#have you met boxing club captain | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvt0kki · 1 year ago

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𝟎𝟎𝟏 | 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞

She don't give a fuck about nobody

And she got her whole crew poppin'

And she bend it over like she got no back bone

🎧 six feet under - the weekend

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ s.w.m masterlist ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ taglist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧

001 | next

pairings : ot8 x reader, (with a focus on Mingi and Wooyoung this chapter)

wc: 7.2k ( not fully proofread yet so sorry for any mistakes 🥺)

cw: mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, clubbing, alcohol, futuristic stuff that I had to google cause it’s been years since I watched Star Wars or scifi movies, nud1ty, hints of violence, hints of crime, slow burn, eventual smut, lots of teasing, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns and y/n, fembodied reader, mentions of segss work ( mostly just stripping), hints of violence

REMINDER : my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.

a/n: this is long I know 😭 but YES, look forward to part 2! Also I would really appreciate and enjoy like your thoughts in the replies or in my ask box hehe we can fangirl together for what’s to come

The former noble turned galactic nomad sighed as he stared out at the endless darkness littered with twinkling stars that maybe was a part of another system. It wasn’t that he found his life on the spaceship boring, in fact, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

When his childhood best friend and also former crowned prince of their home planet, Jupiter, showed up after a year of escaping and denying the future laid out for him by the King, he had to know what he was up to. He had to talk to him and hear all about the life outside their planet and without the protection of their standing, the dangers, the perils, the thrill of the unknown and more.

Wooyoung then had not believed that his best friend, glowing with the freedom he had given himself, was right there in the bustling city’s downtown market. He had thought he had hallucinated and mistook the cloaked figure to be someone else but when his feet carried him to follow him, he was able to confirm that it was indeed his best friend.

Their reunion gave Wooyoung a chance at the same freedom Yeosang had sought after and a chance at meeting the band of brothers that he found that shared the same ideals. On his own volition without even consulting the Captain of the crew that Yeosang had become a part of, he decided that he was going with his best friend. Plus, what better way to create a reputation for himself as former noble turned space pirate? He liked how that sounded.

Which leads us now to the present…

Now he was part of one of the most revered and hunted group of pirates of the galaxy. Not what he had in mind really but he liked the life. The thrill, the danger and the excitement of it all. The not being told to act a certain way nor have his whole life planned to every second.

Was he buddy buddy with a bunch of rogue, violent and defiant pirates? Yup. He was one now too and the crew were like his brothers.

Sure he’s only known them for six months but there’s only so much you could do in a ship when you travel from one planet to the next, never ever really having a permanent dock. The ship was their home, his home…and the members of this crew were friends that he felt he was fated to meet.

But he hasn’t met one person of the crew…and he didn’t know that.

“Woo. Wake up. ” A firm hand shook him by the shoulder “We just docked at Xileon.” The calm and pleasing voice of their youngest slowly being heard in his ears as he gained consciousness.

“X-Xileon?” Wooyoung muttered, brows furrowing as his eyes blinked and squinted, adjusting to the soft light coming from his open door.

“Yeah, little fun rest stop. Well fun for me,” Jongho chuckled, excited to see all the cool technology and city life Xileon offered. He’s only ever been once when he had been an apprentice. Xileon was every science, engineering and tech geeks favorite planet, other than that the bustling fun night life it offered attracted all kinds of travelers across the galaxy. “C’mon, Captain says we’re free to do what we want while he contacts one of his informants.”

“What if I want to sleep, Jongho?” Wooyoung whined, sitting up despite his words.

“I know you’re always up for a party.”

“Now where did you hear that from?”

“Yeosang.” He shrugged, getting up from the edge of Wooyoung’s bed. “Come on, everyone’s going .” He clapped the raven haired man on the back, the impact making a little ‘oof’ escape Wooyoung.

“Yeah…yeah,” Wooyoung made a face, rubbing the back of his neck as he woke up. “I’ll be there…just wait a bit. Let me freshen up.”

“Don’t make us wait too long,” Jongho’s lips pursed in a childlike way, making Wooyoung chuckle a bit. As strong and intimidating as Jongho was, he was still their youngest and had an inner child that came out now and then.

“I won’t…I don’t want an earful from you anyways,” he snickered, playfully jabbing at him.

Jongho glared at him before leaving.

Xileon was a colorful fluorescent modern, futuristic jungle of a planet. The most high tech flying vehicles and motorcycle cruisers sped by the roads and streets, the avant-garde and neo-futuristic skyscrapers and buildings glimmered during the lively evenings of *Night City*. Clubs and the grandest of parties happened every night. The pounding music, the flashing lights and glittering champagne, and the vast choices of alcoholic concoctions called many for a good time but underneath all of that, it provided many individuals a guise to have dealings of a far more less than lawful nature.

If you’re lucky, Night City’s police would turn a blind eye. Just make sure you don’t get caught or were one of the most hunted wanted individuals of the galaxy.

Luckily for ATEEZ, they were never really caught…except for that one really disappointing and poor depiction of Mingi’s profile that was being plastered in every back alley or lamp post. It was a good thing it looked nothing like him and that that day, Mingi had been wearing an oversized leather cowboy hat that casted a shadow over his eyes so the wanted poster was practically useless. All Mingi had to do was not wear that hat ever again…he grumbled about it for a bit but he had let it go eventually.

The eight men stood in line for one of the top venues to experience the night life the city offered.

While their Captain and First Mate were here to do conduct business, the rest decided to enjoy the establishment as well as make sure they were there should anything go south. But as they entered, guided by a bouncer with a metallic high tech prosthetic arm, Hongjoong dressed in an exquisite Aegean velvet suit tailored to his frame like a glove, turned to them once more to remind them that this whole affair was likely not to be any trouble.

“Don’t worry too much and try to enjoy yourselves,” he ran his fingers through his dyed azure hair before adjusting the lapels of his blazer, some tipsy club goers passing by to leave eyed their captain’s slightly exposed skin. The rest of them garnered looks as well the more they walked into the place, the music pounding and colored lights flashing. “If anything,” he tapped by his ear, earrings glimmering as they’re caught in the lights, the little communication device Jongho fashioned for them hidden behind his and their earlobes. “I’ll call you.”

“But, really, please do enjoy yourselves.” Seonghwa smiled, raven dark hair sweeping perfectly to frame his handsome face. “We rarely get days like these. Have fun.”

The newest addition to their crew grinned like a cat who got the cream, eyes looking over the dance floor with a glint of mischief and the full intent to indulge himself in pleasures he was used to having. “Don’t worry, Seonghwa. I plan to do just that.” He winked at the women who looked his way.

“Oh, he’s in his element.” Yeosang chuckled, throwing an arm over his best friend. “Don’t get into that kind of trouble, Woo.”

“It’s trouble they want anyways.”

“Were you always this cocky?” Mingi’s nose scrunched up at his friend’s obnoxiously flirty behavior.

“Don’t act like you’re not a flirt when you want to be.” Yunho teased the crew’s gunner, poking his side.

“I know I said to have fun,” Hongjoong spoke as they made their way through the spread wide and lively establishment, passing several tables, booths and private rooms. “But do behave.”

That was their last exchange with the group before Seonghwa and him continued down towards the part of the club with another set of bouncers that led to the private and premium rooms. Straight to business while the rest stood by the railings that overlooked the dance floor and bar below, eyeing what entertainment tonight had to offer each of them.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Jongho turned to San, their agent, who stayed close to them, rather protectively, almost like a bodyguard. His posture was straight yet elegant with an air of quiet and unquestionable confidence, almost making one think that he may have come from royalty.

“Places like these…” San’s cat like eyes scanned the room, processing possible exits and blind spots. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Maybe some alcohol in your system will help loosen you up.” Wooyoung came to his side, eyes on the dance floor eying for a partner for one night, the ocean of people reminding him of the days he’d sneak out his father’s manor to party with the other elites.

“He doesn’t hold his liquor well,” Jongho stated, crossing his arms over his chest, a group of what seemed to be innovators, inventors and scientists out to have a good time catching his eye as one of them boasted their interactive hologram that displayed a model of an advanced hover cycle. “I’ll be doing some mingling.” He clapped Yeosang on his back as he made his way to the group cooly while simultaneously getting a shot from a hostess passing by.

“Seems like he’s done this before. Not so baby as I thought he was,” Wooyoung hummed with narrow eyes, watching Jongho easily join the groups conversation and a random woman sizing him up flirtatiously.

“We should get a table,” Yeosang suggested.

“A booth.” San inputted. “Specifically in that corner.” He gestured with a tilt of his head to the far right corner of the dance floor below. “I can keep an eye on things there better.”

“To give Sannie some peace of mind, we should follow his request.” Yunho placed his hands on their agents broad and stiff shoulders.

“I’ll get us drinks.” Mingi decided, heading down the aesthetically pleasing steps to the bar. His tall, muscular figure was clad in a fitting white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows topped with a vest that cinched at his waist, boasting his defined v-tapered back. Little did the people who gave him double takes knew, beneath the leg of his trousers, strapped to his ankle was a knife and at the back of the waistband was a gun.

With Yeosang’s charm, the boys were able to secure the corner table booth that was a bit further away from the dance floor, it was private and one that definitely were for VIPs. What they liked was that it was close enough to where the party was but far enough that they can speak to one another while the music drummed at a less overwhelming volume. San sat took his spot on the dark violet cushioned seat that gave him a view of all the exits and entrances and for now, since it was just the start of a long fun night, they decided to have a couple of drinks and some food while enjoying each others company and the music.

“You need to relax,” Wooyoung tutted at San, unbuttoning another button of his shirt to expose more of his honey skinned chest. “When was the last time you fucked, huh?” He asked the former assassin.

“W-what?” San stuttered, eyes growing wide and ears tinting pink at the sudden question. For such an intimidatingly handsome man, he sure flustered easily.

Yunho looked over at San with concern, the last time San had been with anyone…was before Wooyoung had joined the crew…before—

“You never really told me your type?” Wooyoung wiggled his groomed brows, relaxing in his seat as he watched people dance, bodies pressing against one another, some fitting perfectly and rolling in tandem with whomever they danced with.

Yeosang quietly observed his friends, savoring each sip of his drink and mindful of their interactions.

“I-I don’t have a type.” San murmured, reaching for a glass from the tray Mingi returned with, who settled next Yunho on the other end of the couch.

“San’s not really the sleeping around kind of person,” Mingi’s deep voice almost melded with the low hum of the bass music.

“And you are?” Wooyoung scoffed at their gunner, his newly dyed pink hair catching the eyes of those that passed by them.

“Pleasure is pleasure,” Mingi shrugged his broad shoulders, ringed fingers cradling his whiskey sour. “But,” he reached for one of the thinner silver chains around his neck. He pulled out a specific one with a pendant. “I’m a loyal man.”

San stared at the pendant, a wave of melancholy washing over him as he recalled memories of who that butterfly pendant belonged to and who it signified.

“You’ve got someone?” Wooyoung’s interest was piqued immediately, forgetting the women he had been eying across the dance floor and now staring at the pendant that Mingi displayed proudly and pressed to his lips.

His smirk was answer enough for Wooyoung.

“It must be hard for them.”

Yeosang tilted his head. “Why’d you think that?”

“Because we’re rebels, bandits/pirates? Shall I go on and list the colorful achievements of our crew? Plus,” he turned his gaze to the dance floor, locking with a pair of eyes so magnetic that even behind the intricate lace masque she wore, just a small moment had him looking for them when he lost it. “Isn’t it cruel to make her wait?”

Mingi’s reaction caught Wooyoung off guard. He scoffed with a slight amused smirk on his face, as if what Wooyoung had said was funny.

“She’s not doing all the waiting.” San spoke without thinking before Mingi could reply, his eyes transfixed on the pendant until it disappeared back beneath Mingi’s shirt. His eyes returned to observe the happenings around him.

Wooyoung wondered what San meant but he didn’t have enough time to think much of it when another round of drinks arrived.

As the night progressed, the drinks emptied were quickly refilled and Wooyoung danced, mingled and flirted like he did back in his old life. Seonghwa and Hongjoong after having met with their informants had joined them at their table, while Wooyoung and even Yeosang danced, the rest deciding to play a game of pool.

Wooyoung was not blind to the wandering eyes that were on him and his very attractive crew members. Many flirted with them but it was never more than that. His friends entertained their advances but were quick to turn them down when they asked or suggested for more.

But he didn’t worry much about it, not when he was searching for that pair of eyes he locked with earlier. Where was she? He would catch glimpses of her now and again but she was always a distance away from him, and every time he tried to head to her direction and he lost her in his peripheral, she was gone.

Was he hallucinating ? He wasn’t even that drunk.

Soft fingers brushed the nape of neck, nails scraping delightfully on his skin. He knew what that meant. Grinning and letting himself go, he turned to entertain another flirty party goer, only to meet the masked beauty he was searching for all night.

Sporting what clearly was a shoulder length pink bob wig with bangs, her eyes were hidden behind a white lace masque and she wore the most alluring Mona Lisa smile that haunted his mind since he had seen her.

Wooyoung with his experiences back in his and Yeosang’s home planet, girls like her, like you, who came to happenings like this dressed almost incognito, meant that you were here for a very good time that not even your identity can be disclosed.

He smirked and placed his hands on your waist, pleasantly surprised to feel warm skin against his palms. With how packed the dance floor was, he couldn’t really get a good look of your outfit but from what he could see, you wore a bejeweled bralette with straps that were lined with tiny crystals and brushing over his knuckles as you both swayed were long beaded shimmering strings hanging by the band.

So who were you? Some elite socialite whose reputation was too good to ruin in a scene like this? A noble like he was looking for a good time? A princess of some other planet?

“Hey,” your sultry voice, like honey to his ears. “My eyes are up here.”

Your arms hung over his shoulders, giving the handsome stranger a quick look down as if you hadn’t been observing him all night.

The buttons of his black silk dress shirt revealed his toned chest, honey skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat beneath the party lights and his pretty neck was wrapped in a matching silk black choker with the extra fabric dangling in a classy fashion.

“And mine are up here too,” he teased back and pulled you against him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh?” Glossy pink lips stretched into a smirk and shimmering eyes locked with his. “And why would you be doing that?”

“Because I’ve decided,” he turned you around, his hands on your hips keeping you in place against his own as the two of you danced to the music. His lips were hot against your ear while your hand rested on the back of his neck, rolling your hips sensually. Wooyoung smirked against your ear.

You wanted him just as much as he did.

“That you’re mine for the evening.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head slightly to give him access to your neck, your eyes falling to his group of friends by the pool table.

“Not everyone gets that privilege, baby.” He husked, brushing his soft and hot lips along the column of your neck, breathing in your addicting scent.

Wooyoung wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol and the heat of the dancing crowd that was getting him so easily riled up but something about your aura was so magnetic and intoxicating. Was it because he hasn’t slept with anyone since he left Jupiter?

“Well aren’t you arrogant.” You raked your nails through his hair, shivers going down his spine and sending pulsing heat to his crotch. “Was that supposed to flatter me?”

His eyes shut at the delicious sensation of your touch. He wanted to get you alone, heck, he would have you on the dance floor if he could. He almost forgot how good it was to fuck after months of traveling the galaxy. He wanted to fuck. He wanted you.

“Don’t lie to yourself and say you’re not.” He brushed his lips on your earlobe, his hot breath against your ear and the way his hands roamed your body felt good.

God, how did his friends put up with his cocky flirty attitude?

“Is that what you want me to do?” You rolled your hips against his, completely aware of the growing hardness pressed against your ass as he ground his hips to the music. “Lie?”

“Trust me sweetheart, there’s many things I want you to do.”

“And what are those things?” You purred whilst tugging at his hair, your voice and your gesture spurring his desire further.

He gripped your hips tighter and lowered his lips to your neck, to the spot just below your ear. He pulled you closer to his body to feel the heat of your form on his own before letting his hands roam freely again, feeling the exposed skin beneath the beaded strings that teased every spectators eyes.

“I want you,” he growled against your skin, pressing his lips just a little bit. “Legs spread apart with my head between your thighs.”

The warmth of his hot lips and the lust in his words undeniably sent heat to your core, and the image he painted with his words was so tempting. Plus, the fact that that was his response set him apart from other men. Usually the response you’d get were more about their pleasure never yours.

You hummed at the thought before turning around to face him and meet his eyes. He wore that flirtatious grin and his eyes were blown with lust. They had a look in them that you found so sexy, you couldn’t help but play a little.

“You’re very bold.”

“I’m honest.”

“And what’s an honest man such as yourself doing here?” You caressed his cheekbone with a gentleness that made Wooyoung’s heart skip a beat.

“What do you know about honest men?”

“Well for one, they don’t spend their time in a place like this.” You swayed to the beat closer to him. “Secondly, an honest man always ends up with an honest woman. I’m far from honest.”

“Then maybe we’re just two dishonest people.”

He watched your pretty lips stretch into an endearing grin, their glossiness and plumpness pulling him closer to you.

“Maybe we are.” Your sweet breath fanned over his lips, your foreheads touching, so dangerously close.

“I wonder what you taste like.” His thumbs caressed the skin of your waist.

You grazed your lips over his just a little and Wooyoung could get a little taste of cherry from the gloss you wore while you slid a hand between the two of you. Your fingertip brushed along the exposed skin of his chest then the silk of his button up shirt before they lingered at the waistband of his trousers. Before he could even think about pressing his lips on yours, you turned your cheek and leaned in his ear. Your right hand skimmed over the hardness of his crotch, making a cute little gasp escape the strikingly handsome man.

His cock twitched beneath your teasing touch.

“Like heaven,” you purred.

His forehead fell on your shoulder as he bit his lip, holding back a moan as you palmed him through his pants.

“But…” your touch left his hardened member, the loss of friction making him groan. “Not everyone gets that privilege.” You echoed his words back to him.

Before he could react, his head dizzy and spinning from both the alcohol and your hot touch, you slithered your way through the crowd.

His eyes watched the pink of your hair amongst the dancing and close proximity of people. You headed to the back, to the dark red velvet decorated motif which was below the second floor where the premium private rooms were. You nodded at the two bouncers who guarded the velvet draped entrance, who smiled back at you.

Did you work here?

Before you disappeared behind the curtains to what he assumed was the private entertainment rooms, you casted him one last glance. It was like you were telling him to follow.

Wooyoung wasn’t the type to be whipped by just anyone. He knew what was worth his time or not but with you, he wasn’t even thinking. His feet moved on their own to follow you like he was under some spell.

“Hey, I found you.”

Jongho entered his peripheral.

“Huh?”

“Captain said his informant got us a private room as a treat.” Jongho’s hand on his shoulder started to guide him through the crowd, towards the dark glowing red area.

“For what?”

“For taking care of the man who was his competition. Even though that wasn’t our intention.”

Wooyoung frowned, adjusting his pants to hide his erection. Not really how he wanted to spend the rest of his night but if Captain calls, you do not make him call twice.

“Ugh,” he ran his hands through his hair, missing and imagining your touch. “Fine.”

If he was lucky, he was going to find you…

“This is…odd.” San spoke, sat on the curved plush couch between Yeosang and Mingi of the rather compact red room with just enough space for ten people.

“Why is that?” Jongho asked, pouring himself another drink, the golden liquid in his glass like honey.

Hongjoong made himself comfortable at his spot on the left curve of the couch, legs crossed classily as his eyes stared at the empty little platform in the center of the room, the silver pole glowing cause of the mood lights..

“Isn’t entertainment like this supposed to be for one set of eyes?” San wondered out loud.

It’s not that he hasn’t ever experienced this before. He has. It’s just more private when it’s him and the performer. He never thought of doing an activity with his friends…though they have indulged in some acts on the ship when a certain someone was around.

“Yeosang and I used to do this all the time,” Wooyoung shrugged nonchalantly, making his best friend’s eyes widen at how he threw that info out so easily. “Oh c’mon, they don’t care about your Perfect Prince Yeosang reputation.”

Mingi chuckled at their interaction and Wooyoung narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you a loyal man? Now I feel even sadder for your girlfriend.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Mingi pushed his black shades up higher to shield his eyes. “I am a loyal man cause no matter what, no one can compare to her. I wouldn’t be in this room if Captain’s informant wasn’t a dickhead who will take offense if not all of us accepts his ‘treat’.”

“Also, this club has a policy of not touching the dancers unless they consent,” Seonghwa added. “We just enjoy the show the lovely lady assigned to us will put on, tip her extra and that’s it.”

“And we can’t just leave why?” San sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because the informants goons will report back to him if we turn down his gift,” Yunho explained, knowing the character of that rich man all too well. “Hongjoong still needs to be on his good side til he gets information of the location of the Cromer.”

A soft knock on the door silenced them and all that could be heard now was the vibrating hum of the music that played in the room.

“Boys,” Hongjoong spoke lowly, casting them a glance. “Play nice.”

Jongho raised his glass at that, leaning back into the other end of the curved seat.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Wooyoung stopped breathing. No fucking way.

Too lost in his own surprise of coincidence, he wasn’t able to catch the way his crew mates interest were suddenly piqued.

With you only being the one standing, Wooyoung was able to see you in your full glory. The purple lilac bralette bedazzled with sequins cupped your breasts so perfectly and the crystal beaded strings caught the fluorescent light in a way that made you shimmer and appear like a goddess. Behind the curtain of beads, all of them could see your naked skin but compared to when Wooyoung had danced with you earlier, the silk mini skirt you wore was gone.

Feeling all their eyes on you, you smiled coyly at their Captain, stepping your foot onto the circle platform in the middle of the room, showing off the skin of your legs that were elongated by your silver heels.

“Shall I get started then?” You asked, running a finger from your ankle to the purple garter on your thigh, aware of how their eyes followed the trail of your chrome lilac painted nails.

“It’s you.” Wooyoung breathed out, eyes tracing the waistband of the sorry excuse of an underwear that matched your bralette. It was tiny and flimsy, and almost left nothing to the imagination, except for what your pussy would look like. Wooyoung wanted to know.

Yunho glanced at his friend. How did he know you?

“Oh? Well if it isn’t, Mr. Arrogant.” You gracefully stepped your whole body onto the platform, circling around the pole while playing with the little crystal studded purse you brought with you.

Your words made Jongho chuckle.

“You work here?” It was a dumb question, Wooyoung knew that.

“What does it look like?” You shrugged your shoulders cutely before throwing your tiny purse to the curved platform behind them where you could play around some more if you wanted to.

“How long have you been working here?” Hongjoong asked, taking your attention from Wooyoung.

Smiling his way, you slowly sunk to your knees and ran your hand on your left thigh where your purple lace garter was.

The man before you smirked knowing what you were silently telling him.

Hongjoong dug into the inner pocket of his blazer and in between his fingers was a 50 Zaire bill. He leaned forward and without touching your skin, slipped the bill beneath the garter.

“Three months.” You answered him, sensually getting up to lean against the pole with your arms over your head, elongating your body for their viewing pleasure.

“I like your wig.” Jongho commented, eying you with a knowing gaze.

“Thank you.”

Wooyoung watched as you moved seductively on the pole, unaware of how San became completely relaxed and excited at the same time.

“Does all of this turn you on?” Wooyoung asked, eyes raking your body and feeling his throat dry at how drawn he was to you.

“Sometimes.” You purred nonchalantly, bending over a little to show the arch of your pretty back before expertly twirling around the pole.

“Earlier…were you lying to me?” He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs as he tried to meet your gaze.

“No.” You replied, locking eyes with the man in the middle whose hair matched your wig.

He lowered his shades close to the end of his nose, his eyes locking with yours and sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re a good dancer. I had fun.” You admitted still looking at the tall man before you even though you were addressing Wooyoung.

“Are you having fun now?” San asked, surprising Wooyoung that he was interacting with you, his cat like eyes set on you and no one else.

“Because I’m here with eight handsome men rather than the sleazy ones? Yes I’m having fun.” You stepped your heel onto the plush couch, the men making space for you as you stood between Mingi and Wooyoung, your gaze down at Mingi who looked at you with stars in his eyes while the one behind you, going crazy with desire let his eyes wander.

Placing your hand delicately on Mingi’s shoulder, you slowly bent over, giving Wooyoung and Jongho the view of the back of your legs, your ass and your clothed cunt.

“I thought there’s a no touching rule.” Yeosang spoke, feeling himself grow hot, knowing the body his seeing all too well.

“I can touch any of you while I do my business since that’s what I was paid for but none of you can touch me unless I say so. So keep your hands to yourselves unless you’re putting a bill under the garter.”

You traced your finger along the side of your thigh, knowing full well that Wooyoung was watching your every move more intently than the others.

“Are you flirting with us?” Wooyoung licked his lips, mind racing with thoughts of kissing and feeling your skin.

“Maybe.” You winked at Mingi, making him smirk.

“Are you allowed to flirt with us?” Yunho asked this time and you moved to perch yourself on the platform/back rest of the couch.

“Yes I can flirt with you,” you nodded, placing your hands on your closed knees.

Wooyoung driven by desire, took out a 100 Zaire bill from his wallet and waved it your way.

“Open your legs.”

You obliged him, opening them an inch apart, entertained by how impatient he was with your teasing behavior.

“Wider.”

A little bit more.

“Make this worth all our time, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes at his demanding yet bratty tone, you surprised them all by spreading your legs wide, unfolding them into a flexible split on the surface you were on.

“Fuck,” San swore under his breath.

Wooyoung revealed to you another 100 bill. “Show me.”

