#now my goal is to beat the first year I played

[ruruumin]

hi!! I came across you and I thought your work is really amazing!! This is my first time asking something like this haha but for everything a first :) I really love figure skating and I was wondering if you could make a oneshot or any headcannons of the reactions of blue lock characters haha (mostly rin nagi and sae)! (sorry if I made some mistakes, English is t my first language)

ice, ice, baby!

₊˚ ᗢ blue lock various x figure skater! reader.

⤷ what kind of relationships rin, sae, and nagi (separate) would be in.

itoshi rin

“if you’re going to do something, do it with your entire heart.”

rin met you when he was only ten years old. you were his next door neighbor with a feverish dream to become the best figure skater in the world. although it may have been one of the loftiest dreams anyone might hear, he believed in you the same way you did for him. and together, he will see you perform all over the country, with him in arms waiting.

so when a cold rainy day comes and the two of you were walking home together under a shared umbrella, he wanted to say something. but you beat him to it. standing in front of your door, you turned around and smiled, saying only two things: i will be leaving to russia tomorrow morning to train with a new coach. 

this first part came as a no brainer to him, of course you would leave. just as sae did a few months ago, you were beginning to flap the wings you were blessed with. however, the second part was what kept him on his toes, heart punching up to his throat: and i love you, rin.

after departing in the morning, he would stay up late to watch your performances on television. even when he had early practice, it was complete habit to see you on screen. your presence on the ice was unmatched by many of your cohorts in russia. cold and calculative, yet free flowing. like a confident stream you graced the fields with a polished play. alongside a perfectly timed quad axel, it placed you right at the top of the world.

the ultimate power couple. when you’re at the kiss and cry, you’ll say his name to the camera before blowing a kiss. meanwhile, whenever he scores a goal, he’ll raise his fist in a catching motion, bringing it up to his lips as he hides his faint smile behind his hand. your performances will always be dedicated to each other and it drives the press mad (rightfully so). 

when you return to japan, he’s the first person that you see at the airport. in only a matter of seconds, with his extremely long legs and speed, he is wrapping his arms around you tightly, inhaling your scent as he lays his head on your shoulder. 

he would immediately take you back to all your favorite places. during your time away, he had taken a multitude of pictures and sent you dozens of instagram reels of cafes. now that you were here in his arms, it made going to them all the more real (or maybe not, with you sitting in front of him, enjoying a mont blanc and latte, it feels like the perfect dream). 

sleeping in the same bed as him had never felt any better. while you knew him to be a drooler, you would have never expected him to be clingier than a koala. he is keeping you flushed against his chest the entire night. if you think about getting water, he will follow you with arms tangled with yours. 

itoshi sae

“i’ll carve my name into ice while you all watch in awe.” 

the only other person with the same amount of arrogance as him was you, a rebellious teenager he found on the streets of spain. you tried to pickpocket him on his first day in the country. instead of reporting you to the police, he asked you one simple question that changed the trajectory of your life: if you had the chance to do anything, what would it be?

some people viewed you as a lost cause in the figure skating world. having started extremely late compared to your other peers, your name was rubbish and caked in dirt. however, it never stopped sae from coming to see you after every practice, watching as you practiced your spins and salchows underneath the dim lights of the arena with a coach he’d hired. to him, you were a diamond in the rough that just needed a push.

he didn’t think much about your relationship until it was late at night. you were walking back with him to a hotel, face covered with masks to avoid intruding paparazzi. it started off with small talk, like family and friends (you learned he had a very cocky but sweet brother back in japan), but it quickly diverged into something more intimate that had the two of you walking into his room with intertwined pinkies.

when it came time to perform in the qualifying rounds, you had plunged the stadium with wails and tears. overcoming the country’s beloved skater by a wide margin, you stood above everyone, head raised high as you pointed up to the cameras, hardening your gaze as you mouthed sae’s name. you must have known he was watching from the corners of the locker room. 

the world of figure skating was going to change with you, a new generation skater that rose from nothing. 

sae feels immense pride when it comes with you. even though there were many curve balls thrown in your direction, whether it be from bad press or his persistent fanbase, the smile you hid beneath the covers reassured him that you were going to stick it out. nothing in the world could compare to the happiness you felt when you were with sae. because with him, you knew you could do anything.

dates typically consist of fancy meals or sightseeing trips. he isn’t particularly drawn to these activities himself, but what motivates him is the thought of treating you to something new. whether it be a pretty dessert from down the street that costed an arm and a leg, or seeing the stars as you walk along the beach, he’ll dedicate a huge chunk of his income to letting you see the world in its fullest.

matching photocards on the back of your phone cases. sae uses a clear one so he can flip his phone around and stare at you before every game. while some think he’s admiring your smile (as beautiful as it is), he’s actually sees you as the perfect rival to his games. although you were both in different sports, the two of you constantly pushed each other to your limits, showing the world what it means to be the very best. 

nagi seishiro

“there is no point in anything if you aren’t going to have fun.” 

he wasn’t interested in figure skating until he came across one of your performances on youtube. it was really early into middle school when he started watching you. one of the reasons why he started was because you skated to a lot of his favorite songs from video games he liked. the second reason was because you looked like you were having fun. 

unlike most figure skaters he’s seen, you made the sport look enjoyable (he thinks everyone else looks extremely constipated when they’re too focused). with a beautifully confident smile, you danced across the ice, performing triple axels and a perfect biellmann spin. you skated as if you truly loved this sport, and this was the selling point for him (maybe this is when he started to be called a certified fanboy).

when he arrived to blue lock, the first thing he wanted to win back was his phone so he could keep up with your recent uploads. even when you aren’t posting something figure skating related, your miniature q&a sessions were entertaining enough to keep him awake for the rest of the night, much to reo’s dismay (he wanted to sleep early for once).

the best thing reo had gifted him were a pair of tickets to see you perform at one of the biggest skating rinks in the country. nagi was almost shaking in his seat in excitement, eyes wider than saucers when you stepped into the arena with the prettiest outfit known to man. you blew kisses and waved to the audience, giving them your signature smile. you suddenly stopped in your tracks to deliver a long kiss in nagi’s direction, something that sent him into an early cardiac arrest.

your relationship with him blossoms after seeing him at the local convenience store. the two of you had awkwardly reached for the same cup noodle. even though you were dressed in a simple, oversized black hoodie and a mask that hid half of your face, he easily recognized you by the sound of your voice. nagi’s phone would have dropped to the ground if it wasn’t for you catching it midway. when the screen lights up with a picture of you as his wallpaper, you smile and type in your number, throwing his phone back to him as you take the cup noodle and leave.

you and him would text consistently. after every practice he would immediately rush over to his phone to see if you had left any messages. expect a lot of back and forth photos. nagi’s pictures consisting of things he saw that reminded him of you while you sent him photos of yourself at practice or a recent choreograph. 

imagine how shocked your youtube fanbase is when you show up with your 6’3 boyfriend who barely shows up on camera because hes too tall for your tripod. you’re teaching him how to ice skate and although he started as a wobbly giraffe, he easily picked up a lot of tricks. he might not be the best at doing jumps but his footwork was impeccable (you like to tease him about switching careers but he lazily replies with his face in your shoulder about how much work it’ll be). 

[sheepydwagondraws]

Artfight Week 1

Been trying really hard to dedicate time to working on pieces for AF this year, and I'm really enjoying it! I love drawing silly little guys <3 I should do trades more after this is over lol

Featured Characters:

Hum, owned by @kowtownart

Vista, owned by @cupidtxt & Spammail, owned by me :3

Addision, owned by @gehega

Brandy, owned by Windwaken (on AF/dA/TH) & Spamton, owned by Toby Fox lol

Rocco, owned by @lighterium

Kelby, owned by @hannah--bug

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[windser]

thinking more about streamerbf!kenma and how his subscribers have been pestering him about a q&a but kenma just hates the idea of just talking about himself. he’s fine having the sole attention on him while he’s playing games, used to idle chatter and occasional questions about his play style. but thirty minutes of what it’s like to be kenma ?

hard pass.

he complains about this to you one night, head tucked into your lap while you run your fingers through his scalp. he was approaching another significant subscriber milestone and his usual rewards aren’t cutting it. they just want to get to know you kenma, you try to reason. but all you get in return is a soft grown that could double as a whimper.

as a moderator, you know how his fans can get. social media in general when they unite under the same goal. no, this will hit a pinnacle if not handled carefully. part of you gets it. it took quite a bit of time for kenma to open up to your social agenda. from inquiring from his favorite type of bird to how he decides on what video game to play next, you spent what feels like years now getting to know your other half. now your boyfriend hardly even blinked while answering your-

at the thought, your lip purses in consideration.

days later, kenma only gives you a questioning grunt when you slide beside him during his stream. a few months ago, he’d purchased you a more comfortable chair to lounge in to share the same space as him. he rarely minded when you did, but usually you’d give him a heads up.

his chat is well trained enough at this point to know when you’re around.

user795: is that them? user23: hiiiiiiiii!! welcome user55: are they going to play today ?

you follow the messages with a hint of a smile, only giving a little wave in frame before turning to kenma. your boyfriend had removed the headphone closest to you, a small acknowledgment that always sent your heart a flutter.

off screen, you massage the top of his thigh which earns you a another quick glance and a slight slouch as he relaxes into your touch.

“ken, what was your first ever game you played ?”

now this gets you a longer look, one accompanied by a furrow brow and confusion. his lips move in a mumble but audible enough to hear however as he concedes without question, "mega man.”

from the corner of your eye, you see that chat reacting to his answer, some acknowledging it either familiarity and others new to it.

user124: ohhh i played that. good game man user775: i think my cousin played that but i’ve never seen it. can you still get that? user65: @user775 the og? you need backwards compatibility i think but yes user8895: i had a hard time beating that one. has kenma ever been beaten by a game?

still following the chat, you catch the question and propose it to kenma. with you here, he minds the chat a little less closely, only catching up when he breaks between missions.

“in middle school you played this one game for what felt like weeks, did you ever beat it?”

kenma shifts his leg under your touch, redirecting the circle of your thumb to a new spot. “tactics ogre? no, i kept getting stuck on the last boss. tetsuro asked to borrow it to try but he lost it.”

he’d obviously been miffed by the lost game but apparently not enough to repurchase it and probably complete it. that note didn’t seem to be lost to the chat.

user321: damn at least we know he’s human. even kenma gets stumped user642: to be fair that was a tough one. even the creator acknowledged that it was tough on players on release user533: i bet he could beat it now. that should be his next walkthrough.

“ah,” you bite your lips when kenma's gaze flickers briefly to the chat. “yeah, i might. i already have it in my library.”

grinning, you give him a light squeeze catching his eye in return before they went back to his game. you browse the slowly rolling in questions carefully, weeding through the more repetitive ones to find ones with more substance.

“did you ever play anything other than volleyball growing up?”

you wince when your boyfriend full on turns to face you. that might have been too specific of a question, something you so obviously knew and had no reason to ask without context. so all you could do was give him your best pleading gaze, hoping he’d play along and ask later.

it’s not until he huff that you know you’ve won, his response coming right after if not with a bit of sass.

“i got nagged enough between you and tetsuro with just volleyball, that was more than enough.”

user863: looooool user3626: i can’t really imagine kodzuken playing anything else. like soccer, can you imagine? user6556: nah volleyball was fitting user3322: they’ve always been familiar but how long have you guys actually dated?

your mouth opens and close sky soundlessly on the taste of that one. you knew in general when kenma actually asked you out, just short of your second year in high school. back then, the two of you had been fumbling with your feelings for months. but you never really learned when those feelings actually seeded for him.

but that was a moment for off screen conversation. instead you ask

“our first date back in second year of high school, you took me to the arcade and i obliterated you in DDR, remember that?”

kenma fires back quickly,” after i put high scored you on every other one.”

it's impossible not to grin as you remember that day. what had started as an awkward date forty minutes in had lasted an additional three hours as the both of you eased back into your normal routine.

user7: ughhhh to have a gaming s/o user6552: they’re so cute goals man user172: are they actually gamers ? user032: @user172 kenma plays some games with them on stream. they’re actually pretty good user4534: ohhh kodzuken never talks about his his favorite snacks, can you ask what those limited ones he always eats are?

that was an easy enough questions that got written off as your own ignorance. while you often did the grocery shopping, kenma placed most of his snack orders online. partly due to its limited availability and other reasons pertaining to it being out of country. kenma responds easily in turn.

user333: wait, is this the q&a we've been asking? user405: omg i have soo many questions saved!!!! i didnt realize it was today user7532: i thought kodzuken didn't want to do this? user89305: @user7532 well he's answering questions like he is

you frown as the chat explodes with activity, some questioning the validity of the 'event' others spamming the feed with their questions. it's more than enough to draw kenma's attention away from his other screen and you find yourself pausing as he tenses under your touch.

while you hadn't maliciously tricked him, you had coerced him into this. he'd have every right to scold you for it. you wince when he scoffs, preparing for the brunt of it. but what comes next is just a sigh as he shifts in his chair, the movement inviting your hand to rest comfortably more towards the inside of his thigh as he leaned back.

"you guys ask too many questions, this is why i didn't want to do this q&a. if you get too much for them to handle, i'm going to end the event."

and while his words sound stern, he truly does harvest a bunch of excited individuals as the stream only explodes even more with enthusiasm and inquiries.

frankly way too many for you to keep up with as you bewilderly try to scan the chat for feasible ones to ask. when you finally identify one and turn to ask, you find kenma watching you with that smug pull of his lips.

"well what's next?"

bonus:

eventually, kenma had taken over selecting his own questions as the stream properly shifted into the q&a event, title change and all. the chat adjusted to the new handler as well, being more strategic about their question timings in order to get the most of his attention.

every so often you would chime in, but you mostly relaxed back in your own chair with your legs resting across his lap.

you weren't sure how long exactly you expected this event to go, but you knew it was getting late. not necessarily for a kodzuken stream, but in the day in general.

it was kenma's touch now, that stroked your skin as his gaze followed the never ending influx of questions.

user345675: has he talked about hinata shoyo yet? user09432: i feel like people are asking the same questions user869320: will you ever have guests on your stream? user9642: kodzuken what is it like to run your own company?

intrigued enough, he opened his mouth to reply when another question rolled in

kenmaskitten: what does kodzuken want for dinner?

you look up from your phone as kenma's attention shifts to you. he holds your gaze as he replies,

"i want katsu."

you shrug, easy enough and all the ingredients are probably in the kitchen. however, as you go to slide your legs away, kenma captures one ankle.

"and apple pie."

that was less simple and tastes like a reward.

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎 

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!” 

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.” 

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon. 

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you. 

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner. 

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts. 

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.” 

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful. 

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape. 

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.” 

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing. 

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus. 

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit. 

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve. 

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it. 

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail. 

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers. 

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.” 

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination. 

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it. 

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball. 

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title. 

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament. 

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side. 

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment. 

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement. 

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.” 

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court. 

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy. 

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you. 

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good. 

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.” 

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?” 

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–” 

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance. 

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled. 

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend. 

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table. 

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved. 

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.” 

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed. 

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick. 

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life. 

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives. 

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?” 

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through. 

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s. 

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you. 

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side. 

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?” 

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…” 

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him. 

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours. 

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone. 

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time. 

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player. 

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze. 

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!” 

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!” 

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match. 

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time. 

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing. 

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special. 

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be. 

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question. 

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version) V

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Summary: Alexia comes to ballet class

For some reason, Alexia feels nervous.

She's played some big matches. She's won some big trophies. She's scored some big goals.

But none of those moments ever made her as nervous as she feels now.

Your ballet school had sent home a leaflet just last week about having a parent-child day where parents could join in on practice with their kids.

Alexia had signed herself up without thinking before the realisation had sunk in about what she had done.

She hadn't danced in years, not properly anyway and left it all behind to pursue football. She wasn't quite sure she still remembered how to do that style of dance, let alone your style of ballet.

But, still, she had signed up and the awestruck look on your face when she told you was worth it all.

"Alright mummies and daddies," The too-happy voice of your teacher exclaims," We're so excited to have you here with us today. Why don't you go and grab your little one and find a spot at one of the barres?"

The whole class is sitting cross legged on the floor and Alexia can pick you out easily with your favourite leotard and the little braid Olga had given you this morning.

Alexia smiles at you, gently taking your hand as you pull her over to the spot at the very end of the mirror, just like your preferred space at your barre back home.

"Alright boys and girls! Now, first position!"

Alexia knows that one. She's pretty sure she's one of the only parents that actually does because she shifts into position while others look around in confusion.

"And now, plié."

It's fairly simple stuff but Alexia's not surprised. You're still little but you're doing exceptionally well. She catches sight of your determined little face as you bob up and down.

This is one of the better ballet schools for younger kids. Back when you first started ballet, Alexia didn't really care where you went so Eli had organised it.

