his back, trying to chase the pleasure.. his grip on his mouth tightens, and you can see the strain in his muscles, how he’s fighting against the urge to let it all out.

his gaze drops, catching on your fingers wrapped around him, nails perfectly manicured and glinting as they move, slow at first and then faster, like you’re testing just how much he can take. his eyes flick up, and the sight of your chest, bouncing with each stroke, almost sends him over the edge. it’s the kind of view he could lose himself in—is losing himself in—and he can’t look away, no matter how much he wants to keep his cool.

the slick, wet sound fills the small space, louder than his shaky breaths, louder than the little whimpers he’s trying so hard to hold back. his hips buck up, chasing the friction, and you can see him practically falling apart in your hand, his lip pulled between his teeth as he fights to stay quiet. it’s no use, though; his control is slipping, and he knows it.

“fuck—” he chokes out, voice breaking as his hand clamps over his mouth again, but his eyes stay glued to you, watching every single move you make. he swallows, pupils blown wide, his gaze flicking between your hand and your face. he looks like he’s about to burst any second.

the second your lips wrap around just the tip of his cock, seungkwan’s hands fly to his mouth, but it’s useless. the control he’d tried so hard to keep shatters instantly. a loud, ragged moan escapes, so reckless it could probably be heard down the hall, but he doesn’t care anymore.

“oh, fuck—no, wait, wait,” he gasp-whines, hands gripping the edge of the infirmary bed. his hips buck, but he’s melting under your touch, eyes rolling back as you swirl your tongue just around the head. its like his body’s got a mind of its own now, the pleasure overtaking everything else, every little shudder amplified. the quiet whimpers turn to full-on, desperate moans—he’s way past caring if anyone outside hears.

and then—before he can even manage a warning so you could take your mouth off him—his whole body tightens, and he’s coming, spilling over your tongue, a hot, sudden burst that has him gasping. his hand fly up, fingers digging into his own hair, breathless as he watches

he tries to collect himself. his legs feel weak, like he’s just finished sprinting through campus, but it’s way better than any game high. his legs are trembling, knees wobbling as he hops off the bed, trying to look at least half put-together while he straightens his shorts. but one look at your smirk, and he’s got that shy, red-faced grin back, a little embarrassed.

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who keeps sneaking into the infirmary for a “checkup” every chance he gets, especially after practice, because, according to him, “gotta make sure i’m in top shape, right?”

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who starts showing up with snacks for you after practice—sweaty, still in his shorts and jersey, claiming they’re for you so “you don’t have to eat that vending machine crap all day.”

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who eventually works up the courage to pull you into a storage room between rounds, pushing you against a shelf with that smirk of his, whispering, “you didn’t think i forgot about how good you looked last time, did you?”

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who practically has your schedule memorized by now, showing up at the infirmary right when you’re alone, leaning against the doorframe as he says, “miss me yet?” like he’s not been haunting your thoughts all damn day.

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who starts leaving you little notes in your bag with ridiculous messages, like “come to my game, i need my lucky charm,” with a winking face drawn on it. and when you finally show up, he plays like his life depends on it, catching your eye in the crowd every chance he gets, shooting you that smirk as he sprints down the field.

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who gets bolder every time you’re alone, wrapping his arm around your waist in the empty hallway, backing you against the wall, grinning when you shoot him a look. “don’t act so innocent,” he murmurs, tilting his head down to kiss you until you’re breathless, leaving you flushed and slightly disheveled before slipping away like nothing happened.

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who gives you his hoodie on chilly nights after practice, watching with a satisfied grin as you pull it over your head. he’d even say, “looks better on you, anyway,” then stroll off, pretending not to be thrilled seeing you in his clothes.

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who one day catches you in the library and somehow convinces you to sneak into one of the back study rooms, grinning as he shuts the door and pulls you close, whispering, “been dying to get you alone, you know that?” before pressing his lips to yours, hands sliding up your back as if he’s got nowhere else he’d rather be.

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who gives you a hard time for staying late at the infirmary, texting you, “don’t make me come drag you out myself,” and then showing up anyway. he lingers, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, looking at you with a smug smile and saying, “told you i’d come get you.”

sporty college fling!seungkwan, who finally asks you to stay over after a game, all soft and flushed from the adrenaline, looking at you with those bright, honest eyes. he murmurs, “you know, i don’t really want this to just be a fling,” his hand slipping into yours.

[russellsppttemplates]

Just say the word (Max Verstappen)

A secret relationship is hard enough to deal with when you don't have people constantly shipping your boyfriend with someone else

Note: english is not my first language. This is the first time I'm writing athlete!reader, so I thought about the sports I know better and swimming seemed fitting for what I wanted!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: secret relationship

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"You're alone today, Y/N?", one of the other girls, Ella, asked as you retrieved your waterproof workout plan sheet from the folder.

"I'm going away tomorrow and I won't be back until Monday morning, so I squeezed in my Saturday session now; Carol is coaching with the younger group today later", you explained the fact that you were at the pool without your coach.

At first, swimming was an after school activity since your parents worked long hours and they needed you to be occupied and somewhere with someone looking after you, but as you grew older, your passion for the activity became more serious. Combined with your natural skill and hard work - and, truth be told, a dust of luck from deep pocket sponsors - you were able to become a full time swimmer. Tokyo 2020 Olympics was the proudest moment of your career as you stepped on the podium next to two of the people you looked up to the most, wondering if you were ever going to stand in the top step and hear your national anthem play. Baby steps - Carol told you immediately - this is already a huge achievement, Y/N!

"Do you want to stretch together?", Ella wondered, throwing a foam roller for you to catch once you nodded and getting one for herself.

"Where are you off to this weekend?", she asked curiously. You were playing a risky game, you knew that much, going away only on weekends and travelling to countries where, coincidentally, the Formula One Grand Prix was being held.

Luckily for you, no one seemed to make the connection as the last two years you managed to keep your relationship a secret. You first met Max in a sponsor party at the beggining of your professional career when you needed to up your earnings as the costs of travelling to competitions was getting higher and heavier on your savings. It fell through, but other sponsors came your way and you and Max started hanging out after it. The Dutch driver was funny and charming and after winning your first Olympic medal, you felt unstoppable and confessed your feelings for him. When he admitted he felt the same for you, you went from there on. At first, the decision to keep it secret was both strategic, as Max didn't want you to miss out on any sponsorships or teams backing you because you were in a relationship with him, and personal as he didn't want the world's prying eyes on your relationship.

Two years later, you felt like there had never been a right time to do it so things stayed the way they were, and most of the time, you didn't mind it.

"Austria", you kept the city to yourself as you worked on your hips as they were still tight from yesterday.

"Didn't you go there last year?", she quirked an eyebrow.

"Last year, I had more of a city break weekend, this time around I'm going for a nature approach, you know? No phones, no Internet, digital detox and all of that", you offered, doubling up the excuse so she wouldn't expect to see and Instagram stories or posts from your weekend away.

"Sounds nice! It can really get in your head when you're too long on them - I have a timer on my phone because otherwise I won't even notice the amount of time I spend on social media", she smiled before silently asking if she could take the foam rollers back to their box.

Getting yourself on the water and used to the temperature, you started with your usual warm up routine before following the plan you stuck to the platform.

On some days, the session felt quick, before you knew, the other athletes were already stretching and getting prepped for their own session. Today, it seemed like it would never end, as you looked at the clock and only fifteen minutes had gone by since the last time you checked it. At least your times were improving, you thought, drinking some water before going back to practice your butterfly stroke as dictated by the workout sheet.

It was already evening time when you sat down on your bedroom floor, packing everything you had laid out to take on your trip with you when your phone rang.

"Hey, liefje", Max said as his face showed up on your screen, "how was your day?".

"Good. Had training in the morning, then a physio session because my hips kept hurting, and I found some time to buy a replacement for my moisturiser before I came home to have dinner and pack", you showed him the suitcase, "and you? The car seems good, a nice gap to the others as well", you mused.

"The same old Friday, really. Woke up, came to the track, a little debrief with Alice and then we headed to the track. Only tomorrow will tell, but I'm confident on the pole", he smiled, "can't wait to have you here with me and see your gorgeous face up close".

"You can see it now", you ridiculed as you rested your chin on your phone and looked into the camera so Max could have an interesting angle of your features, "beautiful, am I right?", you joked.

"The most beautiful", he complimented, "are you nearly done packing?", he wondered.

"Yes, just my charger and a few other last minute things left - I'll put them in my backpack tomorrow morning", you reasoned.

"You better get to sleep, your flight is early", your boyfriend encouraged, "I really need it - a proper shower first and then I'll go to bed", you assured, "I love you, Max, see you tomorrow", you blew him a kiss.

"I love you too, gorgeous! Text me updates from your flight, okay?", he smiled, smooching his lips for you to see before you ended the videocall.

The shower helped you unwind for the night, a little list on your kitchen counter to remember you of the last minute things as you turned off the lights and got back to your bedroom, your bed waiting for you so you could sleep a decent amount of hours.

Sitting on the waiting area of the airport, you placed your backpack on your legs and rested your elbows there, grabbing your phone to scroll through social media.

Ella was right, people did spend too much time on these. Everyone around you seemed to be on their phone or tablet devices.

A photo of your boyfriend showed up in your explore page, a fan page showing his walking back to the garage after FP1 and Alice was trailing right beside him.

Scrolling through the carrousel of pictures, you found a small video of them laughing together about something. The comments under it were the same as usual.

No one can convince me they're not together!😌 (to be read as I know I'm delulu)

If they're not, I'll volunteer to show them how good they would be for eachother! 🫣

Such a power couple 😮‍💨🥵

When they finally knock some sense into eachother's head and realise they're meant to be together, I'm claiming them as my parents! 🥹

No matter how many times you saw it, it never got easier. For all everyone knew, Max was single, so they weren't acting as a disregard of you. They didn't knew a regard of you to begin with. So they took interest in his love life and hoped he was in a relationship with some of the women he interacted with. Max usually didn't let many of them start to begin with, but Alice worked for the team, he could only get so far away and be distanced from her.

Max wouldn't cheat on you, you knew that. But the comments made you wonder. Would he be better off with someone else? Someone who could follow him anywhere?

The thoughts often plagued your mind, and they hadn't yet turned to the your other insecurities, so you had to be thankful for that.

Boarding on the plane, you played some music on your earbuds as you fished out your kindle to continue reading the book you started at the beggining of the week.

The buzz was installed on track as you found your spot in the stands just in time to see the marshalls tidying up whatever was left on the concrete so qualifying could start without a hitch.

This was usually how you did it. On Saturday, you would watch qualifying from the stands, waiting a little in the fan zone before Max whisked you into the hospitality with Gianpiero's help. On Sunday, you either stayed on the stands and repeated the same procedure or you arrived early to the track and stayed in his driver's room so to not lift any suspicions. You had been invited to watch a few races with the Paddock Club pass with some of the other Olympic athletes, but it hadn't happened in a while.

To anyone, you were a regular fan. You had your RedBull cap on and sunglasses, and you had never been recognised in one of the races, so you felt calm. The tricky bit of keeping your relationship hidden from the public eye was going to be later, for now, you could just wait and appreciate the fast laps.

"I'm sorry, you're Y/N Y/L/N, right?", a girl in a Ferrari cap called your name. Crap.

"Hi, I am", you smiled, "I'm sorry to ambush you like this - I am a big fan and you're a big inspiration to me. I also swim", she reasoned as she fumbled with her phone, "do you mind if my father takes a picture of us?", she politely asked.

"That's okay, yes", you smiled, taking off your sunglasses briefly as the older man snapped a picture before he shook your hand, "she won't shut up about your achievements! Did you tell Ms. Y/L/N that you're going to be in the qualifiers for Paris?".

"It's Y/N, please", you requested, "That's fantastic, congratulations! I hope it all works out for you and I'll see you around there!", you hugged her quickly before she thanked you and found their seats.

She seemed nice enough and it wasn't like you were a public figure, at least to the general public anyway really, so between all of the people who could've spotted you, she was fine.