Looking him dead in the eyes, you pulled your purple panties to the side, revealing your bare mound to their eyes. Some of them swore, some of them let out a groan and some of them just continued to look while they bite their lip. All of their reactions made you suppress an amused giggle, you kind of feel bad for them but you kept a straight face, not wanting to give Wooyoung the satisfaction of winning in the cat and mouse game you were playing.

“Oh baby,” Jongho cooed lowly, the familiarity of the pet name causing a chink in your armor.

“By the way, we can’t fuck.” You threw the rule out there, enjoying the way the handsome man you danced with was breaking at the seams.

“Why not?” Wooyoung scoffed, eyes on the pretty pink folds of your pussy.

“I’m a stripper not a whore.” You adjusted the panties back to cover you and you closed your legs, deciding to crawl to the side where Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho and Yeosang was.

“Like I told you earlier,” you could feel Wooyoung’s eyes on your ass. “Not everyone gets that privilege.”

Mingi swiped the bills from Wooyoung’s hand and handed it over to Yeosang, who nicely slips it beneath the garter. You thanked him.

“Now, Captain,” you turned to Hongjoong, who was looking at you with his signature smirk and his pretty brown eyes shimmering with amusement. “Tell me, where on earth did you find this arrogant, cocky and bratty thing?”

Wooyoung frowned at the sudden shift in your tone. The way you spoke with Hongjoong was as if you two were familiar with one another.

“Blame, Yeosang.” Hongjoong sipped his whiskey.

“He’s not as bad as you think, love.” Yeosang sweetly spoke to you, his hand moving to tuck a strand of your wig behind your ear to get a better look at you.

“He’s just a little dramatic,” Mingi inputted, tapping at his thigh and like a pet called to their master, you moved yourself to Mingi’s lap, straddling his hips.

“More dramatic than you?” You pouted cutely, running your hands through his pink hair. “So…how long did it take you all to know it was me?”

“Not long. We know your voice anywhere.” Seonghwa answered, quietly admiring you with just a small smile on his face. “But it is a big surprise to find you here out of all places.”

“Hi baby,” you couldn’t hold back your smile anymore as you cupped Mingi’s face with your hands. “Did you miss me?”

“More than you could possibly fathom.” Mingi replied, leaning in to kiss you but you leaned back.

“You can’t kiss me. Well…not here. They’re watching.” You tilted your head to where Jongho sat. “They can see us but they can’t hear us.”

“There’s CCTV on the right corner of the ceiling.” San told the group.

“W-wait. Wait a god damn fucking minute.” Wooyoung exclaimed, looking at you, settled on Mingi’s lap like you belonged there. Were you Mingi’s girl? What were you doing in a place like this? “You all know her?”

You pursed your glossed lips and turned to them, feigning hurt. “You guys didn’t tell him about me?”

“It was a topic that didn’t come up.” Yunho admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s not our fault anyways, Mingi was gatekeeping you.” Jongho added, making the big man in front of you pout, a reaction that made Wooyoung reel at the sight. It was unfamiliar to see their intimidating gunner all soft and not…scary?

“When did he join?”

“Three months after you departed on your mission. We had to make a stop at Jupiter and Wooyoung recognized Yeosang, and he followed him, and now he’s one of us.” Seonghwa answered, eying the size difference between you and Mingi.

“And none of you mentioned me?”

“Mingi was gatekeeping you.” Jongho repeated, making everyone but Wooyoung laugh. He was still trying to grasp the new information of how you were Mingi’s lover and a member of the crew???

“Sure he was.” You rolled your eyes, moving from Mingi’s lap to the round platform to continue your little show for them.

“What are you doing undercover here?” Hongjoong asked, placing another bill on the platform to keep up with appearances and you bent over sensually to pick it up.

Was Mingi okay with this? Wooyoung glanced with wide eyes at their gunner. Was he okay with all of them seeing you like this?

Mingi was watching you with desire. He was reclined so comfortably on the couch, his thighs spread apart as he bit his plump lips at the sight of you entertaining them in the sexy skimpy number you wore. Was this a kink of his? Wooyoung wondered, unable to stop the way his face scrunched at his many unanswered questions.

“Because the information Vix won’t give you, I was able to get.” You told Hongjoong with a smile, and the leaders smirk morphed into a grin. “It’s amazing how flowery words and too much alcohol was all it took. I didn’t even have to take my top off.”

“Good cause I would’ve gauged his fucking eyes out if he saw what was mine.” Mingi growled, hands closing into fists to restrain himself from holding you to him.

“Will you?” Jongho confidently suggested with smirk.

“Will I what?” You coyly smiled, acting innocent.

“Take your top off?”

“Was seeing my pussy not enough for you?”

Wooyoung couldn’t believe the conversation flowing in front of him. He was painfully hard but his confusion and shock had his mind a mess. He didn’t know what thought to entertain or what he wanted to ask.

“Nothing is ever enough when it comes to you, doll.” Mingi muttered, tilting his head a little to the side as if to get a better look at you.

“So you have what I want?” Hongjoong casually glanced at the CCTV keeping watch of all of you.

“Yes I do. The timing of everything is kind of funny. It was Vix I was supposed to be dancing for tonight,” you told them, twirling around the pole. “I was going to get rid of him for you since he’s not of use anymore then I would’ve found a way to get to Xeres since that was your next destination for a restock of supplies on the ship.”

“Well it seems destiny is always in our favor.”

“So shall I finish him off?” San asked, rolling up the sleeves of his button up.

“Will he be any trouble to us if we let him live, angel?” Seonghwa turned to you, licking his lips when you were on your knees, sitting prettily before them.

“He’s not much of a threat. We should be more worried about his boss because he asked for me after I finish with you boys.”

Seonghwa leaned over to add more bills to your garter and San’s defensive posture softened.

“Which is why I’m amazed at the timing of finding all of you here tonight.”

“Is it the first time he’s asked for you?”

They saw your eyes flicker with fear for a split second and you shook your head.

“But he scares me.”

Mingi and San’s aura darkened at your words. It took a lot for you to be scared by someone.

“He knows a lot of things he shouldn’t know. He mentioned and boasted about the Academy when I met him. I was sure then that my cover was going to be blown.”

“So what’s the plan now?”

“Well since I hacked into his data systems earlier in his penthouse just above this club and took more than I came for. At exactly 2:27 am, the club will black out and we can make our escape then through the back door here thats used usually by the dancers to get in and out quicker for shifts.”

“What did you take other than the information about where the Cromer could be?” Hongjoong called your attention while his hand raised slightly in a gesture that the rest understood except for Wooyoung.

“Jongho, can you please hand me my purse please?”

They watched as you opened the bedazzled flap of the purse and took the bills beneath your garter and stuffed them inside, giving Hongjoong a glimpse of a glowing crystal that was one of the most sought after items of the galaxy.

Hongjoong only shook his head with a smile and you decided to turn to the new crew member.

“So, Wooyoung, right?”

He was caught off guard by your sudden attention.

“It’s nice to meet you and I hope we can get along well,” you warmly smiled at him, your pretty face glowing beneath the colored lights.

“Two minutes,” San checked the time on his watch.

“Oh, fun.” You giggled, sitting on the edge of the platform.

“Can you even make a run in those?” Wooyoung glanced at your very high heels, trying to remove the image of your pretty pink pussy that you had flashed to them.

He remembered your exchange from earlier.

What do you taste like?

Like heaven.

It was against his morals to want to fuck someone that was someone else’s lover. You were Mingi’s and Wooyoung couldn’t deny the fact that he was burning with jealousy with the thought of you being touched by Mingi.

“She could kill in those,” Yeosang answered for you. “So back door?”

“End of the hall, camouflaged with the wall.”

“I missed you so much baby.” Mingi groaned getting up and placing his large hands on your waist.

“Me too. More than you know.” Your voice softened, no longer in the facade of the identity you’ve been using.

“Ten seconds.” San announced.

“I’m not gonna let you run around like this.” Mingi slid his hands to your hips, biting his lip at the tiny piece of underwear covering the heaven between your thighs.

“Here, Y/N.” Yunho handed you his blazer. “Wear that.”

“Thank you, Yuyu.”

His blazer was like a dress on you and it made you look so tiny. Wooyoung pushed his hair back, trying to ease his frustration of both lust and knowing too late about who you are. He was also a little scared of how and when Mingi will confront him later because he was flirting with you.

“Good to have you back, Y/N.” Was all Hongjoong said before the whole establishment was enveloped in darkness and the nine of you made your escape.

A small squeak came from you in the darkness because Mingi had thrown you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and he carried you easily as you all made your exit.

When the bouncer, one of Vix’s goons, checked the room when the power came back on, he began to sweat nervously at the emptiness he was met with. He was going to be in big trouble.

Jongho hijacked a black van and used it to drive the nine of you to where the ship was docked, which was going to be a solid thirty minutes to get to.

Your soft giggles was a pleasant sound to all their ears as Mingi was all over of you in the back of the van.

“We’re glad to have our favorite girl back.” Seonghwa smiled fondly, watching as Mingi attacked your neck with kisses and his hands tickled your sides causing the very missed melodious laughter to fill the van.

The Vice Captain looked to his left to check on the members all of them well and in one piece minding their own business and checking the parameter if anyone was chasing the crew. Seonghwa spotted Wooyoung staring at you and Mingi through the tinted windows, his Adam’s apple bobbing deeply as he swallowed what he could see was envy mixed with desire.

“You okay there?” He quietly asked their new member.

“Huh? What?” Wooyoung responded as if broken out from a trance. “Oh,I- uh, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Y-yeah. Just…” he paused wondering if he could confide in Seonghwa but the handsome older man’s gentle eyes was hard to say no to. “Just shocked that’s all.” He decided to not share his deep feelings.

Seonghwa knew and could tell that Wooyoung was attracted to you, and he knew he was feeling conflicted for feeling that way especially after seeing how you and Mingi acted.

Wooyoung gave him a small smile before turning to the window again, staring at the buildings they passed by.

As Seonghwa left him with his thoughts, he wondered how he was going to break it to their newest member the true nature of the crews relationship with you. How kind of unorthodox it was….How Mingi was not your only lover but theirs as well.

taglist : @endeav0rsb1tch @eastleighsblog @scarfac3

Thank you for reading! Make sure to like and reblog hehe 💕

#luvtokki;sway with me #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ot8 ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez imagines #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #yeosang x reader #yunho x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #jongho x reader

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Note

I'm not sure if you listened, if not you should it's so funny!

but could you do the reader on Jill's scotts coffee club podcast with georgia, leah and keira when leah whips out the cake? x

decided to make this a lowkey stanners x williamson!reader cause i love gee and she's underrated

colin the caterpillar II g.stanway

"-williamson i see you loitering about! get in here!" you looked up as you heard the ever familiar booming voice of one jill scott gesture you over. you caught georgia's eye as her and keira swiveled their heads, furiously waving you over to join them on the sofa, the set for jills podcast randomly plonked in the middle of the indoor training pitch.

"have you still got media duties babe?" your girlfriend asked, moving the microphone away from her mouth and you shook your head. "right in you come then!" keira moved over and patted the space in between her and georgia.

"is this live?" you asked as you took a seat, flashing a grin at jill and ben as you settled yourself on the sofa, your girlfriends spare arm coming to settle on your shoulders. "-and now we are joined by one of the worlds greatest strikers!" jill started, doing a drum roll on her knees.

"-but unfortunately alessia russo has been dodging my calls so we've had to settle for y/n williamson, round of applause please!" jill joked as you playfully rolled your eyes at the dig, showered in claps from the small crowd around you.

"you know you've never asked me on this show jilly, what happened to being your favourite williamson?" you tutted, one of the production assistants hurrying over to give you a mic.

"i had to keep that under wraps, had to suck up to the captain you know!" jill winked as you grinned, leaning a little more into georgia and crossing your legs. "jill might be the best suck up with the worst success rate we've ever met." keira announced as you and georgia hummed in agreement, ben egging you on to continue.

"she sucked up to sarina and the training team so much during the euros man. she'd be getting drinks, recounting plays, grabbing everyone gels-" you laughed at the memory. "-but then georgia could be on her death bed with cramp and jill would still stay on the bench." keira finished, jill agreeing as you all laughed along.

"oh no sorry interruption cause leah's just bought a colin the caterpillar!" keira gasped as she spotted your sister wandering close by with her birthday cake in hand. "go on birthday girl in you come!" you called out as she came closer, jill eagerly agreeing she sit down.

"cmere love." georgias hands found your waist, tugging you up to sit sideways on her lap as keira shuffled across and leah plonked herself down on the end, your legs half draped over keira as georgias hands wound themselves round your waist protectively and she softly kissed the back of your neck.

you were aware parts of the podcast were filmed but neither of you were bothered, it had hardly been the worlds best kept secret the two of you were seeing one another.

georgias instagram was almost like a shrine to you at this point. the two of you both playing for bayern, much to your north london blooded sisters disgust, you spent everyday together and only fell more and more in love as time passed.

"can we eat it?" georgia asked with a gasp as leah nodded, cracking open the box and gently sliding out the childhood favourite. "i think surely i win best sister for gettin her that?" you clapped for yourself, everyone joining in but leah who rolled her eyes.

"no cause you gave it to me after you smashed a cupcake in my literal eye at breakfast!" leah huffed, handing over the cake to keira after she took a large. "it was your forehead leah honestly! you win most dramatic." you countered, the blonde leaning over to smack your leg for the comment as you grinned.

"now now girls play nice play nice!" jill laughed, re-directing the conversation as keira snapped you off a section of cake which you accepted, happily smashing a large portion into your mouth before holding it over your shoulder for your girlfriend to do the same.

"ah i've never been so happy." georgia sighed contently as the two of you took turns munching away at the chocolate cake. "babe thats my finger!" you smacked her with a yelp as the girl got a little too eager and bit your finger among the cake.

"sorry love, no one's safe when there's a colin round." georgia kissed your cheek in apology, happily accepting more of the cake from keira as your sister offered you her piece, grinning as you snapped off the ears with your teeth just like you'd both been brought up to.

"well this is definitely a highlight of the season. four of englands finest just sat here eating a caterpillar like an apple." ben sighed jokingly as the four of you giggled to yourselves, you leaning back into georgia and clutching your stomach as keira took a large bite right from the middle without a care in the world.

"lee five second rule!" you pointed, voice muffled by the large mouthful of cake shoved in it as your sister scrambled to pick up the piece which fell on the floor, blowing on it and popping it into her mouth with a grin.

"now i know this is audio but for the listeners at home they are literally just picking this cake up and shoving it in their mouth!" jill recounted, shaking her head at the sight. "they're eating it like its a hotdog or something!" ben added on as georgia fed you one of the legs with a giggle.

"that foot was incredible." you mumbled out with a happy sigh, still chewing on it as keira smacked your leg in agreement, opening her mouth to show you she also had one in her mouth as your head fell onto georgias shoulder, again clutching your stomach in laughter.

"imagine if sarina see's this that would be so good. we're over here talking about elite performance-" "-elite performance and now we're just picking up a caterpillar without a care-" "-yeah thats it girls, just shove it in your mush!"

"i eat a kitkat before every game anyway." you shrugged, bending down and snapping off another foot from the half in keiras hands. "do you really?" ben asked in surprise.

"she does! she's done it since she was little, used to throw tantrums like you wouldn't believe when our mum tried to stop her." leah smirked at the memory. "i really did. i'd just find out where she hid them and steal one, i'm too fast to catch anyway once she realised." you grinned once you'd swallowed your mouthful of cake.

"i always leave one in her boots for her to find when she's getting ready now at bayern. you should have seen how much crap she copped her first game, no one could believe she was eating a kitkat before her debut." georgia laughed as you fondly patted her knee.

"i run faster when i've had chocolate!" you shrugged, shovelling another mouthful of cake in as everyone laughed. "i mean the proofs in the pudding there wasn't a euros match i didn't see you not have one and you scored about ten goals!" jill laughed.

"could probablys run a 10K marathon right now, light work!" you teased with cake mushed in your mouth and a cheeky grin, georgia kissing your cheek with a smile as you used your thumb to wipe away some loose chocolate from the corner of her mouth before licking it off your finger with a wink.

"right i'm off!" leah announced a short moment later, standing to her feet and brushing the crumbs off her knee's. "am i taking it?" she gestured to the few small pieces left, packing it up at her friends nods.

"well. he were bloody lovely weren't he!"

#georgia stanway x reader #woso x reader #woso #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso blurbs #engwnt #woso imagine #woso fanfics #georgia stanway #keira walsh x reader #keira walsh

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elsweetheart · 2 years ago

Text

jealous girl — basketball!abby anderson au

synopsis: when the other girls on your cheer squad relentlessly show interest in your girlfriend, the captain of the basketball team — you feel the undying urge to claim her as yours and yours only.

♪ jealous girl — lana del rey (unreleased) ♪

cw: reader is a cheerleader / athletic, girl drama, alcohol, reader gets very possessive, jealousy and insecurity for no reason tbh, angst??? reader cries a bunch what’s new, smut, use of strap on, housewife kink, dom top abby, sub bottom reader, a little bit of overstim if you squint? fem reader, lmk if i missed anything!

an: omg hi! i’m so nervous to post this omg. i hope you like the route i took this down! reader can be kind of annoying but stick with it. minors you are not welcome here so don’t interact and ageless blogs you will be blocked. also please don’t ask for a part two! there will not be one! anyways hope you enjoy it bbs ! likes and reblogs welcome ♡

Winner. Scholar. First place.

And that was just the first shelf of Abby’s trophy cabinet. She’d been given the premier student accommodation. You know, the apartments they reserve for their most promising students. Sleek grey cabinets and polished floors, a kitchen to die for — it was no wonder you were barely ever at your own shitty little dorm. Every tri coloured ribbon that hung proudly beside her winnings wore a gleaming gold pendant on the end — just another display of her success. Walking around her sleek scholar apartment was so familiar to you that the glimmering display cabinet barely caught your eye anymore, but each time it did it welcomed a blossom of pride in your chest for your girlfriend, Abby Anderson.

Abby — casual rugby player, frequent at the boxing society, known for wooing her professors into raising her grades by showing up with her own engraved golf club to their country club and wowing them with her swing. But she was known for one thing and one thing only around campus, and that was being the captain of the basketball team.

She was ruthless, six feet and two inches of pure muscle and willpower on the court. The blonde braid, her trademark, swishing against her toned back — and if you’re seeing it, it’s because she’s already passed you with the ball that you had just bounced. You were no stranger to the sound of the orange ball thudding against laminate floors, and the squeaking of sneakers. Infact, it’s what brought the two of you together. No, you were not on the basketball team. You, were a cheerleader.

Not the captain, although that would have been beautifully cliche; the basketball ball team captain dating the captain of the cheerleading squad — take a shot every time you read the word captain, no seriously, quickest way to get wasted. You were happy that way, however. When you weren’t dancing, you were shy by nature. The change in your demeanour was a shock to the system every time — countless frat douches and friendly party goers stepping away wide eyed when they’d approach you, hoping for cheerleader charm and instead being met with a flustered squeak. It took a while for Abby to get through to you infact, as you can imagine — being a campus celebrity and all — approaching the shy girl was a mission she was willing to try again and again at, warming you up until you were eating right out of her big coarse palm.

The memory of your first meeting was still something that made her chuckle. She’d been crushing on you for a while before even saying a word — stealing heated glances at you whilst you were dancing or being tossed in the air — whilst you of course were convinced you had hallucinated The Abby Anderson acknowledging your existence. She was tired of stiffening up at your demure glances and flustered smiles directed at her, so all but marched over to you after winning a huge game. Pumped full of adrenaline, chest heaving as she chased her breath — you in her laser vision. You noticed the hair stuck to her forehead before she even spoke, the shape of an S.

“Hi—”

“I’m Abby.” She breathed out, like a total loser — she’d add.

“I… I know. I’m—”

“I know. Let me take you out. Please?” Don’t beg, Abby. “I asked your roommate if you liked girls.” You did not have to tell her that, jheez. Creep much?

“Oh…?” You couldn’t seem to close your mouth, trying to process what was happening and happening fast. For a moment you questioned whether you’d taken a tumble on that last cartwheel, currently blacked out on the floor in a concussion-hazed dream. Ooh, maybe Abby is carrying you to the infirmary.

“You can say no.” She rambled. She looked nervous for a moment and when you started to smile, so did she. “But… don’t.”

So you didn’t.

Abby was a dream. After you’d said yes, her confidence was slammed back into her and she was busying herself with planning ways to make you hers. She was confident and naturally dominant (Opening regular doors for you, opening car doors for you, hand on your lower back when you walked together…) without being arrogant. Humble, whilst holding herself with a presence that commanded nothing short of respect. She’d taken you for milkshakes for your first date, and you’d clicked instantly. Abby did everything right, which made your face hot and stomach clench up in nerves at the idea of doing something wrong infront of her. But that feeling melted away, the only two people in the small but admirable diner — Abby carrying the conversation for long enough until your shyness melted away, catching yourself in giggle fuelled rambles and debates.

You’d kissed her on the cheek at the end of the first date. So innocent, so sweet — she remembers thinking. She let you have that, didn’t try and go in for a kiss on the lips, stood outside your building. She was happy with her decision when you pulled back and just looked so fucking proud of yourself for taking such a leap. You exchanged some kind words, some gratitude with the small and humble bouquet Abby had showed up at your door with tucked under your arm — before you were flouncing away in your little sundress. Abby touched her hot cheek when she walked away, smiling ear to ear. Her fingertips grazed over a slightly sticky outline, and she picked up her pace to get home so that she could look in the mirror and catch the sight of your lipstick print on her face.

Current day, and you’re puffing out your cheeks — stepping into the sweaty auditorium. The humidity is a little stifling and you frown in disapproval, wondering when they’re going to be getting the fans fixed like they said they would. This time, tucked beneath your arm is Abby’s white water bottle, college logo printed along the side, that she’d left in your dorm when she’d dropped by the night before. Your eyes searched the room to spot her, and it didn’t take long as she pretty much towered over everyone — you stopped for a moment at the edge of the sports floor, chest inflamed by the sight of your squad members surrounding her, giggling.

You hate to say it, but whatever stereotype or rumour you’d heard about cheerleaders is true. Especially at your college, there was something so criminally But, I’m a Cheerleader (1999) about your squad in particular. You didn’t like to get involved in the drama, but sapphic drama was not unfamiliar to you. It was bizarre, everyone was friends — but their sporty girlfriends from outside of the team were getting passed around like peas. Abby had always been an object of their affection, but before you had started dating her she seemed out of reach — due to the fact the blonde quite literally never even glanced their way, too focused on the game, and whispers of ‘Abby doesn’t date sports team girls’ around campus. Since the two of you had been together, what — 10 months now? It seems to have refilled their confidence in being able to win her over, regardless of how you felt about it.

It was never direct. To anyone else, the group of you seemed like great friends — and you were the number one flyer, needing you as the centre piece for every dance. You were happy to get chucked in the air so long as they caught you, so as you can imagine; that element mixed with your shyness forced you into not confronting them all for flirting with Abby.

"No but if I had arms like this? Whew, no one would be safe. I'd be a slut... I mean I already am..." The cheer captain, Liv spoke, the other dancers squealing in agreement. Abby looked uncomfortable to say the least, forcing a polite smile and trying to wedge herself out the small hyena circle they had formed around her. A blossom of pride filled your chest when you saw the sheer relief in her eyes, her gaze landing on you. You surged forward into the light, smiling awkwardly at your peers as you approached your girlfriend. She bounced the orange ball on the ground once before tucking it under her arm, other bulging arm bringing you in for a quick hug. "Hi, baby." She chirped, happy to see you.

You wanted to enjoy the moment, but couldn't ignore the disapproving gazes from behind Abby's back, their faux-friendly smiles turning to not so subtle glances and snickers toward each other. Just ignore them. Abby didn't pay them any mind so why should you?

"Hi Abs." You lowered your voice, like you were hoping they'd get the hint and give you two privacy. They stuck around like flies, much to your disappointment. "You left your bottle at my dorm. Didn't want you to get dehydrated agai—"

"Awwww, you guys are so cute!" The bleach blonde base leader appeared beside your girlfriend, obnoxiously butting in and making a point to rest her hand on Abby's bicep. "I want what you have." She pout, but you couldn't help but feel that comment was directed more toward you.

"Oh—thanks." You chuckle, not quite meeting her eye. Abby took the bottle from you, shooting you a subtle ‘wtf?’ look which made you wanna giggle.

"Oh you refilled it, nice. Was so fuckin' thirsty." She smoothed a hand over your head gratefully as she brought the bottle to her lips and chugged, stepping away to address her team, their practice ending for the day, giving the cheerleaders the space to rehearse for tomorrow. "Alright team, circle up I got a few pointers." You heard her command, smiling as you watched her team members gather around her obediently. You snapped your eyes away toward the girl still stood by you, eyes slightly narrowed as she observed you. She looked away when you noticed her intense gaze.

As much as you hated to see Abby leave without you, it always brought you some kind of relief — knowing that your squad could actually focus on what you were there for, cheerleading — instead of fawning over your girlfriend, giggling, bending over in her direction to 'tie their laces'. You knew dating Abby would bring a lot of attention, and you knew that there must have been plenty of girls that were after her — but this whole thing with your own squad was getting pretty old. Sometimes you wished you weren't so shy, so you could give them a real stern talking to. You didn't wanna put it all on Abby, it wasn't fair, she didn't ask for this and plus it was your problem. You didn't wanna be that jealous and possessive girlfriend, did you?

