#called shot jersey

[campaignoutsider]

Is Babe Ruth's 'Called Shot' Jersey Really Worth $30 Million?

From our kissin’ cousin (Frog Division) at Ask Doctor Ads Well the Doc opened up the old mailbag today and here’s what poured out. Dear Dr. Ads, There I was, minding my own business and leafing through the Weekend Wall Street Journal, when I came across an ad for a New York auction house offering “the Babe Ruth jersey worn during one of the most iconic moments in sports history” – the home run he…

[teeth-haver]

The apprentices (and William!)

Reference:

[kyistell]

I'm back, finally, with another chapter of The New State Groupchat. Enjoy :D

Chap 2: Oh Oh Oh Aoh, The Right StAHHHH-

Chat- New Brethern

Yorkadam: Note to self: Never, under any circumstances, go to a meeting while recovering from a hangover

Nex Mex: you gots to have a note for dat?

Jerry™: damn you are stupid yorkie

Yorkadam: Shaddup, normally I don gotta deal with that shit

Jerry™: you go to like every meeting

Yorkadam: Yeah but I also normally have meds, SOMEONE forgot to get em this time

Jerry™: I dont live in that section anymore

Nex Mex: and i dont get stuff for the northesters lik evea

Yorkadam: I’m tolkin about SOMEONE who WON’T STOP PLAYING THAT STUPID SONG ON BAST

Nex Mex: who do you dink hes talking about

Jerry™: if I knew wouldn I tell ya

Nex Mex: you purposfuly hid information from me on the reg

Jerry™: how the heaven did you spell information correctly and not purposefull?

Yorkadam: Not really somethin you have ta question, remember who helped raised em?

Jerry™: yeah you and Massy Wassy

Jerry™: but mainly Ginny Winny

Nex Mex: ima tell mom you called him that

Jerry™: you do that and I will make sure you have a slow and painful death

Yorkadam: You do that and Gin will kill you himself and we both know it will be worse

Jerry™: shaddup Yorkster

Newie is now online

Yorkadam: You.

Newie: Me?

Yorkadam: Turn dat damn song off or so help me god

Newie: Oh you mean my totally radical and hip song

Newie: Sorry if I’m playing it a tad loud, I just love it ya know

Yorkadam: I’m gonna kill em.

Yorkadam has gone offline

Nex Mex: well der goes yoyo

Jerry™: heh yeah

Jerry™: hey Nexy do you hear that?

Nex Mex: ya it kida sounds lik

—

New Mexico dropped his phone upon hearing the blasting music from the hall. Opening his door the only thing he hears is

“OH OH OHAHO, OH OH AOH, OH OH OH OHAHO, THE RIGHT STUUAAAHHHHH-” 

The screams continued even as he shut the door

“Nope”

[hearts4hughes]

ARE YOU SERIOUUUSSSSSS

[sudden-stops-kill]

$24,120,000

[xtruss]

Babe Ruth’s ‘Called Shot’ Jersey From The 1932 World Series Could Fetch Over $30 Million At Auction

Heritage Auctions Believes It Will Become The Most Expensive Sports Collectible Ever Sold at Auction.

— By Rachel Cormack | May 22, 2024

Heritage Auctions

Collectors will have the chance to catch one of the most important pieces of baseball memorabilia in history this summer.

A Gray New York Yankees Jersey Babe Ruth Wore During Game 3 of the 1932 World Series will go under the gavel at Heritage Auctions in late August. The auction house estimates the rarity could hammer down for $30 million or more, setting a new world record in the process.

“Ruth’s World Series jersey is the most significant piece of American sports memorabilia to be offered at auction in decades,” Chris Ivy, director of sports auctions at Heritage, said in a statement. ��Given its history, its mythology, we expect that when the final bid is placed, it will hold the record as the most expensive sports collectible ever to cross the auction block.”

The Jersey Has Been Photo-Matched and Authenticated. Heritage Auctions

The “Called Shot” jersey, which bears Ruth’s No. 3, was a part of one of baseball’s most famous (and often debated) moments. The Sultan of Swat was sporting it as he stepped up to the plate in the fifth inning of Game 3 of the 1932 World Series to face Chicago Cubs pitcher Charlie Root. With the score tied between the Cubs and Yankees, the slugger failed to hit the ball not once but twice. In between strikes, Ruth pointed to the center-field bleachers. Whether he was calling out his shot, pointing at the pitcher, or just gesturing to the stands is still debated. With the next pitch, Ruth sent the ball over 440 feet to the section he had indicated. The Yankees went on to win that game seven to five and knocked the Cubs out of the Series the following day.

The Front of the Jersey. Heritage Auctions

In the slugger’s 1948 book The Babe Ruth Story, he said he pointed toward the center field bleachers before Root threw his first pitch and again on his third. “I guess the smart thing for Charlie to have done on his third pitch would have been to waste one,” Ruth wrote. “But he didn’t, and for that I’ve sometimes thanked God. While he was making up his mind to pitch to me I stepped back again and pointed my finger at those bleachers, which only caused the mob to howl that much more at me. Root threw me a fast ball. If I had let it go, it would have been called a strike. But this was it. I swung from the ground with everything I had and as I hit the ball every muscle in my system, every sense I had, told me that I had never hit a better one, that as long as I lived nothing would ever feel as good as this.”

The Back of the Jersey. Heritage Auctions

According to Heritage, Ruth later gifted the jersey he wore on that fateful day to a Florida man following a round of golf. It remained with the man until his daughter sold it for $940,000 through Grey Flannel Auctions in 2005. Should the jersey hammer down for as much as expected in August, it will become the most expensive sports memorabilia ever sold at auction. That record currently belongs to a Mickey Mantle baseball card that sold for $12.6 million at Heritage in August 2022. At least the top spot will still be occupied by a Yankee.

The jersey will lead Heritage’s Summer Platinum Night Sports Auction, which will take place in Dallas, Texas from August 23 to 25. You can check out the featured items here.

[reignpage]

Basketball captain!Toji

Boston Celtics: he's sweet really

warning: 18+ mdni, exhibitionism, voyeurism, size kink, rough sex, spanking, name-calling, car sex, possessiveness

basketball captain!toji is the world’s biggest dickhead. it is a fact, one not even he can deny. but he is also your boyfriend. this came as a shock to your friend group and in all honesty you’re still surprised yourself. 

basketball captaintoji is abrasive, calls you ‘woman’ when you’re arguing, or ‘ma’ when he’s buttering you up, you explain to your friends who don’t seem to understand why you like that. and you get it, toji doesn’t treat you like a precious girlfriend, you’ve seen your friends’ boyfriends; they’re sweet, cute, and so kind. you’ve watched romcoms, boyfriends are supposed to gift you flowers and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. 

you don’t bother explaining that basketball captain!toji expresses his love in a different way, that the harsh smacks he lands on your ass is his way of saying he sees you and when his only reply to your long rants are grunts it fills your heart with warmth because the fact that he’s replying at all, humouring you, shows just how obsessed he is. 

and it isn’t like basketball captain!toji doesn’t have cute nicknames for you — when he’s bullying his fat cock into your fluttering pussy he calls you his ‘little slut’ or a ‘pathetic cock-sleeve’. it may not make butterflies appear in your stomach but it does make your eyes roll back and your pussy clench. 

basketball captain!toji doesn’t take you out on dates to fancy restaurants, he doesn’t do walks in parks or wear matching outfits, though you’ve never actually asked him so there’s a possibility he could say yes. maybe in the future. your boyfriend does, however, drive you out to cliff edges and makes you ride him till you’re a shaking mess in the front seat and when you tap out, legs quivering in protest, he drags you to the back and jackhammers into you as punishment.

he loves it when you come to his games wearing his jersey, cheering him loudly. he dedicates every shot to you with a wink and smirks at your elation and laughs at his single teammates for not having a woman to cheer them on, says he isn’t willing to share either. basketball captain!toji may not express it clearly but his heart swells when you smile so brightly at him from the sidelines, and speaking of swelling, seeing his name and number on your body, making it abundantly clear you’re his makes his dick harder than it should be during a match. 

basketball captain!toji may never confess he appreciates your attendance but he does show it when he fucks you in the showers after the game. at this point you already know better than to even think about taking off his jersey. no, he wants to fuck you with it on, panties shoved to the side so he can bury himself to the hilt, clutching the fat of your ass whilst he holds you up against the cold tiles, swallowing your moans. 

pattering of feet interrupts you two, heads swivelling to the pink haired man who turns on a shower right next to you, dick swinging and balls hanging. he has a smirk on his face as he eyes you both before rolling his eyes and continuing with his post game routine. 

“oh, please, don’t stop on my account.”

[mapis-putellas]

𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Reader

Words: 1500+

Warnings: blood

Summary: You’d never seen Alexia lose control on the pitch before. At least, not until today.

The match had started off just as you and Alexia had planned. Barca was up 1-0, with Alexia scoring the opening goal off a perfect assist from Aitana. She'd celebrated with her usual confidence, that smile that told everyone in the stadium she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She looked so happy, so calm, and you couldn't help but beam at her across the pitch.

But the second half was where everything went wrong.

You were just about to intercept a pass when Arsenal's captain, Leah Williamson, came in with a rough tackle, her elbow catching you hard in the face. You barely had time to react, feeling the impact before you were sent sprawling to the ground with a gasp, pain shooting through your nose as you hit the turf. Everything went a little fuzzy, and you felt a warm trickle of blood start to run down your face.

Before you could even process what had happened, your teammates had gathered around you, waving for the medics to come out. They knelt beside you, one of them pressing gauze against your nose to stop the bleeding. You winced, struggling to keep your focus through the pain, but then you heard a voice that cut through the haze of it all.

"¡Oye! ¿Qué te crees que estás haciendo?" Alexia's voice was unmistakable, laced with anger in a way you'd never heard before. You turned your head, catching a blurry glimpse of her marching up to Leah, her expression thunderous.

Leah crossed her arms, standing her ground. "It was a fair tackle, calm down," she shot back, but Alexia was having none of it. She shoved Leah, her jaw clenched tight.

"¡No tocas a mi chica así!" Alexia's voice was low and dangerous, and you could see her fists were balled, her entire body radiating fury. Your heart skipped a beat; you'd never seen her like this, not in all the time you'd known her.

"Alexia..." you murmured, trying to sit up, but the medics held you back. "Wait, please—"

But the two captains were locked in a fierce standoff, teammates from both sides rushing in to pull them apart, voices rising in a chaotic jumble of English and Spanish. You couldn't make out the words, but the tension was thick, the lines between the two teams blurring as everyone tried to defuse the situation.

You couldn't just sit by and watch as Alexia's temper flared, though. With a determined look, you pushed away the medic's hand, standing up despite the dizziness that washed over you. Ignoring their protests, you made your way over, weaving through the bodies until you were right behind her.

"Alexia," you called, reaching out to grab the back of her jersey, giving it a tug.

She whipped around, her expression still fierce—until she realized it was you. Her face softened immediately, her hands lifting instinctively to cup your cheeks as she took in the blood smeared across your face. "Mi amor... you are bleeding," she whispered, her eyes filled with worry and anger all at once.

You managed a small smile, placing your hands over hers. "It's okay, I'm fine. But please, calm down, alright?" you said gently. You could feel the tension in her grip, the way her jaw was still tight, and you could tell she was struggling to keep her composure.

"But she... she hit you," Alexia said, her accent thicker than usual in her frustration. "I cannot let her do that to you."

You squeezed her hands, leaning in a little closer. "I know, I know, but it's just a part of the game. Please, just come with me to the stands so they can clean me up. It's not worth it."

Her gaze flickered between you and Leah, hesitating, clearly torn. She opened her mouth, no doubt ready to launch back into the argument, but you tugged her hands a little closer, stepping into her line of sight.

"Please, cariño," you murmured, letting your voice soften. "Walk me over to the medics. Just... just focus on me."

Alexia looked over your shoulder at Leah, her eyes narrowing, but then she glanced back at you, her expression softening. "Okay... okay, for you," she murmured, her thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

You let out a relieved breath, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you."

She wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you gently back towards the sidelines. Her touch was firm and protective, her fingers pressing into your hip as if to shield you from any further harm. You leaned into her, feeling a sense of comfort despite the throbbing pain in your nose.

When you reached the bench, she helped you sit down, crouching beside you and reaching out to gently wipe a smudge of blood from your cheek with her thumb. "You scared me," she admitted softly, her voice laced with concern.

You managed a weak laugh, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I didn't mean to. But you really didn't have to go after Leah like that. I'm alright, Alexia."

She shook her head, her gaze intense. "No, no está bien. She should not touch you like this." Her hand moved to your shoulder, holding you as if to ground herself.

You cupped her face in your hands, making her look at you. "I'm okay," you repeated softly. "Just... stay here with me, alright?"

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into your touch, her thumb grazing your cheek. "Always, mi amor. Always."

*

The game was a whirlwind of chaos, and Leah's yellow card had been the last thing on anyone's mind after the rough tackle. But finally, after a visit from the medics to pack your nose, you managed to convince them—and Alexia—that you could head back on the field. She was fuming as she followed you back, shaking her head the entire way.

"I don't like this," Alexia muttered, her Spanish accent thickening as her irritation grew. "You shouldn't be playing."

"Lexi, I'll be fine," you said, giving her a quick, reassuring smile. "They're just making me get an X-ray later as a precaution, but it's nothing serious."

She didn't look convinced. Her fingers grazed the edge of the bandage on your nose, her brow furrowed. "But you are hurt. What if you get hit again? I don't like it."

You gently took her hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, okay? I'll stay out of trouble.”

Alexia gave you a reluctant nod, though you could still see the worry etched in her expression. She stayed close to you as the match resumed, shooting daggers at anyone who so much as came near you, and by the time the whistle blew, her concern had shifted into a steely kind of protectiveness.

Barca had won, 1-0, and despite the soreness, you couldn't help but smile, hugging Alexia in celebration. She held you close, whispering, "You are too stubborn."

"Only because I'm dating you," you teased, and she rolled her eyes, though her smile gave her away.

As the celebrations wrapped up, Leah approached, looking slightly nervous as she rubbed the back of her neck.

