#fic: if temperatures & teammates

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Practicing writing comfort and fluff with another chapter of of temperatures & teammates.

For the day 11 of @comfortember prompt: comfort show/movie.

Read on ao3.

[reiderwriter]

So obviously Spencer is iconic for his wide range of haircuts over the show, and I have this vision of a Spencer x hairdresser fic where he goes to the same hairdresser all the time because he likes the routine and it’s what he’s used to. So like they’re low-key friends bc he’s been her client so long, but then she notices he can’t come as usual and he tells her it’s because he’s always away or working late. So because they’re close she gives him private late appointments after she closes bc they’re more accessible for him, and then they’re always together late at night, and eventually they fall for each other!! And like she loves his curls and cringed when he wanted it cut short but loves it regardless AHH I JUST LOVE IT. Bonus points if Spencer gets to recommend his hairdresser girlfriend to his teammates just to brag about the fact he has a hot girlfriend lmao. I get it’s kinda long lol, if it’s too long a premise then no worries, just sharing it is nice :)

A/N: Hi! I love the idea of hair stylist reader, so I had a lot of fun writing this~♡ Thank you for your request, I hope you enjoy it!

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: implied Autistic Reid, brief mentions of sensory issues, writer does not care for the shows Canon hair continuity and does basically whatever she wants.

Masterlist

The first time you'd met Spencer Reid, you hadn't been able to cut his hair. Which was a damn shame because it really did need cutting. 

Sweeping up the floors of the hair salon you worked at, you had noticed the man lingering outside, wringing his hands together and pushing them awkwardly through his hair, approaching and retreating every few seconds. 

You watched him through the mirrors, and let him dance around like that for five minutes before deciding that the evening breeze would be a boon during the hot summer night that was about to set in on you. 

Opening the salon door, you stepped outside and soaked in the fresh air before turning to the now frozen, slightly awkward man. 

“Can I help you?” You tried to put a welcoming smile on your face, but the salon was past closing and empty beside you. You should've been heading home by now, but something in the man's posture had you dawdling.

“The barber shop down the road closed down,” he said quickly, as if the words were practised on his to guess moments before. 

“Yes, that's true. It's been six months now.”

“Six months?” he squeaked out, running a hand through his hair as he turned inwards. 

“Do you… need a haircut?” 

“Yes. Yes, are there any other barber shops in the area?” 

You rolled your eyes and walked back into the salon, picking up a robe and a shoulder cover and spinning around the closest chair to welcome him. 

“Well, are you coming in?” 

“But you're closed. Your sign says you're closed.” 

“And I'm still here, aren't I?” 

He didn't argue any further and hesitantly stepped into the salon. 

You helped him out of his bag and put it away before helping him into the robe and shoulder pad. 

He awkwardly stood around as you prepared your scissors and station again, switching on the mirror light so you could fully see his face and hair. 

And damn was he attractive. As you smoothed his hair out of his face, you were met with warm brown eyes, open and anxious, like a deer caught in headlights. Or, more accurately, a dear caught in a hair salon. 

You had to blink and look away as you remembered what you were about, standing up and leading him over to the sink. 

“I'm… I'm a little bit sensitive about my hair,” he admitted quite meekly as you tested the temperature of the water. 

“Okay. Is there anything specific?” 

He sat himself in the chair but didn't lower his head to the bowl, so you waited. 

After a minute or two, he gently lowered his head to the bowl, and you helped his progress, making sure he was comfortably settled. He didn't speak, just let his shoulders relax and closed his eyes as you turned the water on his locks. 

You enjoyed the simple repetitions of your job. Everyone's hair was different, that was true, but there were really only so many ways to wash hair. 

You rinsed his hair thoroughly, keeping the water away from his face and ears with a face guard before beginning to lather it up. 

For a man who hadn't seen the inside of a salon in six months and likely a hairbrush in the same length of time, his hair was healthy. 

De-tangling as you went, you ran your hands through the lengths of his hair, taking note of how it fell, which parts were healthy, and which had developed split ends. Then you began massaging his head, working the shampoo into his roots, making sure his scalp was free from any possible dirt or dry skin. 

This was the best part of the haircut for you, and you knew your regular clients enjoyed it greatly as well. Which is why you probably shouldn't have been too surprised when the man fell asleep. 

It took you a few minutes to realize that was what happened, the face guard obscuring his face from your vision. When you squeezed the water from his hair, patted it dry, and twisted it into a towel so the water wouldn't run down his back, you had no clue that he was away with the fairies. 

It wasn't until you asked him to stand, and he didn't even move that you moved around the sink and lifted the face guard. 

If he seemed anxious awake, it had melted away now. He looked younger asleep, more calm and confident somehow. His eyelashes were long, a fact you only noticed when you leaned in to get a better look at him. 

It was your hand unconsciously tracing a hand along his jaw that woke him back up, and for a second, you just stared at each other, faces inches apart. 

“I'm.. I'm so sorry, I should go. Thank you for… I should go,” he said hurriedly, pulling the robes and towels off and snatching his bag up, running out the door. 

“Wait, your hair,” you called after him, but he was gone. 

And he hadn't paid. 

It took a week for you to collect the payment, though you couldn't care less about the money anyway. 

But a week thinking about the man's delicate features, his shy smile and stutter, and you were very distracted. 

Thinking about him had become your full-time job, as much as cutting hair had, and you'd had a few close encounters with the scissors when you were lost in thought. 

You'd been thinking up back stories for the man ranging from the romantic to the obscure to the downright realistic. So, a week later, you found yourself behind on work and needing to stay late, just as he stepped into the shop a second time. 

“Hello?” You shouted from the backroom, hearing the doorbell jingle as it opened. “We're actually closed right now, so- oh.” 

He stood awkwardly in the door, his face already flushed slightly. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi,” you said, trying to stop the grin spreading across your face. You didn't want to scare him off a second time. 

“Last time, I… kinda ran away. I was… I'm not the best with-” 

“With haircuts?” 

“With change.” You both nodded at that, awkwardly staring at each other. 

“So…?” You lead, trying to encourage him to introduce himself, hoping he would reveal something you didn't already know. 

“You're closed again, but could you cut my hair?” He asked, pushing the long locks back on his head as he stood a little taller. 

“It would be my pleasure…” you trailed off as a question, needing to know his name. 

“Spencer. Spencer Reid. Doctor… just Spencer is fine if you'd prefer.” 

“I'm Y/N. Come and take a seat.” 

You slid him into the robes once again and got through a hair wash without any accidental naps this time. Though you did notice that he seemed to be enjoying it just as much. 

His sighs left you feeling hot, your heart beating as you focused on his hair to draw your gaze from his lips. 

When he was back I'm front of the mirror, he again looked like a scared cat that had been backed into the corner. 

“So, what'll it be, Spencer?” You asked cheerily, combing your hand through his locks to detangle them. 

“Hmm? Oh, a water would be nice.” 

“For your hair, Spencer. What haircut do you want?” 

“Oh! Oh, um, just a…just a haircut.” 

Your face scrunched up in confusion as he doubled down. 

“But what kind of haircut?” 

“What kind?” 

You pulled away from his chair for a minute and went to grab a cut reference book. 

“Okay, so we've got undercuts, or trims, I can do pompadour or bowl cut or-” 

You looked at Spencer's face again and saw that he looked more than confused. 

“How about I just cut your hair and after you tell me if you like it or not?” 

He nodded and gave you a weak smile as you grabbed your scissors. 

Twenty minutes of silence later, and you felt Spencer exhale in relief as you dusted off the back of his neck and pulled the robes off of his clothes. 

You'd gone for a shorter cut, but his curly hair had such a nice natural texture that you left it a bit longer on top. Without his hair in his face, his jawline was sharper, his eyes brighter, and you were somehow more infatuated. 

He stood up shyly and you smiled at how good he looked. 

“Okay, perfect! Let me just-” You lifted your hand and smoothed out some of his hair, picking up some strands and pushing them back and forth until it was just right. 

He caught your hand just as you were about to pull away, and you suddenly realized how close he was. Or more accurately how close you had gotten. It was like you were breathing the same air. 

“D-Do you like it?” You asked, voice small and high as it battled your heartbeat to be heard. 

“Yeah. I like it. It looks… it looks like a haircut.” 

You giggled as his grip became gentler, and your hand fell down to your side, brushing his chest gently as it descended. 

“How much do I owe you?” He asked, and you led him over to the register to complete the payment. 

“Thank you,” he said as he grabbed his bags to head out the door. 

“Just doing my job. I'll see you in six weeks,” you said, waving him off. 

“What for?” He asked, voice confused but bright. He sounded almost hopeful. 

“For your next haircut, Spencer.” 

He smiled and waved back as he walked back into the dark and disappeared down the street. 

No one could ever accuse Spencer Reid of being forgetful, and six weeks later, he was back in your chair. 

Except he didn't arrive at 11pm this time, but instead 11am. 

The other customers and stylists gawked at the man as he walked in, and you thanked the gods that your seat was free as he met your eyes. 

“Hi.” 

“Spencer! You're back.” 

He nodded shyly, head hanging a little as he ignored the many looks from the women in the room and the eruption of whispers and loud glances in his direction. 

“It's been six weeks. You said that's when I'd need another haircut.” 

You laughed a little as you pulled the robe around him. 

“You know, I say that every time, but most people ignore me. I love a man who can follow directions.” 

The eruption of red on his cheeks left you feeling suddenly tongue tied, and you carefully redirected the conversation back to the task at hand. 

“Same again, Doc?” You asked, readying your spray bottle and supplies. 

“Actually, could we, ah, go shorter this time?” Hesmiled sheepishly and watched as you ran your fingers through his tangled hair. 

“My boss, last time, said I looked like I joined a boyband, so…” 

“Your boss at the hospital?” You asked, clinging to every detail you could get from him. 

“The hospital?” 

“You said you were a Doctor, do you work in a lab instead or-”

“Oh. No, I work at the FBI. I'm not a medical doctor, I have a PhD. I have three, Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics.” 

You whistled. “Impressive. You can't be older than 30.” 

“I'm 29.” He said, smiling at you in the mirror, and you smiled back, hands still running through his hair. 

“So, no boy band haircuts, okay. For what it's worth, though, you look totally hot.” 

The words cut the conversation short, and you tried your best to take the words back as you went off to the sides to grab your sheers. 

Half an hour later, and you could swear that half the salon had given up pretending to be doing their jobs and were just awkwardly ogling the man. If the shorter “boyband” hair was good, the undercut you'd done for him was even better. 

You turned him around to get a closer look, using the excuse of making sure his hair was symmetrical enough to stare at him some more as you got closer to finishing. 

“Okay,” you said with a sad sigh. “You're all finished, Spencer. Let's get you rung up.” 

He nodded and followed you quickly, pulling out his wallet as he paid quietly. 

“Okay. And I'll see you tomorrow,” you said, as he picked up his bags to leave. 

“Tomorrow? I thought you said it was six weeks between haircuts.” 

“It is. But it's also my day off tomorrow, so I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner. With me.” 

He blinked at you once. Then twice, and another time before smiling and looking away. 

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

He ran a hand through his hair and nearly walked into the door he was trying to walk through, but your heart still fluttered as you waved him out. 

[halsteadlover]

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝

*Gif and pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: Lando always has a hard time trying to keep his hands off you, not even while attending an important event.

• Warnings: dirty talking, lots of swearing, oral sex (m. receiving), semi public sex.

• Word count: 2453.

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE +18. This was supposed to be like a 700 words piece but I’m incapable to write short fics but y’all know this by now lmao. I hope you like this piece, I was inspired to write for Lando so here it is. Please comment, like and reblog, it’d be amazing ❤️ Thank you for your support xx

You were going crazy.

His hand continued to caress your exposed thighs beneath the table, his expert fingers drawing imaginary circles on your hot skin.

They went up along your inner thigh, until they almost caressed your private parts, but before touching you as you desired, his fingers descended back down, leaving you even more irritated and lustful than before.

Asshole.

“God I want you so much baby, you have no idea how much I want to tear this dress off of you,” he whispered in your ear so sensually it made your insides explode, causing a rush of shivers down your spine and made you clench your legs.

“I can’t stop thinking about how wet you must be right now, how easily you’d suck my dick in your sweet little cunt. I’m so hard just thinking about it.” He gave a cast kiss on your flushed cheek, making you choke on the champagne you were drinking and gaining weird and worried looks from the people around the table.

Holy fuck.

You were in fact at the annual FIA gala, the event swarming with famous people, all the drivers with their respective partners but even so Lando didn’t seem to care less.

He was only focused on you, forgetting his surroundings.

He needed to touch you, always, constantly. He needed to feel you, to always have a hand on your body.

And how could anyone blame him?

Lando couldn’t normally keep his hormones at bay but seeing you in that damn dress with that slit, he could barely function and take his eyes off of you. He pretended to have a conversation with Carlos, but in reality he wasn’t listening to a single word his teammate was saying, being too focused on keeping his hard dick at bay.

He tried to hold back the smirk that threatened to appear on his face when you squeezed your thighs together, trapping his hand between them and preventing him from moving it.

“Babe you okay?” He murmured in your ear at one point, turning his attention towards you. He always had that damn smile on his face, that smirk so damn sexy you wanted nothing more than to get on your knees under the table and not care about anything else.

“Lando, you’re driving me crazy. Stop it,” you retorted through gritted teeth, in a low voice so that no one at the table would hear what you were talking about with your boyfriend.

Lando chuckled and removed the hand he had on your thigh and caressed your face with it, then resting it on your partially bare back. “But I’m not doing anything princess.”

“Oh you know damn well what you’re doing and you have to stop,” you repeated, but in the meantime feeling your cheeks burning and the heat running through your body.

Had the temperatures suddenly risen?

Or were you just horny?

Probably the second option.

“I can’t help it princess, you look so fucking hot in this dress,” he whispered, making you smile and your pussy clench at the same time.

And the fact he looked so damn sexy in that suit, so good you just wanted to rip his clothes with your teeth didn’t help make things particularly easy. If Lando struggled not to constantly touch you, you weren’t so different. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t resist him even if you tried and it certainly wasn’t your fault.

It was his fault sex oozed from every single fucking pore of his body.

“I’m already hard as rock right now, you’re not helping if you keep looking at me like that.” His voice caught your attention again, not realizing you were mesmerized by looking at him and running your hungry eyes over his body.

“I’m not looking at you in any way baby, you just look very, very handsome in this outfit.” You seductively battled your lashes. You printed a kiss on his cheek, making your lips slight caress his earlobe. “And very, very fuckable.”

“Fucking hell,” he breathed out, about to combust.

You then placed a hand on his cheek, eagerly wanting to have some physical contact with him It didn’t matter if it was an arm, a hand, or his face, you needed to touch him. His skin was particularly hot and the way his pupils were dilated told you to everything you needed to know.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he admonished you, even though he didn’t want you to stop at all, he just wanted to avoid fucking you on that table in front of everyone.

“Too bad baby, two can play this game.” The little smirk on your painted lips made his legs go numb and it was enough for you to give him a small kiss on the lips, innocent and apparently chaste, to make him completely lose his mind.

“You’re looking at me like you want me to fuck you right here and now.” He wet his lips with his tongue, alternating his gaze between your eyes and mouth.

You nonchalantly shrugged your shoulders. “Maybe I do want you to fuck me right here and now.”

This marked the breaking point for Lando, who at that point lost all judgment and didn’t care that the awards ceremony was about to begin.

“Meet me in the bathroom.” Was all he said before getting up and walking away without even giving you time to respond. You tried to suppress a giggle, every cell in your body twitching in anticipation.

“Woah where is Lando going so fast?” Carlos had asked, turning to you with a confused expression.

“In the bathroom, I think all the water he drank is having an effect,” you replied, meanwhile thinking of an excuse to get up from the table too.

“I’m going to get something to drink.” It was the first thing that crossed your mind, not caring about the confused looks of the others at the table.

“How much you wanna bet they’re gonna fuck in the bathroom?” Daniel announced, sparking laughter from everyone on the table. “God those two go on like rabbits, it’s embarrassing.”

But there was nothing closer to the truth than what Daniel said. You and Lando wanted each other a lot, it was no secret, and your sex life was more than active and intense.

That’s why, you found yourself pressed against the men’s bathroom sink, the door locked and Lando’ body pressed against yours as the two of you kissed with hunger and passion.

His hands, now resting on your cheeks, began to wander down your body, squeezing your breasts, your hips, his fingers pressed deep into your skin.

“Fuck I want you so bad baby,” you murmured as you broke away to take a breath. But he didn’t leave you any respite, his lips had started licking and nibbling your neck, in that precise point where he knew it drove you crazy.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth as you began palming the crotch of his pants, feeling him rock hard under your hand.

“Already so hard for me huh?” You whispered sensually, sighing as you unbuttoned his pants and pulled them and his boxers down enough to release his dick.

“Darling I’ve been hard for you since I saw you in this damn dress.” He cupped his hands over your breasts, squeezing and groping them over your dress, making you sigh. He slipped the straps of your dress revealing and you felt him twitch in your hand as you jerked him off, his eyes looking at you with hunger and desperation. “I’m always so hard for you. God you’re gorgeous.”

“Fuck yes…” He moaned loudly and you covered his mouth with your free hand.

“Shh you don’t want anyone to hear us, do you my love?”.

