#emile smith rowe x black!reader
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The Experiment
Pairing: Emile Smith Rowe x Black Reader
Summary: Emile's kisses require scientific investigation.
Notes: Scavenged this out of my drafts in honor of u21s winning euros 🎉 if only the 1st team could do the same, anyways can u tell how badly i wanna give ESR a k*ss … my yardie … arsepool is real
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After the first kiss, in the morning, his lips were still tingly, and you could taste the traces of cool mint toothpaste. He’d rolled from bed before you, up early for treatment, which may have sabotaged things from the start.
“You changed it?”
“Changed what?” He asked from the wardrobe, pulling his training kit top overhead.
“The toothpaste. It was cinnamon before, now it’s mint.”
“We were runnin out.” He shrugged. “But I didn’t mean to wake you. Be back around three later.”
You nodded, trying to shake the sleep from your body. “I probably won’t get out from the lab until six. So may I have another kiss, please? A proper one.”
“Needy girl” Emile tutted, but leaned down to meet you anyway, trying not to smile. You held on, turning his one soft peck into two more, and then holding your mouth to his, muffling his sound of surprise.
“I’ve gotta go, bab— baby, mm–”
“I know, just one — more.” You pulled back, with a deep sigh and Emile’s hand somehow tangled in the back of your sleep scarf. “There. Have a good day.”
When he stepped out the door, gently touching his mouth, you flopped back down on the bed. Grabbing your phone from the nightstand, you opened the notes app, and typed away.
~~~
The drive from the lab to Colney was a quick one, and you caught Emile just before lunch finished. He sat in the passenger seat with a smoothie in hand and questions in his eyes.
“What? I wanted to see you. Ain’t that allowed?”
His face was still frost-bitten from the cold, and his lips were redder than ever as they split around a smirk.
“Yeah. Just weren’t expecting you, is all.”
“Well, here I am. How’s the day going?”
You turned toward him in the seat, tuned in as he began the story of how he'd nutmegged Bukayo twice in the same rondo and then got him again later during five aside. You wrapped a hand behind the back of his neck, rubbing into the tendons as he mentioned his lack of playing time, and the frustrating conversations he’d had with the coaching staff concerning it. The hand moved around to cup his chin, thumb moving over his bottom lip when he’d finished speaking.
“Your lips are still so cold, Emi. Let me warm them up.”
“What?” You had leaned over the center console, bringing your other hand to catch along his cheek. “What do you mean?”
“I’m saying can I kiss you?”
“I mean,” Emile licked his lips, eyes darting around the empty training lot. “I mean, yeah.”
You grinned and leaned in, bringing your mouths together gently. A few brushes of tongue later, things were not so gentle, and you hummed when his hands came to grip around your waist, pulling you towards his lap.
“Hold on, this is mad,” He breathed. “Feel like I’m back in year 11.”
“You were snogging girls in the car in year 11?”
“Nah, no,” He kissed your cheek once, fingers still pressed into your hip. “Never. Was straight on football.”
“Right, whatever you say.” You had released him, and settled back into your seat. “How much time until you need to be back?”
“Like 15 minutes. But under 18s will be on that field right there in like five.”
“Okay,” You snuck one more kiss to the corner of his mouth, then revisited the notes app, while Emile checked his cheeks for lip gloss marks, and tried to regulate his breathing. “Tell me about the nutmeg again?”
~~~
By the time Emile disentangled himself from the final kiss, the fifth of the last five minutes, the twentieth of the day, he had developed some concerns. But they didn’t stop his chest from thumping, or blood from spreading warm through his veins, coloring his cheeks a rose tint that matched his lips. He licked over them once, and your eyes tracked the movement.
“Are you alright, babes? You’re mad … affectionate, today.”
“What you mean?” You questioned, halfhearted, already arcing back in towards his mouth. The wood of the dining chair creaked beneath your combined weight, finished dinner plates catching the overhead light.
“It’s just—“ He took a deep breath, trying to repress the tingles shooting down his spine from your nails along his collarbone. “You been sort of – all over me, innit. All day.”
“It’s a problem, then?” You frowned, your chests still pressed together, and noticing your own face was hot, around your ears and down through to your chest.
“Nah! No! Not at all, I’m just,” You pressed your lips to a spot just under his ear, and then his chin. “I was just sayin. An observation, you know.”