"Hey," Leah started, glancing between you and Alexia. "I wanted to say sorry about earlier. Really didn't mean for it to be that rough. Are you okay?"

You nodded, giving her a forgiving smile. "It's alright, Leah. Things happen on the pitch. I'm all good now."

Leah let out a relieved breath, smiling back. "Glad to hear it." She paused, looking slightly sheepish. "Also, any chance you'd want to swap jerseys? As a bit of a peace offering?"

You blinked, a little surprised, but after a quick glance at Alexia's thunderous expression, you gave Leah a reassuring nod. "Yeah, sure."

You slipped your jersey off and handed it to Leah, who smiled gratefully as she passed hers to you. But Alexia's glare hadn't let up, and the second Leah turned away, you felt Alexia's arms wrap firmly around your waist from behind.

Her fingers spread out across your bare stomach, pressing against your skin as if trying to shield you from the world. She lowered her face to your ear, her voice low and annoyed. "She has no shame, coming up to you like this."

You laughed softly, leaning back against her. "Baby, she was just being nice."

"She hurt you," Alexia muttered, her arms tightening slightly around you. "And now she asks for your jersey? It's like she doesn't understand who you belong to."

You couldn't help but laugh again, turning slightly in her arms to look at her. "She knows, trust me."

Alexia's gaze softened slightly as she looked down at you, though her annoyance was still clear. "Maybe I should remind her."

Rolling your eyes, you reached up to cup her cheek. "Alexia, I'm okay. And she apologised. I promise, I'm yours."

Her expression finally relaxed, and she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Good. Because I am not sharing you."

You grinned, wrapping your arms around her neck. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She pulled you even closer, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "Then let's go celebrate properly. Away from everyone else."

You laughed, letting her lead you off the pitch, her arm still wrapped possessively around you the entire way, her touch never leaving your skin.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[eroselless]

UNDERNEATH YOUR CLOTHES

summary => Request: Could you write a one-shot about Charles’ girlfriend wearing one his Ferrari jerseys or like his merch w his name on it and he fucks her with it on? [2.1k]

[charles leclerc x reader]

warnings: 18+ for explicit language and smut 

note: I’ve had this request in my inbox for so long and I’ve been absolutely itching to get this out. I’m such a sucker for friends to lovers so I changed it a bit to fit with the idea that I ended up rolling with.

School’s out until July so if anyone has anything they want written, send it in :) Hope you guys enjoy this first Charles request! 

You groan at the sound of urgent knocking at your door. Groggily, you pull yourself from your bed and make your way to the door. You don’t bother switching on the lights, neon signs from outside streaming light through your half-closed blinds, making patterns on the carpeted floor. The digital clock above the stove reads 3.27 am. You peek through the peephole, your eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Charles, shifting from one foot to the other. You swing the door open, a yawn pulling your jaw open. You squint at him, the light becoming too much for your eyes.

“Charlie, what the fuck?” you question as Charles rubs the back of his neck. His hair is dishevelled and his cheeks are a light shade of pink. 

“I, uh, I lost my keys and my phone while I was out and I can’t get into my apartment,” He explains sheepishly. You sigh, shaking your head in mild irritation. You step aside to let him in.

“You owe me big time for waking me up at this ungodly hour.” You state, trailing behind him after locking the door. He chuckles a soft ‘of course, chérie’ before heading into your room. He makes a beeline for your closet, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off of his designated shelf. He pulls them on before reaching back and tugging off his shirt. 

“How exactly did you manage to lose both your keys and your phone in one night?" you call from outside, a hint of amusement in your voice. He shakes his head. "Long story," He replies vaguely. 

He makes his way out, switching on a floor lamp by your bed. His eyes are on you as you collapse on the bed with an exasperated sigh. You roll away from him, facing towards the opposite side of the room. You pull the sheet up to your chest, making sure to keep some for him when he tucks himself next to you. His gaze trails over your figure in the dim light, eyes catching the big 16 and Leclerc written across the back of your oversized, overworn t-shirt. He cocks his head to the side, blinking a few times, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Are you sleeping in my race shirt?” He teases, not having noticed it earlier. You turn at the sound of his voice, letting out a sleep mhmm. Your eyes are heavy, threatening to pull you quickly back into a deep sleep. The look you share is charged with something that makes you grow warm. A familiar feeling blooms in your tummy, a feeling not typically felt towards your best friend. He narrows his eyes at you and you can see a fire beginning to build in his cerulean eyes. He stares at your body, probably longer than he should.

You’re the image of a goddess as you lay on your back innocently, hair sprawled around you, almost like a halo. He can’t help but admire the red fabric against your skin or how it clung to every curve of your body. He can see the dark material of your underwear, poking out slightly from under the t-shirt. His eyes settle on the valley between your breasts and how your nipples have pebbled against the cold air. 

A shiver runs through him as he tears his gaze away from you. He rubs at his arms, turning away from you as he does. He clears his throat, setting his watch and wallet on your bedside table.

“Are you cold at all? Do you need another blanket?” 

You mumble a quiet no, reaching a hand across the bed. He watches as you make a grabby motion with your hand, beckoning into bed. He hesitates for a moment, suddenly self-conscious of what he is wearing, or rather, lack thereof. His pants are hung low on his hips and his shirt lays on the floor by your dresser. He bites his lip as he slips in next to you. His eyes widen slightly as you grab his arm, pulling him into you. It’s not like this was an odd occurrence, having years of comfort between each other. But his mind always seemed to wander, wondering how you’d feel without the barrier of clothes between you. He adored how you proudly wore HIS name in support during races. Here, the red fabric of your shirt contrasts with the white of your sheets, it feels so much more intimate. He couldn’t get the image of how good you looked with your back to him, his name sitting between your shoulder blades. 

You can feel him tense up as you settle under him, his head lying on your chest. The shirt is thin enough that he can feel the goosebumps blooming across your skin as the cold air drifts through the sheets. He has to stop himself from letting his hands (and his mouth) wander over the fabric of the shirt. 

It seems to him like you’re drifting back into sleep as he lays wide awake. He feels your hands wander over the large expanse of his back, your touch sending goosebumps down his spine. Your fingers take their time feeling over every mole and scar littered over his skin. You knead his thick muscles, a rumble escaping Charles’s lips as you dip your fingers in every dip and hill. His breath is hot on your skin as he shoves his head in the crook of your neck. 

Your eyes don’t feel as heavy when your hands find their way closer to the waistband of his pants. They settle there for a moment before you decide to slip a finger under it, pulling at it and releasing it. It snaps against his skin, a yelp escaping him. 

He lets out a laugh, quick fingers poking at your side. You thrash under him, howls of laughter bouncing off the walls. He blows raspberries into the thin skin of your neck, only causing you to squirm further. 

The energy slips from the room as you both stop to catch your breath. He’s suspended over you, supporting himself with his arms on either side of your head. The fire you’d seen earlier burns in his eyes as he looks down at you. It burns at the line you’re both afraid to step over, knowing full well that if it burns it away completely, there’ll be no going back. His eyes are locked on yours. They’re dark, their usual blue now as dark as a storming sea. Your eyes trace over the curve of his cupid’s bow and flicker up to his eyes once again. 

The warmth in your lower belly returns as he leans down and presses a tantalizingly slow kiss on your jaw. His hand cups the back of your thighs and you're suddenly hyperaware of the thin and increasingly wet fabric of your underwear. You let out a quick breath as he drags his lips over the column of your neck. The hand that isn’t supporting him slides up your body and under your shirt, gently grazing at your ribcage. You slip a hand away from his body, meeting his under your t-shirt. Sliding it higher, you bring his hand up to your breast. His fingers pinch teasingly at your puffed-up nipples, pulling a whine from your lips. 

“Charles…” you moan out, eyes opening and meeting his as he pulls away. Your eyes meet, the room going quiet again. 

In an instant, his mouth is on yours, tongue swirling with yours. You can taste hints of tequila on his tongue, no doubt the reason why he lost his keys and phone. He moves to sit on his heels and you follow his lips, already intoxicated with them. 

His arm wraps around you, pulling you snugly onto his lap as he settles at the head of the bed. The bulge in his pants is pressed deliciously against your crotch. You let out a gasp as he grips tight onto your hips, moving you over his hard-on. 

“You look so pretty in Ferrari red,” he murmurs, teeth nipping lightly at your neck. The pads of your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline. A smile tugs softly at your lips. 

He hesitates as his fingers drop to the waistband of your underwear. He fiddles slightly with the fabric, mimicking what you had done earlier and snapping it gently over your skin. You felt a gasp get pulled from your chest as his hands began to move under the fabric, pressing into the bundle of nerves at your very center. Your voice comes out in broken fragments:

”Charlie, please…” you beg.

You don’t quite know what you're asking for. For so long, you’d unconsciously ached for him. Your own fingers would find their way into your underwear and with your eyes squeezed shut, you’d try to imagine that they were his. His touch now feels almost overwhelming. You crave the weight of his body pressing you down, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your most sensitive parts —

“Fuck,” he cries out, hips bucking up into yours. He squeezes at your breast, biting at your nipple over the fabric. You go to pull the shirt off, needing to feel his lips on your skin when he stops you, eyes hazy and glazed over with lust.

“No,” he says shaking his head. “Leave it on.” his fingers now travel downwards, pressing at your clit through your wet panties. You take in a sharp breath, head falling back. He circles it, thumb and pointer finger pinching at it slightly. 

“Need more,” you slur. He meets your gaze, a soft pink adorning his cheeks.

“Need my cock, mon coeur?” You nod instantly. You go up on your knees, giving him the chance to pull his sweatpants just enough to free his cock. It taps gently at your stomach, precum already beading at its tip. You draw your finger over its slit, a thin sting appearing as you pull away. Charles lets out a groan under you, eyes swimming with desire.

You climb off quickly, pulling off your panties and dropping them to the floor. Charles can’t take his eyes off of you as you swing a leg over his lap, his hands going to take hold of your thighs. His eyes float to where your grab him and bottom out on his cock. The squeeze you give him is so much better than he had anticipated. His mouth falls open as you take him in fully, he can’t believe he’s gone this long without ever feeling you all around him. You grind your hips against his, setting a rhythm. 

“t’es une si bonne fille, tu me prends tout entier,” he groans. such a good girl, taking all of me. His hands feel like they have nowhere to go but to the globes of your tits as they bounce deliciously in front of him. He pulls at the hem of your shirt, twisting it and pulling it up. Your tits burst out from under the fabric, nipples pebbling at the cold breeze in the air. He wraps his lips around them, teeth teasing them gently. Your back arches at the feeling, only pressing them further into his face. He was hooked how the fabric of the shirt ripples over your chest and the taste of your skin on his tongue.

“P-putain..” he whimpers, coming up for air. He lets out grunt as he plants his feet on the bed, lifting his hips fucking into you with force. Your lips part as the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberates through the room. His hands go to your ass, fingers digging into the suple flesh as he rocks you against him. Your hands take refuge on his chest, gasping as he hits your sweet spot. You feel so full with him as he continues to move at a steady pace. 

He brings his lips up to yours, groaning softly against your panting lips. It only spurrs you further, circling your hips to meet his as he continued to rutting his hips up into you. You can feel your orgasm nearing, a wave of pleasure coming over you. It envelops you, suffocating you as it crashes down. 

Charles can’t hold it any longer, lifting you off of him as strings of cum spill from his cock, coating his stomach. You sit on his thighs, just beyond the reach of the spurts. He looks incredible, cheeks red, lips swollen, chest heaving. You feel like you’re under a spell as you drag a finger through the warm cum on his stomach and tuck it between your lips. His eyes seem to sparkle, a new flame appearing suddenly in them.

“Can we go again?” his voice cuts through the suddenly silence in the room. With an innocent meeting of eyes, there is only one response that can escape you lips. There’s a grin playing on your lips, finger still caught between your teeth. An astounding answer echoes through the room with no words spoken, it has the two of you tossing around the sheets until the sun comes up. You’re gonna have to wear his name more often.

[puckinghischier]

Falling

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: reader gets hurt and nico is worried about her

notes: y’all i ain’t gonna lie, i went through a bit of a rollercoaster while writing this. i loved it at first, then halfway through started hating it, then somehow started loving it again towards the end. so if it seems a little all over place i’m sorry. also i know very little about how a dislocated shoulder works, so just pretended i didn’t if i got anything wrong. i hope y’all enjoy it!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “A hears that B got hurt and rushes over in a panic to see if they are okay” where reader maybe gets in an accident or gets hurt in their sport (nothing major). Bonus points if you add “I can braid your hair for you- I mean, only if you want.”

[4.5k]

part 2

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Nothing’s broken, just a nasty dislocation,” you attempt to calm your mother’s nerves, trying to unlock your apartment door with your good arm while balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. “They reset it for me and told me to follow up with my primary care on Monday. Gave me some pain meds and sent me on my way.”

“Well, what about until then? What if you need help? What about work? How will you drive?” she rapid fires questions at you.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Since it was a work-related injury, I’ll still get paid. And they’re paying all of the medical bills, so that’s all taken care of,” you make your way into your apartment, shutting the door with your foot behind you. “Everything else I’ll handle as it comes.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, tsking into her phone, making you picture her trademark displeased headshake.

“What about Nico? Why don’t you stay with him until you’re back to 100%? I’m sure he’d be willing to help out,” she suggests, her tone switching from worried to suggestive.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed.

“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you, Nico and I are just friends. We work together. Just because you think you saw him look at me a certain way when you were visiting doesn’t mean I have to call him every time something goes wrong,” you tell her, placing your bag on your kitchen table.

Ever since your mom came in a few months ago to visit, she’s been on your case about making a move on Nico, it all starting when she witnessed Nico helping you across the ice during a pre-game practice while trying to get some action shots.

You work as a photographer for the Devils, not realizing that being able to ice skate would have been a nice addition to your resume.

Your college advisor arranged the interview for you right before graduation. You had no previous knowledge of hockey, having come from a football family. You told your advisor this, but she insisted you didn’t have to know anything about a sport to be able to take good pictures of it.

During the interview, you made sure to inform your now boss that you didn’t know how to skate, hoping it wouldn’t be a problem. He assured you that you could take pictures from the stands or the players bench, the chance of you having to step onto the ice slim.