The next day, Friday rolled around fast.

It took a lot to shake Abby’s confidence. She knew she was good at what she did, otherwise she wouldn’t be on such a prestigious scholarship, or have acquired the team captain title so fast — but she was nervous. The impending game was a big one, there was no room for fuck up’s. There had been talk of scouters for top women’s basketball leagues joining the audience, and Abby knew that if things went well it could really put her on the map, no — it was guaranteed.

Your eyes were fluttering closed, heavy after the long day you’d had perfecting your routine with the team. You were in your shabby little dorm, practically a hole in comparison to Abby’s sleek apartment. More times than not you’d stay with your girlfriend, calm eachothers nerves before a big game — but you had mutually decided that you’d both needed to ensure a perfect night’s sleep. Your phone laid beside your head on your pillow, the glow of Abby’s contact picture lighting up the small space around it. She was breathing slow and calm on the other line, clearly tired herself.

“And then you can come and stay at mine tomorrow after the game, and stuff.” She hummed, the sound of her shifting positions, her bedsheets rustling taking over the audio for just a moment.

“Mhm. ‘Can celebrate your win.” You smile, eyes now closed as you picture it all, nervous butterflies batting their wings against your stomach.

“Or mourn my loss.” She chides. “You can still come over either way.” Abby chuckles but it’s dry and humourless. She always got this way before a game, just a little pessimistic — doubting herself subtly through sly jokes and quiet comments. To anyone else, she’d still appear just as confident and carefree — but you knew Abby.

“Abs, don’t say that. Y’gonna win. Simple as.” You exhale, feeling your body sink further and further into the pillow. She was silent for a moment, considering it — probably doubting everything that had just come out your mouth, this time in her head.

“Hm.” You listened to her breathing, and it made you sleepier. “You’re tired baby. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” You wanted to protest, be there for her and soothe her nerves for a little longer until she felt ready to sleep but her voice was lulling you into a dozed state.

“You sure? I can… stay…” You could barely finish your sentence, making her chuckle tiredly.

“Yes, pretty girl. Gotta get your rest for tomorrow. Need you cheering me on up there, helps me play better.” She was smiling, you could hear it. Your heart swelled and you made a happy humming sound to after.

“Night Abby, seeyoutomorrowloveyou.” You sigh out in one breath.

“Night baby. Get some rest. I love you.”

The opening intro to Fergie’s — Fergalicious blared through the auditorium, your squad occupying half the court as you danced for the screaming crowd. Hips, hips, split jump, cartwheel — behind your bright smile you were counting steps, keeping your arms tight and straight, flickering your eyes towards the scoreboard. You looked properly as you stood on top of the pyramid, ankle by your head — burst of adrenaline and relief when your eyes landed on the numbers in glowing red, signifying that Abby’s team was still in the lead. You gracefully flipped, and were caught back on the ground, heart thundering in your chest as you continued on with the dance.

As rehearsed, the college mascot had run on, joining in on the dance. A ridiculous looking wolf with a brightly coloured t-shirt and cap on its furry head. He danced beside you, comedically shaking it’s hips in time with you. You glanced over at Abby, happy to see her looking eased, a slight smile on her face as she jogged away from the net, watching you dance. A few strands of her hair stuck to her face from sweating and it reminded you of the day she asked you out.

63-63 with three minutes to spare.

Your squad tried not to show that they were itching from the sidelines, eyes glued to the players as you were lined up by the benches, waving pom poms now and shouting your usual chants, trying not to get drowned out by the passionate yelling of the audience.

Be aggressive! B-E aggressive! I said be aggressive B-E aggressive! B-E A G G - R E S S I V E! Whooping the house down show ‘em who’s the leader — bring ya’ baby down down, go cheerleader!

You tried to keep your grin as you chant, moving your hips in time with your claps and arm movements as you watched Abby’s team mate miss the net, ball rebounding off the backboard. You caught a glimpse of the frustrated expression on Abby’s face, jogging around players and yelling directions over the crowd that seemed deafening at this point. You watched her eyes rake through the audience, looking for a talent scout shaking her head and drawing a big red cross on her clipboard or something. Her eyes then found you, a inkling of panic that was calmed by the tide that was your face staring right back at her, smile still plastered as you repeat your chants with your group. The sight of you surged something through her, she had to do it for you.

63-63 with two minutes to spare.

“Don’t worry guys, Abby’s got this.” Liv twinkled proudly, like the blonde captain even knew her name and you felt sick. Sick with nerves, sick with possessiveness, sick with irritation. You stomped your feet that little bit louder whilst you cheered, wanting to dash your pompoms at her head. You felt sweat trickling down your spine, head starting to pound from all the tension and noise. Was the crowd getting even louder? Where did you put your water bottle?

63-63 with one minute to spare, and there was no time to drink.

Even the chants stopped, the squad trailing off just to watch in awe. The sound barrier practically broke when the ball came to a thudding halt, caught mid pass by none other than Abby Anderson, basketball hero. This other team were good, frighteningly so — but they were no match for her. She dribbled with precision in and out of players until she met a wall of her opposition, closing in on her fast to snatch the ball. She turned left, turned right, looking for someone on her team she could rely on to get the ball in the net. The coach yelled from the side, the cheerleaders gripped eachother, the audience stood on their feet. Abby’s knees bent, arms extending. Everything went slow motion, like it always did as you watched with wide eyes. The ball didn’t circle round the hoop, it didn’t slide down from the backboard, it slammed straight through the net so hard you thought when it landed it might leave a dent in the ground.

63-64— and the crowd fucking exploded.

You were immediately jostled to the side by your squad jumping up and down, grabbing eachother with screams. You stumbled, jaw agape trying to catch sight of her. Where are you Abby? Let me see you.

She was suddenly there, expression mirroring yours. The world still moved slow, spotting eachother now. She took off toward you, dodging the grasp of a celebratory cheerleader, skidding past a team member that tried to pull her in, straight toward you. You met her half way, feet in control now and leapt, Abby getting the same idea and thrusting her arms around your waist, swinging you round in a circle. Then, you could both smile, and it didn’t stop growing, not even when you smashed your lips together. There was no sound anymore, no screaming crowd or cheering squad members — just your own delighted giggle against her, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, the back of her hot, sweaty neck in your palm, your teeth clashing together at the force of the kiss.

You pulled away to breathe and the sound returned like you’d just come back up from underwater, the yells, the cheers, the chanting of her name. “I did it I fucking— do you know what this— baby, i did it.” She was panting, forehead pressed to yours and hell, you couldn’t care less that it seemed the world was watching such an intimate moment.

“Your life’s gonna change Abby, i’m so proud of you.” You breathed, and before she could reply — expression of awe, and utter love struck, she was setting you down and her team was tearing her away, lifting her above their head, passing her another big golden trophy to add to her shelf. She held it in the air, and then came the flashing of cameras, the barrage of students running to celebrate with her. A cheerleader from the other team roughly brushed your shoulder as she passed you with a glare and you didn’t even stop to acknowledge her, just watching on with pride — hands clasped beneath your chin. Your Abby had won, and nothing else in that moment mattered.

8:04PM

“Is it braggy if I wear the jersey on top?” She was smirking a little, stood in front of you in all her glory in her apartment. You spun around at the vanity, eyes taking her in as you pulled your little pink dress further down your thighs.

Your girlfriend was showered, and dressed — donning her bright blue jersey over her grey hoodie and jeans. You grinned, standing up. She looked good, but she always looked good. You had to stand on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around her neck. “Don’t you think you deserve to brag, a little?” You flutter your eyelashes, tilting your head with a grin.

After every game that was won, a party was thrown at the house of one of the sports captains. It was tradition, and almost always it was in Abby’s honour, because she was almost always the star of every game. The one to think of a genius formation that would throw off the other team, the one to make changes last minute that would be the saving grace, the one to make the winning shot. Today was like no other, and you knew everyone was willing to go extra hard this time — after that win, Abby was like a fucking celebrity.

You felt like you were hit with a shockwave of noise as soon as you walked in. The bass from the speaker was all but vibrating the floorboards, the sticky…wet (?) floorboards. You blinked, accustoming yourself to the low lights, clinging onto Abby’s thick bicep as a swarm of people coming to greet her approached. Sometimes parties felt like survival, Abby being that buoy in a storm that you’d cling to until the tide had cleared. The music was loud as usual, familiar, what was the song playing? You recognised the familiar tune to Blame It by Jamie Foxx and T-Pain and nodded your head with a false confidence. Drink, I need a drink — you thought, detaching yourself from Abby to beeline to the makeshift bar once you’d spotted it. Not the punch, you weren’t stupid — you had no clue what people had put in there. Vodka… vodka where are you? You grabbed the clear bottle with the red lid and poured yourself a generous amount into your cup before filling the rest up with… what were your options— cranberry juice. Nice. This will get you by. You needed social skills tonight, Abby had won a huge game and you didn’t wanna drag her down with your shyness. You sipped, no — downed some of your drink with a wince, some liquid spilling down your chin. Alter ego activate, shyness be gone.

You found Abby again, and when she spotted you awkwardly trying to wedge yourself through a gap to get to her she slotted her arm through, parting the sea of people like Moses himself to pull you right up beside her, torso to her ribs. You could stay like this, right up on her— you wanted to stay like this, but you’ll be damned if your girlfriend wasn’t social.

It’s an hour later, you’re drunk, laughing at something dumb Manny had come up with, social for once — and you hear them before you see them. The gaggle. The malicious giggles, pitched just a little higher than their real laugh in an attempt to turn heads. It works, you turn, there stand your cheerleader friends. ‘Friends’.

You can tell they went hard with the pregaming because they’re clinging onto eachother, forcing their way through the party crowd like a cluster of germs. That’s mean, you think to yourself, shaking off that feeling — the ugly feeling rising in your stomach like scalding bile. Insecurity, the feeling immovable even when you’re drunk and joyous, lodged into you seemingly forever, an arrow with spikes. You push it down, push it down, push it down as they squeal and come towards you. It flares up with immense force when you catch their outfits. They’re all wearing ‘Anderson’ jerseys. Did they fucking buy personalised jerseys?

It’s like you step out of yourself for a moment because you reach out and take a hold of the jersey across the cheer captains chest, turning her around and pulling the material taut as you see ‘Anderson’ in crisp white font across her back, mocking you. Your mouth is agape, unfocused and she steadies herself, turning back around and grabbing you.

“You like ‘em?” She whoops and all the girls join her, fondling their jerseys proudly and looking around for more eyes.

“Personalised jerseys?” Is all you manage to let out, just a simple observation. Liv falters for a second, something mischievous twinkling in her eye, lip curling up ever so slightly.

“Baaabe, the manufacturer f’ed up our order, and we fell one short. But we figured you’d have your own one right?” She eyes you obviously. Her malice is hardly hidden anymore. “Abby didn’t give you her jersey?” She tilts her head, as if it were an innocent question. You bitc—

“Abby!” The copper haired girl behind her squeals and you don’t have to turn around to know your girlfriend has unknowingly made her presence clear and accessible. The troupe practically rush you, shoving past to circle Abby once more. The uncomfortable look the blonde had yesterday in the court was gone, the one drink she’d been harbouring all night loosening her up a little — which made that insecure, jealous feeling nestle itself back beneath your ribcage.

“Heeeey— ohhh, awesome!” She smiles in a friendly way when she notices their jerseys. The same friendly expression she’d give to anyone, not flirty or lusty in the slightest — but they’re grabbing at her and batting their lashes up at her like they want to jump on her there and then and you feel yourself trying to crush the red solo cup in your palm. You’re broken out of your enraged trance because your sweet, thoughtful girlfriend is pulling you through the crowd they made, grinning without a care in the world. “You see this babe? Ah, should have given you my one to wear huh?” She laughs, and they laugh, but for different reasons.

The girls leave her alone for a while, but God they’re always fucking watching. Finding ways to subtly interact with your girlfriend. Accidentally bumping into her, which she barely notices until they start profusely apologising. Dance moves becoming inherently more sexy when she turns in their direction — not even looking at them but oh do they try. You finish your drink, because you need to finish your drink— and succumb to the urge to be that girlfriend. Who gives a fuck? Maybe you are that girlfriend.

It didn’t feel like you when you impatiently tugged her away from Nora, another basketball player, mid conversation, hands clasped in Abby’s silky jersey, pulling yourself to her chest, your own tits squishing against her.

“Aaabs.” You whine, and it’s giddy, lustful because she just looks so good. She smirks down at you, letting you tug at her, letting you move her. She looks so into you in that moment and it just… somethings not enough. You’re glancing for your cheer team, and that hideous feeling of shame briefly twinges inside you. Are they watching this? Seeing me touch you? Do they know you’re mine?

“Baby.” She’s returning your giddy smile, and you have to pull away from a moment so that you could back up a little… a little more into the clearing… give them a perfect view.

“Y’look so good.” Is all you can say because it’s true, and you’re pretty sure your eyes completely glazed over— pupils shooting out wide when she grabs a handful of your ass, a little rough but in a loving way, just like the Abby you’re used to — using her grip to pull you back into her hard, a small ‘hmph!’ whimper forced out of you when you all but slam into her strong chest. You love it when she got like this. Grabby. Forgetting her own strength and manhandling you. You’d usually be giggling and shoving her away in public, but you craved the eyes now. You wanted viewers, jealous gazes, realisations — Abby is locked in.

“Oh it’s like that huh?” She’s chuckling at your expression. Forever her needy girl.

You sucked in your lower lip, eyes melting into that doe eyed expression that made her want to fuck it off your face, and she squeezes your ass a little harder. Your knees practically buckle, face burning hot because you feel your pussy spread open under your dress — as if she’s opening the floodgates by hand, wetness pouring out into your underwear. You hoped and prayed they were watching. Screw your little Anderson jerseys, she’s gonna be knuckle deep inside me in five minutes if the two of you kept this up.

“Cant wait to— mm—” You turn your head. Liv is snickering, whispering, but her expression says it all. Jealousy. You feel victorious. Abby curls a finger around your chin and your distracted gaze is back on her.

“Cant wait to what?” She glances in the direction of what you were staring at and your heart skips a beat.

“Can’t wait for you to remind me what a winner feels like.” You breathe out quickly and she’s back, smirking hard like she can’t control it. If she was packing, she’d be tilting her hips forward by now, digging her strap into the mound of your cunt through your thin dress where you stood — and it makes her wish she did pull the harness up her thick thighs beneath her jeans before the two of you left for the party.

“Yeah?” Her voice is breathy, low. “Forgotten already?” She chuckles, and she’s kind of right to— she was always winning, it wasn’t easy to forget.

“Mhm. Oops.” You shrug and you both giggle this time, her hands sliding around your waist. Each time her hands find a new spot on her you can’t help yourself from glancing over at the eyes. At Liv. At the whispers. Get a good fucking look.

Abby leans in, hot breath on your cheek and you turn back to her nearly knocking noses. Her brows are frowned a little and her cheeks rosy, lips parted in a way that made you wanna shove your tongue between them. “Give me… a little while longer to bask in this.” She chuckles, humble like she always was. She steals a kiss from your parted lips. “Can’t leave a party thrown for me so soon… just a little longer and I’ll take you home and give you a reminder, pretty girl.” her blunt finger nails rake behind your ear, scraping whatever hair was there backwards, pecking you again. Your eyes fluttered at the feeling, hot and lethargic. You wanted to be obedient but something still negged at you, buzzed in your ear like a fly to ‘stay focused’.

You gripped her strong arms. An attempt at control.

“Don’t have to leave. Can just go upstairs. Right here right now.” You whined in an impatient way this time, fingers curling around her hoodie peeking from beneath her jersey. She blinked a few times and you knew she wasn’t a huge fan— Abby never liked quickies, especially not on a celebration. She wanted each time she fucked you to be memorable, like a performance — she was a love maker, and to her public quickies were usually just a little… euck.

Her soft smile remained, because the request only told her that you were desperate to have her. All the more reason to make you wait, she thought. Get you real worked up. Yeah, she could have fun with this.

“Not happening, babe. Wanna take my time on you, don’t you wanna have it out with me all night?” She tilted her head, persuading, blowing hot air over your mouth and God — yes, on one hand you wanted that badly but there you go again… eyes trailing off to the right… over to your cheer group. Show them. Drag me up the stairs Abby. Make me walk out the bathroom limping. Show them what they can’t have.

So you said “No!” and you were one quick movement from actually stomping your foot like a child. Abby looked taken aback, but she still chuckled. Not in a mean way, but was it ever? She leant back from you, trying to gauge just what was going on.

“No?”

“I need you here. You… stop denying me they’ll — they’ll see— it’s embarrassing—” The shovels in your hand and you’re digging that hole, deeper, deeper…

“Who will see? See what? Babe what’s with you?” The smile melts off and she’s frowning now. Ohhh, boy. You’ve fucked it up. You blink, like you’re trying to wake up from your petty possession. You look once more and they’re intrigued now, gossiping. Are they fighting? Will Abby be single by the end of the night? This enrages you more, but you don’t have time to react because Abby sees it now. See’s that envious look in your eye, but it’s not really envy — because Abby has never in her life given you a reason to be jealous. It’s uncharacteristic and Abby’s stomach twists a little. “Oh.” She steps back, no no no.

“Sorry.” You splutter out. “Sorry, sorry— I’m sorry Abby I don’t know what that was. I just freaked. I want you to bask in this, people are here to celebrate and you deserve that. Sorry. I don’t… know what I was thinking there.” You try and force out a chuckle at the end to lighten things but it doesn’t come out quite right. Abby watches you for a moment, a little tense and worried. Eventually she gives you a small smile, coming close to you again, a hand on your shoulder.

“S’okay. No more drinks yeah?” She’s gentle and you’re embarrassed, of everything really. This is meant to be the greatest night of Abby’s college career and you’re… doing this. Making it about you. Your shoulders slump a little before you shake yourself off physically.

“Yeah, no. Good call. Whew.” You smile and she smiles back. It’s all okay. You’re okay.

Except it’s not, and she knows that. Things are a little weird now, you’re distracted and trying too hard to please her. Eyes snapping towards her guiltily every time she catches your gaze wandering off, as if scared she’ll see you looking at those girls again fearfully. You stay right by her side, shyness creeping back in. You’re smiling in a polite, forced way, and she can tell you’re not really enjoying yourself anymore. Not after that weird moment. It gets a little later, and the party isn’t in as full of swing as it was before but still pretty lively. She can’t enjoy herself if you’re not, so why bother?

You watch her watch you, her shoulders dropping slightly when she sees how tense you look. Truthfully you were worried, you’d tried to show off — let your possessive urges control you — and now, insecurities at the surface you’d seem to make things worse. You didn’t know why you’d let this pick at you, get under your skin the way it has but the fact they’d all seen you have that weird moment? It was eating you alive. They were probably so smug, probably thought they stood a chance with Abby now. Your Abby.

“Babe let’s just go.” Your attention snaps back towards her, suddenly stood in front of you— her braid resting on her shoulder.

“What?”

“Yeah, no it’s— I can’t enjoy myself if you’re not. I’m not mad, baby I just don’t wanna force you to be here.” You feel so fucking bad.

“Abby, it’s not — I am enjoying myself. This is your party.” You express, coming close to her. Most of the alcohol had worn off by now, and you just felt sick from embarrassment— and this conversation was even more sobering. She shrugs, and looks around. It no longer seems to interest her.

“I know but… I’d rather you just be… not in this mood.” She speaks quietly but you hear her and your face falls. Did you really show yourself up that badly?

“Alright.” You match her pitch, and her back is to you again — saying goodbyes. You can’t look up, can’t look and see their disappointed faces. You wish you could close your ears, to not hear the choruses of ‘Already?’s and ‘Cmon Abby this is your party!’s. But you couldn’t keep your forlorn gaze glued to the ground for long, because you knew people would look at you, see your expression and know it’s your fault she’s leaving prematurely. You cursed yourself for caring too much about what people thought that night, and smiled politely in departure.

Abby took your hand, fingers locked into yours as she walked you toward the door, saying bye to people as she continued moving. You made the mistake of sparing your cheer team a departing look, and they were watching once more — glancing at each other curiously. Liv wiggled her eyebrows playfully as you passed her. “Ooo, someone’s in trouble.” She snickered, and your breath caught in your throat.

You didn’t start crying until the car was half way down the street. You’d tried to keep it silent at first. But the car was already silent, the radio not turned on and Abby not saying anything. You didn’t know what the silence meant, you just knew you didn’t like it. Maybe she was reconsidering things. You’d ruined her night, the night that was supposed to be all hers and you took it from her — all because of your petty, jealous, insecurities. That wasn’t the kind of girlfriend she deserved, you were supposed to put all your focus into supporting her. Exist for her. She’d never given you a reason to worry about other girls but for fucks sake — those girls. You let them walk all over you every single day and now they were all talking. All coming up with schemes to take Abby from you, thinking your relationship was on the rocks and maybe it would work. After how you acted tonight, maybe it would fucking work.

You covered your face when the tears started really coming down hard, a quiet sob shuddering out of you. Abby glanced at you, jaw tensing a little. Not because she was angry, just because she was so confused about how you’d gotten here. She’d never seen you like this before and just… what had she done to get you so fucked up like this? She spoke your name, calmly — full of authority and a little detached, not cooing it gently like she would when she’s seen you cry in the past. Her tone made another sob hiccup out, and she spoke it again. “Look at me.”

You did, and you had to wipe the snot from beneath your nose so that it didn’t stick to your hands when you pulled them away. Your makeup was ruined, eyes sore and red and she glanced over you, her main focus on the road.

“Just… breathe and calm down. We are gonna talk about this when we get home.” She shakes her head a little, eyes on the road. Your heart aches and soothes a little at her calling her student apartment ‘home’ like it belonged to the both of you. You don’t have time to indulge the fantasy. “I don’t… understand this… tantrum babe.” She mutters like she’s too mature for it all and she is, which makes you all the more embarrassed. She doesn’t speak for the rest of the journey home, tear drops on her expensive leather seats. Well — she doesn’t speak if you don’t include the occasional “Breathe.” and such when she’d hear your breathing start to pick up, upsetting yourself all over again.

She walked you up to her apartment and you hugged yourself as you stood behind her, watching her unlock her door. She held the door open for you, but didn’t look at you when you walked through — unsurely looking around like you’d never been there before. You wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. Did she want to talk now?

You stood in the hallway and her warm hands gently came down onto your shoulders.

“Go sit down on the couch.”

When Abby tells you what to do, you do it. And not because she’s scary, or intimidating or aggressive. She just carries this… air to her. One that makes you want to respect her, no matter how worked up or pissed off or upset you are. It would be the same way every single time, she’ll calmly make a demand and you fucking do it. Of course, minus the mini ‘tantrum’, as she so kindly put it, you had.

She didn’t follow you, infact — she walked the other way to her bedroom, hearing the door click shut when you made your way into her living room area. The leather couch that was usually home to so much love and affection now cold against your skin when you sit down on it, the sleek material frigid from not being touched for hours on end. You bring your knees together shivering a little, and a few minutes later Abby returns. She wields a makeup wipe, and presses it into your palm silently when she lowers herself into the arm chair opposite you. You want to cry out like a baby and reach for her, ask her why she’s sitting so far away but you have to be good. You have to fix everything.

Abby’s thighs spread as she leans forward, staring you down analytically with her elbows on her knees, long fingers wringing her wrists before she looks down at them, puffing out her cheeks with a long exhale. You wait for her to speak, wiping the gooey eye makeup up from your cheeks and eyes.

“Tell me… what this is all about.” Her voice holds a quiet kindness this time, despite the line that appears between her brows as her expression becomes a little exasperated.

You suck in a quick breath, eager to explain yourself and beg for forgiveness — “Nothing I was just being —”

“The truth.” She raised her hand to speak which silenced you instantly. You press your lips together, letting two fat residual tears race down your cheeks either side, the left tear winning victoriously when it surpassed your jaw and streamed lazily along your neck. Abby watched it move.

You thought this time. No more covering it up. No more being immature. Be truthful. What was this all about again?

“I think…” You gulped, willing yourself to be brave. You knew Abby might not see you as a ‘chill’ girlfriend anymore— exposing your insecurities and jealousy — but she wanted the truth and being a liar was objectively worse. “The girls on my cheer team are… I think they’re picking on me.” You admit quietly and her brows jump up, intrigued. Not quite what she was expecting. She stays quiet and you carry on. “I’m not… I don’t wanna be toxic and jealous. I let it get the better of me tonight. They’re always… flirting with you, talkin’ about you, showing off to you, trying to get your attention and at first I didn’t care because, I have you, you know? And you’ve never given me any reason to believe your eyes have wandered but fuck it’s so hard when they’re just… relentless. And beautiful and confident and I’m… I know what people think Abby. I know I’m shy and people wonder how…” You trail off, and you’re not sure you wanna admit any more. Not after that explosive rant.

“People wonder how what?” She pushes, and she’s scooched so far onto the edge of her seat that her long legs are bunched up and she’s barely perched on it.

“Wonder how… I got you. Why you stay with me.”

The confusion just melts off her face.

She blinks a couple of times, feeling like someone just placed her heart in a panini press hearing your sad and small tone of voice. So small, and she can tell you really believe what you’re saying and it just kills her. She wants to reach out then and there and hold you and kiss you and cry for you but you’re talking again.