He slightly shook his head, feeling like he was already at his limit just from the way you were looking at him. You removed your hand and he placed his on your face, looking straight into your eyes as your hand continued to move up and down on his dick.

“That’s my good boy.”

He almost came from that sentence alone.

His thumb traced the outline of your lips with which you wasted no time and wrapped them around his digit, always keeping your eyes on him. His gaze was fixed on your lips, the way your cheeks hollowed out to suck on his thumb and you knew where his mind was wandering.

He almost had a heart attack when he saw you kneel in front of him, a smile printed on your lips now devoid of any trace of lipstick and lip gloss.

A loud moan escaped his lips when you stuck your tongue out and traced a long line along his shaft, starting from the base up to the tip where you paused for a few moments while you tasted the saltiness of the precum.

“Shit…” He panted like he was running a marathon, his chest rising and falling quickly. “Stop teasing me.”

“Oh you mean like you did all night?” I retorted with sassy.

“Please baby, please… I need this pretty little mouth…” He begged you, stroking your no longer styled hair with one hand. “I need to fuck this mouth so bad…”

“You look so cute when you beg so desperately for me darling.” You took his dick completely into your mouth, leaving him no room for response and completely taking the air and breath out of his lungs.

He threw his head back, trying to concentrate on not letting himself get too loud since you were still in a public bathroom. But it was hard, so damn hard when your mouth took him so perfectly, when your lips kept sliding back and forth, up and down on his hard dick.

“Shit, shit, fuck yes keep going… Oh yes just like that…” he groaned, gripping your hair in a fist and intensifying the movements of his hips. His tip kept hitting deep into your throat, making you gag and almost choke on it, your eyes watering.

“So pretty… My girl is so fucking pretty while she is on her knees taking me in her mouth so damn well…”

You continued to squeeze your legs with desire, hoping in some way to relieve the tension and desire that made you clench your pussy. Your eyes never left his face, thoroughly enjoying that feeling of being able to make him lose his mind in that way.

You felt immense enjoyment, a rush of euphoria flowed through your veins seeing his face contracted in pleasure, hearing those moans, sighs and pants that only you could give him, and even if he was fucking your mouth without mercy you could’ve even choked to death and you would’ve been the happiest woman in the world.

One of your hands was resting on his hairy bare thigh, your nails pressed into his skin while the other encircled the base of his dick, helping where your mouth couldn’t reach.

“Fuck baby your mouth feels like heaven… Oh my god…” he gasped. “You drive me crazy.”

Suddenly the sound of someone banging on the door startled both of you. You took advantage of that moment to catch your breath, but continued to slide your hand up and down his cock wet with your saliva.

“O-occupied!” Lando exclaimed, swallowing a groan and trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible while his eyes were fixed on you.

God you were so beautiful.

“Hurry up!” The voice replied from the other side of the door and you both breathed a sigh of relief when you heard footsteps walking away. You let out a laugh, but it was interrupted when you started licking his wet dick again, wrapping your lips around his particularly red and sensitive tip and focusing on it as you continued to pleasure him with your hand.

Lando swore he saw stars for a moment, letting out a particularly loud moan and feeling like he was going to explode at any moment. “Oh fuck yeah princess just like that…”

Without leaving you any escape, Lando pushed himself into your mouth again, keeping his grip on your hair, using you as if you were his own doll.

But you didn’t care, on the contrary, you loved the way he used you and always did what he wanted with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he groaned, moving his hips and making you gag on his dick again, too carried away by the pleasure and euphoria to be able to think clearly. You levered yourself on his thigh, your nails pressed so hard into his skin you feared for a moment you’d leave any permanent mark “Ah shit… I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming… Fuuuck.”

With one final forceful thrust, his hot, salty cum filled your mouth and you wasted no time swallowing it, not particularly enjoying the taste.

“Holy shit I think I’m gonna die,” he sighed in ecstasy, his mouth half open as he tried to catch his breath.

You giggled and started to get up when you felt his hands on your hips helping you to your feet and before you could do anything he kissed you, tasting himself on your lips. You immediately deepened the kiss, circling his neck and threading your hands into his hair, not being able to resist for a minute longer.

“You’re so fucking beautiful love, what do I have to do with you? You make me lose my mind,” he whispered against your lips, then losing himself for a moment looking at you. It wasn’t an exaggeration but you were truly breathtaking. Especially in that moment with your lips swollen due to the amazing blowjob you had just given him, your cheeks red and lined with mascara running from your eyes. God, he couldn’t wait to be buried deep inside you.

“For starters you could fuck me properly Mr Norris.”

He chuckled and you let out a disappointed sigh when he slightly pulled away from you, immediately feeling an empty, cold feeling inside you. He cleaned himself before putting his pants and underwear back on.

“How are you feeling my love? Was I too rough?” He then asked, cupping his hands over your face and removing the traces of mascara with his thumbs as best he could.

You shook your head. “Oh God no baby, it was amazing. You know I love it when you’re rough.”

He gave you a kiss on the lips, so sweet and in contrast to the words he was about to say. “Good baby because now we’re going home and I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for the next few days.”

And man, had he kept his promise.

General tag list: @hngbrooks, @alexxavicry, @halstead-severide-fan, @mrspeacem1nusone, @allivs, @omniaimy, @cursedashes, @kmc1989, @firetruckstuckley, @23victoria, @buckybarnessweetheart, @fanaticlove16

Lando Norris tag list: @halsteadbrasil, @bwormie, @ssprayberrythings, @mynameisangeloflife, @lunepoesie

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[inuyashaluver]

would you be able to write a cute leah x reader fic where reader gets ill and leah being the good girlfriend she is takes care of reader till readers better

i’ve got you - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you don’t listen to your girlfriend and now you have to deal with the consequences

warnings: mentions of sickness

a/n: we love a comfort sick fic!! thank you so much for the request, enjoyyyyyy ❤️❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, leah were soulmates and everyone knew it. it all started when you joined arsenal when you left australia to join the wsl.

leah was the first one to come up to you all those years ago, a friendly smile on her face with a gentle extension of her hand the moment you stepped foot inside the door.

“hey, I’m leah, we haven't met officially” she said almost sheepishly, her cheeks lightly dusting with pink as her eyes shone into yours. you smiled back with an equally bashful smile.

you've always admired leah from afar when you played against each other, though, you never went up to her out of your own nervousness.

“hi, I’m (y/n)” she smiled because she already knew your name, she’d kept it in the back of her mind ever since the first match you played against each other.

you were breathtakingly gorgeous, and also a player she found difficult to mark when you would approach from the midfield. you were in her mind rent-free, her admiration for you not subtle at all.

“if you ever wanted to..uh, be shown around the area, maybe we could get a coffee or something?” she clears her throat after the sentence left her lips, anticipating rejection from your blank stare, only you surprised her when you started to giggle slightly.

“i’d love to, how about tomorrow?” you suggest, your sweet smile melting her heart as you maintained eye contact with her, “tomorrow is great!” she grinned, wincing slightly at how quick and eager she had responded, but you made all those thoughts wash away.

“its a date” you winked, only leaving her when kim called you over for some introductions to your new teammates. leah’s heart was about to implode, she couldn't believe it. you and her were going on a date.

and fast forward 5 years, she still couldn't believe how far you both had gotten. now dating, moved in together and happier than you ever could be.

–

you and leah were polar opposites when it came to the mornings. your girlfriend loved a good sleep in, she loved it so much she would beg you for 5 minutes more without a fail.

you, however, have always been a morning person, preferring to wake up earlier to have more time to get ready and do odd tasks around the house.

leah admired this quality about you, she loved to watch you move around so effortlessly, looking extremely beautiful as you presented her a cup of tea as soon as she woke up, made perfectly just how she liked it.

though what confused her about this morning, is that you were still in bed when she woke up. leah being up before you was extremely rare and only really happened on her favourite days of the year: your birthday, your anniversary and christmas.

you were cuddled up by her side and she smiled instantly when she looked down at you beside her, though it fell into a frown when she noticed the slight increase in your body heat.

you were always the perfect amount of warm to her but today you were a little too warm and leah didn't feel right about it. she moved some stray hairs on your face, your eyebrows in a slight furrow showing your discomfort.

it was until she heard a little sniffle coming from you that her alarm bells began to ring, her girlfriend was sick. she gently peeled herself from you, moving into the bathroom to find a washcloth, wetting it with cool water, wringing it out and promptly making her way back to you.

she gently rolled you on your back and placed the cool cloth on your forehead, hoping it would bring down your body temperature. leah shook her head as she watched you sleeping, knowing this was because you refused to wear your jacket in training yesterday.

she chuckled remembering how insistent you were fine. she was excited to give you a look that just screamed ‘i told you so’. though, she put it aside for now. instead, she left the room quickly, calling staff members to let them know you both were not coming in today.

you slightly stirred when the bed dipped slightly, leah sitting beside you watching you sleep. you suddenly sat up right, frantically looking at the clock and realising you were both going to be late for training.

“babe, why didn't you wake me up?” you croak, attempting to get out of bed before leah stops you, “baby girl, you're not going anywhere” she said with a stern tone, her hands resting on your shoulders as she gently pushed your back to rest on the backboard of the bed.

“lee, we can't miss training, the game’s coming up” you rebuttal, sniffling as you looked at leah in an attempt to not look as ill as you could.

“we’re not going to training lovey, you're sick” she exhales through her nose, squeezing your cheek affectionately as you look at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“i'm not sick” you scoff, arms coming together and crossing over your chest. leah raises her eyebrows amusingly, her stubbornness was rubbing off on you and she wasn't sure whether to be proud or concerned.

“baby, you're sick, you have a fever and you've got the sniffles” she smiles, her hand moving to rest on your blanketed thigh, “i feel fine to go to training” you groan, avoiding eye contact because you knew she would catch on to your lie, your throat extremely scratchy as you tried to hold in a cough.

“really?” leah said cheekily, her finger hooking under your chin to make eye contact again, you pause for a moment. “yeah” you say simply, unable to stop yourself from sniffling,

“my girl, you are sick and we are staying home, end of discussion” she grins mischievously, standing up and moving towards the end of the bed.

she gives you a shit eating grin before grabbing both of your ankles, you yelp slightly when you feel her pull you down so you were laying down again, your head resting on the pillow.

“leah cathrine!” you laugh slightly, hearing your girlfriend giggle along with you, “that’s me, gorgeous” she grins up at you, moving around the bedroom to put on some sweats and a hoodie.

“i’m popping out for a second, lovey, i just need to get some bits for us” she kisses the crown of your head despite your refusal, “i'll be back, okay?” she affirms,

“i love you” you give her a weak smile, leah smiling back sweetly without missing a beat, “i love you too” she coos, almost sprinting out of the door to get to the shops.

–

she came back about 30 minutes later, struggling to open up the door with all the bags she had in her hands.

when you heard the keys clank on the ground and several curse words escaping your girlfriend’s mouth, you trudged out of bed to open the door for her.

she exhaled in relief when she made it to the kitchen, thanking you with a kiss to the forehead before giving you a lecture after realising you weren't where you were supposed to be.

the only words you really comprehended were: “you should be in bed”, “i can't leave you for two seconds without you doing something you're not supposed to be doing”.

you couldn’t help but laugh when leah dropped all the bags on your kitchen counter, stopping when she gave you a stern expression. "did you buy the whole shop?” you grinned, a little cough escaping your throat that leah winced at.

“no, missy” she tutted, “i got medicine that the pharmacist recommended, extra tissues, soup, other dry foods, tea and other little things” she shrugged after she verbalised her list to you.

your facial expression visibly softened when leah finished, something that your girlfriend noticed and her cheeks dusted with pink at how affectionately looking at her.

“thank you” you say softly in awe, leah smiles sweetly at you, gently moving around the island to grip your hand, walking you into the living room. the couch was already prepared for you with pillows and your favourite blanket.

“you rest here and i'll make you something to eat” you raise your eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes, “shut up” she chuckles, turning on the tv for you and slowly bringing over medicine, tissues, cough drops, anything she could get to help you.

–

after you ate, leah made you move over so she could slot behind you, even though you begged her not to so she didn’t get sick but she refused.

she cuddled up to you, letting you rest on top of her while her hands rubbed up and down your waist gently.

“have you felt sick just today?” leah asked you softly, “i felt sick last night” you admit in a guilty voice, “baby, why didn't you tell me?” her voice laced with concern as you rested your chin on her chest to look up at her.

“I didn't want to bother you” you mumbled, her hand cupping your cheek gently, making you lean into her touch, “you're never a bother, my love, never” she says firmly, telling you she was serious.

you nod, moving your head slightly to kiss her palm. she gives you an affectionate smile, her hand moving to the back of your head to pull it down to rest on her chest again.

“let's have a nap, baby” she whispers, “i've got you” her free hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, sending you to sleep in no time.

she smiles when she feels your deep breaths brush against her collarbone, the way your body perfectly fits against her own as your body rises and falls.

she loved you so much she couldn't believe it. and she knew you felt the same because she felt it everyday. as she watched you sleep, she knew she would do anything you needed from her, and that was a promise she intended to keep.

–

about a week later, you and leah returned to training again, many of your teammates excited to see that you'd finally recovered. and leah was happy to see your cheeky self was back to normal when people asked how you were.

you lovingly stating that ‘leah had cured you’. she’d roll her eyes every time you said it but you both knew she loved it. her pink cheeks never gave her that animosity she wanted.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you!! ily lessi baby

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leahwilliamsonn: comes back after a week of being sick and gets herself two goals - she drives me insane

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yourname: maybe it’s my secret to success??

↳ leahwilliamsonn: don’t go around trying to get sick again, missy

↳ yourname: no promises

↳ leahwilliamsonn: such a little shit

↳ yourname: you love it

↳ leahwilliamsonn: sure

[bookyeom]

pairing: seungkwan x reader word count: 2.8k warnings: a couple of swears, Seungkwan’s not mad he’s disappointed, kissing

Author's Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it's not necessary.

hype boy by new jeans

i know what you like boy you’re my chemical hype boy

i’m not looking for just fun maybe I could be the one

You don’t know why you called him. 

Well, you do know why, but even in your inebriated state, you still vaguely know that you probably shouldn’t have.

You haven’t seen Seungkwan in over a week. He looks mad when he enters the bar to find you, and you know you deserve it. When he opens his car door and helps you in, you expect him to start lecturing you, to complain about your lack of responses to his texts and calls, anything — but he doesn’t say a single word.

That makes it so much worse. 

When he’s annoyed, your friend can complain for hours (when Chan ate the last of his yogurt just last week, you hadn’t heard the end of it for days). But when Boo Seungkwan is genuinely hurt and angry about something serious, he stays eerily quiet. You’ve seen it happen, but you’ve never, ever been on the receiving end of his silent treatment before. 

And it terrifies you. 

After you’ve climbed into his passenger seat as gracefully as you can manage, you can’t help but stare at him while he reaches to do up your seatbelt. He’s always been soft like that with you — doting, caring, kind. This time, you don’t think you deserve it. You know you’ve really hurt him, but the alcohol mixing up your brain can’t figure out how to fix any of it right now. 

“Can you please sit still, I swear to god—”

You barely hear him with how hard you’re staring. You dazedly note that his hair has gotten a bit longer at the ends. It falls softly into his eyes as he huffs at you, trying his best to shake the strands away so he can see while his hands are busy trying to clasp your belt in. You hate when he’s struggling, and he’s pouting now, and that just won’t do —

So you lift a hand to help him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, and it takes you a second to realize that he’s stopped moving. You meet his gaze, your hand falling to brush over the soft roundness of his cheek.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper, and you think you hear his breath catch, but you don’t know why. You only said it because it’s true. Because you wanted him to hear it.

You also want to kiss him — so you do. Even though you think he might hate you right now.

It’s barely there, a soft press of your mouth to his, and you pull away before he can react. He stares at you, mouth open just a little, and your eyes are wide as you stare back.

Then he removes your hand from his face, clicks your seatbelt into place, and promptly shuts the car door.

Oh.

You can feel tears begin to prick at the back of your eyelids, and you rapidly blink to try and keep them away. You keep your face turned from him, even as he gets in and starts the car, even when he asks you if the temperature is okay and you just hum in response.

Your brain can’t form thoughts of anything but rejection as he drives you the rest of the way home in silence. You’re drunk, and you’re embarrassed, and honestly? By the time he pulls up into your visitor parking spot, you’re a little bit angry, too.

You were trying to mend things, to kiss and make up or whatever it is they say, and he had rejected you. You can’t help the few hot, frustrated tears that slip down your cheek.

You’d met Seungkwan the year before. You’d finally worked up the nerve to join your university’s badminton team, and he’d been the first one to pull you in for a rally with his teammate. He’d helped you meet your future partner that day, too. You hadn’t wanted to admit it then, but you’d been pretty smitten with him from the start.

And it had only gotten worse from there. 

You saw Seungkwan at practice once a week at first, which quickly turned into twice a week when the two of you would practice after hours. Soon enough, you were hanging out on weekends, too, and then hanging out with each other’s friends. You’d been able to push your little crush down for the most part, not wanting to even go down that road when he was one of the best friends you’d made in a while. 

Then you’d been selected for the MVP tournament at the end of the semester, and you still remember the moment it had all hit you like a fucking train. 

You knew Seungkwan had an exam the day of your final game, and even though he said he’d make it, you hadn’t expected him to actually run across campus to get to you in time. And when you’d heard your name and found him in the crowd, sweaty from the exertion of his jog, you’d been so happy you could have cried.