For the first few months of your job, it was smooth sailing. You were mostly taking pictures from the camera holes in the glass or being told to cover locker room and arrival pictures. You worked with one other photographer, a seasoned sports photography veteran named Phil. Phil was a New Jersey native, having grown up skating, so he took over the duties of any major action shots the director wanted from on the ice.

Unfortunately for you, Phil’s wife had convinced him to retire early, losing his help right before the league’s short Christmas break.

Seeing as they had just hired you, and it was the middle of the season, the hunt for a replacement for Phil was put on the backburner, more important team matters taking precedence.

You were forced to take over Phil’s duties, meaning you were now responsible for any on the ice shots. You had found a way to slowly scoot across the perimeter of the rink, staying out of the way while also getting the shots you needed.

Your system was working well until the morning of a gameday, having gotten permission from your boss to bring your mother along to this particular practice, wanting to show her all aspects of your job.

For this particular game, the players were especially focused on practicing their skills and running drills during morning skate. You were doing your typical shuffle while clutching the edge of the waist-high wall when someone came zooming past you, causing your feet to start sliding uncontrollably, not being able to find your footing on the slick ice.

You felt the moment you were about to fall, waiting for the impact of your butt on the cold ice, but it never came. You felt yourself fall into a body covered by plastic pads, gloved hands shooting out to grab your upper arms.

You looked up, seeing Nico smiling down at you in amusement.

“It’s a bit slippery out here, huh?” he jokes, making sure you’re standing steady on your feet before letting go of you.

“Well, we are standing on ice, so….” You trail off, grabbing onto the wooden ledge again, preventing another near fall.

Nico laughs, looking down and shuffling his skates back and forth.

“Well would you look at that? We are on ice ” He flashes a smile, looking back up at you.

You stick your tongue out at him, earning another chuckle from the team’s Captain.

“You know, most people use these great things called ice skates when they try to walk on ice,” he tells you, lifting one skate up for emphasis.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff out a “Oh wow, why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Just some food for thought,” Nico shrugged as he placed his foot back down on the ice, skating in a little circle, as if to say “See, told you so.”

You let go of the ledge to cross your arms, forgetting that you needed the stability. When you try to shift your weight from one leg to the other, you lose your footing again, this time falling forward into Nico. You let the camera in your hands fall, grabbing onto his biceps to stay upright, thankful for the camera strap around your neck.

His hands shoot out to grab your forearms.

“You know the sad thing is, even with the skates, I’d still be as clumsy, considering I have absolutely no idea how to use them,” you tell him, the two of you still holding on to one another.

Nico shakes his head at you, placing one of your hands on his forearm, moving you from in front of him to beside of him.

He starts slowly skating towards the bench while you shuffle your feet along, putting all of your focus on keeping yourself upright until you reach your destination.

When you finally reach the bench, you step off of the ice and let out a breath of relief.

“Thanks, Cap. Would’ve hated to make a fool of myself out there while my mom’s watching,” you thank him, looking over to where your mom sits, a smile on her face.

Nico follows your gaze and waves to your mom, matching her smile.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we? What if she found out her daughter was a skating fraud?” he teases, leaning in to whisper the last two words.

“It’s her fault for never taking me to the rink my town would throw up once a year at Christmas. Who knows, maybe I would’ve been a skating prodigy if given the chance,” you shrug.

A mischievous smile makes its way onto his face. “I think we should put that theory to the test,” he tells you, causing your eyes to latch onto his.

“Come again?” You raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin down.

“I mean, I can’t have some photographer out on my ice during practices that can’t even stand up,” he keeps his tone light, making sure you know he’s just teasing, “So, I’m going to teach you how to skate, and see if you really would have been a skating prodigy.”

He skates off, winking before resuming his practice.

You don’t have a chance to speak to him again until after the game, when you get at text from an unknown number reading “Rink, tomorrow, 2pm. I’ll bring skates, just bring your prodigy skills.”

After that, you meet with Nico twice a week for skating lessons.

The two of you quickly form a friendship, Nico bringing you coffee on gamedays and you slipping him snacks on the bench during games. You even started inviting him over for dinner after your lessons, insisting the least you can do is feed him to repay him for preventing you from making a fool of yourself on the ice.

Today, however, you did make a fool of yourself on the ice.

You were standing behind the net, telling the players to skate towards you so you could get some shots for the team’s Instagram account by request of the social media manager.

Once you were pleased with the amount of shots you had gotten, you left your spot from behind the net, skating slowly towards the benches, still a little wobbly on your skates.

You were looking down at your camera, thinking of how you’ll have to get Nico out here after the game to get some shots, knowing he’s currently doing pre-game interviews in the locker room.

You weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the pucks littering the ice in front of you, skating right into one and losing your balance, holding your camera up with one arm while trying to catch yourself with the other.

You felt the way your shoulder shifted, crying out in pain as players turned and started rushing towards you on the ice.

The team doctor came out and told you he was pretty sure your shoulder was simply dislocated, but sent you to the hospital to make sure nothing’s broken.

The ER doctor confirmed your diagnosis, putting your shoulder back into place before pumping you full of pain meds and placing your arm into a sling.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at your apartment, explaining to your mother why Nico can’t be at your beck and call.

“Honey, when are you going to realize that boy is in love with you? I’m telling you, the way I saw him look at you that day I came to visit, the skating lessons and dinners,” she starts, giving you her typical speech when you tell her Nico is just a friend.

“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you think you saw, we’re seriously just friends. And he’s busy, his schedule is too hectic to spend his time babysitting me,” you interrupt her, not wanting to hear her Nico speech for the thousandth time, regretting ever telling her about the skating lessons.

She sighs into the phone.

“I’m just trying to help you, you know…” you hear your mother start, but you tune the rest of her words out, focusing on the three loud knocks on your front door.

Your head turns to your door, the unexpected noise causing you to jump, the sudden motion tipping your bag over, the contents spilling all of your kitchen floor.

“Honey, are you alright? What was that?” your mom halts her one-sided conversation, worry in her tone.

“Shit!” you exclaim, watching the container of memory cards fly open, the small squares sliding across the linoleum floor.

You forget about the sling on your arm, crouching down and trying to reach for the cards with your bad arm, a searing pain shooting through your shoulder at the movement.

Letting out a loud yelp, you bring your arm back to its resting positing in the sling.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Did you hurt yourself?” you barely hear your mother’s voice through the phone speaker, not being able to think about anything other than the throbbing pain in your shoulder.

You hear three more pounds on your front door, this time a voice following the knocks.

“Y/N! Open up!”

You groan, trying to stand up, too many people trying to get your attention at the moment.

“Honey, talk to me. Is someone in there with you? I heard another voice,” your mother asks you as you stand, making your way over towards your front door.

“Someone’s knocking on the door,” you grit through your teeth, trying to think about anything but the pain in your shoulder. “I dropped my bag and tried to pick something up with my bad arm. I’m fine. Just hurts,” you tell her, opening your door to see a frantic Nico standing there.

His wide eyes scan your body, stopping once they see the sling on your arm.

You notice his wet hair and lack of socks on his tennis shoe covered feet.

“Are you okay? They told me you had to be taken to the hospital before the game started, but no one knew what really happened,” he rushed out, looking up at your face.

“Hey, Mom, gotta go, Nico’s at my door,” you tell her, a little stunned that the object of your conversation just appeared, hanging up the phone before she could make any comments about it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you ask him, pointing towards his feet, an amused smile on your face. The shock of seeing him at your door making you completely forget about the pain in your shoulder.

Nico looks down at his own feet, looking back up at you with red cheeks.

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t find my socks after the game and i couldn’t get you to answer your phone, so I rushed over to the hospital to see if you were still there, and they told me you left about an hour ago, so I hopped in my car and came over here to make sure you were okay,” he tells you, not meeting your eye.

You’re shocked at his confession, not expecting him to be so concerned about your impromptu trip to the hospital.

“Well, I’m here and still standing,” you awkwardly stand in your doorway, not knowing what else to say, thinking about how if you weren’t arguing with your mom over Nico on the phone, you might have gotten his calls.

“Yeah, I see that now,” he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

The two of you stand there, not really knowing what to say to one another.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask him, moving out of the doorway to let him step into your apartment.

Nico shakes his head yes and walks past you, looking towards the mess on the floor in your kitchen.

“What happened here? Is this the crash I heard?” he asks you.

“Yeah, the bag fell and spilled everything. When I went to pick it up, I forgot and used my bad shoulder,” you gesture to your slinged arm.

Nico shakes his head at you, crouching down to pick up the camera disks all over the floor.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-“

“Well you’re sure as hell not trying to pick them up again,” Nico interrupts you, standing and placing the now full box of disks on your table.

You roll your eyes at him, walking over towards your fridge.

“So, what exactly happened? Jack told me you hurt your shoulder?” he follows you over to your fridge, watching you scan its contents, or lack thereof.

“Well, I was looking at my camera and skated right into a bunch of pucks on the floor, then was too focused on saving the equipment instead of remembering how to fall properly,” you told him, remembering his words during your first skate lesson, telling you not to catch yourself if you fall on the ice.

“See, I told you to just let yourself fall. Never try to catch yourself,” he echoes his words in your thoughts.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier said than done,” you deadpan, shutting your fridge door and looking at Nico.

Your stomach growls at that exact moment, making you groan at your lack of food in your fridge, not having eaten since before your accident.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Nico asks you, looking down at your growling stomach.

“Uhhh, breakfast?” you recall.

Nico’s eyes widen. “It’s almost midnight. Did they really not feed you at the hospital?” he asks you.

“Considering they were busy doing x-rays and scans to make sure nothing was broken or torn, no,” you walk over to your cabinets, finding them also bare.

“Alright, go sit down and I’ll order us something to eat,” Nico shoos you out of the kitchen, walking over and opening the drawer where you keep all of your takeout menus.

You wonder how he knows where your menus are, forgetting for a moment that he’s over at your apartment at least twice a week after your skating lessons. Sometimes more, the occasional movie night making its way into your weekly routine.

“What do you want? Sushi? Chinese? Burgers?” he questions, flipping through your menus.

For some reason, your brain chooses this moment to register how much you enjoy the sight of Nico in your kitchen, looking through your takeout menus and offering to order you dinner.

You think back to all the times he’s helped you make dinner, laughter filling every moment of your time together. You think about how he always wear his pjs when he comes over for a movie night, bringing a different chocolate candy to put in the popcorn each time. You think about how he somehow learned your coffee order without you ever telling him, bringing you a coffee every morning, even at away games.

You think about your mother’s words, and how you didn’t even have to ask Nico to come over tonight, or to give you skating lessons. You think about how you never have to ask Nico to do anything he does for you – which is a lot, you’re realizing – he just does it. He does it because he wants to, because he’s kind and caring and wants to spend time with you.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N, what do you want for dinner?” Nico snaps you out of your sudden revelation.

“Sorry, spaced out for a second. Must be the pain meds,” you tell him, knowing that your mind isn’t the least bit impaired right now.

“Okay, go sit down, we need to get some food in you then,” he fishes his phone out of his pocket, mumbling out “Can’t believe they pumped you full of meds on an empty stomach.”

You make your way to your couch, sitting down and taking your shoes off, making yourself as comfortable as you can.

You remove a stray piece of hair that fell onto your face, knowing how awful it must look.

When you fell on the ice, the claw clip that was holding your hair in its up-do broke, causing it to fan out over the cold, wet ice. Once you got to the hospital, you were put in and out of so many different machines, you can only imagine the tangled, matted mess it is.

You get up and go to your bathroom, finding your brush and trying to comb it out. The task proving to be difficult with only one hand. The tangles keep pulling your head back and hurting your tender scalp, but you keep trying, whimpering each time the brush gets stuck on a particularly bad tangle.

You don’t even hear Nico approach your bathroom, just a sigh and “I told you to sit down,” before the brush is taken from your hand and you see Nico’s reflection behind you in the mirror.

Without another word, he proceeds to brush your hair for you, ensuring every tangle is gone before setting the brush on your sink.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, neither one wanting to break the silence during the surprisingly intimate moment.

You clear your throat, looking down after the silence got too intense, causing Nico to avert his eyes as well.

“I really wish i could wash my hair, but i know that’s a no go tonight,” you chuckle, wishing your bathroom was a little bit bigger in this moment.

“I can braid your hair for you,” Nico starts, staring at you in the mirror, watching your eyes snap up to meet his. “I mean, only if you want,” he stutters out.

“Really?” you ask him, a little stunned.

“Yeah. I used to help Nina with hers all the time when I was younger,” Nico mentions his older sister, grabbing your hair lightly and starting to section it off. “Anytime she would have a sleep over I would always weasel my way into the party. So one day, she made me sit in a braiding chain and learn how to braid her hair.”

You let out a giggle, picturing a smaller version of Nico sitting at the end of a line of girls, braiding their long hair.

“Then, Nina claimed I got so good at it she always wanted me to braid her hair before her volleyball matches, then her friends all started wanting me to do theirs, too,” he continues talking, nearly lulling you to sleep with the soft movements of his hands as you listen to him speak.

“I think that’s adorable,” you quietly speak, closing your eyes.

“What can I say? When a pretty girl needs her hair braided, who am I to keep my skills to myself?” he jokes, making you wonder if he meant you or his sister’s friends.

“I’m sure it’s any little boy’s dream to have an entire volleyball team at his mercy, all those pretty volleyball players begging him to play with their hair,” you tease him, handing him the hair tie that you always keep on your wrist.

“I don’t know, I think playing with a pretty photographer’s hair is better, if you ask me,” he ties the hair tie around the bottom of the braid, reaching up to pull the braid loose, making sure it’s not too tight.

You keep your eyes closed, knowing he can likely see the redness on your cheeks at his words.

“Alright, eyes open. Need to make sure you like my work,” he places his hands on your biceps, making sure to keep his touch feather light on your bad arm.

He turns you around so you’re facing him, holding a handheld mirror that was laying on your sink in front of your face, allowing you to see the reflection of the braid.

You’re shocked to see the flawless Dutch braid that cascades down your back.

“Nico, you’re like…really good at this,” you reach your good hand to the back of your head, running it down the braid.