"C'mon Max!", you yelled as he and Charles seemed to be separated by a few tenths of a second, cheering loudly when the times were set and your boyfriend got the pole position.

The timing was perfect as Max took a little longer than expected on his interviews, fans scattering to the fanzone and track experiences while you spotted Max's engineer, walking with him when no one seemed to be paying attention to it.

"I'll tell Max you're already here", he smiled before he closed the door of the driver's room.

It always felt a little odd. Like you were doing something forbidden and illegal by being there.

"Yes, we'll meet in a bit", Max told whoever was in the corridor after he opened the door, closing it back when you jumped on him, legs wrapping around his waist, "hey, pole sitter", you smirked, nuzzling your face on his neck and kissing the soft skin.

"Hello, liefje", he mumbled against your skin before you pulled away, "kiss?", you asked for his lips to settle on yours for a bit, filling up on eachother's presence.

"No one saw you come here?", he asked. You shook your head, "everybody was paying attention to other things, the only people I encountered already know so we're safe", you stated.

Max noticed the change of tone, but you wouldn't have time to properly discuss it so he let it slide for now, telling you instead about the session and how the car felt, as well as the dinner plans her had for you since the room service menu was "so varied we could make our own little buffet".

You stayed in the room while he had the debrief, leaving together when you made sure no one would see you two.

"Room service called back, they said they'll bring the food in ten minutes", Max said as you got out of the bathroom, dressed in pyjamas and fresh out of the shower, "That's good, I'm starving", you smiled as you sat down.

Max always received the food at the door to ensure no prying eyes would see something he didn't want, along with other precautions like packing up all your things in case someone from housekeeping enjoyed the gossip and took the rumours somewhere else.

"I know something is bothering you", Max began you had taken a piece of chicken to your much, "I noticed it when we were in my room, and even now there's something", he nudged your arm.

Chewing and swallowing afterwards, you moved the broccoli around your plate, gathering your thoughts before speaking up, "do you know people ship you and Alice?", you spoke up.

"Don't change the subject, darl - is that it?", Max tried to understand.

"People seem to think you'd make a great couple, like, they have your whole relationship panned out. Everyone thinks she's very pretty - and I agree with them -, and that you two have chemistry and that it would be nice for you to be with her - looks exchanged and all sorts of ideas", you mumbled.

"Liefje, I'd never do that to you, I don't interact with her that way", Max replied instantly.

"I know you don't, but it hurts to see", you admitted, "comments people make about my boyfriend and how he really should start dating someone - and they know who that person is, so really it's just a matter of putting two and two together!", you let a tear fall down your cheek.

"Y/N, I didn't know it was bothering you so much and bringing you such sadness", Max cupped your cheek, thumb wiping the tears that followed suit and looking into your eyes.

"I can ask the team to issue or statement - or we can go public. I don't care what we do as long as you feel better about it", he comforted.

"Do you want to go public?", you asked, afraid of the answer.

"Y/N, my love, being secret was just to protect you, for your good. If going public is the solution for this, I'm the first one to walk into the paddock tomorrow with you, holding hands and everything", he moved his hands to cradle your own.

"You mean that? It's just, I don't want people to assume you're single and throw themselves at you - or throw someone at you! I know Alice won't do it, but other people might and I'm tired of having to lie to people about where I'm going and saying no to dates they try to set up and why I gave a RedBull rain jacket on my car", you chuckled at the last one, remembering your coach's reaction when she saw it, "Since when do you follow F1?", Carol questioned.

"We'll do it tomorrow if you want, or whenever you feel ready, Y/N. I'll be by your side, always", he smiled kissing your lips lovingly.

"I don't have any paddock wag outfits with me", you giggled, "have to make a good impression".

"Please, you could go in these pyjamas and you'd still be the prettiest woman there", he pulled you to sit on his lap as you finished your dinner.

The next morning, people couldn't believe their eyes as Max walked hand in hand with a young woman, the pair of them talking about something between them as they giggled.

A few were unsure of it was really you while others asked their colleagues to please repeat your name, googling you quickly and finding out your achievements.

Soon enough, pictures flowed social media with the paddock's new power couple, gossip Instagram pages having a field day and it wasn't even lunch time.

"This is news", Daniel said as he spotted Max. He had been one of the few people outside of the team who knew about you two, you having made him swear that he would never tell anyone, and if by chance he did let something slip, you trusted him to make a joke out of it and for people to assume he was just teasing Max indeed.

"You won't have to keep it to yourself anymore, Danny", you said as you hugged his side quickly.

"That's good, actually, I think that's what has been keeping me from being focused in racing, it's a real relief, Y/N", he stated and for two seconds, you felt bad for putting such pressure on him, "I'm just kidding! C'mon, you know what I'm like", he gave you a big smile, "now, I have to go, will pop by to see you though!", Daniel said as he waved while he carried on to his team's garage.

Your interactions with Daniel and the team spurred curiosity as the media started thinking and hypothesizing that maybe your relationship was as new as they thought it was. As it turns out, once again, Max Verstappen knew how to keep private aspects away from the media.

For now, they would try to dig more and find out how the Olympic medalist swimmer stole the heart of the Formula One driver.

[arienotari]

Drowning

Summary: When your worst fear becomes a reality and all you have on the other side is a brown eyed boy.

Pairing: Wally Clark x Reader

Warnings: Death, Drowning, Bullying

Edit: I am terrible at editing, and I tried my best so I'm sorry if you find any mistakes. This is my first full story I am releasing out into the world.

Word Count: 3330

I’ve never liked swimming.

People say it makes them feel free, but I felt anything but free. Every chance I got I avoided water at all costs. It's suffocating. Something about floating in a body of endless water and possibilities always made my skin crawl. One major problem that contributes to my fear is the fact that I can’t swim. I don’t blame anyone for this setback because I've never asked how to or showed interest. My inability to swim didn’t become a problem for me until my senior year of high school. I’ve gotten out of swimming class every year up until now and I had no choice but to take it. I tried to tell the swimming coach and counselors privately that I couldn’t take the class. All they said was I could stay in the shallow end. That I’ll be fine. I believed them. 

Word spread quickly throughout my class that I couldn’t swim once they started noticing I wouldn’t leave the 4ft mark. I didn’t really care, all I cared about was getting through the year. I was never really popular which didn’t matter much to me but being in this class never made it more obvious how much I hated it here. I felt eyes on me at all times which only made being in the water worse. 

It was March 12, 2015. Only a couple months left of school and then I’d be off to NYU living my dream of being a writer. First I had to get through 4th period swim class of course. I walked into the girls changing room preparing for the next 50 minutes of anxiety as I put my swimsuit on. I folded my dark blue jeans, my gray sweater, and a white tank top with lace on the trim that I wore under the sweater. Making my way to the pool I started putting my hair up in place of a hair cap I seem to have forgotten. Staring at the water I can see the bottom but it doesn’t stop the feeling of wanting to crawl up from my throat. Half the girls were already in the water preparing for a game of volleyball. Step by step down the ladder my hands begin to shake and my mouth becomes dry like I just ate pancakes. I make my way to the back to avoid any confrontation or any chance of being involved in the game. The one thing good about this class is it has a perfect view of the sky. I always get lost staring out at it wondering who’s also looking back. It makes me forget the situation I’m in and my environment. That's until a ball lands in front of me and about 15 girls are looking back at me waiting for my next move. I pick it up with my now calmer hands from before and spike it. Thankfully I made it over to the other side and the girls immediately turned back to the game. Not without some dirty looks but quite frankly I don’t really care. I watch as Mrs. Withers gets a call which seems to be serious as she tells us that she needs to step outside and when the bell rings to just go ahead. It’s only 10 minutes later when the shower bell rings and I feel the crushing weight lift off my shoulders. The other girls split based on which ladder they are closest to heading to the locker room and I help one of the girls get the volleyballs together. Making my way back to solid ground I rush to put the balls away not wanting to be one of the last to leave. I grab a towel on the rack near the other end of the pool as I make my way back seeing the last of everyone leaving. At least that’s what I thought until I heard someone behind me scream “Wait up” before running past me tripping me in the process. Losing my balance I watch as the one who screamed leaves the room leaving me alone. I hit the water with a loud splash waiting to hit the bottom to kick back up only to never feel my feet hit the concrete. I try to reach for the surface but everything I try seems to pull me down further. I panic, feeling my lungs on fire from filling with water. I tried to scream but no one could hear me and no one ever would. Everything was starting to go black and everything was becoming numb. All I could think about was how much I would miss out on. Finally, everything goes dark and I feel like I’m floating but I’m not, I’m being pulled up. I grab onto whoever’s pulling me up as if my life depended on it. Once I reach the surface my lungs fill with air as I begin to cough unbearably with my eyes screwed shut. I feel myself being hoisted up on the ground and out of the water. I’m pulled into the person who saved me as I am unable to move from exhaustion. When the person holds my face to center it I finally open my eyes as I am met with wide brown ones. 

“Are you okay”, he’s breathing heavily as I study him blocking out his yell to someone to bring his jacket. 

I feel a warm weight on my shoulders seeing its a blue and white letterman jacket out of the corner of my eye. 

“Thank you for saving me” I give him a weak smile but all I get in return is an expression filled with nothing but sorrow and guilt. 

Still seated on the floor I hear a horrified scream from beside me causing me to whip my head towards the chaos. Suddenly time stops and everything goes silent as I choked out a sob watching as a student and Mrs. Withers pull my body out of the water. The whole class comes to watch as they try to resuscitate me but nothing is happening. I feel the stranger push my head into his chest and I begin to cry harder than before. He repeats “I know’s” and “I’m sorry’s” as my world comes crashing down on me. 

Hours later we are still in the same position my hair and clothes dry now along with a tear-dried face. It’s dark outside with only the poolside fluorescent lights to illuminate our two figures. I begin to shiver more and more as the stranger who pulled me out of the water rubs my back and arms. 

“We need to get up, you're getting too cold” he whispers, pulling his body to get a better look at me. 

I lift myself up getting a better look at him as well as I memorize his long structured face, beauty marks, and brown eyes. After a minute I nod and try to stand up realizing that I’m still exhausted, the position not helping adding to the pain. He helps me steady myself and fully extend as he holds my hands making sure I’m okay. 

“You should take a shower and change into your regular clothes, I’ll probably do the same and I will explain everything once we're done. Okay?”, he says softly with an uneasy half-smile waiting for my response.

“Okay,” I whisper back at him not wanting to raise my voice feeling it’ll be too much to handle. 

His smile fills out more as he nods and begins to turn away to do the same tasks as me. I begin to turn away as well before I realize I never got the guy's name who pulled me out of the pool and stayed with me for hours. 

“What’s your name?,” I said, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking away. 

He looks down at my hand holding his arm which makes me see I’m still holding onto him causing me to let go. 

“Wally, Wally Clark”, he said with a wide smile that made me feel alive again for just a split second. 

After warming up from the shower I changed into my clothes from before that were neatly folded. As I begin to walk out of the locker room I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look back at the girl staring at me feeling disconnected from who she was or what she could’ve been. I take a heavy breath before opening the door to leave and face the reality of my situation. Stepping into the hall, the school looked unnatural to me with the lights off. I look over and see a less wet and cold Wally approach me with the same smile as before. 

“How was the shower? Do you feel better?”, he asked one right after the other. 

“The shower was good and I’m doing the best I can with the fact that I am already dead,” I said, peering up at him only noticing now how tall he really is. 

“I know it's hard and I’m sorry it happened this way but I will try to explain everything the best I can.”, he said, extending his elbow out for me to take it as we began to walk further down the halls.