When your partner had scored the winning shot, it took mere seconds for Seungkwan to find you on the court. You were swept up into a hug that had the air whooshing from your lungs. When he’d pulled away, he’d been grinning from ear to ear, swaying you from side to side playfully by your shoulders.

You’d known it then — that you loved him. 

He was always cheering you on. In badminton, in your academic life, when you tried to keep up with him at karaoke — he was your biggest fan, period. He believed in you, and that meant everything. 

“Are you okay?” Seungkwan’s eyebrows had furrowed, his smile falling as he gave you a concerned once over. “Did you get hurt?”

You shook your head, trying desperately to form words that made any bit of sense so you could get away from him for a minute and just breathe. “Just exhausted,” you managed, and to your relief, all he did was nod in understanding. 

“Go shower, get changed and then go home and sleep,” he’d instructed. Usually, his mother bear instincts would have made you smile, but you couldn’t force it then. He had let you go with one more squeeze to your biceps, a hand lifting in a wave as he backed up, before turning around and jogging back over to the rest of his friends. You had been completely frozen in place as you’d watched him go, unable to move until one of your teammates called your name. 

You hate that Seungkwan knows the code for your door. 

You hate that he treats your apartment like it’s his,  that he knows where everything is, that even though he’s obviously still upset with you — and even though you’re upset with him — he still helps guide you to your bathroom to wash up, still leaves pajamas for you outside your bathroom door.

You hate that he takes care of you, because you want it to mean what it so obviously doesn’t. 

He’s sitting at your desk when you finally climb into bed, avoiding all eye contact as you pull up the covers. You can feel Seungkwan hesitate before he speaks.

“Do you need anything else?”

You hold back a sigh. “No.”

“You sure?”

“I said no.”

Your eyes meet his pointedly. Seungkwan’s eyebrows raise, and you raise yours right back. It’s him that lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he stands up. 

“Okay.” He takes a step toward your door before he pauses, and his eyes meet yours again as he adds, quieter, “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Whatever.” Your voice is small, and you can hear his sharp intake of breath. 

“Y/N.”

You don’t respond, rolling onto your side and away from him. It's quiet for a second, and you wait with bated breath for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just turns the light off, and closes the door. 

After your terrible realization at the championship game, you’d completely avoided Seungkwan — plain and simple. There’s no way of getting around that truth. You’d been scared and embarrassed, and you’d known that even just one look at him would have ruined you. You wish you could say you were brave, but you’re a coward — you know you are.

And so all of his calls and texts had gone unanswered — for an entire week. 

When you wake up, you don't feel great, but you don’t feel as bad as you’d expected. Your head is pounding, though, so you force yourself up and to the bathroom for some Advil. You stop short when you see a pair of legs hanging over the arm of the couch, and your heart drops. 

He’d stayed? 

You can tell Seungkwan has been awake for some time as he scrolls on his phone. The blanket he must have used is already folded up neatly beside the couch, and his face lacks the usual sleepiness it wears when he’s just woken up. He doesn’t hear you come in until you speak. 

“You’re here?”

Seungkwan looks at you in surprise before he sits up, his phone falling to his lap. He pauses before he says, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, gnawing on your bottom lip. All you can think about is the fact that your head is pounding, and you desperately need some more water. “If I were you, I would have gone home.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not you — I, personally, prefer to talk things out instead of avoiding the problem.”

It takes your hungover brain a moment to process. Then you wince at his pointed words, your stomach turning for more reasons than one, but you don’t retaliate. He isn’t looking at you when he says them. You are suddenly so nervous, your voice shaky as you speak, but you know this can’t be avoided. You hate this, but you know that it’s your own damn fault. 

“I’m sorry.” The words feel heavy as you say them, and you can hardly breathe. You know where this conversation has to go, and you’re desperately not ready for it. 

You’re not ready to lose him.

He crosses his arms. “For what?”

You think you might burst into tears. “For last night.”

“What part of last night?” 

Your breath catches. Is he really going to make you say it? You steady yourself as you say softly, “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” 

For someone who usually wears his heart on his sleeve, Seungkwan is suddenly very hard to read. “Okay,” is all he says, and your heart sinks. “What about the fact that you ignored me for a week?” 

“I don’t know, Seungkwan.”

You watch as his eyebrows shoot up. “You have nothing to say after a week of ignoring me? God, I should be so pissed at you right now.”

You wince. He’s right and you know it. For some reason, though, he’s not mad. He looks dejected, tired, unhappy — but he’s not angry. You wonder why not. Your voice is small when you respond.

“You’re right.”

He looks at you in disbelief. “So that’s it? I don’t get an explanation? You’re admitting to ignoring me on purpose for a week, and I’m supposed to be okay with that without even knowing why? You haven’t responded to any of my texts… and after all of that, you call me to pick you up because you’re drunk and need a ride?”

“I didn’t even think you’d pick up,” you say softly, honestly. 

“That’s what you got from what I said?” His voice is incredulous, and you don’t blame him. “Of course I picked up. It’s you,” Seungkwan says with a scoff, and your heart lurches in your chest. He pauses, taking in a deep breath. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Your voice is soft as you say, “You know I would.”

“Do I know that? I also didn’t think you’d ghost me for a week, but I was wrong about that.”

“Seungkwan—”

“Wouldn’t you care if I stopped talking to you for a week with no explanation?” His voice gets softer as he speaks, suddenly unsure, and you hate yourself a little for being the cause of it.

“That would break my heart,” you admit, and you watch as Seungkwan crosses his arms pointedly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” you say after a pause, and you are heartbreakingly aware of how inadequate it sounds.

He closes his eyes, inhales a sharp breath, and then he says, “Okay.”

You look at him in surprise. “Okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair, shoulders lifting into a defeated shrug. “What else am I supposed to say? You won’t talk to me or tell me what I did wrong. I literally can’t do anything else.”

You feel your heart break just a little bit more. He’s past the point of frustration, past the point of trying — and you think that’s the worst thing that could have happened. Now, he just looks sad, and it’s your fault. You watch as he stands up and takes a few steps towards the door, and you can feel the panic rise in your throat. 

“Seungkwan?” 

You stand up too, your fingers grasping at his sleeve to stop him. He turns back to you in surprise, and you try to steady your heart, your breathing, your nerves. He waits, eyebrows furrowed, gaze not leaving yours as he searches for an answer. 

“Please stay,” is all you can manage. “I’ll tell you. I’ll explain everything. Just… just give me a minute, and — just please don’t leave.” 

He stares at you for a moment, and then he nods. He finds his spot on the couch again, arms crossed over his chest, and you join him. You squeeze your eyes shut. You take a deep breath before reopening them, staring at your hands, and then you say it. 

“I like you.”

You can see Seungkwan straighten out of the corner of your eye. You don’t stop, you don’t let up, because if you don’t say it now, you never will.

“I really like you, Seungkwan, way more than friends,” you continue softly. “And I’m sorry for avoiding you, but it wasn’t as if I could just tell you why.” Your voice grows even quieter. “You’re my best friend. I can’t lie to you… but I didn’t want you to know. You’re just so — you’re amazing, Seungkwan. I like you so much, and it was starting to become really overwhelming. You have to understand that I just — I just needed to breathe for a little bit.” You swallow, hard, before you add quietly, “When I saw you last night, when you came to get me, I just… I missed you, and I guess drunk me wanted to kiss you, so she did.”

Your confession hangs in the air between you, and you want nothing more than to sink into the couch cushions beneath you.

Then he says quietly, “And what about sober you?” and you suddenly can’t breathe.

“What?”

“Does sober you want to kiss me, too?”

“Seungkwan.” Your voice breaks, a quiet, desperate plea for him not to push any further. You squeeze your eyes shut, and your chest is tight as you nearly beg, “Can we please just —“

“Y/N. I like you too.”

Your eyes fly open. You stare at each other for a moment — a pair of blushing idiots. 

“I really didn’t think I stood a chance,” he admits after what feels like the longest moment in existence. It’s so soft, so Seungkwan — your Seungkwan, the one only you and a select few get to see, the one who’s a little insecure and uncertain and real — that it makes your breath catch. “When you kissed me, I…”

“Kwan,” comes your whisper, and you think you can see the makings of a shy smile on his lips at the nickname.

“I’m freaking out right now,” he admits, cheeks flushing pink, and all you can do is stare at him. 

“Shut up.”

“Seriously?” He lets out an awkward laugh at that, and it’s your turn to blush. 

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “I’m just — holy shit. You know?”

Seungkwan laughs again. “Trust me — I know.” He shoots you a soft smile before he repeats, “Holy shit.”

It’s silent for a moment as your giggles subside, and you feel so shy that it almost makes you laugh again. You have to look away from him to breathe a little, but you can feel him shift closer, your knees brushing.

“Come here?” It’s a quiet request, as if there’s any way you’d deny it. You turn back to face him, cheeks flushed, and he smiles. 

The way he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger makes you smile, too — and the kiss he presses against your mouth soon after has you downright giddy. It’s long and slow, so soft that it makes you ache, yet still so intense that it manages to steal the breath from your lungs.

“More of that, please,” you say when he pulls back. You’re breathless, and Seungkwan’s ensuing laugh is so bright that you feel like you’re being held by the sun. 

“I think I can make that happen.”

A/N: Listen. I know I can’t just write for Seungkwan. Don’t look at me. ANYWAY! thank you for reading!!! If you read it REBLOG IT, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise

TAGLIST: @tae-bebe @seungkw1 @wheeboo @waldau @gyuminusone @darkypooo @wqnwoos @minisugakoobies @christinewithluv @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lvlystars @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf @kyeomkyeomi @bewoyewo

[avaf00rd]

little shits

kyra Cooney-cross x teen!Reader (platonic)

why is posting my first fic embarassinggg…

anywho enjoy this piece of shit. I’ll open my requests and try to write as much as I can. Luv u all xxx

————————————————————————

You were kind of out of it though as Caitlin was trying to mouth something to you further up the gym with her hands, you put your hands up in shrug towards her, but from the conversation in front of you you heard something along the lines of “if you don’t” and Kyra saying “deal”.

“Got that y/n?” Beth grinned at you

“yup!” You quickly said before running over to Caitlin who was motioning you to help her with something.

You had lost a bet. You were reminded by Kyra that you “weren’t supposed to do anything stupid towards anyone in the team for a week” 8 days later she shrieked at you as she was changing into her swimmers in the bathroom of the locker room.

And that’s where you found yourself, In the 15 degree London weather, you were being dragged by Beth, Jen and Katie who just wanted to see this play out, down to the ocean. As you all walked down to the cool air of the beach you shrieked at the harsh breeze “nup” you said as you started running back but was caught by Katie “bets a bet” she giggled grabbing you and dragging you down the beach.

You and kyra took off both of your jumpers as you looked at each other, regret filling your eyes. There were some lunatic surfers in long wetsuits, none like the ones back home in Australia but if you were honest you were terrible with cold water. Beth pulled out her phone to camera when Jen gave Kyra a light shove towards the water, she didn’t move though.

“Ok let’s be quick” you started walking down, just ready to get it over with, a shivering mess once you got down. You noticed the 21 year old was no longer behind you but was being carried over the shoulder by the tall Jen Beattie. Your jaw hit the flor as she was completely thrown into the water head first, with Jen now in the water too. “Okay giant” you giggled as Jen quickly ran out of the water but looking back to yell at you.

“Five whole Minutes!” was screamed from the top.

“Nah it was two!” You exclaimed as Beth shook her head with a grin. You were still only up to about your bellybutton in the ice-like water. That was until ‘little shit no. 2’ jumped on your back causing your head to be pushed under water. The cold water feeling absolutely hell-like on your skin. “KYRA!” You screamed as you came back up again, knowing she was done she started swimming away fast. Though luckily you were a fast swimmer, you caught up to her and completely dunked her.

On the shore, Katie, Beth and Jen slowly started to go ankle-deep into the water to feel the temperature for themselves. “Christ that’s worse than an ice bath” Beth exclaimed quickly before removing her feet from the water.

“They are gonna turn into ice” Jen said

“Or worse completely taken out by a shark” Katie said, as Beth’s face rose with concern. “Wait how much time left?

“It’s been up for about a minute now” Beth said “you two out you come!” she yelled running up to grab your towels.

But of course, you and the slightly older girl were in your own world once again. Trying to drown each other while laughing your heads off.

————————————————————-

On a slightly chilly December weekend, you had broke the curse. You and your teammates had smashed Chelsea with a wicked 5-1 and you couldn’t be more excited, your were a striker, quite a significant one for the team, and had managed to slot in a goal in the extra time just minutes before the final whistle. As that whistle went you jumped straight to Caitlin buzzing with excitement before Alessia joined your two by jumping on your back. As you went around to all your other teammates.

You made eye contact with Leah as she quickly went on to the field, the twenty-six year old meant so much to you since joining at the club, so you sprinted into her arms. “Lee!”

“Your goal was incredible I’m so proud of you tiny!!” You grinned at the nickname the team gave you and the fact that she was proud of you. She motioned for a piggy back to you when you were put down, when you jumped on her again she started sprinting towards the rest of the team you saw Kyra talking to vic with her back to you when Leah had come to a stop you tried to jump onto Kyra’s back straight from Leah’s but failed miserably when Kyra was completely knocked down long with Vic and you. Kyra’s funny bone hit your head which she squealed in pain. Nothing serious though.

And just like all the girls around knew that a child’s fight would break out between the two of you, you got up and started running backwards away from her. She started to chase you as you were laughing your guts off. You and Kyra were absolute toddlers anytime everywhere as the crowd and team completely stopped and watched in amusement.

————————————————————-

‘Harps!” You squealed as the Gorry toddler jumped into your arms in the lobby of the Hotel. You noticed most of the team standing around chatting as all the ‘London Aussies’ piled into the building.

“I missed you!” Her tiny voice exclaimed which made your heart melt. “I missed you heaps!”

You and Harper got along beautifully, she was like your little sidekick when at camp, the girl would not dare to leave your side the whole two weeks. Steph laughed with Mini behind you, greeting each other and laughing how you left your bags stranded right near the bus when you saw the small girl, Steph having to wheel them in.

“Mins!” You smiled as you gave her a warm hug.

After more hugs and hello’s were exchanged you all headed up to your respective rooms. Since it was only around lunch time you had a small meeting with Tony but were then allowed ‘chill out time’ before dinner and bed time. You, Mackenzie, Alanna and Caitlin were sitting on bean bags in the main room talking about random things and your Christmas plans. When Charli was completely thrown onto your head from behind.

“Ow” you laughed.

“Kyra!” Charli said towards the girl that was pushed onto you.

“Little shit” you mumbled

“Oi you can’t talk miss” Caitlin smirked before quickly going on about your latest stunt you and Kyra pulled together back in London making the other girls laugh. You soon got tired of hearing how good you are at getting away with pranks. As you curiously went to search through a cupboard that had some coloured things peaking out the bottom which amused you. You opened it to find random things from craft kits to movie projectors. You started to move things a little as you crouched down to find more. That’s when you pulled out a large white karaoke machine laying on it’s side, it was beyond you on how it got in there and managed to fit.

“What’s that?” Macca asked as you stood it up-right once it was pulled out. You didn’t reply as you smirked at Kyra who knew exactly what it was. “Awesome” Macca sarcastically said after no reply from you.

For backstory, you and Alessia found one in a room at your training grounds back in London. And you pair along with Kyra and the help of Leah’s terrible singing completely wore it out as it sparked and suddenly broke. Obviously, the mums of the team like Kim and Viv got mad that you nearly could have sent it up in flames.

“Oh no no no” Steph breathed out as she walked in to see you and Kyra teaching Macca and Alanna how to start it up so they could perform their duet to some random old Justin Bieber sing. “You set this hotel on fire, no blaming me to Kim that I didn’t stop you”.

And that’s how the night ended the whole team gathering around and taking turns in partners to sing away. With you and Kyra taking over the micv for more than half of the songs. “No way” you muttered as it suddenly stopped working.

“You-“ Hayley started and then laughed from where she was laying on the floor watching you.

“They’re cursed I swear” Kyra said as you put your arms up in a shrug towards steph.

[jflemings]

— run

pairing: kyra cooney cross x reader

synopsis: you and kyra continue to love eachother in secret

warnings: none

a/n: i had this fic pretty much finished before tumblr DELETED it i’m so pissed

♫ what’s queued masterlist

Give me the keys, I'll bring the car back around

We shouldn't be in this town

pelting rain outlines kyra’s silhouette as she jogs down the street to your car. one hand holds her hood on top of her head whilst the other is tucked in her pocket in an effort to fend off the biting cold.

your headlights illuminate her as she gets close, giving you a full view of her cold-bitten face and slightly shivering form. as she approaches your passenger door you quickly open it for her and she slides in easily before hastily closing the door behind her. she peels off her rain-soaked hoodie and throws it in your backseat, reaching behind you to grab her green white fox hoodie she had thrown back there one afternoon.