“Told you, I had a lot of practice,” he shrugs, setting the mirror down.

You yawn, the relaxing nature of having your hair braided allowing you to realize how tired you are from the day’s events.

“Nuh-uh, gotta keep you awake until we get some food in you,” he tuts, taking his hands and patting your cheeks.

You groan, leaning into his palms that stay resting on your face.

“C’mon, let’s get you changed and on the couch,” he motions for you to leave the bathroom.

You walk to your room, Nico helping you carefully remove your sling before leaving and giving you some privacy.

You change into your pajamas, somehow managing to get your arm into an oversized Devils shirt you found at the bottom of your drawer.

Nico is standing outside of your door when you open it, helping you back into your sling.

He stands in front of you, staring at you with a look that you can’t decipher.

“Is…everything okay?” you question him, noticing his stare after adjusting your sling.

His eyes snap up to you, seemingly unaware that he was even staring at you in the first place.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I just- is that my shirt?” he asks you, pointing to your pj shirt.

You look down at the oversized shirt, trying to think of where you got it.

It had just showed up in your laundry basket one day, assuming it was one they gave you when you got your job, but Nico’s question makes you think harder.

You realize, suddenly, you do remember where you got it.

During one of your post lesson dinners, Nico had spilled his drink all over his shirt. You offered to wash it for him after he changed to a shirt in his duffel.

You meant to take it back to him after you washed it, but forgot about it entirely, packing it away in your pajama drawer.

“Oh, crap, it is. Do you want it back, I can go change?” you ask him, worried he’s upset that you forgot to give it back.

“No…no it’s fine. Keep it. I have plenty,” he shakes his head, glancing down at it once more.

The two of you make your way to your couch, finding something to watch on tv when there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of your food.

You start to stand to go get it, but Nico sternly tells you to stay put.

Rolling your eyes you sit back down, grabbing the remote and continuing to channel surf.

Nico’s gone for longer than you expect, causing you to sit up and turn back towards your kitchen, wondering what’s taking him so long.

You see him walking over to you, a tray full of food in his hands.

He had ordered from your favorite sushi place, figuring it would be the easiest for you to eat one handed.

As he sat down the tray on the coffee table in front of you, you realized what took him so long.

Nico had put a toothpick in each piece of your sushi, knowing using chopsticks with your non dominant hand would have been hard for you. He poured soy sauce into a small container, allowing you to simply pick up each toothpick and dip it in the sauce before popping it in your mouth.

He had also ordered you a bottle of cherry coke, which he knew was your favorite, and placed it on the tray with the lid unscrewed and a straw peeking out of the bottle next to a glass of ice, just incase you wanted it that way instead.

You looked up at him, feeling that funny feeling in your chest like you did earlier in your kitchen, blown away at how he always seems to think of everything he can to help you out, even when you’re not injured.

You must’ve been looking for longer than you realized, because he cocks his head at you, confusion present on his face.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what’s wrong. “Did you not want sushi? I thought you said it was always the one thing that could cheer you up?”

You shake your head at him. “No, sushi is perfect,” you tell him, a small smile on your face as you look up at him.

He smiles back for a few moments, then started scooting the coffee table towards you so you don’t have to reach to grab your food. He moves around the table to sit beside of you, the size of the small table causing him to sit so close to you that you can feel the warmness of his large thigh against yours.

You once again think about all of the things he’s done for you without you even having to ask. Now including coming over after a game—no doubt exhausted and sore—and taking care of you without even thinking twice. Braiding your hair and calling you pretty. Staring at you unintentionally wearing his t-shirt. Modifying your food so it’s easier for you to eat with one hand.

You sit there, staring at the man you fear you’re falling in love with, already planning out the apology text you’re going to have to send your mom.

[heechwe]

miss americana | 𝖕𝖘𝖍

➸ second anthology piece in "basketball (inkchwe's version)" and story-inspired playlist also can be found there too! ୨୧ pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 9.8k ୨୧ genre: fluff, angst, smut ୨୧ tags: basketballplayer!heesung, cheerleader!reader, established relationship, exes to lovers au, high school au, heavy petting, marking, oral (f receiving) penetration (all characters are of age!) ୨୧ synopsis: Fed up with Sunghoon's attitude and petty games, you move on, hopefully to something better. Why did he have to realize how important you were to him once you were already gone? ➸ a/n: bless @mini-mews for being there every step of the way with this fic, it was amazing seeing all of the comments and reactions and i could not have asked for a better beta ♡

DECEMBER

Sunghoon could have made the winning shot if it weren’t for the praise that was placed on someone else for so long. Lee Heeseung was the best shooting guard his high school had ever seen; anyone with talent and passion for the sport could see that. At the same time, Sunghoon made a lot of calls as the small forward that were imperative to the success of the team. From scoring to handling the ball, Sunghoon could do it all and then some.

If only the captain, the old fart, saw that. And Heeseung, the sanctimonious prick, appreciated him more.

Sunghoon is so wrapped up in his bitter thoughts he can barely focus on your lips attached to his neck and your legs around his waist. You both were cramped in the driver’s side of his car, but you managed to make yourself fit on Sunghoon’s lap to straddle him. In the dark of night, only the two of you parked on the basketball court by the river, you decided to give him a reminder of what the most important thing in his life was outside of winning the championship. 

Sunghoon usually spent times like these celebrating with his other teammates, but something was sitting in the front of his mind like a fly he couldn’t swat. You can tell in the furrow of his brows and his scrunched-up mouth. He may not be able to focus on going out and drinking, but it was a benefit to you. Maybe he would finally spend some time with you like he used to.

“Heeseung acts like everyone should worship the ground he walks on. Yeah, he won the game tonight, so what? I could score as many baskets as him if I wanted. And I’ve played as many games as his ass and won. Even once when I had chicken pox.” Sunghoon continues on his rant, unbothered by your mouth and hands on him. You run both of your palms inside of his jersey and feel the skin of his abs underneath your fingers, but Sunghoon doesn’t budge.

“I think you did great, who cares?” You mumble into his neck, focused on making him feel pleasure rather than irritation. You move Sunghoon’s hands to cup your backside, the cheer shorts under your skirt riding up to expose your upper thighs.

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles, eyes looking past you and towards the window.

“What do you mean ‘whatever’?” You pull away from him to look in his eyes. He’s a million miles away, not bothering to pay attention to your impending frustration. His only concerns are himself and his feelings. “Seriously, get over this attitude and talk to me if you’re not gonna at least act interested.”

Sunghoon lets out a frustrated groan and pushes you back into the passenger seat. You yelp in the process, barely landing on your ass. “What the fuck, Hoon?”

“Don’t you see I’m upset and maybe I don’t want to spend another night making out?”

“Another—“ You huff out a breath, shocked at his audacity. “When was the last time we actually spent quality time together?” Before Sunghoon can answer with a basic response, you interrupt him. “And by ‘quality time,” I don’t mean with the guys or Jongseong in attendance.”

“That’s not fair.” Sunghoon tries to hit you with his signature pout, but you don’t budge.

“What’s not fair is that I’m supposed to be your girlfriend but all you care about is huffing and puffing about basketball, complaining about not being the captain, or being a huge jackass.”

“If that’s all I do, then why the fuck are you still around?” Sunghoon bites back, venom dripping from every word.

You look at him with wide eyes, seeing him clearly for the first time in months. After the latter half of the year you’ve been together being a disappointment of epic proportions, the veil finally lifted. Sunghoon does have a point. What are you still doing with him?

“You know what? You’re right.” You exit Sunghoon’s Denali with a grunt and fix your makeup, not letting the tears that threaten to escape fall from your cheeks.

“What are you doing now?”

“You’re right. I’m not gonna waste my time anymore. I’m done.” You slam the passenger door closed and begin your walk from the basketball court to your house, determined not to look back. If he wanted to be that way, then you deserved better.

You hear the slow, incoming huff of Sunghoon’s car, and he rolls the window down to continue your conversation. His lips are in a thin line, his annoyance at an all-time high but now directed completely at you. He says, “So I guess I’ll call you when you’re not so hormonal?”

“Don’t bother. Just fuck off, Sunghoon.”

He nods his head with an angry smirk and rolls the window back up. In a sudden screech, his car races down the empty street, leaving you alone in the night to cry. You weep not just for the future you saw with him coming to a sudden end, but for the past Sunghoon who you believed would never treat you this way now.

You shut your locker with an angry hand, a resounding slam filling the hallway. The strangers around you flinch in response and whisper, some unsure why the head cheerleader is in such a mood today.

“Didn’t you hear? Her and Sunghoon are done,” one of them speaks in a hushed tone.

“Damn. And right after his win? Heartless,” another says with the click of their tongue.

“How about you guys mind your fucking business?” You spit the words in their direction with force before walking away towards your calculus class. 

As if anyone knows anything about your relationship or how it came to end. The vipers are always ready to strike when a new hint of gossip comes around, no matter who gets hurt in the process.

To add salt to the wound, Sunghoon saunters up to you and tries to wrap his arm around your shoulder. You shrug him off with a tired grunt.

Many times before you had fought and made up as if the day prior never happened, all smiles and no tears in sight. But you’re tired of the same game you always played with each other. You think to yourself about the way he spoke to you two days ago, and how you would tell any other friend they deserve better.

And you definitely deserve better than that.

“Are you still mad?” Sunghoon asks with a whine. Typically, his childlike voice would make you laugh. Right now, you just feel vomit in the back of your throat.

“I’m not mad. We’re over.” You speak with a defeated but definitive tone, the end of your sentence falling into a whisper.

What’s the point of fighting anymore? With an outside perspective you did not have previously, you realized how exhausting it was going up and down with someone you were supposed to love.

Sunghoon doesn’t keep up with you, somehow understanding from the resignation in your voice and simple response that, as far as you were concerned, you were done with him.

“Goddamnit,” you curse, trying to make the lighter flick to life. For all the times you tried coaxing a flame from the device, it would not budge. First you had to deal with the onslaught of rumors circulating about your sudden breakup, and now you could barely get a lighter to work. Why did Mondays always have to be so awful?

Exhausted, you throw the pack of cigarettes and lighter into the open air. Both objects fall somewhere onto the football field, but you barely notice. You’re too focused on the tears in your eyes and the sobs that leave your mouth to pay attention to anything else.

You know it’s pathetic to sit on the bleachers and cry by yourself about the breakdown of your relationship, but the cyclone of emotions didn’t ask for permission when it hit you. It just did, violently and with little care for your wellbeing. You’re just glad to have the quiet time now to deal with the storm by yourself.

Or so you thought.

Someone walks up to you with both your cigarettes and lighter in his hands. Bang Chan, head quarterback for the football team and senior, smiles at you when you do look up in his direction. He steps back an inch when he notices your puffy eyes and red face. “Sorry,” he says. “Just saw you…lost these…and didn’t know if you wanted them back or not.”

You shake your head. “Throw them out if you want.”

Chan releases a surprised sigh. “Didn’t expect a cheerleader to smoke tobacco.”

His insight makes a smile appear on your lips in spite of the tears. “I never have. I just thought since I kicked one bad habit, why not replace it with another one?”

Chan laughs. He sits down next to you, but stays mindful of your space. “Sunghoon, right?”

You nod, his name a pit in your stomach. “You know him?”

”Just his reputation. Basketball guys can be real assholes.”

”And what about football players?” You counter. “You’re all just perfect angels?”

”Well, we prefer to call ourselves ‘realists’.” You share a laugh with him, relieved to feel something other than apathy or misery. It’s been so long since you’ve been around a guy who didn’t make you doubtful of yourself. Why not enjoy it?

You give Chan your name, but he tells you he was well aware of your presence before. “I mean, you cheer at our games too, y’know, so you’re hard not to notice.”

You blush, your puffy face suddenly red from the comment. “Well, you’re hard not to notice too, Chan.”

Maybe the future for you and Sunghoon had not played out the way you intended, but your future with someone else could potentially be pretty great.

JANUARY

Sunghoon feels pretty out of place every year once the end of the basketball season comes around. Now that he’s single, he wonders what could fill his spare time in a meaningful way. Besides academics, he comes up empty with ideas. 

He wouldn’t have chosen to be broken up with, but what else could he have done? He wasn’t going to grovel, not when you were the one making a big deal out of one fight. Eventually, you would come to your senses and come back. You both loved each other too much not to resolve the situation, even if weeks had rolled by without any communication.

Sunghoon is walking with Jay to second period when he sees you chatting with Chan, all smiles and body too close to the senior’s for Sunghoon’s comfort. Jay notices how tense his friend becomes seeing both you and Chan together, shoulders rigid and jaw tight.

”Would it be so bad if you just apologized? Even if you think you didn’t do anything wrong—“

”I know I didn’t,” Sunghoon cuts in, pissed off at the situation he’s in. How did Chan have any right to try and pull the charm out now that you’re available? It makes the blood inside of Sunghoon’s veins boil to a scorching temperature.

”You love her, man. Stop trying to be nonchalant about your feelings.”

The bell for late students rings, and everyone still in the hallway scatters to make it to their classes. Sunghoon feels the muscles in his body twitch seeing you walk away with Chan, arm in arm like you’re the closest of friends.

Writing notes for your physics class is hard when your best friend Wonyoung talks the entire time, her voice projecting to a high shrill. You manage to write while listening to her impassioned speech, but you stop altogether when the subject comes to you and Chan.

”When is he going to ask you out already? Everyone sees the way he looks at you.” Wonyoung bats her eyelashes with a suggestive smirk, and you thwack her away with your notebook.

”We’re just friends. And I’m not trying to date anyone right now.”

”Come on. It’s been three weeks. Nobody would blame you for putting yourself back out there.”

The intercom blares to life, and you hear your name and the request to be seen in the front office. You take your belongings in case the request involves some sort of emergency, your thoughts racing as you head out the door.

When you make it to the front office, all you see is Sunghoon with his back against the secretary’s counter, grinning ear to ear. You’re both alone for the first time since you broke up, and the awkwardness you feel is suffocating.

”Did you do this?” You ask, eyes rolling at his nonchalant posture.

“Miss Kang owed me a favor.” His eyes are vulnerable suddenly, the cloud of indifference shredding a touch. ”Besides, I wanted to see you.”