And Just like he said Wally kept his word and explained everything to me that he could. Like how we’ll never be able to leave school grounds unless we pass on. He also showed me all the other kids stuck here just like us and told me how some passed. As well as the weird support group that the kids attend in the gym. Even though he’d joke he never sugar-coated anything, which I couldn't help but appreciate. I won’t lie, the first couple of weeks were rough. I was plagued by the memory of what happened as well as the thoughts of the future I’ll never get. It definitely didn’t help that everyone at school was mentioning it and not in a sorrowful way. During those few weeks, Wally helped a lot with trying to be a distraction so I wouldn’t focus on others. I guess one of the perks of being dead is being able to duplicate belongings so I was able to get my phone and journal. I found the perfect spot on the football field to just listen to music and lie down. I’d close my eyes and imagine what life could’ve been but I knew I couldn’t do that forever, so I started to write more. It was easier to put my wishes and fantasies on pages without having to dwell on them. I usually kept my writing to myself so around 7:30 every day I’d go to my little bubble of solitude on the field and write. It was May now so the sun would start to set around 8 giving me enough light and a view. 

“What are you writing?'' I suddenly hear Wally's voice right next to my ear. 

“Jesus Christ Wally you scared me to death”, I said, jumping in reaction to the sudden deep voice, placing my hand on my heart and dropping my journal. 

“I mean it's a little too late for that someone must’ve beat me to it.”, he said smiling at me as he sat down next to me grabbing my journal to open it. 

I glare at him and snatch my journal back. 

“What too soon?”, he said with a stupid grin trying to get my journal back.

“Just a little,” I said, scrunching my nose. 

“No but seriously what are you writing? You come out here every day and write in that little journal.” He said leaning back on his arms a bit more to get my full face into view. 

I try to hide the blush that has crept up on my face when I realize that he’s been watching me come out here. After a moment I brush my hair out of my face and am met with those famous brown eyes. I take a deep breath before explaining to him my reasons. 

“I don’t want to stay stuck in the living because all it’ll do is bring harm. All I thought about for the past couple of months was what I’ll miss but I never stopped and processed my death. I’ve been hurting for all the things I couldn’t change and it caused me to push anything away, even you. So I thought why not write my wishes and wants down so they don’t stay on my mind. At least this way I can close the journal.” I said with a tiny smile looking up at him as he was staring back intently listening. 

“Before I died I wanted to be a writer and I had my whole life planned out, I was going to attend—“ 

“NYU, I know,” he said, finishing my sentence before I could. 

I watch as Wally sits up straighter and scooches closer to me before tilting his head. I can tell he’s trying to figure out what to say because he’s fidgeting with his necklace. I wait for him because there’s no point in rushing, I have all the time in the world. 

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” he says with a breath held in waiting for my response. 

One of my eyebrows lifts as I tilt my head in response to the slightly weird statement. 

“Oh god, that came out creepier than I meant it to. What I meant to say was even when you were alive I knew who you were.” He said laying back fully down in the grass. 

I watched as he covered his eyes with his hands with a frustrated grunt like he was trying to revert into a hole. 

“What do you mean?”, I said moving towards his laid position to where I’m now bent over leaning towards him leaving my crisscross position to now on my knees. 

I grab his hands that are covering his eyes and pull them down to his chest as I hold them to keep him from covering his eyes again. How he’s looking at me I can tell he’s debating with himself. I wait and listen before I watch as he closes his eyes. 

“The first time I saw you was during your freshman year in the library. I was looking for something to watch for group movie night. I had Rhonda yelling at me in one ear and Charlie telling me something in the other. I was getting a little annoyed but then I looked between the bookshelves and there you were.” He takes a pause to look at me and I squeeze his hand in return to continue. 

“You were tucked into the corner where the bookshelves meet, where no one could see you. In your hands was The Devil’s Highway by Luis Alberto Urrea. I watched as you cried the further you got into the book. After that day I came back to the library every day to see you. I even started picking up some of the books you read, but I couldn't finish half of them though.” He said with a small smile on his face and in his voice.  

He sat up which caused him to become closer to me while he took my hands instead of me holding his. He was looking at the grass for a minute while rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles. When he looked up I could see that he was tearing up making my heart ache. 

“I knew you had anxiety when it came to swim class because you couldn’t swim so I’d go to try and help. Even though you couldn’t see or feel me, I was always there.” He said lifting his hand up to tuck a loose strand of my hair that fell. 

His hand stayed in place as he cupped my cheek and I went to ask why he was tearing up because of this before he spoke. 

“I watched you die. I was there and I couldn’t do anything until it was too late, that’s why I was there. I had to watch you struggle knowing I couldn’t grab you or even scream for help.” He said with his voice croaking with the struggle of what he’s had to go through. 

My eyebrows furrowed as I watched the walls I built up crumble down with one look at him. I never knew he’d been holding in something like this for so long. If I had known I would’ve never tried to shut him out. I was scared of what had happened and how my life had ended but I never thought about him. He was always there and whenever I needed help he was right by my side. I moved from my position pulling him into a soul-crushing hug. It took him a second to respond to the sudden gesture but after a couple seconds, I felt his arms wrap around me.

“Wally my death wasn’t your fault, I need you to know that.”, I softly spoke while hugging him harder, feeling him return it. 

We continued hugging for what felt like years but could never be enough for me to be satisfied. One of my arms is coming up from under his arm grappling his shoulder while the other is around his waist. His arms are wrapped around my waist and I can feel his hands rubbing small circles on my back. Looking up from being tucked away in his shoulder I notice the sun is beginning to set. I begin to pull away and when I make eye contact with him again he’s only a mere few inches away from my face. I raise my hand to brush his hair away from his face as it has flattened from the hug. My hand slips down as it trails from the side of his head to where it now rests on his neck. He’s staring at me the whole time while I do this and when I look up to meet his eyes my heart quickens. Well, I imagined it quickened. There’s something about those brown eyes I’ve grown fond of that makes me feel alive again. His eyes flash down to my lips and back up to my eyes like he’s silently pleading. I give into his wants that now become a need for me and all I can do is nod. His hand comes up to my face pulling me towards him as our lips meet. The kiss felt like everything in my little life led up to this moment. Nothing else seemed to matter to me but the boy in front of me right now who just confessed that he’d been watching me for years. Wally’s the one to pull away first. I slowly opened my eyes to look at him wanting to capture this moment forever. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek and giving me a quick peck. I can’t restrain my gleaming smile as he pulls away for the second time. 

“Well I’m glad we got that cleared up”, he laughed as he spoke. 

I glared at him while punching him in the arm causing him to fall back but not before dragging me down with him. I land on his chest relaxing in his touch like it’s something I've been craving but have been deprived of. We lay in comfortable silence as I felt Wally rub circles with his thumb on my hip. 

“I’m glad it was you who found me. I don't know what I would’ve done” I said, being the first one to disturb the still air. 

“I am too,” Wally said into my hair as he kissed the top of my head. 

We lay there all night even when the stadium lights came on we just talked about everything and anything. Maybe the afterlife won’t completely suck. 

[zweiginator]

omg patrick with stanford cheerleader reader pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls i’m begging

like you're used to basketball and football players at stanford. they're cocky and hypermasculine and spoiled beyond belief. get whatever they want whenever they want. and the school is trying something new out: they want more fans at the smaller athletic events.

swimming, lacross, water polo--tennis.

so your coach tells you there's a tennis match you have to go to. just once a week during the season. which is fine, since it barely overlaps with your normal schedule.

you have assumptions about boys' tennis. you think they'll be scrawny and nerdy, nepotism kids who needed a way to weasle into a prestigious school like stanford.

you arrive to the match an hour early; you see the team practicing drills. they're confused as the stanford cheerleading bus pulls up.

picking your bag up, you make your way to the bottom of the stands. you bend over to tie your shoes, and hear a distinct groan from behind you.

but when you turn back to face the court, it wasn't what you thought. the groan came as a dark-haired tennis player smacked the ball, his shirt riding up to reveal toned abs, and pulsing veins in his wrist, exacerbated by the may heat.

he isn't scrawny, or nerdy, and he certainly isn't a bad athlete. you watch him intently, how he smacks the ball, his shoes squeaking as he moves up and down the court. he's strong and self-assured and a little cocky.

you see it as he notices you're watching him. raises his eyebrows at you as he squirts water into his mouth and stretches his shoulders with his racket.

he takes his shirt off too. tanned skin peppered with dark chest hair that goes down, down, down--extends underneath his little red stanford shorts.

patrick notices your get up too. your short, perfectly pressed skirt with those tiny shorts underneath. your cute, tight tank top with stanford stretched across your tits. you look so smooth. like you smell like vanilla frosting and warm linen. and better yet, you look tight.

when the match begins, it doesn't feel like patrick is playing against an opponent. it feels like he's performing for you. pushing his chest out and flexing his legs. looking over at you when he hits a good serve, wins a set, a match.

he likes how you pretend like you don't care that he stares at you. and he likes how you let your little skirt ride up for him. he dabs the sweat off his chest and forehead with a cloth.

your eyes follow a lone bead of sweat that drips down the valley of his chest, towards his belly button. and you notice he's hard. he adjusts himself before the next set.

and you eye fucking each other moves back and forth, a volley. a fun game of watching patrick's breath visibly hitch as you run your pom up your leg, as your skirt flips up when you jump.

when the matches are over, patrick finds you in the stands. he hikes his leg up on the bench next to you and leans forward. you look up at him with a feigned innocence that he sees right through. but your eyes are big and pretty, so he doesn't mind the little white lie. he'll catch you on it later.

and he does. he sits across from you and talks and talks and talks until everyone has left. bounces you on his cock under the bleachers away from the security cameras, your skirt flipped up, tank top pulled down. it's messy and hot and desperate and he has to use his t-shirt as a cum rag.

for the rest of the season, your little routine persists--until patrick's teammate catches patrick fucking your throat in the locker room.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 65

part 1 | part 64 | ao3

cw: angst, weed

Eddie reaches out then stops, hand hovering just above Steve’s knee, something like panic in the tremor of his wrist. “Steve, for real, man, please let me—”

“No, you for real, man.” Seriously? Man? As if there aren't so many more important things to discuss right now. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his nose, the voice of an old swim coach ringing in his ear. Game time, Harrington, c’mon, where’s your head?

“Look,” Steve sighs, fingers clenching around his shin. “We can talk about... this," he gestures between the two of them, "later. Let’s just— Important stuff only for right now, okay?” 

Eddie’s breath shakes when he answers. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Good.” 

This is somehow worse than silence.

Steve shakes his head, tries to focus through the fog of awkward energy. Important things. Important.

Like, how about ‘what were you doing with a pretty girl in my fucking trailer?’ for starters, or maybe—

Oh, fuck. 

Steve looks sharply at Eddie. “Why were you asking if I was real?”

Eddie stares back in silence, eyes huge, bottom lip trembling as Steve presses into his space; drops his voice, brings a hand up to wrap around Eddie’s arm — just above his elbow, soft leather and warm muscle shivering under the touch. God. Please. Not him, too. “Eddie. Did you— did you see something? Are you…?”

“No,” Eddie shudders. “No, sorry, just, uh—” He shakes his head with a grimace, a shrill sound spilling out, some frantic braying thing that might have counted as a laugh if his face wasn’t doing that. “Pretty goddamn sure I’m just losing my mind after seeing the— the fucking—”

His palm floats up to the ceiling in a wobbly zig-zag, looseleaf drifting to the classroom carpet in reverse, then he clenches his fist and lets it explode open with a ‘boom,’ the sound effect ruined by another strangled laugh. “Oh, my god,” he giggles. Humorless, horrified, nervous system overwhelm. His entire arm is shaking. “Oh, shit, oh, Jesus Christ, Steve, Chrissy’s—”

“Hey.” Steve tightens his grip on Eddie’s arm; waits for Eddie to take a breath, gasping and wet. “We can’t think about it, alright?”

Eddie’s voice cracks miserably. “That’s not fucking fair to her.”

“I know.” Steve loosens his hold; smooths his palm over the leather sleeve; wonders who he’s really trying to soothe. “I know. But we can’t— if what you and Dustin said is true, if it’s really some— some monster that hurt Chrissy, that’s trying to hurt us? We can’t grieve yet, okay? We can’t give him an opening to attack. We need a game plan.”      