Alexia feels glad that her Mama spent so much time researching because now that she's started visiting and chatting to the other parents, she knows that some ballet 'schools' are barely schools for young children, not really focused on teaching them actual ballet like this one is.

Throughout this whole exercise, you remain composed and calm the entire time. You easily shift in and out of the positions you need to be in and your teacher has nothing but compliments for you whenever she comes past.

You smile brightens each time and Alexia has to stop herself from leaning down to give you kisses all over your face.

"Alright boys and girls! Water break!"

Your focused face disappears from your features as soon as the water break is called and you whirl around to look at Alexia.

"I..." You seem a bit nervous, shuffling your feet. "Are you having fun, Mami?"

Alexia crouches down in front of you, gently pushing away some flyaways from your face. "I'm having so much fun, bambi."

"Really? I know it's not football but-"

"I don't need football to have a fun time with you," Alexia assures you, a soft kiss being pressed against your forehead," Do you know what we're doing after this?"

You nod. "Floorwork," You say seriously," Floorwork and then cool down and then home time." You chew on your bottom lip for a moment before you shyly ask," Would you like to be my floorwork partner, Mami?"

Alexia smiles. "I'd love to."

Floorwork sounds more intimidating than it is. All it really boils down to is the class going in pairs one corner to the other doing things like skipping to the beat of the music.

Alexia supposes it's a bit like conditioning in a way and holds your hand nice and tight as you both skip from one end of the room to the other.

Nearer the end, the teacher switches to turns and Alexia's a little glad that she's not the only parent that makes a bit of a fool of themselves.

To her credit, she, at least, manages to stay on her feet which can't be said for one dad who trips over his own laces and nearly smashes his face into the floor.

"Well done today, boys and girls!" The teacher says as everyone packs up," And well done to mummies and daddies too! I'll see you all next week!"

Alexia keeps a grip on your hand, swinging your arms as she heads out to the car, packing it up with both of your bags and buckling you into your car seat.

"I had a lot of fun today, bambi," She tells you as she heads down the familiar road towards the house," It was very interesting to see what your classes are like."

"You did very well, Mami," You say earnestly, nodding your head," I wish parents could always been in my classes. It's more fun when there's grown ups."

Alexia laughs. "If there were always grown ups then you'd never get anything done! The mummies and daddies will keep falling over and the whole class will just be everyone laughing at us."

You shake your head. "I wouldn't laugh at your, Mami. Promise."

Alexia smiles at you in the rear view mirror.

"I'm glad, bambi."

There's silence for a moment and then," Do you want to practice at my barre at home? For when parents can come back to class?"

"That sounds perfect."

[goldfades]

✮ 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩, 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | jack hughes

♡ ─ word count | 3.8k

♡ ─ summary | when you and jack had parted ways, somehow you both knew you'd meet again somehow.

♡ ─ warnings | second chance romance!! slight angst (nothing too crazy), fluffy as fuck!!! jack being a cutie patootie, bsf x luke hughes cus why not???? mention of drinking/bars but that should be it.

♡ ─ taglist | | @dancerbailey3 @valluvsu @daisysnhl @dasiysthings @iminlovewithtz11 @literatureluster @lvrzegras @lxvleyzoe @bowen-power @ru-kru @jackhughesily @hearts-for-luke

♡ ─ ev's notes | okay, so this started off as sweeter than fiction fic but slowly turned into an invisible string fic, but its okay. they both slay and lowkey work well together!!

No matter how hard you tried to forget Jack, you never could.

The moment you both laid eyes on each other, each of you knew it was game over for everyone else. Everyone else was merely everybody else, and the other was just the one. From the first hello to the last goodbye, there was a connection neither of you could fathom.

Jack was more than just your first love or your first everything, he soon became the key to solving all your problems and the keeper of all your secrets. He was the funniest and kindest person you knew, no matter how long you'd been together. That never changed, even after you two parted ways.

It's been almost three years since you seperated but you can still how he made you feel, and all his favorite things: how he liked his coffee, what side of the bed he slept, his favorite soda and how to cheer him up. However, if someone had asked you where he was now, you couldn't tell them.

Well, not necessarily. You knew he plays some NHL team and he was doing what he's always loved, that's all you knew for sure. Some things never change, you guess.

Sometimes, you would wonder if he ever thought of you. Were you just a passing thought or a lasting memory? Did he remember everything or did he forget it? Those questions kept you up at night. But, at the end of the day, you realized that you were happy for him because he was out there, pursuing his dreams. Even if you weren't in those stands, wearing his jersey cheering him on, like he'd always promised.

──

"A hockey game?" You repeated, staring at your best friend Brie. She shook her head, a big smile on her face.

"My friend got tickets a few months ago but he got covid, so he gave them to me. And I knew you were a fan of hockey, so why not?" Brie explained as she leaned back into the couch.

"Not really-"

"Well you grew uo in Ontario so that makes you a hockey fan by association. You're going, end of discussion." Brie sighed exasperatedly, feigning annoyance as a smile enveloped your face. You had no choice now, you had to go.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Brie's determination. She always had a way of roping you into things, and this time was no exception. Despite your initial reluctance, the prospect of attending a hockey game stirred a sense of excitement within you.

A few days later, you found yourself growing curious about the experience. Memories of watching hockey matches with your family in Ontario flooded back, reminding you of the excitement that accompanied each game. One memory stuck out to you, you couldn't remember much but you do remember the warm feeling of his jacket and how your heart was beating- No, no. Focus on the now, Y/N. You reminded yourself as you forced yourself out of your head.

You navigate your way through the big arena and you both finally found your seats, settling in as the game was beginning. Settling into your seat, you let yourself soak in the atmosphere, the sights and sounds of the arena becoming a backdrop to your thoughts and emotions.

The players take to the ice and the game begins, you find yourself swept up in the thrill of the moment. The cheers of the crowd fill the air, each goal and save met with loud applause and excitement. You missed this.

"Y/N, look! That's the one I was telling you about, the one who followed me. Isn't he cute?" Brie spoke with a warm blush on her face, pointing out a number 43. You nodded, watching him glide.

He looked slightly familiar but you couldn't place it. "Wait... Is that why we're here, Brie?"

"What? No. What do you mean? What?" Brie's blush spread to her entire face as she let out a giggle, a telltale sign of her lying. You shook your head with a laugh, of course there was an ulterior motive to coming here.

She let out a sigh and then continued, "Okay fine. He invited me to the game, with free tickets. You wouldn't say no either, alright?"

"Yeah, free tickets are free tickets." You shrugged with another laugh. "Is he cute?"

"You'll see, he told me to come to the bar after the game."

"And I have to come?" You sighed, leading back into the uncomfortable seat of the stands.

"Don't sound too excited, Y/N." She teased as you rolled your eyes playfully. "He has a cute brother and I heard the captain is hot, so... you won't be third wheeling entirely."

"Okay, fine. But what if they aren't cute?"

"This is hockey, babe, there is a very low chance of that happening." Brie said with a big grin as you laughed. That was true, they all happened to be very cute.

With each passing minute, the anticipation grew, fueled by the idea of meeting Brie's acquaintance and his friends. Despite your initial hesitation, there was an undeniable curiosity about what the night held in store.

As the final buzzer sounded and the game drew to a close with another win for the Devils, you found yourself caught between anxious anticipation and excitement. The promise of a post-game gathering lingered in the air, pulling you into its orbit with a magnetic force you couldn't resist.

Brie quickly took you out of your trance, grabbing your hand to rush to the bar. As you entered the busy bar, the atmosphere was electric, pulsating with the excitement of post-game celebration. The air was thick with the scent of beer and sweat as you nervously walked beside Brie to find her friend.

She pulled your sleeve and pointed to a curly-head in the distance before whispering, "That's him."

"Whoa, he's tall."

"I know." She whispered back dreamily as she stared before walking towards him, a confident smile on her face whilst you followed her.

He turned around and your eyes widened. He was familiar, you knew exactly who he was. Luke Hughes, Jack's little brother. Instant regret hit you as you hoped and prayed he wouldn't remember you.

Thankfully, he looked right at Brie with a huge grin. "Oh, hey. Glad you could make it."

He leaned in for a hug and your eyebrows rose, they were already on hugging terms? As they pulled apart, his gaze moved to you and his features changed into a knowing one. You plastered on the best smile you could and silently prayed he didn't remember you.

"Y/N?"

Shit.

But that wasn't Luke's voice, you turned your head to the side to see him. "Jack?"

As the name escaped his lips, your heart skipped a beat, the world around you seeming to slow to a crawl. Time seemed to stand still as you locked eyes with him, the familiarity of his gaze stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you. His blue eyes boring into yours, your heart racing.

In that moment, the weight of the past crashed over you like a tidal wave, memories flooding back with clarity. The sound of his smooth voice, the warmth of his sweet gaze—it was as if no time had passed at all, as if you were transported back to a time when the world was simpler, when your love felt like an unbreakable bond.

For a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes to only the two of you. Memories of your shared past flooded back, the laughter, the tears, the love that had once bound you together, all laid bare in the space between you.

Jack's expression softened, a flicker of recognition dancing in his eyes as he took in your features. It was as if time itself had stood still, freezing this moment in eternity, the echoes of your past reverberating through the air like a haunting melody.

"Jack, buddy, you're about to spill the drinks." Luke's voice drew both of you out of your trance and back into the present moment and out of your head.

"Yeah, um, sorry. Here." Jack nodded to his brother and handed him the beer as you stared back at him, a troubled expression plastered on your face.

As Jack handed the beer to Luke, the brief interlude allowed a moment of reflection from the intensity of the small exchange. The tension lingered between you, a reminder of the emotions simmering under the surface.

You struggled to find the words to break the silence, the weight of your past weighing heavy on your heart. Each passing moment seemed to stretch into eternity, the air thick with anticipation and uncertainty.

Finally, Jack turned back to you, his gaze searching, as if looking for answers to questions left unasked. The troubled expression on your face mirrored the emotions swirling in you, a storm of conflicting feelings that threatened to engulf you both.

"I... It's been a while," Jack began, his voice hesitant, the words hanging in the air between you like a delicate thread.

"Yeah, it has," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The memories of your shared past lingered like a ghost, haunting the space between you with their silent presence.

Luke looked a Brie with a knowing look, taking her hand warmly and glancing between you and Jack. "I think me and Brie are gonna get some drinks, we'll be right back."

Before anyone could reject, Luke pulled away your best friend to the bar and she turned around with a sympathetic smile and a shrug. You cursed the younger Hughes as you sighed. Now you have to face Jack alone, without the comfort of your best friend.

You and Jack once again found each other's gaze, staring into each other's eyes with warmth and recognition. His eyes were still as blue as you left them but he looked more mature, facial hair growing on his chin and his hair a little longer but you thought it suited him. But he still has the boyish charm to him, the thing that made you fall for him in the first place. His mouth curved up into a small smile as he watched you observe him.

"How've you been?" His voice echoed and that was another that hadn't changed. You had forgotten his voice on the course of the couple years of separation, you forgot how sweet and smooth it was.

"I've been..." You trailed off, not knowing what to exactly. "I've been good. You?" You settled for a simple answer, not knowing exactly where you stood yet.

"Can't complain." He responded with a shrug, take a sip of his beer. Silence once again filled the space between you as you gazed at each other.

In the absence of words, your gaze held a conversation of its own. The warmth and recognition in Jack's eyes mirrored the emotions swirling within you. For a moment, it was like you were seeing him for the first time again—his features bathed in the soft glow of recognition, his smile warm in the rest of world's darkness. The years had etched lines of experience onto his face, sculpting the contours of his features into something familiar yet different.

And yet, beneath the surface, there remained a sense of familiarity—a connection that defied the time itself and the hurts of the past. It was a reminder of the depth of your shared history, the moments that had shaped you into the people you had become.

You couldn't help but wonder what thoughts raced through his mind, what memories stirred beneath the surface. Did he too feel the weight of the past, the pull of unfinished stories waiting to be told?

"You grew your hair out." He stated softly as he examined your new look. "It looks good."

"Looks like you did, too." You smiled softly and he let out a warm laugh, and it was infectious. The memories, rushed back into your mind at the happy sound and your stomach did a flip. Another thing that hadn't changed, the sweet sound of his laugh.

"Yeah, that's what hockey does to a guy." He explained, his eyes glowing beneath the warm light of bar.

You chuckled, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. "Guess it comes with the territory. You always did love the game."

Jack's gaze softened, a flicker of sentimentality in his eyes. "Yeah, some things just never change, I guess. Hockey's been a constant in my life and I don't think I'll ever stop."

The shared memories of watching games together, the thrill of victories, and the hurt of defeats lingered in the air, connecting you both in a shared history that time hadn't erased.

"I remember how you used to explain the rules to me, as if I was clueless," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

Jack laughed, the sound a symphony of familiarity. "Hey, but you caught on quick. Besides, it was a good excuse to spend time together."

The mention of spending time together cast a gentle shadow over the present moment, a reminder of the shared past that had once been the foundation of your connection. The complexities of life had woven a tapestry of experiences, leading you both on separate journeys, yet the threads of your history remained intertwined.

"But hey, the hair suits you," you replied, your voice soft with sincerity. Despite the years that had passed, there was a sense of ease in the way you spoke to each other, as if no time had elapsed at all.

Before he could respond, you were suddenly pushed from the back and flew right into the arms. You were shocked and turned around to see a drunk man stumbling. Suddenly, Jack's arm twisted around your shoulder, a protective stance.

"Shit, sorry." He slurred before walking away into the crowd.

The sudden proximity between you sent a jolt of awareness coursing through your veins, the closeness igniting a spark of familiarity that lingered in the air like electricity.

As the chaos of the moment subsided, the realization of how close you two had been struck you with a sudden clarity, leaving your cheeks warm and your heart racing. You both stared into each other's eyes before Jack spoke softly. "Let's go somewhere quieter, yeah?"

With a nod of agreement, you instinctively reached for his hand, fingers intertwining in a silent pact as he led you through the crowd and out into the cool night air. The sounds of the bar faded into the distance, replaced by the soft murmur of the night.

He let go your hand, the cool night air hit the warm area that his hand once was. He gazed out into the night as you looked to the side of his face, a warm feeling filling your body in spite of it being cold outside.

"So, you play on the same team as Luke?" You spoke, breaking the silence between you two.

His lips curved into a smile as he nodded, "Yeah, isn't that funny? We always talked about playing together again but it's cool that we can actually do that now."

You couldn't help but marvel at the twist of fate that brought them together again. The bond between Jack and Luke was woven with shared memories and childhood dreams, all coming true.

"It's amazing how things come full circle," you remarked, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah and Quinn's finally got the captaincy, it's perfect." Jack continued. He looked happy and content with the way things were turning out with his career and his family, it made you happy seeing him happy. "What about you? Anything exciting?" He turned his attention to you, his blue eyes gazing into yours.

You smiled. "Not as much as you, definitely. But I'm about to graduate and get an apartment, all by myself up in New York. Found the perfect one yesterday and I'm driving up there to see it."

"Just like you always wanted, huh?" Jack's smile grew at that. He was comforted knowing that you hadn't changed too much and you were still same old you, despite how many years that had passed.

"Yeah, it's right in the middle of the city, with windows everywhere so I can watch the city move."

Like you had always wanted, Jack thought in his mind with a big smile. "So we are both chasing our dreams, then?"

"Yeah, something like that." You laughed and he joined along. The warmth of his laughter filled your lungs and you felt like you were out of breath just by laughing along with him. It was perfect. The laughter had died down and you both still were locked in gaze.

For a moment, it was as if the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the quiet intimacy of the night. The warmth of Jack's presence enveloped you like a comforting embrace, grounding you in the present moment amidst the chaos of the world.

His smile slowly dropped as he kept looking into your eyes. "Why'd we ever break up?"

The bluntness of the question had taken you aback. And you started thinking back to why you broke up. As you searched for an answer, the weight of the past pressed down upon you, a heavy burden that threatened to consume you whole. The reasons for your breakup lingered on the edges of your consciousness, fragments of half-forgotten truths waiting to be unearthed.

You were moving away to college and he was getting into the NHL, the only logical way to go about this about was to break up. Long distance wouldn't have worked and plus, you were both growing up and getting into new worlds, you didn't want him worrying about you while he was out there, pursuing his dreams.

But deep down, you knew that the choices you had made had led you to where you were now, standing face to face with the echoes of your past and the possibilities of the future. The memory of your break-up was clear in your mind, with all the anger and resentment both of you had in that one moment. But something you had said suddenly stuck out to you, "If we are meant to be, we will."

And we did. You thought to yourself as you stared into Jack's eyes. "We were both growing up and moving away, and I-I guess... I didn't wanna burden you."

Jack's expression softened. "Burden me?"

Silence filled the air once again but this time, you felt embarrassed. How could that have led to the break-up? It seems so small but it felt so big before, like it was the end of the world.