 Those words would’ve made you melt a long time ago, the early days of your relationship marked with gestures like this and sweet nothings leaving his lips. Now, you feel so far from the girl you were when you broke up with him.

”Well I want to get my lab done, so if you’ll excuse me—“

”Wait, wait, please.” He rushes to stop you from leaving the tiny office, his arm firm against the glass door in front of you.

”Sunghoon, this is not—“

”Please, just hear me out.”

You cross your arms and straighten your posture into a firm stance, looking directly in his eyes while waiting for the usual speech to leave his mouth.

You know you’re the only one I want.

”You know you’re the only one I want.”

My intention is never to fight with you.

”My intention is never to fight with you.”

All I want is to work this out, please.

”All I want is to work this out, please.”

You can’t help the broken laugh that leaves your lips, or the well of tears that build up behind your lashes. It’s both heartbreaking and comical that he thinks after weeks of nothing to show for his sudden humility, his half-baked, used-up monologue is the best way to mend your problems.

”Is that it?” you ask, deadpan.

Sunghoon stutters, suddenly at a loss for words. “What do you mean?”

”Is that all you want to say? ‘Cause if it is, then—”

”Why are you being like this?” His pleading tone suddenly becomes one of irritation. He’s not used to you putting up a fight, and now that you are, he doesn’t know how to handle it, like a toddler who can’t find their toy.

That’s all you were to him at the end of the day. A shiny doll to play with and discard when the circumstances didn’t suit him.

“I’m being like this because this is nothing new. And in another couple of days, it’ll be the same problems and the same excuses. It’s gotten old.” You walk out of the door, but hold it open just a touch to give him the last piece of your mind.

”You know what the worst part is, Sunghoon?” You clear your throat, failing to conceal the pain in your voice. “You didn’t even say you want me back because you love me.”

”Of course I love you!”

”Why? Why do you love me?” You throw your hands up at him, voice in tatters from how loud you’re screaming.

His response is exactly what you expected: nothing. No words come to mind or are adequate enough to describe the depth of his feelings for you, or lack thereof.

”That’s what I thought,” you say before walking away. If those are the last words you ever say to him, you’re glad you got them off of your chest.

The Spring Formal was all the talk of Sunghoon’s friends and their girlfriends once the date of the dance was announced. It was two months away, yet the hallways and classes were already littered with hearts and pink banners. Dance proposals were rampant, some even going viral on the school’s social media accounts.

It made Sunghoon sick to his stomach.

Four days ago, he thought he could win you back, but it only made you run further away from him. Was he that predictable? And what did that beefhead Chan have now that Sunghoon suddenly didn’t?

Playing video games with the guys and Heeseung’s girlfriend in attendance, he hoped it would take his mind off of things. But seeing his off-and-on adversary and partner loved up in the corner of Jake’s room didn’t help.

Sunghoon looks at the two of them laughing in each other’s arms and remembers the feeling of your body in his, the first weeks of dating being some of the best of his life. The quick texts during class, the impromptu kisses in his car before saying goodnight, and the secret drives to the beach on the weekends. He remembers them all, even if his cold nature made you think he had forgotten them with a cruel ease.

The memories pain his heart, and the image of a happy couple still basking in their newfound love does nothing but twist the knife.

“Can you guys not be all over each other in front of us? It’s disgusting.” Sunghoon remarks with sarcasm as he shoots one of Jake’s CPUs down. His friend grunts and tries to take out a person on Sunghoon’s team to even the playing field. 

Heeseung’s girlfriend quirks an eyebrow, still focused on her boyfriend but ready to throw a comeback Sunghoon’s way. “Aw, someone’s jealous, isn’t he?”

Her saying the words out loud causes the entire room to go quiet. The only sounds come from the TV and automated game dialogue.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sunghoon responds, his voice at a new low.

“Hey man. Watch how you speak to my girlfriend,” Heeseung interrupts, ready to jump from the beanbag he’s sitting in to put his teammate in his place.

His girlfriend places a tender hand on his forearm. “I got this, Hee.” She turns her attention back to Sunghoon, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “I meant exactly what I said. Your girlfriend was tired of you being a complete prick to everyone, including her.”

Heeseung says his girlfriend’s name in warning, knowing she’s gone a bit too far, no matter how true her words are.

She doesn’t stop though, and Sunghoon is too shocked to form a sentence. “And seeing anyone else happy makes you realize how bad you fucked up and why she was right to drop you.”

Jake makes a face at her too, silently pleading for an end to the fight before more things are said that can’t be taken back.

Sunghoon throws the controller at the TV stand, the device breaking once it hits the wood. Jake and Heeseung curse at him for his reaction, but Sunghoon storms out of the bedroom before he lets his anger go any further.

He sits on the stairs in front of his friend’s house and feels the prick of tears in his eyes. It’s rare for him to allow himself to be vulnerable. The only person in his life who saw him this way was you, and without you, he doesn’t know how to pull himself back from the precipice. Was what Heeseung’s girlfriend said true? Were you right to leave him? Did he not deserve any more chances to do right by you, given how many times he fucked it up before, no matter how much he loved you?

In spite of everything he’s done wrong, he still does. He loves your fire, the stubbornness that mirrors his own so perfectly. He loves your crude sense of humor, the way you can make a joke out of anything, even in the worst of times to make him laugh. And he loves your sweetness, your capability to think of others before yourself, something he’s never been good at and always admired about you even if he never said it. He never said a lot of things he should’ve.

The questions and regrets flood his brain and make him wish he had a time machine. He would go back to the last hour you were together before everything fell apart. To be happy to have you in his arms and grateful to still hold your respect, your effort, and your love.

He hears someone walk up to him, but he doesn’t bother to look. “I’ll apologize later, okay, Jake? I don’t need a lecture right now.”

The feminine grumble makes Sunghoon turn his head, not expecting to see Heeseung’s girlfriend behind him.

“I came to apologize to you.”

Sunghoon looks back to the street in front of him. He decides to avoid prolonging the argument and nods his head. “It’s fine. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“Doesn’t mean it was okay.” She settles down on the stairs next to him. Sunghoon wiggles further towards the railing to make room for her. “Everyone deserves a chance to make things right. Even if they’ve been wrong a lot of the time.”

He discreetly wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Even someone like me?”

She chuckles. “Especially someone like you.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Sunghoon doesn’t need to say the multitude of reasons why she deserves an apology. But it makes the aggression between the both of them, as well as a fragment of the guilt in Sunghoon’s heart, dissipate. All that’s left is relief.

She grins, the same feelings evident in her expression. “Apology accepted.”

Sunghoon lets a small smile appear on his lips. He has to practice apologizing more often; the feeling of making amends is pretty satisfying.

FEBRUARY

“Wonyoung, I don’t know where it is!” You say into the receiver of your phone, one hand holding the device to your face as the other rifles through the belongings in your locker. “And I doubt your bracelet is in here.”

“It has to be! I can’t think of any other place it could’ve gone,” she whines, sniffling. It isn’t her fault she’s home sick today, but she would get through her cold just fine without her lucky bracelet. As far as she’s concerned, however, it’s a matter of life and death.

“I’m sure we’ll find it so you can get over this cold,” you coddle her, still searching past the books and bags of snacks.

“I don’t care about that!” Her stuffy, squeaky voice makes you move the phone away from your ear. “I need it for the charity auction. How else are we going to get all of the items sold if I don’t have it?”

You roll your eyes, grateful she can’t see. “Just wow the PTA and student body with your impeccable charm.”

“Yeah yeah, have you found it yet?”

As you continue your search, an array of your belongings tumble out of your locker. You curse and bend down to pick the contents up. Most of them are some old notes for your current classes, but one makes you stop cold. 

Wonyoung’s words fade into the background as you hold up the photo strip of you and Sunghoon. The snapshots captured a perfect moment in time before the last six months of your relationship made everything take a turn for the worst.

“You can’t flip off the camera, Hoon!” You giggle as the timer starts for the next picture.

“It’s our pictures, so I have every right to use my middle finger whenever I want.” He nestles his head further into your neck, kissing the spot below your ear. You may be cramped sitting on Sunghoon’s lap in the photo booth of the arcade, but there’s no other place you’d rather be than with him.

As you laugh at his subsequent joke, the shutter goes off again.

“Your laugh is one of my favorite sounds, you know.” Sunghoon moves a stray hair away from your face, smiling ear to ear.

“That’s funny,” you say with a smirk. “That smile is my favorite thing ever.”

“Fuck off.” Sunghoon suddenly becomes shy, his cheeks turning pink.

“I swear, cross my heart.” You raise your hand in salute, and Sunghoon intertwines your fingers with his own.

As you seal your promise with a tender kiss to his lips, you hear the final click of the camera, content with whatever comes next.

You muffle your mouth with your hands, stifling the sob that started to leave your lips.

“Babe, you alright?” Wonyoung asks, another sniffle ending her question.

“Yeah I-I’m okay.” You shake off your sadness and stuff the photo strip in your locker again, half-determined to throw it in the trash nearby. “I gotta go, lunch is gonna be over in like fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Next place would probably be your car, so just let me know later if you find it. Love you,” Wonyoung says at the end of the call.

Putting your phone in your back pocket and walking back towards the courtyard, you hear the rustle of hands clapping and feet stomping. Everyone at their picnic tables, like you, look towards the sounds.

The football team, all huddled up, begin chanting once you make it closer to them.

“Hey girl, you need a date. Why not make it #8?” They say the words in a morale-boosting rhythm, repeating them with vigor until other tables around them start chanting too. When the huddle opens at the center, Chan appears with a bouquet of flowers and a huge grin.

The team stops once he’s in front of you, Chan shy but determined. Once he gives you the bouquet, he asks, “Wanna be my date to the formal?”

You hide your face in your hands, a wide grin on your face in spite of your sudden bashfulness. Public proposals were never your thing, but with how much effort the guy put into the surprise, how could you say no?

“I’d love to,” you answer, giving him a hug as the crowd around you hollers in support. You’re grateful to have had Chan these past months while dealing with your heartbreak, it seemed to be a natural progression of your relationship. And while nothing’s set in stone, you’re happy something’s on the horizon for you.

But if you’re so happy, why is Sunghoon the first thing that pops in your head after you agree to Chan’s offer?

Thankfully, Wonyoung’s bracelet was in fact in your car behind the passenger seat. How she managed to get it back there was anyone’s guess, but hopefully that meant she would not be so freaked out about the charity auction next week.

In honor of Valentine’s Day, the high school allowed the cheerleading team to host a charity auction every year for a local nonprofit. This year’s was meant to be for the city’s homeless shelter. You worked there last summer to accumulate volunteer hours, and the people you met there had been on your mind every day since. Your goal was to make at least two thousand, but you wish you could do and earn more on your own accord for them. It was important to give back to others when you had so much and took it for granted. Some knew that better than others.

While printing pamphlets and auction tickets, your doorbell rang. You didn’t expect Wonyoung to be up to seeing anyone given her unwell state earlier on the phone, but it was her lucky bracelet. The faster she had it back in her possession the better.

Pulling the door open, the last person you expect to be waiting at your door is Sunghoon. His expression is an amalgamation of emotions, the biggest ones being disbelief and sorrow.

Any time before, back when he was your entire world, you would have pulled him into your arms and kissed away his pain. Even if you hate to admit it to yourself, a part of you still wishes you could.

But while you can be empathetic, you still have to be tough in his presence. Any sign of fragility, and he’ll see the opportunity to creep back in. “Why are you here, Sunghoon?”

“You’re dating him now?”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “What?”

“Chan. You’re together?” You see the tremble of his bottom lip and the lock of his jaw, his composure clearly hanging by a thread. It’s been a long time since you saw Sunghoon so unguarded, you’re unsure if it’s because he’s truly vulnerable or he’s on his last play to win you back.

No matter the reason, you answer with an exasperated sigh. “He just asked me to the formal, okay? He’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t ask friends to go to the dance with flowers.”

You bite your bottom lip, unsure what to say to that. “It doesn’t concern you anymore.”

Sunghoon releases a bitter chuckle, the sound of the laughter dying on his tongue midway. “It does concern me if you’re with someone else.”

“I just told you–”

“I get that.” He runs a hand through his hair, his voice frail at the edges. “But I know what it's like to want you, and I see it when Chan looks at you. And who can blame him right?”

Taking advantage of your stunned silence, Sunghoon keeps going. “When you asked me before why I love you, I didn’t realize how much I took advantage of you. I didn’t appreciate you the way I should’ve, and now I–I miss so many things. I miss the smell of your perfume in my car and the look you’d give me when you were calling me out on my bullshit, which was eighty-five percent of the time. I miss knowing you had my back even if I was in the wrong because you saw the best parts of me on days I didn’t see them at all.

“I miss you, and I love you, and I don’t know how to stop,” Sunghoon whispers. When he tries to step closer to you, you place a hand on his chest, safeguarding some sort of distance and composure between you. He presses his hand over yours, thumb rubbing across the skin on the back of your hand, making you suck in a breath.

It was every word and more that you yearned to hear from him since you parted ways. While the naysayers continued their dialogue about the demise of your relationship, nobody bothered to think about whether or not you wanted to let go in the first place. You had to, or it would’ve been the same patterns occurring over and over.

Maybe this moment, this speech, and this Sunghoon, can be a break in the chain. Maybe he’s truly adamant on turning over a new leaf for the better, for the chance to try again and do it right this time. Would it be so wrong to take the chance and give him the benefit of the doubt one more time?

But who truly knew he would change his ways except for Sunghoon himself? Could you run the risk of the cycle repeating itself again for the future you wanted? How were you meant to believe him this time with history on your side?

You retract your hand from his chest, your heart cracking in the parts he forced you to mend in the first place. “I can’t do this.”

He swallows forcefully and takes a step back, respecting your wishes. “I understand.” He walks down your driveway and to his car, leaving you with the image of his somber, close-lipped smile.

Sunghoon watches you walk back into your house, his heart in tatters. He looks at the bundle of roses sitting in the passenger seat and promises to himself to fight just a little longer. Giving up means losing you forever, and he’ll die before accepting that loss.