Eddie exhales like he’s trying to mimic an owl. “Okay,” he nods eventually, slapping his thighs as he stands up. “Okay. Game plan. Yeah. Shit. Games and sports and plans and…” 

He trails off, mouth moving around mumbled gibberish as he wiggles his fingers and drums on himself, hands slipping up his torso, tongue over his top lip. He pats his front pocket. “Oh, hell yeah, baby.” Whirling to face Steve, he slips his forefinger and thumb into the narrow pouch and pulls out the Altoids tin where he keeps his pre-roll stash. “How’s this for a game plan?”

—

part 66

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[cottonlemonade]

Hi hi!! I saw your lemonade stand and I LOVE the concept omg. Can I request a medium watermelon lemonade with pomegranate seeds for Asahi?

Thank you so much if you write it !! I hope you have a great day 🩷

Sharing A Tent With His Crush

word count: 1926 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: Asahi x chubby manager!Reader

genre: fluff with spice

warning: mdni, spoilers

request: fluffy-spicy, sharing a tent with pining friend Asahi

“One, two, three, four…”

As Takeda counted in the background, Coach Ukai studied his clipboard, listening with a content smile to the hollering and laughter that was carried up from the beach by an easy sea breeze. The kids were off swimming and building sandcastles and trenches, enjoying their hard earned freedom after weeks of studying and practices.

“Oh no.”

Ukai turned to the teacher.

“What is it, Sensei?”

“Oh nononono - no!”

“What? Did we forget a cooler? What?”

“We are one tent short!”

“What?!”, Ukai’s booming yell made some birds fly out of a tree top, “I double checked it! Are you sure?”

The men stood shoulder to shoulder, counting. Again. And again. But even after the fifth time, Ukai had to admit his mistake.

“What are we gonna do?”, Takeda asked, panic rising in his voice.

“We just… gotta rethink logistics.”, Ukai said, grabbing the clipboard once more and flipping to the page of the sleeping arrangements.

One of the boys was supposed to sleep alone anyway. And one of the girls, too, because both numbers were uneven.

“Maybe we can squeeze Nishinoya, Hinata and Yamaguchi into one and then have y/n take the free boys’ tent.”

“Sensei, we can’t just sort them by size. I think… hm, y/n is a third year. If we put her with one of the other third years they should have the presence of mind not to try any funny business. The first years won’t get a wink of sleep having a girl so close to them at night and the second years are as girl-crazy as they come.”

“How about Sugawara then?”

“Don’t be too trusting, Sensei. I don’t think he is as innocent as he seems.”, Ukai said with a frown, “And Sawamura might do something without even realizing he is flirting. - I hate to say it but … Azumane will be too chicken to even go near her. I think he is our best bet.”

Asahi went pale when the news broke over dinner. He looked at you and was quite relieved to see you equally as shocked.

“It‘s just for one night.“, Ukai said quickly, “Not a big deal.“

Both the ace and third manager would very much beg to differ but the coach already made his way back to Takeda and his plate of chicken.

“No big deal.“, you repeated under your breath.

“No big deal.“, Asahi agreed.

It was, in fact, a big deal to Asahi. He didn‘t know exactly when he started to be hopelessly in love with you but if he had to take a guess, it was probably somewhere around the time when he noticed all of his sketches and doodles of various outfits becoming chubbier until they eventually matched your figure. Skirts for a lovely Sunday date, pantsuits for eventually kicking butt at an office where you undoubtedly would end up as CEO sooner or later, dresses for imaginary galas you‘d attend and even an elaborate gown for a daydream of a royal ball he had during a boring physics lesson. (He also came up with his own outfit for that occasion to match you.)

Noya was the only one he confided in. The libero had sworn on his honor to never hit on you and ever since tried to push his best friend to make a move before graduating and possibly losing sight of you. And after much pushing and pestering and strategizing, Asahi, under threat of violence, had agreed to confess his feelings before graduation - as an out, Asahi didn’t tell his friend that he hadn’t actually specified whether it was graduating high school or university so he still had time either way.

After dinner the team gathered around a bonfire to roast marshmallows and make up completely ridiculous, yet confident, remarks about constellations in the clear night sky.

Asahi was torn between wanting to play for time until curfew or savor every second of the increasingly appealing mishap - to share a tent, all night, alone, side by side with his crush.

But of course, as with every good beach episode, there had to be a game of truth or dare involved.

Daichi was forced to admit that he was deadly scared of mice, Hinata had to sit still for a whole minute and, in the meantime, Tsukki was dared to not insult him once. It was fun until Noya turned to you and the glint in his eyes made you gulp.

“So, y/n-san. Truth or dare?”

Quite frankly, both of these were dangerous coming from him but maybe truth wouldn’t be so bad.

Noya gave a victorious grin.

“Who, of the people here, do you have a crush on?”

Asahi wasn’t sure if it was the light of fire that made your cheeks look so pink. His heart quickened. You stammered, kneading your fingers in your lap.

“Alright everyone.”, Daichi said when an alarm went off on his phone, “Let’s get to bed. Lights out in 15 minutes.”

Noya groaned and began to argue but one look from the captain had him crumble. So instead, he and Tanaka pushed each other out of the way, eager to be the one to accompany Kiyoko the few steps to the tent she shared with Yaachi.

Suga and Daichi gave Asahi a nondescript nod Goodnight before heading to bed themselves.

It was quite miraculous, you thought, how Asahi’s massively tall frame could fit next to you, when your plump form occupied a good part of the truly pathetically crammed tent already.

You sat cross legged on your sleeping bag, in your pyjama shorts and oversized t-shirt. Given the sleeping arrangements you decided to keep wearing a bra.

“Just for one night, right?”, you said in a (failed) attempt to make your voice sound light and airy.

You pumped some oil into the palm of your hand before running your fingers through your hair. The pleasant smell filled the tent. You caught his eyes and smiled, then both of you looked away again. The atmosphere was somewhat stiff, even though you’ve been on friendly terms with the fellow third years ever since you switched over from the Sewing Club about a year ago.

“Do you think-“

“So what would you-“

You said at the same time and broke off, laughing awkwardly.

“You first.”, he said.

“Do you think it’s okay if we keep on a light?”, you asked.

“Sure. Do you have one? Cause otherwise, I brought-” Asahi reached for his backpack and so did you.

After a moment’s rummaging you produced a small panda bear figure and turned to see a thing in his hand that looked suspiciously like a round little rabbit with a leaf umbrella.

“Is that… is that the official Totoro night light with 8 different color options and dimming function??”

Asahi nodded and you clasped your hands in delight, leaning closer to inspect it as he held it out to you. You let out a small gasp. This was one of the best night lights on the market right now after all!

“I wanted one of those for ages! But they're always sold out! How did you get it?”

“I set myself an alert for when they’re back in stock.”

He basked in your impressed “Ohhhh” and a few minutes later you both lay on your stomachs, looking at the two soft glowing figures in front of you.

Outside the tent, Ukai nodded approvingly on his last checkup before turning in himself in the room he shared with Takeda in a guesthouse on the border of the camping grounds.

“What was your question?”

“Hm?”, Asahi turned to look at you.

“Earlier when I asked you about the light. You wanted to say something as well. What was it?”

“Oh, not important.”, he said and moved the Totoro night light a little closer to your panda.

“Come on, I wanna know.”, you lightly pushed his leg with your foot to encourage him.

“I was just… I-i was wondering what you would have said if Daichi’s alarm hadn’t gone off.”, he mumbled.

“When? Oh, the game. Uhm.” The pink from earlier returned to your cheeks. Now would be as good a time as any, you thought and after a deep breath you replied, “You.”

Stupidly, Asahi rolled around to check if there was someone else behind him in the tiny tent before moving his attention back to you.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”, you laughed.

“I- I don't know what to say.”, Asahi stammered.

You regarded him with a thoughtful smile, still somewhat hopeful that what Kiyoko and Suga told you was right.

“Well, you could tell me if you feel the same or not, maybe?”

“Oh right! Yes!”, he said, much louder than intended and ducked his head a moment later, “Yes, I do like you. A lot.”

You beamed at him.

“Nice.”

The following giggles were suppressed in your respective pillows.

When you came back up for air he brushed a few loose strands of hair out of his face and cleared his throat, “Would you like to go out with me once we’re back?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great.”

You both looked at each other, unsure of what to do next.

“So…”, you began, weighing your words carefully, “Do you wanna make out?”

If Asahi had been drinking water, he would have choked on it. His face immediately turned bright red and he needed a minute to put a coherent word together. You waited patiently.

“Yes.”, he croaked eventually.

He didn’t move.

“I’ll be right there.”, he assured you, his voice and face still not quite back to normal.

“That’s alright.”

Asahi’s eyes widened when you scooted closer and your noses almost touched.

“Hi.”

“H-hello.”

It started out with a peck. You pulled back to check if he had any objections but you didn’t get very far. His lips followed yours as if magnetic. He sighed into the kiss and your smile widened if possible even further. His large hand came to rest on your waist and you slotted your leg between his. The kiss soon became open mouthed, your tongue slipping back and forth to test the waters.

You hummed happily against him, making him squeeze your pillowy hips. He was losing his mind. How could one person feel this good? Your hand brushed down his muscular arm to lay on top of his and began to move it. He was so engrossed in your taste that he didn’t notice until he cupped your breast.

“Y/n…”, he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. He stared at his hand, how it went up and down along with your panting. You, in turn, felt him throb against your thigh that was pushed between his legs.

Your chubby fingers closed around his much larger hand, easing him into the idea that he was free to touch you.

“Y/n…”, he whispered again and was met with your lips on his once more. He had never been drunk before but he was sure this was exactly what it must feel like.

Asahi groaned into your mouth when his palm pressed against your hardened nipple, pushing through the fabrics.

____________________

Picking up a piece of omelet with his chopsticks the next morning, Asahi grinned down at his bowl of rice like an idiot. You sat right next to him, so close that your heavenly thighs touched his, just as dazed from the previous night.

Tsukki frowned and said to no one in particular, but loud enough for you to hear, “Do they realize that tents aren’t soundproof?”

a/n: this one got so away from me xD thank you for your request and your kind words! I hope you enjoy it 🌟

Also I apologize for being so inactive. It’s a mixture of writer’s block, summer heat and a twisted back 🥲

[t-lostinworlds]

Competitively Stupid | Steve Harrington

》 PAIRING: steve harrington x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: rivals-ish (since childhood) to lovers, some angst; fluff

》 SUMMARY: It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.

》 WARNINGS: canon divergent (everyone is alive & well & happy thanks), pet names (sweetheart, baby), shitty parents (on both sides), competitiveness on all accounts, r is basically a counterpart of steve during high school (cheerleading captain, queen of hawkins high, swim team captain, etc.), peer pressure-ish, some stupid decisions & stupider actions, very irresponsible cliff jumping (which doesn't end well), drowning, CPR, injuries, an emotional moment™, love confessions, and a happy, sappy ending.

》 WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

A/N: hi! okay, well, it's been a while since i posted a steve fic so i'm kinda nervous ngl. also, not me making it a habit to include swimmer!steve in all my fics from here on out. this was meant to be short & sweet to dust off the cobwebs but lol. super random. i saw a video of someone cliff-jumping & boom, the idea was born. also, not me using the first aid training i learned in college.

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ STEVE H. MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

You genuinely have no idea why you were even doing this in the first place.

"There's no way you can do it."

Right.

That's why.

The taunting voice of Steve fucking Harrington was the reason why you were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a thirty-foot drop into the dark ocean.

This was supposed to be a relaxing trip with your new found family.

"You know you don't have to listen to him, right?" Robin sighed, so completely over the fact that her two best friends who never got along no matter what she tried, somehow came to an agreement to not listen to her right now.

Not that you could blame her.

You and Steve had been rivals ever since you were kids.

It was what you had always known.

What with narcissistic parents who used their children as pawns to one up each other, you had been conditioned to see him as an enemy from the second you step foot into their home.

Your family was invited into the Harrington residence for dinner as a way of welcoming you to the neighborhood. You recently just moved in, so you didn't know anyone else yet. When you heard that the next-door neighbor had a son who was your age, you had been really excited to gain a new friend.