“sorry, i couldn’t get away from them” she apologised with an annoyed pout “caitlin wouldn’t let me leave without asking a million questions”

you smirk and begin to drive whilst turning up the heat and pressing play on your shared playlist. as you pass beth and viv’s place you see multiple shadows crowding the window, the arsenal women practically on top of eachother trying to get a look at where kyra was rushing of to.

the midfielder beside you ducks her head down and sinks down in her seat “don’t let them see me” she mumbles

you pat her thigh and laugh “don’t worry ky, i’m sure they didn’t see you just slide down in your seat” you tease with a laugh.

she pouts again and furrows her brows “they’re all so nosy! i couldn’t get away quick enough”

“they’re just curious kyra” you half heartedly defend “it’s not like you’re subtle”

kyra holds her hands in front of the heat in an attempt to warm them up faster, the quick change in temperature making a shiver run down her spine “i’m subtle!” she argues “they wouldn’t even think anything is different if leah hadn’t loudly announced that she thought i was secretly seeing someone”

you let your head fall back against your seat as you come to a stop at a red light “you didn’t help your case by going bright red”

“i didn’t mean to!”

you can’t help but laugh at her exasperated expression. the thought of her club teammates finally knowing about you let loose a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, the nervousness almost being too thick to swallow.

“it’s okay ky” you assure softly “it was bound to happen”

“you’re not mad?” she asks shyly

you turn to her and place your hand on the bottom of her jaw, half on her neck. your thumb caresses her freckled cheek slowly “no i’m not mad”

she takes your hand off her neck and kisses your knuckles delicately, her lips softly touching each of them before she joins your hands and places them on her thigh. kyra hums contentedly and faces you “sorry for the hassle”

“no hassle at all. i get to have you to myself for a few days, i’m as happy as can be” you squeeze her hand twice “and we’re long overdue for a small getaway”

And my so-called friends, they don't know

I'd drive away before I let you go

“you just don’t know her like i do”

you best friend rolls her eyes from where she’s sitting on her bed “you said that about the last girl you dated and we know how that turned out”

you furrow your brows “that’s not fair” you defend pointedly, your blood beginning to boil at the thought of kyra being compared to her.

“she won’t introduce you to her friends and you won’t let us meet her! for all we know she’s a bitch who’s just gonna fuck you over” she throws her hands out slightly “all i’m asking is for you to hear me out”

“and all i’m asking is for you to understand that kyra isn’t like that” you huff, beginning to grab your things “it’s not fair that you compare my past relationship to her when you don’t know anything”

your friend kicks her legs out and flips down onto her bed, sighing deeply as she puts her hand behind her head “i’m looking out for you, i know how you get with relationships.”

the low blow comment is your tipping point. you can’t tell if you’re angry because she’s right or because she’s voicing her opinion on something she knows absolutely nothing about.

it was true, kyra wouldn’t introduce you to her friends, but her reasoning had always been that she’s selfish. she’s so selfish that she doesn’t want to share any of you with anyone, not even steph or caitlin or lessi, kyra wants you all to herself. you didn’t even know if they knew you existed but you didn’t really care because the australian had completely encapsulated your mind and overtaken your body. she had wrapped herself around you like plated gold, made you shiny and new and worth something. at least in your eyes.

wordlessly you stand, takeaway coffee cup in hand, and push your seat in loudly. her eyes follow you as your chest rises and falls with frustration, confusion painted on her features.

“i love kyra, and she has proven that she loves me. that should be enough for you because it’s enough for me” you spit, turning on your heel without anymore argument and walking yourself out to your car.

There's a chain 'round your throat, piece of paper where I wrote

"I'll wait for you"

kyra unclasps the dainty, gold heart locket around her neck. she fiddles with it for a moment, making sure that it doesn’t tangle, before placing it down in her cubby safely. it twinkles under the bright light of the change rooms and for a moment, the small piece of jewellery has all her attention.

she smiles when she thinks about what’s hidden inside the locket. the small photo of the two of you and an even smaller note you left for her before the last international break.

i’ll wait for you was written in your handwriting and kept around her neck, the words being an unspoken declaration of your love.

you had slipped the paper in there the night before she had to jet off to play uzbekistan when she was at the height of her uneasiness regarding your blossoming relationship. guilt had sunk it’s teeth into kyra when charli had made a harmless joke about her sneaking around with someone and just being too embarrassed to tell anyone about it. her mind had raced and wondered if you felt the same, wondered if you thought that she was embarrassed by you.

in the bright moonlight your eyes had shone and she had expressed to you that it wasn’t embarrassment that was keeping her from publicly being with you, it was selfishness and fear. she had choked through the words and fought back tears as she explained and you, in all your angel-like glory, had just softly put a hand on her face and smiled understandingly.

you then tore off the corner of a page from your journal and wrote those four words, handing it to kyra “put this in your locket, so you’ll always know” you whispered to her softly.

she looked at you curiously, her tired eyes conveying confusion before realisation dawns on her. she sits up and opens the locket around her throat, slipping in the message before securing it with a small, almost mute click.

she smiles at the memory, getting lost in the moment just as victoria stands next to her. vic knocks their shoulders together affectionately “that’s a really pretty necklace” she compliments

kyra nods gratefully “thanks, it’s my good luck charm”

“from your mum?” vic asks curiously “i noticed you wearing it after christmas”

“no” kyra says quietly “just from a friend”

the dutch woman nods and smiles secretly like she knows something no one else does “i’d love to meet this friend, if i could”

kyra begs to blush before wiping her face with the collar of her shirt “i’ll, um, i’ll talk to her. she’d love to meet you too” the australian smiles softly, mimicking her friend’s earlier affectionate gesture and knocking their shoulders together again.

So you laugh like a child

And I'll sing like no one cares

kyra lifts the conti cup trophy with her teammates, the australian flag draped over her shoulders flutters with her movements as she bounds around with alessia.

she’s thrown her head back in a joyous laugh and points out to the singing crowd, north london forever echoing off the stands and into the sky. you sit surrounded by a sea of red and white, the passion and love that’s held for this club blooming more and more in your chest the louder you sing.

seeing the young woman you love so full of joy and pride makes your heart swell and burst over and over again. winning a piece of silverware during her first wsl season had been a topic that you two had spoken about during the late hours of the night after she’d let you know her fears of not performing well. the pressure had been crushing her from the minute she debuted, the australian midfielder had been desperate to live up to her world cup performance and she vowed that every minute she got on the pitch would be impactful and meaningful.

her hard work and determination had payed off. the fear, anxiety and unease had finally lifted off of kyra’s chest and mind and now she was lifting a trophy.

in the midst of the chaos she finds you wearing one of her worn jerseys and singing your little heart out. she can’t help but smile as she jogs over to you and jumps into your arms as best she can, her breath fanning over the shell of your ear as she speaks directly into it

“my good luck charm” she whispers before pulling away from you grinning wide “thank you for being here”

“there’s no where else i’d rather be” you assure her with a soft smile, your eyes scanning her flushed freckled face lovingly. your hands move from her shoulder blades to her collarbones, fingertips slipping under her shirt slightly “i love you” you whisper to her.

a blush creeps over kyra’s face and she looks down shyly “i love you too” she murmurs back to you, quickly looking over her shoulder before looking into your eyes “dinner tonight?”

“your place” you nod before pushing her back towards the pitch and her awaiting teammates. she smiles cheekily at you before turning around and running back to her beloved teammates, your smile playing on her mind.

There's a heart on your sleeve

I'll take it when I leave

And hold it for you

kyra traces over the heart tattoo on your bicep, her finger outlining the shape delicately over and over again. she knows she should really be getting up but the sight of you laying on your stomach tucked under her covers leaves her wanting to stay where she is for just a little longer.

your eyes flutter open gently and you stir slightly, snuggling yourself further into kyra’s side and soft sheets “coffee?” you rasp out

“in a little bit” the midfielder responds “i want to stay here with you for as long as i can”

humming, you pull the covers tightly over both of your shoulders in a cocoon-like fashion, the comforter creating a barrier between you and the outside world. kyra continues to trace the heart etched into your arm, her mindless outlining lulling her into a dazed trance.

“i love you” she mumbles into her sheets before slowly sitting up. she throws one leg over the edge of the bed whilst the other stays half crossed, her shoulders sag and she rubs her hands over her face before turning on the bedside lamp.

“say it again” you instruct her, loving the way the words easily roll off her tongue

she tiredly smirks at you and leans down, tucking her chin in the crook of your neck. her hair tickles your ears as she snuggles against you “i love you” she murmurs into your neck, her lips pressing feather light kisses to your warm skin.

pushing yourself up off the bed, you too sit up momentarily before sliding off of kyra’s bed. you hold your hands out to her “c’mon stargirl, coffee time”

the australian pouts but takes your hands anyway, allowing you to pull her up and into you. she continues to wear a slight frown even as you go to walk out of her room and she digs her heels into the floor, stopping you in your tracks.

“what?”

“you didn’t say it back”

you smile endearingly at her “i love you too” using your interlocked hands you drag her back into your space, smiling when her hand subconsciously lands on your heart tattoo. your lips ghost hers “so much”

kyra closes the gap, capturing your lips with hers in a time stopping moment. when she pulls away from you her freckled cheeks are dusted pink, a common occurrence when she’s around you, and he’s wearing a dopey grin on her face despite the early morning.

“you’ve gotta get your shit together because steph will have your ass if you’re late to the airport”

“ruining the moment!”

Say you'll never let 'em tear us apart

And I'll hold onto you while we run

kyra slumps down in her seat, kicking her legs out in front of her as she buries her face in her phone.

it was your day off meaning that after kyra had finally left for the airport — much to her dismay — you had returned to the sanctuary that was her bed. with the knowledge that you’re tucked under her covers without her there, she frowns and huffs without thinking.

caitlin knocks her foot against kyra’s “what’s up your ass”

kyra’s head snaps to her teammate “nothing” she grumbles “just wanna go back to bed”

“leave the missus at home, did you?”

kyra freezes and she doesn’t dare look anywhere but her phone. the midfielder’s heart is beating out of her chest and she feels like she can’t breathe. caitlin sits awaiting an answer in her peripheral vision, an infuriating smirk that says ‘i knew it’ is planted on her face along with her ultra-lax aura that says she really doesn’t care even though kyra knows that this topic of conversation has been bugging her for months now.

“yes” she clips “she’s in bed all snuggled up and i’m sitting in an airport with you, so, i guess that’s what’s up my ass” kyra states bluntly

caitlin’s eyes damn near pop out of her head, the answer and the manner in which it was said surprising her “snippy” she mumbles amused “when can we meet her?”

“when i’m sure you’re not going to scare her off”

the forward rolls her eyes “if she’s been with you for this long then i highly doubt i’m going to be able to scare her off” she says, picking at her chipped nails “but i gotta make sure you’re not wearing rose coloured glasses ‘n all that”

kyra huffs and allows her phone to fall flat on her chest. she adjusts her position so her voice is clearer “i love you” she starts, gaining caitlin’s attention “but i also love her. and as much as i respect you, your opinion isn’t going to change that.”

a face splitting grin overtakes caitlin’s face, her blue eyes shining with pride as she looks at kyra. she reaches over and pats her thigh lovingly “good” she says shortly “that’s all that matters to me”

and we'll run

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hiya hiya! Once again congratulations on 500! I was wondering if I could request a fic with Isagi and handholding! Idk hand holding sounds very romantic so I would love to see how you’ll write it!

── PATHWAYS

Synopsis: You go on a walk with your boyfriend while he’s on a break from the intense training of Blue Lock.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Isagi x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 1.1k

Content Warnings: fluff, isagi is lowkey a simp, slight rin and nagi slander (i love them though i promise)

A/N: EEK i’m sorry this took me a sec anon!! i’ve never written for isagi before so this was def smth new which is why it took me a bit to get in the right headspace. i hope it’s okay for you <3

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It was colder outside than you had expected. Isagi, who was wearing a coat and had a scarf wrapped around his neck, didn’t seem bothered by the temperature, but as for you, you were miserably trying to hide your shivers, pulling your sweater tighter around yourself to disguise it. He had told you that it was chilly, and you had ignored his warning, so it was now your burden to bear.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Isagi said, white clouds forming in the air from the heat of his breath. “I missed you a lot the entire time I was there.”

“I missed you, too,” you said. “I know we were able to talk a few times on your one friend’s phone, but it wasn’t the same.”

Isagi wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get my own back. I really tried my best. I wanted to talk to you as much as I could, to make up for our physical distance.”

“It’s okay. The fact that you were willing to take care of all of your teammate’s sweaty, gross laundry just to get the chance to call me for a couple of minutes means more to me than anything,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his as you walked along the side of the dirt path connecting your house to the nearest park.

“That was definitely a sacrifice,” he said, gagging from just the memory. “I’d do it again for you, but it was really horrible, Y/N. It’s bad enough dealing with my own clothes after matches, but adding Nagi’s to the mix…it was brutal, to say the least.”

“My poor boyfriend,” you said. “I’m so lucky to have someone who’s willing to endure so much for me. I must’ve been a really good person in my last life.”

“I’m the lucky one,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “To be honest, I was kind of scared you’d find someone else while I was gone. It would only make sense, right? How could a girl as beautiful as you not have a million other options? It would be pretty easy for you to forget about me and move on.”

“Would you forget about me and move on if the roles were reversed?” you said, your teeth chattering. Isagi’s eyebrows shot up, almost disappearing behind his dark hair.

“No way!” he said, shrugging off his coat and draping it around your shoulders. “I’d never, ever do that. I still can’t believe I’m dating you at all!”

“You’re so goofy,” you said. “Hey, don’t give me this. Won’t you get cold?”

“Nah, I’m tough. What kind of number-one striker gets defeated by some wind?” he said. You hummed appreciatively, zipping up the large jacket and rejoicing in the warmth it instantly provided you with.

“Number-one striker, and the hero of Blue Lock, I’m told,” you said. His cheeks turned pink.

“That, too,” he said.

“It’s all everyone at school talks about. One day, you just randomly disappeared, and no one but me knew where you had gone. Then suddenly, you were on TV, making the winning goal in one of the most exciting matches of soccer any of us had ever seen! I feel like the girlfriend of a celebrity,” you said.

“You should get used to it,” he said. “I’m only going to get better from here. I’ll be a World Cup winner next, and since you’re stuck with me, you’re going to have to deal with everything that that entails.”

“Stuck with you?” you said. He reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly, holding up your interlaced fingers so that he could admire them.

“Do you see your hand?” he said, very seriously. 

“I see it,” you said.

“And you see mine?” he continued.

“Mhm,” you said. As always, his were warm, compared to the iciness of your extremities. He liked to joke that it meant the two of you were made for each other, only able to reach the perfect temperature when you were together.

“That’s us,” he said. “We’re going to be like that forever.”

“Goofy and cheesy? What a lethal combination,” you said, shaking your head.

His palm was callused and rough against yours, a proof of how hard he worked. He was always like that, you had noticed even upon first meeting him, always doing the best he could in any given situation, making up for any disadvantages with the sheer force of his will alone. It was nice to have that tangible reminder of who he was pressed against you, so you made no move to let go of his hand even after his little demonstration had concluded.

“I know,” he said. “And my jokes are really bad. But you like that about me, right?”

“I do,” you said. “Your jokes aren’t terrible, though. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“They make you laugh, so I guess they can’t be that bad,” he said. “Although everyone in Blue Lock hated them. One time, my friend Bachira threw a shoe at me for being unfunny, and Rin Itoshi called me a lukewarm NPC for trying to cheer him up with a pun.”

“If anyone is an NPC, it’s him, just for unironically calling someone that,” you said. “They just don’t understand you, Isagi. It’s okay; true art is never appreciated by the masses.”

“That’s right. As long as you’re happy, I don’t mind if they detest me,” he said. You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Should we get sour gummies at the convenience store? It’s been forever since I had some,” he said, his entire face turning red. It was funny — he would declare his love to you in the most cliched of ways and entirely on a whim, but if you ever reciprocated, he would shut down entirely. Like he said, he really still couldn’t believe that you both were actually together, that in fact you had been together for months now, and so he often acted like a little kid with his first crush whenever he was around you.

“Sounds like a good idea. I’ve been craving some myself,” you said.

“Okay! Let’s go. I’ll race you!” he said, taking off at a run, though contrary to his challenging words, he pulled you along, careful to keep your hands connected as you giggled and stumbled after him.

You had missed him, so much more than you could ever verbalize. You had spent every day that he was gone thinking about him, his spontaneity, his wide smile and his kindness, the gentle way he always spoke to you, how easily taking care of you came to him.

Running towards the convenience store alongside him, you held onto his hand tightly, as much for balance as because you couldn’t imagine letting go. 

[totaly-obsessed]

kcc hurt/comfort pls (:

Breaking a Sweat

Kyra Cooney-Cross x reader request

-> Reader struggles to be alone and gets sick, leaving Kyra to look after her

-> Sick reader, also for this anon!

-> I don't know if hurt/comfort fics are my strength - I tried!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

When Kyra transferred to Arsenal at the start of the season it was a joined decision, that she would not live alone – and who to better pair her up than with you?

You were the same age, already knowing each other from the national youth teams and while you were an introvert, Kyra was an extrovert. It was a good match – and Katie obviously did not try to set you up.

She would never do that…

Living together was an adventure, that is for sure. It was Kyra’s job to do all the phone calls while you did all the paperwork for the apartment and while the brunette was obnoxiously loud, you would not change it for the world.

But now it felt lonely when the young Aussie was gone, having been called up to represent her country for the Asian Olympic Qualifiers. Whilst you could not be prouder of your new friend, you missed her.

Most of your teammates were gone as well – they had left for the Nations League. With only a few people in training everyone worked harder than you already did, desperate to get some more minutes on the pitch, representing the club.