A big banner for the homeless shelter hangs on one of the gymnasium walls. The cheerleaders continue placing decor around the space for tomorrow’s auction, some hand-drawn by the girls and others donated from the PTA in previous years. You look around with your clipboard, items checked off throughout the day to signal your progress. With less than twenty-four hours to go before the auction, it was imperative to create the perfect atmosphere to sell as many items as possible.

Wonyoung skips over to you, her pigtails swinging in the air and a cluster of colorful streamers dangling from her hands. “Where do you want these, babe?”

“Lining the front of the bleachers. That way once the tables are set up we don’t have to work around them.” You check off another bullet, 

“You got it boss!” She winks at you, her expression teasing. Before she can walk away though, Principal Han and Coach Chae walk into the gym. Coach Chae has a bouquet while Principal Han holds a thin piece of paper.

The two gentlemen walk up to you and Wonyoung, beaming. “Great turn of events ladies,” Principal Han says. “The auction has been canceled.”

“What,” Wonyoung yells. The two men flinch at her reaction, but Coach Chae laughs off his reaction.

“No need to worry, Miss Jang,” Coach Chae responds. “There will still be a gala. Just not an auction. Think of it as a celebratory gala, if you will.”

“What do you mean?” You ask. You press your clipboard tighter to your chest, anxiety spiking. You put your heart into this event for the success of the fundraiser. Why was it suddenly crashing down?

“Someone already donated more than enough to reach your goal. Five thousand, to be exact.”

A silent gasp leaves your lips. The clipboard almost slips from your fingers, but Wonyoung manages to catch it before it clatters onto the gym floor.

”Holy sh—sorry. Holy moly!” Wonyoung exclaims, a smile matching the ones on the older gentlemen’s faces.

“Congratulations, girls. Now you can kick your feet up and enjoy the festivities tomorrow all thanks to your mystery donor,” Principal Han says.

”Mystery donor?” The mix of emotions in your stomach morphs to confused curiosity. “They didn’t leave their name on the check?”

”No. Just the card that came with the flowers,” Coach Chae answers. He hands the bouquet of roses and the comment card to you, the floral smell suddenly wafting in your nose.

You could recognize the script anywhere, the slants and slopes of the handwriting belonging to only one person. The contents of the card make your heart swell and sink deeper, causing you to question everything once more.

For reminding me to cherish all the things I took for granted.

MARCH

On the night of the Spring Formal, a week had passed since that day in the gymnasium which upended a majority of your feelings. Your thoughts have run rampant in your mind since, regrets and doubts sitting at the forefront of your brain.

Your mother was fixing the last pieces of your hair into the intricate bun she created. Looking in the mirror, the tendrils of your bangs falling out from the hairstyle frame your face. Grace exudes from your makeup and the dress you’ve chosen, the strapless champagne gown the centerpiece of your entire look.

”You’re a vision, honey,” She says, her eyes bright in the hallway mirror behind you.

You may look beautiful, but your thoughts make you feel small, unsure of everything you thought you knew or wanted before.

You had not seen Sunghoon since that night on your front porch almost two weeks ago, your ex choosing to respect your wishes and stay away just as you requested. Now, in spite of all the ways he vexed you to no end, you missed him just like he said he missed you. Maybe you suppressed yourself from grieving the end of your relationship, jumping headfirst into a new friendship with Chan and the other priorities in your life. Or maybe it was because he still had your entire heart, even if you wished he didn’t.

”Chan should be here any minute,” your mother says, interrupting your thoughts.

You respond with a nod and small smile, fidgeting with the top of your dress to conceal some of your cleavage.

Your mother frowns. ”Honey, what’s wrong?” She puts her hands on your shoulders, her presence the right amount of concerned and warm.

”Do you think people can change?”

She gives you a knowing smile, the topic of conversation not being said out loud but obvious to the both of you. “When someone has the desire to, they can. Especially when they have a good reason to.”

The doorbell rings, and she kisses you on the cheek. “I’ll let you get that. I’m gonna run and grab the camera.”

You answer the door, half-expecting to see Chan with flowers and his signature grin. What you find, however, makes your heart constrict with surprise and longing that you didn’t expect to feel so strongly.

Sunghoon in a three-piece suit, hair slicked back, and a corsage looks like the picture-perfect man. When you envisioned this night before, the image of him in front of you always came to mind. And now, you could not be closer to and further from those expectations.

“I wanted to give you this before…I mean, I already bought it, and you deserve to have it.” He twiddles the corsage between his hands. His eyes ask for explicit permission before he places it on your wrist.

Without a second thought, you nod.

Sunghoon steps closer, relieved to have received the green light. The tension between you is palpable in the air, flickering hot and reflecting the same feelings you harbored weeks ago when you were in the same position then. He carefully puts the strap around your wrist, tightening it until it’s snug. 

The golden-trimmed roses match your dress flawlessly, so much so you wonder how he managed to remember the color of the dress you dreamed of for this night.

Like he can read your mind, he says, “You’ve been talking about this dance since the start of the school year.” He laughs, the sound hollow.

“Thank you,” you say, the two words expanding far beyond the roses on your wrist.

Thank you for the flowers. Thank you for going above and beyond with that check. Thank you for showing you’re trying.

The smile he gives you touches his eyes, the edges of his expression almost golden in the light of the sunset. “It’s the least I could do.”

Without thinking, he’s so close you can feel the rising pace of his and your breath mixing together. It would be so easy to close the distance, touch his lips with yours, and fall back into his embrace with no regard for the next minute.

Before you can contemplate it further, you see Chan out of the corner of your eye walking up your driveway. His mouth is in a firm line and his posture reflects his discomfort.

Sunghoon steps away from you. He acknowledges Chan with a nod, not terse or disrespectful, but clearly disappointed. He kisses the back of your palm quickly and lets it go. “Have fun tonight, okay?”

Before he walks away for good, leaving you and Chan alone, he finishes with, “By the way, you look breathtaking.”

As Chan gets closer and Sunghoon heads down the road to his car, you think maybe your ex is taking all of your breath with him.

Sunghoon downs the drink in the plastic cup. The tinge of alcohol Jay put in his drink can’t seem to take away the burn of watching you and Chan dance together. The DJ for the dance is playing  an uptempo number. Thankfully you’re not holding each other close, but it’s still a punch to the stomach seeing you smiling with a guy that isn’t him. In a gym filled with so many of his peers, he’s never felt so alone.

He drove to the dance by himself, Jake and Jay too entangled in their own love lives to soften the blow of Sunghoon’s continued misery. Heeseung and his girlfriend remain loved up in their own private corner of the dance floor. Sunghoon isn’t jealous or petty, though, although he’s well-accustomed to both emotions at this point. All he feels is some semblance of gratitude for the people enjoying the festivities of the night with a person they care about.

Heeseung’s girlfriend steps away from her partner with a kiss on his lips, somehow sensing Sunghoon’s despair. She walks over to him, a sad smile on her face as she approaches the lone guy at his idle table. “No luck, huh?”

Sunghoon nods and tips his drink at her. “You could say that.”

Heeseung comes up in record time, Sunghoon’s teammate unable to stay away from his lover for too long. He clears his throat and looks toward the younger guy with quiet condolences. “Listen, Hoon. Just talk to her and be honest. Stop dancing around your feelings.”

Sunghoon scoffs into his cup, the sound echoing in the plastic. “As if I could steal her away from beefcake over there. Like your missus said, she’s better off.”

“You know I apologized for that!” Heeseung’s girlfriend mirrors Sunghoon’s reaction, puffing out a breath of air and rolling her eyes. “And if that’s the case, why has she been looking over here at least every five minutes?”

Sunghoon glances past the rim of his cup and catches you staring just as Heeseung’s girlfriend makes her point.

Your eyes are filled with a plethora of unspoken feelings, ones Sunghoon may have the words for but cannot manage to speak. Why did words hold so much more power when it was too late to say them? Did he still have time at all, or was the opportunity to be transparent long gone? It’s too much to process; all he can do is look away from you, the guilt hitting him square in his chest.

Heeseung and his girlfriend share a conspiratory look, plotting something. Sunghoon takes a gulp of air, unsure if he wants to know exactly what they’re planning.

“Be on the rooftop in ten minutes. And make sure you know what you’re gonna say, idiot,” Heeseung’s girlfriend commands, her smirk flashing wickedly under the gymnasium lights.

“Hey!” Heeseung and his girlfriend run up to your spot by the punch bowl. You were absentmindedly staring at the fruit concoction in the tub while Chan had raced off to the bathroom, promising to be back in five.

“What’s up?” You ask, giving his girlfriend a polite and acknowledging smile.

“Something happened on the rooftop with one of the girls on the squad. I think she got food poisoning or something,”

“Yeah,” Heeseung’s girlfriend comments. “Wonyoung told us to get you ‘cause she needs some help bringing the poor girl back downstairs.”

You roll your eyes and set your cup on the plastic table in front of you. If it’s Leeseo again, you may just have to kill her.

The couple follows close behind as you make it to the stairwell door leading up to the rooftop. You wonder why the two didn’t help Wonyoung in the first place, but maybe the girl in question requested you personally and didn’t want to be embarrassed by being assisted by strangers.

Opening the rooftop entrance, you see Sunghoon standing near the edge, kicking gravel off the side of the building. Your heart seizes up, glad but caught off-guard to be seeing him right now.

In an instant, the door closes behind you, locking from the outside. You bang on it, unsure what’s happening. “What the fuck, guys?”

“You’re not coming out until we hear some talking!”

The sudden quiet is deafening, the only reprieve being the breeze passing through the trees surrounding the school. You run your hands across your arms, feeling the chill now that you’re outside but also unsure of what to do in this situation.

Sunghoon immediately sheds his jacket and walks over to you. He waits with the article in his hands before you nod meekly. He wraps it around your shoulders protectively, making sure your arms go through the sleeves. “Better?”

“Much, thank you,” you whisper.

Sunghoon looks deeply into your eyes, knocking any subsequent words from your conscious mind. You bite your lip instinctively, tense from his lack of distance between your bodies. Why did he still have the capability to steal your train of thought without trying?

He blows out a breath, the sound of his voice flimsy in the spring air. “When I first joined the basketball team, I didn’t know if and how I would measure up,” Sunghoon begins. “I was fifteen and terrified of playing next to someone as good as Heeseung and always being compared to him.

“And I took all those worries about being not good enough and took it out on everyone. I let it ruin the most perfect thing in my life because I thought acting like I didn’t care would stop me from feeling insecure. What an idiot, right?”

Sunghoon brushes a free bang from your face. His eyes are glassy, the vulnerability he’s showing you at an all-time high. “I should’ve realized the girl I love didn’t care if I was the best or the worst basketball player ever, as long as I was hers and didn’t forget it. I just didn’t know it then. And now that I’ve realized what a fool I’ve been, all I want now is to spend the rest of my time making it up to her.”

The confession knocks any remaining resolve out of you, unable to bear the pain in his face or the uncertainty that hangs in the air. You slam your lips into his, the kiss both bruising and healing in the same motion. It rejuvenates all the parts of you that had been withered away since the night you broke up and couldn’t be revived without him.

Sunghoon feels the effects of the kiss as well, his gasps and whimpers exemplifying his surprise and relief to have you back in his arms. Holding you, kissing you, being with you, you can tell he’s worried the moment’s a figment of his imagination. If he doesn’t cherish it, you’ll float away. And he can’t survive that for a second time.

You part for air, but your lips still ghost over each other’s, unable to be parted now that he’s within your reach again.

With your voice laced with the unshed tears in your eyes, you ask, “What took you so damn long, you idiot?”

Sunghoon can only respond with a joyful laugh and another kiss to your lips, making up for his unsaid apologies and shit timing with his mouth.

Now that your body is against his, your hearts beating rapidly but once-again in tune with each other, he’s certain now he’ll never be stupid enough to forget your worth and let you go again. Because the pleasure he used to call home is back in his life, and he couldn’t feel more at ease.

Sunghoon’s laughing when he unlocks the front door of his house, his face in a permanent grin since you kissed a few hours prior. You spent the time before ending up here driving around town, too enraptured with each other to focus on your friends or the rest of the dance’s festivities. You didn’t leave without Heeseung giving Sunghoon a slap to the back and Wonyoung crying at your reconciliation.

The house is quiet, a result of Sunghoon’s parents being abroad for the past few days. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look, by the way?” Sunghoon mentions again when he closes the door behind you. He immediately pulls you in by the waist, showering the skin of your neck in kisses.

You giggle and weave your hands into his hair, a gasp leaving you when he takes your earlobe between his teeth. “Probably for the hundredth time by now.”

“Well you do.” He presses another kiss to the spot below your ear, making you shiver. “And I’m not gonna stop saying it.”

You smirk and move your hands to both sides of his face, forcing you to look at him. “I didn’t expect the night to go like this.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are suddenly lined with anxiety. His body tenses in your embrace, the worry that you’re having second thoughts weighing on his happiness.

You ease his doubts with a deep kiss, holding him close and hoping that assures him you’re not going anywhere. “A great thing.”

The smile you love so much appears once he’s at peace, and peppers your entire face with kisses. You laugh out loud, but he can tell you love the adoration he’s providing you.

You could definitely get used to this new Sunghoon, the night already filled with so much magic.

“I’ll be back.” He grins wide, canines on full display. Another kiss punctuates the sentence. “Don’t go anywhere.” Another.

You laugh out loud and nod your head. He dramatically holds onto your hand until he’s forced to let go. He runs down the hallway and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you in the sitting room of his house.

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting on the loveseat in the sitting room when Sunghoon comes back out.

“My lady, follow me.” He bows and holds out his hand for you to take, and you smile ear to ear when you lace your fingers with his. You’re unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side of his bedroom door, but you know it must be another surprise your boyfriend has gone above and beyond to amaze you with.

Surely enough, it makes you gasp out loud and press your free hand to your chest.

Sunghoon’s bedroom is showered in a radiant glow from dozens of candles, all different sizes but the same light creating a sweet, calming ambience. Fairy lights hang on the walls, aiding in the atmosphere he’s created. Music plays at a low sound from the speakers near the television, Sunghoon’s phone hooked up to the system. To top it all off, there’s another bouquet of white roses sitting on his side table, some petals lining the edges of the floor around his bed.