“And I know you’re not a trophy and I don’t see you that way, please don’t think I ever—”

“No, no no no.” Abby cuts you off as a correction, eyes shut as she scrubs a hand down her face. She gets it now. The jealousy. Clearly, you hadn’t noticed the wandering eyes of her basketball team players, smirking over at you when your little cheer skirt that was too short for everyone’s good would flip up, shaking your hips in your adorable little routines. How if she didn’t keep you on her arm at every party, frat boys would start to circle you like crows, waiting to pounce until they realise, holy shit that’s Abby’s girl, and back off. If anyone got it, it was her. “You don’t need to explain anymore I’m… sorry. Come here, please.” Her pained expression relieves you and also devastates you because now she’s blaming herself.

You listen, again, because it’s Abby and you push off the couch to stand in front of her on the arm chair. She pulls you to sit sideways on her leg, thick arms wrapping around your waist protectively. She looks up at you, brows furrowed.

“You are beautiful. I don’t… want anyone else. Ever. I love you, baby. You know I love you? You know I don’t give a fuck about any of those other girls. They’re not you they’re not… c’mon.” That gentle cooing voice has broken through and more tears slide down your raw cheeks. She’s wiping them away this time, coarse thumb swiping the moisture until it absorbs into her skin, becoming apart of her.

You sniffle, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry. This is your night and you’re comforting me. I promise I’m happy for you.” You hiccup into her neck when she pulls you in, and you feel her shake her head because her braid tickles your arm.

“I don’t care.” She chuckles honestly and cups your face to pull you back, make you look at her. She’s so beautiful you want to cry some more. “I don’t. It could be my birthday and I’d still look after you. You’re my girl, yeah? You over everything.” She exaggerates, moving her head slightly to meet your eyes when you try to shamefully drift them away.

“Kay. Love you, Abby. M’so lucky.” She feels you sigh in relief and your body relaxes just a little bit. Her hands slide around your back and press into the muscle, massaging and rubbing — trying to get you to just melt and become one with her when you cuddle her.

“I’m lucky.” She speaks into your temple, pressing kisses there. She manages to gently manoeuvre you until her lips are pressing the same quick succession of kisses onto your swollen pouty lips. She hums in satisfaction and you feel something stir in your tummy. The hum was almost primal, one that said ‘this is mine.’ You wanted to hear the noise again. Without too much thought behind it, you turn to sit on her lap fully, facing her now. You pull yourself closer with your arms around her neck and your kisses begin to dot along her jawline. Come on Abby, make the pretty noise.

She sighs, tilting her head for your access and thinks. Thinks over everything that had just happened. Maybe she hadn’t done enough, her brain had been so focused on winning the game that perhaps she’d forgotten to reassure you when you needed it, and she knew how important reassurance was in a relationship. An urge spread through her body, starting in her stomach like an icy cold lake and travelling up to her chest like molten lava. The urge to just… give you everything. Everything you wanted and needed. Everything you couldn’t ask for and everything she should have given you. Abby had always harboured a ‘spoiling’ side, and in that moment it had kicked in hard.

She pulled the strap of your dress off your shoulder, letting your head tip back this time as she sucked and nipped at the soft skin there. She loved how opposite you were to her, when she was sweaty and rough around the edges after a game you were still impossibly soft everywhere, still smelled sweet and clean and like you, like she was a wild lion coming to lay her cheek in your gentle hand after slaughtering a deer.

You squirmed on her lap and Abby jumped between your lips and your skin, feeling that beautifully familiar warmth begin to spread through your underwear again. Starting with your clit starting to throb when she’d gently buck her thighs below you — all the way to your hole that started to ache and crave the feeling of her inside. Her tongue lapped up your own, sucking obscenely as her hands pushed your lower back, bringing you higher on her lap and— oh?

You were now sitting atop a bulge. One that wasn’t there at the party. You thought back to her disappearing into her room as you sat down on the couch when you’d arrived back at the apartment and smiled at the feeling against her lips. So calculated, Abby — and she smiled back because she knew. Knew she was gonna have to fuck the attitude out of you after your talk, she just didn’t expect you to fold so easily. For it to take such an emotional direction. She could just tease you for being a cry baby, but where’s the fun in that?

You start to grind like you just can’t help yourself, your shared saliva pooling beneath your pouty bottom lip as the kisses became more sloppy and intense. You swore you could never get over how good it felt to hump against her jeans in just your panties, the combination of materials and the writhing of your hips always leaving you gasping. Abby too, the way the strap was positioned would press snugly against her clit making her breath stutter against your lips. She refocused herself, fingers tugging your dress up to your waist. Enough had been about her tonight she’d decided, now she wanted to make it all about you.

You detached for a moment to pull your dress over your head, lips meeting once more as she tossed it aside. Next came the unclasping of your bra, and then she was sliding your thong down your legs. When she balled it up to chuck aside she felt the wetness in her palm.

You stood over her now, the one time you weren’t shy — stark naked. She’d made you so comfortable over the ten months you’d been together it wasn’t even something you’d take a second worrying about anymore, Abby knowing the map of your body like the back of her hand. She made you feel so safe with her gentle-ness. Abby, big scary Abigail Anderson, Abby ‘i’ll beat your fucking face in if you step up to me outside the basketball court, no seriously repeat what the fuck you just said’ Anderson. And you’ve reduced her to this gentle, loving giant. Someone who was rubbing her big hand up your tummy as her thighs caged you in where you stood. Reaching for your breast and just rolling her thumb over your nipple making your legs quiver a little. All her stoicism that everyone else knew her for had melted away, her eyes soft and loving as she gazed at you, touching you.

She reached up and began tugging her jersey off over her head, leaving her in the grey hoodie. Where you expected her to toss it aside with the heap that was your pink dress and underwear, she brought her attention to it, bunching it up and opening up the head hole of the shirt. “C’mere.” She muttered, standing up over you, your neck suddenly craning to meet her eye. “Put it on. Fuck those other girls cheap ass jerseys. My girl gets the real deal.” She’s speaking so quietly that you feel like she’s talking to herself, that you shouldn’t intrude her stream of thoughts — even if the words made you literally clench your hole so tight you could crush a fucking walnut in there.

She slipped it over your head and pulled your arms through the arm holes, stepping back with her hands on your shoulders so she could look at you. Look down at you. See the way you stared up at her tall frame, her jersey swamping you and resting beneath the swell of the plump under-cup of your ass cheeks. “Looking good babe.” She smiles, holding you back to carry on looking at you even when you try and lurch forward, hands loose-fisted and grabby as you try and climb all up on her again where she stood. She subdued you by taking your hand, walking away and practically dragging you along behind her. “C’mon, this way. Not fucking you on the couch.” Though it wouldn’t be the first time.

She had you on her lap again in no time, her feet planted heavily on the floor as you press into her cloaked strap, legs stretched over her thighs making you ache in that delicious way that said nothing more than ‘my girlfriend is fucking huge, the gym fears her’. Impatient, you’re tugging her hand that was cupping your throat, pushing it down, down between your thighs. She pulls away, a little breathless with her mouth all red when she slides her fingers through your cunt, eyes on your hard nipples creating little mountain peaks against her jersey as you breathe heavy in her face. “Soaked, baby. Have you been needing me like this all night?” She’s whispering before her lips are on yours again, stroking your little bundle of nerves head on, making your legs flatten out and tense in the air with a quiet yelp. “I know.” She hums, and that’s all it takes to soothe you. Yes, she knows. She always knows. It was Abby for gods sake, if anyone knew exactly what you needed… well.

After torturous stroking, Abby’s middle finger curls down right to where your hole is, pressing and massaging and teasing. She knows you want her inside, you want more than her fingers, fuck — if you could you’d just consume her whole but this will definitely do the trick. “I want you,” she starts, slurred by the open mouth kiss she’s pressing to your shoulder now. “To ask me nicely. Not like you did earlier. Show me my good girl.” She whispered, like it was one last attempt at being strict before she just gave in and spoiled you. It fooled you, anyways— your mouth falling open with a whine as her thumb pressed up against your clit.

“Please Abby— ‘ll be a good girl now okay? Wanna be your good girl.” You’re blabbering against her cheek and she doesn’t fight you on it, pushing inside you and basking in the way you give her a welcoming squeeze upon entry.

“How are you still so tight? After I’ve abused that pretty pussy so many times?” She sighs, tone suggesting that she’s actually pondering it at a moment like this. You don’t have the strength to respond, fucking against her fingers. You loved foreplay with Abby, don’t ever doubt that for a second — but tonight there was something different, it just felt like preparation. The two of you knew that tonight of all nights you needed to get fucked with her cock, and that would be the main event. She could barely wait, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t loosen you up around her callous digits first so she can slip right inside of you easily.

She slips another finger inside you and you black out a little bit, like you always do. Maybe it was all the emotions finally catching up with you, but you just go limp in her lap, letting her finger fuck you the way you need. “Prettiest girl ever. Don’t know what the fuck you were worried about. Gonna fuck it out your brain tonight, yeah?” She’s cooing again and she knows that’s your sweet spot, that tone of voice doing it for you every damn time. If anything was gonna make you cum quick, it’s gonna be the sympathetic drag of her voice as she ensures you that you don’t have to think anymore.

“Yeah Abby, please! Yeah!” You sound pornagraphic and your spine flushes hot at the idea of the surrounding students in her neighbouring apartments hearing any of this — though it wouldn’t be the first time (as told by the passive aggressive post-it note left on her door reading ‘Keep it down we don’t all need to hear your girl busting a nut.’ that one time. You didn’t live down the humiliation for a week, and Abby of course only took it as a challenge to make you moan louder despite your pleas of ‘Abby! You’re going to get kicked out of your building!’ whilst her head was in your crotch. Anyway—)

She was practically vibrating her hand at this point, fingers squelching in and out of you with sounds so mortifying that if you weren’t experiencing such euphoria perhaps you’d bury your face into her cuss her out for embarrassing you. You, were slurring a made up language made of her name, curse words and just down-right vulgarity as you felt your stomach lock up in that scaldingly familiarly way. Abby chuckled, smug at your babbling, responding with “Yeah?” and “Uh-huh?” until you were clenching hard around her fingers halting their movement slightly, which gave her the green light to move onto “Thats it baby, cum for me. Just getting started with you tonight. Give it to me, pretty girl.”

You went numb, pretty much everywhere but your cunt — something high pitched and feral deafening you through the impending white noise of your orgasm — wait, was that you? You could hardly breathe, and when some feeling returned to you, you felt stickiness all along the inner sides of your thighs and seeping into the rough denim of Abby’s lap below you. Jesus… did she make you—?

“Shit babe, fucking… baptised me there.” She pants, like she was the one that just received an earth shattering orgasm and you collapse against the strong muscle of her shoulder, trying to self soothe— trying to ground yourself. You twitched, her fingers stilling within you at the tell-tale sign of overstimulation. She pulled them out, rubbing her thumb on your bare hip as she pressed her chin to her chest looking down between your bodies, admiring the gooey mess you’d left on her. “Already got a little fountain going on down there baby, we haven’t even been going at it for that long.” She teases with a grin in a way you know is meant to be praise because as soon as you lift your head she’s attacking your hot cheeks with kisses.

“S’embarrassing.” You whimper, despite your small giddy smile and she tsks a little, hand creeping up to your throat, holding your sturdily there.

“If you’re still finding things embarrassing, it’s because I haven’t fucked all those bad thoughts from today out that pretty little head yet. You still want it?” She’s speaking against your lips now, effortlessly pushing her hips up beneath you and rolling her strap into your sensitive cunt again. Is that even a question?

“Still— still want it—”

You weren’t finished speaking, and Abby is moving at the speed of light. She cups your beneath your ass with one hand, still using your delicate neck as her main grabbing point— she twists the two of you, so suddenly you’re on your back and she’s hovering over you, all in one quick succession that makes your head spin. Your back bounces against the bed, bounces you into her and her thumb soothes over your throat. “Hands still working baby?” She kisses the corner of your mouth. You flex your fingers out of her vision, testing.

“Yes.”

“Undo my belt then, pretty.” It’s clear she still needs both of her hands to caress you, so you get to work, shakily reaching for the leather tucked within the denim waistband of her jeans. It’s smooth and feels expensive beneath your fingers, and the sound of the buckle clinking makes you squeeze out more of the residual arousal you’d spewed out only minutes prior. It’s like she can tell it does something for you, because her tough pads of her fingers come and rest on your sensitive clit again, just rubbing slow lethargic circles making it harder to pull the belt out of the loops. “Thats my girl.” She helps you, taking the belt and placing it aside.

She does the rest, because you just weren’t moving efficiently enough for her liking, one hand sliding up your soft arm until she’s pinning your wrist gently to the bed, fingers intertwining with yours, and the other hand deftly unpopping the button of her jeans and sliding the zipper down. She pulls the familiar plastic cock out, adjusting her hips and resting the shaft along your tummy, tip grazing just below your belly button. “Think you’re ready for me now?” She leans forward, nudging your chin with her own to get your lips where she needed to capture them, sucking on your bottom lip barely allowing you to sigh out a pleasured “Uh-huh.” against her.

She sits up, pulling her hoodie off leaving her in just a fitted black wifebeater and the pace of everything changes all of a sudden. It’s less desperate and more purposeful, coming into her dominance and remaining control like she always did. She leant over you, reaching for the lube in the bedside drawer and leant back, drizzling it over the shaft. You reached forward without thinking and massaged it around for her, looking up at her with those big needy puppy dog eyes. She groaned, like you were actually jerking her off — greedily yanking her jersey up to sit above your plush tits for her viewing pleasure.

“Fuck… so pretty… Alright baby, deep breath in for me.”

She looked so good like this, hair stuck to her face and neck, jeans pulled just below her peachy ass being cupped by the ropey black harness. The royal blue plastic glistening as she slides it up and down your willing cunt. Her biceps bulging from holding herself up above you, making you just want to sink your teeth into her. Abby was a work of fucking art.

You follow her instructions, Abby kissing away your strained whimpers at the stretch. It only made sense that Abby Anderson, home to all BDE — was weighed down by a fucking monster of a strap, 7 and a half inches, thick and dark blue with added detail of veins and a fat tip. When you first slept together, after one very successful date, sitting on her lap in that little innocent floral dress that rode up your doughy thighs just right — she thought about calling the whole thing off until she could get her hands on a strap a little smaller and less threatening. Until, of course — your wide and blameless eyes were staring up at her, hand barely wrapping around it as you thickly muttered out a ‘I can take it Abby. Let me take you’, and the rest is obviously history.

She sighed out once she was fully seated in you, like it was a relief, like one day you might not be able to take her fully and she’d have to practise even more self restraint by thrusting in halfsies. You tensed up, suddenly aware of the situation again. A spike of sickly anxiety washed through your stomach. Did you deserve this? After the havoc you caused today? “Pretty girl. Let me in that head.” She whispers and it hypnotises you as she thrusts slowly, just grinding her hips against yours.

“Don’t — mmphm— don’t deserve this.” Your voice is high and a little panicked, and Abby’s eyes open to pin you down with her grounding gaze. She knocks your chin up gently toward her as if to say ‘look at me.’ and she rests her hand over your chest, feeling the hammering of your heart as you very suddenly become overwhelmed.

“Hey.” She drags calmly, raising her eyebrows. You try and relax, copying her breathing because you knew she was about to tell you to do that anyway. “Sweet girl.” She thumbs your cheek. “You deserve every last inch of this fucking cock.” She’s whispering again and you cry, hard. She picks up on what you need, and she presses up deeper into you, making your legs flail before wrapping tightly around her ass, your tits bouncing obscenely to the rhythm of her thrusts. “My perfect girl. Don’t have to worry about anything ever again. Yeah? Gonna fucking… go pro ball, make you my pretty little courtside wife. How’s that sound?” She starts to thrust a bit harder and you’re stunned out of your freak out session, distracted by her words and overcome by pleasure as you just listen. Interested to see where this fantasy will go.

“Yes.” Is all you manage and it’s barely audible but she hears it, and carries on.

“Gonna make it to WNBA for you baby. Not for me. So I can spoil you for the rest of my fucking life.” She grits her teeth, her big rough hands sliding around your back so she can cradle you, use your body to fuck you on and off her cock. You whine, barely aware of the fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. “You wanna give me that baby? Let me buy you every pair of shoes and stupidly priced handbags so you can look pretty for me at every game? Yeah?” Her voice is higher pitched and you think she might cum at some point, but she’s too determined to fuck your lights out completely for any of that.

“W—want that Abs, want you— I want —”

She’s interrupting, not finished with stuffing this fantasy into your brain until there’s nothing there but the manifestation of those thoughts. “You won’t even remember those girls on your cheer squad. They’ll be nobodies. You think I’d ever fucking look at anyone else but you, hm? My pretty little wife?”

Just when you think things can’t get more intense, she’s decided that she’s not physically deep enough — and pushes your thighs up to your chest, knees squishing against your tits as she stretched you, grunting out a “Fuck”, a sign of her losing control for a second. “N’then after every game. Can take you.. fuck, can take you shopping, fly you out wherever you want. Slut you out, just like this. You want that life baby don’t you? You wanna give me that life?” Your brain is muddled, and you can’t tell if you’re begging her or she’s begging you. Your mouth is open, but the air is punched from you and you’re just squeaking like a dog toy and she pounds your little cunt.

She reaches for what seems to be your on button, shoving her thumb between your lifted legs and grinding your abused clit again. “Wanna— wanna be your wife Abby. Want — I wanna—” You’re rambling, and then you’re cumming, harder than you’ve cum in your life. Your throat is raw, nails clawing for something, some kind of life support as she fucks you through your orgasm, breathless and determined. You vaguely feel yourself marking up her skin with your nails, but you’re never fully aware of yourself doing it — always just as shocked and guilty when you see the red streaks across her freckled skin the next morning whilst she’s brushing her teeth in the bathroom with a towel around her waist.

“Good girl. My good fucking girl you take it all. Take what I’m giving you.”

And you do, because when she goes to slow down you’re whining and bucking against her strap— fuck drunk and obsessive, finally getting to that dumb place she needs you to be able to rid of all those negative ideas you had about yourself earlier. She lets you breathe as she thinks about it, thinks about the way you misbehaved and the way you wouldn’t use your words. Maybe there was still more in you, more room for some reinforcement.

That’s why approximately five minutes later you had your cheek to the pillow having been pressed there by the basketball captain herself, Abby’s foot up on the bed and your ass in the hair as she drilled into your weeping pussy.

She pushes your back down, against the protests and your cries and your “Can’t Abs, so deep!” muttering for you to “Just fucking take it, sweet girl. I’m not asking.”

You give in and let her, already feeling yourself close to another animalistic style orgasm which only leaves your heart aching for your peeved neighbours that were probably just trying to sleep.

“You gonna listen next time, huh?” You don’t know how she has the endurance to keep slamming into you like this, wife beater pulled up above her sweat-gleaming abs now to not obstruct her vision of her creamy strap pounding in and out your soft flushed pussy. “You tell me when you fucking need me, yeah? You tell me when you’re feeling a type of way and you need me to reassure you from now on.” She waits a beat, and you wail. “Say yes.” She adds in command.

“Yeees!” You cry.

“Say yes Abby.”

“Yes Abby!”

You’re pretty much on autopilot at this point, brain so empty that all it knows is to do exactly what Abby says at all times, chasing that lingering tight coil in your stomach that whispered ‘cum one more time for her’ in your ear in a saccharine sweet voice that just about convinced you. Adding onto the persuasion, Abby’s weight dropped a little more onto you, hot torso against your back and hips grinding feverishly into you still. “Give me one more then. One more and that’s it baby. Keep being good for me.”

So you do, again, and this one is different from the rest — it’s your last drop, your last spot of energy. You’re weeping and grabbing and you feel it ooze out of you around the punishing blue plastic, and when you’ve done it Abby gets softer, kissing your spine and pulling out, so much praise your brain can’t even register it through your submissive fog.

“Did so good baby. So perfect, angel. Love you so much, my girl.”

She was cleaning you up before you could blink with a cold wet wipe from her bed side draw, practically scooping out endless amounts of your creamy arousal as you whimper at the sensitivity.

“Cold” You whisper, and you’re not sure if it was by choice seeing as you didn’t think you had a voice at that point.

“I know.” She chuckled, voice low and hands gentle— stroking the backs of your thighs as you stay on your front, legs trembling now as the adrenaline dwindles in your body. “Did so good for me. Let’s roll you over.”

She’s kicked off her jeans and her harness, now just in her boxers and wife beater— eyes flickering to your hands tugging at the jersey.

“Want it off. Wanna feel you.” You mumble sleepily once you’re on your back, desperately craving your skin on hers. She cradles your neck as she obliges, slipping the material up and over your head and pulling you into her.

You knew she carried on doting on you after you’d fallen asleep, and truthfully you don’t remember when you fell asleep — somewhere between her wiping you down and peppering kisses across your whole body — but like usual, her strap had knocked you the fuck out, and before you knew it you were waking up, disorientated by the morning sun flooding in through the blinds. Your senses start to arrive back to your body and you note them off like a checklist in your foggy brain. Touch, Abby’s arms locked around your waist. Sight, the blinding laser beam of sun attacking your eyeballs. Smell, Abby. Hearing, Abby. And the birds tweeting.

You roll, twisting in her arms so that your head was tucking beneath her chin against her chest, breathing her in and relishing in the way her skin stayed warm through the night like an electric blanket, unlike your own — cold to the touch from kicking off your side of the duvet.

She’s still fast asleep, always the heavy sleeper and after the game and the party you decide that big girl needs her rest, even if you’re now wide awake and staring at her. She looked like a painting, pouty lips swollen from a night of kissing, honeyed hair still in its braid but totally messed up now, pale blonde baby hairs sticking up and around her face. Her dark lashes kissed beneath her eyes and her chest moved up and down like the slow rocking of a small boat on a calm tide. You smiled when the sun slid further into the sky and created a beam across her eyes, making her scrunch them in her sleep and bury her face into the pillow.

You remember peeing last night now, before you’d fallen asleep — Abby carrying your warm, dazed body to the bathroom and sitting you on the toilet, letting you lean your cheek against her tummy to hold you up as you pee’d, gently shushing your complaints about removing you from the bed.

“S’not good for you to hold your pee after sex, babe.”

“M’sleepy. ‘Don’t care if I get a UFO.”

“UTI. And I care.”

You slowly slide out the bed careful not to wake your girlfriend, on a hunt for your phone. You pull Abby’s jersey back over your head for coverage and tiptoe out the room. Where did you put your bag again? You find it tossed on the couch haphazardly where you left it and fished through it, leaning on the back of her leather couch as you scrolled through. Your thumb tapped the Instagram logo and loaded it up, automatically gravitating towards Abby’s story, displayed at the top of the screen. You pressed it, expecting to see some kind of victory shot of her holding the trophy or a picture with her team, but instead were met with a photo of you that she’d taken when you’d fallen asleep last night— your head turned the other way on the pillow, arms tucked beneath it. Bare back glowing in the dim light of the room, bed covers resting at your waist. The caption reads: ‘Future WNBA wife.’ followed by your @.

Any other day you might gasp, due to the nature of the picture being that — well — it’s clear even to the untrained eye that you’d just been fucked within an inch of your life. But you grin, glowing from the inside out. She was showing you off, indirectly reassuring you even more because she knows you need it. You press a heart on the story, stepping in the direction of the bedroom to attack her sleepy face with kisses— but your eyes catch on the kitchen instead.

The perks of dating someone with such a buff body, was that they always would be stocked up on plenty of food. Not like your dorm, thinking back to the microwave meals and tins of soup stocked up in your kitchen made you grimace. You swung open her refrigerator door, gathering ingredients to whip her up a winners breakfast.

Having made everything from scratch, by the time the breakfast was nearly ready you’d heard Abby stir and climb out of bed, disturbed by the accidental clattering of pots and pans. The water ran for a while, and as you turned off the stove — removing her frying pan of eggs, you’d heard her heavy feet plodding into the room.

You nearly burnt yourself at the sight of her, sweatpants pulled up low on her waist, no shirt, red scratches from your overexcited claws the night before wrapping around her bicep and over her left shoulder, assumably trailing down onto her back, and her hair down — a little damp, falling messily across her small chest. You offered her a small smile as she took in the scene, looking very serious about it too you might add. Turning around back to the chopping board to prepare some turkey bacon for her you felt her crowd you. A shadow casted over you. You were suddenly smaller.

“Makin’ me breakfast? Was I that good?” She rasped, huge hands sliding around your waist — instantly dwarfing you some more.

“Mhm. Breakfast for a winner.” You chirped quietly, too early to be excitable.

“Really leaning into this whole housewife thing aren’t you baby?” She chuckles and your face heats up. Is it that obvious? She presses kisses to the side of your neck, hands grabbing you all over. Involuntarily, you arch your back— pressing your ass into her crotch and she winces.

You freeze up, knife clattering out of your hand onto the wooden chopping board and brows furrowing at the way her fingers tighten around your waist, lips by your temple now. You’re practically pinned to the counter, hands flexed wide on the smooth surface when you grind back against her again experimentally.

She’d never admit it, but last night had left her wanting, which she expected was selfishness considering she vowed to make it all about you. She pulled you back against her, your plush ass beneath just her jersey thumping against her clit again — nothing but that and the material of her sweatpants brushing up against her swollen button. You whimpered a little, not making it better for anyone and found your rhythm, rubbing and humping back on her, feeling her exposed tits against your back. “Like this?” You whine, and tug up the jersey so your bare ass is on display now, just a vessel for Abby to get off on.

“Just like that, pretty.”