"Yeah," you admitted, your gaze dropping for a moment before meeting Jack's eyes again. "I was worried about holding you back, about becoming a distraction when you had this incredible opportunity in front of you. I thought breaking up was the right thing to do, to give you the freedom to chase your dreams without any restraints."

Jack's expression softened, his eyes reflecting understanding. "Y/N, you could never be a burden to me," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "We were in it together, remember?"

"I'm sorry, Jack," you whispered, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. "I... I wish things had been different."

He immediately shook his head and slowly took your hand. "Don't apologize. If things had been different you don't know how that would've worked out, but right now, everything that led us here is perfect." He said sternly as you nodded slowly.

With a nod of agreement, you allowed his words to seep into the depths of your heart, a gentle reminder that the journey you had embarked upon together with twists and turns but ultimately, it had led you to this moment and that was enough.

"I believe that too," you whispered, your voice tinged with hope and conviction. "Every step we took, every choice we made, brought us here, to this moment."

Jack's gaze softened, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. "We found each other again for a reason, don't you think?"

You nodded softly as you gazed back at him, warmth filling your whole body. Before you could answer, you felt a buzz in your pocket and sighed. You were ripped away from this perfect moment and back to reality. You took your phone out and saw the caller ID: "Brie <3"

You answered it, "Hey, Brie."

"Hey, so where are you? I just remembered I have a 9am lecture tomorrow."

You sighed before shaking your head. Brie and her bad memory, "I'm, uh, outside."

"Great, I'll meet you at the car. We have a lot to debrief tonight."

"Oh yeah, a whole lot." You laughed as you stared back at Jack's face with a warm smile. "'Kay, love you."

"Love you."

She hung up and you were met with Jack's gaze, pulled back into the moment. Again, there was silence before you spoke up. "Well, I gotta go."

"I figured." Jack spoke as a smile curved his mouth.

"I'll... see you, then?" Your voice came out in a quiet whisper as he nodded.

You turned around and started walking before you stopped. You couldn't leave without anything, right? It wouldn't be right. You turned around swiftly with a warm smile. "Umm... when can I see you?"

Jack's eyes lit up at your question, a flicker of excitement dancing in their depths. For a moment, he seemed taken aback by your sudden boldness, but a smile quickly spread across his face, warming the space between you.

Jack's eyes lit up at your question, a genuine smile playing on his lips. "How about tomorrow? We could grab coffee or something, catch up properly."

Your heart skipped a beat at his suggestion, the prospect of spending more time with him filling you with a sense of anticipation and joy. The thought of reconnecting with Jack, of rediscovering the depths of your bond, ignited a spark of hope within your soul.

"That sounds perfect," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

As you exchanged details and finalized the plans, the air buzzed with anticipation. The promise of tomorrow held the potential for new beginnings, a chance to explore the rekindled connection between you and Jack.

As you parted ways, each step carrying you closer to the promise of tomorrow, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the chance to rewrite the narrative of your story, to carve out a future filled with forgiveness and the prospect unfulfilled promises you once made, coming true.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[zombvic]

Hii, i would like to request for Jude Bellingham 🫶🏻 The match between England and Slovakia just ended sooo i was thinking maybe some little angst with reader from Slovakia (because i'm from there🫶🏻) like he would be sad if she wouldn't wear his jersey or her little mad after the match because her country lost, Thank you, have a great day 💗💗

PATRIOTIC (jude bellingham x reader)

summary : in which y/n is a true patriot to her country

face claim : no-one exact

notes : I LOVE THIS IDEA!!!! given the fact im also slovak (jedine vsž !!!). this match was a traumatic experience tbh and i was on the edge of my seat (literally) while watching.. i feel like jude is doing everything to go against my silly ahh.. first joining the rival (madrid) and now knocking out my country from the euros man.. since slovakia is gone, time to cheer for spain and netherlands #vamosandstuff

pairings : jude bellingham x slovak!reader

y/n, long time girlfriend of jude bellingham, could be considered a patriot when it came to sports. on an average day, you could say she hated slovakia. the politicians were horrid, inflation was growing by the week, dumb decisions made by the parliament. but when there was an international tournament, like the hockey world championship or the euros, her national pride was next level. she would proudly wear her jersey with the double cross and the red, white and blue colors and cheer for slovakia like her life depended on it.

this year, the euros were particularly exciting. slovakia had managed to advance to the round of sixteen after a tense tie with romania. the whole country was buzzing with anticipation. y/n, however, had a unique point of view on all of this. she was dating jude bellingham, the english youngster, and their teams were about to face off.

the atmosphere in the stadium was wild. y/n sat in her seat, heart pounding, wearing her slovakia jersey with her name on the back. jude knew she was here, but he didn’t know she’d be wearing that jersey. until now, hes only seen her wear an england jersey with a big number 10 on the back while he was playing. the round of sixteen had brought slovakia against england, and the tension was kinda scary.

the game started off intensely. slovakia's forward, ivan schranz, scored a goal in the 25th minute, sending the slovak fans into a frenzy. you could hear that "SLOVENSKOOOO" in your bones. y/n couldn't help but join in on the celebrations, her heart filling with pride. she glanced at jude on the field, knowing how badly he wanted to advance, but in that moment, all she wanted was for slovakia to beat england.

as the minutes ticked by, the match felt like it was dragging. england pressed hard, but slovakia's defense held strong. y/n's anxiety grew with each passing second. she knew jude was frustrated, but she also knew he was a relentless player.

then, in the 95th minute, jude did the unthinkable. he scored a stunning bicycle kick, tying the game. y/n’s heart sank. she wanted to jump up and celebrate his incredible goal, but the reality of what it meant for slovakia hit her hard. the game was now tied, and the prospect of overtime sneaked ominously.

another thing that kind of pissed y/n off was the way jude celebrated. i mean, come on. you scored against your girlfriend's national team, and that's how you celebrate? of course, it's a very passionate game, but it still hurt, obviously.

overtime began, and y/n's fear became reality. just 50 seconds in, harry kane scored, putting england ahead. slovakia struggled to find an equalizer, and as the final whistle blew, y/n felt a mix of anger, disappointment, and sadness. slovakia's journey in the euros was over, and it was mainly because of the man she loved.

after the match, jude came looking for y/n, a smile on his face. "did you see my goal?" he asked, clearly excited.

y/n, still wearing her slovakia jersey, felt a surge of annoyance. "yeah, i saw it," she replied curtly. jude's smile faded as he noticed her tone.

"what's wrong?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"jude, read the damn room," y/n muttered, turning away. she didn't want to start an argument here, not now.

jude sighed, sensing her mood. "i’m sorry, baby. i know you wanted slovakia to win."

"of course i did? but it's not just that," she said, her voice softening slightly. "let's just drop it for now."

"alright then.." jude reluctantly agreed and went out to dinner with his teammates to celebrate. y/n stayed behind in their hotel room, her mind racing. she knew she was being irrational, but the mix of emotions was overwhelming. how could she be happy for jude when her own team had been eliminated?

hours passed, and when jude returned, the tension in the room was thick. y/n's frustration had only grown. jude, sensing the impending argument, he tried to lighten the mood. "you know, you looked cute in that slovakia jersey," he teased.

y/n glared at him. "really, jude? that's what you want to talk about right now?"

jude's expression hardened. "what's your problem, y/n? i played my heart out there."

"my problem?" y/n snapped. "my problem is that you ruined our chance. you ghosted the whole match and then suddenly scored a stinker in added time."

jude's eyes narrowed. "i was doing my job, y/n. i’m supposed to score goals, remember? and why the hell were you wearing that jersey anyway? do you have any idea how that made me feel?"

"oh, so now it's about your feelings?" y/n shot back. "you think it’s easy for me? watching you celebrate while my team gets eliminated?"

"and you think it was easy for me?" jude retorted. "seeing you cheer for the other team? i thought you’d at least be supportive of me, no matter what."

"other team?? you mean my team??? also, what do you mean by supportive?" y/n scoffed. "how can i support you when you’re one of the main reasons we lost? i know it’s just a game, jude, but it still hurts."

"you’re being ridiculous," jude said, his voice rising. "this isn’t just about the game, is it?"

"of course it is! what are you on about?" y/n replied, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes.

jude ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. "you’re mad at me for doing my job? for helping my team? you knew what this was from the start."

"it's not just about that! it's the way you celebrated, like you didn’t care about what it meant to me!" y/n shot back, her voice breaking. "you scored a goal and acted like you won the fucking world cup. did you even think about how i felt?"

jude’s face softened slightly, but he was still visibly upset. "i’m a footballer, y/n. scoring goals is what i do. it’s my passion, my career. i can’t just switch that off because of you."

"i’m not asking you to switch it off," she said, wiping her eyes. "i’m asking you to be considerate. to think about what it means for me and my country."

jude sighed deeply, frustration giving way to a partial understanding. "i get that, but you need to understand my side too. i can’t not play my best because of our relationship. it’s unfair to my teammates, to the fans."

"i didn’t mean to hurt you," jude said quietly. "i was caught up in the moment. i’m sorry if it came off wrong."

jude stared at her, his anger slowly giving way to realization. "y/n, i never wanted you to feel like that," he said, his tone softening. "i love you, and i cannot imagine you not supporting me from the sidelines."

y/n looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. "okay. but next time, maybe don’t celebrate like you just scored in the finals when you score against us."

jude chuckled softly, pulling her into a hug. "deal. and maybe next time, wear my jersey instead of yours?"

she laughed, the tension finally breaking. "we’ll see about that."

as they held each other, y/n felt the weight of the argument lifting, replaced by a renewed sense of understanding and love. they might come from different worlds, but they were determined to make it work, no matter the challenges.

if anyone was interested in my dads entire match commentary 😊

"a mame po turnaji" means were fucked (basically)😭🙏🏽

[nadvs]

out of bounds (part two)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one

» masterlist

Your footsteps fall in and out of rhythm with Zach’s as you walk over the soccer field.

Even under the inky night sky, you can easily make out the sharp white lines spray-painted on the pitch as he stands across from you, your back to the net.

As a center back, this is where you spend most of your time in a game, defending directly in front of the goal. You used to love the nerves you’d feel before a match, but by the final month of the school year, you’d start every game already waiting for it to end.

You hope you can fix that this summer. And Zach is the perfect person to practice against since his main objective in his position is scoring.

He picked up a soccer ball from a storage shed on the way over, tossing it in his hands. You wonder if he offers to help all the newbies work on their game or if it’s just you.

“I don’t know if you know this,” you say, “but the ball’s supposed to be on the ground.”

“Most people say thank you when someone does them a favor,” he jokes, dropping the ball and dribbling it between his feet.

“I think you need to actually do the favor first,” you reply.

Zach smirks. He’s always been the type to chase the feeling of fun, and right now, he enjoys how easy things are with you.

He kicks the ball to you, and you stop it under your foot.

“Don’t go easy on me,” you say. “I’m serious.”

Zach sighs with a smile.

“What?”

“Nothing, just… my sister says that to me all the time,” he says. The memory makes his chest pinch. This is the hardest part of being at camp for seven weeks. It’s only been one day and he misses his family already.

At least when he’s at college, he can visit whenever he wants, but at camp, it’s a no go.

“Does she play soccer, too?” you ask. The ball scruffs over the grass when you kick it back to him.

“No, Avery hates sports,” he says. “It’s when we play video games. She kicks my ass and she tells me to stop letting her win when I’m genuinely trying my hardest. It’s embarrassing.”

“How old is she?”

“Ten.”

You smile. It’s sweet that he spends time with his kid sister.

“And she beats you? That is embarrassing.”

He kicks the ball to you with a chuckle.

“So, she’s not interested in coming here?” you ask, considering Camp Summit is for kids in her age range.

“No chance,” he says. He asks about your family and you continue to chat about your home life while kicking the ball back and forth until you eventually decide to do what you came out here for.

“You ready?” he asks, heading backwards a few steps.

“Give me your worst.”

Zach jogs towards you, expertly kicking the ball with every stride, approaching you quickly. You keep your eyes trained on his movements and the ball, reading the opponent’s body like you always do.

You shift between your feet quickly, trying to gain possession. He side-steps and fakes right, but you notice it in the way he’s positioned, and you take the window of opportunity to steal the ball.

You succeed and rush past him, then turn to smile at him, locking the ball under your foot.

“Jeez,” Zach says, hands on his hips. “Nice one.”

“Stop,” you laugh, convinced he’s just trying to flatter you.

“How’d you catch my fake-out?”

“It’s all in your body language,” you say. You kick the ball to him.

“So, you’re looking at my body,” he says, his tone sarcastically suggestive.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you laugh, heading to where you were standing originally to reset.

“Too late.” He rushes back to the center of the field.

Your cheeks go warm. He wouldn’t risk dating at work. It’s against the rules. You could both lose your jobs.

But what’s the harm in flirting? He seems to like to do it with you just as much as you do it with him.

Zach jogs towards you again and you turn with him slightly, closing the distance once he comes close enough, mirroring him as he darts over the grass.

“It’s good that you don’t dive in right away,” he says between breaths. “I always get past defenders when they rush me.”

“Are you trying to distract me with flattery?” you ask.

“If it’s working, yeah,” he replies.

You laugh and continue to jockey, both of you moving with sharp, fast movements as he shuffles with the ball.

It’s a struggle, but eventually, he gets past you, sending the ball flying in the net.

“One-one,” he says. “You really made me work for it, though, huh?”

As you watch Zach run to grab the ball out of the net, you’re taken by how kind he is. Even after he gets a ball past you, he compliments you.

You refocus when he resets and jogs down the field towards you again. As the night goes on, you start to feel comfortable enough to make contact with each other, brushing arms and legs.

You stop keeping score, but it feels pretty equal by the time you’re huffing from all the exercise.

“You good to call it?” he asks, looking down at you as he pants after you steal the ball from him yet again.

“Yeah. I think that was more than ten minutes.”

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he smiles. He completely forgot he was out here with you, under a time limit, all because he was waiting for his friend to escort yours out of his cabin.

“I noticed something you do,” he says as you walk off the field together, taking turns kicking the ball far ahead of you. “You kind of give up when you think you won’t win the ball.”

“Why waste the energy?” you respond with a tired laugh. You check your phone to see that it’s almost 10:30.

“My coach always tells us that you have to believe that you’ll win every tackle,” Zach says. “It seems like you tell yourself you might as well stop trying.”

You consider his words. It’s true. It’s a bad habit you’ve picked up in the past year, a result of your dwindling confidence. And he’s a sharp player for catching that weakness.

Zach watches you, afraid he might have offended you.

“I hope I didn’t - that wasn’t out of line, was it?”

“No, no,” you say. “You’re totally right. Thanks. It’s helpful.”

You reach the dirt path, approaching the storage shed. He puts the ball away and joins you again as you make your way towards the staff cabins in the humid night.

“Gotta be honest,” he says, thinking back to what you said by the fire, “I’m surprised you’re not confident in your game.”

“My team doesn’t do that well,” you admit. It feels like you’re constantly ruminating over last season’s win/loss ratio.

“And what, that’s your fault?” he asks.

“I am usually the last one the other team crosses before scoring,” you say with a shrug.

“Actually, the goalie is.”

“No, she’s great,” you reply. “It’s not on her.”

Zach snorts.

“What?”

“You don’t blame her, but you blame yourself,” he says. “Makes sense.”

You nudge his firm shoulder. The contact is brief and playful and you’re comfortable doing it now considering you got so close on the field.

Zach nudges you back, touching you as if he always does. As if you didn’t just meet today.

“You mad I’m right?” he says.

“A little,” you reply with a small smile.

You reach your cabins. The shirt on his door is gone. It seems like your cabin-mates are back to their respective beds.

“Yeah, I’m still knocking very loudly just in case,” Zach says.

“Good call,” you laugh, heading towards your cabin. “Thanks again for the help.”

“Any time,” he says. You hope he means it.

Ami’s sitting up in her bed when you come through the door.

“Hey,” she says, “I’m surprised the bonfire went that long.”

“It didn’t,” you reply. “I was out practicing defense with Zach. Because his cabin was occupied.”

Ami grins. After she gives you a recap of her time with Malcolm, which she says went no further than heavy making out, she turns the attention back to you.

“How was practice?” she says. “If that’s what actually happened.”

“It is,” you laugh. “Great. He’s really good.”

“At what?” she asks suggestively.

“At soccer,” you laugh again. “We honestly just practiced. And even if he’s into me like that, he seems serious about the no dating rule. I wouldn’t risk it, either. I don’t know what you’re planning with Malcolm but apparently they’re actually strict about it, so be careful.”

“I will, but I’m not worried. We talked about how we’ll only be casual. And discreet. You be careful, too, okay?”

“Nothing to be careful about,” you say with a shrug.

“So, if Zach asked you out, you wouldn’t be down?”

Truthfully, you’re not sure you’d be able to resist dating him, even if it had to be in secret. Zach is impossible not to like.

“It’s not happening,” you simply reply.

Just like every other year, welcoming campers the next morning is havoc. Zach feels a sense of pride when he sees a familiar face, another kid who loved this place so much that they wanted to come back.