Alone again, you struggled.

Cooking for one person? Too much work.

Buying groceries for you alone? Waste of money.

And while you forgot to care for yourself, your teammates noticed. And they tried, they really did try to get you to eat at the cafeteria but you were so focused on training that it was of no use.

Kyra returned from National camp when you had an off day, and she half expected you to have cooked something – your love language being acts of service. But even in front of the door, she could tell that something was wrong.

She could not hear any music, not even the TV running as background noise – highly unusual for you.

Just as fast as she had the door open, it fell shut again, a gust of wind pulling it close. It had gotten cold quickly, and it was not just cold outside, but also in your shared living space. Quite the contrast from Australia where she had been just twenty-four hours ago.

In complete darkness, the young Australian felt for the light switch, and as she pressed it the first thing, she saw was the messy living room. This was even more unlike you, who always tidied up after yourself.

“Y/n?” Her call was met with more silence, but after closing the wide-open windows and turning up the radiator she saw the lump of blankets on the couch move.

“Honey?”

No reaction.

Carefully Kyra pulled off blanket after blanket until she was able to see your face. A very sweaty one. “Shit. Let’s get you up.”

While you normally would have told the girl off for swearing, you did not even react – barely hanging onto her shoulders as she dragged you to the bathtub. She did not need to take your temperature to know that you had a fever – so the water was not as warm as you would like it to be, especially not with your high body temperature.

After wrangling you out of your sweaty clothes and into the bath, Kyra called Steph for help who had also just gotten home.

“Okay, you want to get her as dry as possible, her hair as well. Sit her on a chair when you blow dry it. get her into light clothes, no heavy jumpers. Lots of water, ibuprofen, sleep, and cool rags will do the trick.”

You were bibbering in the tub, your body temperature cooling down significantly – and while it took a while Kyra had managed to dry you off she managed to do it – cooing at you in a desperate attempt to calm you down. While you tried to help, falling over as soon as you moved a centimeter was not much use.

Dressing you in one of her shirts, the young Australian managed to get you into her bed, after deciding that your bedding needed to be changed as sweat clung to it.

“Don’t fall asleep honey – need to drink something first.” As fast as she could Kyra had gotten a water bottle and some crackers, practically force-feeding you until you fell asleep.

After placing a cool rag on your forehead, the brunette decided to clean up as much as she could. Cleaning the living room, and throwing every blanket that she could find, into the washing machine alongside your sweaty clothes left on the bathroom floor.

It terrified her to find you like this.

Once you were back on your feet, the two of you were going to have a serious talk about self-care. It was hard to grasp for her though – you had been just fine living on your own, so what happened?

Leah helped the young midfielder realize that it was not her fault that you had ended up like this – she had shown up at your shared apartment after Steph called her that you were sick.

With most of your teammates gone, you just missed them a lot.

You had gotten lonely, and if possible, Kyra would do anything to prevent this from happening again. Even if she would need to drag you to Australia.

[heliads]

You Agreed to This

Pierre Gasly has a reputation for flirting with anything that breathes. You have a reputation for being scarily focused on racing. When Charles, Lando, and Esteban get it into their heads to dare Pierre to get you to fall in love with him, the results can only be tragic.

a/n: i was frustrated when i couldn't find fics with this vague plotline like two months ago and then i remembered that i can simply make them myself. anyway this is my longest fic to date (6k+ words), enjoy!

masterlist

The whole affair started in the recesses of the Alpine motorhome, too far from prying eyes and chances to stop before it got bad. Miami is boiling hot as per usual, it gets to Pierre just like it always does. He’s trying to fend off the heat by hiding somewhere deep within his team’s complex, team jacket stripped off somewhere on a nearby sofa and fans cranked on high. 

It was just Pierre at the beginning, but drivers tend to flock together in times of heat related stress, and now there are four of them sprawled across floors and furniture in an attempt to alleviate their suffering. Charles found Pierre first, just like he usually does, then Lando followed after media duties were over, and Esteban was last, claiming that if this many rival drivers were there he had a right to die in his own motorhome too, god damn it.

Pierre has mixed thoughts on that. He has mixed thoughts on quite a lot, actually– the blistering temperatures are getting to him, swirling memories into fact into fiction. He’ll get his head in order when it comes time to race, but that won’t happen until tomorrow, once qualis are in order and they’ve all been shunted around for the grid lineup.

Across the room, Lando groans from the shadows of a functionally decorated armchair. “This is miserable.”

Pierre gives him a look. “Your complaining is miserable.” 

Undeterred, Lando keeps up his protests. “We should do something fun. Pierre, don’t you know like a thousand people here? Invite someone over.”

Pierre snorts. “I don’t know all of Miami, Lando. Go to sleep or something.”

Esteban chuckles. “Could have fooled me. Didn’t you tag, like, a hundred people in your latest Instagram story?”

Pierre turns his head to glare at his teammate. They’re still supposed to be friends as of three or so months of being racing partners, but apparently that association doesn’t go so far as requiring Esteban to defend him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

Charles shakes his head, grinning. “It’s the truth, let him speak. You have connections.”

Lando flings a dramatic arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight pouring in through the windows. They’ve all been shut with the blinds pulled down, of course, but some warmth has a way of coming in regardless of what anyone wants. “Pierre’s just sociable like that. He could win over anybody. Or flirt with anybody.”

Pierre rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Norris.”

Charles arches a brow. “What would he be jealous of, your losing streak? I saw you strike out trying to talk up Margot Robbie last time we were in Monaco, don’t lie to me.”

“That was different,” Pierre protests, “she’se literally married, what did you expect?”

Charles coughs pointedly. “Yet you flirted with her anyway. Anyways, don’t argue. You can’t flirt with everybody. Not successfully, at least.”

Pierre leans forward cautiously. “What does that mean?”

Charles laughs. “There’s one person you could never charm in a thousand years.”

Pierre sighs, answers Charles’ unspoken question in time with his friend. “Y/N L/N?”

“Y/N L/N,” Charles confirms, and the other three drivers break into identical grins.

Pierre can accept defeat on that front. Y/N L/N is the only female driver on the grid at the moment, and anyone can tell why she made it despite the odds mere moments after meeting her. She’s crazy intense, more dedicated to racing than even Max or Lewis. Pierre wouldn’t be surprised if she could win a driver’s championship in the next year or two. Talk to her once and you’ll be stunned that she hasn’t done it yet.

Every time Pierre, or any other driver or spectator for that matter, has tried to chat her up, they always end up shut down faster than you can spin out on a slick track with the wrong tires. She doesn’t have time for any of them. The girl lives and breathes and dies for racing, she’s not going to let something like a boy get in her way.

This only makes Pierre more tempted to keep up with her, of course, but he learned a long time ago that was a lost cause. The only reason Y/N would ever look twice at him is if he was a place ahead of her during a race, and given her knack for overtakes, that doesn’t happen all that often.

Lando sits forward, and Pierre decides that he doesn’t like the gleam in the younger boy’s eyes. “Say, I’ve got a great idea to stave off boredom. Pierre, go date Y/N.”

Pierre almost chokes. “Are you insane? Just like that, go date her? How would that help you in any way?”

Lando spreads his hands. “If it would be so easy for you to flirt with anybody, how about you prove it? Surely Y/N isn’t so far out of your league. You’re both in the same line of work, at least you’ve got that going for you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to fight this. He may have a bit of a cocky streak, sure, but he’s a driver, who amongst them doesn’t? Just as he starts to get himself out of this, though, Esteban speaks up instead.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pierre couldn’t even come close. None of us can.” Esteban says it like a fact, and that’s all it takes for Pierre to change his tune.

“You know what?” He says, feeling his adrenaline start to kick in, “Sure I can.”

Charles’ eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious about girls,” Pierre says, causing a ripple of groans to cascade around the room, “This time I am, at least. I’ll win her over, no problem.”

Lando sits up. “If you’re really doing this, we’ve got to set some rules.”

“Such as?” Pierre dares him to continue.

Charles taps a thoughtful hand on his leg. “It has to be more than a one time thing. Just a single conversation could be a fluke or her feeling bad for you.”

Outraged, Pierre starts to fight that, but Lando picks up the thread of the conversation before he can cut it short. “That makes sense. We have to be sure that she’s actually in love with you. Like, get her to kiss you or something? And pics or it didn’t happen. We need proof.”

Pierre snickers, trying not to feel like control is slipping out of his hands with each passing second. “Anything else? Want me to name our firstborn child after you?”

That makes Esteban crack up. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? We’ll settle for being named godfather. All three of us collectively.”

Pierre shakes his head incredulously. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Charles slaps him on the back. “You have to believe in yourself, Pierre. If you don’t, she’ll never fall for it.”

And so Pierre Gasly gets himself stuck in the con of a lifetime. Is it going to work? The odds are abysmal. Will he make it, though? Well, Pierre never likes to back down from a challenge. He’s not going to let this one get away from him so easily.

The sun is bright and the morning is tense in the paddock. You arrived early, earlier than most of the drivers, all so you could get a taste of what the track was like without anyone breathing down your neck. Some would call you a little too eager, others would say you’re plain stressed out and nothing more to it.

You’d give yourself a little more credit than that, though. You know exactly who you are and what you have to prove. The more time you give yourself to plan and acclimate, the less time there is for mistakes.

That isn’t to say that you ignore all the comments on your pre-race habits. You are well aware of your reputation, even proud of it. You wear it as a second skin, a racing suit, a livery specially designed to flaunt your own achievement. The whispers of those out and about in the world of motorsport follow you wherever you go, dogging your footsteps until you half expect to leave streams of words behind you instead of burned rubber.

That’s Y/N L/N. The one who only cares about the track? The one who lives and dies for racing? That’s the one. That’s the one.

There’s not much else to it. So what if you tend to be a little more intense than most? Being serious is the only method of survival available to you. You can be sweet and fun, play yourself off as the ditzy girl who only got in so her team could capitalize on brand deals, or you can be a woman without a feminine bone in her body, so far from girlish she chokes whenever she sees the color pink. Both are awful alternatives, so you choose the only one you can:  ignore every box they try to push you in until everyone else gives up. Let them whisper. At least they aren’t trying to change you anymore.

That’s how you’ve navigated the paddock up until now, the entirety of racing life as you know it. It’s worked out in your favor, or so you’d say, at least. You push yourself on and off track. You answer the unfair questions they throw at you. You solve the mysteries of why someone is taking an involvement in your affairs and come out on top of any possible rumors.

There are mysteries, though, and then there’s the latest one, which is why on Earth Pierre Gasly has taken to following you around the paddock. They all did, at the start; the drivers, the fans, the interviewers, even the team bosses, all staring at you like you were in a circus exhibition. A girl in motorsport? Couldn’t be. Yet it is. 

That’s mostly drifted off, though, the attention gone once they realized you weren’t interested in belonging to any of them. Most of them did it unintentionally, of course, and the few who got too close on purpose quickly learned they would get nothing from you. Pierre learned that himself, or so you thought. That doesn’t stop his attention from surging up again all of a sudden.

It’s been a solid few weeks of this behavior, and you’re still no closer to understanding it than you were at the start. If you were to put an initial date on this whole affair, you’d maybe say everything began back in Miami. All of a sudden, Pierre, who up until now had accepted that you weren’t interested in him even if he didn’t like that all too much, had decided to renew his affections once more. 

Where you had been content to walk briskly through the paddock by yourself, Pierre is suddenly a few feet behind you, always ready to offer a bottle of water when you need it or issue a joking comment when you seem in need of a laugh. He’s playing his cards carefully, always disappearing the moment you start to take his presence for granted, but why, you cannot tell. Everyone here has a motive. Surely Pierre Gasly has one as well.

You weren’t willing to trust him at first, ignoring him throughout the Miami race and all sessions at Imola. The only angle worth your while is your own, and maybe your constructor’s, too. Still, he stayed. That has to count for something.

And, when the end of a race finds you absolutely desolate after an engine failure, that starts to count a little more than it would have before. This race is early enough in the year that the DNF doesn’t have to sting too much, but all you can think about is how you just gave Max, Charles, and the rest of the title competitors the leg up they need to beat you out.

It’s not a good feeling, to say the least. You find some empty corner of the paddock where you can be alone and let your emptiness consume you. That was your plan, at least, but you’ve only been able to wallow in your own misery for about ten minutes or so before someone else joins you. The only other driver to fail to complete the necessary laps:  Pierre.

Pierre may not have had engine problems like you, but that doesn’t make him any luckier. George Russell spun wide on a turn and took out Pierre before righting himself again. George got off relatively easy for a crash, only needed to swap out some tires and his front wing, but Pierre took the brunt of it and ended up in the barriers. You heard him swearing, frustrated, on the radio after the race; the commentators loved that one, even if he didn’t.

That leaves both of you in the same undesirable position. Pierre arches a brow as he takes in the sight of you:  legs pulled up to your chest where you sit slumped against the wall, expression hopeless and all ambition gone for the moment.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, “I’m trying to hide from Sky Sports.”

You gesture vaguely at the open floor next to you. “Feel free. I'm not too thrilled about hearing from them, either.”

Pierre collapses in an untidy heap of limbs by your side, pulling at the collar of his race suit so he can unzip it down to his waist, leaving only the long sleeved shirt clinging to his skin. “At least engine failure is something you can’t control. Everyone’s been all over me trying to get me to admit that I should have seen George coming.”

You wrinkle your brow. “That wasn’t your fault. He braked late, it was obvious.”

Pierre glances over at you, clearly fighting a laugh. “Obvious, huh?”

You look away, wondering why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden. You don’t lie when it comes to racing, why bother? Thanks to the vast supplies of driver cameras and radio clips, there’s no point in glossing over what everyone knows to be true. Still, Pierre has a way of making that feel like something you should think twice about, like maybe not all of your attitudes towards drivers and their habits are things you should speak freely on. Maybe some things can be kept just to yourself. Maybe some drivers are beginning to verge beyond mere functionality as competitors.

“Everyone saw it,” you justify, “bad timing, that’s all. Not something you could control no matter how much space you gave him.”

Pierre nods solemnly. “The engine wasn’t your fault either, by the way. There was nothing you could have done to make it work again. You can’t limp through a problem like that.”

You tilt your head back, staring up at the ceiling above you. “I tried, though.”

“I know,” Pierre says. They’re only two words, but for some reason they make you feel better than any of the minutes spent listening to your engineers’ speeches on how they would fix that issue by the next race.

Judging by the slight smile on Pierre’s face, he must know that too. When the seconds stretch into minutes and you never tell Pierre to go, that smile only deepens. The conversation leaves the race eventually, and you end up talking about silly things like movies you’d like to see or places you want to go but never have. You don’t know that you’ve ever spoken to another driver like this before. You don’t know that you could with anyone else.

You have to leave that corner eventually, called away by a team principal with apologies in order. Pierre departs around the same time, claiming that he can’t run from the interviewers forever. You steal one last glance at him over your shoulder as you go, and can’t help but notice the grin on his face. It’s broader than before, proud of something; what, you can’t tell. Despite the fact that both of you have failed out of the race, you still get the feeling that Pierre has won at something more than you today. 

Charles releases an Instagram post later that day of him, Pierre, and a few other drivers out at a club. You see it, and spend too much time wondering how long you have to wait after a photo is posted to like it so it’s not weird. What you don’t see is the conversation that happened later, how Pierre triumphantly told the rest that he was closer than they’d ever believe. You don’t see it, and the next time you see him, you stop to talk with a ready smile.

So it goes the next race, and the next one, and the next. Pierre is there. So are you. You end up finding him eventually; as time goes on, it’s not just Pierre seeking you out but the other way around, too. It’s even, both of you wanting each other just as often as the other. Eventually, you have to admit defeat to the voice in the back of your head telling you that you might have misread Pierre after all. Maybe he’s not just a horrific flirt. Maybe he can be a friend.

And, leaning over the railing of Pierre’s room in the Alpine motorhome so you can feel the gentle wind on your face while you stare out at the paddock, you think you would be alright if there was something more, too. You swore to yourself you’d never even think about another driver in that way, too scared of all your efforts to distinguish yourself from everyone’s expectations for female drivers being for naught, but it might be okay if it was Pierre. Pierre is different, nothing like the rest. It would be alright if it was him.

Pierre stands by your side, back straight and posture perfect as he surveys the mess of people milling about some floors below. “Nervous for the race?”

You tilt your head to the side, considering the question. “As much as anyone, I guess. I like this track, though. Should be good.”

Pierre nods, smiling at that. “And what about me? Am I going to be good, too?”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t need me to tell you that.” 

He doesn’t; this is one of Pierre’s best tracks. He should be up for a podium or at least high in the points if everything goes according to plan.

He just grins. “Indulge me.”

You give him a pointed stare, then head back into the room. “You’re an ass.”

Pierre follows. “You love me, though.”

A pause. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He asks, unable to disguise a slight shine of surprise from entering his eyes, like despite all the luck he’d had recently, Pierre still didn’t think he would get this far.

You lift your shoulder in a half-shrug, unwilling to commit to anything further. You feel as if you’re standing on a lake frozen over, aware that any wrong move could shatter the ice beneath your feet.

Pierre moves towards the door, and for one horrified moment you think he’s actually going to leave right then and there before you realize he’s closing it instead. He turns back once he’s sure no passersby can see you, and then he’s kissing you and you can’t worry about anything else. Not even the race. Not even the threat that this might send you spiraling until you’re so lost on him that you won’t be able to think straight for the rest of your life.