The sight makes her push into you a little harder, bending you over the counter when there’s nowhere else to go. She continues humping you, leaning over you and kissing you, curling her toes against the tiles until she explodes into quiet, low gasps and groans— leaking into the grey material as you help her along with encouraging noises.

“Fuck babe, fuckprettygirl— my god.” She pants, leaning over you and pressing a kiss onto your back before tugging your jersey back down with a chuckle after a minute of panting and coming down. “Gonna put me back to sleep.” She gives your ass a loving slap, grabbing the flesh of it in her meaty hand before walking around you to lean against the counter top tiredly. You giggle, shaky hands getting back to food prep as she watches you with fond eyes. “How you feeling? All good?” She analyses, mind still on your series of mini freak out’s the night before.

Your eyes are on the turkey as you continue slicing shyly. “Sore. But all good.”

“Sorry baby.” Her thumb rubs your arm sympathetically.

“No I— I like it. Like feeling you the next day.” You don’t look at her, you can’t, but you know she’s grinning.

“Good.”

She disappears for a minute and reappears with her phone, scrolling, checking notifications. You begin to plate up her breakfast, feeling her hands wrap around your waist again, her phone held by your chest as her chin rests on your shoulder, leaning over you. “Your little friends saw my story of you. Think by now they get the message.” She smirks and you giggle, turning your head to kiss her on the cheek.

“I think so too.”

“If not, I’ll just have to make it clearer, yeah? ‘ll fuck you infront of ‘em if that’s what it takes.”

Your eyes widen as she backs off, going to help you plate up the big breakfast you’d made. You didn’t think that would be necessary anymore, feeling much more secure now but your achey, abused core twitched at the idea anyway— not totally against it.

You’ll pocket that for later.

#abby anderson x reader #basketball!abby #abby anderson smut #abby anderson au #modern!abby #jock!abby

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maxsimagination · 11 months ago

Text

𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 -𝗲.𝗱𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗺𝗲𝗶𝗱𝗮

summary: psg celebrate their win by going out for the night and elisa isn’t happy with how close sakina is to yn

-> !! fingering, car sex !!

-> let’s pretend psg make it to the finals

𖦹 masterlist

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘.

the final of the division 1 féminine.

paris saint-germain vs lyon.

it was my first final with psg for this season, having just joined the club from liverpool. it was big change, going from the wsl to the french league but so worth it.

both me and fellow australian, clare hunt had joined the team but she'd come from the a-leagues. in the almost year i'd spent at the french club, i'd met all of the players and they were all really welcoming.

the first player that greeted me was elisa, the slightly taller defender bumping into me on my first day.

since then we'd hit it off, become almost best friends and started dating after a couple months. now we were walking onto the field together, to play for the championship.

nerves were rolling through my body; the pre-game jitters never got easier. our captain grace led us out to the pitch where the lyon players were lined up and waiting.

it didn't take long and everyone was ready, in their positions. the whistle blew and i shot forward, we were off.

——

half time came, we were 1-0 down by a shot from ada hegerberg.

after the break everyone was determined to at least equalise. it felt like a lifetime but finally the ball was booted halfway up the field by our goalie and i was on it immediately. weaving through the defenders wasn't easy, i had wendie renard and ellie carpenter to get past before their goalie.

i was smaller, more agile however, and i managed to sneak past them and shoot a clean shot straight into the top left corner of the net.

the crowd went wild and i jumped in the air out of happiness. we were equal now, 1-1.

the second goal came roughly 10 minutes after my first, korbin had made a brilliant pass to lieke, who was bolting towards the box, 2 defenders hot on her heels. i was just on the right wing, close enough to the goal to get a tap in, and that's exactly what i did.

lieke saw me unmarked and slid the ball across and i made a one touch shot into the bottom right corner. the goalie didn't know what was happening by the time the ball was in the net.

the stadium erupted again and leapt in the air again. finally we had a chance, we were almost there.

when that final whistle blew after 5 minutes of injury time, i sunk to my knees. we had done it.

the whole team, subs included, ran onto the pitch in a huddle that ended more like a crushing pile of bodies. i wiggled my way out of it and found elisa.

"we did it mon amour, we won! thanks to you!" she picked me up and pressed a kiss to my forehead. i giggled and wrapped my legas around her body, to hold myself up. the whole stadium was filled with the cheers of the psg fans, but at the same time, the humiliated silence of the lyon fans.

i felt bad for the team, they had played their best but it wasn't enough. but the cheering of my team bought me back and both me and elisa were wrapped up in celebration again.

——

the girls had dragged us all out to a club, celebration they claimed. so i was dressed in a deep blue, shimmery dress that i thought matched our team colours perfectly.

elisa drove us while the other girls made their own way to the chosen club. it was semi-crowded when we got there but we found everyone else at a table and sat down.

sakina announced that the first round was on her and almost ran over to the bar to order.

around 3 rounds later and sakina, me and a couple other were on the dance floor. sakina was easily more drunk than me, hence why she was practically grinding on me. i wasn't too bothered, quite enjoying myself actually. we danced in sync with the music, matching all the other swaying bodies on the floor.

however i knew one person wouldn't be too happy, because i could feel her glare from across the room. elisa wasn't normally that jealous but when she was, i always ended up under her so i couldn't say i didn’t enjoy it.

the song ended and i twirled sakina away from me and she latched onto another teammate to dance with. i made my way over to where elisa was sitting, sliding in next to her.

"bonjour, mon amour." (hello, my love.)

my hand slid onto her thigh instinctively, elisa leaned her head down to mine to catch my lips in a searing kiss. when we pulled apart she had a hungry look in her eyes.

"sakina is too touchy."

i chuckled at how grumpy elisa looked, rubbing her thigh in comfort.

"do you want to get out of here?"

i didn't have to whisper, the club was already loud, but elisa heard me and was all too happy to grab my hand and get up. we bid goodnight to our teammates and headed for the exit.

our car was parked outside and we made a beeline for it. well, elisa did, i was just dragged along. however, she grabbed handle of the backseat not the front seat.

"elisa, what are you doing? we have to drive home?"

she didn't answer, just pulled me in with her. her lips were on mine the second the door clicked shut, hands roaming up and down my sides.

we pulled apart for a brief second then her lips were on my neck. she trailed her way down to my chest where she slipped the straps of my dress down to play with my nipples. a satisfied groan left my lips and i wriggled under her. she took her time now, giving equal amounts of pleasure to both the left and right breast.

"eli..."

"yes, mon amour?" (my love.)

she knew what she was doing to me, a cocky grin plastered on her face when she looked at me.

"hurry up and fuck me!"

i didn't think it could happen but an even cockier grin was now sported on her lips as she hiked my dress up to show my blue, lace panties.

"all dressed up for me, are we?"

a blush covered my cheeks at her words, i did have tiny hope that we would end the night like this but in her car, i never would have guessed.

her fingers were now hooked in the sides on my underwear, and with a glance up to me for consent, she pulled them down. her fingertips grazed my clit, before dipping further down to my soaked hole. she gathered my juices in her finger and brought it up to her mouth, not breaking eye contact once.

my cheeks heated with a blush again and i could feel the tingling feeling travel down to my groin.

"so wet for me, bébé." (baby.)

"elisa, please. just touch me already."

she did as i asked, fingers finding my clit and immediately rubbing small circles around it. i hummed, the pressure on the bundle of nerves was sending little shockwaves through my body and it felt so good.

my hips bucked up into her fingers, desperate for more friction.

"eli, your fingers inside me please."

she pressed a kiss to my lips, which turned into a make out session, while she thrust two fingers into me. elisa set a steady pace, before pushing a third finger in.

i moaned into her mouth at the stretch, urging her to keep going. i could feel the coil in my lower stomach start to tighten.

"elisa, 'm close. don't stop."

she kept going, if anything she sped up, determined to make me cum. elisa rubbed against my clit, adding to the pressure of the already-tight coil.

i mentally thanked whatever god was in our favour for the tinted windows elisa had on her car. i wouldn't be able to live this down if she didn't. inside the car, there wasn't much speaking, only the sounds of her fingers slapping against my wet folds and my moans. i was just on the edge, i could feel myself clenching faster, then suddenly i was there.

"elisa, i'm cumming!"

"cum for me bébé, all over my fingers." (baby,)

i didn't need any further assurance, i let it go and found myself clenching uncontrollably around elisa's fingers as she helped me through my orgasm.

slowly she pulled her fingers out, licking them clean then pressing a kiss to my lips so i could taste myself on her lips.

once i'd come down from my high, she made sure to clean me up as best she could, slipping my underwear back onto my hips and pulling the dress straps up over my bare chest.

"well clean up properly at home, yea?"

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #woso smut #elisa de almeida #elisa de almeida x reader #elisa de almeida imagine

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 1 year ago

Text

Enemies With Benefits (2)

Admit It

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: Enemies. That was what you were. She was an Avenger, you were a criminal. You should hate her, she should hate you. So why do you love the feeling of her skin pressed against yours? Moans spilling from her lips? The taste of her on your tongue?

Casual, rough sex. That was all it was supposed to be but soon feelings start to get involved. Would something so scandalous be able to last?

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI, Strap on, Jealousy, Enemies, Rough sex, Dirty talk, Angry Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Wanda's Power's during Sex

General Masterlist | Enemies with Benefits Masterlist

Chapter 2- Admit It

---

Panic and anger flooded through Wanda as she frantically searched for the USB in her dress. The fear of letting Steve down another time for not completing a mission weighed heavily on her mind, the Captain trusting her with this mission and letting her do it instead of waiting for Natasha, who would normally have done a mission like that, to come back from her two week stake out with Clint.

Frustration with you also clouded her mind, this the third time you had stolen intel from her during a mission and at least the seventh time you caused her to not complete a mission. It had always ended in hot, rough sex (not that she was complaining) but that caused her to be unaware of your sneaky actions.

Clenching her jaw, she walked back into the club, her eyes scanning the dance floor to see if you were still there. She saw the blonde from earlier making out with some man, the kiss sloppy making her look away with a grimace. After a few moments of searching, she realised you must have left and quickly made her way out of the club, one place set on her mind.

***

Your body moved with the music, your hand holding a glass of whiskey while the other unbuttoned your shirt as you were getting warm. You briefly looked over at your laptop, the files from the USB almost downloaded so you quickly moved to grab the small box and tag. You neatly wrote ‘To My Little Witch’ on the tag, knowing how mad Wanda would get once the Avengers received your little present and downed the rest of your drink. The liquid burnt the back of your throat but you didn't care as you watched the files finish downloading and took out the device and placed it in the box.

Just as you were tying the bow on the box (yes the bow on the box, you had to be dramatic) a loud knocking sound was heard on your door. You turned off the music, now able to hear how loud the pounding on the door was and chuckled at the knowledge of who it was.

“Hello my little witch,” you say as the door opens, her eyes glowing red as she looks at you in anger. She didn't respond to you, only pushing you into your apartment and slamming the door shut. Her hand found your neck and she swiftly pinned you to the door, her magic holding your hands against the wooden door. “Anything I can do for you?” you tease, her grip tightening around your throat making you shut up.

“You,” her finger roughly slammed against your chest, “Need to stop fucking my missions up.”

“The only thing I’m fucking is you little witch,” Wanda tilts her head at you, a daring look in her eye to make you continue, “It’s not my fault you’re easy to steal from.”

“Give it back. Now. ” Her voice is laced with anger but you can’t help but annoy her more.

“Or what? Gonna send your friends after me?” She remained silent for a moment, thinking to herself and looking around. Her eyes soon met your unbuttoned shirt, your toned body on show for her along with your black lace bra. You caught what she was staring at and chuckled, her gaze snapping to your smug face. “I’ll make you a deal. Admit that you were jealous earlier, and I'll give you whatever you want.”

Wanda had to stop the trail of thoughts that filled her mind with the promise of whatever she wanted and focussed on fixing her mistake, even if that meant ignoring the throbbing heat building between her legs

“Just give me the USB,” she pleaded, her voice no longer angry.

“Just admit it then,” you rasped out while her body moved closer to yours subconsciously. Wanda clenched her jaw, her pride not worth failing the team again so she moved to whisper in your ear, trying to have the same effect as you have on her.

“I was jealous of her,” she purred, her magic slowly releasing your hands.

“More,” you whispered, still trapped against the door.

“I was jealous of how she had your hands on her, your mouth whispering words only I should hear,” you moved your leg forward so it slotted between her thighs, a breathy sigh escaping her. “It should have been me in your arms, not her.”

“Good girl,” you whispered back, your hands now free to move, immediately going to her hips, “Now what do you want?” Wanda thought for a moment before smirking at you.

“I want to ride you, hard,” you groaned at her words and the feeling of her hand moving from your neck to trail her fingers over your jaw. “Then, you can do what you do best and fuck me,” her thumb glides over your bottom lip, dragging it down and letting go. “And finally, you can give me the USB.”

“So greedy,” you whisper before kissing her, hands threading through your hair as yours went to the back of her thighs to lift her up. You carried her to the bedroom, placing her down and immediately unzipping the dress so you could pull it down. Her hands pushed off your shirt, scratching down your back causing you to hiss into the kiss. “You know, I should be punishing you for being so careless,” you murmur as you kiss along her jaw, “Losing such a valuable item.” You find yourself quickly on your back with her on top, strong, powerful legs straddling your waist as she glared down at you.

“And I should punish you for taking it from me, maybe I should tie you to the bed and use you as much as I want to in return for your actions,” she purrs, her hands unclasping her bra to show off her perfect breasts.

“You already said what you wanted, no take backs,” you murmur, her eyes rolling at you before you take a perk nipple into your mouth. Her mouth parts to moan while her hands clutch at your shoulders, your tongue swirling around her nipple before letting it go to do the same with the other. You only stop your actions when she climbs off your lap, swiftly pulling your trousers down and walking over to the drawer to pull out the strap on. You put it on as quickly as possible as the witch pulls down her drenched panties and returns to your lap.

“Fuck,” she groans out as she lowers herself down on the toy, your hands going to guide her hips but are restrained by her magic. She gives you a mischievous smirk that swiftly changes to an open mouth, moans tumbling out as you thrust your hips up to bury the toy into her. Her hands grip onto your thighs as she leans back slightly, her hips moving up and down the large plastic cock. You watch mesmerised as the toy is swallowed by her pussy, her arousal coating it and dripping onto your skin.

Soon, she’s bouncing on your lap like it’s the last time, the whole bed shaking as she brings her hips down onto yours. Pants and moans spill from her lips while she rides you into oblivion, her hips moving frantically as she nears her orgasm. With fervour, she moves her body upwards before slamming back down on the toy before sticking to rolling her hips hurriedly and clenching around you. Her hands dig into your thighs, leaving crescent shapes to mark you of your time together.

“I’m so close,” she moans out, releasing your hands so one can travel to her clit. You oblige her silent demand and circle the sensitive bud, her hips twitching in your lap as she gets even closer. Her hands move to grope at her own chest, pinching and pulling at her nipples.

“Come for me,” you husk out, her replying by screaming your name and tensing on top of you. Gradually, her hips slow, riding out the aftershocks, her body moving forwards and leaning down to kiss you. The kiss is messy, her too out of breath to properly make out with you. You take this as the sign to roll you two over, a whimper coming from her at the action while her hands go to grip at your back. “Still want me to fuck you?”

“What a stupid question,” she teases, pulling you down for another heated kiss. You quickly pull back, pulling out till only the tip is in before slamming your hips forwards. She moans into your mouth as you pound her into the mattress, her hands clutching at the sheets near her while you kiss at her neck when she can’t keep the kiss going. You snap your hips into her, panting against her neck as you feel the base of the toy hitting your clit. “Shit, you’re making me feel so good,” she sighs out, back arching as you thrust in harder.

“You look so pretty stretched out for me,” you mutter, moving back to ghost your mouth against her lips. You swallow her moans, her hands moving down to your back, scratching down making you hiss, then to your ass as you drill the toy into her. She pulls back from the kiss when you hit a spot deep inside her, head thrown back into the pillow showing off her neck and sharp jawline.

“Harder,” she begs and you want to scoff at her, is making the whole bed shake not hard enough? You grip at her thigh as she wraps her legs around you, pressing hard enough to leave a bruise that she’ll enjoy looking at another time, and change to slower but harder and even deeper thrusts. Sokovian curse words spill from her lips while you fuck her mercilessly, the sound sending another wave of arousal down to your core.

“I’m close,” you murmur, the friction against your clit having you so close. Her mouth reaches yours and with one final thrust, you climax, her following straight after. Your hips stutter as you experience the aftershocks, her body twitching under yours as her legs shake slightly.

You pull out when she is ready, discarding the toy and making a mental note to clean it later and leave the room to grab her a glass of water. Just because you’re supposed to hate her doesn’t mean you can’t be nice to her, right? When you return, she takes the glass with a quizzical look before exhaustion decides to take over her. You’re not sure what to do when she quickly drifts off to sleep, curled up against your pillow so you place the box with the USB on the other pillow and quietly retreat.

“Goodnight, my little witch,” you murmur, leaving your apartment with your laptop, ready to go through all the files while Wanda sleeps peacefully in your bed.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda x you #marvel fanfiction #eventual smut #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #smut #strappon #dom reader #dom/sub #marvel smut #avengers #gxg #gxg smut #wlw ns/fw

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heliads · 1 year ago

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IMAGINE

mordern au!newt whos readers classmate and hes like a nerd etc and reader just fell for him because of how cute he is and like they sit next to eachother in some class and reader keeps catching newt whos staring at them and its because he wants to ask them out ? HEBFISNIDNFI i hope this makes sense and i hope you have an amazing day🥰

happy birthday anon!!!!!

masterlist

There is a boy in the corner of this room, and he is– he is looking at you. Yes, you’re sure of it now, even though he glanced away as soon as your eyes met. He wasn’t expecting you to notice, which is silly, because you’ve noticed almost everything about Newt since the moment he first showed up in one of your classes.

The only thing you haven’t noticed about him is all the times you haven’t caught him staring, and how he smiles when he knows you won’t be able to question him for it. Similarly, when Newt hastily turns his head and pretends that he’s been studying the board at the front of the classroom this whole time, he misses how long your eyes linger on him instead. Almost as long as his, maybe. Shame that neither of you will do a thing about it.

You don’t think you’re staring for the same reasons, though. You only look at Newt because he’s already looking at you. Newt must have a different motive for getting distracted by you so often, but he’s not likely to breathe a word of it to you. Until that impossible day, though, when Newt finally manages to get over himself and finally confesses something, you’ll keep looking back at him, wondering what all of this is about, and never, ever knowing.

You can’t hold too much of a grudge against him for looking away, nor for rushing out of the classroom without a word more than hello or goodbye or the occasional sorry when he brushes against you in the hallway. That’s not personal, that’s just how Newt is with everybody.

Newt’s quiet, you know. Doesn’t talk to a whole lot of people if he can help it. Most of the time, he’s perfectly content to sit by himself or walk alone to class, not needing anyone around him. He brushes off eye contact like dust from a faded photograph, not straying to orbit around the popular circles like everyone else in this school. The only exceptions are the small and select group of friends he likes to keep around, and then– well, then there’s you, but that feels different, somehow.

You know of Newt’s friends, they’re all good people. The kind of good people that you’d expect someone like Newt to hang out with. There’s Alby, tall and strong and ever-present in student leadership organizations. He keeps trying to get Newt to run with him in various elections. Usually Newt’s too good of a sport to say no, but the blond boy would much rather fade into the background under more secretarial roles as opposed to vocal vice presidencies. You’d know, you’ve seen him.

Minho’s a ton of fun, too. No one can crush the student athlete grind like him. He’s captain of the varsity cross country team, and will happily swear to anyone around that he’s the fastest one by far. Newt used to run with him, but there was an injury and a lot of crushed dreams and no one likes to talk about it much. It’s surprising how quickly people can move on.

Thomas is new, just switched over to your school a few weeks ago. He’s got this freaky sort of determination that makes you want to stand and watch while he tears up everything you’ve ever known. You’re all sort of fascinated by him, and you have no doubt that if there’s anyone capable of acing the SAT and making it far enough out of here to see the walls of an Ivy League, it would be him.

The others are just as fun. Teresa’s new too, although she usually keeps to herself. Thomas knows her the best. Frypan, president of the school cooking club, can usually be seen proffering boxes of freshly baked delicacies to his friends. They’re all good kids, the lot of them. Even Chuck, who might have been someone’s younger brother or babysitting victim or just some kid they picked up. He’s years younger than any of them and goes to the local elementary school, but he’s still there half the time you see them hanging out together.

Of all of the friends, though, Newt is the enigma you’d most like to decipher. He’s quiet, for one thing, even despite the fact that he’s in such a joyful friend group. He’s smarter than anyone gives him credit for, maybe because he’s too modest to brag as much as anyone else.

And, for another thing, he’s cute. Terribly charming. Utterly impossible to ignore. He’s been in a handful of your classes for years now, and you’ve never been able to muster up the courage to have a conversation about more than classwork. Usually, he’s just on the other side of the room, working on the work from your very same lecture, and yet you can’t seem to say what you really want to him.

That might change this year, though. He’s in your history class, and the teacher has given you the best blessing any educational faculty member can provide and seated you right next to him. The desks in that room are arranged in pairs, separate from everyone else save one person, and you are with Newt. It’s absolutely lovely.

So, yes, you can stare at him in math, as you’re doing right now, but the second that bell rings, you can take your time getting to history next period, because he will be there waiting for you, and he will smile up at you, and everything, everything, will be alright.

Only– when you get to class, there’s someone in your seat. It’s not a case of someone who forgot where their assigned seat was halfway through the year. In fact, this misplaced student isn’t even in your class. This is Thomas, who should be across the hall, but isn’t.

Apparently he’s run in to urge Newt to do something. You try to hear more as you drift closer, but just when you’re within hearing range, Newt’s eyes flicker up to you and his entire body seems seized by some sort of terrible panic. He frantically cuts Thomas off, saying something about how he’ll totally do whatever they were talking about.

Thomas looks confused by the sudden change in mood, and glances over his shoulder to see you standing there, waiting for him. He stands up quickly, jokes about stealing your seat, and leaves in a rush. You let your backpack drop to the ground, and look back at the hurriedly departing Thomas. The brown-haired boy flashes Newt an eager thumbs up before leaving, which makes absolutely no sense.

You take your seat at last, peering over at Newt for some kind of explanation. The blond boy just stares intently at his homework, mumbling something about how he doesn’t know what that was about. It’s obvious that you’re not going to get any answers from him now, so you sigh and grab your books from your bag.

The second you look away, though, you can see Newt cautiously looking back at you out of the corner of your eye, a soft smile slipping over his face when he thinks you won’t notice. You trust Newt that he won’t do anything to embarrass you, so that business with Thomas truly must have been nothing at all.

Still, you’re curious, but Newt behaves pretty much the same throughout the class. You watch him out of the corner of your eye the whole time, waiting for him to slip up and say something, but no dice. He looks a little uneasy, but it doesn’t seem like anything major.

When the teacher dismisses the class to work on a packet with your assigned seating partner, you expect Newt to do something, but no. He keeps clearing his throat like he’s going to say a few words, but he seems to lose his nerve every time and fades back into silence or, worse, a discussion of 17th century trading practices as you’re meant to be doing.

You almost think that you’re going to go the whole class without a single thing coming of Thomas’ intrusion when the bell rings, dismissing everyone to their next period. You stand up, starting to shove your books and folders into your backpack once more. Newt stands too, looking gripped by panic.

“Y/N,” he begins, then cuts himself off just as quickly.

“Yeah?” You ask, distracted by the zipper on your backpack, which has chosen this very moment to get stuck.

“Would you– would you like to see a movie with me sometime? There are a few good ones at the theater nearby, if you’d want to do something like that. If you don’t want to, that’s cool, obviously, but I was kind of hoping that–”

Newt’s tripping over himself by now, but you clear his nerves with a single smile. “Newt,” you say, “I would love to go out with you.”

“Really?” He asks, a little ahead of himself. “I mean, yeah, that sounds great. Does Friday work?”

“Friday’s perfect,” you tell him.

“Cool,” he says, “Cool, yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Can’t wait,” you grin.

You don’t think you’d mind standing there a while longer, with Newt looking at you with that radiant smile, but unfortunately you are still in school, and you still have classes to get to. One of your friends calls your name from across the room, irritably wondering why you’re still lingering there.

You allow yourself a beat longer, then leave at last. Newt is looking at you when you vanish from view, you think, but for once you understand what he’s not saying, what he means the most, and that– well, that is absolutely everything.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver

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swissboyhisch · 1 year ago

Text

The Sugar Fix

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Summary: After opening your cafe and bar, a familiar hockey player comes in opening day. Seems like he remembers you too.

Word Count: 1942

Warnings: Alcohol

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

A new shop was opening near the Prudential Centre called The Sugar Fix. They had been all over social media before they had even opened. People have been talking about it for weeks. By day it was to be a cafe bakery but at night it would transform into a hidden bar. And it was opening this weekend.

The bar theme was to change every month. With events to be held every weekend. But since it was the start of the NHL Playoffs, with the New Jersey Devils one of the top picks for the Stanley Cup, the bar had collaborated with the hockey team. The opening weekend of The Sugar Fix Bar was to be themed Devils & Demons.

But before the opening of the hidden bar, the bakery had to have a successful day. You were in the kitchen early with your best friend and a couple of the other girls you had hired. Music was playing through the store’s sound system. Some Taylor Swift this early never hurt anyone.