After the campers are directed to their cabins, orientation is held at the dining hall, followed by breakfast.

Voices bounce loudly around the hall as kids dig into their food, every counselor sitting at the head of the table with their cohorts.

He makes conversation, asking his boys questions to encourage them to talk with each other. His eyes flit up to you every so often, hoping he doesn’t get caught staring.

You’re sitting a few tables away, smiling as you chat. He almost can’t believe how much fun he had with you on the pitch under the stars last night.

Things are just so simple with you. He doesn’t have to think about what to say, because he knows you’ll play along or just laugh at his dorky joke. He likes you. A lot.

The rest of the day is dedicated to games across the campground, with training scheduled to start tomorrow. At one point, you ask over the walkie-talkies if anyone knows where extra flags for a game are kept.

Zach replies to check the top shelf of one of the storage sheds. You thank him and even though all he does is say You got it, newbie over the radio, you think about the way he said it for much longer than you would if it were anyone else.

Lunch goes by quickly, followed by more games. Throughout the day, Zach has noticed that one of his new campers, Oliver, has kept to himself. He tried to talk with him every so often, but he just got one-word answers.

So, when Oliver approaches him before Zach blows his whistle to signal the start of the last game of the day, he’s hopeful that he’ll ask about the game and finally show some interest in camp.

“I don’t want to do this game,” the little boy says. “I’m tired.”

It’s disappointing, but Zach doesn’t want to push him. Some kids just need time.

“That’s okay,” Zach says. “You can go sit in the shade. No pressure.”

Half an hour later, everyone goes to the dining hall for dinner.

While he eats, Zach is already exhausted and regrets volunteering to do one of the overnight shifts the first day. Every night, four counselors are scheduled to sleep in one of the four camper cabins, so that campers aren’t ever left without supervision.

It’s a guarantee of a bad sleep. Kids are always way too excited to do anything but talk to each other in their bunks on the first night, having to be reminded over and over that yes, even whispering counts as talking.

But Zach has always hated disappointing people, so he couldn’t risk letting down his aunt and uncle by not volunteering. He has the longest tenure of any other counselor here. He needs to set a good example.

After dinner, the kids are given free time before lights out, free to either hang out in their cabins or by the campfire. This gives some of the staff a moment to congregate by the dock, offering the perfect spot to keep an eye on campers without being heard by them.

It’s just past dusk as you stand by the boarded walkway leading into the shallow waters, looking out to your cohort of campers around the fire. You hear Zach ask about how the first day has been.

You look over to see him chatting with a couple of other counselors, a big smile on his face. It’s a good reminder that he’s simply a friendly guy and might not even be into you like that.

But when his eyes land on you and his smile gets a little wider, your heart refuses to agree with your mind. He must feel something, too.

Zach shifts closer to you, crossing his arms. His biceps bulge under his t-shirt. You quickly tear your gaze off of his muscles and up to his blue eyes.

“You surviving?” he asks.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Don’t know. Some people just don’t have what it takes.”

“You’re so much nicer to the other counselors,” you tease, looking down and shaking your head.

Zach feels himself blush, tense that you’re calling him out for brazenly flirting with you. But when your eyes flitter back to his, he can tell by your innocent smile that you don’t have any intention to embarrass him.

“It’s all an act,” he says. You laugh and cross your arms, mirroring him. “Your kids getting along?”

“I think so,” you say. “They already have their little cliques.”

“Yeah, that happens,” Zach says. He looks out to the campfire and you catch his smile slowly fade, his strong jaw tensing.

“How about yours?” you ask.

“Got one who seems like he really doesn’t want to be here at all,” he admits.

You follow his eye-line to the boy sitting on the steps of a camper cabin, staring down at the book in his hands as he reads under the porch light.

“Usually with those kids, it just takes a few hours and they settle in,” he says, “but I don’t know. I’ll give it another try.”

Sure enough, when Zach crosses the distance and asks Oliver what he’s reading, he answers with the title, then ducks his head to quickly back to reading.

You notice from far away, confident that if you were close enough, you would see disappointment on Zach’s face.

The next morning, Zach is even more tired than he expected. The overnight shift was full of interruptions. He’s sure he’ll sleep like a rock tonight.

As everyone sits in the dining hall for breakfast, you dig into your food, listening to your campers talk to each other.

Then, your eyes drift over to Zach. You realize he was already looking at you. It makes your stomach go numb. He quickly glances away.

You notice that the same kid he talked about last night is sitting at the end of the table, alone, picking at his food. Considering how helpful Zach has been, and simply because you like him, you decide to see what you can do.

Near the end of breakfast, campers begin to clear off and put away their plates, and you walk over and crouch at the end of Zach’s table.

The boy looks up at you with an unreadable expression. You introduce yourself, pointing to your name-tag, asking him his name.

“Oliver,” he says, looking back down. You notice he hardly ate anything.

“How are you liking camp?” you ask quietly. Your eyes dart up to look at Zach at the other end of the table. His lips quirk into a hint of a smile.

“I’m not,” he answers.

“Is there anything that would make you feel better?” you offer.

“Leaving,” he says. You stifle your frown.

“Besides that,” you reply. “And you can be totally honest.”

“The food here sucks,” he mumbles. You look down at the uneaten pancake he’s pushing around with his fork.

“What if we got better pancakes?” you ask.

“I don’t want pancakes,” he replies. “I want waffles.”

“Waffles,” you say with a smile, glad you at least got an answer. You stand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Oliver looks up at you with surprised eyes. Something tells you that he isn’t used to being asked what he wants and actually getting it.

You head back to your table to rally your girls, but you find Zach before counselors start leading their groups outside.

“You said you had connections, right?”

Zach turns to see you standing behind him, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach flips when he makes eye contact with you.

“Yeah,” he says. Campers rush around you as you stand by the front door of the dining hall.

“If you can sneak in some waffles, I think Oliver might like it a little better here,” you say.

“He told you that?” he asks.

“No, I’m a mindreader,” you tease. “Yes, he told me that.”

Zach smirks as you turn away to rush back to your group. He can’t stop smiling even after you’re gone.

It’s a long, hot day. You were disappointed when you saw the schedule this morning, because while you like all the vets, you had hoped Zach would be one of the counselors you’d be paired with for drills today. Maybe tomorrow.

All afternoon, your walkie kept crackling and losing signal. You mention it to one of the directors, Ruby, when you see her by the main office and she promises to get you a new one soon.

After the campers go to bed, you head back to your cabin, expecting to see Ami. But her bed is empty. You double-check the schedule in the staff group chat to confirm she isn’t one of the overnight shifts tonight.

You figure she’s hanging out somewhere else on the campground. You settle in for the evening with a shower, then get into your pajamas and decide to do some skincare and self-pampering.

Zach lets out a tired, heavy sigh when he sees Malcolm’s text. He exits the dining hall and steps into the thick night air, rereading the message from his cabin-mate.

Ami’s over. I’ll text when she’s gone.

He just came back from the closest grocery store specifically to buy as many boxes of frozen waffles as he could carry after he got the okay from his aunt. He used up all the freezer space he could find in the dining hall kitchen and now, he just wants to lie in his bed.

He’s not sure what to do. He’s never been that confrontational at work, preferring to keep the peace, but if this becomes a habit of Malcolm’s this summer, he’ll have to say something to him.

He heads towards his cabin, just in case his best friend texts in the meantime. He doesn’t.

Before he can turn around to go sit by the lake to kill time, he notices the light spilling out from behind the edges of the blinds on your cabin window.

Maybe you’d like to keep him company like you did the other night. Without much more thought, he knocks on your door.

When you open it, you’re in pajamas, your hair wet from the shower, pink gel strips under your eyes.

Zach smiles, thinking you look adorable and wishing he could say it out loud.

“Hey,” you say. You notice he’s still in his work clothes, even though lights out for campers was over an hour ago. “What’s up?”

“I was, um… I was gonna see if you wanted to hang out,” he says, holding up his phone. “I just got the text version of the shirt on the doorknob.”

You laugh and quickly clue in that Ami is with Malcolm next door.

“So, that’s where she is,” you say. “Come in. We can hang out here.”

When the door shuts behind Zach, you wonder if he also feels the weight of the privacy you two have now. This is different from being out on the pitch the day you met. There’s no chance of anyone seeing you behind your closed cabin door. It’s intimate. Almost risky.

“How was your day?” you ask, sitting on your bed as Zach settles on the chair tucked under your desk.

You’re trying to act casual and relaxed, but it’s hard to when you meet his eyes. He’s too cute not to get shy around.

“Well, I just went into town to buy like, ten boxes of Eggos,” he tells you. “That’s a first.”

“Did you really?”

“I thought it’d only be fair if I got enough for my whole group,” he explains. “Turns out we don’t have a waffle maker, but we do have toasters, so it was the best I could do.”

“Nice,” you say. “I’m glad the kitchen staff were cool with it.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “I’m actually sneaking in the kitchen tomorrow morning to make them. The cooks have more than enough work, so as long as I don’t get in their way, I think I’m good.”

You still for a second, endeared. You knew he’d make an effort to help Oliver feel welcome, but he’s going to all these lengths just to make a kid happy?

“Anyway, my point is, thanks for the intel,” he says, realizing he’s tiredly rambling. “I appreciate you talking to him.”

You bashfully glance away. He tries not to stare at you. It feels like trying not to stare at you is all he does when he’s around you.

He’s damn near enamored. He likes the smell of your shampoo, the way you look in your pajamas, how sweet your smile is. He hopes his nervousness isn’t obvious.

“No problem,” you say. “So, you haven’t been in your cabin at all since lights out?”

Zach shakes his head, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. He’s clearly tired and bothered by his cabin-mate kicking him out of his room. You wonder if he’ll say anything to Malcolm, but for his sake, you decide to keep the atmosphere light.

“I have a lot of these,” you offer, pointing to the under-eye strips on your face. “You wanna try? It’ll help you relax.”

“Is it that obvious that I need to relax?” he says.

You only smile in response and stand to pick up a stack of multi-colored packets of gel strips from the basket on your dresser and hold them out to him.

Zach’s eyes travel over the colorful array, sitting still as you stand over him. You’re not surprised that he’s actually going along with it.

Some guys would be tense, acting like skin-care is feminine, and therefore, embarrassing, but he’s relaxed and nothing but green flags, like usual.

“Lots of options here,” he says pensively.

“Are you always this indecisive?” you tease after a long moment of quiet.

Zach looks up and pretends to glare, but the dimples framing his stifled smirk give him away.

“You mad I’m right?” you echo his words from last night.

“A little,” he says, just like you did. You got him pegged. He’s always been bad at making choices, especially under pressure.

“I can pick for you.”

“Bossy,” he replies. “But, yeah. Pick. Please.”

You laugh and randomly choose a packet, opening the purple packaging for him and holding out the film. He takes it in his hand, looking at it with furrowed brows.

You decide to help him out. It’s what a friend would do.

“Here,” you say softly, pushing down your nerves. Warm eyes meet yours and you try to act composed. You peel off one of the strips, pressing it up just above his cheekbone. His skin is hot, his stare strong.

You step a little closer, focus etched onto your face, the corners of your lips slightly turned up. As you apply the other strip, your legs brush against his knees and he imagines how nice it’d feel to drag his hands up the backs of your thighs.

You’re so close and so pretty that it almost hurts not to touch you how he’d like to. You’re just as flirty with him and he’s sure you’d want his hands on you like that, but he’d ask before doing it. That is, if you weren’t coworkers.

You can’t help but giggle when you step back to look at him.

“What, is purple not my color?” Zach asks.

“No, it totally is,” you reply. “Keep them on until they feel dry.”

You settle in your bed again, your back pressed against the wall, legs stretched out.

“How was your day?” he says, having to clear his throat. “I never asked.”

“Yeah, you didn’t. Rude.” Zach smiles at your joke. “It was good. My first overnight shift is tomorrow. How was it last night? Did you actually get any sleep?”

“Not really,” he admits. “But the first night is always the roughest. You’ll be fine.”

He fails to stifle a yawn. You figure that after a bad sleep, a busy day, and running an errand in town, he must be exhausted. Once again, like it always does with Zach, your curiosity is too strong to ignore.

“Does this bother you?” you ask, vaguely motioning in the direction of his cabin.

Right now, Zach doesn’t mind Malcolm keeping him out because it means time with you. And while he’d normally say something like that openly, never having been one to shy away from sharing thoughts like these with a girl he likes, the stakes are so much higher right now.

Because dating is against the rules. Because you might reject him. Because he’s actually never been this nervous around a girl before.

“It’s okay,” he simply says. You wonder if he’s just not one to stand up to people.

“I can talk to Ami if it becomes a problem,” you tell him. “I won’t say you said anything, but let me know if you want me to mention it.”

Before he can reply, there’s a knock on your door. You answer it to see Ruby standing at your front step holding out a new walkie.

“Hey,” she says. “Sorry you had tech issues today. We can swap.”

“Oh, perfect,” you say. “It’s no problem. Thank you.”

Zach freezes when he sees his aunt. This looks like… well, it could simply look like two friends hanging out. But it might look like more.

As you take the new walkie and cross your small cabin to exchange it for your malfunctioning one, Ruby catches Zach’s gaze and offers him a genuine but confused smile.

He decides to try to act normal, even though he feels like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“She’s not going to get in trouble for breaking it?” Zach jokes, pointing to you.

“I didn’t break it,” you reply with a laugh as you hand the old walkie to your boss. “I’m not in trouble, though, am I?”

“Nope,” Ruby says lightheartedly. Zach nervously chews the inside of his cheek. Her tone could mean that while you’re not in hot water, he is.

He watches you shut the door. It’s not like you got caught hooking up. But he wouldn’t even be able to explain what he’s doing here. It would mean snitching on his best friend for breaking one of the major rules staff need to follow.

A rule that it looks like he’s breaking. His stomach twists. He always hated disappointing authority figures, especially ones he so badly wants to impress.

When you settle on your bed again, you notice Zach peeling off the gel strips, his lips in a firm line.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Thanks for these.”

“Sure. Doesn’t seem like they relaxed you, though.”

Zach tosses the patches in the wastebasket and stands. Your heart sinks when you realize he’s leaving.

“They did. I just wanna lie down,” he says with a soft chuckle, hoping he’s not being terse. “I’m beat.”

“You can rest here while you wait for-”

“No, it’s alright,” he interrupts, heading for the door. You realize his whole demeanor has shifted after Ruby popped by.

Zach looks over his shoulder to see your features drawn in confusion and sadness. He opens his mouth before the words come to him seconds later.

“Sorry,” he says. “It was fun hanging out with you.”

“You, too,” you reply, your smile erasing the hurt on your face. You want to tell him he’s welcome any time, but he leaves in a rush.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking or maybe he’s simply a nice person, but you’re sure you both feel the magnetism between you.

And he must be really freaked out at the thought of you doing something about it, based on how stiff he got after Ruby came by, possibly suspecting that things are more than friendly between you.

The more time you spend together, the thinner the ice you’re skating on gets. You don’t want to risk the fall and cost you both your jobs.

So, as you get up to brush your teeth, you promise yourself that no matter what, you’ll keep things strictly professional. For your sake and Zach’s.

(part three)

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[kikyoupdates]

Goddess Wink ⭑˚💘⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

Ever since your Quirk first manifested, you’ve been the apple of everyone’s eye. With the goal of becoming a hero, you enroll to U.A. and soon find yourself drawing the attention of many. Will you form genuine connections with others, or is this all just your power's will?

story masterlist | next

You were four years old when it happened.

As far back as you could remember, you’d lived in an orphanage. You’d never met your real parents, nor did it seem like they had any intention of coming to get you, just based on how your caretakers would act. They tried to convince you that your parents must have had their reasons; that they might not have been in the right place to take care of you, but it served as little reassurance. You felt unwanted, unloved. You wondered what you could have possibly done that your own parents wouldn’t want to be with you—why all of these children were missing their families. You didn’t understand, but it felt unfair. For whatever reason, you were undesirable. At least, that’s the way you felt.

On a rather uneventful day, you were out on the playground with some of the other kids from the orphanage. They were all playing together, but you were off by the sandpit on your own, fiddling with the outfit on your doll. At some point a cluster of them had broken off, and one of the boys came right up to you, grinned, and snatched the doll straight out of your hands.

You frowned at him. “Give it back.”

“Nuh uh,” he jeered. “You’re always so boring, [Name]. You never play with the rest of us.”

“I’m not in the mood to play right now. Can you please give me my doll back?”

“What’s so fun about these dolls anyways?” The boy squinted at the toy in his hands, and without wasting a beat, popped one of the doll’s legs clean off. “Whoa!” he cried out. “They break so easily!”

You felt like you should be bursting into tears, but oddly enough, the tears didn’t come. You were eerily composed, a sense of calm washing over you. Something was telling you there was no reason to get worked up. You felt your chest growing warm, and your eyes began to glow a faint, pink shade. You stepped up to the boy and grabbed him by the wrist.