He leans back at last, smiling at you with the same smile you think you saw on a podium on Monza when he first won a race in F1. “We could have done that earlier,” he whispers, not daring to disturb the quiet victory of the room.

“We could have,” you answer him. Every driver hates losing time. This is no exception.

Your head is light with the most wonderful feeling, and then over Pierre’s shoulder you see something strange. He left the door open. Cracked halfway, even though this door is notorious for never staying open right. He would have had to try to keep it like this. He would have wanted it to be that way for a reason.

Pierre’s phone vibrates and he grimaces, murmuring something about having to talk to one of his engineers before slipping out of the room. He kisses you one last time before he leaves, a quiet touch pressed to your cheek. He takes great care to ensure that you do not see the message blinking up from his screen, and when he goes, you notice that he does not have to turn the knob, only pull open an already ajar door.

Something is wrong. The longer you stand there, alone in Pierre’s room, the more you start to think, and what you think about is not good at all. The timing of the text message. The look on his face when he left. Nothing is adding up.

Voices drift to you down the hall as you stand there wondering, Pierre’s among them. You walk slowly forward, unable to fight a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach like something is about to go very, very poorly. You usually trust your instincts. As it turns out, they won’t be wrong now.

Pierre is standing in a meeting room down the hall, talking in hushed voices to a few other drivers. As you draw closer, you recognize them. Charles, closest; Lando, eyes wide; Esteban, even, staring in disbelief. All three are telling Pierre replications of the same sentiment, which is that they cannot believe he actually managed to do it.

Get you to fall in love with him, they mean. Fulfill the dare, they explain. Like they all agreed a few months ago. Back in Miami, the three of them dared Pierre to get you to fall for him, and like the overconfident, thrill seeking diehard flirt that he is, Pierre agreed.

Worse:  he did it successfully. You know, you had been wondering if this was too good to be true. Looks like it was. All that time you were letting Pierre into your heart, and he was manipulating you into falling in love. How pathetic. How incredibly soul-destroying.

The four drivers look up when you shut the door to the meeting room behind you. Pierre is the first one to notice it’s you, and you don’t ever think you’ll forget the look on his face when he realizes that you know the truth. His entire expression contorts with horror and his hands rise by his sides, trying to force your heart to stay unbroken. Pity it’s too late for that.

“Y/N–” he begins, a little too loud, a little too desperate, “wait– it’s not what it sounds like–”

“Actually,” you say coolly, “I believe that it is. You three dared Pierre to get me to fall in love with him? That’s exactly what it is, right?”

It’s not a question. Charles, Lando, and Esteban have realized you’re here, too, and they wear similar shades of Pierre’s alarm. Charles opens his mouth to say something, perhaps to explain himself, but you cut him off.

“Don’t even try. I know what you did, I don’t want to hear your terrible reasoning for why you thought this was okay. I’m going to go back to my motorhome and we are never going to speak of this again. Don’t talk to me in the paddock. Don’t talk to me at all unless we’re in a media event and you have to. I never want to speak to any of you.”

Lando interrupts, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Y/N, don’t you think that’s a little extreme? It was just a prank, that’s all. Just a laugh.”

Pierre looks like he’s fighting back deep irritation at that. You just arch one brow. “Just a prank to humiliate me? You disgust me. All of you.”

You let that silence their arguments and leave the room. You think Pierre might have tried to follow you out, but Charles blocks him. You hear the Monegasque’s voice spilling out into the hall as you leave, telling Pierre not to try it. She obviously doesn’t want to see any of us anymore, mate. Best to leave it be.

You wish it was that easy for you. It takes everything in you to make it to your private room in your team’s motorhome and lock the door behind you before the tears finally come flooding out. You’d like nothing more than to fly home and spend the next several days and nights comatose in your bed, but, as if things weren’t bad as is, there’s still a race tomorrow, so you won’t be able to go anywhere for at least twenty-four hours.

The lights go out, the chequered flag waves some time later. You’re not entirely aware of what happened in that race, nor of how you were able to drag yourself out of your room and back to the starting grid, but you blink once and you’re on the podium, so evidently everything worked out. You watch the clips later, the commentators are all in shock. They haven’t seen you race so aggressively in years. It bordered on cruelty.

Pierre, by contrast, had his worst race in months. It seemed like he was hardly in charge at all, more like the car was controlling him. He wasn’t even in the points. No one can understand it. You refuse to think about it any longer.

Another race weekend comes and goes. The interviewers are confused– wasn’t it just last week that you seemed so much happier than you are now? You’re surly in press conferences, answering questions in a clipped and emotionless tone. They’d say you were totally checked out were it not for the fact that you’re still getting good results.

They don’t know everything, of course, but some of the more eagle-eyed reporters are starting to put the pieces together. What’s up with you and Pierre Gasly? Someone asks one day, Weren’t you two good friends recently?

We’re drivers, you reply, Aren’t we all used to pretending things are better than they are?

When you see Pierre after that press conference, he looks dizzy, totally unsteady on his own feet. You don’t meet his eyes. You’re not sure that it’s guilt, but it feels something like that anyway. Everything is wrong.

Pierre is asked about it later, of course, and he’s a little more candid than you were. He never names names, just says that things happen sometimes, things he wishes he could take back. Pierre has to take a moment to get himself together after that to answer the next question, a fantastic display of emotion. How charming of him to wear his heart on his sleeve when he’s just ripped yours out of your chest.

The pattern repeats the next few weeks. Pierre, Charles, Lando, and Esteban try to talk to you on multiple occasions, but you brush them off with nothing more than a well-placed glare and some good avoidance tactics. Even then, you should have known that your cold shoulder couldn’t last forever.

Of course it would be Charles who gets you at last– if there’s anyone on this entire damned grid who could get why you are the way you are, it would be him. Il Predestinato knows what it’s like to have the entire world expecting something of you, and he doesn’t lie easy because of it. Charles finds you late as the sun is setting and won’t let you avoid him forever, even though you try.

At last, you give up and stop making him chase you around the paddock. You’re sitting at a table outside your motorhome, shaded by a sunbleached umbrella and sipping at a bottle of ice water long since turned lukewarm.

“He regrets it, you know,” Charles says by way of introduction.

You refuse to raise your eyes from your intense study of the bottle’s printed plastic label. “He’s going to have to do a lot better than sending his best friend to talk for him, then.”

Charles scoffs. “Oh, come on. You know you haven’t let him get close enough for that.”

Your water bottle receives a very irate glare. “Wonder why that would be.”

Charles sighs. “We were wrong, we all know that. It was a stupid thing to suggest and even more stupid to keep it up that long.”

You look at him at last, anger gone and replaced by mere disappointment. From the way Charles shifts in his seat opposite you, you think that might be an even worse threat for him to face. “Then why did you keep it going? If you knew it was so wrong? Pierre was committed to your prank for weeks. Why didn’t any of you call it quits?”

“He didn’t want to,” Charles admits, “not because of the dare, because he liked being around you. Did you know he was mad at us the day you caught us? He didn’t want us anywhere near that room. Told me privately it’s because he wanted the first kiss for himself, not for anything related to the dare.”

That makes you go silent. The fan whirs overhead, pushing your thoughts around in slow circles somewhere above you. “That makes no sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Charles grumbles, “Happened, though. Regardless of what he thought at the start, Pierre doesn’t want to hurt you. Not anymore.”

You turn towards him. “Is that supposed to make how he felt at the start okay somehow?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, but it makes the ending better, I think.”

He’s right. You lean back against your seat, contemplative. Charles takes this as his cue to leave. He pauses once before he’s out of range, then calls something else back to you. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I told you that, by the way.”

You can’t fight a laugh. “I won’t tell a soul you’re on my side.”

He smiles at that. You’ve missed him, you realize, him and the rest. You thought distance would save you from feeling quite so badly about all of this, but it just cut you off from your best support. Charles disappears into the crowd, a bright flare of red in a multitude of shifting shades, and for the first time since that treacherous discovery, you start to wonder what it would feel like to forgive.

Pierre is in an awful state. So Esteban has told him about a thousand and one times, at least, each utterance delivered with the same derisive snort. Pierre knows he’s supposed to bounce back from this, pretend it was all just a prank, but he’s known better for months now. It might have been a prank the first day, even the first week, but not after that.

Here is the problem:  Pierre, in all his cocky eagerness to show his friends up, failed to consider that Y/N might be able to charm him as well. He might have gone a little overboard in his attempts to make her fall in love with him, perhaps even to the point where he fell in love instead. He isn’t sure when he first realized he had feelings for her, but Pierre is more than certain it was before Y/N discovered she felt the same way.

What a ruin to his reputation. Pierre hadn’t minded, though, not when they were still on speaking terms. He liked the way they could talk for hours, how Y/N’s guard slipped when she started to trust him. She had a way of smiling when she was sure no one was about to stab her in the back. Pierre misses that. He’s sure he’ll never see it again.

Unable to stand Esteban’s dismissive attitude anymore, Pierre picks himself up from where he’d been wallowing in misery on the floor of the Alpine motorhome. He doesn’t know where he’s going yet, only that it needs to be somewhere without a single soul in sight. Still, when he passes aimlessly through the halls and almost runs into another driver, he supposes he should take it as a testament to his distracted mind that he doesn’t realize it’s Y/N until they’re already standing still and staring at each other.

Too late, Pierre remembers she hates him. His eyes drop to the floor and he mumbles an apology, ready to keep moving. She told him not to speak to her anymore; Pierre can hardly fault her for that, and he won’t use his presence as a weapon if that’s the one that will cut her the deepest.

He is surprised, then, when Y/N reaches out to stop him before he can get too much farther. Pierre looks at her hand locked around his, then back up at her.

“Wait,” she says, “I want to talk to you.”

“I thought that wasn’t happening anymore,” Pierre says. It occurs to him that it probably sounds cold, but she speaks before he can try to explain what he meant.

“Things have changed,” she says.

That’s enough to convince him to stay, if not for the feeling of her fingers still on his than anything else. He doesn’t miss the way her gaze keeps flitting from him to the occasional Alpine aide walking down the halls, and to save her, Pierre jerks his head towards a door down the hall.

“There’s an empty room to the left, we can talk there.”

A brief flash of relief crosses her face, and Y/N lets Pierre lead her over to the room. He leaves the door open to give her an easy escape, but she closes it after her anyway. No onlookers. Maybe that’s for the best.

Y/N sits down in one of the chairs, legs crossed, arms folded. She may be here with him after so long, but that doesn’t stop her from throwing up all her walls, even the physical ones. It hurts to remember how easy it had been to be with her that last day. Pierre plays those moments on repeat in his head– the balcony, the breeze, the words, the kiss. He can never stop the later scene from following, how her demeanor had changed when she realized the truth. He didn’t think he could hurt one person that badly. He was wrong.

She’s still silent, so Pierre assumes it’s on him to start talking. “I’m sorry,” he begins, “I know that’s not enough, but it’s true. I was stupid. I should have told you before–”

Regret clogs up his throat and he can’t choke out a single syllable more. Y/N looks suspicious. “Before the kiss?”

“Before anything,” Pierre clarifies, “when we were talking at the beginning. I never should have let it get so far. Doesn’t mean I minded when it did,” he remarks half to himself, “but I should have done it on my own terms.”

When he dares look up at Y/N again, he swears she seems slightly more open, but that could just be his wishful thinking. “Do you mean what you said in the interview?” She asks suddenly, “Do you wish you could take it back?”

“Yes,” Pierre says in a rush, “I want a do over. I want to do it right. I would have done all of it without ever talking to Lando or Esteban or Charles first. I would have done it for me.” His voice is quiet. “I would have loved you without making it a lie.”

Y/N’s eyes are wide, but she isn’t afraid or angry. “Second chances come around more often than you’d think,” she whispers.

“Even for me?” Pierre asks.

She nods once. “Even for you.”

They’re both on the podium that day. His race engineers can’t explain why Pierre’s luck has suddenly had this tremendous turnaround. He can. She can, too. Sometimes your heart likes getting in the way if it knows you’re doing something wrong. It’s a good thing, then, that he’s finally doing something right.

She’s waiting for him once the interviews are over. They’re both exhausted, half drunk on the champagne in the air and wholly pleased with themselves. The sun goes down, and Pierre is happy. It is just as easy as that.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[jinx-xxed]

Sick Days

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Sick fics are my absolute fav thing ever!! Also idc if they didn’t have showers just let me live in this lie, maybe they’d figure it out with magic or smth idk

Summary; Ban takes care of his overworking, sick partner.

Content; Reader is sick, pretty domestic and fluffy, Ban is very sweet, Ban plays doctor basically

Wc; 1.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

It’s late morning when you trudge down the stairs in the Boar Hat tavern, one hand holding the railing to keep yourself balanced. The day outside is gloomy, the normally bright blue sky now covered by dark gray clouds threatening rain. It matches how you’re feeling perfectly.

You’d woken up feeling like shit and as much as you’d wanted to turn over, pull the blanket over your head and ignore the day, you couldn’t. You have a mission to do with the rest of the Sins and you aren’t able to just miss it, even though your head is pounding. Your whole body feels strangely cold despite the fact you’re both a fire wizard and incredibly resistant to frigid temperatures, and all of your senses feel muffled. To top it all off, your nose is stuffy.

You find your place at one of the tables within the main room of the tavern, groaning slightly at the way your body aches any time you move. You don’t know why you were feeling like this and it’s pissing you off. You have a mission to go on, damn it, you weren’t going to let some sudden illness make you stay behind.

You barely register when food is set in front of you but you were still able to mumble a ‘thank you’ to whoever had brought it. You pick at the food and take only one or two bites, the meal putting a little warmth back into your body.

Your name is suddenly shouted loud enough to pierce through the cotton in your brain.

Your head snaps up—making the pounding in your head worse for a brief second—as your captain exclaims your name. It seems you’d been so lost in your muddled mind that you didn’t comprehend him trying to get your attention by saying your name five times. “Yes?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Meliodas asks, concern creasing the features on his face.

“I’m fine.” You say simply. Before you can react, the blond is pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. He shakes his hand when he retracts it like he got burned, a wince on his face.

“Jeez, you’re burning up.” He puts his hands on his hips with a sigh. “Well, I’m taking you out of this mission then. You’ll need to stay here.”

You stand, holding back your groan at the way your head throbs and limbs ache. “What?! I’m fine, I can go on the mission. I can’t just- I can’t stay here doing nothing.” You insist.

He looks at you with a raised brow. “I’m not letting you go on a mission like this one when you’re obviously sick, that would just be irresponsible. It’s best that you stay in the tavern and rest, alright?”

Everyone currently in the Boar Hat knows that wouldn’t happen though. Even if you’re sick, you would continue to work on whatever you could. No matter how you felt, you’d keep working. You see illness as an obstacle that you simply had to walk around and ignore, despite how bad it may be. However, if you did keep working, you would only get sicker.

Meliodas was clearly a little conflicted. He wanted his teammate to rest but he wasn’t sure if anyone else could stay behind-

“I’ll stay with her.”

Ban comes to stand beside you, putting an arm around your waist to keep you stable because you’re swaying on your feet. You don’t hesitate to lean against him.

Meliodas begins to protest, “Ban we’ll need you on this mission-“

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine without me. Besides, you want them to get better don’t you?” Ban asks with a dumb smirk on his face, knowing he’s won when the captain narrows his eyes slightly.

Meliodas sighs. “Fine, you two stay here then. Everyone else, let’s get going, we don’t want to be late.”

King and Gowther follow Meliodas out where Diane is waiting. Elizabeth goes to follow as well but she briefly pauses before you and Ban. “Sir Ban, please make sure they get better! All the medical supplies are in the bathroom upstairs.” She tells him.

“I got it, princess, don’t worry.” Ban reassures her. She nods and hurries to catch up to the rest of the group.

He then looks to you who’s leaning heavily against him now, looking half asleep where you were standing. You jolt back to full consciousness when you hear the door shut behind Elizabeth. “Alright you, why don’t you go upstairs and take a hot shower? I’ll get some soup ready.” He tells you gently.

“Mmkay.” You mumble before slowly heading upstairs.

You did as he said and got into the shower, the water scalding hot. It feels nice against your freezing body, the steam rising in the room also helping to clear your stuffy nose. You stay in there for a long while.

» ☆ «

Ban understood the fact that you were probably taking a pretty long shower, as you usually would if you’re sick, but eventually it became so long that it was almost concerning. Surely the hot water would’ve run out by now?

The soup was done so he decided to go and investigate. He heads upstairs and doesn’t hear the shower running and upon further investigation, he finds the bathroom empty. He calls your name, voice echoing down the empty hallway. He doesn’t get any kind of response. Maybe you’d fallen asleep?

He goes to the ladder attached to the attic where your room is. The trapdoor leading into the attic is open so he peeks inside, looking for his sickly comrade. He finds you in the right corner of the room closest to the door where a desk is tucked against the wall. As he pulls himself up fully into the room, he sees the papers scattered on your desk that you were attempting to read over and work on.

“Seriously?” He demands, his annoyance evident in his tone.

You jump at his voice, looking over to him. “What? These papers have to get done-“

“For fuck’s sake, you’re sick.” He goes over and lifts you out of your chair by your underarms. You let out a sound of protest but don’t fight him as he sets you down on the floor. “The damn papers can get done when you’re better. The reason you’re probably sick in the first place is because you overwork yourself, you know.”