“Do you want to start putting things in the display cases?” Hannah, one of your workers, suggested to you and your best friend/co-owner.

You both agree and start moving the goods to the glass cases. The four shelves in all the cases were filed with many of the cakes, cookies and pastries looking bright, colourful and inviting. From the large selection of cookies to the display of many flavours of cupcakes. Another large display case filled with cakes pre-cut ready for the coffee and cake slice special.

You walked around the store for the tenth time. Another lap. You had to make sure everything was just how you wanted it. All the greenery in the cafe. The table decorations to the sample boxes you could buy. It needed to be perfect.

“Everything is fine,” Your best friend reassured.

“We’ll see how it goes.”

“I can assure you we have gone over everything. This will be everything we have ever dreamed of.” They pulled you in for a hug. “Today is going to be great and tonight will be even better.”

Time ticked by and then finally the time came. 6AM. Opening time for the Sugar Fix. Since the bakery was also a cafe, they sold coffees and other drinks. Perfect for the morning on the way to work.

You greet a couple of people waiting outside the door for you to open. “Good morning, welcome to The Sugar Fix.”

The day got busier as the sun rose in the sky. At around 9, the cafe was bustling with most of the tables full of people. A large group of men walked in. They all looked around, enjoying what they saw. All the sugary treats. One in particular you recognised, the tall brunette with an accent. Nico Hischier.

The captain of the New Jersey Devils and you had met in the past. Back when you were both 21. He was out with his team celebrating a big win. You on the other hand were out with some friends celebrating one of the girl’s birthdays. Nico had come up to you, kinda drunk, and started to flirt with you. The night was great and you both had a good time. Maybe having a club corner makeout. Sadly you two, in the drunken haze, forgot to exchange numbers. It was a night you couldn’t forget. Well you couldn’t forget him.

You happened to be serving customers when he and what you predicted were his teammates came up to the counter. A small smile was exchanged between you and Nico before he double checked with his friends on orders. You went through the orders, one by one. Making sure they were correct.

“If you guys want to take a seat, I’ll bring your drinks to the table.”

After they moved away from the counter, Hannah had taken over serving customers. Allowing you to bring the soon made coffees and drinks to the hockey players. (Y/b/f/n) assisted you with the task. She didn’t know who’s order you were delivering. But when she saw who was sitting at a table, she had a Cheshire grin on her face. Aimed right at you.

“Is that–”

“Yes, and if you say anything, I’ll strangle you.”

They grins and greets the table when you arrive. “Welcome to The Sugar Fix boys.”

You placed the cups you were holding onto the table, specifically the one you remembered was Nico’s. He smiled, grabbing the cup and taking a sip. “Thank you.”

“Congratulations on the playoff spot.”

“Thank you,” Jack grins. “Congratulations on the store.”

Your best friend grinned, “Thank you, it’s a dream come true for the both of us.”

“So you two are the owners?” Nico asks.

“Yes, the creative minds behind everything.”

You both had to be pulled away to help other customers. You were too distracted by another customer that when you turned back to the table the boys were sitting at, it was empty and being wiped down by another worker.

“Don’t worry,” A voice behind you spoke up. Your best friend sent you a smirk, “You’ll see him again.”

It came time to close the bakery after the successful day. The bakery had been busy all day, customers coming in and out of the store. A variety of comments and compliments from many customers. Now it was to clean and get the bar ready for the night.

The Sugar Fix, a bakery cafe by day, was now becoming a bar/club. The bar staff had arrived early to make sure the bar was set and the garnishes for drinks and cocktails were prepared for the long night ahead.

Tonight, well this month’s theme, was Devils & Demons. The room was decorated with New Jersey Devils merch and devil themed decorations. Once a month, first weekend with a new theme, prizes for the best dressed male and female would be handed out. Everyone was encouraged to dress up.

Whilst you were doing some last minute moving furniture, your phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number.

Can I see you again? I can’t let you slip away a second time - Nico

How did he… “(Y/b/f/n)!”

“What?” They asked as she stood from behind the bar.

You showed them the message and the biggest grin spread across their face. “He actually did it?!”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” They shrugged innocently. A look from you had them laughing. “I just gave him your number after he watched you walk away to help another customer.”

You didn’t bother to reply to your friend, just tried to figure out what to say. Write a message. Delete it. Reword the message. Delete it. Then finally you came up with what you wanted to send Nico.

You have your last regular season game tonight, do you have training tomorrow?

No, why? Wanna do something tomorrow? - Nico

Well… Are you and the boys planning on celebrating making the playoffs?

Some of them mentioned going out - Nico

I can make you guys an area… Block off a couple booths

I’ll agree if you spend the evening with me in said booths - Nico

“You can do that.”

You jumped at the sudden voice in your ear. “Jesus fucking christ.”

“We open at 8, the boys won’t be here till like 10:30/11 at the earliest. You get to do the open and a couple of hours of serving.”

Tonight’s on duty manager, Tom, leant on the bar beside you guys. “You two, when the team comes in, go join them. Celebrate the successful day!”

“Yes!” Tahlia shouted from the other side of the room. “Do it. You guys have worked so hard, celebrate.”

You relented and sent another text to Nico.

Deal. But my best friend is gonna join us cause we’re gonna celebrate too

Deal - Nico

With the confirmation from Nico, your nerves increased. You had three hours until the hidden bar opened. Then another three until the boys arrive.

“We need to get ready,” (Y/b/f/n) orders when they realise the time.

“I did not bring date clothes,” You stress.

They roll their eyes. “I saw what you brought. It’s fitting for a club that’s having a theme night. And it’s hot as fuck.”

“I didn’t expect to have to impress a guy. Let alone him!”

The two of you went into your office at the back, behind the bar. It even had a private bathroom. You both had brought a bag full of everything you needed. Someone had turned up the music in the bar as you all started to get dressed for your shifts. Heartbeat by Childish Gambino started to play so everyone was singing along.

Within an hour of opening, the club was full of people dressed up. Music blasting and the bar was buzzing. The back corner by the bar was empty, the roped off area ready for the occupants to arrive. It made you nervous every time you looked at it.

“It will be fine.”

It wasn’t fine. You were so nervous you had to hide in the office for a hot moment. The NHL app had informed you that the Devils had won against the Capitals. Their last regular season game. You knew you’d have a little more time since they had to do media and get ready to go out. Meaning 11 was most likely their arrival time.

Can you text me when you’re on your way? Just so I know

As you expected, you didn’t get a reply straight away. But when you did, it was nerve racking.

We’re on our way now - Nico

Fuck. Instead of sitting and worrying over the situation, you got a couple buckets of beers and placed them in the booths for the guys. Along with a couple of wine bottles and glasses just in case that’s what some of the partners felt like. Then you got behind the bar. Keeping busy. Keeping your mind from the cute swiss hockey player coming to see you. With it being so busy, you got swept up into serving other patrons and kinda forgot about the VIP guests.

“Hot date, 11 o’clock.” You glance over in the direction your friend had mentioned and sure enough there was a group of players making their way through the crowd. “Go greet them!”

Nico grinned when he spotted you weaving through the crowd. God you were looking hot. He hoped that tonight would be great, fun. Especially with you. Nico wasn’t letting you slip away from him again.

“Hey, welcome to The Sugar Fix! Congrats on the win boys. I’ll show you guys to your area.”

You lead everyone through the crowd and past the bouncer you had positioned at the entrance of the roped off section. The boys immediately went for the alcohol on the tables. The partners went for the wine.

“Thanks for this,” Nico smiled, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music.

“Anytime,” You blush. “Did you just want one of those beers or would you prefer something else?”

You didn’t even have to move because a cosmo was thrusted in front of you. You glanced to see Tom holding it out. “Your favourite.”

The boys all cheer as you two join them at the tables. Everyone had drinks in hand, grinning and celebrating their win. Jack came up to Nico and slapped him on the shoulder. A tray of shots held out to the pair of you. Nico grabbed one and passed it to you before grabbing one for himself.

“Cheers.”

“To the win,” you grin.

“To the date,” Nico adds.

TAG LIST:

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings @jayrami3

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linkemon · 4 months ago

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Kyōken (Kyōtani Kentarō x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴡɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴀᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇ, ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜᴍᴀᴋᴇʀ…

— [Reader]-chaaan! — A loud, sweet voice came from the end of the corridor. — Here you are.

— Good morning, Oikawa-senpai.

The girl was honestly surprised. The king of the school was usually surrounded by his fan club. This time, he came alone. Moreover, they didn't know each other very well. Third graders rarely had any contact with the lower grades outside of club activities.

— You have to come to our match — he blurted out.

This made her even more surprised. She didn't know how to get out of the situation. In theory, senpais were not to be refused. However, she had heard about the flirt's exploits and had no desire to get involved with his fans. Every suspicion meant jealous glances. It could also lead to later unpleasantness.

— But I don't like volleyball — she cleared her throat nervously.

— You've already been to our... AAAAAH — Oikawa howled.

[Reader] recognized the person who hit him in the head. It was his teammate, Iwaizumi.

— Are you bothering kouhais again, Shittykawa? — He pulled him by the ear.

— It's not like that, Iwa-chan — he sobbed as if on cue.

The girl wondered how tears could be summoned so quickly. She had no doubt that Aobajohsai Captain was a master in this matter.

— I just wanted Kyōken-chan to play well...— he sobbed.

— I apologize for him. — Hajime bowed, forcing his friend to do the same.

— Apology accepted — she replied.

She felt awkward. After all, it wasn't every day that two older senpais apologized to her at the same time.

— We'd appreciate it if you came to training anyway.

— Where is this invitation coming from? — She started playing with her fingers nervously.

The students were already heading to their classes. She couldn't be late for calligraphy. Yamahama-sensei took her work very seriously and did not tolerate any kind of deviation.

— I'll be honest with you — Iwaizumi started, dismissing Oikawa towards their classroom. — Kyōtani-kouhai seems calmer when you're in the stands. With his explosive personality, we may have serious problems in the next match. Help us. — He bowed again. — You can take someone with you if you want, just please come.

It was strange for [Reader] to accept that the boy could be short-tempered. They were in different classes but when they met, he always seemed rather calm to her.

— All right. — She nodded. — If it's to help him... I mean, help you win, then fine.

— Thanks a lot. We start at four p.m. in the hall! — The boy disappeared around the corner.

A stack of boxes filled with books covered [Reader] the entire school corridor. It was inevitable that they would collide with someone sooner or later.

— Be careful how you walk…— Kyōtani stopped mid-sentence.

The boy would normally yelled at anyone who bumped into him. It didn't matter whether it was a third-year or a teacher (though in the latter case he usually ended up cleaning the classroom as punishment).

This time, however, the situation required restraint. [Reader] was lying on the floor, among a pile of textbooks. They were in different classes but Kentarō had been watching her for some time. So far, there has been no opportunity to talk to her. He was stopped from taking the first step by information he accidentally heard during a breakfast break — apparently the girl liked calm and polite students. He had no way of knowing if it was true but he decided he didn't want to ruin anything. Especially since he was aware of his rather difficult character.

Without a word, he held out his hand. It was received with gratitude, accompanied by apologies and bows.

— Don't worry about it. — He scratched the back of his neck.

He introduced himself and then offered to help carry the boxes.

— Kyōtani-kun, you don't have to carry everything. I can take some from you.

— How much can such a frail girl like you carry?

He knew that sooner or later he wouldn't be able to stop himself. His character always came out in the end. He felt like punching himself in the face for forgetting.

To his surprise, [Reader] laughed.

— Not much probably. You're right. I heard you play volleyball. With muscles like that, you might as well carry it all.

He felt heat rising to his cheeks and covered himself with the cardboard. He hoped nothing was visible.

— Do you like volleyball?

— No. To be honest, I don't really like sports but my friend is a fan of the school team. She goes to every match where Oikawa-senpai plays.

— You can come to our training sometime. We usually play after three o'clock.

— Seriously? It'd be great.

— We're here — he said, wishing the classroom was at the other end of the school.

— Thanks for the help! And see you tomorrow.

— I'll be late... come on...— The girl pressed the buttons of the machine to no avail.

It had already swallowed a lot of yen and the metal springs didn't move.

The second grader didn't want to stay hungry. She had a difficult test ahead of her. Her growling stomach wouldn't help her at all.

— Stand back — she heard behind her.

Kentarō swung and kicked the machine with all his might. The equivalent of all the money that [Reader] put in was gone.

The boy turned around, waiting for a reaction. He was horrified by the sight of the girl standing there with her eyes wide open. He was afraid that she would scold him for destroying the machine. However, nothing of the sort happened.

— Wow! Just like in the movies. — Delighted, she took out candy bars and carbonated drinks. — Take the can as a thank you.

— Thanks but it's nothing. — He cleared his throat. — It always gets stuck. If you ever have a problem again, hit really hard. Or... you can stop by my classroom and I'll come help you.

— I'll remember... Kyōtani-kun, aren't you going the wrong way? — She raised an eyebrow.

Only after asking did he realize that his legs were carrying him away from the room he was heading towards.

— It just so happens that I'm heading in that direction too...

— Why are you so calm today? — Yahaba asked, practicing his receive.

— Because [Reader]-san is in the stands — someone from the team replied.

— I'm always calm! — Kentarō hit the ball with such force that a loud slap against the hand could be heard.

He felt pain burning in his hand. He got used to venting his anger on the pitch. Volleyball was perfect for this purpose.

— Yes, yes... But you better get over this anger because your girlfriend is watching — the setter laughed.

— She's not my girlfriend! — He served towards Shigeru.

He was going to wipe the smirk off his face. At the last moment, however, he remembered to behave himself and eased the pressure.

He gritted his teeth.

The start of the match has come. He didn't feel good about being limited. The whistle blew, signaling that it was time for him to serve.

To the boy's surprise, between the screams of the fans he heard a loud:

— Kyōtani-kun, knock'em!

It was [Reader] who was screaming very loudly, waving at him.

He smiled.

— That's my intention! — he replied, jumping high into the air.

— Ace for Aobajōsai!

— Did you come up with the idea that [Reader] likes — Hajime drew quotation marks in the air — nice boys?

— Iwa-chan, I'm the captain of this team. I told you we would win this game, no matter what. — Oikawa winked at his friend and then went back to warming up.

— Sometimes I wonder if you're that brilliant or that stupid...

#kyoutani kentaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #oneshot x reader #oikawa tooru #hajime iwaizumi

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iferguerrero · 1 year ago

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How long did Simon and Betty know each other? Timeline

How many years did the stable relationship of Simon Petrikov and Betty Grof last?

Hello, everyone, I bring you this post that is focused on the past of Simon and Betty, in Fionna and Cake we are given more information about their relationship before everything that happened in Ooo.

I have several theories about the dates, which is why I created a timeline.

I filled in some boxes with drawings.

Simon Petrikov & Betty Grof Timeline

1 week

1.The whole story begins when Simon and Betty want to take the same book from the library, but let's not forget that Betty had already been following Dr. Petrikov's work, which is revealed in "Jerry," "I've admired your research for years," which leads us to assume that since she was studying her career, she already knew Dr. Petrikov but only as an author of books. 2. After that, in "Temple to Mars," when they pass the tests, it is revealed that she was planning a trip to Australia to study petroglyphs, and her plane leaves in a week. (This is where she mentions that she left her career for Simon. I consider that she refers to her career not at the moment of the bus but at the moment when Simon looked for her through the Jambo portal in the episode "Betty." This is where Betty's career was cut, I'll explain this further.) 3. She already had the ticket for the trip, but just that week, she attended Dr. Petrikov's lecture, where she expresses to Babette the following: "I touched his hand in the library once." 4. Excited by Dr. Petrikov's lecture, she wants Dr. Petrikov to sign her book. They make comments about a vase, and Dr. Petrikov says it would be very good for her to accompany him on the expedition to search for The Enchiridion. She doesn't think twice and accepts. Dr. Petrikov is surprised but agrees that she can join the trip.

1 month

5. Dr. Petrikov and Betty go on the expedition to search for The Enchiridion. I want to believe that this took them a month, during which they got to know each other better as people. 6. They have fun, and it's clear that Betty is not afraid of anything, and in the end, she doesn't do what Dr. Petrikov says. 7. They return, and the word spreads. Dr. Petrikov wants both to get credit, but Betty doesn't want it. Dr. Petrikov doesn't express himself correctly and tells her that “it's indispensable”, and Betty leaves.

3 weeks

8. A "couple of weeks" pass, which could be calculated as 3 weeks, and Simon reads the note and rushes to Betty. 9. Simon and Betty reveal their mutual feelings, but in doing so, Simon stops Betty from getting on the bus. 10. My favorite scene ❤️

1 year

11. In the episode "Bespoken For," we are shown that they met for lunch at Captain Tasty's, and they used to eat there all the time. They even had a favorite table, and since Simon belonged to the "Book-a-day club," he gave books to Betty because she belonged to the "Book for the bookless" club.

2 years

12. In the episode "Come Along with me," this sweet scene shows that Simon and Betty live together. Simon is reading a book that mentions "GOLB," but he doesn't fully understand it. 13. Betty tells him to stop doing that and suggests they make sundaes. 14. Betty throws a can of cherries at him and accidentally hits him. Here, it's clear that she's concerned, but Simon takes it well, knowing it was an accident.

1 month

15. In the episode "Simon Petrikov," Simon talks about going on an expedition to the Temple of Java with Betty, where they lost half of their provisions, but Betty somehow put together a four-star dinner.

1 year

16. In the episode "Jerry," Simon comments that Betty makes the best soft-boiled egg, not runny, but perfectly jammy. (It is adorable how Simon expresses about Betty)

3 years

17. Betty and Simon write a book together. According to the internet, the average time to write and publish a book is 3 years.

1 month

18. Simon goes on another expedition and purchases the crown in Northern Scandinavia from "an old dockworker" as part of his studies to be an antiquarian of ancient artifacts. 19. Betty "disappears." (Although we know that she actually went to the future). 20. Simon records the tapes.

So, from what we can see here, it would be an approximate total of:

7 years and 4 months

What do you think? :)

From my perspective, this is a very good amount of time to get to know someone, especially considering that they were already living together. This is why Betty Grof was of legal age, and she knew what she was doing consciously. I believe there was a lack of communication towards Simon, and Simon should have asked because if we notice in the episode "Simon Petrikov," he tells Finn that if he is the one leading, making it clear that Simon could easily have gone along with whatever Betty wanted to do. As I mentioned, Betty felt that her career ended when she was transported through time by Simon, not before.

Thank you guys!

#adventuretime #letter #adventure time #ice king #fionna and cake #petrigrof #simon petrikov #betty grof #timeline #years #golbetty #Y.C.P 5547.

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armins-main-hoe · 2 years ago

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Can you please please write Miya triplets hc? What if Atsumu and Osamu had a troublesome triplet sister just like themselves? Whether he is interested in sports or volleyball is up to you. Thank you 💞

Miya triplets headcanons

Atsumu, Osamu and Y/n, these three were known to cause trouble when they were kids. The three of you really did like to play pranks on anyone. First it was your parents, then your grandparents, when you three entered school, it became your classmates.

Your school then put the three of you into three different classes because they really could not handle the three of you together.

This was when Osamu began to calm down and became the more calmer and quieter one out of your three. Though that did not mean he would stop teasing you and Atsumu.

Though the school could not keep you three apart all the time, there was lunch where students from different classes would hang out and eat together.

You would be sitting with your friends, laughing and chatting away when all of a sudden your juice is gone. You stop laughing immediately and look at your friends who were already looking at Atsumu.

"Give it back!" You stand up and go to grab it back.

"No, you swapped our juices didn't you? It's only fair that I get to drink both juices- OW"

You punched his stomach and when he bent down you grabbed the juice box and quickly drank it all.

"Why you litTLE-"

Now your brother is chasing you down the hallways and around the school until lunch break is over. Osamu had watched the two of you run back and forth outside from his classroom window, looking down at the two of you like you both were two complete idiots.

While growing up, your brothers had always been attracted to sports, your parents would put you in sports too because they wanted to take cute pictures of the three of you together, holding up a ball all muddy.

You then grew to like playing sports too and began to willingly join your brothers in their games.

Then came high school (middle school? i forgot which stage of education they are in when they play volleyball :/) and you noticed your brothers had joined the boys volleyball club.

You don't know why they chose volleyball out off all the sports they could have chosen. Don't think you ever played volleyball that much either.

There was a day where you had forgotten your house keys and you knew your parents weren't gonna be home so you went over to your brothers' practice to ask them to give you their spare key.

That's when you first officially met their teammates and since the coach wasn't in that day, their captain allowed you to hang out with them for a bit ( totally not because they all sort of had a crush on you ).

You had your brothers' teammates teach you the basics of volleyball and whenever you would fail a serve or a receive, you would hear your brothers' annoying, loud laughs behind you. That's when you would throw the volleyballs at them, hoping to hit all the laughter out of them.

After that day, you would sometimes watch your brothers practice before deciding that you too also want to play volleyball. So then you joined the girls team.

Sometimes the school would have a mini match with the boys team against the girls team, that's when you would challenge your brothers saying that if you win then they both have to you snacks and if they win you have to buy them snacks.

Safe to say, both sides have had their wallets bruised enough times.

You noticed that volleyball became a rather important hobby to your brothers, specifically Atsumu. You enjoyed volleyball yourself too but as the school years went by, you don't think you would want to make a career out of it. Osamu told you that he too shared the same feelings. So then after your third year, you both decided to cheer Atsumu on from the sidelines while he reaches his volleyball goals.

Though I keep thinking that you too would have a career which causes you to have some fame too. Like a singer or an actor, maybe a famous author? But I feel like if you were to ever have interviews, they would ask you about Atsumu and think that you both were twins. You would then tell them that actually you do have another brother and the three of you are triplets. This would cause your fans to want to see to interact with Atsumu and your other brother whose name they do not know.

Even though the three of you grew up arguing and only working together to throw pranks on others, the three of you do love each other very much. You remember when you had gotten into your first relationship, your brothers had gotten very, very protective of you. So you know that even if the three of you grow up and end up living very far away, the bond you all have as siblings could never be severed.

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vodrae · 1 year ago

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DC Comics highschool AU where Bruce 18 and Harvey 18 are the golden twins (lovers) of the football team, but after an injury, Harvey is replaced with that nerd from smallville who's in the school's newspaper, and he's able to make Bruce cheer too !

Grrr

So Harvey's integrating the cheerleaders (and debate) team to stay close of the field and his mentor is the girl rumoured to be the great grandgirl of the last Chinese Emperor Talia Al-Ghul.

In this AU, there is an unofficial club of heavily mentally scarred gothamite kids, you know who i'm talking about, and they have been adopted by the Golden Twins (lovers), so better not mess with them.

Everybody knows Dick 17 , he has to settle down in Gotham when his parents died and social services were looking for a solution, Alfred Pennyworth took him in, he was there with Bruce that night. Captain of the gymnastic team, no enemy guy, the only one able to shine brighter than Harvey. Someone tried to mess with his girlfriend once, Kori Anders, apparently he also learnt muay thai on the road.

Jason Todd 16 , Stephanie Brown 15 , Duke Thomas 14, Harper 16 and Cullen Row 14 can't and won't deny coming from Park Row, sorry, crime alley, Duke is actually from Bristol, but you know, nuances are too complicated. They met each other in foster system and Dick too.

One day, when the orphanage was running very low on money, Jason appeared with multiple bags of food. The others thought he was joking when he said he stole the 4 wheels of the mayor's Bentley, when he, Jacob Kane, came with the police they weren't joking so much.

Long story short, they are Kane's wards now, it's was a package deal.

Jay and Duke are making the glorious hours of writing club, Jason would like theater and Duke chemical but Jacob made them pick a sport, Jason was kind of forced to go to the football defensive team, (Jake didn't digest the L against Metropolis in 86) and Duke for the running team. As fast as light.

Steph is Lois Lane's right hand for the school's newspaper, she's running their social medias with great sucess and is the head of gossip departement. Clark is the left hand for the investigation departement. She won against Jason, Harvey, Clark and others *wink wink* the biggest eater contest. She's now a subject for the quantum physics club.

Harper leads the electronics club, the school still remembers when her dog sized spider drone was unleashed. She's also in the kickboxing club.

Cullen is vibing in the theater and art club.

Kate Kane 18 can't stand all the dumbasses above but if she has a dream where you are glaring at them she will break your knees. Her father wanted her to do ballet, she's doing music and kickboxing. Bullying is her love langage.

Tim Drake 15 is a little genius coming in HS at 12, a unique feat until a certain someone from middle east came to school... He's driving Edward Nygma insane by solving all his riddles, photography and and electronic club. His parents are rich but always absent. 7 years ago, Alfred invited him for thanksgiving, never really left since.

Damian Al-Ghul 13 and Cassandra Wu-San 16 are cousins, they are not related but their family have known each other forever and Cass was there the day the demon spawned. Damian is Dusan's Al-Ghul son, who's 30 years older than his little sister Talia, the two are really too much well trained in martial field to be normal. Damian's is leading the escrima club.

Cass, despite being mute, is leading kickboxing club, noboby ever won a round against her. In the entire country. Except for her big sister Sandra Wu-San, also known in professional wrestling as Lady Shiva, who could give her a draw. Also she can't use technology to save her life.

The Wu-San are the adopted daughters of Dinah Drake (second cousin of Tim) and Ted Grant, a former world heavyweight boxing champion and a professional wrestler known as Wildcat. Together they have a bio daughter, Dinah Jr Laurel Drake-Grant.