“You ruined my doll,” you said. “Apologize.”

“Huh—?” He stared back at you, dubious, and something akin to realization overtook his expression. He began to grow red in the cheeks, his breaths became irregular, and he swayed unsteadily on his own two feet. The boy stared down at the doll and its now missing leg in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “I-I’m so sorry!” he spluttered. “I didn’t mean to… [Name]. I’m really, really sorry!”

You’d never seen the boy act like this before. He was always up to some sort of mischief, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to go around teasing the other girls. You glanced down to where your fingers were laced around his wrist. You tightened your grip, watching the way his blush only deepened.

“I want a new doll,” you told him.

“Of course! I’m so sorry… I’ll tell the supervisors what happened and get you a new one right away, I promise!”

Even his accomplices seemed to be confused. “Dude, why are you apologizing to her? She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else!”

“She thinks she’s too good to play with the rest of us!”

You pulled away from the first boy and stared at the other two. Still hesitant, you reached over and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. You felt something rushing or pulsing through your body. The air felt like it tasted richer, sweeter. And this time you were sure of it—the moment your hand made contact with their bodies, each of the boys grew red in the face and started rocking on their feet as if they were drunk.

“Apologize,” you ordered again.

“We’re sorry, [Name]!”

“So sorry…”

You took a step back and marveled at what had just happened. All three of them were staring at you with flushed, puffy cheeks, as if they were awaiting your next command. Your small limbs were practically oozing with power. You were sure that this must have been what everyone was always talking about—the birth of your Quirk.

“You guys can leave me alone now,” you said, crouching back down inside the sandpit. “Please make sure I get a new doll and tell the supervisors that you were the reason it broke in the first place.”

They nodded their heads furiously, already rushing over to confess their wrongdoings. You hugged your knees to your chest and inhaled shakily. You didn’t know exactly what kind of power it was, but the feeling of others being so helpless before you… it was oddly exhilarating.

—

You explained to the caretakers the gist of what had happened, and they began speculating as to what type of power you had. It was worth noting that while some became more interested in you as a result of your newly-developed Quirk, others were a bit more apprehensive after finding out what had happened to the three boys. The teachers and caretakers instructed you not to use your Quirk on others needlessly, since you presumably had a power that could control people.

Of course, you didn’t listen.

The next couple of weeks cleared up some questions you had about your Quirk. To be more exact, you weren't consciously using it. It was a difficult power to control, and you would find that it activated on its own without your awareness. It became evident that your Quirk didn’t simply enable you to control others; there were other aspects to it that you were struggling to grasp. You were too young and naive to make sense of it all, but the one thing that was seemingly apparent was that your powers relied on attracting others to you.

You’d been rather quiet and reserved for the majority of your stay at the orphanage, but now the others flocked to you like birds. The boys especially seemed most susceptible to your powers. They would follow you around for near hours at a time, even going so far as to give you presents that you hadn’t even asked for. On some occasions, the caretakers themselves would tilt their heads and smile, saying what a “cute, charming girl” you were, before letting you get away with things that normally wouldn’t have been allowed.

At first, you thought you liked your Quirk. You were getting more attention than you ever had, and for the first time, you felt loved and desired. You thought that maybe if you’d been born with this power, your parents might not have abandoned you. All of the boys in the orphanage loved you, all of the girls wanted to be your friends, and they would each go to any lengths to make you happy. You could get anything you wanted. Truly, it was the best possible Quirk.

But this too, was a fleeting feeling. Before long, the attention became overbearing. You could never get away from it all, from the looks of desire and adoration. The friendships you’d developed with the children started to feel less genuine and more fabricated. You felt like they weren’t really your friends; that your power was just forcing them to be. These ugly thoughts started to pile on more and more, to the point that you began to resent your Quirk. You couldn’t control the power leaving your body, and it felt as if you were living life trying to navigate through a misty pink haze.

Several months passed, and a visitor came to the orphanage.

“I’ve come to take you in, [Name].”

It was a man with pin-straight black hair and striking red eyes. He introduced himself as Mikael, and declared that he’d already filled out all the required paperwork to adopt you. The orphan children began to cry, lamenting the fact that you would be leaving them. You were both relieved and anxious. Even if you couldn’t control your powers, here, at least, you could rest easy knowing that everyone adored you. You’d spent all of your life in the orphanage, and you were a little afraid to leave.

This guy will probably listen to anything I say anyways…

Mikael held you by the hand and led you outside once you’d bid farewell to everyone. He looked down at you, eyes gleaming, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “I think you’ll find that your Quirk will have no effect on me, descendant of Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodite?”

You stared up at him, confused. He didn’t answer your question and instead chuckled to himself.

“Not to worry. I will teach you how to control your Quirk in due time. You’ve been blessed with a gift, young one. A beautiful power capable of touching the hearts of many.”

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[writingwithciara]

Missed Goal ~Quinn Hughes~

summary: after the devils beat the canucks, quinn returns to his apartment, where his roommate has a plan to cheer him up

word count: 2.3k

pairing: quinn hughes x roommate!reader

notes: I feel so bad that quinn didn’t score a goal in the game against his brothers. Like my heart physically hurts just thinking about. My poor baby ☹ Anyways, I think there’s a touch of anxiety speak closer to the end but that’s pretty much it for triggers/warnings

masterlist

“Are you sure you can’t come to the game tonight?” Quinn asked his roommate as he rushed around their apartment, grabbing his gear. He looked up at her and waited for a response.

“I really wish I could but I have to work tonight. Sorry, Quinn.” y/n looked at her roommate and smiled. “But I will be watching from here and I’ll be cheering for you. You’re going to do amazing tonight.”

“I really appreciate that. Thanks.” He looked at his bag and then back up to y/n. “It’s not going to be the same without you there, but at least I know you’ll be cheering for me here.”

“I’d cheer for you anywhere. And that’s a promise.” y/n smiled and walked over to him, extending her pinky. He wrapped his pinky around hers and placed a kiss on it. It was a simple gesture. One they did before every single game.

“When I get home tonight, we can celebrate. Win or lose.”

“You’re going to win, Quinn.” y/n smiled at her best friend. “You may be playing against both of your brothers and they may be great but you’re better. You got this, Hughes. Now go and dominate those Devils.”

“Thank you for being you.” He grabbed his bag and walked out the door. Y/n went to her computer and began doing her work tasks.

A few hours later, she turned the game on and abandoned her work to cheer for Quinn. When Jack scored during the first period, she cheered. She wanted to be happy for the boys but whenever something good happened, it was never Quinn. Jack scored, Luke scored and it seemed like every other player got a goal except Quinn. He did get an assist but that didn’t make y/n happy. Instead, she felt extremely bad for him.

Every time the camera would cut to him, he would look defeated and that broke y/n’s heart. It was bad enough he always felt somewhat inferior to his brothers when it came to hockey, but for the commentators (and even some fans) to constantly point that out, was a little upsetting. She knew he would be upset when he got back home so she decided she would make him feel better.

She ordered his favorite food, knowing he’d be hungry when he got back, and she set out some relaxation options for him to choose from. All of his favorite ways to wind down after a game. As she admired her work, she hadn’t realized how long it actually took to set it up until the front door opened and she heard the keys hit the table.

“Hey. I’m home.”

Y/n walked out of Quinn’s room and when she saw him, her heart felt like it was barely hanging together. His hair was a mess and it was hard to tell but it looked like he got dressed in a hurry and that his shirt was inside out.

“Hey.” y/n stepped closer to him as he ran his hands through his hair for what was probably the millionth time since the game ended an hour ago. “I saw the game.”

“I was kind of hoping you didn’t.” he chuckled lightly.

“And why is that?”

“I didn’t want you to see how much I messed up tonight. I don’t ever want to disappoint you or make you regret cheering for me.” He sighed and collapsed on the couch. Y/n sat next to him and pushed him to continue. “I feel like I should be playing better this year but I’m not. And maybe that’s because I know Luke and Jack are better players and it’s terrifying.”

“Quinn, you didn’t mess up tonight. And even if you did, I would still be proud of you.” She looked at him and smiled kindly. It was the smile that always brought him back when he got lost in his own head. “Jack and Luke may be good players, but they only got that way from watching you do what you do. You’re an amazing player and an even better big brother.” She looked at him again and noticed he was focused on her words. She also noticed how hard he was trying to hold all his emotions in. “I ordered from your favorite restaurant so let’s eat and once you’ve got a little bit of energy back, we can talk, okay?”

“Oh, you’re the best.” Quinn smiled a little as he reached for the takeout containers. As they ate, the faint sound of the tv playing in the background seemed to relax Quinn a little bit but  y/n could tell he was still stressed. When he finished, Quinn put the empty container on the table and looked over at the girl sitting next to him. “Have I ever told you much I appreciate you? Because it’s really true.”

“You have told me a few times before but really, it’s the least I could do. I mean, you’re allowing me to live with you for pretty much free so being the best roommate I can be is what I’m doing in return.”

“You know, I honestly thank god for bringing you into my life.” Quinn admitted.

“You should thank Jack because if he hadn’t come up to me at the beach that one time when we were 8 years old, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, either way, I’m beyond grateful that you’re here and that you’ve been here for so long.”

“Awe, Quinn. You’re gonna make me cry.” y/n smiled and touched his arm gently. The action made him get a little nervous suddenly. When she removed her hand, he felt heat where it had been. Suddenly, everything felt different. The atmosphere became warm and intense but Quinn couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “So, anyway, I have some options to help you relax. Go in your room and pick out whatever it is you want and I’ll make it happen.”

Quinn got up and quickly walked to his room. As he looked at each options carefully, he thought about everything y/n has ever done for him. She has put him first in every possible situation and she’s always there when he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. She knows exactly what’s going on in his mind at all times. They’re connected in a way that is unexplainable. She is the only one he knows he can come to when he’s feeling the stress and pressure of his career and he knows that she can easily lift all the worries away, even with a simple smile. Suddenly, it clicked. He was falling in love with her.

He picked up the bath stuff and walked back out to the living room, where y/n was busy cleaning up.

“So, how will you be relaxing tonight, Quinn?”

“I’m gonna take a nice hot bubble bath and think about some things.” He smiled and headed towards the bathroom. “Thank you.”

While he did his thing in the bathroom, y/n figured she would set up a mini movie night for after his bath. She popped some popcorn, set out some other snacks and put out a few drinks. She even queued up one of his favorite movie. Monster’s Inc. She knew he would enjoy something light-hearted and fun to finish off the night.

After nearly an hour of Quinn being in the bath, y/n started to get worried. She walked over to the bathroom door and knocked lightly.

“Quinn, you alright in there?”

“Yeah. I’m doing alright.” He chuckled from behind her. She turned around and Quinn was walking out of his bedroom and was in the middle of putting his shirt on. Y/n found herself staring at his body and the way his muscles flexed as the shirt went over his head and over his torso.

“I, um, got a movie all set up and ready for you to enjoy. I know how you like your alone time so I’ll just be in my room, finishing up something for work.”

“No. I want you to enjoy the movie with me. I had plenty of alone time in the car on the way to and from the game, plus that time in the bathroom. I think after the night I’ve had I would really love the company. Especially if it’s your company.” He mentally cringed at the last comment but when he looked at y/n, she was sporting a big smile.

“Well, in that case, I would be honored to be your movie buddy tonight.” She guided him back to the living room and started the movie.

About halfway through the movie, y/n glanced over at Quinn and he looked like he was lost in his head again. She paused the movie and softly placed her hand on the back of his neck, gently playing with the hair that was there. He closed his eyes and thought about the calmness her touch brought him.

“What’s on your mind, Cap?”

“Be honest with me, alright?” he looked at her and when she nodded silently, he closed his eyes and continued to speak. “Am I actually a good player? Or do people just like me because of my brothers? Is Jack a better hockey player than I am? Is Luke?”

“In my honest opinion, I think people love you because you’re incredibly good at what you do, not because of your brothers. You have a kind heart and I love getting able to see that loving side of you every day. People might like Jack better because he’s good looking and they might like Luke better because he’s just adorable. But you wanna know what I think? I think you’re one of the best damn players the NHL has ever had. You’re not a perfect player, but nobody is. Not only that, but you are kind, funny, smart, loving, caring and just perfect in pretty much every sense of the word, Quinn. Some people may not like you, but who cares? You have so many more fans than anyone can count. And your biggest fan? Well she’s sitting on the couch with you, reassuring you that you have no reason to worry. She ditched her work responsibilities to watch you play against your brothers and her heart broke whenever the camera showed that you were upset. She is your biggest cheerleader and wants you to know that she would never favor your brothers over you. Your biggest fan loves you a lot, Quinn. More than you could ever know.” y/n moved her hand from the back of his neck to his arm. He looked at her to search her eyes for any sign that she was lying but he couldn’t find any.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always.”

“I love you.” He looked at his hands nervously. He had never told a girl he loved her before and now here he was, spilling his soul to his best friend. It made him worry that she would reject the idea. But when she began to run her hand up and down his arm, he felt better about his confession. “And I want you to know that I have never said those words to a girl before so this is new for me.” He took the chance to look at her and when he saw her smile, he knew he needed to get everything out. “I’m not sure when I started feeling this way but I honestly think the feeling has always been lingering in my heart. You have always been by my side and even though Jack is the reason we met, I love that you always preferred me over him. You are the one person in my life who has never loved my brothers more than me, and I love you even more for it. I love you and everything about you, y/n. You make me feel so much better, even on the gloomiest days. The ones where I don’t want to talk to anyone and stay in my room.  Those are my favorite days because even though I say I don’t want to talk to anybody, you always find a way around that and you cheer me up with absolutely no effort. And living here with you these last few years, watching the amount of guys that would stay for a night and be gone by morning, killed me. I didn’t know why at the time, but now I’m sure of it. Y/n, I’m really in love with you.”

Y/n didn’t say a word. Instead, she grinned and moved to straddle his lap. She didn’t break eye contact once. “I’m in love with you too, Hughes.”

And with that being said, their lips met in the middle and fit together perfectly. With each passing second, the intensity behind the kiss kept on growing. Years of feelings being poured out into one simple action. When y/n’s lips parted, Quinn took the opportunity to slip his tongue in, eliciting a small moan from the girl on his lap. He placed his hands on her back and pulled her closer as the kiss deepened. His large hands found their way under her shirt and rested on her waist while hers were tangled in his now extremely messy hair.

“Is it bad that all I wanna do is stay in this position for the rest of my life?” Quinn asked when they finally took a moment to breathe.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.” y/n pulled him in for another intensely passionate kiss.

All 3 of the Hughes brothers ended up scoring that night.

-----

taglist: @worldlxvlys @jackquinnswife

[steveseddie]

shootin’ hoops

steddie | rated: t | cw: none | 4,6k | tags: eddie munson lives, but his clumsy ass gets hurt, worried steve, minor injuries, sharing clothes, first kiss

for my stficbingo prompt: “‘m just tired.”

click here to read on ao3

***

Eddie has always known basketball is evil. 

Over the years, he’s been smacked in the back of the head by plenty of basketballs, or smacked elsewhere by the dumb jocks that play the game. Only a few weeks ago, he was being chased by Jason Carver and his band of basketball-playing goons. 

So, basketball. Evil.

Eddie knew this, and somehow, he still agreed to “shoot hoops” with Steve Harrington.

Him! Eddie Munson! Agreeing to play the stupid game where you toss balls into laundry baskets! All because of his stupid crush on a boy.

If any of his friends could see him now, they would kick him out of the band and dethrone him as their Hellfire leader. 

Well, no. First, they would laugh at Eddie- currently starfished on the Harringtons’ basketball court having knocking himself out after the ball he threw missed the hoop completely, slammed against the board and bounced back straight into Eddie’s face.

Then and only then, after laughing themselves into a coughing fit at Eddie’s expense, would they kick him out and dethrone him. Can’t have your fearless leader succumbing to forced conformity or whatever. 

Luckily for Eddie, there’s no one here to witness how the mighty have fallen. 

Well. No one but Steve, the guy he’s pretty sure he’s in love with which is fucking great.

When he agreed to play, after Steve pleaded, pouted and hit Eddie with those deadly puppy eyes, he told himself it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d get to ogle Steve in his tiny little shorts, trick Steve into putting his hands on him to show him the right way to throw a ball and maybe even score a goal and shit and get a proud grin from Steve, maybe even a high five or a hug. 

But all Eddie has managed so far is to sweat through his clothes (Steve’s clothes actually- a pair of basketball shorts and an old Hawkins High swim meet shirt because the long sleeve and the ripped jeans Eddie showed up in weren’t basketball appropriate) and embarrass himself by getting hit square in the face by an evil basketball, probably giving himself a concussion in the process. 

Because- fucking ouch! His head is pounding right now.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears Steve’s sneakers squeak against the court as he jogs towards him. “Eddie, Jesus Christ!” He gasps, dropping to his knees next to him. “Fuck, man, are you okay?” 