All that changed when your dad sat you down an hour before, prepping you about how the Harringtons were a respected family in the town, and that you needed to show them you weren't any less than them, if not show them you were better. He drilled it in your brain to be on your best behavior, to be the best and the perfect daughter.

It only got worse when you finally sat down at that dinner table.

The comparisons were endless.

"See, my daughter here is a wonderful gymnast, quite amazing for someone her age."

"How wonderful. Steven here has swimming lessons every weekend. His coach said he might end up in the Olympic team once he's of age."

"Splendid. How about his academics? I'm sure he can take inspiration from my daughter's exemplary grades."

"He's the top of his class. Maybe if they study together, your daughter would be able to catch up in time."

It was harsh, pitting two seven-year-olds against each other—impressionable kids who only wanted to make their mom and dad proud.

But neither your parents nor his truly gave a shit. All they cared about was becoming the best family in the street, if not the whole town.

The sad thing was, those dinners became a regular thing, held alternately between your house and his.

It always looked like a preparation for battle whenever your mom would pull out the finest china in her collection along with the cookbook she only ever used for special occasions.

It was in the guise of cordiality when it was, in fact, an excuse to show off, to make a competition out of everything, a moment to compare who did what best. Those dinners were like monthly scoreboards, tallying up the respective families' recent achievements—and that included yours and Steve's.

Nobody was surprised that the competitiveness stuck with you both.

And it only got worse during high school.

Whether that was something as mundane as winning the popularity contest when running different circles—even going as far as getting crowned the King and Queen of Hawkins High—down to academics and extracurriculars.

Captain of the basketball team. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Prom Queen. Prom King. MVP of the season. Brightest student of the year. Beer pong Queen. Kegstand King. Best summer camp counselor. Lifeguard of the month and it went on and on and on and on.

When he got co-captain for the men's swim team, you rubbed it in his face that you were the captain of the women's team. When you got second place at the science fair, he made sure to rub his first place medal right in your face. When you became president of the student council, you ordered him around to do extra work whenever the basketball team was required to help with community service.

It was a constant back and forth.

There was always a competition between you and Steve Harrington.

And sure, since you graduated, it became subdued. But it was still very much there. Vying on who was the coolest babysitter in your band of ragtags, even fighting to have the title of Robin Buckley's ultimate best friend.

This thing between you and Steve was deeply rooted. So there really wasn't much Robin could do apart from getting in between your frequent squabbles before you started actually killing each other.

In Robin's words, something drastic had to happen for you both to finally wake up and see that this rivalry between you both wasn't what it seemed to be on the surface.

You had no idea what she was even implying.

Now, on a little getaway on the nearest beach you could drive to, the competition started with a race on who could get there first. It wasn't even fair seeing that you weren't the one driving.

The group had split into two, some were in Eddie's van—along with everyone's belongings since he had ample space in the back—while the others were in Steve's Beemer. Since you and Steve couldn't be in the same room together without an argument ensuing, it was a unanimous decision to have you two separated. Nobody wanted to deal with that for hours on the road.

Not that you could blame them, either.

And sure, it was the kids who suggested the race, but with Steve's smug smirk and that arrogant wink he threw once you got into Eddie's passenger seat, you knew it was game on between you too.

Yet despite the metal head being a fast—albeit slightly reckless—driver, he somehow took his sweet goddamn time getting to your destination.

Only when your group arrived at the beach last, did he say something about Steve threatening him to be extra careful with driving because there's important cargo in his van—whatever the hell that meant.

You lost to Steve on that one, but you would argue it was rigged from the start.

The next was a supposed friendly bout on who could build the biggest sandcastle that didn't topple over after a few minutes.

It was boys versus girls with you and him being team leaders. The girls won, obviously and El never used her powers. It was fair and square since the other team mostly argued over everything they could think of and had no teamwork at all. You made sure to point that out to Steve as you watched their sandcastle crumble into ruins.

Another one was beach volleyball. Same leaders as before, but you get to pick the members of your teams this time. Steve made it his mission to pick the tallest of the bunch. Still, it wasn't the advantage he thought it was because it ended up being one point too close.

Your team would've won if Steve wasn't such a dramatic asshole.

It was truly an accident. When you spiked that ball, you were not aiming for his face. He simply thought it was a good idea to catch the ball with it. Besides, he was distracted, flirting with some random girl in a bikini who was passing by, right in the middle of the game.

How was it your fault that he wasn't paying attention?

He made sure to oversell his injury after that, curled up on the sand as the girl fussed over him. But you saw that smirk on his face. You would've hit him again—definitely not by accident this time—if you weren't busy arguing with Robin about the point deduction. She said it was only fair since you hit the ball when she hadn't blown her imaginary whistle yet.

You decided to let it go when Steve commented on you being a whiny sore loser.

Unfortunately, the competition was ending with who could make jumping off a cliff and into the ocean look the coolest—adults only, despite the groans of protest from the mischievous bunch.

Eddie offered to stay behind and watch the rascals. When teased, he simply said he didn't want to test Death today.

His comment didn't help your nerves.

Robin said she was only coming purely as a voice of reason. She'd been saying nonstop how it was a horribly stupid idea, that there really was no need to be doing this in the first place.

But Steve wasn't backing down, so you weren't going to either.

So once again, it was only you and him.

As it always had been.

He volunteered to go first, throwing in a comment about rushing back up the cliff's edge before you could take your turn because he wanted a front-row seat for when you'd chicken out.

It only made you want to do it more.

His dive was smooth, almost flawless, you admit. He even showed off with a little flip near the end. It didn't take long for him to swim back to the shore, either. His years of training as a swimmer were obviously paying off.

But you trained just as much if not more than he had.

The only difference was, adrenaline didn't fuel you as much as it did Steve. So instead of getting all powered up looking down at a cliff's edge like he was, you were terrified.

But who wouldn’t get scared looking down at harsh waves crashing against sharp and jagged rocks? There was no margin for error here because one wrong slip and you'd be dead.

Still, if Steve could do it, you could do it better.

You weren't about to lose to his stupid ass.

"I'm not listening to him," you argued back, taking in a shaky breath as you took a step.

"He's doing reverse psychology!" she squeaked. "So you doing it is still listening to him!"

"I'm fine, Robs, I can do it," you mumbled, a slight questioning lilt at the end of your sentence.

"Look, sweetheart, it's okay to admit defeat," Steve said, cocky voice with an even cockier smile as he crossed his toned arms against his bare chest. His hair was still damp, quick to climb back up so he could get his front-row seat as he promised.

But you weren't chickening out.

Never.

"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time you lost to me so, it shouldn't sting as much."

You ignored him.

Instead, you took another step, the tips of your toes now hanging over the edge.

You can do this. Wipe that smug smirk off his face. You got this.

"Listen, you don't have to do—"

"Shut it, Harrington," you growled.

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, counting from three, two, one…

You jumped.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

He shouldn't have pressured you like that.

The jump wasn't deadly, per se, but it also wasn't exactly deemed the safest, especially if you weren't an expert in any sort of way.

And he didn't want to say it out loud because if he did, he knew it would only push you to do it more just to prove him wrong.

But Steve could see how scared you were.

He was already dropping the act, voice laced with concern as he started telling you that he wasn't worth all of this, that he was stupid and that you were always going to be better than him.

But, obviously, you didn't listen.

You simply jumped.

You and your stupidly competitive ass.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, rushing to the edge of the cliff, tensely watching your falling figure disappear into the water with a splash.

"You two are complete idiots."

"Shut up," Steve gritted, never looking away from the water. Yet any annoyance was quickly overpowered by sheer worry as he scanned the deep blue for anything.

There was no sign of you.

"Like seriously! It's like I'm the only one with a brain cell here!"

"Come on, come on, come on," Steve mumbled, completely ignoring Robin when you still hadn't emerged to the surface. "Come on, Y/N, don't scare me like this."

"Uh, Steve?" Robin asked after a moment, carefully looking over the cliff before shooting him a worried glance. "You look anxious and you being anxious is making me nervous."

"She hasn't come up," he grumbled, glancing at his watch.

It was nearing a minute.

"Maybe you didn't see her?"

"I haven't taken my eyes off the water, Buckley," he gritted, too harsh and uncalled for since Robin didn't do anything wrong.

But he was panicking.

A minute and thirty seconds.

"Come on, sweetheart, you can do it. You're an amazing swimmer," he whispered encouragingly, hoping some sort of magic would let you hear him underwater all while saying it aloud for his own sanity.

Two minutes.

You could never hold your breath any longer than that.

Steve knew because he always won that competition.

And that was in a calm pool.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, gearing up to dive after you. "I don't think she's coming up!"

"Okay! Okay," Robin rushed, panicking. "Maybe she's already on the shore. We should go down now and see—"

Steve didn't listen.

He jumped right after you.

The biting cold was awakening.

Still, it was the absolute fear of losing you that was keeping him alert.

He ignored the sting of the salty ocean water in his eyes as he frantically searched for you, his heart beating hard and fast, struggling for oxygen all while fearing for your safety.

Steve didn't know which came first, relief or dread when finally found you, aimlessly floating and unconscious under the deep blue.

He swam to you as fast he could, securely hooking his arm under your shoulder and dragging you up to the surface.

Steve always knew that adrenaline can give you a random boost of strength when needed. He simply didn't expect that to be proven true when he was carrying your unresponsive body in his arms as he brought you to the shore.

He gently placed you on your back on the sand, cupping your face as he checked for any injuries.

You were so cold.

"Hey, hey, wake up," he begged, grabbing your shoulders to try and shake you awake.

Nothing.

"You didn't have to make the jump, you idiot. Why do you always want to prove me wrong," he scolded with no ounce of anger, only worry. He started tapping your cheek frantically. "Come on, wake up!"

Still no response.

"Dammit, Y/N, why'd you have to be so fucking stubborn," he scolded, his voice shaking in fear, his chest tightening as he pressed two fingers against your pulse point.

His own heart stopped when he couldn't feel yours.

And you weren't breathing.

Steve tried to keep himself calm. If he panicked now, he wouldn't be able to give you the aid that you direly need.

"Come on, Harrington. You know what to do. You trained for this," he mumbled to himself, getting into the proper position to give you CPR.

He gently cupped your forehead with his left hand, his other two fingers under your chin as he tilted your head up.

"You're going to be okay," he whispered, pinching your nose before slotting his lips against yours.

Breathing into your mouth, one, two, he watched your chest rise as it filled up with air, only for it to settle back down without coming back up again. He quickly kneeled straighter, locking his fingers together and placing the heel of his left hand in the middle of your chest, pushing down with enough pressure to try and get your heart to start again.

"One, two, three, four, come on, sweetheart, breathe for me," he mumbled, easily finding the right rhythm, his first aid training as a lifeguard coming back to him like it was second nature.

Still, he never wanted to use this skill in a real-life situation, much less use it on you.

It was the longest thirty counts in his life.

Check for a pulse. Check for breathing.

Still nothing.

"Goddammit, Y/N, come on!" he growled, blinking back the tears as he pressed his mouth against yours again.

Two rescue breaths.

Thirty chest compressions.

Steve repeated the cycle over and over. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, his knees were burning as the rough sand dug deeper into his skin, and his arms were starting to get sore, tiredness slowly covering his aching muscles.

But he'd rather die first than give up on you now.

"Steve—"

"Call for help, Robin!" he ordered, not taking his eyes off you for even a second. When he didn't hear any movement, he yelled, "Don't just stand there! Go!"

He was going to apologize for being an asshole later. For now, he needed you to fucking breathe.

"Come on, come on, please," he begged, leaning back down to give you two more rescue breaths. "Breathe for me, baby, please."

Thirty chest compressions.

"Trying to prove me wrong when I've always been wrong, you idiot."

Five, six, seven—

"Sweetheart, come on," he choked back a sob. "Who's going to call me out when I'm being stupid, huh? You know Robin can't do it alone."

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen—

"And you're really going to leave me alone to watch our kids?"

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two—

"Y/N, baby, please, I can't live without you," he whimpered.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thir—

Steve felt his breath leave his lungs when you finally gasped for air.

He quickly turned you to your side, rubbing your back as you choked out all the ocean water that got into your system.