“I’m just doing my job.” You insist.

“Well, your job can be put on hold for a little while. Now go downstairs, there’s food waiting.” He orders. You sigh but listen to him, then descending the ladder. He follows shortly after and shuts the door behind him.

You sit at one of the tables and a bowl of the soup he’d made is put in front of you, steam rising from its surface. You take your first bite, the warmth spreading throughout your body. It’s delicious. It has plenty of ingredients that make the soup full of flavor but still make it perfectly nutritious for your sick self.

“Do you like it?” Ban asks as you begin eating more of the soup. He sits next to you at the table, also giving you a glass of water.

You nod, swallowing another bite before speaking. “Yes, it’s really good. As expected of something made by you.”

He smiles at the praise, resting his cheek on his hand. “I’m glad.”

You finish the bowl of soup relatively quickly and then get seconds before you’re satisfied. Now after taking a hot shower and having the warm soup in your stomach, you’re feeling incredibly tired. Ban can tell by the way your head dips a little. He stands with a small smile, “ready to go to bed?”

“Mhm.” You respond.

He lifts you off your seat with ease, holding you bridal style. You nuzzle into his chest, eyes closing as you’re carried upstairs. He brings you into his room; that way it’ll be easier to keep an eye on you and get to you if you need anything.

He lays you gently in his bed, pulling the sheets over you with an extra blanket added on. “Do you want the cold towel for your head?” He asks softly. You nod.

He quickly goes and gets the towel which was lightly dampened and then frozen. It’s folded so it can easily fit against your forehead. A small rumble escapes from your throat in thanks as the cooling sensation brings some relief to your headache.

He’d closed the curtains beforehand and turned off the light so it was a dark as possible in the room. He kisses your cheek and brushes hair off your forehead. “Sleep well.” He murmurs before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

You curl up under the covers, perfectly content in their comfort, and let sleep finally take over.

[mountsgirl]

Shower-Dominik Szoboszlai

In honour of last night’s Carabao Cup win

Pairing: Dominik x fem!reader

Summary: Dom makes it up to you

an: hi guys, so this is my first fic, hope you like it! based on a disscussion with a very lovely anon warnings: smut

'Come on, what was I supposed to do? Not talk to anyone?' he sighed, not understanding why you were so mad. “Dominik, she was all over you and you did nothing to stop her!” you say. The night out at a club in Liverpool with some of Dominik's teammates left a bitter taste as you had to watch girls throwing themselves at your boyfriend the whole time. 'You're just insecure, always thinking that I’ll leave you' your boyfriend says without even thinking about what came out of his mouth. You don't even try to argue with him, while holding back tears, you left your shared kitchen and decided to take a shower in order to calm yourself down. As you turned on the shower, you cursed at how cold the water was and quickly turned it to a hotter temperature. Tears started streaming down your cheeks with Dominik's words echoing in your mind. As he realized what he did and how this must’ve affected you, Dominik opened the bathroom door to find your silky black dress and underwear thrown on the ground and the shower cabin all foggy from the hot water. He stripped himself from his clothes and opened the shower cabin, much to your surprise. 'Get out!' you say firmly but he doesn't move and instead he kisses you hungrily, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer, feeling all of him. 'I'm sorry baby. You're the most gorgeous woman in my life and no one can take me away from you. I was an idiot, let me make it up to you szerelmem' he says getting down on his knees before you. You let out a moan as he smirks and puts your right leg on his shoulder. He traces your inner thigh with his lips, nibbling on your sensitive skin as your breath hitches in your throat. The next thing you feel is his tongue on your core, drawing endless moans of pleasure out of you. 'So wet and sweet, just for me, right baby?' 'Dominik please' you whine at the loss of contact. 'Please what?' 'Please touch me' you say and he doesn't need to hear anything more as his mouth make contact with your pussy again. Your thighs tremble at the pleasure you feel from his touch and your only reaction to the dirtiest sounds of him eating you out are the shameless moans you make. He holds your thighs with his strong hands, preventing you to close them as you feels your orgasm approaching. 'Dominik' you scream his name as he brings you to your climax, licking the juices running down your thighs. You let out another moan as he rises and kisses you like the world was ending right then and there. You wrap your arms around him as he holds you by your waist whispering in your ear 'I love you and I'm sorry, I didn't meant anything I said'. You kiss him again 'I love you too'.

[soffsh2]

Tender Touches

A/n: it’s my first time writing an actual fic, hope it’s okay. Minors DNI. NSFW

Plot summary: After having a long practice, Shauna just wanted to relax in the bath but she’s plagued with thoughts of her teammate. It doesn’t help that she has small reminders all over her body.

Shauna groaned a little as she bent over, adjusting the faucet on her tub so that the water coming out billowed steam. As she stepped back from the bath she was running, she began to undress so she'd be able to soak her aching muscles. She began to remove her shirt and caught a glimpse of her body in the mirror, newly adorned with many bumps and bruises. After having the most physically enduring scrimmage of her entire life during practice, she just wanted to unwind and clear her head. Yet all her thoughts kept reverting to you, the reason behind all of Shauna’s bruised skin.

You and Shauna had never been on the friendliest terms, and neither of you could ever fully explain why that was. You’d just butt heads so often, during matches or just in everyday practices, which Jackie would always be less than thrilled about. She’d go on about how the bickering between you and Shauna had to stop for the good of the team, or at the very least to try and keep it outside of practice. It seemed to Jackie that after yesterday's practice ended with no fighting between the two of you, a friendship was for sure on the horizon.

However, it seemed you had decided to make the intensity of your continued distaste for Shauna very clear during the practice match. Being on opposing teams allowed you to get as rough and physical as you pleased while defending her, and you decided to take full advantage. Adorned in your blue pinny and Shauna in her yellow one, you took every opportunity to throw Shauna onto her ass. Which was more times than she’d care to admit, but the growing bruise on her backside was evidence enough. You disguised every hit, every trip, and every shove as a means of stopping her from getting a breakaway to the net. God, you were such a pest, Shauna thought as she stopped surveying her body in the mirror and continued to undress. She removed her final pieces of clothing, turned off the faucet, and lowered her sore body into the hot water.

After a short period to adjust to the temperature, she laid back and closed her eyes. Shauna wanted desperately to empty her mind of everything that pertained to the day's practice and all the frustration that had built up from being so jostled around. She tried so hard to just focus on the comforting feeling the warm bath gave her, but no, thoughts of you were still circling inside her head. She reopens her eyes as she relents that the day's scrimmage will just be at the forefront of her mind. And how could it not be, Shauna reasoned. She’d received more bruises from you, her own teammate, than she had ever gotten from any opposing player in actual games.

She sank even lower into the water and let her anger stew further as she thought more and more about you. How you were guarding her long before she was passed the ball, and how she was stripped of it immediately because of how dirty you were playing. The worst part about all of it was that after you’d knock her to the ground, steal the ball, and start running off, you would turn around with the most smug grin Shauna had ever seen. She was sure that she would’ve been fine with you, your shoving, and your shoulder checking, if only you didn’t finish it off with that dumb smile. Shauna felt herself getting angry once again at the thought of every instance that day that you had landed her flat on the ground. Every time she’d look up, you’d flash her a proud smirk before running off. Even in the relaxing heat, she could still feel her face twitch with annoyance. You had looked so full of yourself, God, how she had wanted to wipe that smirk off of your face.

She folded her arms onto her chest while she sat and continued her musings about you. After a quiet contemplation, Shauna is able to get a hold of all the negative emotions and is left with a harsh truth for her to admit to herself. Even she could admit it was kind of… surprising to have you completely run her body into the ground like that, though not untypical. She’d seen you do it to opposing players during actual matches and found it pretty impressive how easily you’d tripped up others. She could appreciate the pure skill it requires to take someone down like that, and she guessed the muscle it also required. Shauna had just never thought she’d be on the receiving end of it. She felt herself take a deep inhale as she stayed with the idea for an extra moment. The longer she had sat and thought about the way you manhandled her at practice, the more aware she became of the effect it had on her.

Yeah, maybe the way you grabbed at her and pushed her down would’ve been arousing for Shauna in other contexts. And maybe she liked the way your fingertips bruised her waist as you pawed to get a good grip on her body to slow her down. There could even be a chance she was into all the shittalking you were doing under your breath, which only Shauna could hear. But, no, she didn’t like you, and that smug grin you shot her after every push you gave her cemented that thought in her brain.

‘I mean, who did you think you were?’ Shauna questioned herself as she found her hands twitching in the water with the desire to do something she knew she shouldn’t do. She hadn’t even noticed her legs, which she’d subconsciously spread. Shauna paused for a moment. She cannot seriously be thinking like that about you right now. She hated you, and that dumb look on your face, and the way that her entire body had marks left by you. Or she hated the way they made her feel. She takes a deep breath; her normal breathing suddenly wasn’t giving her enough oxygen while she debated the idea.

Shauna moves her hand further down her body in the water, reaching its destination at the apex of her thighs. Her fingers ghost over where she wanted them, and the shift of the dispersing water sends minor sensations to all her most sensitive areas. Shauna decides she could maybe calm herself down like this; she had assured herself she’d only be doing it to settle herself and nothing more. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she began to move her fingers through her folds, gently playing with herself while she tried to occupy her mind of anyone other than you. But still, as she increased the pace of her fingers slowly, it's your name that rolled off her tongue when she moaned. It’s your calloused hand that she’d imagined touching her. And it’s your smug grin that Shauna imagined looking up at as she got more and more physical with herself. Her digits work at her clit with a torturous pressure as more thoughts of you consume the forefront of her mind.

She tried her best to imagine several other people before she decided that she could use the thought of you to get off this one time. Then she can go back to hating you when she’s done. Plus, it’s no fault of Shauna’s that she found the way that you handled her exciting. So with newly self-given permission, she allowed herself to fantasize about the person she despised the most, you.

Shauna opened her eyes slightly to gaze at the bruises your hand had left on her waist from when you forcefully pushed her body out of the touch lines. She poked at her discolored skin with her unoccupied hand as she writhed against the hand between her legs. The tenderness caused Shauna small bouts of pain as she jabbed at herself, so forceful that even when she removed her grip, there was still residual pain left. Her mouth hung open slightly at the sensation, letting out little pants of breath in between moans. The slight pain made Shauna more desperate, as she began to grind harder into her hand for more pressure. The hand that prodded at the bruises on her hips moved up to her chest to grope at her breasts. She closed her eyes, let out whispers of curse words at the contact, and felt the soreness of the freshly tender bruises that she had made worse.

Shauna could feel her legs start to tremble in the water as she fucked sloppily into her fingers. She could only imagine how smug you’d look if you could see her now, as she touched and fondled herself at the thought of how you grabbed her. The way you’d tease her for how heavy she was breathing, how much she wanted it, and how fucked out she’d look. The way you'd make even more bruises form on her body from love bites or sucking hickeys all over her. Shauna’s head became too heavy to hold up as she leaned it into the side of the tub and finished herself off. She whined out a small cry of your name as she finished and slowly worked herself down.

Shauna laid there for a moment in the now-cold bath water, her legs shaking and spasming as she brought them back together. She slowly rose and rinsed herself off with the shower head before she stepped out and drained the tub. Shauna wrapped herself in a towel before making her way to her bed, so she could sit down. She took a second to process her thoughts before she decided that she was sure that she still hated you. Absolutely positive that all that nervous energy she felt about you was simply arousal and nothing more. But while Shauna gazed at her legs, she couldn’t deny the feeling of delight she got as she admired the marks you’d left on her. And maybe she went into practice the next day with a new agenda to piss you off so she could keep getting these small reminders of you.

[ma1dita]

heavy hitter

part one can be found here!

this was a request, find it here!

words: 3.5k (yall im so sorry)

summary: james potter x beater!reader James might’ve won the game, but he needs to let people know he has the girl too.

warnings: smut. minors DNI. afab!reader, p in v, pwp, unprotected sex (wrap b4 u tap) locker room sex, creampie, oral (m!receiving) reader is a brat… this is nasty don’t look at me (jesus tagging this is crazy)

a/n: …. what plot? i wanted to write angst again but got bored so… *jazz hands* erm…. this is my first smut fic, i’ll go crawl in a hole now

(posted 12/19/23 not edited will return)

—

Hitting the shower was James’ chance of washing his anger away before seeing you again tonight. He always gave quidditch his 110% percent, but something animalistic rose out of him when he saw you get manhandled by Wilkins, his team keeper. And regardless of the Gryffindor win, he was planning to chew off his ear later, whether it be with extra laps at the next practice or a good ol’ fashioned wallop to the head. But this anger wasn’t due to a foul play, not even because you got hurt (your arm was clearly fine since you used it to swing your bat at Wilkins’ head after). What got James mad was the fact you ripped your jersey.

No, actually, it was definitely because of what happened after that.

He’s not the type of boyfriend to decline you showing a little extra skin, but any fantasy that entered his mind was quickly cleared away when he saw you re-emerge from the locker rooms wearing your teammate’s jersey. McGonagall said it would be the only way to let you play the rest of the game since there’s no magic allowed on the field, but ever the rulebreaker, James thought that was absolute bullshit.

He rinses the shampoo out of his mop of curls as he thinks about that tosser whose name he can’t even remember. The guy was way too eager to give you his jersey, flirting with you at practices and just not taking a hint. Everyone knew you’d been dating him for a while now, and of course, James knows you can handle yourself, but there are just some things he can’t let slide. Namely, assholes that can’t take a hint. Also, he was a benchwarmer at most. Cocky motherfucker.

Watching you fly around with some other guy’s last name on your back did terrible things to James’ ego. The blur of suds pool at his feet, circling down the drain as he takes a deep breath. He’s got it bad for you, but luckily you like him enough to call him yours.

The Gryffindor locker room was empty by now with everyone too eager to celebrate their win. It was his last year as team captain and at Hogwarts in general, so he should be right up there drinking with all of them, but James really needed to let off some steam.

“Babe?” Your voice calls from the doorway, echoing against the empty walls. Condensation drips off the door handle as you take a peek to see the one shower going in the corner. What was taking him so long? You saw the rest of the team leave without him and they were trying to drag you to celebrate with them, but with your boyfriend still drowning himself in the stall….

“Over here love,” he calls out, hearing your sandals clomp against the wet tile as you turn the corner.

“You almost done? We have a party to get to, Jamie.”

The falling water makes it a bit hard to hear you, so he pops his head out from behind the curtain and squints at your frame. You giggle and pull his chin closer for a few quick kisses.

“Is that your jersey?”

His lips feel so soft against yours as you get distracted, slipping your tongue into his mouth instead of giving him a proper answer. Godric you’re good at that. James’ wet hand quickly pushes the curtain open grabbing at your ass and tucking you against his naked body, soaking the front of you in the process. A muffled yelp escapes you as your body adjusts to the temperature and the feeling of his semi-hard dick against your front.

“No, coach still has mine and I have to return this to Steven after.” You say calmly, smiling against his cheek as he sucks at your neck. He would’ve enjoyed getting lost in the scent of your still-damp hair, but your statement makes him stop as he bites at your pulse point. A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Why the fuck are you still wearing whatshisname’s jersey?”

James’s hands trail up your back to feel the embroidered letters against your back, and he swears his eye twitches. The incredulous look on his face makes you hold back your laughter.

“Steven. You know him! Don’t tell me this is a big deal for you, baby. You know I couldn’t magically fix mine during the game…”

Your hands trace down his slippery biceps as he unconsciously ruts against your belly, cock now at full attention from rubbing up against you. Your nipples are pebbled up under the material of the jersey, soaked from your less-than-innocent embrace, and he lifts a hand to brush over them, making you groan.

“Definitely not. I wouldn’t get jealous of a prick like him…” He scoffs, hands going back down to fist the fabric over your hips, “Not a big deal at all.”

“Mhmmm… I’ve got a way to make it up to you, even if it’s not a big deal.” You muse, fingers reaching to tease his swollen head as James exhales harshly.

“I’d hope this is a big deal for you, baby. Would want nothing more,” he breathes, pushing your back against the wall.

“You just want me to say your dick is big.”

The both of you laugh before he tugs the jersey over your head, ripping it in the process.

“James!”

He shrugs, burrowing his head into your breasts and lapping at your right bud. You moan, shoving your shorts down past your ankles before pulling his hair away from your chest.

“Mmmm…fuck, babe. I’m supposed to be congratulating you right now!”

Your hands push at his torso slightly as you fall to your knees, placing yourself onto your sandals. Gentle hands graze his thighs, as he feels your nose bump into his cock. The water hits James’ back perfectly, and the sensation of your hand pumping and sliding along his length makes him almost feral, shutting his eyes in pleasure.

“You played so well today baby… deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Your tongue slips out from behind your lips to lick the underside of his length, holding yourself there as you look up at him to answer. Droplets cascade down his pecs as he breathes heavily at the feeling, precum leaking from his cockhead. James hisses as you tap him against your tongue.

“Fuck, baby. Need your mouth right now.” He can feel you grin against his girth before his cock disappears into your mouth, hot and warm, and his instinct is to grab your hair. Goosebumps rise on the parts of him untouched by the shower. Your throat rumbles with a groan as you let him work himself down into your throat, the resistance waning as your jaw slackens. Cheeks hollowing, your lips retract with a pop.