A girl, Selina Kyle 18 claims she's not related to them but still has a permanent room in their house if she wants to come. Teddy met Jacob Kane in the army and were deployed in middle east together, he found his girls in some destroyed village in the Middle East and resigned right after.

Talia and Damian are from one of the oldest Asian family, and very old money. Some argues that was their family who created the first philosopher's stone. Their grandpa being the only person on Earth from the XIX century still alive is not helping. Ras wife's family helped the Americans in the Middle East that how he met Ted and Jacob.

Talia 18 is in the cheerleading club because of her HUUUUUUUGE crush on Bruce Wayne, best grades ever everywhere. Wants to become a vet.

Nyssa 17 Al-Ghul is in the kickboxing club and write her secret stuff just for her.

Barbara Gordon 17 is the daughter of the commissionner, someone shot her, she's paralysed. She's the captain of wheelchair basketball and in the electronics. She's a godess at armwrestling. For real she's an hydraulic press. She's really close of Dick Grayson and maybe she has adopted Steph, Cass, Harper as hers. Her own pose in school is with Dinah Laurel and Helena Bertinelli.

She's very competitive and will take very badly if Tim is just behind her again at the Olympics of hacking this year.

Diana 18 (who is at least as tall as Clark, i'm right on this) is leading the wrestling team and history club, she's a exchange student from Greece from a monastry where men are forbidden as a diplomatic move with her sisters. (in reality the opposite exists, for real). Her accent makes every boys and girls fall for her. She has a very strong sens of justice. One day she saw Bruce and Clark, not even talking together and..."Your mine now ! We're having tacos tonight !" They knew they couldn't negotiate.

Ollie Queen 18, everybody knows he will go to a board school one of the four (three) true childhood friends of Bruce Wayne. Captain of the archery team. Came with his own crew, all in the team. Desperatly in love with Dinah Jr.

Zatanna Zatara 18, her father was a close friend of Thomas Wayne, she's on a very good way to become a magician herself. One of the four (three) true childhood friends of Bruce Wayne. Leads theater club.

Hal Jordan 18, wants to become a jet fighter, obsessed with construction games. Mathematic club and running team.

Kendra Saunders 18, also known as Hawkgirl, because the week-end she's doing BASE Jump.

John Jones 18 and his half-sister Megan Morse 17, they are refugees from oversea after a coup. They love the special effects in movies and theaters so they are is this club. They came with

Kori Anders 17, princess in exile of Tamara, she's a really sweet girl so the school asked their sweetest student to guide her through her new life : Dick Grayson. Nobody knows how she mastered english in so little time. She had troubles with the differencies beetween the two countries. Everyone's favourite. Hurting, even a little Kori is declaring war to the whole school. She's also taller than anybody and very muscular. She kinda adopted Jason ?

Rachel Roth 14, is the daughter of the King of Azaroth, nobody really knows where it is. She's in the meditation and spiritual club. The only one allowed to hug, kiss, and touch her is Kori. The constant barking with Damian Al-Ghul can't only be hatred.

Donna Troy 17, Cassie Sandmarks 15 and Artemis Grace 16, they came with Diana. They all had a "Oh my god, he's so pathetic, I love him." With a Gotham Boy. They are all very tall and strong and in the weightlifting club.

Clark 18 and Jon 14 come from Smallville and are, 1) the sweetest guys ever, 2) fucking STRONG, there is a video on the differents groupchats of them, lifting the school gargoyle after a storm. Maybe farm strenght isn't the only explanation.

Kon 15 and Bizz 14 are from metropolis, Ma Kent's sister married Papa Luthor and they had Lex and then one rebelious and one albino with a speach impeachement, who is also the size of a polar bear. But, beware, Bizz is Jason Todd and Artemis love child. They haven't really figured yet what they want to do. Bizz is in special class with Cassandra Wu-San so you can regulary see her on his back giggling.

Linda 17 and Karen 18 kent, cousins of Clark by Pa Kent came back in town a few years ago after they lived their whole life in California. Linda is in the well-being club and liked by everyone. Karen is more on the amazonians side of the force and can't help herself but have homoerotic sparring with any strong woman on sight.

Dinah Jr Laurel Drake-Grant 18 embrassed her mom legacy and already took the mantle of Black Canary and can already put stages on fire. Her perfect figure must not makes you forget that she can beat your ass in seconds because she's in the kickboxing club too. Probably why Ollie is so in love. If you ask her if she's single, she would either tell you to fuck off if dhe doesn't like you or tell you she's already married with further explanation. (Could be either the stage, or Barbs and Helena).

Roy Harper 17 is in the archery team and music club with Dinah, nobody can sing the country and blues like him. He kinda adopted Jay with Kori too. Him and Jay made a pact to quit alcohol and drugs after they had a bad trip together on a joint in the toilet at a party together.

Lian Harper 14 is his little sister and will stay single until she's 30, at least. Well, everyone on the Arrow Team would like that. She loves hanging out with Dick and the others. Archery team too.

(I don't actually quite know a thing on the rest of the team, but they are there and well.)

The Allens all have their buddies too and are putting the race tracks on fire. Their father Jay Garrick holds multiple records of speed and gold medals. But not for long to his hapinness.

The Curry family comes from the islands in pacific ocean and are setting new records every years in swimming competition. They are all in bio courses to study marine life.

Harley Quinn 18 went in school with Bruce after his parent's murder, saw him sad, and never left him. One of the four (three) true childhood friend. She won't follow any rules but she's not a bad person. Wants to help everyone with their mental health, got a pretty big tik tok account and instagram on this topic. Her ex boyfriend, Jack, made her do bad things. But her (girl)friends Pamela, Selina and Bruce and a few others (all the people above) quickly talked to him. (Alfred signed a 100 000 dollars check for surgery)

Pamela Isley 18 leads the botanic club, she doesn't like people, like at all, would talk to grass but not you, she only started to like her figure when Harley couldn't stop ranting about her "water melon boobies" and "starship butt" in PE's locker room . Anybody else would be dead, but...It was Harley ? And Selina was laughing her ass off.

Selina Kyle 18, aka Catgirl because she's always wearing stuff with cat, her bagpack, cat ears, cat make up. She has a super model walk and won't accept shit from anyone. She wants to be a vet with Talia.

Jack Napier : still in the coma. AKA Joker, a nickname gained in jail for minors.

Thomas Eliott 18, the minus one true childhood friends of Bruce Wayne, wants him dead. Jealous that he had his inheritance before him.

(I spent 4 hours on this. Why ? BECAUSE I'M BATFAN)

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beckettj · 9 months ago

Text

The Heart of a Villan - Chapter 2/5

Chapter Two - Operation Lion's Den

Summary: Three-thousand miles from home, Henry drags Emma into a land she never imagined venturing to; the realm of English football. She holds no interest in the sport but when she’s approached by Villa Captain Killian Jones, she determines that there could be something in the sport for her after all.

Words: 9536

Read on Ao3

Killian enters the home changing room, the last to return due to his flirty grovelling at pitch side, and is met by jubilant chaos. Someone already has their victory playlist at full blast, blaring from their phone, and Will – ever the life and soul of a party – has stripped to his boxers, dancing around the place with his shorts on his head.

Will spots his arrival instantly and prances over, slinging an arm over his shoulder and dragging him centre-stage, to the middle of the room.

“Wahey, look who it is! The man of the hour, the captain of the century!” Will exclaims.

He grabs Killian by the wrist and flings his arm into the air, as if proclaiming him champion of a boxing match.

“It would appear that three points and a man of the match performance is not all our captain managed to secure,” Robin notes.

As appreciative as Killian is for Robin’s pinpoint accuracy on the pitch – a lot of his goals have come from getting on the end of a Locksley delivery – he’s not so fond of it off the pitch. Will jerks Killian’s arm down so to look for himself.

“Emma,” Will reads and looks up at him, “is that the bird whose kid you clobbered?”

“The woman,” Killian corrects pointedly. “And I’d hardly say clobbered.”

“Well, I’ve gotta hand it to ya, mate, it was one hell of a bold tactic,” Will comments. “Keep going with audacious tactics like that and you’ll give the gaffer a run for his money!”

Killian playfully shoves Will off him, knocking the shorts off his head in the same movement.

“Alright, that’s enough of that! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have yet to seal the deal,” the aforementioned gaffer strolls into the room.

His arrival changes the atmosphere instantaneously. The music is shut off, attentive silence fills the room and the entire team scramble to find their seats. They all know the drill after a victory; the gaffer gives them a small time to celebrate whilst he converses with his coaches and then it’s straight back to business.

He steps into the centre of the room and stands to take in his captive audience. He’s a young man for his role, mid-thirties and some of his players are a fraction older than him but his presence is a notable one, no matter what room he walks into. His presence alone demands respect and attention. He could walk into the away dressing room just next door and elicit the same response.

The gaffer’s accomplishments in the beautiful game deserve such worship, and earns awe from all those he meets for the first time.

Killian remembers the gaffer’s first day, being called into his office at the training ground first thing to be warned that the new gaffer wasn’t adverse to switching things up, to stripping him of his captaincy and giving it to another player if he deemed it to be in the best interests of the team. Had the previous gaffer made such a proposal to him, Killian would have been outraged, diving into an argument of how such an action would be unjust and potentially dent his reputation, yet with the new gaffer he’d done nothing but nod dumbly as he stared, astonished, at the legend before him.

A Premier League footballing legend; he’d broken into the Manchester United first team at just nineteen years old, setting the midfield ablaze, raking in the goals and assists. At only twenty-five years of age, the gaffer’s career came to a tragically premature end when a mistimed tackle in a pre-season friendly broke his leg in two places, but not before he had won five Premier League titles, two EFL cups, the FIFA Club World Cup, and the best of the best; the Champions League. A mind-boggling achievement for only seven seasons in the senior game.

Killian’s own career – coming towards the end of his eleventh professional season – feels trivial in comparison; his highest accomplishments of note being a Championship Play-off final victory and runner-up in an EFL cup final.

So he’d lapped up every word the gaffer had spoken, followed every instruction, gratefully grasped every piece of advice the legend had for him. His efforts retained him his captaincy and the entire team’s belief in the manager’s structural changes, tactics and formations had the team preforming miracles.

With the gaffer being a former Manchester United player, the media had taken to facetiously questioning whether the Aston Villa manager has sold his soul to the devil to elicit such fantastical results in transforming a relegation battling team into one competing for a top four spot on the other end of the Premier League table.

It's somewhat ironic, Killian muses, as the gaffer clears his throat, preparing for a speech, that in the three times Aston Villa have faced up to Manchester United since their new manager’s appointment, the Villans had beaten the Red Devils all three times.

Football is a fickle sport. A man once hailed as a hero for bringing such success to the Devils since transforming into the Villan responsible for pilfering nine points from them.

“As of this moment, we sit in fourth. You all know as well as I do what that means; it’s a Champions League spot but the fat lady has not yet sung!” the gaffer proclaims. “There are still eleven games left of the season and we’re sitting on the brink of success. They believed we’d drop off by Christmas. Did we?”

“No!” comes the charged, unison response.

“And nor will we! But victory comes with a price,” the gaffer continues.

It’s his long old mantra, one Killian’s heard countless times during the gaffer’s thirteen month reign at the club.

“Victory requires focus, it requires determination, it requires grit and it requires hard-work. I have demanded a lot from you lads in the last year and I’d like to think the results speak for themselves, but there’s no time to rest yet. I want Champions League, you want Champions League, the fans want Champions league. Eleven more games, one final push; double the focus, double the determination, double the grit, double the hard-work and we put Aston Villa back where it belongs; back amongst the top clubs of Europe. Are you ready for that?”

“Yeah!” the teams roars, together once more.

The gaffer nods, satisfied, “Enjoy today’s victory. Enjoy your day off tomorrow. You’ve earned it. We go again Monday.”

As quickly as he’d arrived, the gaffer leaves, off to meticulously review the game’s footage ahead of the team’s Monday morning briefing.

Killian releases a leisurely sigh as he leans back, his elbows resting on the tiled edge of the recovery pool, the cold water tranquil and peaceful, as his muscles relax.

“Cannonball!”

The scream comes from Will, moments before he leaps from poolside into the water, sending waves crashing into the faces of Killian and Robin; the only two inhabitants of the pool.

“Watch it!” Killian growls.

“Careful,” Robin speaks simultaneously, a light warning as if he were speaking to his eight-year-old son.

The rest of the team has long left, leaving ‘The Three Fragilities’, as the trio were often mockingly referred to as, to their longer post-match recovery routines. Will, at the mere age of twenty-two, has already torn his ACL twice, spotlighting him, to the club’s physios, as one to watch and take extra care with. Killian has suffered with a weakened Achilles since childhood, subjecting him to the longer recovery processes throughout the entire course of his career. As for Robin, well…

“It’s not my fault you two are old and boring,” Will defends his actions.

“Hey, speak for him, mate,” Killian nods towards Robin, “I’m still in me twenties.”

Will scoffs, “Yeah, and barely clinging on! When’s the big three-oh?”

“Bloody cheek!” Killian huffs. “I’m barely more than a month into twenty-nine!”

“Like I said, clinging on,” Will jokes. “Fighting against the pull of retirement age.”

“Bugger off,” Killian returns and is adamant, “I’ve got at least six years of top-flight in me still.”

“Wonderboy’s eyeing up your captain’s armband already,” Robin observes, amused.

“Wonderboy can bloody dream on,” Killian remarks.

Will settles down in the water, sitting on the submerged seating. The trio promptly dive into a game of ‘Would You Rather’, their usual way of passing the time, and Killian gets splashed by both Will and Robin on multiple occurrences, whenever the other men don’t agree with his responses. Killian gives as good as he gets, particularly dousing Robin when he comes out with the nonsense of preferring to sign for Birmingham City over Derby County.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Killian questions, appalled. “You can’t sign for Birmingham from Villa!”

“Says who?” Robin questions.

“Says the universe! It’s an unwritten rule,” Killian reminds him. “City fans won’t want you and Villa fans would be calling for your head! Going to City is like… Luke turning to the Dark Side!”

“As a Forest fan from birth, signing for Derby is turning to the Dark Side,” Robin returns. “I may play in claret and blue and for the lion on the badge, but my heart will always lie with Nottingham Forest.”

“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten your allegiance to Forest,” Killian admits.

“Hence the ‘would you rather’, they’re not meant to be easy questions,” Will speaks pointedly. “Where the bloody hell did you think I’d pulled Derby County out of?”

“I learned not to question your mind within your first week at Villa,” Killian retorts.

Further would you rather questions leads to more splashing and before any of them know it, Robin’s alarm is ringing on his phone, calling the end to their recovery time. Will jumps up faster than a diving player whose just won his team a penalty.

“Time to go home, stick on fifa, and relax!” Will grins at the prospect of his evening’s freedom.

Killian and Robin follow him out of the pool.

“I remember those days,” Robin reminisces. “Now I’m going home to an excitable eight-year-old and a newborn who’s vastly opposed to sleep.”

Will pulls a face at the mere thought and comments, “Kids. Who’d have them?”

Emma… Killian thinks wistfully and catches himself just before her name can escape his lips.

He freezes and pretends to busy himself with selecting a towel, allowing Robin and Will to go on ahead, both so deep in conversation that they fail to acknowledge his lingering behind. His eyes are wide at his own mind’s thoughts.

What the bloody hell was that?

He recalls the initial incident leading to their meeting vividly.

The opposition players broke out of nowhere, forcing him to bust a gut sprinting back towards his own goal, throwing in a last minute, desperate slide tackle to block his fellow number nine’s slot. He lay on the grass, watching the flight of the ball, time slowing down as it hurtled towards a young boy. He remembered hoping for the boy, or the woman beside him, to look up in time to react to the oncoming ball. When it became apparent they were both too drawn into their hotdogs, he hoped a member of the crowd would pull out a world class save, diving to parry the ball away.

Hope was useless. The ball hit the boy square in the face.

Shit.

Killian threw himself into PR mode, well-versed from previous escapades. He went over straight away, was the one to attract the attention of the first aiders, apologised, briefly checked in upon their return from the first aid station, dedicated his winning goal to the lad, gave the lad his shirt, signed some things and then he had turned to the best trick up his sleeve and subtly responded to the woman’s flirting.

It had gotten him out of trouble on multiple occasions. A few years back he’d crashed his car into another person’s vehicle. The driver – a woman by the name of Eloise Gardner – had been enraged when she’d climbed out of her car, her fury increasing more upon inspecting the damage. Then she had recognised him and things had taken a turn for the worse when it became clear she was a Blues fan and timing was not on his side; he’d only scored the winner in the Second City Derby the day before, causing him to be a very unpopular man from the eyes of Blues supporters. She’d cursed at him and threatened to go to the police so he’d turned to his charm and talked his way out of trouble and straight into her bedsheets. He’d awoken the next morning to coffee in a Birmingham City mug, a cruel joke, and before he really knew it, Eloise Gardner had gone from angry woman to friend with benefits. And they were regular benefits. Just as there were also regular acts of sabotage, Eloise taking her chances to try and throw him off his game, turning off his alarms, making him late for training, team meetings and matchday coaches, and yet he kept seeing her. There was something of a thrill to it; to fornicating with the enemy, to being challenged by her, and it had pulled him in.

Then the new gaffer had arrived at the club, pulled him up on recent dips in performance and unprofessional behaviours, and threatened to take away his captaincy. Killian dived headfirst into proving himself; spent every waking hour focused on his career, on the pitch, in the gym, or reviewing footage of previous matches. There was no time for the distraction of Eloise Gardner and once he’d made sure his captaincy was secured, she never replied to his texts or answered his calls.

He didn’t care. It had been nothing serious. Just a way to get out of trouble and have some fun in the meantime.

And that’s all it was with Emma. Charming his way out of trouble. But then he’d done something he hadn’t intended to do; he’d invited her and her kid to dinner.

And then his thoughts had gone straight to her the first moment someone mentioned something which even remotely referenced to her.

And he’s still thinking about her.

She’s nestled into his brain and there’s no shaking her.

He absent-mindedly plays with the red towel in his hand, noting the similarity of the red of the towel to the jacket she had worn. He wonders what she’s up to back at her hotel. He can clearly picture her lad bouncing on the bed, chatting enthusiastically to his mates on the other end of a phone call. He imagines Emma sat at the table, taking in the view of Birmingham out her window, a soft smile on her face as she listens to Henry’s excited recount of the day’s events and her eyes drop to her own phone, lying on the table, as she waits patiently for his call-

Wait.

He drops the towel. His heart pounds as a horrific thought swirls around his head. He recalls the light touch of her soft skin against his sweaty, warm arm as she’d written her name and number on his hand. The same hand which had been submerged in water, splashing and being splashed. He dares not look but he has to. His eyes reluctantly drop to his hand and his heart sinks. There’s faint scratching of ink, some stronger, some more faded, most of it gone all together. What remains is purely there to taunt him, to remind him of what he’d almost had, of what he had lost.

He's a bloody fool.

Killian has no idea what has gotten into him. The subtle, nonsense flirting and the offer of dinner had been for one purpose and one purpose only; to stop Emma from going to the press, claiming her five minutes of fame and allowing the newspapers to spin a tale which makes him look bad. The gaffer was big on no distractions and, as they had found out when Will crashed his car into the gates of a primary school, any news story proves a distraction.

Killian had been relieved to discover the morning paper contained no news story about a young lad requiring medical attention at the Villa game, determining himself in the clear.

And yet he finds himself sat in his car outside Villa Park on his day off, clinging to the only knowledge – beside her name – that he had; Emma and her lad had a stadium tour booked. He needs to see her again, if only to explain he hadn’t intentionally ghosted her, and this is his only chance.

A quick search on the Villa website had informed him that stadium tours were scheduled at ten-thirty in the morning and one in the afternoon. He’d arrived at Villa Park at nine sharp, in case her lad had been keen to explore the Villa store before the tour – the big store, not the half-arsed matchday one – when it opened at nine-thirty. He hadn’t. Those going on the morning tour had started arriving in dribs and drabs around ten-fifteen. He searched the group, both upon entering and leaving, for Emma and her lad; nothing.

By the time vehicles finally beginning pulling into the car park for the second, and final, tour of the day, he’s been sat in his car for three-hours-and-forty minutes. He sits up straighter in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes to focus on the people getting out of their cars.

Nothing.

He remains hopeful. The lad said they were coming and Killian doubts, from the impressive knowledge of Villa history that the boy had spouted at him, he would ever let his mother forget about the tour. Unless they haven’t forgotten. Maybe something’s happened; maybe the lad’s fallen ill, or has suffered complications from the impact of the ball. Maybe the lad’s wound up in hospital. Maybe his chances of ever meeting Emma again washed away with her number. Maybe he should start searching the local hospitals; he can start with Birmingham Children’s Hospital, he has a little pull there, visiting at least once a year with the rest of the Villa team.

As his mind spirals, he very nearly misses a grey taxi pull into the car park, only noticing it when it parks in the bay directly in front of his own. The back door opens the very moment the taxi stops and Killian breathes a sigh of relief when Emma’s young lad leaps out; he isn’t in hospital, he looks well in himself (except for the heavy bruising forming around his nose and left eye) and is full of energy, leaping excitedly as he eagerly coaxes his mother out of the taxi.

Killian has to stop himself from emulating the lad’s enthusiasm, very nearly leaping out of his own car when he sees Emma exit the taxi. He glances around the car park, taking in the growing number of people arriving for the stadium tour; he doesn’t want to cause a scene. He’s deep in Villa territory; there’s no chance of him not being recognised. A frenzy of picture and signing requests may well scare Emma off and he wants to speak with her, needs to speak with her, one-on-one (plus the kid).

He dons a black baseball cap and some dark sunglasses – it works in the movies – then slowly gets out of his car and follows after Emma and her lad, both on the move towards the stadium.

“Emma!” he softly calls out.

She turns, looking surprised to hear her name. Her head tilts slightly when she sees him and then her eyes widen with recognition before a cold stare falls over them and she straightens, standing tall and folding her arms across her chest.

“Jones,” she states coolly, hiding her initial surprise.

“She thinks you’re a jackass,” her lad speaks up conversationally.

Killian’s head has never turned so fast, snapping to stare at the boy; she what? Not a good first impression, work to do.

“Henry!” Emma exclaims.

“I don’t! You’re still my favourite player,” Henry covers quickly at Killian’s look then looks to his mother, “But I heard you on the phone to Grandpa. You said he was a jackass and that all professional sports players are egotistical jocks and that you never should have-”

“Okay, Henry,” Emma cuts him off and turns to Killian, “I was mad.”

That’s promising. Mad means she cares.

Cares! For a man she exchanged a few sentences with? She’s mad about her son being let down.

Or it’s a mixture of both.

The side of his mind fighting his corner dares to have hope. He takes a small breath. He’ll never know unless he shoots his shot.

“I would have called but I lost your number,” he starts to explain.

Her eyes shift to his side.

“Did you lose your hand too?” she remarks sceptically.

“The ink washed off,” he expands. “I was a bloody fool and didn’t save your details on my phone before– let me make it up to you. Lunch?”

He’s too eager, not even finishing his explanation before diving into his question. He’s mentally kicking himself.

What the bloody hell is he playing at?

“We’ve eaten already,” Emma tells him outright.

“I can still show you the city?” he offers immediately.

He wants the ground to swallow him up. He’s acting desperate.

“Henry’s been talking about this tour all morning,” she tells him.

It like taking a boot to the face, studs first; using her lad to let him down gently after her first attempt failed to dissuade him. He takes a resigning step back. He’s missed his shot; took too long, invited pressure, put it out wide. She’s taken possession, took her goal kick, and blasted the ball deep into the other half.

“Mom, he can come on the tour with us.”

The young lad dives in with a heroic save to keep the game alive.

Henry looks to his mother with big, brown puppy-dog eyes, seemingly eager to see his idea come to fruition. Killian looks to Emma and raises an eyebrow. If she agrees, there could still be hope.

“I guess he could,” she shrugs.

It wasn’t a no. He had a chance.

“Yes!” Henry cheers. “This is going to be so cool!”

“Aye, lad,” Killian agrees, glad that at least one of them is thrilled about his presence. “But let’s keep my presence between the three of us, okay? The club charges double the price for tours with ex-players present. I doubt they’d be too happy to learn that a current one spontaneously popped up at a standard tour.”

Whilst everything he says is strictly true, he’s talking utter nonsense. In truth, he has the duration of the tour to win Emma on side and he’s not going to be able to achieve such a feat if he’s having to share his time equally with the rest of the people on the tour. As much appreciation as he has for the support that Villa fans show him, they were not the reason he’s wasted half his day off sat in his bloody car; Emma is, and he sure as hell is not going to let those four hours become a waste of his time without a fight.

Henry gasps, “So it’s like a spy movie! You’re going in undercover. You’ve got to get in and out without being recognised!”

“That’s the aim,” Killian nods.

“The hat and shades are a good start,” Henry says, “but we need to name this mission.”

“Name it?” Killian questions.

“An operation name,” Emma expands, amused. “The kid loves his spy movies almost as much as soccer. He turns his aims into missions and names them. For example, Operation Cobra is his mission to get me to like your sport and refer to it as ‘football’.”

“Cobra? Why cobra?” Killian asks.

“Grandma says snakes are a symbol of rebirth and transformation because of the way they can shred their skin. The aim of Operation Cobra is to transform Mom into a football fan,” Henry explains then declares, “But right now we have another op to focus on, and this will be Operation Lion’s Den.”