Eddie groans when he hears the concern in Steve’s voice. Fuck, this is so embarrassing. Eddie knows he’s flushing bright red and it’s not because of the midday sun beating down on them. 

“Eddie, come on. Talk to me, man,” Steve urges, slightly shaking Eddie’s shoulder.

“Just leave me here to die,” Eddie mumbles, keeping his eyes tightly shut, partly because moving his face hurts, but also because he doesn’t want to look at Steve right now. 

Steve huffs, shaking Eddie’s shoulder a little more insistently. “Nope, no way. I didn’t drag your ass back from the Upside Down to let you die here. Sit up, come on.” 

He tugs on Eddie’s arm, leaving him no choice but to sit up. Eddie hugs his knees against his chest, still not opening his eyes. He feels one of Steve’s hands settle on his back, holding him up in that position. 

“Good, that’s good,” Steve encourages, rubbing his hand up and down Eddie’s back. Because of that touch, Eddie can feel the flush spreading all the way up to his ears. He squeezes his eyes even tighter, even if it makes his face hurt, but Steve isn’t having it. “Now open your eyes for me.”

Eddie shakes his head, which is a terrible idea because it sends flashes of pain through his head, all the way down to his neck. 

“Come on, Eds, let me look at you,” Steve purrs in a sweet voice that settles deep in Eddie’s lower stomach. Then Steve’s other hand cups his cheek, gently turning his face towards him. “Please,” he says, stroking his thumb over Eddie’s cheek.

And if there’s one thing that today proved is that Eddie can’t say no to a pleading Steve. It’s what got him in this mess in the first place. 

So his eyes flutter open. He has to blink a few times to get rid of the blurriness at the edges of his vision but even then it’s hard to miss Steve’s big, worried eyes when they’re right in front of him. 

“There he is,” Steve exhales softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a relieved half-smile. “Hi.” 

“H-hey,” Eddie stammers out. His cheeks burn even brighter when he realizes how close their faces are. Steve’s hand rubbing Eddie’s back soothingly while the other one is still cupping his jaw certainly don’t help. 

“Are you okay?” 

Eddie scoffs. “Oh, I’m great! Just wishing the Upside Down would open up and swallow me whole so I can like, die of embarrassment there,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Steve makes an exasperated noise, either because he didn’t get a real answer to his question or because it’s too soon for Eddie to be joking about dying in the Upside Down. Eddie sighs, waving a hand through the air dismissively. “I’m fine, man, just hurt.” 

“Where does it hurt?” 

“My dignity.”

This time the joke does land and it makes Steve snicker. “Since when do you have any?” 

“Ouch. Kicking a man while he’s down, Harrington? Shame on you,” Eddie says with a laugh, which is quickly followed by a wince. “Shit, okay, maybe my dignity isn’t the only thing hurting. My whole head is fucking pounding, I think I hit it against the ground after the ball knocked me down.” 

Steve’s face pulls into a frown and the hand that was on Eddie’s back moves to the back of his head. “You’re not bleeding, thank God, but you could still have a concussion.”

“Of fucking course,” Eddie mutters, resting his head on his knees.

“We can get you something cold or I can drive you to the ER if you’d rather get checked out.”

Eddie starts to shake his head and gets dizzy so he aborts the movement, raising his hand to wave Steve off instead. “No, no ER. Some frozen peas will do the trick, good sir.”

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. “Okay, but if you start talking nonsense, I’m taking you there. I don’t care if you don’t want me to or not.”

Eddie gives him a lazy smirk. “How will you know I’m talking nonsense because of the concussion and not because I’m, you know, me.” 

“I know your kind of nonsense, Munson,” he says with a snort. The words sound almost fond to Eddie’s ears. “Now, let’s get you inside. I’m gonna help you up. Slowly, okay? You might feel dizzy or even like you’re going to throw up so- careful.”

Eddie squints at Steve. “You sure know a shitload about concussions, Harrington.” 

Steve makes a face. “That’s because I’ve had like, three. And surprisingly enough only one of them was Upside Down related.”

“Damn, dude.”

“Yeah, but at least you know I’ll take good care of you.” Steve shrugs. “Okay, come on.”

He stands up in one swift movement and offers both of his hands to Eddie, who grabs them and lets himself be pulled to his feet. As soon as he stands, his vision goes black and he sways forward. He would’ve face-planted if Steve didn’t catch him by his elbows.

“Woah, I got you,” he tells him, breath ghosting over Eddie’s face.

“Just need a minute,” Eddie mumbles, squeezing his eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning. 

“Take your time,” Steve says, rubbing his thumbs over Eddie’s forearms, which only makes him feel more dizzy. 

When he opens his eyes, Steve’s face is right there again and he gets lost in his hazel eyes for a few more seconds before he feels ready to move. “Okay, I’m good.”

Steve nods, letting go of his arms but staying close to Eddie as he starts walking towards the house, just in case. They walk past the evil basketball and Eddie glares at it. He thinks about kicking it, just to give it a taste of its own medicine, but knowing his luck, the ball would probably bounce against the wall and hit Eddie again, so he just ignores it. 

In the kitchen, Steve heads for the freezer while Eddie flops down on a chair and folds his arms over the table, letting his head rest over them.

He jumps when he suddenly feels something cold press against the back of his head. “Motherfucker!” When he looks up, Steve is giving him a sheepish smile and holding a bag of frozen peas in his hand. “Dick,” Eddie says, snatching the peas from his hand and pressing them against the back of his head. He still flinches, but at least he’s prepared this time. 

“Is that better?” 

Eddie makes a noncommittal sound. The cold helps with the throbbing, but his head still feels like it was put through the wringer.

“Do you think you’ll be okay if I take a quick shower?” Steve asks. Eddie glances at him, who’s eyeing him back warily and biting his lip, probably worried about leaving him unsupervised. 

“I think I’ll live, man,” Eddie says with a snort.  

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He stands up to leave but hesitates. “Call if you need anything.” 

Eddie can’t help it, he smirks up at him. “You’re gonna come to my rescue dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel? I might call you just to see that.” 

Steve’s cheeks flare the brightest Eddie’s ever seen. “Never mind, you can die,” he says with no heat at all before turning around and leaving Eddie alone in the kitchen. 

This time when Eddie laughs it doesn’t make his head hurt nearly as much, which means that the frozen peas might be helping. He presses the bag against his face next, trying to dull the throbbing there as well. He sits there at the kitchen table, moving the frozen peas back and forth from his face to the back of his head until he starts getting tired and his eyelids start feeling a little heavy. 

He drops his head on his arms again and instantly starts to doze off. Eddie knows he shouldn’t, not if he has a concussion, but he’s tired, and taking a nap right now sounds so good-

But just as he’s about to, Steve’s voice drags him away from the brink of sleep. “Eddie, hey, Eds.” 

Eddie burrows further into his arms, trying to ignore Steve who shakes his shoulder a little frantically. “Eddie?” 

“I’m fine,” Eddie mutters, twisting his head to the side, towards Steve, but keeping his eyes closed. “‘m just tired. Want to take a nap.”

“Uh, yeah, no. No sleeping while concussed,” Steve says in that bitchy tone of his. “Eds, come on.” When Eddie doesn’t respond, Steve nearly growls. “Eddie Munson, I will drag your ass to the ER if you don’t open your eyes right now.” 

“Fuck, you’re bossy,” Eddie huffs, but he opens his eyes, giving Steve a look that’s supposed to say happy?

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, sorry for not wanting you to die on me again.”

It’s probably not Steve’s intention, but Eddie immediately feels bad. He might not remember a lot of what happened after the hell bats attacked him, but he knows that at some point his heart stopped beating from all the blood he lost and Steve had to perform CPR on him to bring him back. And unlike Eddie, he probably remembers everything about it. It’s not fair that Eddie is making him relive that kind of worry right now. 

So he forces his head up, blinking his eyes a few times so they adjust and apologizes. “Sorry.”

Steve’s face softens almost immediately and he waves Eddie off with a shake of his head. Droplets of water hit Eddie’s face and he notices that Steve’s hair is wet, water steadily dripping to the floor from the few strands that hang over his eyes. Eddie has seen Steve after a shower before but he always dries and styles his hair before coming out of the bathroom which means he skipped his hair routine today, probably so he wouldn’t have to leave Eddie alone longer than necessary. 

“How’s the head?” Steve asks, brushing his hair back with a hand. 

“Hurts but the peas are helping. Or they were. I don’t know where they are now.” Eddie frowns when he realizes he can no longer feel them against the back of his head, they must have fallen to the floor when he started to doze off. Oh well. “How was the shower?” 

Steve snorts. “Quick,” he says. “Do you wanna take one?” 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “I want to but there’s a big chance that I will fall in the shower and crack my head open if I do.” 

He almost wants to risk it just to get rid of some of the sweat, but then he thinks about falling in the shower and Steve barging in to help him while he’s naked on the floor and quickly changes his mind. There’s only so much embarrassment he can take in a day. 

Steve nods in understanding. “Maybe later then.” He jerks his head toward the door that leads to the living room. “Do you want to move to the couch? Just because you can’t take a nap doesn’t mean you can’t be comfortable.” 

“Sure, man.” 

When Steve stands up, Eddie’s eyes end up at the same level as his shirt. Which, thanks to the familiar Black Sabbath logo, Eddie realizes is actually his.

“Is that my shirt?” Eddie asks even if he knows the answer. Steve would never own a Black Sabbath shirt, not to mention Eddie remembers turning his room upside down looking for his the other day only to give up when he couldn’t find it- because it was at Steve’s house apparently. 

Steve looks down at himself and his eyes widen like he’s only realizing now that he’s wearing it. 

“Oh, um, yeah, you left it here the other day. I washed it and left it in my closet to like, give it back to you, but I guess I accidentally grabbed it just now,” Steve explains, running his hand through his hair a few times. 

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, big eyes staring up at Steve in his goddamned shirt. 

“Do you- do you want it back?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, man. It looks better on you.” And it’s true- Steve looks good in Eddie’s clothes. “Besides, it’s only fair,” he adds, gesturing down at himself, still wearing Steve’s swim meet shirt and old basketball shorts. 

Steve chuckles, ducking his head and saying a little shyly, “Well, those look good on you too.” 

Eddie twirls some hair around his finger and tugs it in front of his face to hide his blush. He’s ridiculously bad at accepting compliments, especially when they come from Steve.“

“Okay,” Steve says, remembering why he stood up in the first place. “Come on, to the couch.” 

Standing up doesn’t make Eddie as dizzy this time and he manages to stay on his feet without Steve’s help. Slowly, he drags his feet to the living room and then flops down on the couch, tilting sideways until his head comes in contact with the cushions. 

“No sleeping,” Steve grumbles when he sees Eddie’s eyes start to slip shut. 

“I’m not!” Eddie says, his eyes flying open and finding Steve raising an eyebrow at him. “Okay, maybe I am, but you gotta help me stay awake, man. Put on a movie or something.” 

With a frown, Steve says, “I don’t think you should be staring at screens or any bright lights right now.” Then he perks up. “Wait, I have an idea!” 

And then, without explaining any further, he leaves. 

In his absence, Eddie sighs and burrows his head deeper into the cushions, but before he can even think of taking a nap, Steve comes back. 

“I think I might be having like a concussion-induced hallucination because there’s no way that you, Steve Harrington, actually own a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring,” Eddie says when he sees the worn paperback that Steve is holding in his hand. 

Steve glances down at it. “It’s actually Dustin’s, man. Kid gave it to me forever ago, but I never read it. It’s not really my thing, but it’s yours.”

“It most definitely is, Stevie boy,” Eddie says, “but I don’t think reading will help my head any more than staring into a screen.”

“You won’t be reading, Eds. I’ll read to you,” Steve says with a shrug. “Now, lift your head.” 

Eddie pushes himself from his lying down position so Steve can sit next to him, but before he can sit upright, Steve tsks and pushes his head back down so it’s resting on his lap, the right side of his face coming in contact with the fabric of Steve’s sweatpants. 

Eddie is too stunned to protest or move, but he does subtly pinch himself, a little suspicious that he might’ve slipped into some kind of concussion dream.

With one of his hands, Steve holds the book open and the other finds its way to Eddie’s hair. He’d tied it up in a bun when they started playing, but it’s mostly undone by now. Steve carefully tugs on his hair tie, freeing the rest, so he can run his fingers through the curls.

It sends shivers down Eddie’s spine, makes him feel like he’s going to melt through the couch and into a puddle on the floor. He can’t stop the whiny noise that slips through his lips. 

Steve’s hand freezes. “Did I hurt you?

Embarrassed, Eddie just shakes his head no.

“So this is okay?” Steve asks, scratching his scalp. Eddie just nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth some other embarrassing noise will slip out.

Eddie can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Good.”

After that, Steve clears his throat and starts reading. 

Eddie quickly realizes that Steve didn’t think his plan through- he heavily underestimated how soothing his voice is, how comfortable his thigh is and how good his hand feels in Eddie’s hair. 

Within minutes, Eddie feels himself starting to doze off again, but before he can, Steve jostles his thigh, the movement waking Eddie up.

“Hey, talk to me so I know you didn’t die.”

Eddie groans, pinching Steve’s leg. “I hate you.”

Steve chuckles softly. “That’ll do.” 

After that Eddie starts to focus on the words that Steve is reading and it makes it a little easier to stay awake, mostly because he can’t help but correct Steve when he starts butchering the names of the characters and locations in ways that Eddie can’t begin to comprehend. It’s not until a snigger slips past Steve’s lips when Eddie tells him that it’s “Bilbo, Steve! Not Bobbin!” that Eddie realizes he must be doing it on purpose so that Eddie will talk to him. 

After a while, Eddie stops feeling sleepy and his head stops hurting as much so, instead of just correcting Steve’s pronunciation, he offers commentary about the book here and there and quotes the book as Steve reads it, which earns him a fond nerd and a playful tug on his hair.

After a few chapters, Steve complains about his voice getting tired, but Eddie isn’t having it, he wants to listen to Steve read some more. 

“You owe me, man,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts. “Me? I’m nursing you back to health, why do I owe you?” 

“Because you made me play with you!”

Eddie can hear Steve’s eye roll. “I didn’t, you could’ve easily said no, Eddie.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort because the idea of him saying no to Steve is completely ridiculous. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he blurts out, “Nothing easy about saying no to the guy you have a crush on.” 

Silence falls over them. Steve drops the book on the couch. His other hand freezes in Eddie’s hair. 

“What?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie realizes what he just said and his whole body goes rigid. Oh shit, oh fuck.

“Nothing,” he says meekly. 

“No, you said-”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did, Eddie,” Steve says, annoyed. Annoyed at him. Eddie bites down on a whimper- this is his worst nightmare, the thing that stopped him in his tracks every time he so much as considered telling Steve how he felt. Suddenly, he can’t keep his head on Steve’s thigh, he can’t bear to have his fingers in his hair. Eddie sits up abruptly, his vision swims, he feels sick. 

“I, I have a concussion, I don’t know what I’m saying,” Eddie mutters, sitting on the far end of the couch, away from Steve.

“Eddie-”

“Steve, please just- Ignore it, please,” Eddie pleads, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands coming up to cover his face. 

“I can’t ignore it-”

Of course he can’t. Your friend having a crush on you isn’t something you can just ignore. God, Eddie really fucked up. 

“Fuck.” He squeezes his palms against his eyes until they hurt. 

The couch dips as Steve moves- is he leaving? Eddie’s heart falls as he wonders, but a moment later, Steve is sitting right next to him, their thighs touching and their arms brushing.

“Eddie, I don’t want to ignore it,” Steve says, and his voice is unbearably soft. He doesn’t sound annoyed anymore, maybe he wasn’t annoyed at all, maybe there’s some truth to what people say about Eddie being dramatic.

“Why?” Eddie asks warily, but God help him, also slightly hopeful. 

Steve scoots even closer, bumping their shoulders together. “The guy I’ve liked for weeks just said he has a crush on me, why would I want to ignore that?”

The words have Eddie whipping his head back to stare at Steve so fast that he goes dizzy. His face pulls into a grimace. “Shit.” 

“You okay?”

Eddie waves him off. “Did you just say you like me? Because if you didn’t, maybe I do need to go to the ER because I’m hearing things,” he says, his wide eyes blinking at Steve.

He gives Eddie a sweet smile. “I did say that. I do like you.”

His eyes go even wider. “Holy shit.”

“Do you like me?” Steve asks, a little shy. “Or was that just the concussion talking?”

A nearly hysterical laugh tumbles over Eddie’s lips. “No, nope, definitely me. Maybe the concussion made me say it, and for a moment there I thought I fucked up, but I meant it, Steve, I like you so much that I ignored everything I stand for to fucking shoot hoops with you. I don’t even care that I got a concussion because of it!”

Instead of smiling like Eddie expects him to, Steve seems troubled. Eddie wonders if maybe he said too much. “What?”