“Like that, Jamie?” you say, reaching around to massage his balls as your tongue continues to play with the long vein that runs along the surface of his cock. It’s hard to fit all of him in your mouth, fingers barely able to wrap around it, much less the rest of you. His hand massages the part where your mouth hinges open, squeezing your cheeks around him as he fucks into you with a bated sigh.

“You always take me so well, baby. You can handle more, that’s it,” he pants, biting his lip as you concentrate real hard on letting him use you, the corners of your eyes watering. His heart is racing now as his hips piston to the noises that come gurgling from your throat and he almost slips before his reflexes help him catch the back of your head before it bangs into the stall wall. A loud moan sputters from around his cock as your eyes roll back, and the lack of oxygen makes you press your fingernails into his quads harshly.

He pulls out from between your lips, cradling your chin as the both of you catch your breath, coughing a little.

“You okay? Mouth so good I lost my footing.” All you can do is laugh hoarsely as he grins boyishly before you realize he’s not wearing his glasses.

“Can you even see me? S’bit cold down here, Mr. MVP.”

He pulls you up, strong hands lifting you at your armpits until you stand in front of him, reaching over to grab his glasses from the shower shelf. You slide them on as water sprays onto them slightly as he shifts, blinking at you in clearer vision.

“There’s my boy,” you whisper, cupping his jaw and slotting your lips between his once more. You could kiss James forever, all muscles and hard exterior, but everything else, his lips down to his insides feel and go soft for you. He groans lowly and it rumbles between the both of you, before the slick motions against your core remind you of something else that’s really hard right now.

“All for you,” he sighs, hands gripping onto your hips with a force that you think they’ll bruise tomorrow, and you love having physical reminders of him wherever you go. Huh, maybe he is jealous. And if not, he’s possessive. It makes your cunt pulse harder just thinking about it, your arousal helping his head slide nicely against your bundle of nerves and the softness of your stomach.

“I’m yours, you know that right?” Not replying, he instead inhales the sweat from your neck, following it with a dip of his tongue up towards your ear.

“James.”

Your boyfriend scoffs lightly, a small smirk on his face as he pulls your chin up to meet him at eye level. You’re so gorgeous like this, just letting him do what he wants to you. Always so reassuring of his needs. His thumb rubs against your bottom lip before you open your mouth and swirl your tongue around clean skin.

“Just feels like I have to remind you sometimes, pretty girl. Can’t let everyone walk around thinking you’re not mine.”

“I wouldn’t mind a reminder. Some marks would be nice too,” you grin, biting at his lip while your hands stroke him slowly, your own knees buckling in excitement.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Brat.” James hoists your legs over his hips, slamming your back into the wall as you squeak. Sandwiched between the warmth of his body and the cold of the shower wall, your eyes roll back as he eases his cock between your dripping folds, moans falling from your lips when he sinks into you, inch by inch.

His girth always has a way of stretching you open, and every time feels like the first as he taps at your thigh reminding you to take deep breaths. Fuck the party, you could stay here all night.

“Fill you up so nicely…we’re almost there, good girl.” His voice shakes, wanting to slam the rest of him straight into your cervix.

Your hands are gripping his shoulders until you finally feel him nudge the deepest parts of you, and you sigh when it all fits. Perfect.

“Always so big Jamie. Almost too much.” He kisses your cheek, hips starting to create a rhythm as he mutters into your ear.

“Not too much for my girl. Just perfect. Perfect pussy for this cock. All for you,” he grits, skin sliding and slapping as your thighs get pressed into your chest with the intense force he’s plunging into your guts.

“James, fuck….fuck you’re so deep! Feels so fucking good!” Filthy whimpers leave you and he loves the sound of your desperation when he’s inside of you like this. Too bad there’s no one else here to hear it. If Steven could only see you now.

“Such a good cunt for me to use. Only mine.”

He gasps for air as his feet slip against the tile once more, his heavy breathing fogging up his glasses, and his hold on you just as tight as your grip on his cock. Shit. His heart almost fell through his ass.

Your eyes open to see him struggling and a giggle escapes your mouth as you watch the stupid fucked out look on his face.

“How do people even fuck in the shower? This shit’s dangerous. Don't wanna maim the Gryffindor captain again.”

Your laughter sends jolts down to his throbbing shaft and he shakes his head with a smile, parting the curtain with one hand before carrying you still impaled on him towards the metal benches, placing you down softly.

“At least you finally admit it was your fault, baby. Could barely see straight for a week after.”

He wipes his glasses between his fingers before gazing at you lying across the bench, legs spread and ready for him. What a woman.

“And here I am hoping that when you’re done with me I won’t be able to walk for a week after,” you breathe, hands squeezing your tits as his pupils dilate further at the sight of you. What a fucking witch!

“Fucking hell, you know I love you, right?”

James positions himself over you, kissing your ankle as he sheathes himself back into your sex, resuming his brutal pace and hurtling you quickly towards your peak.

“Y-yes! Merlin, fuck I… looove you!” you wail, hips rolling to meet his and his balls strike your ass hard with each thrust. Your insides are being shifted around with him spearing your cervix like this and there’s nothing in this world that you could name that’s able to compare to how he makes you feel.

Your pussy contracts as he somehow nestles himself deeper, body trembling in this position as he throws your left leg over his shoulder, lips chasing your nipples trying to suck the life out of you, and perhaps that was his plan so you could forget anyone else but him.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, James. Don’t you fucking DARE!” you beg, clawing your way down his back, making him nip at you in pleasure as you draw pinpricks of blood.

The tight pressure of release starts creeping at your core, making you squirm under him but he pins your waist down harder to the bench, the metal leaving prints against your flesh. His hands press harder on your stomach, silently encouraging you to cum and you can feel the imprint of his dick bulging from inside your stomach.

“Don’t struggle for me baby, just let it go. I know you wanna cum…. That’s it.” James praises in a shattered breath, watching you writhe underneath him as he holds you close. Your legs are shaking as your vision goes black for a moment, cunt gushing with release and squirt coats his pubic hair as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You lay there, catching your breath as the stars clear from your vision, and you look up at him stroking himself to the sight of you coming undone.

“Sheesh, look at the mess you made. You okay?”

“More than okay, Jamie. Need you to finish the job,” you tease, toes grazing the skin of his hip and he slaps at your thigh with a smile.

“Insatiable minx. Turn around then, ass up f’me.”

You do as he says, getting on all fours and showing him the perfect round of your asscheeks, covered in milky residue from your recent orgasm, but you turn to look at him when he doesn’t come near.

“Babe?”

His locker clinks open as he pulls a fresh jersey out, walking back to you and guiding it over your head and arms as you smile, pecking his cheek. Your silly boy. There was no way you actually thought you hated him this time last year with how sweet he really is. His large hand grazes the embroidered patches now resting on your back, POTTER, in huge white letters, CAPTAIN, now resting at the base of your spine.

James’ eyes drift lower and he hums at the sight of you perched on the bench, dropping his face to your throbbing holes and taking a long swipe with the flat of his tongue as he savors your taste along with the sounds of your whining. From your swollen clit to the ring of your asshole he’s languishing in a flavor that’s so uniquely you, and he pulls back, smacking his lips.

“Scrumptious. How are you hotter with clothes on?” James grins, taking a playful bite of an asscheek before he slaps it lightly and stuffs you deep, without any further hesitation. Your sarcastic reply is lost in a moan that makes your toes curl.

He works you open onto his cock again, your back arching desperately to be as close as possible and his hand presses you down, sliding up your spine until his fingers curl around strands of your hair. Tits swinging until they’re crushed against the bench, your face is smooshed as you mumble pathetically in his grasp.

“What was that baby? Can’t hear you well…” He spits at you, and if anyone could see this they’d know he was enjoying the sight of you at his mercy. He grinds his shaft against your walls, ramming against your g-spot and you drool like a mindless plaything, greedy for his attention.

“Right…right fucking there, ohmygod!” His cock pummels your cunt deliciously, hands spreading your cheeks wide and the stretch is so good, perfectly stroking the need in your belly.

“You’re so needy, pretty girl. You love it like this, huh? Good thing I fuck you so well, right?”

Merlin, this boy can pull orgasms out of you as well as he plays quidditch. He’s the only person in the world you’d gladly submit and be this pathetically cockdrunk for. Good thing he's yours.

“Yes…yes! So good Jamie. No one can fuck me like you….”

The white-hot sensation digs at your insides as his fingers fall to your clit, rubbing at you just the way you like as shockwaves shake every crevice of your being. He's breathing over your neck, hot air puffing and elevating your senses before they shut down completely.

“Yeah? Then come on my cock again right now. Show me you like it that much. Now.”

Your arms give out, falling completely forward as your body jerks in searing pleasure, pussy fluttering around his cock once more, so intensely. Your hands flail behind you until they find his, and he's pulling you up against his hard chest as he bounces you onto his length and chases his high.

“Give it to me, please, please… I can take it!” You’re screaming now, at the intersection between pain and pleasure but wanting to make sure you can milk him for his efforts. James’ thrusts stagger as he leans his head on your shoulder, biting you as he cums hard.

“I know you can, baby. All yours…” he chokes out.

Thick white ropes coat your insides, wrapping you tight around him like a present until the excess seeps out to the base of his cock. You kiss his temple as James starts to regulate his breathing.

“Fuck. Fuck….” you drag out, the two of you more winded than you were playing the damn game.

“I still have to return Steven’s jersey,” you mumble, and James can’t do anything but smirk at the thought of the clueless boy standing outside your House's locker room while he fucked you senseless a few doors over. What a shame.

—

The two of you walk hand in hand into the Gryffindor common room to a crowd of students cheering for James. The party is well underway and many hands clap his now injured back, to which his grimaces make you bite back a laugh. Speaking of bites….

Sirius walks up to you with two cups of punch, wide grey eyes zeroed in on you wearing James’s jersey and the glaring red marks of your boyfriend’s teeth on your neck.

“Merlin. I thought you two would take time to celebrate on your own but did you fucking attack her?”

You both take the cups out of his hands, searing blushes on your faces and leave Sirius to his own imagination before James whispers in your ear that he’ll be gone for a moment.

“Okay, but hurry back, baby.”

A peck on the lips sends him on his way to walk straight towards that wanker–er, Steven with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Potter! Have you seen–” the dumb boy says eagerly, before James cuts in, “Yeah, my girlfriend couldn’t meet you earlier, sorry mate.”

His hand digs into the undetectable extension charm in his knapsack, pulling out a soggy, ripped jersey.

“We were kind of busy, but you know how to fix that don’t you? You’ll need it to keep you warm on the bench for the rest of the season after all.”

It plops sadly onto the floor in front of the guy, and James looks at him, hazel eyes conveying what he knows he doesn’t have to remind him anymore.

“Thanks again! Appreciate you looking out for my girl.”

He walks away from Steven, who’s sputtering sad excuses and your eyes meet his as James finds you near the drinks table.

“What did you do?” You say with a lifted brow.

“Nothing, pretty girl. Just making known what’s mine.”

—

"you are pressing against me

like i press flowers

against the pages in my book.

you are kissing my neck

and it feels like the start of forever.

i want to touch you until my palms burn."

-amirae garcia

taglist (OPEN): @jsjcue

[suckerforblondeathletes]

can you write a cc fic/blurb where she’s with connor but realizes she’s catching feelings for you(iowa wbb player!) and isn’t sure what to do, so she goes to kate, calls monika even, and then shows up at your door talking about how she wants to be with you and has broken up with connor despite what people might say?

Maybe it is you - Caitlin Clark .1

Caitlin Clark x teammate reader

Warnings： C*nnor (a warning himself) | angst to tension | toxic relationships | this might trigger some people so please be aware!! | foul language | mentions of blood | cheating? | WLW allusions |

Summary: After a heated argument with Connor. Caitlin drives to your apartment in tears and you comfort her, one thing leads to another, the tension between the two of you gets brought up.

Caitlin Pov:

Being with Connor in the beginning was great. He was sweet, kind, thoughtful. Until he wasn’t. He started spending more time on his phone. Away from me, pretending like I don’t exist really. So I started hanging out with others. Especially number 8 on the Iowa Women’s Basketball team. She was the sweetest girl I think I have met. Her beautiful hair was always perfect. Even if she thought otherwise. Now that I think about it. She’s just perfect. She’s thoughtful, kind, really funny, and very, very pretty.

“What the fuck is your problem Caitlin.” Connor yelled in her face when she caught him smiling at his phone for the 5th time at the dinner table. “What the fuck is up with you lately.” I say, throwing my spoon down on the table and leaning back in my chair. “Here you fucking go again. On this weird shit thinking I’m cheating.” He says as he runs his hands down his face. “Well I don’t know what you want me to expect when you act like this. How do I know if you aren’t?” “Maybe I fucking am Caitlin. Which I’m not. But if I was, you couldn’t do anything anyways. What would your fans think? Huh?” I feel tears brim my eyes as he finishes his sentence. “Just answer me. Are you cheating on me?” I ask, my voice shaking as I try to speak. “SHUT THE FUCK UP CAITLIN. YOUR SO FUCKING INSANE AND POSSESSIVE.” He says as he stands up and grabs my jaw. “You’re fucking sick.” He spits as he walks away. Leaving me to hold my tears back at the dimly lit dinner table. I taste blood in my mouth from trying to hold my tears back.

I get up quickly and grab my phone, and rush out the door into the pouring rain. I don’t hear him ask where I’m going. He wouldn’t care. I feel a shortness of breath and dizzy as a drive in the rain to her house. I pick my phone up with a shaky hand and call dial her number.

-

Reader Pov:

“Hey Caitlin. I was just..” I say before noticing her shaky breath. “Caitlin? Caitlin what’s wrong?” I ask frantically, so many thoughts run in my head before she answers. “Hey um.. c-can I just come to yours and talk.” I hear her sniffle and try to catch her breath. She has called me before after a fight with Connor, so I assume this is the reason. “Babe I need you to breathe. Okay?” I call her babe when I’m serious. Or trying to calm her down. I started doing so after her games when they weren’t good. She just calmed down when I did. I never thought much of it.

I hear her take deep breathes on my command and she tells me she’s here. I run outside in the pouring rain. In her hoodie and a pair of Nike shorts. She gets out of her car and I run to pull her in my arms. I shush her to stop her crying and quick walk her inside my apartment. We don’t speak. We understand each other. It’s always been that way. Just one look between us and we understand what the other is thinking.

“Come, I’ll start a shower for you and make you food.” I say as she finally calms down and sits on the wooden stool in my dining room. We’re both soaking wet and cold. I rush to the bathroom and get the water to a warm temperature before I walk back into the kitchen to throw something in the microwave. I look back and see her sitting there at the island that’s off my kitchen counter. “I missed you” she says, not even looking up. “I missed you too. I always do.” I give her a soft smile before walking around to her. She’s sitting at the perfect height so I can wrap my arms around her wet head. As I cradle her head in my arms. She wraps her arms around my waist.

I feel like we’ve been here for hours before I pull away. “Let’s get you in the shower” I say with a soft voice and walk her to the bathroom. Her face is still sunk in and looks almost empty of color. I take her ‘Iowa Basketball’ sweat shirt off and throw it into the basket. “Let me know when your finished.” I say on my way to turn around when she grabs my wrist. I look at her, thinking something is wrong. “Can you join me?” She speaks softly, almost a whisper, looking into my eyes for an answer. “Yeah, yeah of course.” I say taking my clothes off too. There is this look in her eyes, I just can’t pin point what it is. She gets in first and I get in behind her. The hot water running on her chest as she looks down.

I come up behind her and snake my arms around her waist as I lay my head on her back. I try to comfort her by pressing soft kisses onto her muscular back. Doing so, she turns her head to the side to look at me over her shoulder. “I never liked him much.” Her face doesn’t change as I say that. “I think you deserve better. Someone who would care for you, love you.” I say as she turns around to look at me. She still says nothing as I wrap me arms around her neck. Hers going to my waist to pull me closer into her. Our faces get closer and she speaks. “Would you?”

－

[404-art-found]

How many times does Buddy's crew end up... replacing... the body that buddy uses? It happens at least once, as seen in nacham, but does it continue? do any rumors about their crew start?

(im bad at expressing how much joy i have at your series when i ask questions, but once again your fics are some of my favorite pieces of lethal company fanart ive seen)

(above screenshot was from a teammate asking a Buddy Lore Question that had been rambled about extensively in a server(it was whether or not Buddy could learn to talk(with a fresh host yes it could in theory speak for some time before the body deteriorates too much))) (very relevant photo)

Its host body will always wear out, as it decomposes and the mask roots eat away at it. The constant movement and exertion, extreme temperatures of the moons (especially the paid moons the crew typically go to), and stresses of daily Company life means every body lasts about three weeks. Though, the hosts last longer over time as Buddy gets more efficient with growing into the body and staving off rot.

There are so many people who work for the Company, and the death rate is so high, they are just as unknown as everyone else. People drop off the face of the universe all the time. Its crew get very good at replacing its host bodies.

Trial and error. When to send out a call for a new crew member, and the least populated Gordion ports to pick them up from. Keep the mask, sell the old corpse, so Buddy can stay in the ship. It trusts them to let itself be removed and kept safe in its dormant state for a period of time. Its crew are always so happy to see it "wake up" in a new body.

"why do you have a mask sitting there like that. did you just shut the door."