Henry turns to take in the stadium before them and beams.

“Okay then,” Killian agrees. “Into the lion’s den we go.”

Killian steps towards the stadium entrance, aware that time is not on their side, the tour due to start any moment.

“Wait!” Henry yells urgently.

Killian freezes.

“Have you got an alias?” Henry asks him. “We can’t call you Killian. People might clock on.”

“Fair point, lad,” Killian concedes and considers, “How about Alex? Alex Rogers.”

“Okay Alex,” Henry agrees. “Now, Operation Lion’s Den can commence.”

Operation Lion’s Den was very nearly called off the very moment they had stepped into reception and approached the front desk. The booking under David Nolan had only two tickets to its name and the tour was fully booked. Killian dived in to save Operation Lion’s Den, revealing his true identity to the woman at the front desk, talking his way in and urging her to keep his presence discreet.

They had all received their passes, a claret lanyard on which holds a small claret square complete with the Villa badge and the lettering ‘STADIUM TOUR’, and entered into the Gas Lamp Longue just in time for the commencement of the tour.

Their tour guide is a young yet knowledgeable Australian woman named Belle who is such a fountain of Aston Villa facts – both present and historic – that even Killian finds himself learning new things about his club as they are shown around the hospitality areas within the North Stand.

Henry soaks it all up, chatting enthusiastically with Belle as she leads the way through corridors and up stairways, before the lad runs off to take photos of the view of the pitch from the latest hospitality area they are shown.

Emma lingers at the back of the group, keeping her distance from the avid Villa discussions being held amongst the friendly group, and Killian notices the way her gaze keeps lingering on the view of the stadium, staring longingly at the Holte End opposite, as if wishing to go back to the previous evening’s game.

Belle launches into a tale about the club’s late charge for promotion into the Premier League a few years back, and Killian leans towards Emma.

“You can’t fool me, you know,” he tells her, his voice low and hushed.

“Fool you how, Alex?” she returns pointedly.

“I saw you yesterday, after I scored,” his voice remains a low murmur, right into her ear, purely for the purposes of keeping his secret identity intact, and not because he longed to breathe in every bit of her enticing scent. “I saw the grin creeping onto your face, I saw your eyes alight with adrenaline, I know your heart was pounding in your chest as the roar of the crowd encompassed you.”

Her eyes flick once more towards the Holte End then back onto Belle.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” she challenges.

“It means that you let it in, maybe not consciously, maybe only for the briefest of seconds, but you let the claret and blue of Aston Villa touch your heart,” he tells her.

“Or maybe I was glad to finally see some kind of action in what was looking to be a goalless game,” she returns.

“Hmm, sure,” he replies, unconvinced. “You know, I remember watching my first Villa game. I was eight years old. I wasn’t sure about coming but my dad told me there was no pressure for me to be drawn into the club the same way he was. He said, ‘You don’t choose Aston Villa, Aston Villa chooses you.’. And for some people, that’s from birth, it’s all they ever know. For others, like me, like your lad, it’s more complicated; you find your own way to it, and it fills this gap you never even realised you had until one day you can’t remember there ever being a time in which Aston Villa didn’t hold a place in your heart.”

“That won’t ever be me,” Emma responds assuredly.

“We’ll see, love,” Killian shrugs. “We’ll see…”

Belle leads them into the heart of the Trinity Road stand, through hallways and up more stairways, until they finally enter the press room. Henry is at the front of the group with Belle, allowing him to claim front row seats and reserve two for Killian and Emma who maintain their pattern of lingering at the back of the group. With Henry’s enthusiasm, they can hide at the back no longer and are forced to take the seats right at the front.

When Belle asks for a volunteer to take centre-stage, Emma finds it funny to offer Killian for it and, since they’re seated at the front, Belle spots her right away, urging him up.

Henry looks utterly horrified at the prospect of Operation Lion’s Den being blown whilst Emma all but pushes Killian off his chair, leaving him with little choice but to join Belle behind the desk situated on the raised platform at the front of the room. She lowers her voice to exchange greetings, ask his name, and question whether he wants to take his sunglasses off and he responds with a hasty lie about light sensitivity.

Belle proceeds to lead the group into a fake press conference, introducing him as new signing Alex Rogers, unaware of how incredibly difficult she was making it for him to maintain his cover. To aid his jeopardised cover, Killian naturally slips into an Irish accent as he proceeds to face a bunch of questions from the fake journalists who play their parts well. Emma is stifling a laugh whilst he has to really concentrate on providing answers in the way a standard Villa fan would, and not submit to his years of media training instinctively screaming a standard, scripted answer at him. It’s only five minutes of questions but it feels like the longest five minutes of his life and when he finally escapes the unwanted spotlight, fake Irish Alex Rogers persona somehow intact, he’s sweating.

Belle offers the opportunity for photos behind the desk and light conversation soon floods the room as families take it in turns to have their picture taken at the press desk.

“That was awesome!” Henry exclaims, just about managing to keep his voice down. “They were interviewing Killian Jones and they didn’t even have a clue!”

“Mmm, someone almost blew Operation Lion’s Den,” Killian says, shooting a good-humoured glare at Emma.

She smiles and confesses, “I just wanted to see how you fared under pressure.”

“Because you didn’t see enough of that yesterday?” Killian shoots back.

“Maybe I liked what I saw yesterday,” Emma shrugs.

Henry promptly pulls Emma away to get his own picture at the press desk and Killian stares after her, taking the moment to collect his temporarily scrambled thoughts. It was a return to the previous day’s playfulness, a stark contrast to the cool, withdrawn woman in the car park.

He’s pushed her back into her own half, finally gaining a bit of possession for himself, making progress up the pitch.

He considers what must be left on the tour; the private boxes, the dressing rooms, the pitch and the dugouts. He’s got the better part of the second half of the game to go. He can still pull it back. He can still win it.

There’s time yet.

“We have private boxes available to buy for a game. If you’re interested in this possibility, you can get in contact with our hospitality department via our phone lines or through our website. Many of our players and sponsors also have their own private boxes, whether in this stand or the Doug Ellis on the other side of the stadium. Players’ friends and family will use the boxes during the games,” Belle tells the group as they walk along a hallway, closed doors on the left leading into said boxes.

“Grandpa looked into these,” Henry tells Emma. “They’re about three-thousand pounds per matchday! That’s not far off four-thousand dollars!”

“That’s obscene,” Emma remarks.

“Welcome to the world of top-level English football, love. The money in it is bloody ridiculous,” Killian acknowledges disdainfully for, whilst he benefits substantially from it, he doesn’t wholly agree with it.

Belle brings the group to a stop outside a door which Killian knows well.

“Club Captain Killian Jones kindly permits us entry into his box during these tours,” Belle informs the group, “enabling us to be able to show you the view from such luxurious viewing spaces.”

Henry grins knowingly at Killian as Belle leads the group into the box. Killian lingers somewhat awkwardly in the doorway as he watches the large group explore the space. He’s not used to seeing so many unfamiliar people in his usually remote, private spot. Upon entering after a game, he’s usually met by familiar faces and not the sight of people taking selfies with the view of the pitch behind them. As willing as he is to let the tours into his box – it seems the least he can do after all the support the Villa fans have given him over the years – it feels strange to actually see it happen.

“A whole range of people have watched matches from up here,” Belle tells the group and Killian can but wonder exactly where she’s going to go with her examples. “From family members and close friends to Hollywood actors and royalty. But Killian has also been known to regularly invite local foster families to games and host them here too.”

Emma looks surprised as she turns to him, an awe in her eyes as she murmurs, “Foster families?”

“I’m aware of the privilege I’m fortunate enough to have. If I can make even the smallest difference in the lives of those in less fortunate positions, it only seems right to do so,” he explains seriously and then smirks as he seizes the opportunity to call her out, “You see, not all professional sportsmen are egotistical jocks.”

“We’ll see,” she shrugs, nudging him playfully in the side then asks the burning question, “And royalty?”

“Oh, aye,” he confirms with a nod. “Didn’t you know the future king’s a villan?”

“Until yesterday, I didn’t know a villain was anything more than the bad guy in a movie,” Emma points out. “So, you’re telling me that you mix with royalty?”

“From time to time.”

She laughs.

“What’s so funny about that?” he questions, bemused by the reaction.

“I just can’t imagine you all… fancy and proper,” she tells him.

“I scrub up quite well, I’ll have you know,” he insists. “It’s not all sportswear and sweat.”

There’s a spark in her eyes as she returns, “Pity.”

“And now, the Villa dressing room,” Belle announces as she leads them through the double doors and into the room that, in the entirety of the stadium, Killian is most familiar with. “I’d like to direct your attention to the tactic board up here.”

She brings the group to a large whiteboard, positioned on the only wall not lined with player’s lockers and seats. Scrawls of the gaffer’s tactics remains in place from the previous day’s game.

“Now, as most of you are aware, past Villa managers have used similar tactics for every game which meant they’d furiously remove any signs of their tactics from this board before we’d have even a chance of stepping foot in here,” Belle addresses her attentive audience. “Adam Gold, however, we have all very quickly learned is just as world-class a manager as he was as a player. He’s a tactical genius; his tactics vary significantly from game to game, adapting to the slightest whiff of a weakness he assesses in opposition players, and so he’s more willing to leave us little insights into his great mind.”

She gestures to the board, a combination of circles and numbers to represent players, complete with arrows of various lengths and intensities.

“You can see his half time talk during yesterday’s game partly comprised of urging his front three to apply intense pressure to the back line, to not give them a second on the ball, forcing them to go long despite their forward players not boasting much height and preferring to receive the ball to feet,” Belle interprets the squiggles for those struggling to decipher.

Killian notes her use of the word ‘urging’ as soft. He recalls the gaffer’s instructions as a demand, an unspoken threat of being substituted if they failed to match the intensity he expected.

“And up here,” she points to slightly more legible writing in the top corner of the board, “is his mantra. It’s been here every week without fail since Gold took charge of the club last year. It’s rather inspiring and applicable outside football so I invite you all to take the opportunity to take in the wise words of Adam Gold.”

They’re words Killian has heard countless times since the gaffer’s arrival. Words he could recount in his sleep;

Victory comes at a price;

Focus

Determination

Grit

Hard-work

“Now feel free to explore and take photos,” Belle tells them.

The group immediately disperses around the room, taking photos on the seats beneath various players’ lockers and Belle throws further facts and information at them as they do so. Henry’s the first one to claim the seat beneath Killian’s name, shirt and locker, and Killian watches on amused as the lad flat-out refuses to budge for anyone until Emma catches up with him and takes his picture.

Even then, he’s not done.

“Kil-uh, Alex!” he calls, catching himself, a hint of panic flaring in his eyes, but he quickly continues, “I need one with you.”

Killian ducks his head as he crosses the room, sitting next to Henry and silently urging Emma to move fast as she takes the photo, well aware of the growing number of people waiting. The second he hears the click of the picture, he’s up and guiding the young lad away.

“What about Humbert or Booth?” he suggests to Henry.

The boy nods eagerly and hurries over to their lockers, positioned side by side, roping Emma into continuing to be his photographer. He ends up going around the entire changing room, taking photos under each player’s name and replica shirt. Killian even coaxes Emma to get into some of them with Henry, taking over her duties as photographer.

They eventually make it to the final player in the squad. Killian has Henry and Emma getting ready for a photo in front of Robin’s station when another member of the group steps into his shot and offers his hand out for the phone.

“Here, I’ll take it for you,” the man says. “You get in. As good as place as any to get an update for the family photo album.”

“Oooh,” Killian draws out, immediately noting the assumption. He points dumbly towards Emma and Henry, stumbling over his words, “I’m- he’s- she’s-”

“He’s just a friend,” Emma steps in to clarify.

Friend. He bloody hates the sound of that word on her lips.

But it is better than jackass, or egotistical sportsman.

Small victories.

One step at a time.

Killian refocuses, snapping the photo and returning the phone to Henry who proclaims he’s sending all the photos to Nicholas immediately.

“Okay, we are running short on time so can everyone follow me, and we’ll head out to the tunnel,” Belle announces.

The group are rather prompt in wrapping up on their various photos and following Belle out of the door. Killian sticks an arm out, successfully holding Henry back from being the first one out the door after Belle. As the door swings shut behind the final member of the group, leaving just him, Emma and Henry in the emptied out dressing room, Killian drops his arm back to his side.

“What are you doing?” Henry questions.

“I figured you’d want a proper photo,” Killian explains.

He removes his hat and sunglasses, chucking them onto Robin’s seat. By the time he gets to his seat, Henry’s already there – as eager as always - so Killian ends up to the side, just as he had been in the first picture they’d taken. Emma takes the picture, just as the door swings open again and Belle returns.

“I do require everyone to stick togeth-”

She cuts herself off as the door swings shut behind her, staring at Killian and laughing in disbelief.

“Alex. Rogers.” Belle says the name with a light shake of her head. “I should have known something was up. Wha- What are you doing here, Killian?”

“Trying to keep a low profile,” Killian tells her, grabbing his hat and sunglasses, putting them back on. He nods to Henry, “The lad wanted to go on the tour as planned so I’m tagging along.”

Belle has quickly recovered from her surprise and tells it how it is, “Well, you’re doing a good job of disrupting the planned tour by not keeping up.”

The trio choose not to hang around any longer.

Killian stands staring at the European Cup in the display stand proudly situated in the centre of the tunnel. It’s a reminder every single home game, every time he comes and goes from the pitch, of where the club had once been, how far it had fallen, and what it was striving for once more.

Emma steps up beside him and reads the display tag, “European Champions, nineteen-eighty-two.”

“European Champion,” Killian breathes out dreamily. “Every footballer’s dream. That’s my ultimate goal, right there.”

“Does that mean the rumours are true?” a worried Henry pops up out of nowhere, appearing between Emma and Killian. “The ones about you going to Manchester City in the summer?”

“Off the record?” Killian checks, not that he can envision the boy to go running to the press, but the media training in him demands it. “I could go to City. Might very well go on and lift the trophy my first season there. Certainly a higher chance of it than if I were to stay here. But what does that really achieve? There’s almost an expectation on City to win it. Going to City, well, that just feels like bloody cheating. I want a story, an underdog story. My first season with Villa, we finished in the middle of the Championship. Eight hard years later and we’re pushing to be in competing in the Champions League next season. It’s a big, big ask but there’s every chance I could be lifting that trophy as a Villa player in just over a year’s time, and if there’s a chance of that, even a very, very slim one, I can’t possibly leave. From Championship mediocrity to Champions League winners; proving that focus, hard work and determination pays off, that’s the true dream.”

“So you are staying!” Henry grins.

“No definitive promises, lad,” Killian returns. “We’ll see.”

“And here we are. The conclusion of our tour, the dugouts,” Belle gestures to the team dugouts at pitch side. “Unfortunately, we can not go on the pitch today. We’re nearing the end of a long season and endured a horrendous winter so the groundskeeping team have been working tirelessly to keep the pitch at a top notch condition and have requested minimal disturbance to the playing surface. You are more than welcome to take your pictures in the dugouts and at the side of the pitch right here.”

On Henry’s disappointed look, Killian catches his eye and gives him a small nod – he’ll sort it.

The lad grins and rushes off to get his pictures in the home dugout, diving into the crowd of people doing similarly. Emma is back to playing photographer as Killian wanders over to Belle.

“This is the final part of the tour, right?” he strikes up conversationally.

“That’s right,” she confirms.

“So, you don’t mind if I stay back with two of your guests to give my own personal tour?” he checks.

“By that, you mean take them on to the pitch, which we’re under strict instructions not to allow,” Belle’s onto him in a flash.

“You’re under strict instructions not to allow,” Killian corrects, “and I shall neither confirm nor deny your accusation, that way you are not a willing accomplice in whatever I may or may not be up to.”

“Killian.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’m going to do anything to severely piss off Nathaniel, am I?” he remains persistent. “I’ll let you into a little known fact; us players are just as wary of pissing off that man as any member of the club staff.”

Nathaniel, the head groundskeeper, has a notorious reputation for getting severely pissed off with anyone who dares to touch a single blade of his grass on non-matchdays. Even on matchdays, players opting for a knee slide celebration upon scoring risked the incoming wrath of Nathaniel when bypassing him in the tunnel at half-time or full-time as he’s on his way out to tend to his precious grass. If the man had it his way, the matches wouldn’t even be played on the hallowed turf of Villa Park. There are very few people who dare to cross him; even the gaffer tends to give the man a wide berth.

“Fine!” Belle huffs reluctantly and points an accusing finger at him. “But I had no part in this, understood?”

“Crystal clear, love,” Killian confirms with a nod.

Killian has no bloody idea what he’s playing at.

He and Emma are finally alone. At least alone, if not for her lad. For the first time, there’s isn’t a crowd of people around, or a demand for him to be elsewhere. It’s just them in a completely empty stadium, an opportunity to get to know each other better, and things are great. Except for the fact that Emma doesn’t share the same love for football or Villa as he and Henry do. She’s probably longing to be in the group Belle had led to the exit of the stadium, the doors of freedom from the world of football, and he’s kept her from them.

He had promised her dinner. Instead, he’s given her an extended sentence imprisoned within Villa Park.

He’s a bloody fool. First the ink, next the stadium. He can only marvel at how his brain fails to function properly where Emma is involved.

“Are we going on the pitch?” Henry questions eagerly.

Making Henry happy is easy. Impressing football fans is easy. He has no clue where he stands with non-football fans. He needs to figure it out and fast. Until then, he can only stick to what he’s good at.

“We’re doing more than that, lad,” Killian manages a smile. “What’s the one thing every Villa fan wants to do?”

Henry’s eyes shift towards the goal in front of the Holte End and he dares to believe, “Score in the Holte?”

Killian nods, “Score in the Holte.”

He instructs Henry to hold fire, and his eyes linger for a fraction too long on Emma, sat in the dugouts with an unreadable expression on her face, before he jogs down the tunnel and fetches one of the balls they keep stored in the dressing room. He returns to find Henry exactly where he’d left him and the young boy’s eyes light up at the sight of the football.

Henry doesn’t just score in the Holte, he scores a whole series of goals in the Holte; left foot, right foot, headers, and volleys. He even attempts a bicycle kick which goes soaring into row Z and sends Killian clambering into the stand to fetch the ball. On his return to the pitch, Killian glances to the dugouts where Emma still sits, perched on one of the claret and blue seats, watching with a small smile on her face. He rolls the ball to Henry, who’s quite content scoring in an open goal, as Killian jogs over to the dugouts.

“Well, this won’t do,” he states as he stops in front of Emma, holding out a hand towards her, “I can’t have my best player languishing on the bench.”

She takes his hand, perhaps a little reluctantly, and he helps her to her feet, pulling her along with him onto the pitch and into the penalty box at the Holte End.

“Hey, lad, how about we let your mother have a go?” he suggests.

Henry collects the ball from the net of his latest goal and nods eagerly, “Can I be the keeper?”

Killian agrees and chuckles at the sight of young Henry, barely more than a dot when stood in the centre of the mammoth net. He places the ball Henry chucks at him onto the penalty spot and turns back to Emma.

“I’ve never kicked a soccer ball in my life,” Emma tells him, staring at the ball as if it were going to attack her.

“There’s for a first time for everything,” Killian returns. “All you have to do is kick it twelve yards. Anywhere but at the keeper and you’re pretty much guaranteed a goal, given his size.”

Emma gives a short nod, her eyes fixed on the ball, a hard determination fuelling her gaze, as if determined to prove herself. She steps up to the ball and pulls back her right leg.

“Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah!” Killian calls out, halting her actions just as she’s about to kick.

He moves over to her, placing his hands softly onto her shoulders and guiding her a few steps back from the ball. He stands behind her, his chest just inches from being pressed against her back, as he coaches her.

“You need to give yourself a run-up,” he explains his intervention. “Now, the temptation’s going to be to kick the ball with your toe; don’t do that. You have two options, you can either use the inside of your foot or get under it and hit it with your laces. For now, let’s keep things simple with the side of your foot. Statistically, most penalties are scored in the bottom left of the goal so my technique is to place it in that corner but, for now, just focus on getting it on target. Okay, so run up, generate power, hit with the side of your foot and direct goalwards.”

He releases his hands from her shoulders, encouraging her to take her shot. She charges forward, strikes the ball with the inside of her right foot and it nestles into the back of the net towards the bottom left. It’s not perfectly placed in the corner but it’s a very promising start and Killian is pleasantly surprised by the amount of power she had rifled into the ball; she’s either a good student or beginner’s luck is in play,

She cheers and he high-fives her before Henry charges over, diving onto his mum to celebrate with her.

They break into a mini game, pulling off their jackets and placing them on the ground to make small goals either side of the width of the penalty area; taking Killian back to the many hours spent playing football on school playgrounds and parks in his youth. Henry and Emma team up against him and Killian initially takes it easy, allowing the lad to score and doing very little as Emma dribbles the ball around him and slots it home.

There are wild celebrations as Henry and Emma go two-nil up and break into a teasing chant of ‘we’re beating the pro’ which sets Killian’s competitive side ablaze. He drives forward with the ball at his feet, knocking it through Henry’s legs as the lad makes a step in to block. He powers around Henry, taking a touch of the ball to knock it towards goal, just Emma to beat. He feigns a move left then swiftly knocks the ball to Emma’s right and he’s past her, sprinting goalbound, the ball at his feet. He’s in the clear, goal dead certain and is preparing himself to slot it home when contact is made with the back of his right leg. He loses his balance, barrelling over onto the grass, landing on his back in time to see a stumbling Emma following behind him, crashing down on top of him.

She puts her hands out quickly, onto the grass either side of his head, taking her weight off him, but she remains above him, looking down on him. He dumbly stares up at her, taken by surprise by both her sudden challenge and the position they since find themselves in. His mind’s scrambled, overcome by the light woody scent radiating from her, the faintest hint of cinnamon, and her warm breath tickling his temple.

“Can’t get past me that easily,” she tells him triumphantly.

“I did get past you!” he argues. “I was through on goal, and you took me out. That’s a dead cert red!”

“I have no idea what that means,” she confesses.

“It means your team are down a player, you’re off the pitch, headed for an early bath,” he explains.

“Do I get to take you with me?”

A faint gasp escapes his lips at her suggestive tone and her gleaming earthy eyes only draws him in closer, his head lifting off the grass, his elbows propping against the ground, lifting his upper body against hers. There’s barely anything between them and yet he still desires her closer, needs her closer. Her soft, red lips part; an open goal, inviting his forward move.

His lips brush faintly against hers.

“Mom!” Henry calls.

She’s gone instantly. Killian lets out a shaky breath and throws himself into the grass, squeezing his eyes shut. Bloody kids.

“Uh, Killian, this guy does not look too impressed. He’s actually carrying a pitchfork,” Emma’s comment pulls him from his sulking.

He jumps to his feet, looking towards the tunnel to see head groundskeeper Nathaniel stalking towards them, a thunderous look on his face.

“Killian Jones! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nathaniel bellows from the halfway line.

“Funnily enough, mate, I’ve been asking myself the same question all day,” Killian attempts to keep things light.

The groundskeeper does not see the funny side, a deep scowl piercing into Killian’s soul. If looks could kill, he would be flat out on the ground.

Killian throws his hands up into a surrender.

“Don’t worry, mate, your pitch is intact,” Killian tells him then glances at the scuff marks inflicted by Emma’s challenge and their subsequent falls, and amends, “mostly. My bad. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll be on our way now.”

Killian navigates Emma and Henry around the fuming groundskeeper, an onslaught of curses following his every move as they hastily leave the pitch behind them.

“So, how about that dinner?” Killian proposes.

They stand on the car park outside Villa Park, a safe distance from the fury of Nathaniel. Things have changed since she turned him down the just a few hours ago, and he’s fuelled with confidence for her coming response.

“I’m sorry.”

The response is unexpected and he clenches his jaw in an effort to hide his crushing disappointment.

“We’re due on a train back to London,” she explains.

He comes crashing down to reality. He’d forgotten they were tourists, forgotten they lived thousands of miles away, forgotten that things were much more complicated than winning over a non-football fan when his whole life is football.

“Ah, of course,” he nods. “How long are you in the country for?”

“We leave for Boston next Sunday,” Emma answers.

“I have a game in London next Saturday,” Killian tells her. “I can sort tickets for your whole family?”

“That’d be awesome!” Henry exclaims.

Killian grins at the lad then looks to Emma hopefully, “And maybe we can finally get that dinner after? Just me and you?”

Emma glances at Henry, falls deep in thought as she considers, as if a debate is raging in her head. They’d both gotten caught up in the moment on the pitch, they were both firmly back in reality where any long-term future is especially unlikely. She knows what he’s suggesting; a one-time thing.

“What the hell,” she throws any caution to the wind. “I’m on vacation. Let’s do it.”

“And this time I have my phone to hand so you can put your number directly into it.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over to her.

“Make sure you don’t drop this down the toilet,” she tells him warningly as she inputs her number.

He takes the phone back from her, holding it tightly.

“I’m an attacker by trade but this I will defend with my life,” he promises.

As she gets into the taxi waiting for her, Killian’s eyes drop to the new contact in his phone; Emma Nolan. He clicks on the edit button, adding one red heart emoji to her contact name.

For all the talk of her letting the claret and blue of Aston Villa touch her heart, he had well and truly let her touch his.

Tags: @teamhook @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @myfearless-love

#cs ff #captain swan #the heart of a villan

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