“I know I probably shouldn’t kiss you while you have a concussion,” Steve says, biting his bottom lip and having the nerve to glance at Eddie’s mouth. “But I really want to.”

Eddie’s stomach flip flops and he needs a few seconds to remember how to form words because Steve wants to kiss him! “Ever heard of the expression kiss it better?” He asks, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.

Steve chuckles. “I don’t think it applies here,” he says, but Eddie can’t help but notice how he’s started leaning in.

“We can still try,” Eddie says, leaning in too, knowing that Steve is about to break. He thinks back on the puppy dog eyes and the pouty lips he gave Eddie when he asked him to play basketball with him and decides to give it a try, batting his eyelashes at Steve and sticking his bottom lip out. “I really want you to kiss me, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and his breath leaves him in a whoosh, Eddie can feel it against his face. “Fuck, you were right.”

“About?”

“Nothing easy about saying no to the guy you have a crush on,” Steve says, echoing Eddie’s words. 

Eddie starts to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat when Steve cups his cheeks and closes the distance between them, pressing their mouths together. Eddie whines instead, low in his throat, his arms wrapping around Steve’s shoulders and sinking them both back onto the couch. They’re touching in so many places, but Eddie wants more, so he opens his mouth and hopes that Steve takes the invitation. 

And he does- licking the roof of Eddie’s mouth, and angling his head to kiss him deeper. And it’s so good, it’s like nothing Eddie has ever felt, and for a moment, he actually worries that he knocked himself out on the court earlier and this is just some elaborate coma dream. 

But Steve feels so real- his lips against his, his shoulders under Eddie’s hands, the sinful noises that he keeps making. 

Eddie swings his leg over Steve’s lap, straddling him and breaking the kiss for the first time so that he can grin down at him. 

“I think we found another way to make sure I don’t fall asleep,” he says, eyes roaming over Steve- his red bitten lips stretched into a dopey grin, his hooded eyes that keep darting to Eddie’s mouth, the rise and fall of his chest, the exposed collarbone thanks to how worn the collar of Eddie’s shirt is, the mole-covered skin there that’s just begging to be kissed, bitten, marked up. 

“I changed my mind,” Eddie says, picturing what a love bite on Steve’s chest would look like and wanting to get on with it.

Steve’s hands freeze where they came to rest on Eddie’s thighs, his pinkie brushing against the bare skin after his shorts rode up. 

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?” He asks, earnest eyes darting over Eddie’s face, looking for any sign that he’s in pain. 

“Not about this,” Eddie says with a little shake of his head that makes his bangs fall over his eyes. He tugs the collar of Steve’s shirt down- his shirt. “I changed my mind about wanting my shirt back.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, his lips tugging up in a smirk. “Well,” he says, voice dropping low, his fingers teasing the hem of the shorts that Eddie is wearing. “As long as you give me my clothes back too.”

Eddie’s heart stutters, warmth pooling low in his stomach. “It’s only fair.” Then he remembers something else. “You know, I could use that shower that I passed on earlier.” 

Steve raises his eyebrow. 

“But I still feel a little dizzy,” Eddie says, putting the back of his hand against his forehead like a fainting maid, waggling his eyebrows at the same time. “Think you can give me a hand?” 

Steve grins. “Yeah, I can do that.”

They both try to stand up at the same time, and Steve almost sends Eddie toppling to the floor but luckily manages to catch him before Eddie ends up with another concussion. 

After that, they make their way upstairs, to Steve’s bathroom, kissing and touching and leaving a trail of clothes behind them. 

Right before Steve closes the bathroom door, Eddie’s eyes catch the basketball shorts Steve just took off of him, discarded on the hallway floor and he thinks- 

Maybe basketball isn’t so evil after all. 

[lukehughes43]

AM34 Auston Matthews x reader

word count: 1,400 a/n: quick little blurb and or drabble thing of auston becoming captain because how could I not? warnings: none I think. maybe some swearing

You had never seen Auston this nervous before. Normally, he was relaxed, easy going, and tried not to stress about things very often. Only now he was busy pacing a hole in the floor of your shared apartment. 

“Aus,” you called, “there’s nothing to worry about. Everyone’s going to love you as their captain.” His attention turned immediately to you. His brown eyes searching your e/c ones. “Plus the decision has already been made. Brad wants you as captain. Craig wants you as his captain. And, most importantly, John has signed off on the idea to hand the captaincy over to you.” Before he could protest, you crossed the room to stand in front of him. Gently you reached up to cup his cheek, a smile forming on your lips, “You deserve this, love. You’ve worked your life to get to this moment.” 

Reaching up, Auston grabbed on to your wrist. Thumb working small circles against the soft skin. “I know I deserve it, and there hasn’t been a thought in my mind about passing the opportunity over, but I just - can’t believe this is happening.” His confession tugged at your heart. He had put his blood, sweat, and tears into becoming a Toronto Maple Leaf. Played in their first round series sicker than a dog, and still walked away as the MVP despite the loss. 

“Well you better believe it soon, because we need to leave in an hour,” you remind with a kind smile. “Can’t keep everyone waiting for the star of the show today.” Balancing up on your tiptoes you pressed a sweet kiss against his cheek. “I’m going to finish getting ready, and you should too.” 

It wasn’t long before the pair of you were seated in the front seats of his blue Porsche. Brian and Ema smiling happily in the backseat. While you focused on carrying the load of conversation, Auston’s hand had nervously worked its way into yours resting in your lap. Without missing a beat in the conversation about preparing your classroom for the up and coming school year, you squeezed his hand. A subtle gesture to show him that you were aware of the mixed emotions rolling off his body. “I’m sure the kids are going to love hearing about Auston becoming captain this year,” Ema smiled with pride. 

Laughing you nodded your head, craning your body to face the backseat. “That will surely be the talk of the first few days,” you agreed. “Although, any chance they get Auston normally gets brought up. They always beg me to bring him in for show and tell.” The comment drew a laugh from Auston’s parents, and an eye roll from the man himself.  But even he couldn’t hide the smile that was growing on his face. 

“Has he ever come in for show and tell before?” Brian asked.

“Once,” Auston replied, eyes glancing at his fathers in the rearview mirror before turning into the parking lot. “Only it didn’t end up as happy as a day as all the little second graders thought it would.” 

Confusion painted Brian and Ema’s faces, allowing you the chance to fill them in on the rest of the story. “A couple of tears were shed because some kids thought their show and tells weren’t as ‘cool’ as mine.” Grimacing you glanced over at Auston who was still wearing his smile. 

“Well not everyone can bring a sixty plus goal scorer, can they?” He chimed, earning a smack on the shoulder from you. 

Rolling your eyes you glanced back at his parents, “Of course they were all really excited and happy Aus had come in, but some of them felt overshadowed. So from now on if he wants to come visit, it’s on days when we don’t have show and tell.” 

“Well talk about a lesson learned the hard way,” Ema laughed. Nodding your head you agreed with the woman, turning to glance around the half full parking lot. “Well, I suppose we should head in.” Taking charge as always, Ema Matthews headed out of the car, her husband following her lead. 

You stole a glance at Auston to see him already staring back at you with those big brown eyes. “You ready hot shot?” Teasing, you pulled your interlaced hands up to your lips to press a kiss against his skin. “Because the whole hockey world is ready for you.” 

A slight blush dusted over his cheeks as he stared at you, eyes darting between the diamond ring resting on your finger and your e/c eyes. “You know, I think you might have said that to me once before,” he recalled with a smile, “maybe like, eight years ago?” 

“God don’t say that,” you groaned with a smile, “you’re making us sound old.” 

“Well, we are kinda old, baby.” The both of you fell into a small fit of laughter, seemingly lost in memories from prior years. It was only when your beloved nickname fell from his lips like honey that you both silenced your laughing. “What if I can’t be the leader they’re expecting me to be? What if, even after all this we still can’t beat Boston in the playoffs? That I - we never win the Stanley Cup?” Your heart squeezed inside your chest as you stared back at him. Searching for the answers that he so desperately needed to hear, yet couldn’t place them. “What happens then? If I can’t be a Leaf for life.” 

Taking both of his hands in your own hands, you faced him fully. Knees pressed against the center console, likely pulling the nylon fabric covering them. “Auston,” you breathed, “I have never met someone so right for a position of leadership as you. I love John, with all my heart, you know that. But baby, in this business changes need to happen. Different voices need to be heard, and right now yours is the guiding voice of the Toronto Maple Leafs. And it has been since you scored four goals in your NHL debut.” The old memory of his debut tugged a smile to the corner of his lips, but you knew he wasn’t fully convinced of your vision. “You have brought life back to this team, to this fan base. You’ve given something they haven't had in a long time: hope.” 

“How does that translate to me becoming the twenty-sixth captain in franchise history?” His voice held emotions you couldn’t quite place. Sadness, fear, uncertainty. All things you knew Auston Matthews hardly felt. 

Smiling you squeezed his hands once more, “My love, that’s one of the things most important about being a leader - a captain. You have to give your teammates, the ownership, and the fans something to believe in. Something to have hope for. You’ve given them that, and so much more Aus. There’s a reason you didn’t think about passing the opportunity over. There’s a reason John was more than willing to hand the captaincy into your very capable hands.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because you have been the voice of this team since your debut in twenty-sixteen,” you answered with nothing but certainty. “It was only a matter of time until this happened, this past season was the nail in the coffin.” Auston’s face contorted into disapproval while you laughed it off, “Sorry only reference I could think of baby. But it holds some truth to it. Losing to the Bruins in the first round, again, sucked. It fucking sucked. For everyone. You. Me. The team. But you pushed through so much to play in that series. You took control and put the team on your back more than once. Playing sick goes a long way, Aus. It showed everyone in that locker room that you’re here to win. You’re here to bring this franchise a Stanley Cup, and even if you’re on your deathbed you're willing to be the person that helps bring the team to glory.” 

Sighing Auston fell back against his seat. “Are you sure you aren’t saying all this because you’re my fiance?” His head lulled to the side to glance over at you with a soft smile. Leaning over the console you fixed the collar of his suit jacket, “No, I told you that you need to buy another suit because this one has been over worn because I’m your fiance.” Once the collar was laid flat against his body you looked to meet his gaze once more. “I told you all that because I’m someone who believes in you, Auston. Also someone who sees the greatness deep inside you.”  “I love you, you know that?” He asked, body leaning forward to meet you halfway. Smiling, you nodded, “I do know that.” Quickly you closed the distance between the two of you to press your lips against his. “Now come on, I want to see you with a ‘C’ on your chest, captain.”

[elicathebunny]

How to utilise the holidays/term breaks well for a successful academic year

Do you need to catch up on revising the things you didn't pay attention to in class or maybe you just need to put in some extra effort to up a grade? I'm going to walk you through my personal tips for revising efficiently throughout the holidays and term breaks without disrupting your freedom away from learning too much.

I. The Defining Phase

First, you need to figure out what you need to study the most. You should figure this out by knowing what subjects you need to spend a little bit more time on than others and revising what you already know well from time to time to keep the information fresh. Make sure you don't spend too much time on the topics you know very well, I know it's tempting and easier but you are not learning anything new or prioritising the subjects you do need to work on. The more you practice in the difficult areas, the more easier they will become too.

II. The Planning Phase

Now you know what you need to revise/study. You can make a schedule around your free days. Obviously don't force yourself to study or revise when you are enjoying your holidays off from education, so you need to work out days that you can dedicate to your learning.

To make things easier for yourself, gather the resources you need (physical or online) and make them easily available to you to get rid of the faf when starting to revise. If you know you may need extra help, utilise the online teachers and AI chatbots.

-> Don't cheat with them, these are helpful ways to check your answers and to understand the questions that you wouldn't have gotten with step-by-step help

Make sure to schedule days that you can rest and enjoy your break from school. Please don't overload yourself with lots of study days because you will burn out and miss out on your holiday. Instead make a doable schedule based on your lifestyle and what's going on in your week, dedicating just 20-60 mins is enough for a day to get all the information in your head.

Allow yourself to have breaks in between study sessions so you can reset your brain before continuing to learn.

for example: for every 1hr 30 mins studying, take a 15 min break for every 1hr studying, take a 10 min break for every 30 minutes studying, take a 5 min break [every 30 mins = 5 mins break]

if you do anything below or above the times I gave, then round it up to the nearest 30 minutes and calculate the break you should have.

III. Avoiding procrastination

SET YOURSELF UP FOR SUCCESS !!

Put your study equipment on your desk, organised and ready for you to begin your session. Keep all distractions you know will interrupt your studying away from your space. Put your phone away and keep it away from your desk, turn it on do not disturb until you have finished your session. Make sure your space is clean and organised, clear space = clear mind.

Play some ambient music in the background if you need something to break the silence. Preferably choose a background sound with no lyrics or a beat to distract you. The music will keep you focused if you need it.

a. how to stop relying on motivation purely.

Motivation often comes in short bursts and fades away, leaving you less determined to pursue your goals. Relying solely on motivation means you only act when you feel like it. Sometimes, we need to do things that benefit us even when we don’t feel like it. That's why motivation isn’t reliable in the long run. Instead, we need to develop discipline. Discipline helps you push through when you don’t feel like doing something, focusing on the long-term benefits rather than your current feelings. Doing something over and over again builds a habit, this will make it easier to get up and get it done without a fuss.

xoxo

E.B

[adascore]

The Golden War

pairings: alexia putellas x lyonnais!reader

warnings: swearing. for culers the ‘22 uwcl final ig. jona is kinda mean in this.

author’s note: this is the same reader from my ‘one for the money, two for the show’ fic of the lionesses!captain. reader is basically ada hegerberg lolsies :) will be turned into a series.

masterlist

•••••

Turin, Italy - May, 2022

''The final has been dubbed as a duel between you and Alexia Putellas, do you experience it as that?''

The Lyon captain fought the urge to roll her eyes at the question, despite having expected it. ''It is a final between Barcelona and Lyon, nothing more than that.'' She answered, diplomatically- the way they had rehearsed it.

''Lyon is the underdog coming into this final- FC Barcelona has been unbeatable so far. What do you need to do in order to beat them tomorrow?'' Another reporter asked, a pen ready in his hand to take notes.

There was a slight change in her expression as the question left his lips, the man succeeding in poking through her stoic expression. ''Well, we have never lost to Barcelona- I don't know if you remember 3 years ago or even last year,''

Lyon had comfortably beaten the Spanish club in 2019. In that Champions League Final, Y/N had become the first player to score a hattrick in a UWCL final. Their last meeting had been in 2021, in the pre-season, where Lyon had won 3-2, the Lyon captain again putting one in the net.

''We have won this competition many times. There was football before Barcelona, and it was being played by us.''

Her last sentence of the quote had struck a nerve with the Barça captain.

''She acts like she has already won the whole thing.'' Alexia remarked as she read a transcript of the press conference.

Patri and Mapi glanced at one another, a knowing look in their eyes. ''Technically, there is nothing wrong about what she said, Ale. How many times has she won this competition now? 6? 7?'' The defender said, not having a problem with the opposition's words.

''She's just pissed that everyone is talking about us now.'' She ignored Mapi, continuing berating her opponent.

The rivalry between the captains of the two top teams had been something made up by the media, seeking a female counterpart to the famed Ronaldo-Messi rivalry. Both Alexia and Y/N led Europe's premier clubs, won the Champions League, captained their national teams, and earned the Ballon d'Or. This fueled incessant comparisons.

Alexia and Y/N hadn't given it much thought at first. There were also many differences between them; Alexia is a midfielder, while Y/N is a striker. Despite their similar ages, their careers took diverse paths. Alexia remained in the Spanish league, while Y/N gained experience across various countries.

Over time, an unexpected shift occurred. They began caring about each other's achievements. Yet, they knew the comparison wasn't fair.

Despite being younger, Y/N dominated women's football for longer, winning the Champions League seven times – twice with Wolfsburg and five times with Lyon. In contrast, Alexia secured one with Barcelona. Neither had won anything major with their national teams, though she had come close with England a few times. Furthermore, on the accolades side of things, Y/N led with a repertoire that most players could only dream of.

For a long time, it hadn't bothered Alexia. She had watched in admiration as the younger player became the first recipient of the Ballon d'Or, a huge step in women's football. Y/N's advocacy for the sport also didn't escape the Spanish player.

However, her admiration had turned into envy.

The turning point came in the 2019 final against Lyon. She had observed the way the English striker had celebrated with her entire team- how the Lyon squad immediately ran to her once the whistle blew and how Y/N bathed in all the (rightly deserved) glory. Alexia wanted that for herself. For years, Y/N had been the nail in Barcelona's coffin, scoring the goals that made sure they couldn't continue in the competition- in the captain's opinion, the striker had made a joke of her team for years, even if she didn't meant to do that.

Their interactions over the years were limited to polite handshakes before or after matches. Occasional encounters outside the pitch were rare and brief, seldom extending beyond a few sentences.