"There you go, you're okay," he whispered, whether to reassure you or himself, he didn't even know anymore. All he was focused on was making sure you were going to be okay.

"S-Stevie?" you coughed out the nickname that was only ever used by you.

It was the equivalent to his nickname for you—sweetheart.

Names that started out to annoy each other but the more often it was used as time passed, it only managed to grow into an endearment that held something warm underneath it. You both were quick to realize that the nicknames you had for each other weren't out of spite anymore.

Neither of you simply addressed it.

"Steady, sweetheart, I'm right here," he reassured, hurriedly getting into your line of sight to stop you from trying to turn around to face him. He gently cupped your cheek, offering you a soft smile when your gaze found him. "I'm not going anywhere."

You nodded as best as you could, your eyes clinging onto his brown ones only for them to screw shut when a shiver ran through your whole body.

"C-Cold," you stammered.

"I know, I know, come here," he said softly, guiding you to sit up before quickly settling behind you. He gently pulled you closer between his legs, his chest pressed against your back as he blanketed his body over yours, rubbing your arms to keep you as warm as possible.

You turned to face him slightly, burying your face into his neck only for you to wince at the slight movement. He quickly tried to steady you again, checking over you twice to look for any visible injury. But he couldn't find any.

"Tell me what hurts," he asked, pressing his lips against your cold forehead as he fully wrapped his arms around you.

"A-Ankle," you whimpered in pain, your grip on his waist tightening and God he hated that sound so much.

You must've rolled it when you jumped, and having landed on it when you reached the water, it definitely made it worse.

"It's okay, you're okay," he murmured, littering kisses against the side of your head to try and keep your mind off it. "Robin already called for help, they should be on their way, alright?"

You gave him a small nod, inching even closer to him, seeking as much warmth from him as possible. Your cold breath was tickling his skin but he didn’t care. Hell, you could be breathing fucking ice and he still wouldn’t give a shit.

As long as you were breathing.

"I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"I-I'll try," you whispered.

"First to fall asleep is the biggest loser," he mumbled, squeezing you slightly when he felt your eyes flutter close. "And you wouldn't want me to win this, babe, because I'll be a little shit about it."

"Not f-fair," you choked out a laugh.

"It's plenty fair," Steve chuckled tearfully, ignoring the sudden wetness on his cheeks. He hugged you tighter instead. "So stay awake or you'll lose to me. Again."

"Right there! They're right over there!"

Steve had never been so grateful to hear Robin's voice.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"So are you finally going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Steve questioned back, unable to take his eyes off of you, soundly sleeping in a hospital bed with your foot now wrapped in a cast.

The doctor had already checked everything and thankfully, there weren't any further injuries apart from your twisted ankle.

Now, all you needed was to rest and recover.

"That you've been in love with her this whole time."

Steve sighed, squeezing your hand before turning to look at his best friend.

"I'm not in love with her, Robs."

"Right," she scoffed, raising a knowing brow. "Because jumping off a cliff with zero hesitation so you could save her is totally normal behavior for someone you claim you hate."

"I never said I hated her," he argued, and it was true. He couldn't think of a single moment where he hated you.

"Yeah, well, you two definitely don't act like you like each other."

"Does she annoy and frustrate the shit out of me? Yes. But I never hated her," he admitted.

Steve didn't know what it was exactly, maybe it was his tiredness muddling his brain, maybe it was from everything that happened in the last couple of hours finally catching up to him, or maybe it was the overwhelming need to confess everything into the open before it was too late—and it almost had been. Either way, he found himself suddenly spewing out all the things that he always just kept to himself.

"She's also been the most constant person in my life, you know? Hell, we basically grew up together. I can't just not care about her," he continued, memories flooding his system before he could even stop it. "She's been so ingrained in my life, her and the cute dresses she wore at those stupid dinners our parents always dragged us to. Her and her stupid competitions whenever our babysitters would bring us to the park together. Her and that stupid dance she always did whenever she won at anything even if it was my expense—she always does this cute little wiggle whenever she won, and that never left her even as we got older," Steve chuckled at the thought.

"And fuck, don't even get me started with how similar our parents are. She's the only one who will always get me when it comes to that," he continued. "And yeah, we compete a lot, but there was no hatred between us. Maybe at the start but all that went away when we learned that whatever our parents were feeding us was bullshit—that they were bullshit.

"And fine, did I sometimes get so annoyed whenever she got a new boyfriend? Yeah. But only because she always had this bad habit of dating fucking assholes. I don't know where she got those dickheads from but every time I see a glimpse of her crying by her window at night I swear to fucking God I would've killed every single one of those assholes if she asked," he gritted, slumping down in his seat with a sigh.

"She deserves to be treated right, you know? She's already experiencing so much shit at home, she doesn't need any more of that anywhere else. Sure, she irritates me to no end but that doesn't mean she's not a sweet girl who always cried whenever some random pet commercial came on the TV during the holidays. Does her competitiveness drive me up the wall? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean I don't feel so fucking proud of her whenever she wins another medal or achieves another milestone. And yeah, I wonder about how she's doing, if she's taking care of herself, if she's getting enough sleep between her work and classes. But that's only because I worry, you know?

"And maybe I do think about her a lot but that doesn't mean I'm in love with…"

Steve blinked.

Well fuck.

"Wow," Robin marveled. "You're stupider than I thought."

"He hit his head as a kid, cut him some slack."

Steve paled at the sound of your voice, swiftly turning red at the thought that you probably heard all the things he said.

He turned to face you, groaning in annoyance when he saw the smug smile on your lips. "You've been awake this whole time?"

"I'll leave you two love birds alone," Robin sang, quickly slipping out of the hospital room and closing the door behind her.

"How much of that did you hear?" Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Enough to say you're stupid," you hummed.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. "I'm not the one who jumped off the cliff and almost died just to prove a fucking point."

"Yeah, well, I guess we're both stupid then," you snorted.

He shrugged. "I guess we are."

"Jesus, you don't have to act so tense. I mean, you've already given me a mouth-to-mouth, we've practically made out already," you scoffed playfully. "I honestly thought I'd die first before swapping spit with you yet here we are."

It was your attempt at alleviating the tension, to throw in a funny quip. But with everything still so fresh in his mind, Steve simply couldn't take it well.

"Don't fucking joke about that will you?" he snapped, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.

The silence that followed only made the tension worse.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Steve immediately felt bad.

"No, no, no. You didn't do anything wrong, don't apologize," he sighed, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. It's just—"

He stopped himself, chewing on his bottom as he looked everywhere but at you when he felt the tears well up again.

"Will you come here?"

Steve took a calming breath and did as you asked, moving his chair closer but didn't attempt anything else than that.

"Stevie," you called when he still wouldn't look at you.

Harshly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he lifted his head. You smiled at him sweetly, wiggling your fingers to get him to come even closer.

"You scared me back there," he croaked, taking your hand with a squeeze.

"I didn't mean to," you softly said, remorseful and apologetic even though you didn't have to be.

"I know," he murmured, pressing your warm palm against his cheek as he shot you a glare. "Just don't do that again."

"Promise," you giggled, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Steve leaned closer into your touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks to you," you hummed, brows furrowing in thought. "When Marcus got that black eye, you said it was because he was playing dirty on one of your games." You tilted your head knowingly. "That wasn't true, wasn't it?"

Steve shrugged. "He hurt you."

"It was a small bruise on the arm, Steve," you reasoned.

"He shouldn't be giving you a fucking bruise in the first place," he growled, the memory bringing back the same anger he felt when he first saw that bruise. The soft tapping of your finger against his cheek calmed him down. "Sorry."

"Did you lose on purpose to get him expelled?"

"What? No!" he scoffed, offended, rolling his eyes when you giggled. "I tried so fucking hard to win that fight, you know, for you."

"You've always been protective of me," you hummed, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together.

"Don't think I didn't know it was you who dyed that poor girl's hair green that one year in middle school summer camp," he retaliated.

It was a sharp and piercing scream that woke up the whole camp that morning. Everyone rushed out of bed to see what was going on only to find a girl who once was blonde was now sporting bright green hair in the middle of the crowd, crying her eyes out.

Steve would've thought it was only some silly prank if he didn't know who the girl was. But he did. Because the day before he tried to ask her to be his girlfriend, only for her to turn him down in the most embarrassing and humiliating way possible.

It wasn't difficult for him to find out who the culprit was since he immediately noticed how you kept hiding your hands in your pockets for the next few days after the incident.

The counselors quickly found out that the little menace—whoever she was—decided to use permanent dye on the poor girl's hair instead of something washable.

Your green palms colored you oh so guilty.

"She called you pathetic and gross in front of everyone!" you argued, pouting. "You looked like you were about to cry and I hated it."

Steve's heart warmed at that, a smile on his face despite rolling his eyes. "I wasn't about to cry."

"Yeah well," you shrugged, eyes trained on your intertwined fingers, your thumb playing with his. "I'm the only one who's supposed to be mean to you."

"Hmm," he agreed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. "I guess we've always been there for each other, huh?"

"I guess so," you giggled, cupping his cheek and tugging him closer.

He stood up from his seat, following your lead until he was pressing his forehead against yours.

"Thank you for saving my life, Steve," you whispered, eyes turning glossy as so many emotions covered your irises, the weight of what almost happened catching up with you.

"You don't have to thank me for that," he said sincerely, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "I'd do it over and over again in a heartbeat."

You nodded, sniffling, "Still, thank you."

Steve wasn't able to argue some more when you all but kissed him.

The first time Steve felt your mouth on his was a horrible experience considering he was trying to keep you alive.

Now, everything was the complete opposite.

A kiss that was careful but sweet, a hint of nervousness and excitement all the same, completely unhurried yet burning with passion as his lips molded against yours.

But still, it felt like that first gasp of air—a finally.

"I'm in love with you, too, by the way," you murmured as you pulled away, your warm breath tickling his lips.

"Thanks for clarifying," he chuckled, eyes laced with adoration, unable to stop his smile from growing wider, warmer. "I couldn't figure that out from the kiss."

"I mean, you are kinda stupid," you teased.

"We're on that same boat, sweetheart," he chuckled. "I'm sure Robin would remind us about that every single day now."

"Unfortunately," you groaned playfully. "God, she gets annoying when she's right."

"Tell me about it," he hummed, brushing his lips against yours, moving away when you chased it.

You whined.

Steve didn't hesitate to dive back in.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[daisies-daydreams]

My Wish (Papa!Gyomei Himejima Drabble)

Header Credit: Pexels & Ufotable Pairing: Gyomei Himejima x Wife!Reader Category: Fluff/Light Angst Tags: Depictions of Childbirth, Mentions of Blood, Babies, New Parenthood, Flashbacks to Infinity Castle Arc/Gyomei's Backstory, Crying, Tooth-Rotting Fluff Word Count: 1k Divider Credit: @saradika Summary: Gyomei does his best to remain strong as you give birth to his firstborn child. A/N: Hello hello lovely people! I've had this idea swimming around in my mind for a while, and I'm so happy I finally got around to it! (Gyomei would make such an amazing dad I just know it). I hope you enjoy! Pt. 2 - Late Night

Gyomei clenched his jaw as you gripped his massive hand with your sweaty palm. He tightly squeezed the string of red prayer beads that was wound in his other hand as you groaned and panted heavily.

"You're doing amazing, my love," he gently reassured you as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. You suddenly threw your head back and released a harsh cry, the midwife cooing as she held your other hand. She gasped when she peeked around the blanket obscuring the lower portion of your body.

"Just keep breathing deeply, (Y/N). I can see the baby's head crowning!" she said as a hopeful expression lit up her face. Gyomei's breath hitched at the news before you began to curse and sob. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he placed his lips against your paling knuckles.

"You’re such a strong woman, (Y/N). The strongest one I-“ his voice cut off when you nearly crushed his hand as you screamed. His frown deepened as the midwife patted your face with a wet cloth.