When you thought about this night in your dreams, it always ended here, being so in love. He’s made those dreams come true, right down to the letter, and you could not be more in love with him than in this moment.

Sunghoon comes closer. He presses his chest to your back, encasing your body with his arms and kissing your neck once again. You try to stifle the sob that comes out, but he hears it and retracts. “Shit, do you not like it? I can blow the candles out and–”

You turn in his embrace, shaking your head furiously. “No, I love it.” You wipe your tears, laughing at the reaction he’s pulled out of you. “I’m just–it doesn’t feel like it’s real.”

“It is.” He takes the side of your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “And I’ll remind you every day if you need me to.”

“I love you so much,” you respond, kissing the inside of his palm. You pull him closer, reconnecting your lips with his. You feel whole in a way you haven’t in weeks, knowing now for certain this happiness coupled with Sunghoon’s love is the perfect combination to sustain you.

“I love you too,” he says in between kisses, his mouth turning sloppy. You feel his growing hardness against you. It had been months since the last time you were intimate. You think as Sunghoon pulls you in closer than before, groaning into your mouth, that tonight’s the perfect time to reconnect in more ways than just emotionally.

“I missed you so much,” you moan, tugging his jacket from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. You run your arms across his chest, still covered by the cotton button up he’s wearing, but you quickly make do with the buttons on his shirt to feel the skin underneath. 

He shivers under your touch, but he manages to find the zipper of your dress and lower it down until the dress easily slips from your body. You step out of it, careful not to tread over the fabric. Your focus remains on  undressing Sunghoon until he’s as naked as you are, wearing only your underwear and shoes. He’s shirtless thanks to you undoing his buttons, but you want all of him exposed.

You try to pull down the zipper of his pants, but he stops you, his eyes lust-filled but patient. “This night is about you, baby. Not me.”

“Please, let me touch you.” You whine, holding onto the belt-loops on his pants.

“Not yet.” He moves you both back until you’re at the edge of the bed. He motions for you to sit down. Once you do, he gets onto his knees in front of you, the man you love on a mission. “Let me make you feel good first.”

He takes the heels off of your feet and sets them down beside your dress. When he does, he begins his slow torture of kissing up your ankles to the insides of your thighs. You lay your body back on his bed, whimpering and body on the verge of shaking when he finally pulls the underwear from your legs.

“Fuck, Hoon,” you say out loud when he presses a kiss to your clit, taking the nub between his lips and sucking tenderly while rubbing his hands on the curves of your hips. He takes one hand to reach out and grab one of your breasts, expertly taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger as his tongue licks along the insides of your center. “Please don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Wasn’t planning on it, my love.” His tongue moves at a faster pace, matching the writhing of your hips crashing into his face to gain every ounce of pleasure he’s giving you.

Before, you wouldn’t have imagined being back in this bedroom with him, and now there’s no other place you wanted to exist.

“Hoon, please. I want you,” you say, one hand clutching his comforter and the other entangled in his hair.

“You have me, always.” His tongue slips inside of your pussy, the feeling of the muscle against your walls causing you to cry out in pleasure.

“I’m not moving until you come, baby. I know you’re close.” The pleasure has been building since the moment he had his mouth wrapped around your neck when you stepped into his house. And now, with his mouth buried inside of you and sweet words accompanying such dirty actions fuels your body’s speedrun to your release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse, your orgasm hitting you like the crash of a wave before you go underwater. But you don’t care to drown if it feels this satisfying.

You laugh breathlessly when the end of your release comes. Sunghoon wipes your essence off of his lips with the back of his hand, smiling bashfully. Every action of his before is incredibly contrary to his shy expression, but you love it.

Ridding himself of his pants, Sunghoon’s cock springs free from the constricting article of clothing. The tip is leaking with precum, but he isn’t in a rush to jump on top of you like the many times before when you both were too frustrated to worry with foreplay.

He kisses you with all he has when he crawls on top of you. His tongue inside of your mouth fills it with the taste of your slick. In a blip, he has a condom in his hand and puts it on with quick skill. There’s no need to prep you, your previous orgasm leaving you wet and waiting for him to line up with your entrance and slip inside.

He does it expertly. Both of you tremble from the feeling you long forgot felt so otherworldly, his cock making a home within your walls and your body adjusting to the delicious stretch.

The song in the background fills your ears with the sounds of a slow-strumming guitar, reflecting the thrust of Sunghoon’s hips. Your hips meet his when he’s filled you to the hilt, causing you to sigh. “Fuck, just like that.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Sunghoon whispers between thrusts, moaning sweet nothings into your mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you whisper in kind, gasping. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each press of his hips, exiting slowly and pushing back inside until there’s no space left to accommodate him.

How could you be so filled, figuratively and literally, by the love he had to offer you? For anyone else who’s never known the feelings stirring inside of you, a mixture of sinful pleasure and pure happiness, you feel sorry for them. If everyone in the world did, they might have been labeled as two extra wonders of the world.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come again,” you say, clutching onto his hips. You bite down on the skin of his shoulder, releasing your moans into his skin as his pace speeds up.

“Yes, baby, give it to me,” he groans, gulping hard and body frantic to take you both to the your climaxes. You feel the stars behind your eyes when your second orgasm comes, a long cry leaving your lips. Sunghoon matches it with a broken moan, the sound coming out in fragments as he spills inside of the condom.

Sunghoon lathers your face in deep, heartfelt kisses before pulling out. He walks to the bathroom quickly, throwing away the condom in the trash and grabbing a cloth to clean you up. He runs the fabric between your legs, careful not to press down too hard and overstimulate you.

You both crawl under the covers after he throws the rag in his hamper, your body immediately snuggling into his. The crown of your head receives another blitz of kisses, your smile hurting your cheeks from how wide it goes.

“I love you,” Sunghoon says, the words coming without a second thought.

And with no regrets on your mind or in your heart, resolute in your decision to forgive him, you say, “I love you, too, Hoon. Always.”

People could always change if they had the determination and inspiration to do so, and you know that for sure now. In  the arms of the one you love, that fact could not be more true.

@mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @dreamiestay

[woso-dreamzzz]

Outburst IV

Leah Williamson x Child!Reader

Summary: You go on a podcast

"And you know, as well as being a footballer and playing with Less and Tooney, you're also a mother to a little girl."

Any mention of you makes Leah smile and she glances off camera to where you're sitting with a crayon and a sheet of paper.

"Yeah," She says, that same dopey smile on her face as she tears her gaze away from you," She's four."

"And she's here today."

"Yeah, I almost didn't bring her because we're recording this so early but my mum had to cancel so she's just behind the camera. I think she's-"

"I'm drawin', Mum!" You call out and Leah grins.

"Are you, bug?"

"Uh-huh! Is it my turn yet?"

Leah glances at Vick Hope. "She loves a microphone. I may have promised her a turn on one of the mics in return for waking up so early today."

"Oh, yeah," Tooney says," We've got to have Bug on here."

"If you're okay with that?" Vick checks.

"Yeah. Honestly, I thought she would have interrupted more. She's very excited. Lovebug, do you want to come over here and you can have your turn?"

You're up like a shot, practically tripping over yourself to get to Leah.

The others have to hold in a coo as you come into view.

You'd arrived today in a big puffy coat and was immediately set up behind the camera, blocked by all the staff and the equipment.

Now they can see you clearly, in a pair of old Arsenal kit shorts but a white t-shirt instead of a jersey, black cardigan and a silly black hat just like Leah's, looking every bit her mini apart from the old Jordan shorts you're wearing.

"Alright." Leah lifts you up onto her lap and lowers her mic so it's more your size. "You happy now?"

You frown. "It's not like Auntie Alex's mic."

"Auntie Alex?" The strange woman that's not Less or Tooney asks.

"My auntie Alex always lets me use her mic at games because I have important things to say and mics help people hear me!"

"Alex Scott," Leah puts in, bouncing you on her lap slightly," Bug really loves her."

"Almost as much as I love Mummy!" You turn to look at the strange woman again. "My Mummy plays for Villa in Berm-ham."

"Birmingham," Leah interrupts again and you tilt your head back to look at her, patting her cheek.

"It's my turn now, mum," You tell her," You have to wait your turn to speak again."

Tooney sputters slightly and Alessia has to bite her lip to stop the laughter threatening to come out at Leah's affronted face as you land another condescending pat on her cheek.

"Mummy plays in Berm-ham," You say again," So I see her every other week. She plays for Villa but I like Arsenal more." You puff out your chest. "When I'm older, I'm gonna play for Arsenal."

"Bug already trains with us," Alessia says and you let her talk because she doesn't have to wait her turn because she doesn't share her microphone like you and Leah do," She's very good."

"And I go on camp! Sarina calls me up every time because I'm so good!"

"You must be," The strange but nice lady says," Because you've got two mummies who play football and you must work super hard."

"I do," You say, bobbing your head up and down," Mummy says one day I'm going to be scoring every game because I'm that good."

"We're very proud of our Bug," Leah says and you only let her have a little turn because she's being nice," She always does her very best."

"Enough for a puppy?"

Leah's face drops. "You've got Blu at Jordan's," She reminds you and you perk up suddenly, turning back to your new microphone again.

"Blu's my birthday buddy!" You announce gleefully," We're the same age! And we share a birthday!"

"Wow, that sounds really cool. You must really love your dog."

"I do! I do!"

"Do you miss him when you're on camp?"

You think for a moment. You've never really thought about if you miss Blu on camp before.

Camp is fun because you're got the other girls and auntie Keira and auntie Lucy and Mum and Bear. You've never really stopped to think about Blu when there's already so much to do at camp.

You shake your head. "I miss Bear more."

"Bear's Keira and Lucy's kid," Leah explains," They're best friends but they don't see each other too often because she lives in Barcelona."

"Bear's kind of funny," Tooney says," She's always nappin'."

"Don't be mean!" You snap suddenly, leaning all the way over to smack Tooney on the arm.

"Bug!" Leah groans," We've talk about using our nice hands. We don't hit."

You huff, sitting more firmly on Leah's lap again and crossing your arms over your chest. "No being mean about Bear! She naps because she's tired! Mum says napping is good, right?"

"That is right, Bug. I do say that."

You nod, turning back to the strange but nice lady. "Bear is my best friend and I love her."

Leah grins down at you, adjusting your hat slightly.

"Keira and I aren't huggers but those two certainly are. Always having a little cuddle those two are."

You frown, a little furrow in your brow. "But you are a hugger, Mum. You always give me cuddles."

"Well, yeah, Bug but I was talking-"

"You don't like my cuddles?"

"No, Bug that's not what I'm saying. I just meant-"

Your bottom lips wobbles and you move to slip off Leah's lap. "I'm sorry, mum. I won't have cuddles anymore if it makes you feel better. No more Bug Hugs. Promise!"

"No, Bug," Leah says firmly, pulling you closer into her body, arms curling around your body," I love Bug Hugs. I always want Bug Hugs from you."

[paigesfuturewifey]

authors note! this is my first fic on here and i’m scared cause some of yall writers are SO GOOD ITS INTIMIDATING don’t judge too harshly ill get better i promise also this is short SORRY

“fuck!” you groaned loudly, dribbling the ball once more before bouncing it over to the ref.

this was your second foul of the night, and you were starting to think these refs were good for nothing.

the sound of paige bueckers clapping her hands obnoxiously loud only further heightened your frustration, taking the hem of your jersey and wiping your mouth.

“can’t keep up?” paige brushed her front up against your back as one of her teammates went to take the out-of-bounds ball.

you laughed dryly and turned to her, gesturing up. “look at the scoreboard, bueckers. you’re down by six.” you held your arms up, trying to create a barrier between paige and aaliyah but ended up grunting when paige got the ball, taking a step back and letting the ball fly.

“three.” she corrected the score with a smirk as she ran backwards to get back on defense. you huffed, getting the ball from your teammate and dribbling it down the court.

you looked the court over once, wetting your lips as you visualized the play you wanted to run in your head, the corner of your lips lifting.

paige makes sure to stay in front of you, but you took a jab step, as if she were going to drive forward, but mimicking paige earlier, you took a step back and let the ball fly.

paige jumped up, reaching up to try and block it but it was already gone and swishing through the net, making the crowd erupt in cheers. “can’t keep up?” you re-quoted her, holding up a three in the air as you jogged back to the other side of the court.

this is how the rest of the game remained, the two of you exchanging baskets and throwing insults at each other that only fueled the other more and more. and the fans absolutely ate it up.

somehow, somewhere along the lines, uconn ended up being up by a point with less than a minute left in the fourth, and that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

the timeout was called by Geno, and you made your way over to your teammates.

“bueckers, they’ve been letting l/n handle the ball all game. i need you to start playing hard man-to-man defense on her. we cannot afford to lose this lead, got it?”

“yeah, i gotchu.” paige nodded, squeezing the gatorade bottle into her mouth.

the two teams made their way back onto the court, and like you expected, paige was on your ass like she had been all game.

she was guarding you closely to the point where you could feel her abs press into your arm through her jersey. ignoring the heat that shot through you, this made you smile in amusement, looking over at how close she was in proximity to you.

you pressed your shoulder against her, trying to create space between you two, “nervous?” paige had the audacity to ask, earning a scoff from you.

“i don’t see anything to be nervous over.” you glanced her up and down, waiting for the ref to give your teammate the ball to throw in. “maybe,” you turned your entire body to her, “if you were nika muhl..” you could see how your words caused her to tense slightly, “or azzi fudd,” you whispered, leaning slightly forward to speak in her ear, “or kk arnold.”

paige’s jaw clenched, shaking her head. she couldn’t help the humorless laugh that escaped her lips, giving you credit where it was due. you were playing mind games, and you had her right where you wanted her. “fuck outta here and fuck you.” she muttered lowly.

you smiled sadistically, “do it yourself, bueckers.” you responded in the same low tone, and you watched as paige’s eyes darkened visually.

you smirked.

in the next millisecond, you were passed the ball, and it took paige two seconds slower than it normally would have for her to react. those two seconds was all you needed to dribble the ball down the court, passing it to your teammate who was open at the corner of the court. she let it fly, scoring the three just in time for the buzzer to loudly ring throughout the entire arena.

cheers roared throughout the crowd and you went to celebrate the win with your teammates, exchanging a hug with a few of the members of uconn.

you walked down the line as you high-fived the uconn team, though you noticed paige lingering around a little long. you narrowed your eyes, arching a brow when she spotted you.

when you guys got to each other, she held your hand in place, pulling you slightly away from everyone. “here’s what’s gonna happen next, you listening?” she looked into your eyes, waiting for a response.

all you could do was nod meekly. she nodded at your nod, licking her lips before she leaned into your ear like you’d done earlier. “the next time i see you, it’s gonna be in my hotel room, and you better hope your ready for me, l/n.”