Alexia's surprise peaked when Y/N congratulated her on winning the Ballon d'Or through both private and public Instagram messages. Despite her reservations about comparisons and rivalry, receiving praise from someone she admired as one of the best in the game left Alexia with a positive feeling.

''No, I think she's just not a fan of being referred to as an underdog.'' Patri defended the Lyon striker.

This explanation didn't sit well with Alexia, evident from the displeasure on her face. ''Whatever,'' she retorted, looking forward to settling matters on the field that Saturday.

Saturday, May 21, 2022

Excitement, adrenaline, nerves, and tension permeated the tunnel of Juventus Stadium as Alexia, tightly gripping her pennant, stood at the front of her lined-up team, awaiting the opposing captain.

The sudden hush among the Barcelona team signaled the arrival of their counterpart. Turning around, Alexia frowned at her teammates' fascination with the approaching striker.

This is not the time to be fangirling, she thought to herself, as she saw most of her players' eyes following the striker's figure.

As the two top players faced each other, uncertainty lingered about whether they should exchange greetings. Y/N broke the silence, deciding to offer some acknowledgment. ''Hey, you alright?'' Her charming English accent filled the air.

''Yeah, and you?'' Alexia almost cringed at her own quick response, not giving her brain time to think.

''I‘ll see in about 90 minutes.'' The younger one grinned.

I'll wipe that smirk off your fucking face, Alexia said in her mind, not a fan of the confidence the striker was oozing.

Ten minutes later, the referee blew the whistle, signaling the start of the highly-anticipated final.

Lyon applied intense pressure right from the start, managing to create two goal-scoring opportunities within the first three minutes of the match.

However, the audience were offered their first initial glimpse of the rivalry in the 6th minute of the game.

Y/N positioned herself strategically, eyes fixed on her teammate readying a precise pass to her. The ball zipped across the pitch, and in a heartbeat, both Y/N and Alexia were locked onto winning it for themselves.

The striker, a master of timing, surged forward. Simultaneously, the midfielder closed in on the target. The collision was inevitable.

Both players fell with a thud, groaning at the contact with the ground. Despite the force of the clash, they both showed resilience as they wanted to use the momentum to their advantage.

They were momentarily entangled, fighting for control of the ball. It was a brief display of the rivalry that had brewed between them.

Y/N rose swiftly from the turf, eyes filled with determination. The collision had only fueled her competitive fire. With the ball firmly at her feet, she accelerated away from the mess, leaving Alexia behind.

The crowd erupted in gasps and cheers as Y/N, now in open space, scanned the field. Seizing the opportunity, she unleashed a powerful strike from well outside the box.

Time seemed to slow as the ball sailed towards the goal. Panos's desperate dive was in vain as the ball found the back of the net. The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium, a symphony of cheers and applause for a goal that showcased the skills and spirit of the Lyon captain.

A fleeting scowl crossed Alexia's face, frustrated at the missed opportunity.

Y/N turned on her heels as the net rippled, ready to embrace her teammates who were rushing to her.

''Vamos!'' She roared, the Spanish word escaping her lips like a battle cry.

Yet, she found herself face-to-face not with the familiar sight of Lyon jerseys but with the intensity of Alexia's determined gaze.

Her expression froze for a quick second, confusion adorning her features. Y/N's eyes widened in realization, and for a brief instant, the two captains locked eyes in an unspoken exchange.

The celebration continued around them, teammates engulfing Y/N as they screamed with delight at their captain's prolific opener. The air was filled with jubilation, but within the chaos, the tension lingered between the two captains, adding an intriguing layer to the unfolding drama on the pitch.

The match unfolded further, Barcelona grabbing a few opportunities of their own, but not being clinical enough to score an equalizer. The Spanish squad remained calm, showing no signs of panic in their play, despite being behind.

Selma and Melvine played a great one-two with each other, and the young defender shot a beautiful cross towards the box. Anticipating the trajectory of the ball, Y/N skillfully pulled away from Leon, who undoubtedly had the impossible task of marking the striker.

The ball connected with Y/N's forehead, falling perfectly into the mesh. The scoreboard illuminated with Lyon 2, Barcelona 0. The narrative had shifted as the favorites stomped the ground in frustration, while the ''underdogs'' celebrated another goal from their captain.

The first half flew by. Y/N managed to assist Catarina to make it 3-0, but Alexia found the back of the net to get one back.

3-1.

The second half saw more scoring opportunities for Barcelona, but no one managed to finish the job.

After contact with Martens, Griedge cited experiencing a cramp and asked for treatment- a request that the Barcelona side was not having. Y/N, understanding the frustration of time-wasting, especially when behind in a match, stood aside.

However, the Lyon captain didn't appreciate the scolding she received from the opposition's coach. ''Tell your player to stop the comedy, what a shit job!'' Jonatan exclaimed to the English captain, who observed the scene from the sideline.

Y/N didn't budge, paying him no attention, knowing it was all tactics. She gave an unimpressed look toward the referee, who had been observing the one-sided interaction.

The official ran up to them, pulling a yellow card from her pocket and holding it in front of the manager. ''Step back, please. Don't talk to the opposition.'' she instructed him.

The match eventually resumed. In extra time, Paredes almost managed to pull off a header, but it went flying over the post.

In the last minute of the game, Y/N teamed up with Eugénie to score a last-minute beauty, but the volley slammed against the post.

The piercing sound of the referee's whistle resonated through the stadium, marking the conclusion of the final. Lyon emerged triumphant for a record-extending 8th time.

Overwhelmed by her own emotions, Y/N fell to the ground as the whistle echoed in her ears. It didn't take too long for her teammates to rush up to her, colliding in a chaos of hugs, kisses, and jubilant shouts.

They had done it again, proving once more why all the records were tied to their name.

''Y/N, you're a fucking legend!'' Lindsey yelled in her ear, kissing her cheek multiple times.

As her teammates slowly got up from their celebratory cuddle with the ground, they formed a protective circle around their captain. Hands reached out to help her rise from the grass, and she found herself enveloped in a symphony of gratitude.

Eventually, she shook off her glorious daze, a wide grin etched on her face.

Y/N turned her attention to the defeated Barcelona players, spread out across the field with tears and disappointment staining their cheeks. She approached them, offering a helping hand to those still on the ground and sharing comforting words. Acknowledging the effort they had brought, she assured them that they gave her team a greater fight than the scoreline implied.

Before the Lyon squad embarked on their victory lap to greet the traveling supporters, Y/N's gaze fell on a heartbreaking scene. Across the field, the Spanish captain, Alexia, was cradled in a comforting embrace by a Barcelona staff member as tears streamed down her face.

Y/N hesitated, caught in a ''should I or shouldn't I'' moment with herself.

She chose to make an attempt to resolve whatever tension had built up between them.

Tears glistened on Alexia's cheeks, a testament to the intensity of the match and the dreams left unfulfilled. The Barcelona staff member, offering solace in the face of defeat, glanced up as Y/N approached, and let go of her.

''Alexia,'' Y/N greeted her softly, putting her arm around the Spaniard, ''thank you for the great battle.'' She hadn't prepared what to say, because what do you say against someone you feel like you are supposed to hate? What do you say against someone you've been constantly compared to for over a year?

To the striker's surprise, Alexia reciprocated, feeling an arm on her lower-back. ''Congratulations, you deserved the win. You played phenomenal.'' The midfielder told her, a forced yet genuine small smile making a way onto her face.

''Don't let this hurt you. You are literally one of the best players I have played against- your team is amazing. Use this, like in 2019.'' Y/N advised her, not particularly caring if the opposing player would take it or not.

''We will. I hope we can play many more finals. You make me- you make us grow.'' Alexia stuttered.

Y/N nodded. ''I hope so too. It's been fascinating to see the growth you guys have made these last years.''

The stadium now bore witness to a quieter exchange between the two captains. Almost every camera lens and watchful eye fixated on them.

As Y/N and Alexia exchanged words of mutual respect, their moment of shared understanding was abruptly disrupted by the Barcelona coach.

''Congratulations on the win, Y/N.'' He acknowledged briskly, his gaze quickly turning toward Alexia. His extended hand to her seemed more like a formality, but Y/N accepted it.

Almost forcibly, he placed a hand on Alexia's shoulder, a non-verbal cue that spoke volumes. ''Come on.'' He declared, his tone leaving little room for negotiation and they were off to wherever he needed her to be.

Alexia casted an immediate glance back at Y/N, a mix of emotions played across her face- gratitude for the moment, and frustration at its abrupt end. She hadn't responded to her words yet.

As the Spaniard was led away, Y/N's eyes lingered on the departing figure, a tinge of melancholy in her gaze.

The brief encounter had sparked a momentary connection- a bridge attempting to break through the perceived rivalry and show praise for a strong opponent. However, Jonatan's swift intervention acted like a pair of scissors, cutting through the threads that held that connection.

In Y/N's mind, Alexia had seemed appreciative of the opportunity to have a genuine conversation. She figured there must have been a good reason for her to have been pulled away like that, especially by the head coach.

The Barcelona captain had reacted with a hint of irritation when her coach suggested to the Lyon player to remove her arm from Alexia's shoulder. She tried asking Jonatan why he had coaxed her away, but she didn't receive a proper answer.

The whole thing had left a bitter taste in her mouth. The potential for a more extended, sincere exchange was cut short, leaving Alexia with lingering frustration. There was a desire to understand Y/N beyond the competition, but it was cut short.

She hoped her last glance had worked as a silent acknowledgment of what could have been.

[meazalykov]

let me in

giulia gwinn x anxiety!reader

part one - part two

summary: you try to hide it, but she already knows

warnings: diagnosed anxiety, fear, zoloft mentions, angst

the moment your alarm goes off, your body tenses instinctively. the anxiety is immediate, crawling under your skin like tiny prickles, making it difficult to breathe properly. you turn over in bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to calm the racing thoughts. 

another match day. champions league. arsenal. there’s a pressure weighing down on you, like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you haven’t even stepped onto the pitch yet. 

you try to convince yourself that it’s just another game, that you’ve been through this before. however, today feels different. you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. that today could be the day everything unravels.

giulia is beside you in the bed, sitting up peacefully while wiping her tired eyes. you lightly smile, knowing at least your girlfriend of five years has had a peaceful sleep for matchday.

once the both of you got into the dressing room at bayern campus– you slip into your bayern kit, hands trembling slightly as you button the collar of the UWCL shirt. the fabric feels heavy on your body, like a constant reminder of all the expectations weighing on you. 

you’ve played through worse moments—disappointments, injuries, even the pain of last season’s champions league exit. 

nothing hits quite as hard as the self-doubt that plagues you now. 

last season was still raw in your memory. that error against PSG, the one you couldn’t shake. the one that spiraled out of control. it was your fault, and the team had to pay the price for it. tuva and georgia had been blamed by the media, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how they must have hated you for that mistake. 

(throwback) the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts into a mix of celebration and disbelief. for bayern, it’s over. the champions league dream, shattered. eliminated from the group stage. 

you stand there, frozen, staring at the scoreboard as the reality of what just happened hits you like a tidal wave.

we’re going home. 

you can barely breathe, your chest tight and tight like it’s being constricted. every part of you aches—physically, emotionally. your stomach twists in knots. you barely register the roar of the crowd as PSG’s fans chant their victory, your focus entirely consumed by the players around you, especially georgia. she’s going to get so much hate.

it wasn’t just your mistake that led to this, but that error was the catalyst. the own goal, the one that was a collective mess of bad decisions, started with you. tuva’s tackle was rushed and you were a beat behind. and when it all fell apart, when georgia tried to clear it and it deflected off her, you saw it before anyone else—she’ll be the one blamed.

you wanted to scream. you wanted to cry. you had the tears in your throat, but they wouldn’t come. there was nothing, just a choking feeling that kept you from expressing it. all you could feel was this deep, gnawing pain in your chest. this horrible pain, like your whole body was trying to fight against the reality that had just unfolded. 

you slowly turned toward giulia, who was standing there, quiet. you didn’t know if you could face her, but somehow, your feet carried you to her. she was looking down, hands on her hips, shoulders heavy. there was no anger in her face—nothing that showed she was disappointed in you—but you couldn't help but feel the weight of everything. was it my fault? am I the reason we lost?

you hugged her then, tightly, desperately, hoping to find some form of comfort in her arms. giulia let you, her arms wrapping around you in return. she didn’t say anything at first, and you didn’t know what to say either. it was as if the whole team was frozen in time, each player lost in their own thoughts. you wanted to break down, to cry into giulia’s chest, but the tears just wouldn’t come. 

your chest ached. the physical pain of it was almost as bad as the emotional. it was a nightmare, one that you couldn’t wake up from. bayern is going home. 

you thought giulia might say something, might offer some kind of words to reassure you, but all she did was rub your back, the gesture soft and comforting. she was tired too, worn out by the match, the loss, just like everyone else. but there was no disappointment in her. there’s no disappointment, you repeated to yourself, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

you pulled away from giulia after a moment, but you didn’t look at her. you couldn’t. please don’t be mad at me. you thought, though you didn’t speak it. don’t blame me.

instead, your eyes flicked to georgia. she was slumped by the side of the pitch, her face pale, her hands on her head. she must hate me, you thought. I know she does.

it was her name that would be all over the munich papers, her face the one everyone would point to. it didn’t seem fair, but that’s how football was, wasn’t it? the public always needed someone to blame.

your throat tightened, but still, no tears came. you felt like there should have been. like it would somehow make things better if you could cry it out. but georgia… you thought, she’s the one who’ll carry this. it’s her fault in their eyes, not mine.

you stood there, with giulia beside you, and as much as you wanted to say something, to make it better somehow, you couldn’t. words felt useless. what could I say? how could I fix this?

you wished there was a way to take the blame from georgia, to make sure she didn’t have to carry that weight. but there was no way to do that—not here, not now. 

you walked off the field slowly, your feet feeling heavier with each step. please don’t hate me, georgia, you thought one last time. and as you disappeared into the locker room, you felt like the world was closing in around you. I’ve failed.

then georgia—her calm, reassuring presence—had pulled you aside in the dressing room. 

she’d told you that neither her or tuva hated you. that things would be better next season. she had been the first to reassure you, but the damage had already been done. you couldn’t stop the guilt, the weight of that mistake, and now, every game felt like the one where you would fall apart again.

you push that last season game aside in your mind, focusing on playing arsenal now for a brand new season. the familiar hum of excitement is going through your veins but the anxiety lingers, like an ever-present shadow that you can’t outrun. 

the match begins, and the flood of adrenaline fills you. at first, you manage to push the fears to the back of your mind. you’re focused, playing as the defensive midfielder, eyes darting between the players, watching for any openings. 

then it happens—the moment you dread. mariona steps in, intercepting your pass with ease, and suddenly, the ball is in the back of your net. you feel your body go cold, your heart dropping into your stomach. the weight of it crushes you in an instant. 

your mind goes blank for a moment, the stadium blurring around you as the realization sinks in. you’ve messed up. again.

keep in mind, you’re a great defensive midfielder. the public highly rates you, the club loves you, and your ballon d’or nominations have proved that at one point. however, you were your biggest critic. you took every mistake of your own personally.

it’s a small mistake in the grand scheme of things, but in that moment, it feels like the end of the world. your chest tightens, your breath becomes shallow. you try to keep your head in the game, but your mind is racing with thoughts of failure. you wonder if the team is already judging you, if they’re whispering about you behind your back. 

your hands are clammy, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. embarrassment. shame. fear. it all rushes to the surface in one suffocating wave. 

you chase the ball, but it’s already too late. the game continues, and all you can think about is that moment, the mistake that will define the rest of the match. not knowing that bayern will pull off the win.

you feel the eyes of your teammates, even though you know they’re not focusing on you. you can’t help it—the anxiety makes everything feel magnified. every step feels like it’s being scrutinized. 

you imagine their faces, the disappointment in their eyes. 

then, glodis scores, and the atmosphere shifts slightly. it’s a small relief, but it’s not enough to quiet the storm in your head. you try to keep your focus, to keep playing, but the tension builds. your leg starts to bounce involuntarily, your knee jittering with nerves. 

it’s a tick you’ve had since childhood, a sign that the anxiety is taking hold of you. 

during halftime, georgia tries to rally the team. she speaks with such conviction, urging everyone to keep pushing. but you can’t focus on her words. your leg bounces uncontrollably, your jaw clenched in frustration. 

sweat beads on your forehead, but it’s not from the game—it’s from the overwhelming anxiety clawing at you. you can feel giulia’s eyes on you, even though you try to keep it together. she knows you too well as her girlfriend of half-a-decade. 

giulia’s gaze doesn’t leave you as you sit there, trying to steady your breathing. she notices the way your body is wound tight, the way your foot taps rapidly against the floor, the way your face is losing its glow despite the heat of the match. her brow furrows in concern, but she doesn’t say anything—not yet. 

she waits, knowing that you’ll come to her when you’re ready. the panic is still bubbling up inside you. you know she’s worried, but you don’t want to burden her.

you don’t want to be seen as weak.

part two here