“I-I can’t do it!” you sobbed as your legs shook. Gyomei shook his head as he held your hand up to his cheek, your words resonating with him as he thought back to how he leaned against the wall during the battle at the Infinity Castle. How hope was but a dying flame in his heart as blood oozed from his wounds…and yet, the sound of your voice calling to him within his mind stoked the fire deep within him.

Heavy tears trailed down Gyomei’s cheeks as he could only imagine the pain you were in. He gave your hand another reassuring squeeze as he carefully leaned down and pecked your forehead.

“You can do it, (Y/N). You’re so close,” he encouraged you the same way you did when he was barely hanging on by a thread. He heard you swallow thickly before your breaths grew more quick and ragged.

“You’re almost there, Mrs. Himejima. Just a few more pushes,” the midwife coached you as she prepared to catch the baby. Gyomei held his breath as he awaited to hear the soft cries of his newborn, his heart wildly pounding against his rib cage as he bounced his leg.

You continued to grunt and grip his hand tightly as you strained on the futon. Gyomei’s head perked up when he heard you curse out one more time before the first wailing cries of your baby cascaded through the room.

He could practically feel the midwife grinning as the little one gurgled and cried, your exhausted pants filling his ears as your grip on his hand loosened.

“You did an amazing job, my love,” he cooed softly.

“Yes…now it’s time to start pushing for the other one,” the midwife said. A heavy silence lingered in the room before both you and your husband spoke.

“WHAT?!”

+++

After another hour of grunting, screaming and nearly breaking your husband’s hand, you welcomed another wailing infant into the world. Gyomei gently wiped the sweat from your exhausted features as the midwife checked and cleaned the newborns.

“You did such an incredible job, my dear,” your beloved smiled gently as he wiped your brow. You sighed and gently placed a hand over his wrist. Gyomei smiled as he set the wet rag aside and leaned down, his lips gently caressing the top of your head.

“I bet I look like a mess right now,” you chuckled tiredly. Gyomei hummed as he pulled back and shook his head.

“No, I bet you look even more beautiful than ever, my precious flower,” he sighed and cupped your cheek with his massive, warm palm. His heart fluttered as you leaned into his touch, your skin so soft and smooth against his hand. The midwife cleared her throat as she shuffled towards the other side of your bed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Himejima, meet your new baby girls,” she smiled. Gyomei’s heart lit up as he heard the shuffling of bedsheets and the soft grunts of the two small newborns. You thanked the midwife as she gently handed the cooing twins over to you. Tears welled in Gyomei’s eyes as he knelt at your bedside, his hand hesitantly hovering over you.

“What do they look like?” your husband asked as he tilted his head. He gasped as you gently took his hand and placed it over one of the girls’ heads.

“They both have your hair…and my eyes,” you replied softly. Gyomei sighed with relief as he gently brushed his thumb over the tuft of soft, dark hair on his daughter’s head. A warm, gentle smile crossed his face as he felt his little one lean into his hand.

“They seem quite big for newborns,” he chuckled softly. You giggled and shifted in bed.

“Well, considering who their papa is…” you began. Gyomei felt the tips of his ears burn as his stomach tied into a knot.

“R-Right. I’m...I'm so sorry for making you endure that,” he sighed. You cooed and shook your head.

“It’s alright, Gyo. We both couldn’t have known how big our babies would be,” you reassured him with a quiet chuckle. Gyomei returned your smile before hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. You sighed softly as he sniffed.

“I-I just never thought this day would come,” he swallowed thickly as he folded his hand over his daughter’s head, as if to shield her from the evils of the world. His breath stuttered as he carefully brought his hand over to his other newborn baby, the sound of her cooing as he gently cupped her plump cheek. “After the orphanage, I…I thought bringing children into this world was a curse,” Gyomei confessed with a heavy sigh.

His eyes widened as he felt his little one wrap her soft, tiny hand around one of his thick fingers. He sniffed, his heart melting as he smiled.

“But...I’ve never felt more blessed than I do now,” he murmured softly as his daughter held onto his large finger. His smile grew as you leaned up and pecked his cheek.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father, Gyomei,” you whispered lovingly. Your husband’s heart swelled with an overwhelming warmth as he soaked in the presence of his beloved wife and two new miracles. He smiled and placed a soft kiss on your forehead before giving one to his precious newborns as well.

“And you’re going to be the most amazing mother, my love,” he grinned.

————

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[melobin]

nurse ✧ anton lee

warnings - smut, nurse x anton, slight sub!anton, loss of virginity, subtle manipulation(?), nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, reader calls anton bunny.

wc - 2.2k

summary - anton goes to the nurse for an issue he’s having and ends up getting a thorough examination.

a/n - loosely based off of this video i got sent in an ask!! // spoke about this with my sofie a while ago ..

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"anton?" the boy looked up at you from where he sat across from you, your monitor blocking you from properly seeing his face. once you pushed the monitor aside you saw him, he looked sweet. edible. wide eyes, parted lips, flushed cheeks. cute. he hummed in reply. “oh, you requested a male doctor? sorry i was the only one we had available on such short notice”

“hi” it was short, gentle. his voice was so quiet you almost missed his greeting. you wondered what you could do to make him a bit louder. “it’s okay i don’t mind”

“what brings you here today, sweetie?” the tips of his ears reddened at the name, eyes subconsciously flicking down to where your elbows rested on the table, tits pushed together, peaking out through due to your the top few buttons of your dress being open. anton felt dizzy. he could have sworn he saw a subtle smile on your lips.

“well” he gulped, trying to make his eyes meet yours “i swim a lot and i’ve had a few red patches on my inner thighs. my coach said it’s most likely just irritation from the trunks i have to wear because they’re so tight, but he wanted me to come and check it out anyway” you nodded at his words, eyes following his that seemed to struggle to leave the sight of your tits.

“oh i see, do you mind letting me take a look?” anton’s eyes widened and you struggled to hold in your giggle. he seemed so pure and shy. pathetic. you could tell he was a virgin just from the way he looked at you, or how he struggled to look anywhere but your tits.

realistically, anton knew that whoever he saw would have to look at the irritation, that’s why he listed down the request for a male doctor, if it was possible. he knew that having a woman so close to his cock would set him off, the moment he stepped foot in the room he felt nothing but panic, already knowing someone as pretty as you having their hands on his thighs would make him hard in an instant. poor thing. he was already half hard the moment he saw you, he had no way of hiding the way his cock was only growing harder.

“i don’t mind” he did mind, infact he was scared shitless about the fact you were going to be so close to his almost fully erect cock.

“come this way” you stood up, his eyes instantly fell to the way your dress had ridden up your thighs, exposing so much of the bare skin. anton felt physically sick as he stood up to follow you, watching as your dress rode up even more when you pulled open the curtain to the bed in the corner of the room. he felt like a pervert. “you can go in here, are you okay to take your trousers off? i’ll need to be able to see the irritation. if your underwear is too tight you may have to take those off too”

he gulped he knew exactly what underwear he was wearing and he cursed himself for it. it was tight, not the kind that he’d be able to roll up in order to show you the irritation. anton realised he’d have to show you his cock. the cock that was throbbing in his boxers, already leaking precum and staining them, he knew he was fucked. he sighed and pulled them down his legs, sitting on the edge of the bed before letting them fall to the floor under him.

“are you ready?” he heard you call from the other side of the curtain, anton took a few deep breathes before responding.

“yeah”

he looked down at the floor and closed his eyes as you slipped behind the curtain to see him. he missed the way your eyes fell to his cock, how a smile graced your lips as you saw just how easy he was to work up.

“you can relax, sweetie” anton was sure he felt his cock throb “i just need to take a little look” he opened his eyes when he felt your presence near him, regretting looking up at you when he realised just how close you were to him.

he held his breath when you knelt down between his legs and brought your hands forward, they looked gentle. small compared to pretty much all of him. he shivered as your finger tips traced his inner thigh, inspecting the irritation of his skin.

anton panicked, jumping why he felt the back of your hand ghost over the skin of his cock. he felt shame run through him when he noticed a drip of his pre cum fall onto your skin.

“i-“

“it’s okay, sweetie” you looked up at him, his face was flushed and he struggled to hold your eyes “it’s okay to be nervous, i won’t hurt you. i just need to take a look okay?” he nodded as your eyes went back to his thigh, not before stopping momentarily on his cock.

it was thick, quite long. it fit his bodies build perfectly. but he was so hard, red, the tip swollen and throbbing, leaking steady streams of pre cum. having your last patient of the day be a pathetic virgin wasn’t something you thought would happen but here you were, poor boy was jolting every time you touched his skin. sure, doctor and patient relationships meant you shouldn’t indulge in any physical or emotional intimacy with him but he was too hard to resist. you couldn’t deny the way your mouth watered just looking at his cock.

“it seems like it’s just a heat rash, since your trunks are tight on your skin they’re most likely causing it to get hot and rub against the material. using cream should clear it up but i’d recommend looking for different trunks, maybe a thinner or shorter pair” he nodded, not trusting his voice in that moment.

“is there anything else you’d like me to check over whilst we’re here?” he shook his head but you stopped him, placing your hand higher on his thigh, finger barely grazing over one of his balls “because it seems like you have another irritation here” you gestured to his cock and anton thought he was imagining things. he was sure he’d passed out during the examination and was now in a land of his own delusions. he was wrong though, it, and you, was real.

“oh?” he squeaked out. gulping as he looked down at you.

“mhm" you slowly trailed your finger over his ball and up the side of his cock “it looks so red and swollen, don’t you think as your doctor i should help you fix that?” anton was at a loss for words, but he nodded. “it’s purely professional, doctor and patient confidentially. whatever happens in this room doesn’t leave it okay, bunny?”

anton was at least a second away from moaning at the pet name, sweetie was one thing, but for you to call him bunny? he was sure you were out for blood, his blood to be exact.

“lay down for me” he done what you told him without any hesitation, his upper body was slightly elevated due to the incline of the bed. it gave him a full view of you when you straddled his thighs “comfortable?” anton went to nod but your voice stopped him “i need words, bunny”

“i feel” he let out a deep breath, it was clear he was struggling to grasp what was happening in that moment. the boy had never had a woman touch him before, let alone had one be so sexually forward with him, he was nervous. “it’s okay, i like it”

“good boy” you trailed along the skin of his abdomen that had appeared due to his shirt riding up, your laid your hands flat against him and pushed the rest of his shirt up “want me to take it off for you? just so i can get a good look at all of you. full body inspections are important”

he leaned forward and let you lift his shirt off of him, barely taking notice of it as it fell to the floor. your eyes were trained in his toned body, fingers tracing the ridges of his abs. you could tell he swam competitively, he was built so nicely. there was no way you could deny the sexual attraction you felt toward him.

anton was cautious as he watched you, barely moving as you wrapped both of your hands around his cock. your hands seemed so small around his cock, especially as it throbbed in your grip. he felt weak.

your hands moved slow, an up and down motion on the thickness of his cock. he felt breathless despite you into just starting, he knew no matter what was to happen he wouldn’t last long.

“you know” you squeezed the base of his cock “maybe it would be useful to do a more thorough inspection” anton cocked his head to the side, curious about your intentions.

“thorough how?”

“i was thinking perhaps a more internal device should be used, something a little tighter. just to make sure your cock is working okay” he shivered when you used the word cock, it was his first time hearing you say something so crude “do you agree? bun?”

“if that’s what you think is best” his voice was shaky, the gentleness it held before had somewhat disappeared. it felt rougher, more rugged now “i trust you” you smiled at him, a smile that was far too comforting giving the situation you were in.

you took your hands off of his cock, spitting on one of them before placing it back on his cock and pumping it a few times. you held the base as you knelt up so you could move to straddle it. you looked at him before bringing your other hand down to pull your panties to the side, lining yourself up to sink down on his cock.

you moaned when you felt him push inside of you, his thickness stretching you out the more you sank down on him. you stayed still for a few moments once you had taken all of him, your nails pressed into the skin of his abs as you clenched around him. breathing heavily whilst trying to get used to the feeling of his cock.

anton himself looked a mess, his eyes had shut, lips parted, shaky whimpers fell from him as he tried to adjust to feeling you wrapped around his cock. it was like nothing he had experienced before. you were so warm and wet, so tight as you squeezed around his cock. he was sure within minutes you’d be milking him for every drop of cum he had inside of him.