“Well, if you must know, it’s–” Your mind whirred, searching for some explanation beyond ‘I’m kind of obsessed with your lips’ or ‘I might be addicted to kissing you’. “It’s for science. Yeah, it’s all purely empirical. Wanted to know … when the best time to kiss you is– in the morning, afternoon, or night.”
You trailed a line of them along his jaw while you spoke, and felt him shiver.
“For science” he echoed, distracted but thinking back through the events of the day, and your generally nerdy tendencies, and saw how it made sense.
He didn’t, however, answer beyond that, as he was caught up again in the warm slide of your mouth. When he could, he cursed, and let out a shaky breath.
“S’like an experiment, innit.”
“Precisely.”
“So what’s the results?”
“Huh?” You asked, thoughts gone hazy, and bordering on annoyed at the continued gap between your mouth and his.
“The results of your experiment. When’s the best time?”
“Oh, um …” You bit your lip, not wanting to break the heated embrace to find your phone. The answer was simple anyway - all the day’s data pointed to one conclusion. “All the time. It’s always a good time to kiss you.”
Emile laughed, blushing an even darker pink, and sliding his hands up your thighs, “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But what do you think?”
He met your eyes, his baby blues full of amusement, and love, and something more. Then he stood up from the chair, carrying you along with him.
“Think I’ve got an idea for experiment number two.”
#emile smith rowe#emile smith rowe imagine#emile smith rowe fanfiction#emile smith rowe x reader#emile smith rowe x you#footballer x you#footballer x reader#football imagine#football fanfic
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best i have
pairing: emile smith-rowe x fem!oc (amy) [she/her]
warning(s): none
summary: the one where emile can't resist confessing his love to amy with a drake song
now playing: best i ever had by drake
Amy pulled away from the kitchen island once she finished wiping it down and hummed softly, to the background music but also in satisfaction. Curtains pushed back with windows wide open, furniture pulled back and out of the way to reach tough spots, clothes in the washing machine or hanging in the back garden. Such a day was labelled as Amy and Emile's day for a spring clean.
The deep cleaning, the scrubbing of every counter and not missing a spot, dusking the ceiling and every small appliance—she found a lot of enjoyment in spring cleaning. In fact, it was something Amy and Emile found a lot of enjoyment in. Spring cleaning, when they could spend a whole day cleaning with one another with a few breaks here and there. Gossiping about their days apart, drifting away from every other responsibility beyond the relationship with their favourite tunes bleeding through the house speakers.
"This is my song!" Amy chuckled when she heard Emile's voice, patting her wet hands on her apron. Best I Ever Had was the song that always seemed to get the best out of him, whatever the occasion.
There was no doubt that the music element of spring cleaning was his favourite part of it all. An aspect that let the boredom of cleaning pass by with some pace. It had Emile in high spirits and energetic and all smiles, offering Amy such great company. Perhaps the music got to him sometimes, the source of his distraction from actual cleaning. But it was all just too much entertainment to watch and listen to for Amy to tell him off about it.
Coming from the living room, Emile strolled into the kitchen with the lyrics of Drake slipping off his tongue with ease. A bit of rapping when he was feeling himself, humming and whistling along to the song when he couldn't quite get the lyrics right the first time around. He started by nodding his head to the beat, smiling all too wide when he couldn't resist the rest of his body vibing along to the song. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to dance it.
"Hey— what're you doing?" Amy whined with a laugh when Emile pulled her away from cleaning the sink. With Emile in his zone, it proved to be difficult to get any tasks you wanted done. It was that distraction striking at its finest.
He took her hands in his own, interlocking their fingers together. Such a perfect fit. "Just dance with me for a minute," he said as he brought Amy towards the cleared part of the kitchen.
At first Amy was a bit stiff to it all, dancing and singing simply weren't fortés of hers. But she let Emile have his way with her. I mean how could she resist it? So happy and in his moment, very much feeling in love. As he sang with as much soul and truth as Drake, directing all of his spoken words to his girlfriend with his kind and loving looks and touches. Twirling her around to get Amy in the mood, making her laugh or shy away from the lyrics from how passionately Emile spoke them.
Sharing his happiness, spotlight and love with his other—all of this during a music intermission—was something he would never get tired of.
And as the song faded out, Emile declared, a grin dopey and soft appearing on his face. "You, Amy, really are the best I have."
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