[aleixis]

₊ ⊹ ๋࣭⭑ good luck charm

0.7k words

fluff probably ooc sae shidou mention !

one of the most meaningful gifts you ever gave sae were two bracelets–if you could even call them that. they were two bands–one black and one white–that could be slipped on and off easily. you wanted to give him something that was convenient for him to wear, as he was a busy soccer player.

you had your own pairs as well, also black and white. you decided to gift them the night before a decisive match between Re Al and Barcha.

“sae, can i give you something? it’s kind of like a good luck charm…” you asked softly. sae looked up from his book, giving you a curious look.

he hummed in response, intrigued. “mm, sure.”

you reached towards to table next to you, in your hands a small drawstring bag. “i was out a couple of days ago and bought these matching bracelets,” you said, opening the bag.

you reached in, fishing them out. “i don’t know if you’ll like them, but uh– i made sure they’d be convenient for you to wear. and um– i didn’t know if you’d like black or white, so i got you both…” you trailed off.

you handed him the bracelets, letting sae pick. he examined both the black and white pairs before answering, “we can just wear both colors?”

sae watched your eyes light up, your head nodding. he held the black and white bracelets before sliding them onto his right wrist. you tried them on as well, the material comfortable on your skin.

“thank you, dear,” he said, a small smile peeking through. “i’m sure i’ll play well tomorrow, thanks to these.”

you giggle at his response, “you always play well, sae.”

1 minute and 17 seconds left until the referee’s whistle blows, and the match is over. 1 minute and 17 seconds left to turn a tie of 3-3 to a win of 4-3. you sit on the stands, a seat close to the field, your body jittery with anticipation. Barcha is still in possession of the ball, and time is ticking down.

you can tell by the look on his face that sae is fiending for a goal. luckily enough, sae’s teammate guards the opposing player, successfully stealing the ball away. the ball is then passed to sae swiftly, and he controls the ball with skill.

sae turns, his pace quickening. with only 45 seconds left on the clock, and being close enough to the penalty box, he takes a shot, the ball forming an extraordinary arch in the air. the goal occurs at an insane angle, one only itoshi sae could pull off.

the crowd breaks into cheers, and the whistle signifing the end of the match blows moments after. sae’s teammates pile on top of him before he can push them all off, cheering for him.

sae never has celebrations for a goal, but this time, he raises his right arm and looks up at the stands to you, smiling brightly. the bracelets seem to reflect the fluorescent lights of the stadium, twinkling.

you smile back at sae and wave, your two bracelets peeking out.

bonus content !

after a long day of practice, sae’s jersey sticks to his skin uncomfortably, the stuffy atmosphere of the locker room not improving his mood. with his body drenched in sweat, all he wants is to take a shower and go home back to you. he’s quick with changing out of his jersey, pulling his shirt and sweats back on. his bracelets are on the bench behind him, resting on top of his backpack.

shidou walks into the locker room last, opening up his locker that was conveniently assigned next to sae’s. shidou glances back at the bench before asking, “yo, sae. i’ve always meant to ask, but what’s with those bracelets? they from your girl or what?”

sae replies snarkily, “piss off. it’s none of your business, roach.” he reaches behind and gently slides the bracelets back onto his wrist before slamming his locker door shut.

shidou laughs in response, “hey, no need to get all defensive! guess i was right, huh?”

sae doesn’t respond, though his ears are tinged with pink. he packs up as quickly as he can before trudging out the locker room with his backpack and gear slung over his shoulder, ignoring shidou’s obnoxious teasing.

happy birthday to the one and only itoshi sae !! i rly hope sae wasn’t too ooc ( first time writin for him !! ) & i hope the match wasn’t too boring jsjhshj,,, apparently,, Re Al and Barcha are rivaling teams, and even tho i’m a Barcha fan thru n thru, i had to make Re Al win this one </3 hehe as always thank u all for reading this far & have a great day/night !! i luv u babies ^.^

tags : @egoistars @laughingfcx

[ellecdc]

Recently got diagnosed with POTS, thinking about poly!marauders and/or poly!moonwater fussing about Remus and Reader during their respective flare-ups. I just know they'd be carrying around electrolyte water, glucose gummies etc everywhere and anywhere - completely unafraid to curtly just tell the two of them that they need to sit down when out and about. Just the thought of being looked after so well has gotten me through this diagnosis and I thought I'd share <3

you're literally the coolest person I know; THANK YOU for sharing this with me and also, thank you for letting me spend some time with this so I could turn it into a little blurb <3 <3 <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader who has POTS [1.2k words]

CW: chronic pain/pain management, reader is diagnosed with POTS, Sirius is a master complainer, fluff

James was a firm believer that if he took one of those muggle quizzes that told him what his love language was, he would get all of them. 

Physical touch? Couldn’t get enough of it. Acts of service? Consider it done. Gift giving? His specialty, if he did say so himself. Words of affirmation? He was simply overflowing with flowery words for his partners. Quality time? There’s nothing he liked doing more than spending time with those he loved. 

Though James thought himself to be talented in every language of love, when push came to shove he had to admit that his favourite way to show love was through acts of service. 

It started back in Hogwarts in way of taking dutiful notes for Remus when he’d frequently miss classes. Then it came in the form of back breaking research and becoming an illegal animagus so one of his favourite people in the whole world wouldn’t have to suffer the full moons alone anymore. Then it came in the form of making sure Sirius had a family and a place to call home when it was no longer safe for him to stay at the house in which he was raised.

And lately, it came in the form of navigating Remus’ full moons with a well-practised sort of ease that only years of experience could cause, and helping you through your diagnosis.

Neither of which he minded in the slightest; there was nothing James Potter liked more than feeling useful and needed. And sure, neither you nor Remus needed James, but he liked to believe that he could in some ways make your lives a little easier.

Whilst that was all well and good, something he admittedly had a hard time doing was receiving every love language - namely, gifts or acts of service.

Which is why he probably seemed extremely fidgety and flighty as he waited in the long line at the Quidditch World Cup that you, Sirius, and Remus had treated him to for his birthday. 

“Do these lines seem particularly long to you?” James asked no one in particular as he craned his neck to see how close the group of you might be to the Puddlemere United booth.

“These lines seem rather average for a sporting event, Jamie.” You chuckled, though he couldn’t help but notice how heavily you were leaning against Sirius. 

“Are you feeling okay, angel?” He asked quickly, and you grimaced as Remus turned his attention towards you as well.

“She’s alright, Jamie; I’ve been looking after her.” Sirius placated as he tightened his protective embrace around your shoulders. 

“I think we should find somewhere to sit down.” James declared, earning him more than a few protests from your group. 

“Prongs, we’ve been in this line for so long; we can take a break after we get your jersey signed, yeah?” Remus offered. 

James made a protesting sound in the back of his throat but didn’t press the matter; simply pulling the rucksack off of his back and digging through it for his supplies. “Can you drink this for me, angel?”

You shot him a rather exasperated smile but took the bottle of electrolyte water from him dutifully. “You’re fussing, Jamie.”

“Uhm, no.” James argued as haughtily as he could manage as he pulled a few glucose chews out for you. “I’m loving, thank you very much.” 

“Are you feeling alright, dove?” Remus murmured quietly as you handed your drink back to James. 

“Are you feeling alright, Moony?” You countered, raising your eyebrows at your boyfriend who had very little room to be fussing over you as he leaned heavily on his cane in a way that told the group of you that his hip was screaming. 

“No, you’re right, we should leave.” James decided then, hiking his bag back over his shoulder and moving to bend under the ropes currently controlling the line when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Jamie? Please?” You asked softly, your eyes wide and earnest as you silently begged him to stay. 

“But-”

“We’ve waited all this time; Rem on his bad hip, me with my bad…everything-”

“Oi!” Sirius chided for your self-deprecation.

“-because we want to and we’re happy to. We wanted to do this for you.”

James hesitated as his eyes flit nervously between you, Remus, and Sirius who were looking at him pleadingly, patiently, and exasperatedly respectively. 

“Prongs, for fucks sake, let someone else fuss over you for once?” Sirius ordered as he encouraged James forward in line that had moved two groups forward during James’ fussing. 

“It’s really Moons you need to worry about, James.” Sirius mollified. “Our dolly here is way better at agreeing to go for a cwtch than Mr.‘I’m perfectly fine’ is.”

“I resent that.” Remus muttered as he pointed his nose in the air; knowing damn well Sirius was quite right but would obviously rather die than admit it. 

“Okay…” James relented warily; giving the three of you one last look over before turning his attention back towards the line. They were making some progress now.

“That does sound nice, though…” Remus offered tentatively, narrowing his eyes at his partners. “A cwtch.”

“Can we? Lie down in the tent for a bit after this?” You asked then, batting your lashes at James in a way you knew would have him eating out of the palm of your hand like this had all been your idea from the very beginning.

“Yes.” James agreed readily, pressing a searing kiss to your lips before pulling Remus down into one of his own.

“No one asked me if I was ready for a nap; what if I was just dying to continue spending my time out in the blazing sun, hm?” Sirius badgered, pretending to be miffed as he accepted James’ hand into his own without a second thought.

“Do you want to continue spending time out in the blazing sun?” James murmured into his hair, breathing out a laugh as Sirius all but melted into his frame. 

“No; I’m getting a sunburn and my hair is sticking to my neck.” He whined.

“Sorry guys.” James called over to you and Remus. “We’re gonna have to take Pads back to the tent after this; he can’t possibly stay out in this heat any longer.”

You giggled and Remus let out a good natured chuckle as he kneaded at the muscles between your neck and shoulder. “I think we can make that sacrifice, can’t we dove?”

You nodded as you looked up at Remus conspiratorially. “They’re so high maintenance though, aren’t they?”

“Just the worse.” Remus agreed readily. 

“Hey Jamie?”

“Yeah, angel?” 

“Can I have more water, please?”

James beamed a smile at you as Sirius quickly dug into James’ rucksack. “Of course you can, my love.” 

Yup; James was certain that his favourite way to love was taking care of you three in any way he could.

[lushrve]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader

cause who doesn't want the image of these boys all sweaty and bloody in hockey gear (also i haven't mastered writing in a scottish or manchester accent yet so don't come for me)

you’re a figure skater, something you’ve devoted your whole life since childhood to. over the years, you’ve honed your craft, becoming one of the best in your area. you do well enough at competitions; not olympic material, but skilled enough to bring home a state title every now and again. you take pride in the way your body glides across the ice, painting pretty pictures with each scrape of the blade of your skate. it’s methodical, structured, clean. if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend you’re dancing on clouds.

it’s a small town and there’s only one ice rink for miles, so of course you run into the local hockey team practicing and warming up for matches. you don’t know most of them (don’t care to, frankly), but some are more notorious than others.

the team captain and center, price, the tactical mind behind their victories. from the few games you’ve watched them play, you can tell that he calls the shots. you watch as he sits on the bench, watching his teammates rush back and forth across the ice. it’s like he sees beyond the game. sometimes, you see him close his eyes, like he’s seeing a play take shape in his head, before calling out to the others and making it happen. they always listen, his booming baritone too compelling to disregard. (that voice made you feel something too, but you didn’t want to admit it.)

then there was a defenseman, simon. you just knew him as “riley” by the last name emblazoned on the back of his jersey. but if you listened closely (and you did), his teammates called him ghost. it didn’t take you very long to find out why. ghost was a large man, all broad shoulders and hard lines. he preferred the silent approach to taking down an opponent, slamming them against the boards before they could even register the sound of his skates scraping the ice. he played dirty, your eyes often meeting his when the referee threw him in the penalty box. (he winked at you once as he cleaned some blood from his lip, fresh from a fight. you pretended not to notice.)

left wing belonged to johnny, a scottish man they called soap. he got his nickname from his assist record, always coming in to clean up what price or ghost or another teammate had fumbled to lead his team to victory. he was quick on his feet, but brutal. while ghost was the primary muscle, soap wasn’t afraid to get physical if someone was coming between him and a goal. soap was also mouthy, chirping in his thick accent across the ice to get in the other team’s head. half the things he said, you don’t understand. hell, the other team probably didn’t either. but the tone was what mattered. (he leaned over the plexiglass after a solid win, personally inviting you back to their next home game. you blushed crimson.)

right wing was kyle. by far the prettiest one on the team, you thought. he’d take his helmet off as he skated back to the bench, running a hand through his sweat-soaked curls. the sight of him was like a work of art, a canvas brutalized by the nature of an aggressive team sport. he wasn’t as quick to get physical as the others were, but the moment everyone dogpiled on the ice, he was right there in the fray, throwing punches that landed just as loud and hard as the rest of them. the way he moved on the ice almost reminds you of your routines, careful and choreographed. he knew exactly where he was going, and he always hit his marks. (you wondered if he always moved like that, wondered if he danced through life.)

ghost and soap approached you after a win, coming up into the stands after they’d stripped themselves of their gear. while soap looked a bit smaller after shedding the heavy padding, ghost didn’t. still a hulking wall of muscle. “oughta sit in the stands mo’ often, birdie,” soap chirped, a smug smile on his face as he leaned on his hockey stick. “y’r like a good luck charm fer us.” you blushed pretty, averting your eyes and missing the way the two men looked at each other. you’d do just nicely, they thought. ghost cleared his throat, your eyes snapping up to him like he’d commanded it. (he could’ve. you would’ve obeyed.) “when d’you skate again?” he asked, arms crossed over his expansive chest.

“y’ve seen us in our element. now we wanna see you in y’rs.”