“anton” his name came from you in a whiny tone, your hips lifting so you could sink back down on him, he moaned when began to repeat the motion. the stimulation your cunt gave his cock had him in a euphoric state. “fuck- you’re so big”

his hands were still at his sides so you grabbed them, bringing one to sit on your waist whilst you brought the other to your chest. unzipping your dress as far as you could, you let him wrap his hand around your breast, squeezing your hand over his to signal for him that it was okay to touch you.

so he did, his hand squeezed your waist whilst the other held your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple as you rode him. one of your own hands crept up to his nipple, you had a feeling they were sensitive and you were right. he was already a. wreck, cheeks flushed as he whined so sweetly, but your fingers rubbing and pinching at his nipple only increased his sounds.

“i-“ he swallowed back a moan as he tried to speak “not gonna last” fuck he was so lovely, you couldn’t help but want to milk him dry. “gonna cum” he just wanted to tell you, he felt ashamed that he was going to cum so quickly, but he had to let you know “feels too good” all of his words were broken by whines, fingers squeezing your skin tightly.

“ ‘s okay bunny, cum for me” you bounced on his cock, moving quicker to set off his orgasm, wanting his first ever one to be as good as possible “will even let you cum inside of me, anything for my special bunny” that set him off, his hips bucked up before his body froze. hand falling from your breast to the skin of your thigh, fingers digging into the skin as his orgasm washed over him.

“ ‘m sorry, i’m so sorry” he repeated his words a few times, tears glossing over his eyes “didn’t mean to cum so fast ‘m sorry” god.

you sat still on his cock, basking in the feeling of him throbbing inside of you, cum filling you up as he cried out beneath you.

“my sweet bun” you reached your hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over his tender skin “don’t be sorry” you leaned forward, he whined as he felt you move on his sensitive cock.

“we can find another way for you to make it up to me”

[queenofallimagines]

hi there!! may i ask some obey me hcs where mc is a professional volleyball player (like of they would watch her tems matchs, how they cheer and things like that) and has a personality like oikawa when she's not playing, but turn into a queen of the court (like kageyama 🕺) when playing? tysm!

A/n: I’m literally so mad I didn’t see this b4 bc I’m watching the haikyuu movie sobbing over karasuno VS nekoma😫 but absolutely! Also I noticed how this got more nsfw closer to the end😭 couldn’t help it😔

Lucifer:

- impressed

- He did think you had a nice body when he first saw you

- But then he hears your trying out for the RAD volleyball team?

- Poor human can’t stand on the same court against literal demons??

- Is what he thought

- He sees Beel ecstatic about your first game and he’s hyping you up sm

- Lucifer goes bc if you get heir he will step in to defend you

- Yk when hinata does his thing and the whole stadiums jaws drop?

- That’s WHAT HAPPENED HERE

- He sees you effortlessly setting to your teammates like you rly are running this show

- Made you captain at tryouts bc hell yeah!!

- They call you the demon Ruler of the court fr

- Imagine being so cocky and prideful and then getting home and being like all chill and regular chaotic

- He thinks your cheating real BAD

- He can’t play but he’s like nah okay against me you can use no spells

- Asmo is making cute merch to wear to your games

- Levi has already watched all your tapes form the human world he’s a expert and he’s never seen a volleyball before

- When you wipe the floor w him he’s like okay,,, maybe you are just that good

- That speed and serve is something dangerous

- When you get his pact he’s at EVERY game

- The way he can feel the pride running through you when you play, and the smirk on your face sends a chill up your spine when you look down on the other team

- He can and will have his hands all over you after a game

- Sorry like he’s euphoric the whole time it’s like edging almost

- Can’t deny how you look in your tight uniform is very appealing too

- Asmo too he can feel the lust for you in the room and he’s LOVING IT

- Brags whew he he gets the chance

Mammon:

- yeah he’s placing bets

- He comes to see you at practice because he skipped class and he knows if he shows up at home without you he’s in trouble

- So he does to idle around

- Jaw literally drops when he sees you obliterate the other side of the court

- Feels greed burning in him and can’t tell if it’s him or you

- The drive to win radiating off of you in waves

- It’s overwhelming

- “When we’re us g’unna tell me you can do THAT?!”

- “You never asked.”

- Lucifer feels a chill when mammon asks you if he can place bets on you winning

- Shows up to every game

- WILL oversee merch sales

- Has a jersey of yours he wears to sleep

- Runs the Stan page w asmo

- Will make sure your gear is in tip-top shape

- Brings you snacks before and after practice

- You think it’s all financially motivated and like 70% is but he’s like so happy and proud of you

- Right w Beel cheering the loudest at your games

- Nobody can even say anything bad bc he will argue them DOWN

- Buys all your jerseys and then saves all the tickets to your games

- Will show up w flowers

- Also sneaks from class to your practices bc he is a SUCKER for that volleyball shorts and knee pad combo

- Watches your games on replay

- Seems like the type to jack off to your games too

- Biggest hype man and will give you a ‘reward’ if you play extra hard during a game

Levi:

- he likes sports anime

- And probably will compete in a swimming event at some school festival bc duh

- But he hears Beel and mammon gushing over you play sports and is like okay well my Henry is so talented but whatever

- Almost died when you come home all sweaty and tired from practice like oop

- Suddenly binge watching every volleyball anime there IS

- Might as well be your coach

- Applies to be manager but like he’s one of the seven lord of hell lmao who’s gunna tell Levi no??

- Yall are kiyoko and Tanaka

- Very cute

- Also wearing merch w asmo they made

- Gets patches of your number to put on his everyday jacket

- Also wears your jersey to sleep

- ALSO ALSO a sucker for them volleyball fits

- Makes sure you’re always hydrated and the gym is the perfect temperature to play games in

- Guilty pleasure is that he really likes seeing you sweaty and panting

- Way how’s your games the way oikawa watches other teams to see how they play

- Actually good at making strategies and figuring out the letters in other teams

- Wants you to teach him to play

- Not bc he wants too but bc you’ll have to help adjust his posture and he can see you spike a lot

- Gets a thrill off of feeling the small bit of envy you feel when you see another good team or they manage to score on you

- Mayyyyyy encourage a little more envy bc you spike the ball even harder and you glare even more

- Yknow he has a thing for you to be mean

- So he’s like biting his lips hearing you trash talk the other team

- Also like mammon where he will have recordings of your games to jack off too

- “You pathetic worm know your place”

- He’s never moaned louder

Satan:

- reads books on Volleyball

- Likes to be wellread and can impress you with terms

- Hears Beel be excited and sneaks off to see you practice

- Slides in slick compliments

- He’s cheeky to a fault

- “I have to ask, do you like volleyball for the adrenaline or is it for the cute outfit?”

- Tease him because he’s not even good at hiding that he’s looking

- “I don’t know. So you like coming to my games to watch me win or stare at my ass?”

- The cat was too stunned to speak

- Chose to come to your games because he was at home alone while everyone else was at your game

- And he was doing some ‘Self Care’

- And he got this lighting bolt of please up his spine

- Needless to say he made quite of a mess

- Hears everyone hyping you up when they come back

- “Remind me to never make ya mad okay MC?”

- “I would!~ the way they were glaring after they slammed the ball down made my heart flutter.”

- Had to go see what the fuss was for himself

- The grunts and yells are really making him hot under the collar

- Used your game tickets as bookmarks

- It makes him smile

- He’s such a tween girl in love he’ll like decorate them in his spare time like maybe press flowers and glue them on encasing it all in resin

- Heart eyes

- Giggles at your trash talk

- Loves seeing you fr have beef w people

- Setters for some reason always have beef during a game idk WHAT IT IS but like they all was glaring daggers

- He’s deeply interested in the setter beef

- “So what’s the story with you and that other setter👀 I could feel a little tension in the air.”

- My hc is that his pact mark is always on your dominant fist

- Bc like yknow punching

- So he feels the sting of your hand when you hit the ball and he rly likes it

- Will offer to massage you after a game when you’re all tired

- An excuse to get nasty and he will spank you w the same hand

- Sigh he can’t help himself unfortunately

Asmo:

- Oh he’s hype

- He’s not one for playing sports

- Buuuuut he does like the appeal of the slutty outfits and seeing people be all aggressive and sweaty

- So when he hears Beel mention you’re tying out for the team he’s immediately intrigued

- He’s probably an honesty cheerleader

- So he’s going to be there dressed to the 9 in YOUR colors every game

- Like not the school colors he’s dripped out in your signature color schemes

- Even somehow gets ahold of an old jersey from the human world and rules it in many outfits

- Brags to people that he has one and it’s signed(pls sign it for him)

- Wears earrings w your number and name on it

- That trope where the head cheerleader kisses the star player bc they’re dating after the game is very him

- Puts in his cutest lipgloss and kisses your cheek

- “Well if it’s you I don’t mind getting all sweaty and out of breath with you~”

- Like I said before he’s feeling off the lust for you in the air

- The lust his brothers feel, the audience, your lust for winning

- He’s intoxicated by it

- He feels his pact mark pulsing and it makes him giggle

- You’d think he’s tickled pink

- But he’s laughing bc he’s about to go crazy after this mf game

- Is hyper focus on how your outfit stretches over you when you move

- Watches you work out

- Bc like let’s be real he’s down to mess round in the gym showers

- Another one to give you a nice ‘Reward’ for playing so well

- Has all these suspiciously seductive pictures of you playing like when did he even take this picture of you bending over??

- Can’t help but to let his hands wander

- Instead of having a jersey to sleep in he will sleep in your whole uniform

- Like you’re looking for it in the morning to go to practice and he’s sleeping in it

- “Well not it smells like me!”

- Sigh

- Well want to get nasty in it but he’s torn between you in it or him in it

- Hardest decision in your life

- Asmo and Levi decked out in your merch and Levi stalks the Stan pages for the best pictures and asmo runs like 3 of em

Beel:

- my beautiful beloved!

- You come meet him at fangol practice and ask him if they have any other sports

- He mentions offhandedly that the volleyball team is doing tryouts for the new season and you’re like 👀 bet let’s see how yall play

- Comes with you to make sure you don’t get like picked on or anything

- Amazed by seeing what you can do and how confident you get

- Went from like shy brand new human to being the demon ruler of the court he’s so hyped

- “MC where did you learn to do that??”

- “Hard work and a lot of spite✨”

- If anyone got something to say no tf they don’t bc he’s your bodyguard

- Makes sure your games aren’t scheduled at the same time bc he’s not missing your games

- Enjoying your games when he feels a familiar feeling of hunger

- He heard all the other brothers talking about their pact marks feeling funny but he’s like meh

- Starts thinking that maybe you didn’t eat enough before the game

- But when he sees you smiling as your team wins he understands

- That gluttony you feel isn’t towards food but volleyball

- Huh. Interesting

- Not one to immediately get nasty after a game he will want to treat you to snacks first but he mayyyy want to help you get charged after practice

- I mean like you’re exhausted and your muscles are all sore like it’s totally innocent!!

- Wears your jersey number as a patch on his jacket

- But also would have a cute necklace w the number on it like right along w his gold chain

- Whew

- Dangles over your face when he fucks you

- He’s glad you both can workout together 🥰

Belphegor:

- sleepy

- Not really interested in sports

- But he goes to heels games to cheer him on

- Beel drags him to a game of yours

- Likes how hot you look playing

- Like Satan will make comments about the outfit

- “Are you sure the shorts are supposed to be that short?”

- “They don’t restrict my movement”

- “Hm…. Good to know.”

- Another who steals your jersey and sleeps in it

- Might put it over a pillow to sleep on

- Lazily wants to hold you after a game night

- “Mmmm just rest, you’ve done so much moving around relax with me.”

- Sweeps you into sweet dreams whether you want to sleep or not

- Will have his own wet dreams about you in your outfit

- Will go to the game and cheer with asmo to hype you up

- Likes seeing you set the ball to your teammates and how you can read their minds and direct the game